Carter Nick : другие произведения.

61-70 Collection of detective stories about Nick Carter

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Школа кожевенного мастерства: сумки, ремни своими руками
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  Carter Nick
  
  61-70 Collection of detective stories about Nick Carter
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  61. Moscow http://flibusta.is/b/662356/read
  
  Moscow
  
  63. Ice Bomb zero http://flibusta.is/b/678525/read
  
  Ice Bomb Zero
  
  64. The Sign of Cosa Nostra http://flibusta.is/b/610141/read
  
  Mark of Cosa Nostra
  
  65. The Cairo Mafia http://flibusta.is/b/612056/read
  
  The Cairo Mafia
  
  66. The Inca Death Squad http://flibusta.is/b/610907/read
  
  Inca Death Squad
  
  67. The attack on England http://flibusta.is/b/612937/read
  
  Assault on England
  
  68. Omega Terror http://flibusta.is/b/612938/read
  
  The Omega Terror
  
  69. Code name: Werewolf http://flibusta.is/b/668195/read
  
  Code Name: Werewolf
  
  70. Strike Force of Terror http://flibusta.is/b/646617/read
  
  Strike Force Terror
  
  
  
  
  Carter Nick
  
  
  Moscow
  
  
  
  
  
  Nick Carter
  
  
  
  Moscow
  
  
  
  translated by Lev Shklovsky
  
  
  Dedicated to the memory of the deceased son Anton.
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 1
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The moonlight shone on Lake Mead to the east. Hers, standing in front of the window, high above the rest of the world, listening to the thunder, hum, and hum from below. Even here in the hotel, the noise of Las Vegas wasn't suppressed. It did get a little fainter outside the thick walls, but you didn't have time to forget where you were - the fun capital of the world. 'Nickname? Nick, Angel, are you up? The sheets rustled behind me. Although her lamp wasn't lit, there was enough moonlight through the window to see Gail's long legs moving under the sheet.
  
  
  "Go to bed," I whispered. "I'll have something to drink." She made a protesting sound. The sheets rustled again, and her long, slender, naked body came out of the trash can. She moved toward me, her eyes half-closed. She made another protesting sound. When she was next to me, she first pressed her forehead and then her nose just below my shoulder, between my neck and my arm. She turned her head to one side in embarrassment and leaned heavily against me. She let out a long, deep sigh of satisfaction. "Take me, please," she said in a little girl's voice.
  
  
  Ice cubes fell on my empty glass. Putting his arm around her shoulders, he led her back to bed. She sat up first, then stretched out on her back. He looked up at nah and saw the moonlight reflected in the lush curves and soft hollows.
  
  
  Gail Black was a member of a girl review group in Las Vegas. Every night they and forty-nine other beautiful young women dressed up in expensive Zhirinovsky costumes with feathers and danced. When I first saw it, I was amazed that someone could find so many pairs of beautiful legs and put ih in a row.
  
  
  Gale met her at the hotel. His eggshells for breakfast and paused for a moment to drop a quarter of a dollar into the vending machine. There was the sound of wheels, then the click of a brake wheel, a little later another click, and at the third click there was the sound of money falling. I now had six quarters of a dollar.
  
  
  Then Gale noticed her. It looked like she was also going to the dining room. She must have turned at the sound of money falling. She was sitting in the doorway of the dining room, looking at me with a questioning smile. Her, laughed at the rheumatism. She was wearing tight pink slacks and a white mini skirt that hung just above her navel. She was wearing high-heeled ballet slippers. Nah's hair was mahogany, long and thick. You can do a lot on nah. If a woman wears the ego flawlessly, without a single misplaced hair, you can safely say that she is very vain, reserved and calm. This kind of woman who didn't let her thick hair swell gave the impression of being loose, letting go.
  
  
  Suddenly she came to me. A quarter of a dollar bounced in my hand as I tried to decide whether to run away with the money or try again. He began to understand how these poor people could become addicted to gambling. But when this girl came to me, I forgot about the quarter dollar, gambling, and Las Vegas.
  
  
  It was almost a dance. The movement was easy to describe: just put one foot in front of the other and go for a walk. But this beautiful creature wasn't just moving its legs. Her hips swayed, her cleavage was stretched out, her breasts jutted out, her shoulders were pulled back, her dancing legs made long passes. And there was always that laugh.
  
  
  "Hello," she said in a little girl's voice. "Did you win?"
  
  
  'Ah
  
  
  "You know, after the last show, I threw five dollars at this thing and didn't win anything. How much money do you have?
  
  
  "A quarter of a dollar."
  
  
  She made a clicking sound with her tongue and stood up on one leg, bending the other slightly. She lifted her sharp nose and tapped her teeth with her fingernail. "You will never win with these stupid devices. I don't think this thing will ever pay off." She looked at the vending machine as if it was someone she didn't like.
  
  
  He laughed reassuringly. "Look," I said , " have you had breakfast yet?" "Okay, can I offer you breakfast? It's the least I can do now that I've won her a dollar and a half of money."
  
  
  She laughed even harder and held out her hand. "My name is Gail Black. I work for a magazine."
  
  
  Ee grabbed her arm. "Her Nickname is Carter. Its on vacation. '
  
  
  Now the moon saint was weaving a silver ray and the shadows of Gail's naked body. The room suddenly became very quiet. The noise of the casino seemed to be drowned out by our breathing and the movement of our bodies on the sheets. I felt her slender body reach for my hand.
  
  
  He kissed the tautness of her neck, sliding his lips to her ear. Then I felt her hand on me, and she led me away. The moment hers entered their nah, those bodies seemed to freeze. Her slowly entered nah. I could hear her breath hissing through her clenched teeth, and her nails digging into my shoulders, causing me terrible pain. I moved closer to her for another lick, and felt her heels on the back of my legs, pressing me against her.
  
  
  We remained so still for a while. Her, felt her wet warmth around me. He propped himself up on his elbows and looked her in the face. She closed her eyes, her mouth hanging open for a while, her thick hair falling wildly around her head. One eye was half covered by loose hair.
  
  
  He began to move very slowly down the inside of one thigh, up the other. My hips were doing very slow rotations. She bit her lower lip between clenched teeth. She started moving, too.
  
  
  "That's great, Nick," she whispered hoarsely. "That's so amazing about you."
  
  
  He kissed her nose, then slid his lips through her hair. I could feel her making noises in her throat, but I pressed my lips to her hair. Every time I moved, her tongue slid into my mouth. Then the tip of her tongue caught her between her teeth and lips. He climbed up and down, and used his tongue as well as his body.
  
  
  The protesting sounds stopped. He briefly felt her hands on him. My face felt hot. My entire body tensed. He was beside himself. She was no longer aware of her room, her bed, or the noise below. The two of us were just there, us and what we were doing together. I only knew about her and the heat, the searing heat that was now engulfing me. Like my skin was too hot to touch nah.
  
  
  I could feel the swirling foam of the rivers pouring into me, bubbling toward her. Its passed the point where its thought I could stop it. Ee pulled her close, holding her so tightly that she couldn't breathe. The swirling water tasted like a pond seeking passage. And then the dam collapsed. Gail was a withered flower that clung to her. I couldn't hold her tight enough; she was clinging to nah, trying to pull her through the skin. I almost couldn't feel her fingernails. We tensed up together. My breathing stopped. And then we collapsed.
  
  
  My head was on the pillow next to hers, but she was still lying under me, and we were still entwined. My breathing returned with difficulty. He smiled at her and kissed her on the cheek.
  
  
  "I can feel your dollar stack beating," she said.
  
  
  "That was great," I said after thinking about it. This time, it really was released.
  
  
  Our faces were so close together that I could see each lash separately. The cobwebs of her hair still covered one eye. She wiped her ego with her thumb. She smiled at me. "It was all holidays in one person, with all the rocks, rockets, rockets and explosions."
  
  
  We lay there and looked at each other. The window was open for a while. The desert wind blew gently through the curtains.
  
  
  "It seems almost impossible that it will only take a week," Gail said in a hoarse voice.
  
  
  Then we fell asleep naked, still warm from the act of making love.
  
  
  I felt like I had just closed my eyes when the phone rang. At first I thought I was dreaming. There was a fire somewhere, and a fire truck was passing by. Her, heard that. The phone rang again.
  
  
  My eyes flew open. The day began to break; the First saint entered the room, so I could see the closet, the chair, and the adorable Gail sleeping next to me.
  
  
  The damn phone rang again.
  
  
  Hers rose. Gail moaned for a moment and pressed her naked body against mine. I took it . "Hello," I said. It doesn't make much sense to not have a friendly one.
  
  
  "Carter?" How soon can you get to Washington?" It was Hawk, the boss of AX, my boss.
  
  
  "I can take the next device." Hers, I felt Gail press against my body.
  
  
  "Nice to meet you," Hawk said. "This is important. Register as soon as you arrive at my desk."
  
  
  "Very good, sir." He hung up and immediately picked up the phone again. Gail rolled away from me. She was sitting next to me. I felt the breeze on her neck and realized she was looking at me. When she got a call from the airport, she was booked on a direct flight that left for Las Vegas at seventeen minutes past nine. He looked at his watch. It was five minutes past six. He was looking at Gail.
  
  
  She lit one around my cigarettes. She shoved it in my mouth and then took it. She blew smoke at the ceiling. "I thought maybe we could go water skiing today," she said flatly.
  
  
  'Gail ...'
  
  
  She interrupted me. "There are no performances tomorrow, it's free. I thought we might find a spot on Lake Mead somewhere for swimming and picnicking. Elvis will perform tomorrow night. I can easily get tickets ." She sighed heavily. "We could go swimming and have a picnic, then come back here to get dressed, then eat and go to the show
  
  
  "Gail, I ..."
  
  
  She puts her hand over my mouth. "No," she said weakly. "Don't say that. I understand her. The holiday is over."
  
  
  "Yes, in the dell itself."
  
  
  She nodded and blew smoke at the ceiling again. As she spoke, she looked at the foot of the bed. "I really don't know anything about you. Maybe you're selling suspenders or a mafia boss who's vacationing here." She looked at me. "The only thing I know is that I feel happy when she's with you. That's enough for me." She sighed. It was clear that she was holding back her tears. "Will I see you again?"
  
  
  He squeezed out a cigarette. "I really don't know. I don't sell her straps and I'm not a mafia boss. But my life isn't in the gym, it's in my hands. And I'm happy with you, too."
  
  
  She pulled out a cigarette and looked at me intently. Her lips were pressed together. She swallowed twice. "Me ... we still have time ... before your plane departs?"
  
  
  Her laughed and hugged ee. "We're not in a hurry."
  
  
  She accepted me with a desperate passion. And she cried all the time.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 2
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  When I landed in Washington, D.C., Gail Black had already left me with fond memories. Hers was no longer just a man on vacation trying to distract himself. He was an AX agent. Wilhelmine's pistol, my Luger, was holstered under my arm. Hugo, my stiletto, lay comfortably in its scabbard on my left hand. One movement of the shoulder and the knife will smoothly fall into my hand. Pierre, the deadly gas bomb, is now stuck in the cavity of my right ankle. It was small, and my ego was covered by Italian shoes. They were just as much AX tools as my mind and body.
  
  
  I went into Hawke's office and found Ego looking out the window at the snow. He was standing with his back to me when I entered. Without turning around, he pointed to a chair in front of his small desk. As always, the old-fashioned radiator raised the humidity in the office by a percentage number.
  
  
  "Glad you got here so soon, Carter," Hawk said, still with his back to me.
  
  
  Her sel and lit a cigarette. When her picked her up, her, looked at Hawke, and Stahl wait.
  
  
  He said: "I've heard that Moscow is much colder than here." Finally, he turned his face to me and gave me an icy stare. He held the black stub of a cigar between his teeth. "But you can tell me firsthand, Carter."
  
  
  Its blinked. "You mean I'm an edu to Russia?"
  
  
  Hawk walked over to the table and sat down. He clenched a cheap cigar between his teeth and threw it in the trash. "I'll tell you a story, Carter."
  
  
  She had to have a cigarette and sit down candid. All my senses were focused on Hawke. What kind of story he will tell. Hawk didn't tell any stories. He was going to give me an assignment.
  
  
  "About three years ago," he said, " I was approached by a Russian ballerina who made me an interesting proposal. If we had put a sum of one million dollars in her name in a Swiss bank account, she would have given us some very good Russian scientific and military secrets ."
  
  
  I almost had to laugh. "Sir, AX taco receives such offers."
  
  
  He raised his hand. 'Wait a minute. This is true. We had boys from Borneo to the Azores and they were willing to provide us with information for a fee ."
  
  
  "Yes."
  
  
  "But we seriously considered this proposal when we heard the name of this ballerina. This is Irinia Moskowitz.
  
  
  I was aware of her. You don't have to be a ballet connoisseur to know this name. Iriniya Moskovich. At fifteen, she was a child prodigy, at fifteen she became a ballerina with the Russian Ballet, and now, at the age of less than twenty-five, she is one of the five greatest ballerinas in the world.
  
  
  He frowned at Hawke. "Being a famous ballerina is one thing," I said, " but how could she have access to scientific and military secrets?"
  
  
  Hawk grinned. "Very simple, Carter. She is not only one of the greatest ballerinas in the world, but also a Russian agent. The ballet travels around the outdoor pool, performing for heads of state, kings and queens, presidents and so on. Who would have suspected her?
  
  
  "I assume YOU accepted her offer?"
  
  
  'Yes. But there were some problems. She said that she would give information every three years. After that, AX, on the condition that her information helps us and that we attach a million to her bank account, will take her out of Russia and ensure that she obtains US citizenship ."
  
  
  "You said that the request was made about three years ago. This should mean that these three years are almost over." He smiled at her. "So her information was valuable?"
  
  
  Hawk raised his eyebrows. "Carter, I have to tell you honestly that the young lady has done a great job for this country. Some of this information was priceless. Of course, now we have to export ee across Russia ."
  
  
  He closed his eyes. "But?" Her, pondered the question.
  
  
  Hawk found time to light a cigarette. He grabbed one of his cheap cigars and lit it slowly. As the dirty smoke rose to the ceiling, he said, " Something's happened. We have heard that the Russians are conducting secret experiments at the Soviet Institute of Marine Research. We don't know what these experiments are. To be honest, we don't even know where exactly this is happening. Our source of information says we need to find out." He took a long drag on his cigar. "We know what's what."
  
  
  "Enlighten me," I said. "Does Irina Moskowitz know anything about this institute?"
  
  
  Hawk waved the question away. "I'm still figuring it out." He clamped the cigar between his teeth. "We know that the head of the institute is an experienced communist Serge Krasnova. He glanced at Irenia. They were together several times. Irina doesn't think much of Serge. She finds the ego physically attractive, but sometimes thinks it's not quite right in the head. Sometimes he has tantrums. She thinks he might be dangerous."
  
  
  I remember her well, the name of Serge Krasnov.
  
  
  Hawk went even further. "We instructed Irinia to make friends with Krashnov, and she did. Thank you hey, we realized how serious the experiments conducted at the institute are. The case is being monitored by a special department of the secret police, headed by a certain Mikhail Barnisek. According to Iriniya, this security officer Barnisek has political ambitions, and he would like to increase his post in the Kremlin. He is very suspicious of everyone, including Irinia and Serge Krasnov ."
  
  
  Hawk chewed on his cigar, his cold eyes fixed on me. Irinia told us that she could find out what was going on at the institute when she got close to Krasnov. We told Hey to start a relationship with him. She knows we're sending an agent to help her get out all over Russia. We don't know how far they went with Krasnov or what she actually learned about the institute."
  
  
  I thought about it and started to respect Irinia Moskowitz. A famous ballerina who became a double agent risked her life and went to sleep with a man she hated to gather information, and she loved America so much and wanted to live there. Of course, it could be that she did it for the money.
  
  
  "There's a way to get to Russia, Carter," Hawke said. "There was a courier, a man who traveled back and forth between Moscow and Paris. It was Irinia's contact. He got the information from nah and passed it on to our agent in Paris. The courier was killed, which is why we know so little about Irinia's latest information. We need to find out if she's found out about the institute's location, and if so, what's going on there.
  
  
  "We had a chance to kill the killer, it was a certain Vasily Popov. He was one of the leaders of the Russian homicide squad. He was an important agent of the Kremlin, so we know that he will be treated with respect." Hawk took out an iso rta cigar and looked at nah. Ego's gaze slid to me. "I can see in your eyes that you're wondering why I'll be talking about Kings in the future. Why do I tell her that he will be treated with respect? Because you are going to accept the ego, the personality. You become a Priest, and that's how you get to Russia ."
  
  
  He nodded to her. Then Hawk stood up. He said ," That's your job, Carter. You become a Priest. You are entering Russia on a route that has already been determined. You should contact Iriniya Moskowitz to get more information about the institute and, if possible, take it further in Russia. Let us know the location of the institute and the details of what is happening there." Hawk held out his hand. "Go to Special Effects, where there is something for you. Success.'
  
  
  I was allowed to leave.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 3
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Special effects and editing is a combination of a magic shop, a costume shop, and a makeup department. Here you could find all the necessary equipment for an agent, from a microphone the size of a pin button to a portable laser that could be used to destroy walls.
  
  
  I went inside and heard the clatter of typewriters. I was greeted by a pretty girl at the first table. Nah had reddish-brown hair, and a smile came candid around a TV commercial about toothpaste.
  
  
  She asked. "Is there anything I can do for her?" Her green eyes slid over me, cold and distant. She classified me and stored me in her memory.
  
  
  I had a piece of paper that Hawk had given me. Nick Carter for the doctor. Thompson ."
  
  
  She blushed. "Oh," she said. "Would you like to wait a moment?" She stood up. Her skirt was twisted up so I could see her very pretty legs. She dropped her pencil. She was still blushing. She bent down to pick up a pencil, then walked away.
  
  
  Her, saw her calf muscles move at every step. She was wearing a gray raincoat, and she looked good from behind as she walked. He leaned over the stack of papers on her desk. Next to it was a black purse. Two girls nearby stopped typing to see what I was doing. He grabbed her bag, opened it, and took out the girl's driver's license. Her name was Sharon Wood. She came from Alexandria, Virginia, to Washington. I saved her name and address in my memory for future reference and put the bag back. Both girls laughed at me and started banging again.
  
  
  Dr. Thompson came in with Sharon Wood. We shook hands and he took me to another office. Sharon laughed as the doctor and I left. Just before we walked out the door, hers looked around and saw two girls walking up to Sharon.
  
  
  Dr. Thompson was a man in his early thirties. He had long neck hair and a beard that followed his jawline. He didn't know much about nen, except that he was a top scientist, had received several patents before joining AX, was one of the best psychologists in the country, and loved his job. Ego's profession was psychology, ego's hobby was inventing devices.
  
  
  He knew that Hawke respected Dr. Thompson because Hawke liked different devices. He loved minicomputers, small rockets, and thumb-sized cameras. Dr. Thompson would have been very close to Hawke's heart.
  
  
  When you left the office, you saw the real special effects and editing feature.
  
  
  Dr. Thompson led me down a long corridor. The braid on the floor glowed. There were large square windows on either side. it offers views of small laboratories. Here the scientists were allowed to disperse. To us, one idea wasn't too crazy, to us, one experiment wasn't too crazy, so that the ego could be carried out. In any failure, the germ can hide from an idea that will not lead to success in other areas. The scientists here seemed happy.
  
  
  Dr. Thompson passed for me. He half turned and smiled. "We're going that way," he said, nodding at the square window to my right. There was a door next to the window. He opened it and we went inside. "Mr. Carter, can I have your luger, stiletto, and gas bomb?"
  
  
  He looked at him curiously. "Oh, yeah?"
  
  
  He smiled again. "I'll explain that to you. Judging from what we've learned about Kings and Ego work, it probably has the highest possible level of security. This would mean that he can freely enter and exit the Kremlin. We also know that in addition to the long, narrow knife, Popov's most important weapon is the ego of the hand. They have a wonderful power. He has a knife in a special scabbard on his right leg. But he always has to pass through a series of metal detectors installed in the Kremlin, so every time he's in Moscow, he puts the knife away."
  
  
  "Then I can't take anything made of metal." He lit it and offered it to the doctor. He refused.
  
  
  "Absolutely," he said. "But we do have a few things that might be useful to you." He motioned me to a chair.
  
  
  In addition to the two chairs, the office had a gray metal chair with papers and a long chair with more papers, large envelopes, and all sorts of things around the wood and metal. Dr. Thompson raised his hand, and it gave him was his own weapon. I felt as if I had undressed and was standing naked in the room.
  
  
  "Good," the doctor grinned. He walked over to the long table and removed the leather belt from it. "That's all you'll get, Mr. Carter. Nen has everything you need ."
  
  
  I knew her, as it was with scientists. Oni are struggling to come up with useful ideas.
  
  
  Once ideas have become tangible things, you can be proud of them. They want to touch these things, talk about them, show ih. If only we didn't stop interrupting the brave doctor. The wide belt consisted around a row of flap pockets. Dr. Thompson opened the lid and took out two small packages around his pocket. "There's a small plastic air pistol in this bag in the hall," he said proudly. "Shoots arrows that are in the second bag, they are also plastic. These needle-thin arrows contain a deadly poison that causes death within ten seconds, then enters the skin. He put the gun and arrows back in his belt. Then he brought out three plastic vials.
  
  
  "We live in a plastic world," I said.
  
  
  "Right in the dell, Mr. Carter." He picked up the vials. The first was blue, the second red, and the third yellow. "These vials contain bath oil capsules. They have an outer layer that can be used in the bath." He smiled. "Although I wouldn't recommend taking a long, pleasant bath. Each capsule of a different color contains a specific chemical substance. The chemical is activated when the capsule is thrown against a hard surface, such as a floor or wall. It's like Chinese firecrackers, with their round balls that are thrown outside to make them hit."
  
  
  He nodded to her. "I know that, Doctor. Thompson ."
  
  
  'I'm glad of that. Then you'll also understand how it all works. Okay, the blue ones are fireballs. That is, when they hit a solid object, they begin to burn and smoke. The fire is practically not extinguished. If they encounter a highly flammable substance, they will almost certainly ignite the ego. The red capsules are just hand grenades. When they hit a solid object, they explode with the destructive force of a grenade. And these yellow capsules contain the deadly gas that is in your gas hardness."
  
  
  There was no humor in my voice when I said, " And you're saying I can keep ih in my tub."
  
  
  He smiled. "Not for long." He put the vials away and handed me the belt. "In other branches there is money, Russian rubles." Then he grabbed the folder. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small automatic revolver. I thought it was a .22 caliber. He told her that Popov only had a narrow knife. This is also true, but when we killed the ego, we found the ego. It's the weapon he used to kill the courier. We think you should carry your ego with you."
  
  
  It was a beautiful weapon, inlaid with animal figures in shiny chrome or silver, shaped like a circle. I thought it was a collector's item. Ego slipped it into the pocket of his doublet, checking to make sure it was loaded.
  
  
  Dr. Thompson gave me a narrow knife in a scabbard. "Tie this to your right leg." I did it. Then the doctor took out a photo of Vasily Popov. "Voice, what our man looks like. If you leave here, you'll have to do some makeup. There they will make you look like him.
  
  
  Vasily Popov had a stern face. It can best be described as reddish. Nen had deep wrinkles on his face, even though he looked about my age. It had a high lobe, which meant that some of my front hair would have to be shaved off. His nose was wide, and his chopsticks were slightly protruding. There was a scar on his right cheek. It wasn't as bad as it was supposed to be that his face was disfigured, but the smile seemed random. His lips were full. He had a cleft chin.
  
  
  'Good?'Yes,' said the doctor. Thompson. He gave me a picture and some papers. "These are Popov's credentials. It's all right. You have both ego credentials and non-ego personal documents. Just look at this."
  
  
  Everything seems to be in order. I put her papers in a minute. Her knew it; His had done it so many times. Dr. Thompson sat down on the corner of a chair. He looked at me seriously. "Mr. Carter, I wish we knew more about Kings. We they brought the ego case to know the ego's biography, place of birth, who-ego parents, friends, etc. But we don't know anything about the ego's recent activity, say in the last two years. It was then that he received the highest security clearance.
  
  
  "What do you mean, Doctor?"
  
  
  He sighed. He crossed his legs and adjusted the folds of his trousers. "I want to say that there is a chance that you will find yourself in a situation that we don't hold in our hands, something in the ego of life that we don't know anything about, something that has happened in the last two years. Her best bet would be to say that the information we give you about the Circle of Kings is accurate, but definitely not complete."
  
  
  He nodded to her. 'Good. Can't you do something about it?'
  
  
  He sighed again. "You will be mesmerized. All information about Kings will be transmitted to you subconsciously. It will be given to you as a post-hypnotic suggestion. In other words, you will not forget your real identity, but you will feel very close to Popov, let's say, like a twin brother. Information about nen will be stored in your subconscious mind. If you are given a corkscrew, the rheumatism will come immediately, and you don't even have to think about it...
  
  
  "What does that mean, Doctor?"
  
  
  He looked at me sharply. That is, if the rheumatism is present, if the corkscrew is about something that we gave you. If not, then voting is news bits just for you!
  
  
  He smiled at the doctor. "I've had difficulties before."
  
  
  He nodded in understanding. "I believe that we should first give you the information and then proceed with the makeup. You will feel more popish when they change your facial features. Are you ready? '
  
  
  "Just do it."
  
  
  He said I needed to relax. He shifted a little in his chair, then glanced at his watch. It was a quarter to four. He said I needed to close my eyes and relax. Ego felt her hand on his shoulder, then on the back of his neck. My chin dropped to my chest, and he hovered for a second. Then I heard her voice, ego.
  
  
  "I repeat: if I clap her hands, you will wake up. You will feel refreshed, as if you were sleeping soundly. At three o'clock, I clap my hands and you wake up. One two three! My eyes flew open. I felt like I'd been dozing off for a while. It seemed to me that the doctor should start now. Then he looked at his watch. It was five o'clock. Her, felt refreshed. The doctor looked at my face. "How are you feeling?"
  
  
  He nodded to her. "Great."
  
  
  "A girl," the doctor said.
  
  
  He felt an uncontrollable urge to pull at the lobe of his left ear. She didn't seem to mind that statement. The doctor looked at me intently. I thought it might sound crazy, but maybe it was just my earlobe. I could always tell that I was itching. He pulled on her left earlobe.
  
  
  Dr. Thompson beamed. "How nice! Nice to meet you. He patted me on the shoulder. "Now I know that all the information is in your heads. I put you to the test, Mr. Carter. Gave you a little posthypnotic suggestion from Odin. While you were unconscious, I told her that if I said the word "girl", you would pull your left earring. You did very well."
  
  
  "Does that mean I pull my ear every time I hear the word 'girl'?"
  
  
  "No," he laughed. "It only worked once." He stood up. "We expressed the word 'girl' twice with them ferrets, as you touched your ear and didn't feel the urge, did you? I've already told her that again."
  
  
  He stood up, too. "I'm not sure, no."
  
  
  "Let's go see if makeup can make you look like Vasily Popov?" When we were at the door, the doctor asked, " Oh, Basil, where were you really born?"
  
  
  "In a small village near Stalingrad, on the banks of the Volga." What surprised me was that I said those words. Dr. Thompson laughed understandably. What surprised me more than the words themselves was that I said ih in Russian.
  
  
  Two girls did my makeup. We worked quickly and efficiently. The hair above my forehead had been shaved off an inch or two so that the lobe was high. Applying a special invisible remedy should ensure that my hair won't be dreadlocked for at least a month. We really live in the plastic age. Frankly, a liquid plastic substance was injected under the skin of my cheeks to make my face a little more ruddy. Contact lenses changed the color of my eyes. My chin was reinforced in the front. Thanks to the pliable, unusual mixture of plastic surgery, my nostrils and the rest of my nose widened. Of course, I dyed my hair and slightly changed my eyebrows. The narrow scarring wasn't a problem.
  
  
  When they were ready, I compared the photo to my mirror image. I didn't see the difference. He leaned back with a smile. The girls were happy. Dr. Thompson came in and congratulated everyone. A bottle of bourbon came to the table.
  
  
  Then he did something strange to her. When I was offered a drink, I refused it. First, I asked if there might be vodka. He also smoked one of his own cigarettes, though he preferred it, cheap Russian cigarettes with a smell.
  
  
  It was drunk by a glass of vodka. He sat with the girls and looked in the mirror all the time.
  
  
  "Where did you learn this kind of work?" ih asked her with a smile.
  
  
  The girl on my left, a beautiful blonde named Peggy, returned my smile. "You've got a face like his, Nick. I think that we have done a good job. '
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 4
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  When Hawke and hers got off in a taxi at the airport, there was a light snowfall.
  
  
  He came to give me his final instructions. He shook my hand. "Good luck, Carter. A lot depends on your success ."
  
  
  He walked through the gate and turned around halfway to wave. But Hawke was already heading back to his office. The flight attendant was a pretty girl with short brown hair, a dimpled smile, beautiful teeth, and very pretty legs.
  
  
  Once the passengers were settled in, the car bounced back and forth as usual. I took off my coat and put my ego on a hanger by me forever. The stewardess quickly walked up and down the aisle to take care of the old ladies and businessmen who required first-class ticket services, and therefore constant maintenance.
  
  
  Finally, the car began to steer and took off.
  
  
  The no smoking sign went off, and he lit up. I thought about the route that lay before me.
  
  
  I had a direct trip from Washington DC to Helsinki. In Helsinki, I would be picked up by a car that would take me directly to the port. There I boarded a small fishing trawler that took me across the Gulf of Finland to a small fishing village on the coast of Estonia. From there, I'll take a train to Leningrad and then a line to Moscow.
  
  
  I knew that once I was in Helsinki, I had to learn to speak with a Russian accent, and then speak only Russian.
  
  
  The flight attendant asked if I wanted to drink it. We talked for a while while he finished his drink. She came all over Los Angeles. When she was told by hey that he had just arrived, around Las Vegas, her eyes lit up. We left it at that. She said that she tried to go to Las Vegas at least once a month, and that we might meet again.
  
  
  The flight to Helsinki was successful. I dabbled in it, ale, and talked a little more with Gloria, my dimpled flight attendant. Helsinki lay under a thick layer of snow. When we landed, it was dark. I got a piece of paper from Gloria. It was her address and phone number in Los Angeles. My ballet slippers were powdered in the fresh snow when her shell arrived at customs. The collar of her coat turned her up. There was no strong wind, but it should have been near zero or below zero. My fellow travelers were met by relatives and acquaintances. When it passed through customs, it was examined by the hall. Then the cold outside made her start sweating because of the heat in the heated building.
  
  
  An old man came up to me and pointed at my sleeve. "Hey," he said in a crackling voice,"do you want to go to the harbor?"
  
  
  Her, looked at him. He was small in stature. Ego's thick coat was battered and worn. Nen wasn't wearing a hat, and Ego's tousled hair was disheveled. For a while it was wet from the snow that had fallen on it. Em needed a shave, and ego's beard was as white as ego's hair. He had a gray mustache, except for a coffee-colored patch above his lip. He pursed his lips and looked at me with milky blue eyes set against his wrinkled skin.
  
  
  "Can you take me to the port?" I asked, trying to emphasize my accent.
  
  
  'Yes. He nodded twice, then shook my hand, shoulders slumping.
  
  
  I followed him out to the street, where I try and find a ramshackle Volvo sitting by the curb. He almost snatched the suitcase out of my hands and put it in the backseat. Then he opened the door for me. Once behind the wheel, he swore as he tried to start the Volvo. He said something I didn't understand and drove off without looking in the rearview mirror or honking his horn. Horns blared behind him, but he ignored them and drove on.
  
  
  He made me think of someone, but I didn't know who. Since this route was a specific route, I knew that my driver would definitely consider me an agent. Maybe he was an agent himself. He spoke Swedish, but it didn't seem to be particularly good. He kept his gnarled hands on the steering wheel, and the Volvo engine worked as if it was only running on two to four of its own engines.
  
  
  We drove through the center of Helsinki, and my driver didn't notice any other cars. Nor did he pay much attention to the traffic lights. And he continued to grumble.
  
  
  Then he knew who he was thinking of. It didn't matter what he did, what he looked like. When he arrived at the harbor and the glow of a streetlamp fell on his old face, he looked exactly like the pictures of Albert Einstein she had seen.
  
  
  He brought the tired Volvo to a stop by pressing the intimidate pedal with both feet. The tires didn't squeal, and the Volvo just started to slow down until it finally stopped.
  
  
  The old man was still growling. He got out around the car and came over to me. It was already coming out. He squeezed past me, pulled my suitcase out of the backseat, and set it down next to me. He slams the door shut. It wouldn't close, and he kept throwing it until it closed. He came up to me, panting, and pointed a crooked finger. "Here," he said. "There is a boat." He pointed to the dark shape of a fishing trawler.
  
  
  When I turned to thank the old man, he was already sitting in the Volvo and beeping the starter. The engine began to groan and groan absurdly, as if the voting-voting would stop at any moment. But during a short trip I discovered that this engine is not so wouldnt be bad. The old man waved his hand and drove away. It stands almost on the embankment.
  
  
  I heard her movements on a trawler. My nostrils ached from the cold sampling of the air I was breathing. I took my suitcase and went to him. It started snowing. Her collar turned up again.
  
  
  "Hello," he called to her in his clumsy accent. "Is anyone here?"
  
  
  'Yes!' He came out of the control room, the collar of his coat hiding his face.
  
  
  I asked her. "Are you the captain?"
  
  
  He hid in the shadow of the control room. "Yes," he said. "Get on board, go down, get some rest, we'll be sailing soon."
  
  
  I nodded and jumped aboard as he disappeared behind the wheelhouse. She heard the clatter of ropes descending the deck. I wondered if I should help, because the captain seemed to be alone, but he didn't seem to need any help. He went to the hatch and went down to the cabin. There were armchairs with a sofa on either side, a large kitchen on the right, and a storage room in the back. He went over and put the suitcase down.
  
  
  Then he heard the roar of a powerful diesel engine. It rattled in the engine room and the trawler rocked back and forth, then we were on our way. The cabin rocked up and down. Through the door, I could see the lights of Helsinki go out.
  
  
  The cabin wasn't heated, and it felt colder than outside. The water was rough; high waves lapped against the railing and even the porthole. She was asked to come up on deck to at least talk to the captain, but I thought about my driver at the airport. I didn't know what instructions these men had, but the one around them must not have been too kind or talked too much.
  
  
  Besides, I'm tired of her. There wasn't much rest on the plane. It was a long flight without a vault. I left her my suitcase and stretched out. Hers was still in his coat. He untied her tie and pulled her coat tight around her neck. The air was very cold, and the trawler was rocking violently. But because of the pitching and the noise of the engine, he soon fell asleep.
  
  
  It was as if she had just closed her eyes when she heard something. The dock didn't seem to be swaying so much anymore. Then I understood how it happened. The engine was running very quietly . We weren't going as fast as we used to. He kept her eyes closed. I was wondering why the engine is used to solve scientific research problems. Then I heard the sound again. Despite the soft rumble of the engine, the cabin was fairly quiet. It was as if someone had dropped a crowbar on the ship's deck right over my head. He heard it again, and every time he heard it, it became easier to identify. The sound is not from outside at all, but from here, in the cabin. Her eyes opened a little. Then I knew exactly what that sound was-the sound of the stairs cracking. Someone was coming down the stairs. She knew the thick coat of the master, but it was so dark that I couldn't see the ego's faces.
  
  
  At first I thought he was waking me up for some reason. But something about the ego attitude bothered me. He's not a shell, like a person who doesn't care if I'm asleep or not. He called slowly, quietly, stealthily, as if to make sure I didn't wake up.
  
  
  As he descended the stairs, he grabbed a chair and moved on. He had something in his hand. Since it was so dark that I couldn't see the ego faces, his knew that he couldn't see that my eyes had been open for a while.
  
  
  He walked over to the day cut in which it lay and stood up. He stopped to look at me for a moment, a strong dark figure swaying back and forth as if he were balancing on a rope. The collar of ego's coat still covered his face. He stepped quietly and quickly through the door and bumped into the sofa. He raised his right arm high. The moonlight coming in through the porthole reflected off the knife's gleaming blade. The raised hand came down quickly.
  
  
  But I was already on the move. I had enough space to be out of reach. He allowed himself to roll a little further and heard a loud bang. Then there was a crack as the blade tore through the mattress. Her almost immediately rolled back and wrapped both hands around Ego's knife wrist. He lifted his legs and kicked his ego in the face. He staggered back, and my ego's wrist snapped around my arms. It took the Emu so long to recover that I got up from the trash and bumped into him. He raised his hand again. He dived, swung, dived, grabbed ego's wrist, then straightened up hard to hit him. I heard a muffled sound. The knife hit the wall as her wrist hit ego. Her ego shook her hand, as if someone were trying to pour the last bit of ketchup around the bottle. The knife flew out on the ego of the hand and where it fell.
  
  
  During the fight, we stayed close to the table. I sent a letter to him. He had one hand on her ego's throat and the other on her wrist. Now her ego released her wrist and pulled out his right hand to slap Ego's face. He remained motionless, his fist raised. The man's collar fell down. Her ego knowledge; Her seen, photo ego in "Special Effects" and "Editorial". It was the real Vasily Popov.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 5
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Her, I felt the ego of every tribe touch my groin. He just came to himself to turn sideways and take the kick on his leg, but it was very painful. Vasily Popov pushed me away and jumped up the stairs. Her, rushed over to him, grabbed ego for a coat. He kicked off his coat and jumped back before he could grab it again. Hers went up the stairs behind him.
  
  
  Outside, an icy wind hit me. The trawler was moving faster than he'd thought. Popov bent over the toolbox. I slid out onto the ice deck and reached across its width with a small automatic revolver with all those silver tiger pads Before my hand could wrap around the butt and pull the weapon all the way out of my pocket, Popov hit me on the head with a big wrench.
  
  
  I grabbed it, and we fell to the icy deck. We rammed through a thick coil of cable. He hit me in the arm with a wrench. Popov definitely looked fifty pounds heavier than me. It all went too fast for anyone to think much about it. I was told Popov was dead - how could he be here? What is this crazy game of fate?
  
  
  Then all thoughts stopped. He punched his opponent in the face, but it didn't last long. Then her ego hit him in the side. It let out a roar that was louder than the wind. He dropped the wrench and rolled away.
  
  
  He felt something smooth on Popov's shoulder and chest - it looked like sealskin or rubber. It bounced and rocked back and forth as the trawler moved. Her, allegedly, it was he who could not afford to let go of his ego - he would tear my cover in Russia to shreds. He ran down the sloping deck in the direction where Popov was rolling. The deck was slippery; I almost fell twice. He wore ordinary ballet slippers, while Popov had rubber soles. Her, bent down to grab it. He turned to me, and I felt a pain on the back of my hand, as if I'd been bitten by a dragon. Popov found the knife again.
  
  
  Hers was bleeding profusely. A large recreation area crashed into the bow and raced across the deck. It was like an icy animal around my ankles, as if some hand had hit my leg. Her, fell and slid. The trawler sank, plunging into a new wave. Water flooded the deck again. Popov was already behind me, running towards me with his knife raised. Her ego couldn't stop her, it felt like she was sliding on ice on her back. He bumped into me quickly, and the ego rubber soles gave the emu a good grip on the slippery deck. I saw her, schramm turns to the ego of a person. He was confident that he could definitely handle me.
  
  
  When he was next to me, he grabbed her ego and lifted her legs at the same time. My fingers found ego's hair and held ih. My feet touched life's ego, and hers, I pressed my knees to my chest. It helped a little that he kept moving forward; my fingers grabbed him and pulled her; my feet braced against life and raised my ego. I saw the astonishment on his face as it slid mimmo me, then he let out a short cry. Ego released her hair and straightened her legs.
  
  
  Vasily Popov flew high into the air. His body writhed and shook, as if he were trying to turn and swim. He looked like a man who had jumped off a trampoline, but found that he had miscalculated everything and would fall badly, and tried to regain his position. But Popov could not return. He flew over the railing of the right-hand corner and disappeared into the water with a big splash.
  
  
  He turned and looked out into the water, expecting to see ego swimming. But I didn't see anything. He went to the ladder that led to the bridge in the wheelhouse. The trawler tilted so much that I almost fell overboard.
  
  
  When he was in the wheelhouse, he slowed down and turned the steering wheel to the left. The trawler rolled on a wave and then slid to the side. I gave him some more gas and went back to the spot where Popov had fallen overboard. The wind and foam pricked my face like a thousand icy needles. My fingers were numb.
  
  
  At the top of the wheelhouse window was a large lighthouse. He picks up the gas and turns on the headlight. He let the powerful beam of light play over the ink-black waves. He could see nothing but the swirling whiteness of the crashing waves. Her ego kept her full, energetically sharing the boat's movements. The steering wheel was rotated rivnenskaya enough to describe a large circle. I didn't believe that a living creature could withstand the icy temperature of this water. Her continued to circle, occasionally looking at the tops of the boiling wave for a head or face. But I didn't see anything. He must have been dead, I thought.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 6
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Otherwise, the trip went smoothly. But I had a very unpleasant feeling. Several times during her career, her undercover stumbled into the headquarters of the Communist world. As always, hers was aware of the possible risks, but to enter a humid jungle with thoughts of violence and always have enough room to escape is something very different from the ballrooms and offices of Moscow. If my camouflage disappears, it's very easy for her to die in the next minute. And a camouflage suit like the one I had now could easily be torn to shreds. The wrong word, kindness to the wrong math teacher, a small habit that no one but a secret police agent would notice, and that would have happened to me.
  
  
  It was almost day when it reached the coast of Estonia. It was anchored by a trawler near a fishing village and a barrel in a dinghy. I made sure I spoke Russian and asked two fishermen about the station. It was located near the village, on the main road. I went in that direction, but then they gave me a ride on a creaking cart with wooden wheels loaded with straw. At the train station, I bought a ticket to Leningrad. He was waiting for her with several other passengers.
  
  
  I was wearing a Russian suit. Then Popov and I had to throw out our coats. Not only were there two holes in the nen, but it was also smeared with engine oil. Her mother was standing on the platform and smoking Russian cigarettes. Even my hair was cut like a Russian barber would have done. I had only rubles in my pocket.
  
  
  When the high-speed train finally arrived, the passengers boarded. He quickly found a place for himself. Two Russian soldiers were sitting diagonally across from me. The man next to him was young, the emu not yet in his twenties. Ego had a determined look in his eyes, and he kept his jaw tightly clenched. Her sel and crossed her legs. The young soldier looked at me for some reason. He felt the hairs on the back of his neck prickle. When he asked me for my documents, they were in order, but why did he look at me like that?
  
  
  The train started and went faster. The young soldier tore up his friend, and they both looked at me. Her, I felt like I was starting to sweat. He considered grabbing the shiny revolver, but that would have been foolish. Then the young soldier arched across the aisle.
  
  
  "Yes, comrade," he said, " do you read that magazine next to you, Evgeny?"
  
  
  Her face is next to mine. "No, comrade," I said. I gave em that magazine. Her mind relaxed as the train sped towards . As we approached the border with Russia, I noticed that my fellow travelers were very quiet. There was an atmosphere of tension. The smooth reciprocating motion of the train decreased with decreasing speed. The sound of the wheels was staccato; it was also lessened now. A soldier with machine guns also saw her through the window.
  
  
  Finally, the train stopped. There was a rustle, and the passengers snatched up their papers. The soldier on the pass looked at me with interest. He reached into his gym bag and pulled out his papers. Two soldiers were standing in front of me. The first one snatched the papers from my hands. He looked a little bored as he flipped through ih. When he came to the document about my position in Moscow, the bored look disappeared. He blinked, and for a moment emu thought he was gone. He shook out the papers carefully and returned them to ih.
  
  
  "Comrade," he said, saluting, " I hope we haven't disturbed you."
  
  
  'Not at all. I hope we'll move on soon ."
  
  
  It seemed frozen. "Immediately, comrade." He pushed another one around the train.
  
  
  There can be no doubt about that look; it was an unsettling thrill. She suspected that he or Popov were afraid of egos, like all KGB employees.
  
  
  She slept through the rest of the trip to Leningrad. There I took a candid taxi to the airport and boarded a plane to Moscow. He used his concentration to reduce the tension that he felt. But when the device landed in Moscow, tensions returned. Shell of snow, and when I walked her out on the plane, I saw three men waiting for me. Odin around the men stepped forward and fell on top of me with a smile. Her very short blonde hair, thick and heavy body in the photo I took of her in Special Effects. see. It was Mikhail Barsnishek, the head of a special unit of the Russian secret police. I held out my hand, but he came over and greeted me.
  
  
  "Vasily," he said. "Good to see you again." He slapped me on the back.
  
  
  He smiled at her. "And it's nice to see you again, Mikhail."
  
  
  He stood next to me and put his arm around my shoulders.
  
  
  I didn't know the other two men. "Come on," said Barsnishek, " we'll go to the customs office and then to your hotel, and then you can recover there."
  
  
  "Thank you, dear other, please."
  
  
  He ordered one of the men to take my suitcase. He asked. "What was it like in America?" "Same thing, same thing. The revolution is coming soon. You can see it on TV every day ."
  
  
  "So cute, so cute.
  
  
  Her took her suitcase to the accompanying man. He was young and looked strong.Barsnishek had no trouble getting me to mimmo customs, and then we stopped in front of the train station, where two black limousines were waiting for us. Barsnishek and her such game in the first, two men - in the other. We have connected to Moscow traffic.
  
  
  I remembered that Barsnishek was married. "So,"I said," what about the women and children?"
  
  
  "Great, thanks." He looked at me sideways. Up close, I saw that he had a rectangular face with thick eyebrows and small brown eyes. Ego's lips were as fleshy as his chopsticks. There was an almost evil light in ego's eyes. "And you'll definitely see the burnt-out Dormouse, right, right?"
  
  
  My name didn't tell us anything. He nodded to her. "Yes, very much."
  
  
  Serial verification was triggered. Her, knew that even though we were friends, there was friction between us. I had the position he wanted; I had the power he wanted.
  
  
  "Tell me, Popova, "he said cheerfully," what report are you going to make about your trip to America?"
  
  
  He half turned and stared at him. Then he smiled at her. He said in a soft voice, " Mikhail, you know I report to the Kremlin, not to the secret police."
  
  
  Barsnishek gave a short laugh. 'Of course, of course. By the way, what happened to your coat?" Do you really need it in this weather?
  
  
  "In Leningrad, the ego was stolen."
  
  
  He clicked his tongue and shook his head. "These thieves are certainly unbearable."
  
  
  "Yes, I suppose so," I agreed. Hers, I hoped the topic was over.
  
  
  "I'll make sure that a new coat is brought to your hotel room immediately. Ah, we've already arrived.
  
  
  The car stopped in front of a large, ornate hotel. The driver got out and opened the door for us. Two other men in white uniforms hurried around the hotel. While one grabbed my suitcase, the other held the hotel door open for us.
  
  
  There was a thick carpet in the hotel lobby. There were antique items everywhere. I noticed that Barsnishek's attitude towards me was a bit cool. The two men who were with him did not enter. He stood next to me while she checked in, then left her and turned to him with a friendly smile.
  
  
  "Mikhail, an old comrade, is tired of traveling. Her hotel needs some rest."
  
  
  "But I thought maybe we could talk about something."
  
  
  "Soon, maybe, Mikhail. Now I want to rest."
  
  
  He was still smiling, but it was strained. "Sleep well, Vasily. We can talk soon.
  
  
  I waited for him to leave. The other men were waiting on the sidewalk. They play this game in the second car that left.
  
  
  I took the elevator to my room. The porter just put my suitcase open on the bed. He bowed and left as he entered. I realized that he had searched my suitcase. When he was gone, he looked around. There was a large brass four-poster bed in the room. Next to it was an old round chair with a purple velvet dressing gown and a washstand. A white chair with lots of wood carvings was placed against the wall. There were three days and two windows. One door led to the hallway, the second to the toilet, and the third to the bathroom. The window looked out on the Moscow city center, and I could see the Kremlin towers open in front of me. He looked behind the curtains, along the carpet, into the sink. I wanted it wherever a microphone might be hidden. I didn't find anything. There was a knock on the door.
  
  
  Opening it, she saw a man carrying a large silver tray. There were two bottles of Russian vodka with a glass. The man bowed for a moment. 'This is from comrade Mikhail Barsnisek ."
  
  
  "Just put it on the chair." He did so and left through the rooms. He knew that members of the Soviet hierarchy did not charge hotel guests a fee. Finally, they worked for the state. The man knew it, too. He opened one of the bottles and poured vodka into a glass. I kept it for the velvet-covered desk and noticed the phone on the table. Her plan was to call Barsnishek and thank Ego for the drink, but decided against it. He wondered if emu had said something wrong to her- not quite right, but something that didn't suit Vasily Popov. When we entered the hotel, he was cool. Was that the gesture that made it? Or didn't they? It was probably imagination.
  
  
  He went to the window and looked out at the floating snowflakes. When I opened it, I saw that one of the windows around it opened onto a narrow iron staircase that pointed down. Hers was on the fourth floor. It's nice to know that I have another way out if I ever need one. I drank the vodka, savoring its taste.
  
  
  Then I suddenly realized something. I didn't like the taste of vodka. When I thought about it, it puzzled me. It's all about the brain, and concepts in general. I drank her vodka again. I really liked it.
  
  
  The phone on the desk rang. When I picked up the phone, it dawned on me that this might be a Barnisec check to see if he'd received his vodka. But a hoarse female voice heard her.
  
  
  "Comrade Popov, you are talking to a hotel operator."
  
  
  He smiled at her. "All hotel operators should have the same voice as you."
  
  
  She was silent for a while. - For you, comrade, a conversation with Irina Moskowitz. Do you accept it?
  
  
  A moment later, a second female voice came through the line, this time lyrical but deep.
  
  
  "Comrade Popov?" Hello. "Welcome to Moscow."
  
  
  "Thank you. It's a great honor to be met by such a talented ballerina."
  
  
  "That's very kind of you." There was a brief silence. "I have heard a lot from you, comrade, from Serge Krashnov. He said I should get to know you better.
  
  
  "I know Serge, yes. She would also like to meet you."
  
  
  'Good. Will you see me dance tonight? Then there will be a small meeting, and maybe we can talk to each other."
  
  
  "Thank you so much, thank you."
  
  
  "Until tonight?"
  
  
  "I'm really looking forward to it." I hung up on her. So, I'll meet with my contact person tonight. And, presumably, I will also see Serge Krashnov, whom I allegedly already knew. I could feel the tension building in me again. The more people she met here, the easier it would be to make a mistake. It would be possible to escape in an isolated outpost anywhere in the world. But how do I escape around this city? This may have been the case as long as I had Popov's identity, but what if I was caught and his documents were lost? What then? When the phone rang again, his vodka nearly spilled. The horn took her. 'Yes?'It was the operator again. "One more conversation, comrade, with Sonny Laken. Do you accept it?
  
  
  I thought about it very quickly. Hema was Sonya Leiken? I didn't think about anything automatically, no one told me anything about her, even under hypnosis. The operator waited.
  
  
  "All right," I said. "But after that, I don't want to talk anymore. I'm trying to rest her."
  
  
  "All right, comrade."
  
  
  There was a brief silence. Then a loud girl's voice heard her. "Vasily, angel, why are you here and not at my place?"
  
  
  "Sonya," I said. "Nice to meet you ... hearing your voice again ... my dear."
  
  
  "Honey, you need to get to my place right away, and I already have vodka."
  
  
  Spouse? A friend? A mistress? WHO IS SHE? I didn't know what to say. This must have happened during the period when AX knew nothing about Kings. She wants him to come to her. But I had no idea where she was. "Vasily? Are you still there?" '
  
  
  "Yes, dear." Her voice stuttered. "It's nice to hear your voice."
  
  
  "You've already said it that way. Vasily, is something wrong? Its still your favorite, right?
  
  
  "Of course, dear."
  
  
  There was some relief in her voice. She was a friend. "I've been shopping all day. Angel, you need to see that lovely transparent shirt I bought her. She was silent for a while. - You know, her, undressed and here I am waiting for you. When are you coming?" '
  
  
  "Sonya ... I'd be with you by now, but I can't do it tonight. It's up to me to tell you about my latest mission ."
  
  
  Sonya was purring. "Oh, they never leave you alone?"
  
  
  "That's my job, honey."
  
  
  "Well, Vasily, I'll try to understand her this time. But you have to call me as soon as you're free again. I sit on your nails and bite until you come. Will you promise to call me as soon as possible?
  
  
  "I promise you that, honey." I tried to do it sincerely.
  
  
  "I'm waiting for you," she said, and hung up.
  
  
  I stared at my phone for a while before I lost contact. The room was very quiet and warm. My shirt was stuck to my back. He was sweating so much that sweat began to run down his arm.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 7
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I was just putting on a Russian-made tuxedo when the phone rang again. It was dark outside, and it looked like a storm was coming. I decided to wear a money belt all the time, because I didn't know when I would have to turn into a refugee around a member of the Kremlin elite. He picked it up.
  
  
  The hotel operator said, " The car is ready, comrade."
  
  
  "Thank you." I hung up on her. Things didn't go as planned. After that phone call from Sonny Laken, Edu ordered it to his room. When she was taken, she checked all the items on her money belt several times. I didn't know if I would need them, but if she could know exactly how long it took me to get ih and how to use ih. Its been practicing all day.
  
  
  He was in the bathroom when the hotel clerk knocked. He said he had a message for me. When she was told by emu to stick ego in the door, he did so and left. He dried himself and picked up the envelope. There was a ticket to the ballet with a note from Mikhail Barsnisek. The letter was written in Russian, and the nen said that Barsnisek, Krasnova, and her would be sitting next to each other during the ballet. Barnisek sent a car to pick me up.
  
  
  When he came out of the elevator and into the lobby, he saw that the two men had not sent a car, but had come with it. He crossed the thick carpet to them, wearing a new coat over his arm. Krasnova saw me first. His young face was beaming, and he came up to me with his hand outstretched. "Vasily!" he called out to greet. "Nice to see you again."
  
  
  Ego grabbed her arm and laughed. "You look beautiful, Seryozha," I said. "Do all the girls in Moscow go around with broken hearts?"
  
  
  He blushed slightly. "I'm only interested in one girl."
  
  
  Hers was laughing. "Oh yes, ballerina, what's her name again?" Barsnisek joined us and laughed. Krasnova shook his head. "You know who it is. Just wait until you see her dance." We came to the door where the car was waiting for us. "You'll fall in love with nah as much as I do."
  
  
  When we played such a game, in the car, her noticed that Serge Krasnova is even smarter than in the photo that she saw. He had blond hair slicked back from his face. Ego's facial features were angular, his eyes were sunk deep into the greenhouse and had the color of a dress when the sun was at its highest point. He had a wide, intelligent lobe.
  
  
  Her ego knew the story - he was a man on the verge of insanity. He was a genius, but with childish emotions. He was in love with Irinia Moskowitz, and everyone saw it clearly. They thought that as soon as he found out that Irinia had safely left Russia, he would snap. Such a disaster could give emu the last straw. He was a ticking time bomb, but if you saw him, you'd think he was bubbling with happiness. Ego life was an ego job as the head of the Soviet Institute of Marine Research.
  
  
  For dinner, caviar and all sorts of other expensive Zhirinovsky and delicious dishes were served. We ate together with other members of the Soviet elite who were on their way to the ballet. It was claimed that the Prime Minister would be there in the evening.
  
  
  As long as she's el, she knows a lot. For example, I felt that Mikhail Barnisek was watching me closely. He speared as much food as he could and popped it into his strong mouth. He immediately wiped his mouth with a napkin, then reloaded the plug and looked at me, but there didn't seem to be anything to say. Apparently, Mikhail Barnisek didn't speak when he arrived.
  
  
  But Seryozha wouldn't stop talking to us for a minute. He talked mostly about Irinia and where she danced. As for Serge, Irinia was the greatest work of art that Russia has ever known. He was smearing caviar on crackers and smiling broadly. Because he was so openly outgoing, it was hard to believe that he was on the verge of going insane. The restaurant we ate at was very posh. Not ordinary people came here, but only the highest elite of the Russian bureaucracy. While she was drinking, her eyes wandered around the hall. He looked at the fat, well-groomed men and women who sat and ate in their expensive clothes. Such a life can make you immune to what is happening around you and in the rest of the world. If you went to ballet around expensive hotels without even driving a car, the peasants and common people would seem far removed from your own life. The hierarchy of Nazi Germany must have felt much the same way - immune and so confident in their world that they couldn't believe it would ever happen again. I looked at Barsnisek and Krasnov, and thought that they were not much different from them. Another test began against me as soon as we played such a game, in the car, on the way to the theater. Hers was sitting between him and Serge. The big car whispered smoothly through the Moscow traffic. When the drivers saw the ego car arriving, it seemed that all the other cars were dodging. Mostly old trucks passed by.
  
  
  "Tell me, Vasily," Barnisek said suddenly, " what do you think of Sonya?"
  
  
  His hands were in his lap, and he was looking out the side window. "I haven't seen her yet," I said. "She called, but I haven't seen her yet." He looked at Barnisek.
  
  
  He raised his eyebrows. "How am I doing, Vasily? Don't you need a woman? Did you do anything else in America besides your mission? There was no humor in his voice, though he smiled.
  
  
  He stared at Barnisek for a long moment before saying something. "Mikhail, I don't see the point in these questions. With them ferret as it returned, you are acting suspiciously. She'd like to know why. '
  
  
  Seryozha took my hand and squeezed it gently. Like he was trying to warn me about something. Her ignored it.
  
  
  The sequential check looked awkward. He scratched his throat. "Another Vasily, I don't understand why you think I doubt you. You definitely have nothing to hide, don't you?
  
  
  "Whether I do it or not is up to you. Her, I understand that there are tensions between us, but if you continue to ask questions, I will pass her on to the Kremlin."
  
  
  Barnisek licked his lips. "Listen, Vasily, why do you think there is any friction between us? I always thought we were the closest of friends."
  
  
  "Maybe she underestimated you, Mikhail. I'll wait for her.
  
  
  The rest of the drive was uncomfortably quiet. Serge tried to start a conversation twice, but quickly gave up.
  
  
  The silence continued even as the car dropped us off in front of the theater. A long line formed in front of the theater, then disappeared around the corner. It was a row around four people wide. Mikhail, Sergey, and his team went through it, and entered without difficulty.
  
  
  The lobby of the theater was completely red - red carpet, red walls, red ceiling. A huge crystal chandelier sprawled across most of the ceiling. Serge led us to the elevator that took us to our cabin. Even inside, the elevator was covered in red velvet.
  
  
  When we got up, I noticed that I was smiling faintly. Residents of mother Russia could not afford televisions or cars, and often even good clothes, but the cost of ballet and ballet theater was easily covered. Funds for the construction and improvement of beautiful theaters were always available.
  
  
  When the elevator was at the top, Mikhail apologized for going to . Serge and I walked across the thick carpet to our box. Suddenly Seryozha took me by the shoulder. I asked her. "Are we okay?"
  
  
  But what was there to read on his handsome face was an expression of concern. "Vasily," he said in a calm tone, " isn't that what you meant when you said you were going to let the Kremlin talk about Mikhail?"
  
  
  "I have enough ego persevering courage. If he's suspicious, why doesn't he report it to me? What are all these questions for? »
  
  
  Serge laughed indulgently. "You have to understand that Michael is not like you or me. I didn't study at the university, so I ended up in the army. The man is incredibly ambitious. He will do everything to move forward. You know, he envies your position, he wants to take your place in the Kremlin. That he has come this far with his limited intelligence is a compliment to ego ambition.
  
  
  Of course, he's ruthless. If he wants to embarrass you in the Kremlin, he won't let you down."
  
  
  She smiled at the rheumatism. "Seryozha, you just gave me a great reason to report Barnisek to the Kremlin. There is no place for petty quarrels and ambitions. We all work with the same goal in mind, comrade."
  
  
  "Then hers, please think about it. In that case, should we limit ourselves to Barnisek's methods?"
  
  
  He was silent for a while. "Great," I said firmly. 'Me
  
  
  I'll think about my decision. Maybe it can still be a fun evening ."
  
  
  "Believe me, seeing Irinia dance is a pleasure for everyone."
  
  
  We chose the locations. Barnisek came back, and when we started playing this game, the orchestra started tuning the instruments. The seats around us filled up, and the orchestra played a few pieces. Then the ballet began.
  
  
  When the curtain opened, the audience fell silent. It wasn't a sudden silence, but rather a commotion that quickly turned into a few scattered conversations, then nothing more. It seemed like an eternity before the curtain was opened. Sergei slowly faded. He felt Serge push himself against the end of the chair. Spotlights swept across the dancers on the stage. The audience seemed to hold their breath. The band was playing softly, and a few dancers were bowing, twirling, and jumping. Then, they suddenly stopped. Backstage, they held out their hands to the left. The orchestra played a light and cheerful tune.
  
  
  Irinia Moskowitz danced on stage. The audience breathed a sigh of relief. There was a huge round of applause. It was so loud that I couldn't hear the band. Seryozha was already standing. The other people around us also stood up. They stood and clapped their hands, and the building seemed to shake with the noise. Then the dancing stopped.
  
  
  The band was no longer playing. Irinia Moscovitch first bowed straight, then to the left. There was a smile on her face, a slight smile, as if she had done it many times. The applause grew louder. Serge was clapping his hands excitedly and enthusiastically. Mikhail and I were also standing. I've never heard such a standing ovation. The applause grew louder until I thought my eardrums would burst. And Irenia bows and bows.
  
  
  The applause faded a little. They continued for a while, then seemed to continue to decline. Eventually, it turned into scattered applause, which turned into silence. Immediately, the orchestra played a light-hearted tune. Irinia started dancing again. Only then did Seryozha stop clapping. The audience was playing this game again, and there was a shuffling sound. Serge's hands were red from clapping. Her ego's eyes caught hers, a strange, wild look. He surpassed everyone in this theater. Ego's eyes were fixed on Irinia as she danced, and he didn't even blink once. He was with her, he was on the stage; he seemed to move with her, to lead her.
  
  
  Her, looked at Mikhail. He's been silent ever since the ferret like us played such a game. He was looking at the stage with interest, his fleshy face immobile. This man was my open enemy. He couldn't resist it. Like Popov, he could deal with him by threatening the Kremlin. But Serge's approach was different. Predicting the actions of the ego would be almost impossible. Her, knew how he felt about Irinia. Maybe this will be my weapon when the time comes.
  
  
  Finally, he turned his attention to the stage where Irinia was dancing. In this scene, she was poetry, a fluid vision that moved from one fluid movement to the next. The orchestral music complemented her, but still seemed to drown out her vision. I was fascinated by the perfection of her dance. Every movement felt light. She pirouetted, jumped, and danced-it all seemed so natural.
  
  
  We weren't close to the stage. Our box was located on the right, almost two meters above the stage level. But Irinia Moskowitz's beauty was unmistakable. It glowed from afar, through its heavy theatrical makeup. The jersey couldn't hide her body. I know that I feel only a small part of what the ballerina meant to Serge Krashnov. Time passed quickly, and he sat and feverishly watched the girl dance.
  
  
  When the curtain closed for the break, there was a new round of applause. Irinia went to the curtain and bowed again to the applause. She threw a wave of her hand into the hall, then disappeared behind the curtain again. Even when she disappeared, the applause continued for a long time. When Seryozha finally stopped clapping and selling, Mikhail Barnisek spoke to them for the first time since we entered the theater. He asked. "Are we going to have a cigarette?"
  
  
  Serge and I nodded in agreement. We got up and walked with the rest of the audience to the elevator. When we went downstairs, there was talk of the first ballerina in Russia, who was said to be not only one of the five greatest ballerinas who ever lived, but also the greatest ballerina who ever lived. In the lobby, it was offered to Serge and Mikhail in a Russian cigarette. While we were smoking cigarettes in the busy lobby, Seryozha said: "Ah, Vasily, wait until you meet her. In this scene, you can't see how beautiful she is. You have to see her up close, see her eyes, then you will only see how beautiful she is."
  
  
  "If you continue to vote like this, Seryozha," Mikhail said, " we will start to believe that you like this girl." Serge smiled. 'How is she? I don't love her. She'll be my wife, you'll see. When the tournai is over, she will marry me."
  
  
  "I'm very curious about her," I said.
  
  
  We smoked cigarettes and listened to the chatter around us. We were standing on a busy corner for a day. From time to time, he peeked out to where the crowd was sitting, hoping to catch a glimpse of Russia's first ballerina.
  
  
  Serge asked: "Do you want a drink somewhere, then a ballet, or go straight to the party?"
  
  
  Mikhail shrugged. "Let him tell Vasily that," he said. There was no kindness in his voice. He deliberately avoided talking to me, and when he mentioned my name, there was a sharp sound in his voice.
  
  
  Serge looked at me. I asked her: "Is there vodka at the party?"
  
  
  "Of course," Serge said. "There is everything. Including Irinia ."
  
  
  "Then why don't we go there directly?"
  
  
  "All right," Serge said. "I have an appointment with Irinia at yahoo. That would be best."
  
  
  The chandelier in the hall dimmed, became transparent, darkened. The buzzer sounded. People wanted a place to put out their cigarettes. Some people had already entered the hall. "Let's go," Serge said. "The elevator will be busy."
  
  
  We found an ashtray, and he stood some distance away while Serge and Mikhail stubbed out their cigarettes. They stepped aside and he took one last breath, then leaned over and dropped the cigarette into the ashtray. When he got up, he looked out the glass door. There were people in the snow, hoping to catch a glimpse of their favorite ballerina. My eyes flickered over a multitude of faces.
  
  
  Suddenly, he strained so hard that he hit the ashtray. I just saw her outside. Mikhail was already on his way to the elevator. Serge came up to me and grabbed my arm. "What happened, Vasily? You look as white as Holst's. Is something wrong? I shook my head, and Seryozha led me to the elevator. He didn't dare speak. My brain tensed. In the elevator, Serge looked at me intently. She saw a familiar face in the crowd outside. The face of the real Vasily Popov.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 8
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  As exciting as it was for us to watch Irinia Moskowitz, not so many people watched the second part of the ballet. She was adorable, and that's what I meant when I told Serge I wanted to meet her, but even though I watched the scene, I didn't see much of her.
  
  
  Popov was still alive! How could this man survive in the icy waters of the Gulf of Finland? It was nothing more than human. But let's assume that he survived and returned to Russia. When he gets in contact with Barnisec, he could break my cover. He glanced at Barnisek. Ego's face was still as he watched the ballet. Yes, that would be great for him. Popov will destroy my cover, and Irina-Irinia's life will no longer be worth a ballet shoe. Popov undoubtedly knew that she was a double spy working for AX. So Irinia and I have to believe it.
  
  
  But how would Popov do it? How did Em manage to convince Barnisek that what he said was true?
  
  
  I had all the ego papers and documents. As for the hierarchy in Russia, it was Vasily Popov. What could he do to convince Barnisek? Nothing like that. His word would have been against mine, and I had all the papers. So maybe I had a little more time. Maybe he won't reveal my disguise right away.
  
  
  But things should go faster now. Eventually, Popov will have a chance to convince Barnisek. He won't be able to stay hidden for long. I'll have to contact Irinia Moskowitz during yahoo tonight. I'll have to tell you about Popov. Maybe she already knew what was going on at the institute. So there is nothing left to keep us in Russia. Maybe we can leave before Popov has time to convince anyone that her ego is fake."
  
  
  Otherwise, the ballet was beautiful, and Irina danced superbly. Serge Nam didn't lean back in his chair for a second. Even the motionless Mikhail Barnisek, his face frozen, seemed to be fascinated by the beautiful ballerina. Before it was over, she was interested in Hey, almost as much as Sergey and Mikhail were. After that, the audience went berserk. There was a lot of applause and a stampede, and Serge pretended to be very impressed. He slapped Michael and me on the back, applauding. Irinia had to come back seven times, and all the time, during the loud applause and shouts of congratulations, she remained calm and bowed with that little smile on her lips.
  
  
  Then it was all over, and we were swept out in a crowd. Our car was waiting on the sidewalk.
  
  
  Even when we were talking, Seryozha only talked about ballet. "Vassily," he exclaimed, " tell me that she was magnificent. She was gorgeous, wasn't she?
  
  
  "Yes," I agreed. "I've never seen anything like it. It's the best I've ever seen."
  
  
  Mikhail Barnisek was silent.
  
  
  "Wait until you meet her," Serge said. "When you see her on stage, you will see someone in the distance, in the distance, but when you see her up close, you talk to her-ah, Vasili, she is so hot. And she didn't change, despite all the admiration. When it comes to dancing, she is modest. She works hard for it, but doesn't talk about it. It's beautiful not only on the outside, but also on the inside ."
  
  
  "I like to believe that."
  
  
  'You'll see. You will meet her, and then you will see.
  
  
  Seryozha radiated a strange excitement. He was like a child talking about calf love. He didn't talk about a woman like a man, but like a child, about the teacher he loved.
  
  
  The party was organized by Irinia's fans. On this occasion, one of the most exclusive restaurants in Moscow was rented. Several more cars stopped in front of the door. Well-dressed couples passed through the front door. As for the theater, there was a group of people watching around.
  
  
  Mikhail looked at the waiting crowd with disgust. "How do you think they knew she was coming here? Ih intelligence should work better than ours ."
  
  
  He looked at him out of the corner of his eye. I told her. "Ours? Isn't that right, comrade? Don't we all work together?
  
  
  Barnisek blushed. "Of course, comrade."
  
  
  We were standing in a small line of cars waiting to stop in front of the entrance. Barnisek fell silent again.
  
  
  Finally, our car pulled up to the curb. The doorman came up to her and opened the door. Serge got out first, and I followed. Her, looked at the faces of the crowd. If Popov had been in the theater, there was a chance he would have been here, too. Her ego couldn't see her. The doorman led us to the door and opened it. We went inside.
  
  
  There were a lot of people there. Oni such a game that the tables are placed along the wall. Everyone seemed to be excited, and everyone was drinking.
  
  
  "This way," Serge said. Mikhail and I followed him to a long table that seemed to take up the entire room. There were all sorts of drinks and edas. The conversations around us were soft-spoken and seemed to be mostly about Irinia Moskowitz.
  
  
  I wasn't hungry, but Sergey and Mikhail probably were. While he poured vodka into a glass, they filled a plate with crackers, caviar, and various cheeses. Then we somehow fell apart. He caught a glimpse of Mikhail talking to four gruff figures in the corner. He guessed that they were part of the Stormtroopers ' ego. Serge was standing at the front door, looking tense from the outside. He found the wall and leaned against it, sipping vodka. The whispers of voices around me seemed like a prelude. Everyone was waiting for the famous ballerina.
  
  
  The vodka in my glass was half full as a wave of excitement swept through the restaurant. It was like a strong breeze through a cornfield. No one was supposed to tell me-Irinia Moskowitz was here.
  
  
  There was some commotion and confusion outside as the people around the girl gathered. I couldn't see her from where I was standing. I saw Serge jump out and hug her, and he blocked me from nah nah. Human activity surged toward the entrance. As they passed mimmo me, she took another sip of vodka. Serge said he would introduce me to her, so I didn't know they would approach me.
  
  
  The crowd in the restaurant took the girl away from the people on the street. Then I saw that she was taken away not by the crowd, but by four beautiful men, the same four with whom Mikhail Barnisek was talking. Once Irinia was inside, the four of them went outside again to disperse the crowd.
  
  
  The girl was completely surrounded by people. He still couldn't see her clearly. Serge was beside her, his arm around her waist. He beamed at everyone. From time to time, he leans down to whisper something in the girl's ear. Ego's hand guided her forward. They came up to me licking.
  
  
  Nah had a beautiful wig, I saw her do it. During the ballet, she put on an ego. It hung loose now, framing her fragile face. She was a lot smaller than she looked on stage. Her face was made up of many ovals: only her face was oval, her brown eyes were oval, her chin was oval, and her mouth was oval. It had less makeup on than . Nah still had that little smile that sometimes I thought was her smile for the masses. When she looked at Serge, he saw nothing but admiration, our love, our respect. He looked just like the rest of her fans. Apparently, Irenia did not share the ego's inclination to marry.
  
  
  And then Serge led her in my direction. The crowd was still sitting around Nah, congratulating her. As they were walking toward me halfway through the restaurant, I saw four Barnisec stormtroopers heading toward them. They told the crowd that they would talk to everyone, but that this place needed to be vacated. The crowd on either side of nah moved away. Suddenly Seryozha and Irinia stood in front of me. He got the same smile as everyone else, including Serge.
  
  
  "Vasily!" said Serge excitedly. "A vote of confidence." Ego's hand still rested on her narrow waist and guided her. "Irinia, my dear, can I introduce you to her? Vasily Popov ".
  
  
  She held out her hand to me, her oval lips widening in laughter. Ego took her hand and held it for a long time. Her beauty and grace on stage were nothing compared to the attentive gaze.
  
  
  "I liked ballet," I said. Her, knew that the ferret was with them, as she entered, she should have heard, they are stupid words.
  
  
  She smiled excitedly. "Thank you, Mr. Popov. I heard you just got back from the Americas.
  
  
  He glanced at Serge, who clearly didn't approve of our conversation. He began to blush slowly. "Yes," I told her to Irinii. Then he turned to Serge. "Irinia has nothing to drink, Serge. After all the dancing, the young lady is thirsty ."
  
  
  "Ah," said Serge. I understand her something. He bowed to Irinia for a moment. "I'll be right back."
  
  
  As he made his way through the crowd and disappeared out of sight, her father looked over Irinia's shoulder at the faces around him. Most people were talking; they weren't ignoring Irenia, but ih attention was a bit abstracted. Sometimes I would catch a glimpse of someone watching them as they were about to leave me. She was still laughing.
  
  
  Her voice dropped to a whisper. "Irinia,"I said," her nickname is Carter, a friend of yours from the Americas." She blinked. Her long lashes fluttered. Stahl's laughter is quieter. The look she gave me was no longer one of restrained interest - she looked tense. Her brown eyes covered my face. "Eh-simple?"
  
  
  I looked around to make sure we weren't being overheard. "There's a lot of it around," I said. "I'm here to take you around Russia." Her tongue came out and slowly slid over her lower lip. Her, understood her position. If she admitted that she knew why she was here, she would actually admit that she was a double spy. If it had turned out to be an agent of the Kremlin's secret police or the real Vasily Popov, her life wouldn't have been worth a dime. She won't come out of the rooms alive. You wouldn't say something like that out loud.
  
  
  "I'm afraid I don't understand her, comrade," she said. Her breasts rose and fell faster under the neckline of her dress.
  
  
  "Believe me, Irinia. I can show you the Paris ID cards if you need them, but I just don't have time for that right now. The real Vasily Popov is still alive and in the audience here in Moscow. He'll probably reveal my disguise soon, so I need to finish my work quickly. The intention was to gather information about the Soviet Institute of Marine Research. Did you succeed?"
  
  
  'To me ... I don't know... what are you talking about, comrade?"
  
  
  I saw Serge come out from behind the long chair, a glass in each hand. "Irinia, Serge is on his way. I don't have time to tell you more. Look, you worked at AX. The conditions were three years of information in exchange for a million dollars in a Swiss account and US citizenship. Three years have almost passed. I came here to lead you around Russia. But first we need to learn something about this institute, which is run by Sergey. What's the matter? '
  
  
  She reaches out and puts her hand on mine. There was a flicker of concern in her eyes. Serge came over to lick, and I saw her over her shoulder. He smiled as he approached us. She bit her lower lip. "His ... his hotel would be ..."
  
  
  "If in a minute it was no longer our decision. Serge comes up to us. Where can we talk to each other?
  
  
  She looked down, and her long hair covered her face. Then, all of a sudden, she looked like she had made up her mind. "In my apartment," she said simply. "I have an appointment with Serge at yahoo."
  
  
  "Yes, I know that. Later, when will he bring you home?
  
  
  'Good. Maybe I'll get to know her more tonight. I'll try to persuade ego to take me to the institute." She gave me her address.
  
  
  And then something strange happened. She was still holding my hand. We looked at each other for a moment. She held her breath. I watched her breasts rise and fall, and she knew I was watching. He felt attracted to her, and knew she felt the same way. She blushed. Ee took her by the hand, and she didn't try to pull it out.
  
  
  "You are a very beautiful woman, Irinia," I said.
  
  
  I just let go of her hand when Seryozha joined us.
  
  
  "Please," he said happily. He gave Irinia odin around the glasses. "I hope you enjoy it." Then he frowned. "Irinia? Something happened? '
  
  
  She shook her head. "Of course not, Seryozha." She smiled at me, the same smile he gave Serge and the crowd. "It was a pleasure to meet you, Comrade Popov."
  
  
  "I looked at Serge. "You were right, Serge. She's a beautiful woman."
  
  
  Irinia grabbed Serge's arm. "Can we go back to the others?"
  
  
  "As you wish, dear."
  
  
  Her, looked at them. I felt a strong connection with this woman. It was something physical, fundamental; and if she wasn't very wrong, she thought so too. I watched her charm everyone in the room. About three hours later, Mikhail Barnisek suddenly appeared next to me and stayed with me on a round trip to yahoo. I didn't have another chance to talk to Irinia. She floated from one to the other, with Serge as an extension of her arm. Several times he noticed Serge trying to kiss her ear as they walked. Each time she shook her head and walked away. Irina caught my eye three times during yahoo. He watched her every move. Every time we looked at each other, she was the first to look away, blushing slightly. And when the party was over, I saw her leave with Serge. Mikhail Barnisek was standing next to me. He, too, had seen Irenia leave. He looked at me. "It's been a long night, comrade. Can I let the car come?"
  
  
  He nodded to her. Many of the guests had already left. Those who stayed behind poured themselves drinks. There were no drunkards here, but some of the young men had drunk too much.
  
  
  Barnisek and I walked in silence through the Moscow silence. Only once did he grab his gold cigarette case and offer me a cigarette. When we got up, he scratched his throat.
  
  
  After a while we passed by, and he asked: "Tell me, Vasily, are you going to report to the Kremlin tomorrow?"
  
  
  Corkscrew ignored her, saying, " Irinia Moskowitz is as big as a woman when she dances, isn't she?"
  
  
  Barnisek pursed his lips. "Listen, Vasily, her, I hope you don't think I'm trying to get anything out of you."
  
  
  He half turned and looked at him. "What should I think, Barnisek?"
  
  
  He swayed awkwardly. "Ah, do you want to have some fun with me, comrade? Don't you want to forget everything I said?
  
  
  Her, didn't say anything.
  
  
  Barnisek passed a hand over his lips. "Comrade, I've worked hard to reach my current position. She wouldn't have Stahl do anything that would jeopardize my position in the government."
  
  
  "Of course not, comrade."
  
  
  He touched my arm. "Then, Vasilia, please forget these stupid questions. Please forget it in your best interest. '
  
  
  The car stopped in front of the hotel. Barsnishek was still holding my hand. I looked at his small eyes. They looked at me pleadingly.
  
  
  "I'll think about it," I said. The driver opened the door and he got out.
  
  
  As the car pulled away, he saw Barnisek looking around the back window. Only then did I realize how important Vasily Popov was. Emu managed to save the fate of the head of the special department of the secret police, Mikhail Barnisek. Then another thought struck me. Such a powerful man would have friends, equally powerful friends, friends who didn't need documents to know the real Popov. Her, felt that time was running out. I was supposed to find out all about the institute tonight.
  
  
  I dive into the hotel entrance. The person for has already given my key. He went upstairs with two other passengers in the elevator. When I entered her room, I had the key in my hand. But as soon as the door swung open, I knew something was wrong. Sergei wasn't burning. The window to the fire escape was open. Frowning at her, he ran to the window and closed it. Then I heard sounds from the side of the bed. It was touched by the world button, and Brylev turned it on.
  
  
  She stretched lazily, blinked her eyes, and gave me a sleepy smile. She was a strong young woman with short brown hair. She was lying on the floor in my room. "How are you?"
  
  
  "Dear?" Her hair hung down in front of her eyes. She pulled the blankets up to her neck. The smile spread. "I can't wait any longer," she said. She threw back the blankets. She was indeed a strong woman, which was easy to see. She was naked.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 9
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  She held out her hands to me. "Take off your clothes, honey, and come to me. I couldn't wait for you to come to me, she had to come to you." Then it became known to her-her voice. "Sonya," I said. "You shouldn't have done that."
  
  
  She waved a finger. "But I did it." "Come on, get undressed. I've missed you too long.
  
  
  It wasn't right. I knew that if only Sonya had kissed me, my camouflage would have been exposed. She knew the real Popov ego from his habits and the way he had sex with her.
  
  
  "Sonya," I said. "I'd love to ..."
  
  
  She jumped out of bed and bumped into me. Nah had a curvy body with firm, powerful legs. The cut-outs at her waist gave the impression that she had laced them up. Her thighs were soft and inviting. She slowly approached me and moved her hands up and down in front of her body.
  
  
  "This body had nothing to do," she said. "It's not a body that feels good when it had nothing to do. It's a body to play with and love ."
  
  
  My crevice hit the door. "Sonya," I said. And then she quickly closed the distance between us.
  
  
  She reached out her hands and applied ih to my face. At the same time, she pressed her body against mine. Her red lips parted and pressed against mine. Her breath was sweet, and I could feel her body rubbing against mine. There was fire in it. She grabs my hand and places one of her nipples around her breasts. Then she tilted her head back a little.
  
  
  She looked at me strangely for a moment, and her green eyes were confused. It became known-hey, you should have known I wasn't Popov. But then she got me she's free. She put her hands behind my head and pressed ih to her lips. At the same time, she began to deftly undress me.
  
  
  We immediately went to bed. The fire raged in my loins. He quickly reached the point of no return. This woman knew how to excite a man. She knew all the moves and was an excellent ih performer. She takes me by the wrists and puts her hands where she wants them, and keeps telling me what a great man she is, and that she was consumed by a fire that only she could extinguish.
  
  
  No emotions. It was an animal hunger for the bodies of another other. He didn't have a mutual attraction to Irinia Moskowitz. It was a different hunger.
  
  
  We're confused. My lips slid all over her body, my hair all over my body. We huddled together, rolling on the bed. Her hands were on my neck, she was biting my ears, my neck, my chest. Our bodies were wet and shiny.
  
  
  And then we stopped.
  
  
  Hers was lying next to her. He sat up on one elbow and looked at Nah. She opened her green eyes and let them slide over my naked body. Its done the same to her. She was gorgeous, a web woman, voluptuous in all her forms. Her all-too-good examination of her entire body. Then her, looked at her face with its wide-knuckled coquette, slightly lowered lips. She closed her green eyes.
  
  
  "Come on," she said.
  
  
  Then she started walking. She seemed to come alive with pleasure. I've never felt this way before. I couldn't care less about her body and my desire for it. She snuggled up to me, moving back and forth, up and down, and her hands explored my body, doing extremely feminine things to me. Her life seemed to sway with the effort she put into it. We moved simultaneously and separately, moving in circular waves.
  
  
  And she kept saying how cool she was.
  
  
  It was soft, very soft. We both let out small sounds of pleasure. We built up our egos slowly. We were kids on the beach, building a castle all over the sand. We put the foundation around warm wet sand and built nen. The walls were finished, but it was necessary to prepare for the high tide. Waves rise, fall on another, and dance to our castle. Each of the outdoor activities seemed stronger than the previous one. When the walls were finished, it was the roof's turn. It was a castle of completion and more. The waves were part of the ego. This woman was a lock, her body and ego. And he was a wave.
  
  
  Then it happened. Her lush, glistening body pressed against mine. It was an overwhelming counter-wave. Hers, felt it rise high, it started to crumble, and then hers, threw itself at nah. The lock had tasted her, shattered her ego in one giant blow. His mouth raged into her most private parts, touching every nook and cranny, as they said.
  
  
  And I barely heard her scream.
  
  
  Then we lie down next to each other, putting our head on the pillow. Hers was still in her, lost in the perfection of her love art.
  
  
  In a low voice, she asked: "Who are you?"
  
  
  "It is clear that I am not Vasily Popov."
  
  
  "Very clearly," she said, looking at my face. The lie came to me very quickly. She pulled out of me effortlessly. "This is a new kind of security check," I said. "Just like Vasily, her agent. We and a number of other agents were ordered to assume a different identity, a different one. Vasily pretends to be another agent, and I pretend to be him. The intention is to find out if the agents have any unusual friends or acquaintances."
  
  
  She raised an eyebrow. "Is it unusual?"
  
  
  He smiled at her. "In one respect, Sonya. You're too good to lie in the trash."
  
  
  She smiled dreamily at me. "I don't care if I'll ever see her again Vasily Popov." We had to go to sleep because I felt tired . I woke up when I felt her move. I opened my eyes and saw her going to the bathroom. Hers, I thought she was putting her own clothes in here.
  
  
  He reached out. It was a very long time ago when he was completely satisfied. I was wondering what kind of relationship Sonya had with Vasily Popov. If he could stick to such a diet day in and day out, he would be more of a man than he thought.
  
  
  He turned his back on the bathroom door and grabbed a cigarette. As I picked it up, I heard the bathroom door open again. He pulled her sharply and turned to Sonia.
  
  
  She was wearing a sweater, a skirt, and a French beret. In her hand was a shiny automatic revolver. She held the ego firmly aimed at me.
  
  
  Her brow furrowed. "What does that mean, Sonya?"
  
  
  She gave a wry laugh. "That means the thread of the game-Mr. Carter."
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 10
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  He took a drag on his cigarette and blew smoke in Sonny's direction. She stopped at the bathroom door and pointed a shiny revolver at me.
  
  
  "All right," I said. "You know who I am. What will happen now?
  
  
  She laughed again. "Well, honey, you get out of bed and get dressed. We need that somewhere to go. Someone is waiting for us."
  
  
  I had an idea of who this person was. I pulled back the sheets and got out of the trash can. He stubbed out his cigarette and reached for his money belt. As I got dressed, I asked her, " What about this yahoo of ours? Why did you go to bed with me when you knew who he was?
  
  
  "I had to catch you off guard. Believe me, it was a comedy. You're very good. cute, maybe even better than Vasily. A woman would be crazy if you lay in bed with her and then didn't date you. You are a very good lover ." His was dressed. The money belt was around my waist. It seemed to me that I could remove the revolver from nah without much effort. I thought so. He just hoped that she wasn't as good a fighter as the owner, otherwise she would have easily been disarmed if that revolver tried to grab her.
  
  
  I asked her. "Was it better that you got into comedy too?"
  
  
  I saw her blush. She pointed the revolver at me. "If you don't mind, we'll take the fire escape through the windows." There's no point in giving you the opportunity to warn someone about meeting your friends in the lobby." She put the revolver against the window. "Come on, get out, okay?"
  
  
  I put on my coat and opened the window. The night was dark and cold. Snow hit me in the face as I finally stepped onto the fire escape. Sonya was right behind me, too close again. Her, noticed that hey lacked the talent for such things. It looked like she was doing someone a favor, and he knew who it was. But Hey played along, leaving her under the delusion that she'd forced me to comply. I want to see who she leads me to. And take him to the hotel to talk to this figure.
  
  
  She climbed out of the windows after me and followed me down the stairs. The lights of Moscow twinkled around us like ice crystals. There were few cars on the snowy streets. Only an idiot could pass through these streets at this hour. An idiot or an agent.
  
  
  Vasily Popov parked his car at the end of the alley next to the hotel. He was waiting for us on the street, and I walk like a polar bear back and forth, rubbing my unwavering hands. When he saw us arrive, he remained motionless. With the scar on ego's cheek, the smile looked like a natural cut. I realized that he had the same face that I always saw in the mirror. When we reached him, he was leaning against the car with his hands clasped together.
  
  
  "How sweet, so sweet," he said to Sonya. "Were there any other difficulties?"
  
  
  Sonny's face was red from the cold and snow. If she blushed now, no one would notice. "No problem," she said softly.
  
  
  Vasily Popov looked healthy. He didn't look like he was injured or frozen in the icy waters of the Gulf of Finland.
  
  
  He nodded at me. "Then we'll finally meet again, Mr. Carter. Could you come in, please? It was an order, not a corkscrew. He opened the door for me.
  
  
  The car's heating was turned on. He slid across the backseat to the other side. Sonya stepped in behind me, still holding the revolver pointed at me. Vasily Popov got behind the wheel.
  
  
  He turned around halfway.
  
  
  "Her hotel would like to get her papers and ID cards," he said with a smirk. When emu handed her the documents, he continued: "I couldn't go to my superiors without good credentials. There may be doubts as to whether Hema was the real Popov. Since it is possible that my superiors will believe you, they would have decided to wait until I have the necessary documents." He tapped his papers. "There can be no doubt now."
  
  
  I asked her. "How did you know who she was?"
  
  
  "You're sure we're stupid, Mr. Carter. I've been suspecting Irinia Moskowitz for almost a year. I haven't told anyone about my suspicions yet, because I want to be absolutely sure. Did you think we didn't know that she was providing information to the United States? Finally, three years is a long time, sir, to take such a risk."
  
  
  "Contact person," I said, " the intermediary between Irinia and AX, that's how you found out."
  
  
  "Ah," he said, smiling, " not exactly. Unfortunately, the contact didn't survive the torture before he was able to reveal what her hotel was. But she learned that an American agent was going to Russia. She knows that this visit has something to do with our famous ballerina. You're going to do something important to her, I thought.
  
  
  It was dangerous to assume my identity, so what matters is what you and Irinia had in mind.
  
  
  Her brow furrowed. "Something's missing, Popov," I said. "Okay, you got a contact, but he didn't know who I was. He told Irinia that an agent would contact her, but even he didn't know who the agent was."
  
  
  Popov looked at me like a mother looking at a child who doesn't understand something. "You underestimate yourself, Mr. Carter. Have you ever thought that we have nothing to do with you? We know that you are a master of disguise. And when you disguised yourself as me, it was easy for me to spot you. I recognized you when you boarded that little fishing trawler. He nodded to her. "How did you survive in the icy waters of the Gulf of Finland, Popov?" "I was wearing a rubber suit like a diver."
  
  
  It was then that I realized how I felt when I was working with Popov-a smooth material instead of the ego of the skin. The trawler could not have been further away than Russian President Vladimir Putin. All the emu had to do was swim to nah and choose a different route to Russia. He looked at Sonya. Her broad face was still, expressionless. She pulled on her sweater beautifully, and the thought of what was under that sweater and what we hadn't done an hour ago made my blood start to race again.
  
  
  "But we're lost, Mr. Carter," Popov said.
  
  
  "Even if it sounds silly, I'll ask you. What do you plan to do with Irinia Moskowitz? Why are you in Russia? What kind of locality do you have here in Russia?
  
  
  He smiled ruefully at her. "My locality is Russia's double Popova," I said. "First of all, I need to find out that Russian women fuck differently than other women. "Secondly, I have to search for it in a giant reservoir in Siberia, in order to carry out an ego explosion so that the whole of Russia is washed away."
  
  
  Sonny's face appeared after a smile. Popov nodded at me. "I thought so, it was stupid to ask. As I'm sure you know, we have our ways, Mr. Carter. There's a place where Sonya and I can get you to talk.
  
  
  He turned around and took the car with him. Sonya was still looking at me. She said ," We'll bring ego to my apartment."
  
  
  Popov went. I still believed I could get the gun out of Sonny's hands. She was an arm's length away from me. He was able to beat off the revolver with a backhand blow, lean forward and stab Popov in the neck. And then? Popov was driving. If he loses control of the steering wheel and drives the car into a house or lamppost, it can be risky. I decided to wait a little longer.
  
  
  It didn't take long. Popov turned the corner several times and drove down the alley to the back entrance of an apartment building. The building was almost as ornate as my hotel. It must have been Sonny's car, because Popov had parked Ego in a reserved spot. Open in front of us was a door on the side of the building. Now the snow shell is stronger. The night was like a black floating leaf with popcorn swirling above it. I could feel the Cold through my coat. I realized that Sonya was almost freezing in her sweater and skirt.
  
  
  Popov went out first. He opened the back door and raised his hand in front of the revolver. Sonya handed emu the gun and went out. Her, followed her. Popov nodded toward the door. "Go to the elevator, Mr. Carter. Please go very carefully."
  
  
  Hers, I knew my movements would be somewhat restricted when hers was in this building. If she was going to get that gun, it was going to happen on the street.
  
  
  Sonya was on my left, and Popov was right behind me. He wasn't close enough for her to reach out to take the weapon from him. And he knew Popov would have a harder time drawing a revolver than Sonny. But there was a way out.
  
  
  We were almost at the door. Sonya came over to lick me and tried to grab the door handle. When he thought she was close enough, he reached out with his left hand, grabbed her arm, and threw her back.
  
  
  She slipped in the snow and held out her hands to steady herself. But it was between Popov and me. He heard the muffled click of a toy gun. Popov's face was almost invisible in the darkness. He's still a shooter. Ego's eyebrows rose in surprise. Sonya fell on top of him. She screamed as a gawk pierced her throat. It fell on Popov's hand with the revolver, causing ego to stumble. He tried to pull his arm away from Sonny so he could shoot again, this time at me. Sonya dropped to her knees.
  
  
  It took dolly seconds. Her Sonya was standing behind her, and tried to grab Popov's arm. If I couldn't do it, I had to find a place to hide, because as soon as Popov pulled out his revolver, he would shoot me.
  
  
  But as she fell, Sonya grabbed the arm with the weapon. Nah doesn't have any serious bleeding yet. Gawking must have missed the carotid artery. But she made small noises in her throat as she clung to Popov.
  
  
  Ee hugged her, trying to grab her jacket, arm, hair, or whatever. Then Popov did the only thing he could in his place. He put both hands together and, groaning with the effort, raised both hands to Sonya. Her knees had just hit the snow with a faint creak. Both of Popov's fists were under her breasts. When he raised his hands, Sonya held them out to Lee, feeling ashamed. She came over and fell on her back to me.
  
  
  I try the saying that dead bodies are heavier than broken hearts is true, you can assume it, in my opinion. Instinctively, he reached out to stop her from falling. She was heard by another pop as Popov hurriedly fired, then ego dark body saw her. Sonny's body pulled me down. Popov seemed about to fire again. I couldn't go anywhere, and this time he took his time.
  
  
  Her high lifted the girl's body in front of her. There was a soft pop before her, lifting her completely. Gawking got me here in the dole; if it wasn't, I'd get it in my lungs or fold a dollar. Popov had a small firearm, too small to shoot twice through the skull. Stare stuck in Sonny's head.
  
  
  I felt like I'd tumbled backwards. Vaguely, I heard a car start up . I'd fallen hard in the snow, and Sonya was lying on top of me, bleeding profusely. Some of the apartments were lit with holy smoke. I heard the whoosh of car tires turning in the snow. The car went backwards. My elbows touched the snow. Sonya was lying on my stomach. He could feel the sticky blood on her face. More lights were on.
  
  
  My first thought was to take the revolver from Popov. The only thing he could think of right now was to take off Sonya and finish off his ego here. Everything will be now. If I already had a schedule, I would now need to implement it at an accelerated pace.
  
  
  It rolled out to the left under the Dormouse. I didn't have to look at her motionless face for long to see that she was dead.
  
  
  I heard a car rustle down the alley. By the time I got up and left the house, Popov had completely disappeared around my field of vision. Now emu will not be difficult to convince the authorities. He had all his ego papers with him.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 11
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  In the current situation, it seemed like there was only one thing for me to do. Vasily Popov was at large in Moscow with his own powers, the same powers with which he had entered Russia. That made me illegal.
  
  
  As soon as he tells his story to his comrades in the Kremlin, I will become an agent on the run. All I had to do was go to the address Irinia Moskowitz had given me. Her carapace through the dark, snow-covered streets.
  
  
  We were supposed to settle our business tonight. If Irinia knew where the hall of the Institute of Marine Research was, we should have gone in and found out what was going on, and done it within the hour.
  
  
  I couldn't go back to my hotel room. For some reason, I always had to think about the chance of getting caught. Meanwhile, I hurried her through the snow-covered streets of Moscow to the address Irina had given me. I just hoped she'd talked to Serge and found out something about the institute.
  
  
  At that time, there was almost no transport in Moscow. From time to time a car passed by, but hers, I pressed up against the houses, and used the alleys by decision. Despite the cold weather, he was sweating profusely.
  
  
  When I got to the apartment building that Irinia pointed out to me, I ran back to the day I asked. There was one door, but it was locked. Whether she liked it or not, I had to go through the front door. He returned to the front of the building.
  
  
  The apartment building looked like a huge black mountain. Behind the front door was a lighted lobby with an elevator and a staircase with a runner. The front door was open. Once inside, he climbed the stairs, two at a time. Then hers, took the elevator to Irinia's floor.
  
  
  Her found her door, but no one answered when his knocked. The whole building has that strange atmosphere of silence that you feel when everyone is asleep. He could almost hear the heavy breathing, almost smell the sour smell. The building smelled musty. The walls were cream, almost green. They were painted in different colors.
  
  
  I had to mutter Irinia's lock for a full five minutes before I opened the door. He opened it, stepped out into the total darkness, and closed the door behind him.
  
  
  A musty smell lingered outside. In her presence, I feel Irinia in the apartment. She bathed and dressed. Her perfume was still noticeable. Besides, the room smelled like a woman. It was a woman's room; he knew it without being able to see anything. Brylev turned it on.
  
  
  Hers was in the living room. I saw a fireplace in front of me, surrounded by a white stone with letters on the sides. To the left was a sofa, behind which she saw the dining room. To the right was a large green chair next to a smaller one. Then he saw her down a short hallway that led to the bathroom and bedroom. I searched her apartment. Apparently Irinia was still out with Serge.
  
  
  The moans in the living room were answered by a story about her tour. The photos were arranged in such a way as to show her entire dance career from her youth. I saw her that she visited many countries of the world. She must have been a good Kremlin spy. I saw almost all the photos of her when the key in the lock of the entrance hall heard her.
  
  
  I didn't have time to turn off the holy light and then hide. He could only hide behind the sofa. He leaned in as the front door opened.
  
  
  Serge's voice heard her. "Irinia, my dear, did you light the holy cross?"
  
  
  "By golly, it must be. Yes, of course, I remember now ." There was a brief silence. "Thank you for a pleasant evening, Seryozha." IH couldn't see her, but the sound of ih voices made it clear that they were standing close to the entrance hall. "Good - bye," Irinia said.
  
  
  "Goodbye?" "But," Serge said, disappointed, " I thought we could ..."
  
  
  "It's very late." Irinia's voice sounded tired. "One glass, then." Maybe with caviar."
  
  
  "Then not tonight."
  
  
  He pushed himself to the edge of the couch. If Sergey continues to insist, I may have to show up and let em know that he's not welcome.
  
  
  When Seryozha spoke again, there was pity in his voice. "Then, honey, you've been avoiding me for three days."
  
  
  "Good - bye until morning," Irinia said. "Do you remember all these things that you promised to tell me? Call me tomorrow. Tomorrow night, I'll do whatever you want."
  
  
  "Everything?" There was excitement in ego's voice. I heard the rustle of clothes and the muffled hue as Seryozha reached out and kissed Irinia.
  
  
  "Not now, Seryozha, not today. In the morning. Call me tomorrow. '
  
  
  "I believe it," he said excitedly. "Will you do everything I asked?"
  
  
  "Yes, Seryozha, that's all."
  
  
  He kissed her again. Then the door closed softly.
  
  
  Irenia's voice heard her.
  
  
  "Where are you, Mr. Carter?"
  
  
  He straightened up behind the couch. As soon as I saw it, I had the same feeling as at a party. A small, questioning smile appeared on her lips. He understood all too well how much Seryozha missed her. She was sitting with her weight on one leg, the other was slightly bent, and she tilted her head slightly.
  
  
  "They're Russian door locks aren't what they used to be," she said cheerfully. All the weariness that had been in her voice earlier when she'd spoken to Serge was gone now. "I knew someone had to be there when I discovered the door was no longer locked. And when it turned out that the light one - I knew I turned off the holy one when I left - I realized that it was probably you."
  
  
  "Serge seems very focused on you," I said.
  
  
  "This comes exclusively from one side. Are you thirsty? '
  
  
  He nodded and looked at Nah as she walked into the kitchen. The simple movement across the room to the kitchen seemed to turn into a series of dance moves. I followed her into the kitchen. The walls are covered with matte wallpaper. I came to the conclusion that you should not buy colored flowers in Russia.
  
  
  When she had poured, she handed me the glass and pulled up her hair. "About freedom," she said softly. "At the end of three years of hell."
  
  
  Hey smiled at her. "And for a million dollars."
  
  
  We drank, and her eyes laughed at me over the rim of the glass. She went into the living room, and I followed her inside. Her sel is in a chair, and she sits on the sofa with her legs up. Her dress was pulled up so far that I saw a flash of her thighs.
  
  
  I asked her. "Did Seryozha bring you to the institute?"
  
  
  She shook her head. "But her what-what became known." Then she leaned forward. "When do you take me around Russia?"
  
  
  He took a sip. "Irinia, I have something to tell you. The real Vasily Popov is in the audience here in Moscow, and he has all the ego credentials. He's the man you pretended to be. And my camouflage is exhausted. Its illegal. I will do my best to take you all over Russia, but first we need to find out what this institute does."
  
  
  "Damn it!" she said, pursing her lips. "I knew it wouldn't work. I knew it wouldn't go smoothly."
  
  
  "You have been doing this work for some time, you know that we always have to take into account unexpected things. We'll take you across Russia, but we need to know what's going on at this institute. Getting you out of here is only part of my job."
  
  
  I told her, smiling.
  
  
  She smiled at the rheumatism. "Nick, I'll be honest with you. I don't care what happens at the institute. She has been doing her work for the Americas and your organization for three years. My prize is my freedom ."
  
  
  "And a million dollars," I added.
  
  
  There was a flash of fire in her eyes. "You always remind me. Yes, I have a million dollars in a Swiss bank in my name. And, frankly, she deserved it. I think I can forget her, they are three years of horror. But what do you think will happen to me when I come to America? Can I keep dancing it? Then it would have remained in the foreground, which would have made it easier for the killer." She shook her head, sadness in her eyes. "No, I'm selling my career for a million dollars. When I'm in America, I need to live a simple, quiet and peaceful life. If I leave her for Russia, I will never dance to her again. You might think I'm being overpaid, but as far as I'm concerned, quitting dancing is enough to make her feel like she's made a million dollars."
  
  
  I realized that this woman was undergoing a thorough introspection before embarking on this plan. Dancing was Nah's whole life, and it cost her a million dollars and her decision to live in America. Not to mention the three years of horror she went through. I was wondering how many Americans would prefer to stay in America if they were told that it was first three years of horror, and then they had to give up the most important part of their lives.
  
  
  "Irinia," I said, " I owe you an apology. You're right. My smile disappeared. "But I'm afraid it won't change my mission. No one around us can leave Russia until I find out what's going on at this institute. All right, Serge. Krasnova runs the institute, and he's crazy about you. Did you learn anything from him?"
  
  
  Irinia smiled at me and took a sip. I realized that I was going to speak English, and that she understood it word for word. She nodded. "I don't know much, Nick." She was silent for a moment, looking at me. The expression in her eyes completely changed. Her, I felt my blood rush. "I do not know what they are doing, but I know that the experiments involve strong young people, volunteers."
  
  
  He put down his glass and got up from his chair. There was still the same look in her eyes. "Do you know where the facility is in the hall?" I asked her in a voice that didn't sound like mine.
  
  
  Irina also held out her glass. She looked at me. She pulled the dancer's legs under her and lowered her to the ground. The hem of her skirt was rumpled at the hips, but she didn't try to pull it off. "I know where it is." And then we didn't say anything. Her, looked at nah. I could see the curve of her neck with her face upturned. She ran her tongue slowly over her lips. She propped herself up on one elbow. He looked down at her feet, then leaned down a little and put his hand on them. She got both hands on my wrist. And we kept looking into each other's eyes.
  
  
  I knew it wasn't the same experience with Sonya. Irinia was great. He needed her so badly that he couldn't move. Her hotel take her on the spot, Eugene. Sometimes it happens, the desire is so strong and mutual that it was impossible to wait. It was hard to explain.
  
  
  What happened to Sonya was related only to the temporary passion that a man feels when he pays for nah and is forced to choose. It was purely physical, fundamental, animal. What I felt for Irinia was deeper. I sat for hours watching her dance, and then I felt the first attraction. Then I saw her swimming across the hall toward me, every step a dance. And her sat across from nah in her apartment and could see enough of her thighs.
  
  
  She wrapped her arms around my waist and pressed her face to mine. I felt her fingers pull at my clothes. He found the zipper on the back of her dress and slowly undid it. Her, stripped her dress to the waist. She slid off the couch and he pushed her. He let his gaze slide over her. Her hands went to my neck, and she pressed my lips to hers. I kissed her, her, and felt her thighs brushing mine.
  
  
  Then we were both naked, and we were kissing each other. I lay next to her, my lips brushing her soft skin everywhere. Hers lay on the calculations performed. She lay on her back, stretched, then relaxed.
  
  
  Of course, we seemed naked. It seemed natural for us to embrace on the floor in front of the couch. She gasped. Her, felt that she was ready.
  
  
  Her movements became wild. I knew she was coming. Her target spun back and forth. She closed her eyes.
  
  
  When our movements were feverishly wild and I thought I could only hear the sound when we were gasping for breath, I could hear a loud bang when I was rumbling ... and " the door of Irinia's apartment swung open.
  
  
  The door slammed hard against the wall. Mikhail Barnisek was the first to enter the room. Sergey followed him. Krasnova Street. Behind them was a horde of undercover cops. He tried to reach into his clothes, hoping to pull out one of the capsules from his money belt. I didn't succeed.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 12
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Barnishek and Krasnova were standing in the room. Barnishek held his hands behind his back. He bounced on the balls of his feet. He almost looked like he'd won a sweepstake. It was an expression of complacency about a job well done.
  
  
  Then Barniashek could look pleased, Serge Krasnov had a completely different expression on his face. It looked like someone had just stabbed the ego of folding a dollar with a knife. He wasn't even looking at me, his eyes were fixed on Irinia.
  
  
  Serge's face was a mask of anger. He was the first to move. Irinia's eyes widened when she saw all these men in her room, but she was moved by the shock. Serge grabbed her clothes from the couch and threw them at her.
  
  
  "For God's sake, Irenia,"he said in a high - pitched voice," at least be decent enough to dress!"
  
  
  Irinia covered her body. I already had a money belt around my waist. He looked at Barnisek. He seemed surprised. When he spoke, he turned to me.
  
  
  "I knew something was wrong with you," he said. "I already had that feeling when you arrived at the airport." He smiled excitedly. "But I had no idea you were the famous Nick Carter."
  
  
  He was almost dressed. Irinia dressed under Serge's watchful gaze. He said, " Okay, you know who I am. But the girl has nothing to do with it. She doesn't know anything."
  
  
  Barnyshek laughed out loud. "We're not that naive, Carter." Em loved it. I'd bet her that when he was a kid, he liked to pull out the wings of butterflies and cut worms in half. "There's someone you were supposed to meet just now, hema."
  
  
  All this could be rehearsed in front of the stage. The stormtroopers in the corridor moved aside, and the real Vasily Popov entered the room.
  
  
  Popov looked at Irinia, who was now almost dressed, and then at me. "You didn't succeed, Carter. The Kremlin knows all about you and our famous ballerina, and Comrade Barnishek and I have instructions about you. You and this traitorous woman will be put to death as you deserve.
  
  
  Now he was dressed and ready for whatever they had planned. I was pretty sure they didn't know why he was here, but I was just as sure they should know, and they had a good way to find out. We waited politely until Irinia was ready. Serge stared at Irenia. She didn't make a thorough toilet. When she was dressed, she ran her fingers through her long hair. Hers was standing next to her, trying to stay between her and Serge. With them a ferret as it entered, Ego's eyes had a strange expression. He looked at Irinia with a mixture of open desire and savage hatred. I had the feeling that he was going to rape her and then slowly torture her to death. I had a feeling He was an ambitious dictator, I suspect, like all people without friends. He spoke passionately about the state and the Kremlin, interested only in himself. But Serge had a different case.
  
  
  He came up to me, to Irinia. He leaned forward a little as he spoke. He called her a whore and a few other insulting nicknames. Then he asked: "Why with him? Why with this enemy of the state? "He looked exhausted. "I thought you liked her," he exclaimed.
  
  
  Irinia clamped her lower lip between her teeth. She looked worried, but not afraid. She looked at Serge the way a mother looks at a sick child. "I'm sorry, Seryozha," she said. "I can't tell you any more."
  
  
  "You mean ... what are you... don't you like me? '
  
  
  Irinia shook her head. "I'm sorry, not anymore."
  
  
  Barnyshek clicked his tongue. "It's all very moving, but it's too late and we still have a lot of hope."
  
  
  Popov pointed at the policemen. Our guns were drawn, and Serge recoiled as Irinia and I were surrounded. We were led through the rooms and out into the corridor. Then I noticed something that applies to all communist countries. If such a noisy operation was being conducted in America, when marching stormtroopers were taking prisoners, all the windows in the corridor would be open. People would be curious to know what's going on. A lot of people would have gone there every year, and the police should have kept people under control. As Irinia and I walked down the corridor, no one appeared. Not a single door was left wide open. Yes, they opened, but no more than once when we passed, and they closed. Perhaps the residents were afraid that ih names would be marked when they were seen, and that they would be questioned. Or, if not questioned, then investigated.
  
  
  Cars were waiting in the snow. Small flakes were falling on us. Stormtroopers in such a closed-body truck game. Irinia and I were pushed into the backseat of a car. There was a metal net between the front and rear seats. The handles of windows and doors were removed from the inside. Irinia and I were sitting next to each other. Barnyshek, Krasnova and Vasily Popov played a different game in a different car .
  
  
  I tried to see her through the window to where we were in eden, but we turned so many corners, reasoning through so many alleys, that I would have been lost before the carriage stopped in front of a large, dark building. Stormtroopers were accompanying us again. When we were almost inside the building, her father leaned in and whispered to Irinia if she knew where we were. She nodded, just before she was hit in the back with a rifle butt. The soldier ordered us to be silent.
  
  
  When the snow fell, we went up the stairs and walked through the whole day. The interior of the building was as dark and dreary as the exterior. The corridor floor was covered with bare boards. It smelled musty-very much like the hallway in Irinia's apartment building - with a faint masculine smell. There were several doors on both sides. We passed five. Popov and Barsnishek led the way. Her not seen Serge with them ferret as we got out, around the car.
  
  
  On the sixth day, Barsnishek stopped, opened the door, and we went inside. I could only guess where we were, but I guessed that it was the headquarters of the Russian secret police. We came to a small square room that was too hot. Mimmo passed a long counter. There were three chairs behind the counter, one with a man standing around it. He looked up with interest as we entered. Ego had a large, flat face that looked like a pumpkin, and a prominent nose. Ego's small dark eyes had a bored look. There was another door to our left.
  
  
  Apart from the man at the table, the only people in the room were Barnishek, Irinia, and her. . He nodded toward the day.
  
  
  When we opened it, her, I saw a very narrow corridor with concrete walls and lamps here and there. "It's a metal detector," Barsnishek said. "It saves us a lot of trouble. A weapon may escape the seeker's hand, but nothing escapes the electric eye." He spoke Russian.
  
  
  Her shell is open to Irenia between the lights. I could feel the zest of the bright lights on the ceiling above us. And her, worried about his money belt. It was believed that the contents were made entirely of plastic. Hers, I hoped it was true. If that wasn't the case, good old Nick Carter might have said goodbye to his gun. Since they knew who she was, they told us under no other circumstances would they allow me to leave Moscow alive. My brain will be cleared, with or without my permission, and the Russians have had ways of doing so, comparing Orwell's 1984 to a lullaby.
  
  
  I knew her because we did the same with ih agents. So we would find new ways to work, if we added new names to the growing list of known enemy agents, we could supplement the files.
  
  
  Yes, of course, I knew that the Russians had a lot of problems with my brain. They didn't have the slightest interest in my body or my ability to resist being hurt. If they were done with me, my brain would be as empty as the white coral off the coast of Australia, and there is a substance in nen that resembles mashed potatoes.
  
  
  Only this money belt could lead us around this position. When we passed mimmo, nothing rattled or rattled between the lights. Irinia didn't look nervous or even scared. We walked around a narrow corridor and stopped in a small square box on the other side of the door. She gave a quick laugh and stood up, crossing her arms in front of her. There were probably microphones, so we didn't say anything.
  
  
  Irinia's beautiful face was frozen in place. It was as if she had waited three years for this, as if she knew that eventually she would be caught and punished, and she agreed. Maybe she's always vaguely dreaming of coming to America with that million. Hers, felt that what was happening now - the guns, the soldiers, the small square rooms - was just as she had anticipated Thread. She will take the dream with her to the grave. I didn't want to tell her, hey, so she wouldn't worry too much that we weren't feeling so bad. But the room must have been overheard, so I didn't dare tell you what I had on my money belt. Why did her voice stick close to her, and draw a hopeful face every time we looked at each other.
  
  
  The door opened, and Mikhail Barniashek was standing with his dangerous pistol. He smiled at me, and it was a menacing laugh. "You're not very talkative, are you, Carter?"
  
  
  "Not if I know you're listening."
  
  
  The smile remained, and he nodded. "You're still talking." In the near future, we will know why the famous Nick Carter came to Moscow and why our talented ballerina was chosen to help Emu."
  
  
  "I thought I had already explained this to Popov. You know about that reservoir in Siberia and how Russian women behave in the garbage."
  
  
  The smile faded. "The laughter will stop soon, Carter. If you feel your brain starting to churn any time soon, you'll only be able to think about yourself. Then you won't laugh anymore."
  
  
  "Ah, the vote, and we're all thrilled. Where's Serge? If my brain gets fried, does it really want to be on the barbecue too? "
  
  
  Barnyshek lost his patience with me. He pursed his lips and pointed his head at the room behind him. Irinia and I went inside. We walked down the concrete corridor again. But the days on both sides were different. They looked massive, and you could only see through them through a grid-covered square. They were cages.
  
  
  For the first time since we'd seen her, I sensed that Irinia was scared. There was no fear of the visible surface on her face; it was a fear you only noticed when you looked closely. You'd see if she was smoking a cigarette, how her hand would shake if she was holding a snake. You'd notice how she flinches if you come up behind her and touch her nah. You would see it in the oval eyes, in the startled look, as if the deer saw the flames coming from around the hunter's gun and knew that gawking would hit the ego. It was a fear that had developed over the course of three years, and all the time it had been blatantly below the surface, like air sampling bubbles under thick ice on a river. Now it came to the surface, and Irinia made it clear. Her father quickly stood beside her and grabbed her arm. He squeezed her hand and smiled warmly at her. She saw an opportunity to reply to emu, but when she looked at me, she turned her head in shock, an anxious, nervous movement. They stopped in front of one of the double doors. He pulled a key ring from his coat pocket and opened the door. The sound of the key in the lock was muffled, as if the door were as thick as a bank vault. When he opened the door, we were greeted by an icy chill. Then there was the smell of urine and the rat's smell.
  
  
  "You'll wait here until we finish working on the interview room. We don't want to see you undressed before we take you to the court room, but it's pretty cold in there, and I don't think you'll voluntarily take off your clothes. We'll ask someone to take care of it after you've been neutralized.
  
  
  "Barnyshek,"I said," you're a good guy."
  
  
  We were shoved into a cell and the door was closed. For example, there was a window four meters above the ground. Falling snow saw her. The cell was about three square meters. There was a toilet and there was a sink.
  
  
  Not in the world. Her way to the sink would have found a shaking Irinia.
  
  
  "Hey,"he said to her nonchalantly," what's this now?"
  
  
  "I knew it would end like this," she whispered, her voice shaking. "I always felt like I didn't have a real chance."
  
  
  "We have a chance," I said, standing up. Her shirt was pulled out around her pants. "We have to look at the situation as a whole. We have a chance because we have an outer wall here ." He opened the money box on his belt. He knew which boxes contained the different capsules. She was grabbed by three red capsules of grenades.
  
  
  Irinia asked, her voice trembling. "What ..."
  
  
  "I don't like it here, and I don't think we should leave." He was silent for a while. "Irinia, are you ready for work?"
  
  
  "Me ... What do you say, Nick?" At least her voice wasn't shaking anymore.
  
  
  "Answer me one corkscrew," I said. Do you know the way to that institute from here?" Can you find the ego?
  
  
  "I ... me ... I think so. Yes, but ... '
  
  
  "Then take a step back, because we're leaving right after the explosion." I didn't know how powerful the little red capsules were, but I knew I had to throw them away. Her name is Irinia from behind. Then he snuggled up to her, took one of the capsules in his right hand, and threw her with a hip curve into the target area.
  
  
  There was a soft pop at first, then a loud explosion. The wall flashed white, then red, then yellow. The explosion was similar to a cannon. Cement dust swirled everywhere. And there was a hole. There was enough light from Moskovskaya Street to make everything visible. This rat hole wasn't big enough.
  
  
  "N-Nick," Irinia said from behind me.
  
  
  I could hear her footsteps on the concrete outside our cell. "Down!" I order her. Her threw another red capsule into the hole in groans.
  
  
  There was another explosion, but because there was already a hole, most of the debris fell out. The piece of cement staggered and fell with a crash. The dust had covered me, but now there was a rather large hole. I heard the clank of a key in the lock.
  
  
  I said to Irinia, " Let's go!'. I didn't have to say it twice, and we ran towards the big hole. It was a mistletoe shaped irregular triangle and was about one and a half meters wide at its widest point. Irenia released her first. There was a narrow ledge in front of the pit, and from there it was more than two meters to the sidewalk. It didn't seem like it would take long for the soldiers to get out and get to the building, so we didn't have much time to waste. Irinia didn't hesitate for a second. She sat down on a crumbling ledge and went straight down. She stepped down and rolled over, lifting her dress to her waist. Thankfully, she had taken off her ballet slippers, and thankfully, the snow on the sidewalk was thick enough to slightly hinder her fall. She was thrown by her ballet slippers the moment the cell door opened behind me.
  
  
  There was another capsule in his hand. The first was to attack the attacker through the door. When they saw me raise my hand to throw something, he turned around and dove through the soldiers who were jostling behind him. He didn't know what I was throwing at him, but he knew the soldiers had to cover up. The capsule hit the door jamb just as one of the secret police officers fired a pistol. Candid a shard of concrete broke off above my head. I had an idea that I could hide. The explosion stunned five men and knocked the massive door off its hinges. I could hear Barnisek's scream, but I didn't stop to hear what he said. He wrapped the cloth around his back, went outside, and jumped.
  
  
  I headed for a nice, plump snowdrift, hoping it wasn't hiding a fire hydrant or something. Irinia was already running across the street and waiting for me at the corner of the alley. A split second later, he flew through the air and heard Barnisek again. And there was something about what he said that I didn't like; something went wrong.
  
  
  He stood up in a snowdrift and fell to the sidewalk. It was like someone had thrown a bucket of ice water on me, and there was snow in my shirt, on my sleeves, and under my pants, and I had to jump twice before I could get out of the snow. I thought it was odd that we weren't being shot around the hole. I also found it strange that no soldier with a rifle was waiting around the corner from the building during the attack.
  
  
  He ran to the other side of the street, where Irinia was waiting. Ee took her hand and we ran into the alley. And then I suddenly understood why we didn't have to work much at all. He slowed down and finally stopped. Irinia was sitting next to me, an embarrassed frown on her pretty face.
  
  
  "Nick, they'll follow us. You need to find the car, if necessary, steal it. With each heavy exhalation, the clouds were released by ee rta.
  
  
  But she didn't hear Barnisek's name. I told her. "Damn it!"
  
  
  She came and stood in front of me. "What's up, Nick? Is something wrong? '
  
  
  He said, " Irenia, we don't need to run, because they won't follow us." But you're right - we need to find a car. But it will be very dangerous ."
  
  
  The fear was back in her eyes. "I know it's dangerous," she said, " but no one knows you're here to find out what's going on at the institute."
  
  
  He smiled ruefully at her. "That's not true. Irinia, they know that. Barnisek knows that. Ego's last order before he jumped out of the pits was that all troops must go to the institute. Irinia, they're waiting for us there. Barnisek heard him ask if you could get to the institute from here. There was a microphone in our digital camera."
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 13
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  First, it was necessary to get to transport. Irinia and I walked slowly down the alley, looking for parked cars. There aren't many cars in Moscow, it's not Los Angeles or New York. At the end of the alley, we turned left onto an unlit street. The road was full of holes and needed repairs. The first car we saw was a fairly new Moskvich. But when I tried to make contact with the wires, it didn't work. On the hood, the owner made a special lock that blocked contact with metal.
  
  
  After walking for almost half an hour, she was spotted by a truck parked on another street. It should have been an hour, two, three. It was still snowing, and Irinia and I were shivering. The truck was parked on a plot of land next to a small domed house with a suspended thatched roof. There was no peace in the house.
  
  
  Irinia and I were standing on the sidewalk at the side of the house. This house was between us and the truck.
  
  
  "What do you think about it?" I whispered to her.
  
  
  She shrugged her shoulders. "I really don't care, Nick. I'm so cold that it doesn't matter to me, even if you stole a tractor, as long as there was a heater on nen." She gave a quick smile, then slapped her hands on her body.
  
  
  "Then let's go."
  
  
  We walked carefully around the side of the house and headed for the truck. It was impossible to push the car away from the house without making a noise. The entire territory of the hotel is frozen, and it will be difficult. I had to start an ego on the spot.
  
  
  The truck wasn't such a big American diesel giant. Ego estimated it at, say, a ton and a half, and he looked very old. It was suitable for transporting everything from chicken sweeps to sheep.
  
  
  "What color do you think it is?" Irinia asked. I thought I was smiling. "What color do you want?"
  
  
  She stopped walking. "Are you kidding me?"
  
  
  We were at the truck, and she didn't get an answer. The door isn't locked. Ego opened it and waited for Irenia. She climbed in and sat down. He came in and held the door open for a while. I didn't know if this thing would start, and I didn't want to wake anyone up by hitting the doorman while the starter was running.
  
  
  Irinia was still shaking as her father fiddled with the ignition wires. The car was I try; it had to cover about one and a half million kilometers. Only in Russia, Mexico and South America do such trucks continue to drive them ferret until they can move absolutely impossible.
  
  
  When I cut it and connected the ignition wires, I had unpleasant thoughts. I kept thinking: can you imagine a truck sitting here on this empty piece of land because the damn thing can't move even if you pushed it? The rear end may be missing, or even the engine. It was nice to think that I parked ego here because it was so convenient, but it might also happen because the car wasn't working anymore.
  
  
  Irinia gave me that oval smile again. Hey winked at her. "It's nice to know that my little one trusts me," he said in his best Bogart voice.
  
  
  She frowned. First, she asked: "What kind of bullying is this, Nick?"
  
  
  Bogart's voice answered her. "This is a joke that's always around, a friend of our dangerous guys."
  
  
  She was shivering from the cold. As for nah her, as he used to say in Swahili. But I had to look at nah, and he saw that her incredible dancer's legs were bare, just above the knees. It didn't help my attempts to steal the truck at all. He scratched his throat and went back to work. After finishing, her sel candid and rubbed her hands together. It was so damn cold that I couldn't feel my fingertips at all. He patted Irinia's leg to get the feeling back, then leaned forward. When connecting the wires, a spark occurred. It was found by the starter to the left of the clutch. The dashboard was similar to the old 1936 Pontiac I used to have as a kid.
  
  
  Irinia was shaking violently. Snow was forming a layer on the windshield. It was an old-fashioned windshield around two glass squares separated by a thick metal rod.
  
  
  "Contact," I said, putting my foot down on the start pedal.
  
  
  The engine started slowly at first, then began to run faster. He sneezed and stopped. He dialed "air flap" on the dashboard, then pressed the starter again. Her, looked at the house to see if the saint was burning there. The truck had a noisy starter. I pulled out the air flap when the engine started. It started up, and when it started sneezing again, it pulled out the flap a little more. He continued to work.
  
  
  "Nick!" called Irinia. They seem to be coming out of the house..
  
  
  The accelerator hit her, and the car started moving slowly. I could hear the creaking of the ice beneath us as we drove slowly through the terrain. The rear wheels were slipping a little, but it was the gas that got her back before we accelerated..
  
  
  Irinia was looking out the small rear window as we pulled into the street.
  
  
  "The front door opens," she said.
  
  
  "If they have another car, I think we should go faster than him - a little bit faster."
  
  
  We are now swollen on the street. Her, looked out through the just-closed day. He found the windscreen wiper button in the antique dashboard. Ih turned it on, and they did. It was some time before they "swept the snow", but then I could look out. After lighting up her saints, her could see the road even better.
  
  
  "We're in Eden!" said Irinia in surprise.
  
  
  "What do you tell me about this?" Her, looked at the sensors. The battery seemed to be in good condition; the temperature reading was up to normal; the tank was about half full.
  
  
  Irinia looked at the buttons on the dashboard. "The person must have driven this car more often in this weather. If only it is not faulty-it can vote! She pressed a button, and we both heard a rumble. At first, the air was cold, but after a while the cabin became warmer.
  
  
  "Nice to meet you," I said. "What's the direction to the institute - or are you going to tell me we can't get out of here?"
  
  
  Irinia looked at me worriedly. "Nick, how do we get there? You said they knew we were going there. They're waiting for us. Serge told me that the institute is big. He is in a hall in several buildings surrounded by high gates. It's usually well-guarded, but if the secret police know you're here, go ahead... She paused.
  
  
  "We have to get there first," I said, trying to make my voice light. "Whether we destroy the institute or not depends on what happens there. When they experiment with mice to find a cure for cancer, we disappear like lightning across Russia and report it. But you said they use strong men."
  
  
  Irinia nodded. "Serge never wanted to take me there for security reasons." She laughed. "Serge was only interested in one thing. He pulled me out long enough to make everything look neat, and then we went straight back to my apartment." She shivered visibly, even though it was quite hot in the car right now. "Sometimes he really scared me. Sometimes he would say something or look at me in a way that I found creepy."
  
  
  He nodded to her. "I think he's on the edge of a precipice. For a long time, he was caught between normalcy and insanity. Maybe what happened tonight when he came in with us was enough to give em the last word. But Barnisek is a man who bothers me. He's too belligerent, too ambitious. He may be suffering from some kind of neurosis, but it has nothing to do with insanity. He bothers me because he's so good at his job. Such a person who has no friends, who does not trust anyone, is difficult to evaluate. He's unpredictable and will make it harder for me."
  
  
  'On the next street, turn left,' Irinia said. "I know the way because Serge almost took me with him once. It was part of a meeting about what I was doing ... I'll do it for him. At the last moment, he turned away and brought me home. Then he almost made me do it anyway." She slid over to me and put her arm around my arm.
  
  
  "We're puffin' to America, " I said. "And with that, we can finish what we started."
  
  
  She pinched my arm. Then she froze. "The vote on it is open to us. Voting institution.
  
  
  We haven't been there yet, but I've seen her, vaguely. The saint immediately turned it off and drove the truck to the sidewalk. We waited with the engine humming until our eyes adjusted to the darkness. We were about fifty meters away.
  
  
  The road opened onto a fence around a metal wire; it ran around buildings, was over three meters high and topped with three front strands of barbed wire.
  
  
  He leaned forward, his hands wrapped around the steering wheel, and listened to the whoosh of the windshield wipers and the hum of the slow-turning engine. In the background, I heard the muffled noise of a heated car. Irenius felt it opposite him. The cabin was cozy; the truck was easy to imagine, like the mobile home Irinia and I used to drive. Then Barniseka saw her.
  
  
  He was standing outside the gate with a large pole lamp. Uniformed men were standing around him, and he barked commands. Floodlights were installed outside the gate. Barnisek was wearing a hooded coat. There was enough light around the nearest building to make out Ego's face. But even without the world, she would have known who he was by the way he gave his commands. It was Barnisek in his element, in his glory. Presumably, he saw himself as an old-fashioned king on a white stallion, giving orders to thousands of subordinates.
  
  
  But he was extremely effective, he should have appreciated it. Serge Krasnov saw it as a warhead. Vasily Popov was dangerous, perhaps even more so than Barnisek. But Popov knew her, he knew the ego's life, the ego's reaction. I could predict what he would do. And then, as I watched him dispatch his men in groups of four or five, I realized that he was making a very serious mistake.
  
  
  That was understandable. If you knew that an enemy agent was coming to inspect the building and destroy the ego, how would you trust that this agent would come? An experienced soldier covers both flanks. Her, knew that the gate was being watched. But Barnisek's fault was that he was overconfident - or perhaps he underestimated me. He was standing at the gate with a lantern in one hand and a gun in the other. And he was all alone.
  
  
  I took her by car. Her name is Irinia. "Down!"
  
  
  She obeyed without hesitation. But before she dived, she kissed me on the cheek. I didn't even know she was still in the car. My meaning was recorded, calculated, and estimated distances. So much time passes, so many meters to the gate, so many seconds. first gear, then second gear-Barnisek yelling and firing once or twice, just enough seconds to grab him before the soldiers show up. And the challenging uncertainty of where Seryozha was. Krasnov? Where was Vasily Popov?
  
  
  What did he do? There were things that needed to be left out for happiness. You can come up with a newly developed plan in seconds. A plan that had been worked on for hours or days might just as well work.
  
  
  Barnisek knew I was going to meet him. Well, he could live with it. But he didn't know when or by what route. The ego soldiers were waiting for me to sneak up to the fence with the scissors. Or maybe I should go with a shovel and dig under the gate.
  
  
  Its moving forward. He drove slowly in first gear, then cautiously picked up speed. The entrance to the gate was closed in the middle with a chain. Barnisek stood to the right, his back to the gate, and looked first one way and then the other along the gate. Behind it was the first of four buildings. The other three were small, no bigger than three-bedroom homes, and were partially surrounded by a large building almost the size of an airplane cabin. The floodlights weren't turned on yet.
  
  
  Her approach licks. The old truck pulled away. He quickly covered the distance to the gate. He shifted it into second gear, keeping his eyes on Barnisek's back. Snowflakes swirled against the windshield. The rear wheels slid slightly back and forth. It was a one-shot attack. If hers had stopped, his wouldn't have moved any further. Those rear wheels just spin on the ice. He held his head a little crooked. My eyes fell on him. Yes, comrade, you've heard something, haven't you? Looks like someone's going to drive a car, huh? Now you realize that, don't you? Truck. It goes open to the gate and goes faster and faster.
  
  
  Before he had even fully turned around, his gun was raised. Ego scream heard her. The gate was right in front of me. In the beginning of second gear, it was accelerated by the old engine, as much as possible. Just before the front of the truck hit the gate, the accelerator pedal hit the floor. He heard a sharp pop as Barnisek fired a hasty shot. There was a crash as the nose of the old truck rammed through the gate in the middle. The gate swung inward, hung for a moment in the tautness of its broken frame, then swung open as the chain snapped. The right gate slammed into Barsnishek's face. The soldiers came to the corner of the building to my left. The car slipped a little when her husband entered the gate. Now it's completely slid out. The rear of the car began to turn to the right.
  
  
  Irinia clutched at my leg. The spinning motion of the car caused it to flip up and down like a cork in a bathtub. Now we slide sideways to the corner of the building. The soldiers pointed their weapons at us. Then the two men dropped their guns, turned around and ran away. The others remained motionless until ih was hit by a car. The back of the truck rammed into the corner of the building, and my head-hit the side window as the back of the truck went the other way.
  
  
  I could hear the tires slipping in the snow. We rode up to two fleeing soldiers. Odin turned around them, ran back, and raised his hands as if to stop an oncoming car. Ego's open palms disappeared from his face, and under the carriage. There was a thud and we staggered as we talked about both men. I heard a few shots fired. The rear window shattered. We pulled down at right angles to the gate.
  
  
  I didn't sit around waiting to see what would happen. It was continued by the steering wheel, trying to steer this old car into the right lane. It seemed that we were surrounded by shooting soldiers. He had no idea where Barnisek was.
  
  
  The snow lay high at the foot of the gate. We were driving with the left front bumper raised from the impact. He looked to the side and saw the door of a large building.
  
  
  He called her. "Irinia!"
  
  
  Ee target rose from somewhere in front of the seat. Her hair hung down in front of her eyes. "Voila!" Then: "Is that an American expression?"
  
  
  At that moment, we hit the gate. The bumper curved and held the front of the truck stationary, while the rear turned. The gate doors began to crack. The gate posts bent and burst out around the ground. The truck made such a big hole that it went through nah. We slipped another d-twenty and stopped in the middle of a snowdrift. To my surprise, the engine continued to run. What surprised me even more was that I saw an opportunity to pull the ego around the snowdrift. Her hotel will make sure of this before leaving. Going to college was only half the joke; we also had to get out around that.
  
  
  Iriniya sat down again. He reached out and disconnected the two ignition wires. The engine stopped immediately.
  
  
  Gawk flew off the roof of the cab. We parked so that the back of the truck faced the broken gate. He was standing there, as if we'd just passed through the gate and were now heading back.
  
  
  He had already pulled out his shirt around his pants and undid all the flaps on his money belt. Another gawk passed through the window behind me. In my hand I had a red box with a grenade and two blue capsules with fire.
  
  
  "Irinia," I said, opening the truck door, " are you okay? Do you hear me? '
  
  
  'Yes.'Her hair was matted and there was a small scratch on her forehead.
  
  
  "When I tell her that, run to the special building." Her truck popped out with Irinia.
  
  
  We were greeted by a series of gunshots, but it was too dark to see clearly. Bullets slammed into the truck, some hitting a snowdrift.
  
  
  He dropped the capsule with the grenade and saw several people torn to shreds by the orange-yellow explosion. There was a loud bang. Right after that, he threw the blue capsules one by one into the smaller building. They slammed loudly, and the flames started. Almost immediately, the house began to burn.
  
  
  "Let's run now!"
  
  
  We ran hand in hand while her clinging to the waistband asked for new blue capsules. Two others grabbed her, and ih threw her into a smaller building. There were fires. We came to a broken gate and saw a large number of soldiers trying to put out fires. Given the zeal with which the men worked, this institution must have been of great importance. But the "Special Effects" worked well. It was almost impossible to put out these fires.
  
  
  He pushed Irinia out of the way and pointed to the door of a large building. He followed her , and bumped into Barnisek's outspoken fist.
  
  
  The blow caught me in the left cheek. He hit it while running and lost his balance. But when he might lose his balance, hers was on all fours. My left cue stick was on fire. Then I saw four soldiers grab Irenia.
  
  
  There wasn't much in the world, but the flames gave the environment a ghostly battlefield effect. Her, I saw Irinia throw one of her soldiers over her shoulder and hit the other one in the neck with a karate kick. By then, Barnisek had recovered enough to attack me.
  
  
  Apparently, he lost his gun when the gate hit him. He was slowly approaching me. Her, jumped back and gave a frank emu on the ear. The blow stunned him, but he was as tough as an ox. He just turned around. An alarm sounded somewhere. There was too much entertainment to manage properly. I felt a sharp pain in my left shoulder, and before I could retreat, Barnisek punched me for life. He Stahl was overconfident and took the time to set things up. I found it myself for this time. He took a step back, shifted Alenka to his right leg, prepared to turn around to put his hand on his shoulder, and felt the thunder of the butt between his shoulder blades. My feet slipped. He dropped to all fours. Purple, red, and yellow lights flashed in their heads. Barnisek took a step toward me and let his foot come up to my face. Its rolling to the right when mimmo me swept the beginnings. The butt of the rifle hit the snow where my target was. It kept rolling.
  
  
  They quickly came across me. The soldier slipped, but recovered quickly. He was on my left, Barnisek on my right. She was grabbed by one of the poison arrows around her waist. He sensed one and made it appear when he got up.
  
  
  The soldier had both arms draped over his right shoulder and was holding a rifle aimed like a rocket about to be launched. Barsnishek kept his big hands open. That's enough for me. He brought his left arm down in an arc and slammed his palm into the soldier's nose. He knew exactly how the blow would be delivered. He knew that his nose would break and that the broken bones would enter his brain. He kept raising his rifle like a spear, ready to strike. But my blow crushed the ego, froze it like the snow around us. He slowly lowered himself to the slippery ice. He was dead before he hit the ground.
  
  
  I had a poison arrow in my right hand. The enemy was closing in. There was a terrifying look of hatred in Ego's eyes. I'm tired of it, too.
  
  
  I turned to keep him at arm's length. I don't believe a minute passed after the first stroke. He headed for Barnisek with an arrowhead. He felt a slight resistance to the tip until it entered the emu's throat and began to move on. He was going to punch me in the face with his big fist. He could even hit it with his fist. Then he died on the spot. Resentment would take effect within ten seconds. Much less time has passed. When Barnisek died, he just fell into the snow. The rigidity has disappeared from the egos of the faces, and he Stahl looks like a small, ugly child.
  
  
  Gawking threw snow into my left leg. The second gawk landed far to the right. Some men tried to spray the fire with water, but the water in the hoses froze. I decided to launch a few more grenades.
  
  
  He ran away, pulled out the blue fire capsules around his waist, and threw out the ih as quickly as possible.
  
  
  Irinia was gone!
  
  
  The thought hit me like a slap in the face. I remember she was surrounded by four soldiers. She turned off two; she got hit hard from behind when one around them picked up ee and left. Where to?
  
  
  Fires were raging all around. The two small buildings were nothing more than smoking fences. The third building was also on fire. The flames even seeped into the outer wall of the main building. They must have brought Irinia there.
  
  
  He looked around, panting. The soldiers were busy putting out fires. There were twelve, thirteen places where the capsules were burning. My breath was like the steam of an old locomotive going up a mountain. And it was cold. My lips were hard, and I could barely feel her with my fingertips. Russian frosts defeated two world powers. The people fled from Napoleon's powerful army, which burned almost everything in its path. And when the French found themselves in the very act of folding the Russian dollar, a brutal winter struck. They were defeated and exhausted when they finally returned to France. The same thing happened with Hitler's troops.
  
  
  Its not a shell against Mother Russia, but if its not warmed up quickly, its also going to fall victim to winter. The snow shell is stronger, so much so that I almost couldn't see the soldiers around. But it turned out well, they didn't see me either.
  
  
  She was making her way towards the main building when mimmo passed a group of four. The snow reflected the flames, so that the entire circumference was illuminated with red light. My shadow was fiery red, and trembling. The four soldiers looked like eight. Somehow oni managed to gather water around one through hoses and started watering the flames. He moved cautiously along the wall until he reached the corner. The door should have been around the corner. When her eyes were candid in front of him, he saw a broken fence and a truck in a snowdrift. If Irinia and I couldn't get out of here quickly, the car would be completely covered in snow.
  
  
  A soldier came around the corner and saw me. Ego's mouth dropped open. He raised the rifle as her fist plunged into the emu's windpipe. My next blow landed on him as he fell. It was the death of the ego.
  
  
  He turned the corner and put his hand on the doorknob. After taking one last look at the charging infernal environment, her father opened the door and stepped inside. I was startled by the silence. Complete silence. There wasn't much in the world. It looked like a large abandoned warehouse. The wall was concrete, the walls were wooden, and the ceiling height was 7 meters. He cocked his head and listened.
  
  
  There was a sound, but I couldn't identify it. It was like a flock of rats, a loud creaking sound. But it wasn't rats, it was something else.
  
  
  The warehouse was divided into compartments. The sound came from somewhere in front, where he couldn't see anything. A salty smell filled my nostrils, like a dress or by the pool. The air was humid. I knew there must be water nearby.
  
  
  Irina should have been here somewhere. There seemed to be only empty space around me. There was a partition in front of me that made it impossible for her to see where the sounds were coming from: several cylindrical containers the size of wine barrels. They were huge, two around the tree and one around the glass. They were empty.
  
  
  He cursed himself for not being able to pick up one of the rifles. As she walked around the barrels in the direction of the creaking sound, she heard another sound.
  
  
  It was on the left. It doesn't make much sense to sound like someone was clapping their hands. But there were no lines in nen, as if he was keeping a rhythm. Then, vaguely, she heard a muffled sound around someone talking.
  
  
  He pressed himself to moan and slowly moved in the direction of the sound. The huge barrel was sitting in front of me again. Whatever they're doing to us, they're up to something. Walking around a large container, she saw a small square office about ten meters away. Stahl's voice is clearer. And no one clapped their hands. Someone hit someone in the face.
  
  
  There was a window next to the office door. Brylev glowed inside. Approaching, Licks recognized her voice. It was Serge. Krasnova Street. But there was a strange tone in his voice. Her gaze slid to the point where the office wall met the wall of a large building. Her, bent down and slid down the groaning office. Openly, under her window, he stopped. The door to the office was open, and Krasnov could hear her clearly. Sergei, who was making his way through the window, hit me in the head. I listened to her.
  
  
  There was another pop, and Irinia screamed. 'Speak up! Krasnova said in Russian. The strange sound in ego's voice continued. "But I should have known, right? All these questions about the institute and my work here."
  
  
  "Serge, I -" Irina was cut off by another slap. She was asked to go inside and slap Serge alone, but I thought I'd hear more if I stayed hidden and waited.
  
  
  'Do you hear me! Serge was angry. "You used me! I told her I loved you, and you just used me. You pretended to be a good Russian, our famous ballerina ." He lowered his voice, making it hard for ego to understand. "And you've always been a capitalist spy." But I loved you. I would put forward my position here on the institute; we could leave together; we could even go across Russia, perhaps to Yugoslavia or East Germany. But.. Ego's voice broke. "But what a voice you are. On the ground with this ... by this... With a sump. And you liked what he did to you." He began to sob. "And he was standing there like a child for a day, wondering if you had forgotten to turn off the brylev. And like an idiot, I trusted it to your lies. You're just trying to get away from me. You knew he was waiting for you there."
  
  
  Irenia's voice heard her. "It just so happened, Seryozha. It wasn't like that at all. It just happened that way; we weren't going to. We... 'The sound of impact again. Irinia screamed and fell silent. A little later she asked: "What are you going to do with me?" Krasnova let out a loud, screaming laugh. "Will you do it, my angel? My sweet, sweet angel! More screaming laughter. "Listen, my angel, you're too good for me, too famous, too beautiful. I'll show you something that you'll notice. I'll show you some buddies who will be happy to catch you.
  
  
  Her, understood what happened to Serge Krasnov. All those years spent in a no-win mode, struggling to keep the impending madness away from him, trying to appear normal, impressing others with the inventive way he ran the institute, had resulted in ego now being fired. It was obvious that Irinia and I were to blame for this. There was no reason for us to talk to him as if he were a lion approaching, or a mad dog. He completely lost his composure.
  
  
  I knew that if Irinia and I wanted to get out of here, I'd have to kill Serge.
  
  
  Irinia said: "You don't need this gun, Seryozha. I've been waiting for this day for three years ."
  
  
  Another slap in the face. "Get up, whore!" shouted Krasnov. "I'll show you some manufacturers."
  
  
  I knew they'd get out. He slipped out of the office and around the corner. A chair scraped the concrete floor. Two shadows slid across the light that fell through the window. I saw the gun in the shadow of Serge's hand.
  
  
  They went out, Irenia leading the way. In the light of her could clearly see her as she passed mimmo me. Her chopsticks were red from all the slaps, and her pretty face was soothing.
  
  
  Her, I saw them pass between two barrels. It was very hot in the warehouse. Irinia had taken off her raincoat; she was wearing only the dress she had worn in her apartment. Serge was wearing a black sweater and pants. My coat was very uncomfortable. It was taken off by ego and he was left lying on the ground. I went in the direction where Sergey and Irinia had gone.
  
  
  As I passed through the barrels, I realized why I couldn't make out what the creaking sounds meant. The wall didn't reach the ceiling, but it was high enough to block out the sounds. There was a door marked: laboratory. He rocked back and forth to meet Irinia and Serge. Her snuggled up to moan, and immediately pushed the door open. The creaking here is absurdly valuable, but much louder. The room looked like a construction site for an office building. Humidity hung heavy in the air; it was hot, tropical hot.
  
  
  Serge and Irenia didn't see her, so they went to the other side of the house and looked inside. The labs also had large vessels, all around glass. They watched the numbers on the clock grouped around a really huge barrel. I didn't stop to look at the barrels; she wanted to know where Sergey and Irinia were.
  
  
  Only when he opened the door completely and entered the lab did he realize that something was moving in each of the vessels around him. The glass tanks were filled with water for about three-quarters of an hour. At first, I thought it was some big fish, like sharks or dolphins. But then I saw her hands on the inside of one of the surfaces. A face appeared, but it was a face he had never seen before. The eyes stared down at me, then the face quickly disappeared again. Her seen stomping another's foot in the same aquarium. Then a third floated past mimmo's wall, and he saw the whole creature.
  
  
  On the other hand, I could hear her voice as Serge. "Do you see, my dear angel? Will you see all my creations?
  
  
  I saw that there were people in all the tanks. But they weren't really men on the dell. He carefully walked around the tank to see Irinia and Serge. There was a plaque around the middle and largest tank in the woods. This tank was also made of glass, but no one bathed in nen. Wooden gutters ran from the smaller tanks to the most special one. Small tanks surrounded the larger ones and were connected to it through shallow troughs. Serge was standing by the ladder that led to the board around the largest tank. With a silly grin on his handsome face, he looked from one payment to another to another. Irinia looked at it, too.
  
  
  Odin po floated close to the edge of the tank. He pressed his face and body against the glass, and now his ego could see clearly.
  
  
  But on the actual dell, you should have said "this" instead of "he," because it was a grotesque creature. It was human-like in the sense that it had two arms, two legs, a torso, and a head, and it seemed to have the right color. But there were rows of six gills on each side of the neck. Thick neck. Iriniya said that young people participate in the experiments of the special operation. The Poles looked slightly swollen. Membranous sheaths of flesh grew between the fingers. Her, heard Irina make a hoarse sound.
  
  
  A hysterical scream rang out in the lab. Serge's laugh. "What's wrong, honey? Don't you like my creations? And then Serge showed his genius. "We have improved ih well. Russia, the country you passed through. We have perfected almost a human who can breathe underwater. "What have I done, Irinia, her! Her surgery advertises these neck gills so they can extract oxygen around the water." He laughed again.
  
  
  The man swam away from the glass wall. ih saw all of them, the three of them in the aquarium, stomping on & nb and staring at Serge and Irinia. There was something ghostly about ih's silence.
  
  
  "Yes, angel," Serge said, and he saw Irenia cringe. "My creatures are looking at you. But don't you find ih smart? You see, although they can breathe underwater, they are men - they have all the physical desires and needs of ordinary men. Do you want to satisfy ih, my favorite ballerina? He let out a squeaky laugh.
  
  
  The "mermaids" watched in silence as Seryozha hugged Irinia and moaned. When I opened it, I saw that it was another door. However, it wasn't a revolving door, but an ordinary one. There was a small window on the day. It was on the other side of the largest tank, between two smaller ones.
  
  
  Serge reached for the groan where the pen seemed to be. He was still smiling... He pulled the lever.
  
  
  I heard a gurgling sound all around me. Her rushed back to the day when he realized what was going on. The water around the small tanks flowed through wooden gutters and into a large tank. The mermaids struggled to stay in their small tanks. They clung to the gutters as the water flowed and resisted the flow. But it was a strong current, and against their will they fell into the largest reservoir. Ih was about fifteen people who swam in a circle and hid to look over the side of the tank at Serge and Irenia. He didn't see it at first, but it looked like there was some kind of treadmill in the tank. He guessed that this was the way these creatures were fed.
  
  
  Serge has been playing his game long enough. It's time to secure it. He took two steps toward the tank and stopped.
  
  
  Now I understand why it was so hot in the lab. When her father looked up between the tanks, he saw smoke already swirling in the lab. As I watched, the piece of wall turned dark brown and then darker and darker.
  
  
  The walls were on fire.
  
  
  Seryozha said: "My beautiful ballerina, these young people have sacrificed a lot for the sake of their country. They have helped more than any other group of people in the history of the world." He pushed Irinia back toward the stairs leading to the blackboard.
  
  
  Her hotel is to hear what he says. Seryozha said,"Do you want to go upstairs, angel?" Maybe I should tell you a little more about the scope of iht. The operation was successful because the men are now underwater. can breathe there unfortunately, there were side effects. Something went wrong on the operating table, and ih's brain was slightly damaged when the gills were inserted. Ih the vocal cords also look slightly damaged; they can't talk. The only thing they can do is make a creaking sound. Her, I think I know what went wrong. The next group will be better, but many more will be better! '
  
  
  He went up the stairs. He looked at the opposite wall. A rectangle of D or three was black and emitting smoke. To her right, I saw more smoke rising from another wall. There wasn't much time left. I needed to kill Serge quickly, take Irinia, and disappear immediately. Her, I saw how these "mermaids" stood on the water and looked at them. When I understood her in English-the tank, the waiting owners, the board over the tank, Serge's madness - I understood everything. The board was so high that they couldn't reach it. They can try it by jumping up, but it will be difficult. Her, knew what Seryozha was going to do, he would push Irinia into this tank.
  
  
  Serge and Irenia were standing on a board by the path. Irinia recoiled from the end of the tank, but Seryozha continued to stick the gun in her back.
  
  
  "What do you think of that?" Serge put an arm around his ear. "Tell me, comrades, what would you like to do with the young lady's body?"
  
  
  Loud shouts could be heard all around the tank. They waved their hands . Serge laughed out loud again, but his ego couldn't hear him.
  
  
  One of them walked around the smaller tanks. Hers, he knew he had to be very careful. If Seryozha saw me, there's nothing to stop the emu from just shoving Irinia into the tank. By the time he climbed the stairs, reached them, and fished Irinia out around the tank, these creatures, he didn't know what could have happened to her. My dart seemed like the best option. He heard the noise behind him again. As I was about to turn around, Serge did something that distracted me.
  
  
  He bowed his head, cupping his ear with his hand.: "What now, friends? Have you ever wanted to say that you want to see her more? He reached out with his free hand, grabbed the front of Irinia's dress, and ripped the ego from her body. Emu had to spend some time before she was completely naked. "Please," he shouted. "Isn't that better?" The mermaids screamed and jumped on the board.
  
  
  Iriniya me she freely. She didn't shrink, didn't even try to step back. She sat naked and straight. Two mermaids swam to the side of the tank and tried to jump high enough to grab her ankle. She didn't look at us, at them, at us, at Serge. She looked openly at the wall. And he saw the corners of her rta curl up in a light laugh.
  
  
  She stared at the burning wall and must have thought that this was really her fate. If the terrible creatures in the tank couldn't catch her, the burning lab would bury them all.
  
  
  I was seized with a desire to act. Her had to go to her. Hers was to show Hey that she was wrong.
  
  
  "Dance for me, angel," Serge ordered shrilly. "Let my friends see why you are such a talented ballerina, show them what you are capable of. The longer you dance, the longer my creators will wait for you. If you stop, I'll tilt the board." He knelt down and put his hand on the edge of the board.
  
  
  The mermaids have gone mad. Irinia started to dance, but it wasn't the kind of dance that would have been allowed on stage. It was a dance of seduction. The mermaids jumped higher and higher. Seryozha knelt with his mouth half open, as if fascinated. He went up the stairs. While walking her, I touched my gun belt. The hair on my neck stood up. I was at the bottom of the stairs, and Serge hadn't seen me yet, but I felt, more than I saw, movement.
  
  
  I saw it out of the corner of my eye. I started to turn around and saw a shadow slide behind me and reappear behind me. It took an eternity for her to turn around. I was halfway there when I felt a shadow move toward me around a pile of wooden beams.
  
  
  The oncoming traffic seemed to cause a small hurricane. She touched me with a growl. He stumbled, tried to regain his balance, and fell to the concrete floor. Hands were tugging at my throat; every tribe was pinned to my back. Somehow I managed to turn around and grab the man. I hit it and missed. But it was Vasily Popov who saw him!
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 14
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Popov was wearing a woolen sweater. Ego grabbed her and pushed her away. We were about the same strength, but he was at a disadvantage. Ego knew her. I spent hours studying all the details of my ego life. He knew her egoism, knew how he thought, how he fought. He didn't stand a chance.
  
  
  So I made time for it. He suspected that Seryozha would watch the battle unfold. Popov grabbed her and hit him in the face with his right hand. There was a thud. But there was another noise in the big laboratory - the crackle of burning wood.
  
  
  Serge fired, and the concrete under my right foot cracked. Gawk bounced off and hit the small glass tank next to me. The hole formed with a sound like torn paper. I turned to put Popov between Serge and me. From his high position, he might have had a chance to shoot me in the head unhindered, but I didn't stop long enough to give the emu a chance to do it.
  
  
  Popov fell to his knees so hard that his hand touched the concrete floor. We were both sweating. Above us, smoke billowed like a ghost across the ceiling. Popov recovered, and because I was so sure that I could beat him, so sure that I could stand it all the time, I threw myself at him. He quickly got up from the floor with a narrow knife in his hand. He silently raised his hand in an arc.
  
  
  I didn't feel it at first. But then the blood around my right arm started to seep through my sleeve. And with the blood came the pain.
  
  
  My rheumatism was automatic. I jumped back, which gave me free rein again. Serge fired again, and this time it felt like a chunk of the toe of my shoe had bounced off. I duck it to the left. Gawk bounced back into the glass tank, very close to the first hole. This time there was a loud crack, like a nail being driven into a blackboard, a creak, a screech. It looked like the tank was falling apart. Popov stepped between Serge and me. He hurt me, and it was ego and confidence. Now he's going to kill me.
  
  
  Hers fell back as he half-leaned toward me, the knife in front of him. He smiled, and the scar on his cheek turned into a crescent moon. He was full of confidence now. He'd hurt me, and he knew it. All emu had to do now was quickly turn me off.
  
  
  He held out both of his hands, palms open in front of him. For a moment, he bent over her knees. She was supposed to grab Odin by the poison darts around her waist, but by lowering her arm, give the emu a chance. He could stab a lowly person with the point of a knife pointing up, and drive the ego between my ribs into my fold dollar.
  
  
  He swerved to the right and used his left foot to reach for the knife on his wrist. He jumped back, stumbling. Now its lost its balance. Her eyes turned to him as he tried to leap forward again. We circled each other again.
  
  
  I couldn't risk looking at Serge, but I heard him cough. He was taller than us, and he suspected that the smoke had reached him. Popov stepped to the left and pressed closer. He stepped aside and grabbed Ego's wrist with both hands. The knife was blatant in front of my face. An ego hand rested on my left shoulder. He tried to back away, trying to stab me in the back.
  
  
  He dropped to his knees. At the same time, ego tugged at her knife arm. I felt the ego of life on the back of my head.
  
  
  Her, continuing to pull, rested the emu's head on the wall, and quickly got up. Alenka's ego felt it when his feet left the floor. Her ego continued to pull her by the arm. Ego's legs were getting higher and higher. When hers, I felt that Alenka's ego on my back relaxed, hers lowered again and pulled ego's hand. He had me forever. When it flew mimmo me through the air, it made an impulsive upward movement and released Ego's hand. For a moment, it looked like he was diving. Her, realized that he was flying openly toward the cracked glass tank.
  
  
  He touched the ego with his feet. Due to the collision with the side of the ego tank, the flight was slightly delayed, but then it flew on. Ego's knees were slightly bent. The glass had already been weakened by two shots. There was a loud crack as his feet smashed into the glass. Then he saw the shards of glass slam into Ego's legs as he flew. He was shouting loudly. The knife fell through ego's hands. Glass shattered all around them. With a loud noise, the tank cover began to collapse.
  
  
  I couldn't see what Serge was doing. Hers could only guess that he was as still as hers. Dolly seconds passed. Her, I saw the glass shards rubbing against Popov's body. The ego of life was already in the hole, a little later the chest, and then the glass collapsed like a house of cards.
  
  
  I jumped back as glass rattled around me. I saw the shards on Popov's neck when the bank collapsed. The noise was deafening. Popov's body seemed to writhe and writhe as it fell, between the shards. But when he hit the floor, he was lying still. Then hers, leaned toward him.
  
  
  Savchenko has become depressing. Her face was sweating and the air was smoky. Popov's Swedes were torn to shreds. He looked at her and saw blood and torn clothes. It was lying on top of the calculations made. It was turned upside down by ego. The Odin around the large shards of glass stuck in his throat. The shard formed a triangle with the ego line of the throat. There was no doubt about it - yes, he was dead.
  
  
  I heard a loud bang and felt something touch my shoulder. Serge fired again, and gawk bounced off my left shoulder.
  
  
  He zigzagged up the stairs, groping for his weapon belt. Serge fired again and missed. I saw that Irinia was still on the shelf. The smoke above her head swirled in ever-thicker layers. The mermaids twitched like dolls and made a creaking sound. Her, went down the stairs before Sergey could shoot again. He couldn't see me anymore. He took out a dart from around his waist and threw one of the poison darts at him. He picked up another arrow and held it in his hand. Then hers, and went down the stairs.
  
  
  Serge paid no more attention to me. He crouched down and held out the gun to Irinia, swinging the board with the other hand. Irinia was no longer dancing, but waving her arms to keep her balance. She swung back and forth on the board. Now the fear was visible in her eyes. The mermaids stopped splashing and shouting. They swam slowly, raising their heads above the water, and looked at nah. They made me think of sharks waiting for their prey.
  
  
  When she was from the start of the second step, she quickly took aim and fired at the air pistol. With a hiss, the arrow flew mimically past Serge's head and was lost in the smoke above him. He heard a soft thud as an arrow tore through the ceiling.
  
  
  Almost immediately, the second arrow loaded it. Serge didn't even seem to notice that I'd fired. Irinia began to lose her balance. It should have prevented him from drawing this board.
  
  
  "Krasnova!" Her voice roared wildly. I had three more steps to go.
  
  
  He turned around with the same wild look in his eyes. He raised the gun to fire. But before he could talk about it, her father pulled the trigger of the air pistol. Another hissing sound. The arrow hit the emu in the chest. He took a step toward the stairs. He died sitting back and collapsed forward, holding the gun in front of him. Ego's face touched the beginning of the second step, and he dove mimmo me. But he wasn't watching him. He was at the top of the stairs, looking at Irinia. She staggered to the left and made strange circular motions with her hands.
  
  
  And then she fell.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 15
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  But she didn't fall completely into the water. She fell on the board, rolled over the edge, but saw an opportunity to grab the board with her hands. Her legs were dangling in the air.
  
  
  The mermaids were delighted. He grabbed another arrow from his belt and inserted it into his pistol. Her, stepped on the board.
  
  
  The first three men came out across the water and tried to grab Irinia's ankle. My arrow around the gun hit one in the right cheek. Ten seconds later, he was dead and drowned in the tank.
  
  
  The others didn't know what to think. They were careful, kept swimming under Irinia, and one even jumped towards her. She tried to get back on the board, but every time she landed on it, one of the mermaids jumped up to grab her by the ankle and pull her down. Then, he quickly dived before she could shoot another arrow. He approached Irinia cautiously. He loaded another arrow into the gun. Irenia rested her elbows on the board as if she had been lying on the floor in the sea, and it was the only piece of broken wood she could hold on to. Fatigue was on her face. The board lay precariously above the tank, now threatening to tip over.
  
  
  I took a look at the burning walls to see how much time we had left. The farthest wall he'd first seen was almost completely gone. I saw right through the dark night. The flames burned and died. The fire was now moving across the ceiling, and I knew that the beams would soon collapse. The wall to my left was ablaze. The smoky air of Stahl suffocate me. With every breath he took, he felt a burning sensation in his throat and lungs.
  
  
  Now he was close to Irinia. He carefully knelt down, placing one for each tribe on the board. Irinia tried to grab me.
  
  
  "Take my hand," I said. She held out her hand.
  
  
  The mermaids looked more and more like sharks. They were watching us now, swimming back and forth. From time to time, one around them would make a strange creaking sound.
  
  
  He felt Irinia's fingers on his own. The mermaid jumped high and hit her head on the board. The board swung to the left. He dropped to both knees and grabbed the side of the board. The gun and arrow fell between my knees. Its lying on all fours. Irinia's feet sank back into the water. Mermaids circled openly under the surface, swimming effortlessly.
  
  
  He crawled up to Irinia. She struggled to get her knee on the board, and with every move she made, it wobbled worse.
  
  
  "Calm down," I said. "Wait until she's with you."
  
  
  She remained calm. I waited until I was sure the mermaids were watching me, then put the dart gun on the shelf and just pretended to reach for Irinia. They've been waiting for this. Her, saw one around them dive a little and go to stand under Irinia. While he was underwater, he raised his gun again and now aimed it at the place where I think the mermaids might appear. He actually showed up. I shot her.
  
  
  The arrow hit the mermaid man in the gills on the side of his neck. He jumped out of the way with a big splash, struggled for a second, then froze and sank to the bottom of the tank.
  
  
  I grabbed another arrow in my belt and crawled over to Irinia, thinking of Serge lying next to me with a gun at the bottom of the stairs and Popov with an ego knife on the broken tank. Then I thought of myself crawling on a rickety board while a group of mermaid people circled underwater in & nb, and I didn't have a weapon handy.
  
  
  Irinia breathed a sigh of relief when Ay held out his hand. She grabbed my arm with both hands and sat down on the board. She snuggled up to me. "Oh, Nick," she said. "I thought ..."
  
  
  "Wait! We're not safe yet! These hotels would like this board to fall into the water. We still need to reach the end." When she nodded, her father said:: "I'm letting you go now.
  
  
  "No!" She pressed against me in desperation, so that the board began to sway even more.
  
  
  "Calm down," I said, keeping my voice calm. "It's only d-three until the end. If we try together, we might fall off the board. Take my hand. I'm walking carefully back, and you're coming with me, okay?
  
  
  She nodded. She grabbed my arm and reached down on one arm to her lap. Smoke now enveloped the water. Despite the flames along the walls and ceiling, I was cold. The icy night air drifted through the holes in the walls. The flames had eaten away a chunk of the roof, and wind was coming through the hole. What a pity it wasn't snowing anymore. He felt her shiver - and hers, too, when he was fully clothed. He could imagine what Irinia was going through right now, naked and wet.
  
  
  The cut on my hand that I had in the fight with Popov was not deep, but it bothered me. Irinia didn't know anything about it, and it was the hand that she grabbed. He pushed off and dragged her along. We walked inch by inch. Every time Irinia shook, the board swayed. There were too many things he had to remember at the same time. I had to pay attention to the board so that it wouldn't fall into the water. Then there were these mermaid people who swam around us, and sometimes came up to see how far we were from them. Suddenly, one of the remaining creatures will attack us, and we will be in trouble. And then there was pain in my arm. And fire! My eyes were already watering from the smoke. The zest of the flame was unbearable from time to time, and if Savchenko didn't feel it, it was also the icy cold coming from outside. The soldiers were putting out the fire, which is still burning. Obviously, someone had taken the reins and was giving orders. Two fire hoses were now pouring ice-cold water on the flames outside. But no one did anything about the flames and smoke inside.
  
  
  Then Irinia began to tremble violently. The board swayed. He held it with one hand and the board with the other. We sat as still as ice statues. Irinia looked at me with a desperate pleading look. He smiled at her, confidently hoping for nah. "There's only one d left," I said.
  
  
  "Me ... I'm freezing, " she said, shivering again.
  
  
  "When we get there, we'll take you in Serge's clothes. Then we go back to the office and put on our coat. The soldiers are busy working with fire extinguishers, so we can walk openly to the truck and leave. The fire will probably destroy the remains of this laboratory. We'll pass, you'll see.
  
  
  She tried to smile. The desperation faded around her eyes. And at that moment, one of the mermaid people decided to try.
  
  
  I saw him coming, but it was too late. Even if I had seen her before, ego wouldn't have known what I could do about it. He dived deep and rose candid from the bottom. Her, saw her ego fingers raking in the water. The ego's eyes were wide open and staring at us. He went upstairs and jumped up. He couldn't grab me or Irinia, but he got so far that he could hit the board with his clenched fists.
  
  
  The board swayed violently back and forth. Irinia tried to grab me. And then the thread of the shelf slid off the end of the tank. The board fell into the water.
  
  
  Her back touched the water. I felt it tighten around me, soaking my clothes. Just before my head came down, I heard loud noises. I had to go to Irinia, try to protect her. I wasn't interested in mermaids; they just wanted to grab her.
  
  
  My head rose above the water. Ego shook her and looked at the tank. As he watched, he reached out and took off his shoes.
  
  
  Three mermaids surrounded Irinia and shouted loudly. It seemed like something new to them, something they vaguely remembered, but didn't know what to do with it. But they will soon remember it. Irinia was holding on to the board with one hand.
  
  
  When her shoes were off, her floated up to her. The creak in the tank is absurdly valuable, but some are worse. The three mermaids looked at me without interest. Hers was probably too much like them to be interesting. But it was different with Irinia.
  
  
  Her hotel wants them to be interested in me. Her hotel wants them to forget Irinia and focus on me. I needed to do something to arouse that interest.
  
  
  With the exception of the three who surrounded Irinia, the others floated under me, under her, and rose from time to time, making their own creaking sounds. I didn't know how much ih was in the tank.
  
  
  I swam over to the floating board and shook my head when Irinia held out her hand. If the last three years had been a nightmare for Nah, it would have meant nothing compared to the fear he now saw in her eyes.
  
  
  Rusalok called her. - 'Welcome!'
  
  
  They looked at me for a moment, then turned back to Irinia.
  
  
  There was one way to get ih interested. Irenia pushed her along the shelf. She looked at me. Hers squeezed in between her and the man next to her. When he reached for her, he took her ego hand away. The other two were watching. They didn't know for sure if I was a threat or not.
  
  
  The mermaid man whose hand I had stopped looked at me with eyes so bloodshot that they looked pink. Ego sticks and lips are swollen. He came up to lick again, and reached for Irinia. Her ego hit him again in the arm. He stahl shouted loudly He swam away, came back and shouted at me again. Ego's pink eyes looked questioningly at the other mermaids. He didn't know what to do. He looked back at me, and Stahl was louder than anyone else around them had ever been. Then he slammed his palms down on & nb. Now he was between him and Irinia. The other two stopped playing to look at me. He was ready. He released his fist with all his might. The blow hit one of them just below the right eye on the cheek. From behind, there was enough power to drive away ego D.
  
  
  He was now so close that he could touch the mermaid holding Irinia. Ego gripped her slippery wrist. Then tota, who had killed her, suddenly came up behind me, and I felt a hand shackle my neck, causing my windpipe to tighten.
  
  
  My target was underwater. The pressure on my throat increased. He pushed both elbows back and tried to free himself. The pressure increased. He dragged me to the bottom of the tank. It seemed to me that I couldn't escape through the tricks of my ego.
  
  
  When I saw that it was becoming dark, like a thick curtain before my eyes, I started to writhe. I let her go with all the karate moves I know, but nothing came of it. Her, knew that he could breathe underwater. I knew he could drag me to the bottom of the tank and just sit on top of me. It won't take more than three minutes.
  
  
  Her jaw clenched. There was only one chance: only the ego's ability to breathe underwater. We were almost at the bottom of the tank now. He clenched both fists. He held his hands out in front of him, then clenched his fists as far behind his head as possible. When he felt them touching the gills on either side of the gentleman's neck, he began to spin his fists.
  
  
  Almost immediately, I felt my hand relax in my throat. Then he was hit in the rheumatism, putting his elbow candid in his side. Her ego touched her chest. Her heard a gurgling growl than hurt. He loosened his grip, and she was able to turn around.
  
  
  I should have dealt with him then. But there were only two things I could think about-filling my lungs with air and getting to Irinia. He pressed his knees to her chest and planted his feet on her chest. Then her, stepped in and Stahl worked his way through the water.
  
  
  I could feel the muscles in my throat threatening to relax, and the water would enter my lungs. The thick curtain in front of my eyes was dark gray at first. Now it was as black as a moonless night, then even darker, so that other colors were visible. He stahl is very dark purple. I could feel the wheel of colors turning: red, blue, and yellow flashing like exploding fireworks in my head. But there was no sound, just a gurgling, gurgling sound of liquid, as if water was flowing down a huge gorge. It doesn't make much sense from afar. It doesn't make much sense to make it sound like he didn't hear it, it was an outsider watching another person drown.
  
  
  Her, I realized that I would not come to the surface. Hers is half stuck in the tank. My arms hung limply at my sides. Her, felt a strong urge to go to sleep. I needed to get some sleep. Her, I thought to myself that it would only take a few minutes, that I just want to give my body a little rest. With great willpower, he forced himself to open his eyes and look up.
  
  
  When hers finally got over it, hers was briefly baffled. I sucked in air, but it was hot and smoky, and my lungs burned. But hot or smoky, it was still air. Maybe the mermaid people could have inhaled the water, but she couldn't.
  
  
  Smoke billowed outright over the water in the tank. Baqom never saw her again. It looked like the ceiling was half eaten by some monster. Through the fog, she saw orange flames leaking out. One wall of the lab was already gone, the other three-quarters gone. She breathed in the scorching air again, and then felt hands on her ankles.
  
  
  I was knocked off my feet. Her tried to step forward, but the hands on her ankles were too strong. There were two of them, one on each leg. He stretched out his back, then leaned forward as far as he could, as if he were making a scissor jump off a trampoline. I decided to attack the one on my right leg. When he saw her, he leaned forward and squeezed both of her hands into a big fist. I hit her on the ego jaw as hard as I could.
  
  
  It let out a loud crunching cry, similar to the sound of creepy underwater, or the sound of a dolphin. His ego power weakened, and he clutched at his throat. Then his whole ego and body relaxed and he floated to the bottom of the tank. Almost immediately, she was hit by another man with two fists. He grabbed my wrists and pulled me to the bottom of the tank with a force I'd never felt before. I reached for Ego's gills, but he moved his head to the side. Then he completely surprised me with a karate kick that would have broken my collarbone if he hadn't pushed it off. However, the blow hit my leg so hard that pain shot through my entire body.
  
  
  At that moment, something understood him. These masters were not only operated on, but also educated. I didn't have time to dwell on it for long, but this amazing discovery kept me occupied for so long that he was able to stand behind me and put his arm around me. As soon as he felt her ego arm strength around him, he stepped back between her ego legs.
  
  
  When hers, felt his arms around my chest relax, hers, turned around and quickly hit his ego on the neck on both sides. The blows immediately killed him. These gills were particularly sensitive and vulnerable.
  
  
  But I didn't have time to kill the ihs one by one. I needed to do something right away that would change this job. He swam to the surface, took a few deep breaths in the smoky air, and looked around. The world was a swirling mass of smoke. Nothing could be seen through it. From time to time, I saw glimpses of orange flames crawling across the floor or ceiling.
  
  
  There wasn't much time left.
  
  
  I'm diving her. They dragged Irinia to the bottom of the tank.
  
  
  Her mind swam, and focused on the largest of the creatures. When her, approached him, her, descended in the direction of ego gills. I didn't touch it, because one of the others bumped into me from the side. He hit me with his skull for the first time, just as my feet touched the head of a large monster.
  
  
  As a result of the collision, he lost his balance. I knew I couldn't hold my breath forever, and Irenia must be bad at it. Her plan was to quickly knock out the mermaid man, grab Irinia, and swim to the edge of the tank. The impact knocked me out of the way. The Odin around them came up behind me. He held out his ridiculous hands.
  
  
  Her ego was waiting. When he was near her, ego ruki pushed her away and hit him hard on the side of his neck. He fell asleep immediately. He was dead before the ego washed down to the bottom of the tank.
  
  
  But the biggest one was far from dead ...
  
  
  Her assaulted him again. I don't know if ego was alerted by the movement of the water or by someone shouting over the phone, but when I reached him, he turned and waited for me.
  
  
  He grabbed both of my arms and pulled me along. Her heard ego teeth grinding about my life as I was dragged through mimmo ego heads.
  
  
  I needed to breathe. Hers floated up to him. As she passed mimmo him, he stared at me intently. I pretended to go upstairs to catch my breath, but then I turned around and dove in.
  
  
  It first hit his ego openly in the neck, then swam away. The blow wasn't strong enough to kill him, but it was weakened. He put his hands to his throat and looked at me. Her came down candid over ego's head and along the way hit his ego with both fists. When I touched his gills, I always felt something spongy. Maybe there is a direct connection between the gills and the brain. But the second blow killed him. Her mind immediately surfaced to catch its breath.
  
  
  There is almost no air sampling left. The laboratory became a sea of flames. The surface of the water was already hot because of Savchenko's fire. The walls were covered in light boxes, and the ceiling was almost completely gone. Sharp smoke hung everywhere, swirling like black spirits around and above the tank.
  
  
  I didn't have time to find an escape route. If I wait any longer, Irenia will drown. I dove in as fast as I could. But when its hiding, its something that came up. My gun belt!
  
  
  I still had a few fire capsules and at least two or three grenade capsules, but I didn't use the yellow gas capsules at all.
  
  
  I felt it under my shirt, which didn't stick to my skin, and unbuckled my belt. She swam with the belt in her hand. As soon as hers went up, her ego threw her as high and far as possible. I saw that he had safely fallen off the end of the tank and dived towards Irinia.
  
  
  I was halfway there when the first round of two grenade explosions sent me rolling back and forth. He pressed his hands to her ears. I saw her where the belt was. It hit the board immediately, and the pods exploded immediately after landing. I heard a loud crack and creak. The tank seemed to be leaking. He swam, but kept his eyes on the ball of the tank.
  
  
  The crack through the water was hard to see. But when it expanded, all the water flowed into it. The crack ran all over the tank from top to bottom. The mermaid people no longer thought of harming me or Irinia. They stared at the flowing water with frightened pink eyes. Irinia didn't move.
  
  
  He reached out to her and put his arm around her waist. We weren't in the tank for more than six or nine minutes. Irinia was above water for most of that time. He tried to calculate how long she had been underwater, and came out in about five and a half minutes. I had to take her out into the fresh air. Which wouldn't have happened, because the yellow capsules were now more dangerous than the remaining air sampling.
  
  
  A large bubble burst from a wide crack in the tank. He began to swim, wrapping his arms around Irinia's waist, and floated to the surface as the crack turned into a huge spider web. Then the whole tank collapsed.
  
  
  The mermaid people screamed in fear. The bubbles were coming out over ih gills. The chargeback collapsed with a thud. The water rushed around the tank in a huge wave. Mermaids struggle with it like salmon jumping on rapids to spawn. Irinia hung limply in my arms. I was afraid that as soon as she felt that she was out of the water, she would try to breathe. And now it was poisoned air! It was supposed to stop Ey from breathing. We were sucked into the open part of the tank. I kept my eyes on the day next to the tank, the day with the square glass inside. It was the web side of the building that wasn't even lit yet.
  
  
  Close icar water increased. She wasn't particularly worried about the glass shards; running water had washed ih across the lab floor. If he could have kept Irinia and me away from the jagged side of the tank, we would have. Now the flow has gone faster. Two mermaids were already thrown out and fell. He brought his hand to Irinia's mouth and took her nose between his thumb and forefinger. I had to play surfers without a surfboard.
  
  
  The water dragged us to the open side of the tank. Her father was swimming with Irinia on his lap. We came to a jagged edge, and I walked sideways to get out. Mermaids were all around us. They forgot about us. They continued to swim against the current, trying to keep some water in the tank and stay in nen themselves.
  
  
  Then we passed the sharp end of the tank and were thrown to the ground. He landed on his back and slid across the floor with Irinia on my hips. From the moment she was thrown by the grenade belt until we landed on the ground, it can't take more than a minute.
  
  
  When we stopped, he crawled up to her and ran with Irinia in his arms to the side door. Ee pulled her close. Her sniffed air in case the deadly gas flew through the door with us. It must have been soaked in water.
  
  
  Irenia was still limp in my arms. Although we were now out of the lab, we were still in the warehouse. The wall behind us was completely burned out. Smoke billowed everywhere. The cold outside rippled around us-around Irinia in her wet nakedness and me in my wet clothes. He shook her and quickly laid her on her back. Her thumb was stuck in her mouth and her tongue was pushed out of her throat. He opened her mouth as far as it would go and pressed himself against it.
  
  
  To my surprise, the first reaction I felt from her was a lack of movement or moaning. It was her tongue, against mine. For a moment, she shook her head back and forth. Her lips softened, then came alive. She started kissing me. She put her arms around my neck.
  
  
  He stood up and dragged her along. As soon as we got up, we started coughing up smoke. He took off her shirt, and we pressed the wet cloth to our noses and mouths.
  
  
  "Nick, what do we do?" She peered through the square glass at the mermaid people, wriggling like fish on dry land. They died one by one. He said, " There are two people in dry clothes. If we try to get to the car while wet like this, we'll freeze to death before we get through the gate. I'm going inside. Popov's was about my size. The Swedish ego should suit me too. I'll bring you Serge's clothes.
  
  
  She nodded. "What can I do?"
  
  
  I've been thinking about it. She could have helped, but ...
  
  
  "Look, I'm poisoned. I have to hold my breath when I go inside. I want you to go to Serge's office. Your mother is hanging there. You can find my coat around the corner, outside the window. Will it work? Come on, wrap this shirt around your nose. See you here." She nodded again and ran naked along the burned wall.
  
  
  He took another deep breath and tore through the door and back into the lab. Most of the monsters were already dead. Two or three of them were still writhing on the ground. Serge was half-lying on the bottom step of the stairs, behind the wall of the burst tank. Only the sleeve of Ego's wool sweater was wet from running water.
  
  
  Holding her breath, I took Ego under my armpits and dragged him to the door with the small square window. Ego pulled her inside and saw an opportunity to hold her breath until the door closed again. With Popov it was more difficult. He was lying far away.
  
  
  He entered the lab again. He carefully walked through the floodwaters around the ruptured reservoir, between two smaller reservoirs, and to where Popov lay. There was blood on his sweater, but I hoped my coat would hide it, so I leaned over and hugged him. All the blood in the ego body flowed to the right side of the ego body, which did not touch the floor.
  
  
  The pods I still had on my belt, along with my weapons, set off a fire all around the floor. The wooden platform around the tank also burned down. The only thing I could hear was the crackle of burning wood.
  
  
  When Popov tried to drag her to the door, he heard a loud crack from above. Her body was quickly dragged into the burning platform as a chunk of the ceiling fell. It descended like a black diving hawk and fell to the ground in numerous pieces. Hers, I felt bad for holding my breath. And the second piece of ceiling was also threatening to fall. It cracked, swayed, and hovered. Hers came back to life like an African lion carrying a freshly killed antelope. Popov was as big as she was, and when he was alive, he weighed about two hundred pounds. Because I had to hold my breath, it looked like a big box, heavy as a piano. The ego corpse was like a gelatin pudding.
  
  
  Finally, ego dragged her through the door. When I tried to take a deep breath, I coughed twice from the smoke. Irinia was already back in her coat.
  
  
  The cold hit us like an icy wind. I was surprised that the smoke didn't dissipate. I took Irinia's wet shirt off for a while to filter out the smoke. Touching each other's shirts in turn, we dressed. When Irina rolled up Serge's trousers and tied her raincoat tightly, it wasn't obvious that she was wearing a Swedish man's shirt. Putting on Popov's clothes and buttoning up his coat to hide the blood, her ego took all the papers. They gave me cover to get out all over Russia. He turned to Irinia.
  
  
  "Look, there's no point in staying here if you don't have a reason to." It was a subtle joke, and she smiled.
  
  
  In the confusion of the fire, we were able to safely leave the warehouse and reach the gate. In the dark, we crawl on all fours into the snowdrift where our old but reliable truck was located. To our surprise, this antique collection of screws and nuts started up the first time. Without peace, we left, around the Soviet Institute of Marine Research.
  
  
  On the way to the next city, Irinia told me that when she left, the office was already on fire. She threw my wet shirt over her head and ran to her coat.
  
  
  When she spoke, he said, " You idiot! Forever be crazy to run in when the camera is on? You did ... '
  
  
  She pushed me toward me and gently put her hand over my mouth. "You're worried," she said. "Not much, anyway. Enough... Let's just pretend it's really our car, and finally drive down the Highway of the Americas." She put her arm around my arm, but rested her head on my shoulder and took a deep breath. "I've been afraid for so long. And suddenly I'm not afraid of him anymore. If we succeed, I will be very happy. If we do that, I won't be afraid." Then I slept all the way to the next village.
  
  
  There we stopped a truck and such a game on an equally ancient bus heading to a city big enough to have an airport. We flew openly to Estonia, from where we took a bus to the village where a fishing trawler moored it. We found ego and headed across the Gulf of Finland. From there we flew to America.
  
  
  And throughout the trip, my name was Vasily Popov, a high-ranking Kremlin clerk. The woman who was studying with me was my wife, and her name was Sonya.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 16
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Two days later, he was sitting in front of Hawke's Washington office. He told Em the whole story while he chewed on his hot, stinking cigar. At no time during my story did he show more than moderate interest.
  
  
  He concluded his story by saying, " While all this was happening with these tanks and the fire, I really didn't have time to think about the significance of these experiments. To be honest, it was only during her briefing that I thought about what they could mean for the Russians if they succeeded."
  
  
  "Hmm," Hawk said. He took the cigar out between his teeth and bowed his head. "Are you sure that the ih operation failed?"
  
  
  I've already thought about it a lot. "Yes, sir, of course. These creatures in the tank were deformed monsters. With ih brain damage, they would never be able to achieve good results. I think it was a step towards a more ambitious company. I think if we hadn't burned the data, they would have eventually succeeded." He lit a cigarette with a gold holder. "They almost made it. Odin around these monsters will have to fight with a human. He attacked me with a karate move." He still found it a little unbelievable. "Sir, I have to pay tribute to Serge Krasnov-he almost did it."
  
  
  Hawk leaned back in his chair. He held the lighter to the charred tip of his cigar. As I say this, he continued to stare at the flames. "Are you sure Serge Krasnova is dead?"
  
  
  He smiled at her. "Of course," he told her softly. But think about what might have happened if he had lived. Think about what might have happened if the experiments hadn't failed."
  
  
  Hawk nodded. "I've been thinking about it, Carter. I thought about the whole fleet-the Russian navy-equipped with such creatures that can breathe underwater, smart, good soldiers - I really thought about it." Her eyes were open again.
  
  
  Hawk said: "Are you sure that all the documents related to the experiments were destroyed?"
  
  
  He nodded to her. "They were destroyed at the same time as the office. They were burned - all records, methods, everything that was on paper regarding operations." He squeezed out a cigarette.
  
  
  "Is your hand better?" Hawk asked.
  
  
  He nodded to her. "Yes sir."
  
  
  He stubbed out his cigar. "Well done, Carter. You have one day off."
  
  
  Hers, knew it would be like this. "Sir, I'm afraid I should have three Sundays instead of one."
  
  
  For the first time with them ferret, as I talked to him, Hawk showed some interest in what I said. He raised his eyebrows. He said. "Ouch?" "Are you going back to Las Vegas?"
  
  
  "No, sir."
  
  
  "The young lady around the special effects and editing department?"
  
  
  Her brow furrowed. "How did you know that?"
  
  
  Hawk smiled ruefully. "You hardly made around that allocation when you pulled her bag around her chair." He thought for a moment. He asked. "Why three Sundays?"
  
  
  "To visit America. I bought myself a mobile home and would like to drive around America on three Sundays. With absolutely patriotic intentions ."
  
  
  He leaned forward and placed his hands on the table. "I don't suppose you're going to drive around America alone, are you, Carter?"
  
  
  He smiled at her. "Honestly, no. Her ed is out with a very beautiful, very rich girl. Not with Sharon Wood."
  
  
  Hawk nodded in understanding. "And this beautiful young lady - who also has a dance class - used to be a ballerina?"
  
  
  "Well, sir, how did you know that?" I asked him, grinning. "She claims that she owes me a lot - and says it will take at least three weeks."
  
  
  Hawk laughed out loud.
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  
  About the book:
  
  
  
  
  Nick Carter is sent to the Kremlin's Lion's Den. Ego goal: Find and destroy a new superweapon. Ego Kontakt: a good Russian double agent who has everything on and off. Priority assignment for Nick Carter beyond the sea of uncertainty. But one thing is for sure: the ego chances are slim ...
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Carter Nick
  
  
  Ice Bomb Zero
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Nick Carter
  
  
  Ice Bomb Zero
  
  
  translated by Lev Shklovsky in memory of his lost son Anton
  
  
  Original Title: Ice Bomb Zero
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 1
  
  
  
  
  The world begins to shrink in front of me, running out of intimate hiding places. Every time I have a few days or weeks to have fun, I have nowhere to go.
  
  
  This time I wanted a climate as similar to California as possible-sun, light breeze - but I couldn't do it without people. Its found this.
  
  
  She stayed at the Calvi Palace in Calvi on the island of Corsica in the Mediterranean Sea. The young lady's name was Sonya. Sonya Treshchenko. We found a tennis court somewhere.
  
  
  The blue mountains rose steeply behind us, high above the Calvi beach peninsula. Calvi itself is a walled medieval town dominated by the Genoese Citadel. It is said that in the twenties a group of Russians settled here in search of a"good life". Ih the ferret's descendants still predominate in the population, so a first and last name like Sonya Treshchenko wasn't uncommon. On summer evenings, when life in Calvi is bustling, you can see Russians dancing on the street to the accompaniment of an accordion and guitar. In Russian night clubs such as Chez Dao or under the strongholds of an ancient city fortress, men and women eat, drink and dance until dawn. From May to September, Calvi is one of the busiest seaside resorts in Europe. This is also due to the proximity of the Foreign Legion post.
  
  
  So far, Corsica's ferret-like wild landscape and primeval beauty have been spared the waves of tourists that have transformed so many other places in the Mediterranean. But gradually , car ferries and new ultra-modern hotels appeared, which increase the cost of living and attract more tourists. I'm afraid Corsica is going the same way as many of the beautiful paradises that have disappeared-the Zhirinovsky road, dotted with outstretched hands gawking at the almighty dollar. But it's not that far off yet. There is still a lot of primitive charm left, especially after the end of the tourist season. It was November, and I was playing tennis with a charming young woman, Sonya. It was our third night, and it was almost over. So far, everyone around us has won two ferrets. Sonya didn't like to lose. And hers, too. When we threw the ball over the net, it flew back and forth. Hers was sweating, but so was hers. And then it had to be served, and all I had to do to win was make ee miss.
  
  
  She was far out in the field, her beautiful legs spread, her racket slung over her shoulder, waiting for me to serve. She was wearing a white sleeveless blouse and matching tennis shorts . She looked very tan in all that white. Her shoulder-length blonde hair was pulled back in a ponytail.
  
  
  She was very tall, with a good figure and beautiful, even features, but not so pretty that she had to push men away from her when they met her. I've only known her for a week, but we've been sleeping together since day one. Other than that, I didn't know anything about her. Well, almost nothing. I knew that she was in Corsica with a Russian passport and that she deliberately met me in the lounge of the Calvi Palace Hotel. I didn't know what she was doing or why she was attached to me, and that bothered me a little.
  
  
  She appreciated my performance perfectly. The ball went over the net, bounced once, and flew high. Her ran three steps to the right, spun around, and fiercely kicked the ball, hoping it would slip outright over the net. That's what happened. Sonya quickly ran forward and managed to hit ego with her racket before the ball landed. He leapt high in the air like a surfboard, after the rider was swept away and the waves were given free rein, and then jumped over the net. I ran over and put myself and my racket in place. Sonya was already trotting back, making a mistletoe show about what I was up to.
  
  
  Her, waiting for the ball to fall. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Sonya far out in the field. When the ball fell, it was briefly made by ego over the net. He gave a low jump, and Sonya ran after him as fast as she could, but it was too late. The ball bounced once more and then a third time before she got there.
  
  
  He put his racket on his shoulder and smiled at Hey. "In case you just gave up, it's won."
  
  
  "Oh, shut up ! She turned the net on her back and walked over to the couch where her towel lay.
  
  
  I decided to give her a little drink. She always did that when she lost. She'll finish it in five minutes or so. I think I could let Ay win - there are some who think a gentleman should do it. I think there's a lot of nonsense made up by people who want to impress. I play it to win at any moment. I probably can't accept my loss, and neither can Sonia, but I hope I can hide it better than she can.
  
  
  When her, thought that nah had enough time to cool down, she walked around the net and approached her. "Do you want to talk about it, or do you want to blame yourself a little more?"
  
  
  Nah had a towel over her face. When she lowered her ego, she laughed. A faint smile, but still a smile. "I'm sorry," she said, almost inaudibly. Nah had beautiful, slightly large teeth and gray-blue eyes with gold flecks in them. Nah's skin was peachy, soft as velvet.
  
  
  "Come on," I said. "Then I'll buy you a drink."
  
  
  I put my arm around her slender waist and we walked two blocks to the Calvi Palace.
  
  
  The hall was almost deserted. A Corsican bartender with a handsome mustache smiled at dn . A couple sat in the corner, their heads close together. Sonya and I, including the bartender, made the top five.
  
  
  We play this game on a small table under a tiredly rotating fan. It wasn't a hot day, but the fan was still working. The hotel gave the impression of an elegant past, somewhat shabby, which indicated ego decline. It must have been a luxury hotel in the past, but now the carvings around the wood were damaged, the carpet that was thought to reach up to your ankles was slightly worn, and the leather chairs next to the bar were cracked.
  
  
  The hotel cost eight dollars a night for accommodation and full board. That meant everything but tips — maids, food, and everything else the human body needed. The rooms were as shabby as the living room, but they were clean and the service was fast. The bartender came around the bar and approached us with his usual smile. He had a towel on his left hand and was carrying a platter. Ego's short red jacket had mistletoe stringing gold across the lapel, which now looked like copper. Ego's smile revealed even more golden teeth.
  
  
  Sonya puts her hand on my shoulder. "Nick, she should be invited to drink this new drink." There were still drops of blood on her forehead.
  
  
  - For estestvenno. He looked at the bartender. "Remember how to do ' Harvey's Goal Kick'?"
  
  
  The bartender blinked. He wasn't sure. He made four for Sonny the night he met her.
  
  
  He said, " It's like an Italian cocktail, vodka and orange juice." juice with a pinch of Galiano . But remember, first vodka and orange juice , then add as much Galiano on top to make a layer."
  
  
  He nodded that he remembered and asked. 'Two?'
  
  
  When he was gone, he took Sonya's hand in both of his. We laughed at each other. "You're a mystery to me, Sonya. I'm trying to figure out why, out of all the international beauties in this lobby, you chose me that night last week.
  
  
  Her serre-blue eyes searched my face. Small golden specks twinkled like stars. "Maybe you were the most beautiful person around them all," she said softly. Nah had a pleasant voice, low and a little hoarse.
  
  
  And that was the problem. I began to like it, and, to be honest, a little more than "love". "And now we are playing tennis, lying on the beach, swimming, walking..... '
  
  
  "And we go to bed."
  
  
  She squeezed my hand. "We go to bed at least two, sometimes three times a day."
  
  
  'Yes, in the dell itself. And it seems to be getting better and better."
  
  
  — What's the big deal?"
  
  
  "I don't know anything about you... who you are , what you do, and why you're here."
  
  
  'Is it really that important? Dear Nick, what do I know about you? Does she ask you questions?
  
  
  "No, you didn't do that."
  
  
  — Then why should we talk about it?" We have fun together. My body excites you, and your body excites me. We enjoy each other. Let's not complicate things... questions.
  
  
  The bartender brought drinks in tall, steamy glasses. Emu paid for it and gave me a generous tip. Ego's golden smile grew even wider. When he was gone, he raised his mug to Sonya. "For intrigue and mystery."
  
  
  She moved her head closer and tapped her glass against mine, then said softly, " and after we drink this, we'll go to your room. We'll take a bath together and then go to bed. And she pressed her bare thigh against mine .
  
  
  He let his hand slide from the chair to her leg. She pressed her soft chest against my shoulder. So we sat there while we drank our Harvey Copstoot.
  
  
  And we did exactly as she said. We finished our drink and walked hand in hand with our rackets to the elevator. Her room was three days away from mine . We entered the nah for a moment so she could put down her tennis racket and grab a robe. Then we went to my room.
  
  
  I wasn't in the shower, as is usual in such old European hotels. The tub in my room was so bulky that it sat on its claws. It made her look like a deep-sea monster.
  
  
  But we did what we did, Sonya and her. While she was undressing, she took a bath and checked the water temperature. He let the tub fill halfway, then opened the bedroom door to undress.
  
  
  She was surprised by Sonya. She had just taken off her shorts, the last piece of clothing she was wearing. She turned around, her serre-blue eyes widening at the execution flag. Then the corners of her rta curved into the shadow of a smile. She straightened up and posed for me with one foot slightly in front of the other.
  
  
  Nah had a mature, curvy body, which is totally out of fashion these days because women are supposed to be skinny. Sonny's beauty lay in her curves. Nah had definite round thighs, without any trace of bone. Her breasts were large, but firm and young. Nah had a high waist and long legs, making her legs look slimmer than they actually were on Della. In fact, they were as lush and ripe as the rest of her body.
  
  
  She asked. "Is the bath ready?".
  
  
  "I'm ready," I said. Ee was waiting for her on bath day. She walked purposefully, her breasts swaying with each step. He kept it diagonally in the doorway. Sonya stopped and looked at me with a supposedly innocent look. "How do I get to that door, dear?" How do I get to the bathroom?
  
  
  He grinned broadly and clicked his tongue. "I think you'll have to squeeze through."
  
  
  She continued to look innocent. — What do you mean by standing on the floor like that?"
  
  
  "I may be crazy," I said, " but I'm not stupid."
  
  
  She smiled at me. She made a whole production around it. At first, she tried to slip candid mimmo me. Of course, it didn't work.
  
  
  "Then there's only one way to get through.
  
  
  'I thought so too.'
  
  
  She stood sideways, looked at me, and slowly squeezed past me. Her body slowly dissolved into mine as she slid mimmo me. Then she threw her arms around my neck. "You're still dressed," she said. "Give me two tenths of a second."
  
  
  The girlish innocence was suddenly gone, around those gold-flecked eyes. The smile faded. — You like me, don't you?"
  
  
  With one finger, he lifted her chin and kissed her on the lips. "Yes, I like you."
  
  
  — Do you like my body?"
  
  
  Hers, he shrugged. 'Not bad. I've seen worse of her.
  
  
  She punched me twice in the chest and then pushed past me into the bathroom. When she lifted one leg to climb into the tub, he slapped her bottom.
  
  
  He was already half-dressed. The rest didn't take long to shoot. Her clothes were thrown on the spot. He took two steps to get in close proximity to the cab and twirled the tips of his imaginary mustache. "Now, my dear, prepare yourself well."
  
  
  Sonya played along and leaned forward to cover her body with her hands. "What do you want, sir ?" — What is it? " she asked timidly.
  
  
  "Rape and robbery," he growled, and stepped into the tub.
  
  
  She shrugged, sighed, and spread her arms. "You Americans are all the same. Good. Do whatever you want with me.
  
  
  Her sat across from nah in & nb. The cabin was so small that our feet got tangled. Sonya looked at me. There was no innocence in her eyes now. Her, looked at nah. He moved a little closer to her and took her hands in his . Ee pulled her close. Then her, leaned forward, took her breasts in his hands and kissed ih.
  
  
  "Oh, Nick," she moaned. "Her, thought we'd wait until after the wash.
  
  
  I was afraid we'd have to wait.
  
  
  I felt her hand touch my leg. My hands slid to her waist. Ih lowered her a little and lifted her onto his lap. She tilted her head back and tugged at the bandage that held her long blond hair together. Then she pressed her cheek to mine , and the fluffy hair tickled my shoulder. She was pulled by ee to lick to herself.
  
  
  He felt her breath against his ear, faster and warmer now. Her hands caressed my neck as ee stroked it. Suddenly he said to her: "I wonder if this bathtub is antique? Maybe the eighteenth century... Do you know anything about antiques?
  
  
  "Nick, leave that tub alone!" Her voice was furious. She lifted her knees slightly and walked over to lick them. "Tell me what you really think about my body. Tell me what it does to you when you look at us together. I know you're watching. Her strong arms wrapped around my neck. "Oh, Nick, what are you doing to me?"
  
  
  Her smile was brief. Her body made me incredibly excited, especially when she kept moving like this, with impatient excitement.
  
  
  And he said to her: "Some time ago in America there was a film"The Virgin and the Gypsy". It was about the pastor's daughter having an affair with a wandering gypsy, and...'
  
  
  "God's bones, Nick. You are welcome!' She tried to come over to lick me, but I held her back to tease her.
  
  
  I continued it: "And the commercial for this movie was one of the best I've ever seen it." It said that once a virgin, the daughter of a minister, met a Gypsy. Father recognized her to God, and gypsy recognized her to be in heaven."
  
  
  Sonya dug her nails into my neck. Her lips brushed my ear, and he could feel the warmth of her breath all the way to my toes. He put both hands on her hips and lifted her up a little. Her breathing suddenly stopped. She tensed expectantly. Slowly, very slowly, he lowered her to penetrate nah. Her breathing was in small gasps. The deeper he dug into her, the more she exhaled. She let out a low, drawn-out moan. Then she wrapped her arms tightly around my neck. My face was lost in the silky curls of her hair .
  
  
  "Nick," she whispered, so softly that I could barely hear her. When she was asked to say something, she would silence me. "No, — she whispered. "Let me finish." She stirred and moaned again. "Listen, angel. This has never happened before, to Hema and me.
  
  
  She was all around me now. It started to move.
  
  
  "Yes," I told her through gritted teeth. "Yes, I love your body. Yes, it turns me on. Yes, her, I love to fuck you.
  
  
  Suddenly, she dug her nails into me. 'Ouch! Dear, I can ... no... more... wait... "She was writhing on top of me. Her body jerked violently two, three times. She was whimpering like a child. She shuddered, as if nah was having a convulsion, then she wrapped her arms and legs around me, and her body relaxed as if nah had no bones. I've never met a woman who couldn't completely give herself up to pleasure.
  
  
  "My turn," I said. He started pushing her again.
  
  
  'No!'Oh, my God!' she exclaimed. "Don't move. I don't want you to move.
  
  
  I leaned her back a little so that she was no longer completely merged with me.
  
  
  "Don't look at me like that," she said.
  
  
  'I like to watch. It's nice to look at you, especially when we're in love with each other. Now show me how well you can do it before the bath water gets cold."
  
  
  "If it gets cold, I'll warm it up again." She started moving again, slowly at first. Her lips moved closer to my ear. "Nick," she whispered. "Nick, what we have is worth a lot more than just being good. It's better than anything."
  
  
  He was immersed in it and knew it. I was in the process of coming out around myself, and both my soul and spirit surpassed me. She was trapped by the spell of what she had done. Little by little, it left his body. It went on and on, and he didn't want it to end.
  
  
  My target exploded like a firecracker in a tin can. The rest of my body followed. Hers fell apart like a cheap toy. The clock was pounding loudly in my head. I couldn't get ih to stop. They were church bells, fire bells, all kinds of bells. Time passed at the speed of light. And then suddenly Sonya moved away from me. She took this beautiful body from me. There was a gasp of air sampling from where her body had been. I suddenly felt very cold. "Nick," Sonya said. "Someone for a day. Oh, Nick, this sucks, but someone's calling.
  
  
  Her mind quickly recovered. The bell rang again, an old gong, by a more elegant past. He studied Sonny's flushed face. 'You...?
  
  
  She nodded. 'Yes love. Together with you. Will you give me my robe when you go out?"
  
  
  I pushed it down and got out around the tub. On bathroom day, Sonny picked up her robe and tossed it to her. Then he put on his robe and opened the door.
  
  
  The little brown boy smiled at me. Ego's hair would have been permanently cut, but ego's brown, intense eyes were intelligent. They also looked about five years older than the boy himself.
  
  
  "Signor Nick Carter?" — What is it? " he asked in a voice that betrayed his ego.
  
  
  "Her?"
  
  
  'Telegram.'
  
  
  He pulled out a dirty telegram tray. Only these were two telegrams.
  
  
  I took the top one. 'Thank you. He took a half dollar from the dressing table and handed it to Em.
  
  
  He waited. He blinked his young-old eyes and studied my earlobe.
  
  
  Then I understood her. "I asked her. "Who needs another telegram?"
  
  
  He gave me a radiant, snow-white smile. "For the signorina ." She's not in her room.
  
  
  I gave Em another half dollar and slapped Ego's ass as he left.
  
  
  Sonya came out of the bathroom and tied up her robe. I gave Hey ee a telegram and opened my own .
  
  
  It was short and sweet. It came from Hawke. He wanted her to come to Washington immediately.
  
  
  He looked at Sonya as she read her telegram. Then I thought about what she was going to say. Something in case something happened... Waiting for her. It probably didn't mean anything. I waited for her to read her telegram, then said,"I hope you have better news than I have."
  
  
  She blinked. "I was expecting this."
  
  
  — Do you have to go back to Russia?
  
  
  "No," she said, shaking her head. "This is from Mr. Hawke. It should immediately inform the headquarters in the AH in Washington. .. '
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 2
  
  
  
  
  In Washington, shell snowed when a taxi stopped in front of the Dupont Joint Press and Telegraph Office. He went out and turned up the collar of his coat. An icy wind hit me in the face. Corsica was already very far away.
  
  
  He leaned over to the taxi and helped Sonya out. She was wearing a thick suede cloak with a fox fur collar. She took my hand and got out of the taxi, shrugging her shoulders against the rushing snow as I paid the driver.
  
  
  Rivnenskaya has known her for as long as he did on the day we received the telegrams. Nothing like that. All the questions her father asked were ignored, and she shook her head "no". On the plane, she was silent and sullen.
  
  
  Then, just before we landed in Washington, she touched my arm. "Nick," she said softly, " her mistletoe meant when she said you were the best. You should know what. We have a wonderful friendship, and I want it to last as long as possible. Please don't ask me any more questions. What you need to know, you'll hear soon enough.
  
  
  Then hers also fell silent. But the questions remained. Sonya Zhilki on a Russian passport. Was she a Russian agent? If so, what was she doing in Corsica? And why would Hawk let Ay come with me? Hawk must have known she was with me, which meant Hawk knew who she was and what she was doing. Okay, all I had to do was wait until I talked to Hawk. But I didn't like the way I got into it.
  
  
  I grabbed Sonya's arm and we went up the front steps. It was a dark, depressing day. Thick gray clouds of low-lying snow hung in the sky, and the wind was so cold that it seemed unbearable. Yes, Corsica was very, very far away indeed.
  
  
  Once inside, we stopped briefly in the lobby to warm up. He brushed the snow off her coat and pulled down her collar. He then grabbed Sonya's hand and led her to Hawke's office.
  
  
  He was sitting at his desk in a sleeveless shirt when we entered. Papers were scattered all over the desk.
  
  
  In one swift, fluid motion, Hawk got up from his chair and walked around the chair, grabbing his jacket and putting it on. It wrapped loosely around Ego's skinny body. Ego's thin face lit up with a smile as he approached Sonya. Only the eyes showed ego tension. He took out his iso rta cigarette butt, straightened his tie, and shook Sonya's hand.
  
  
  "It's very nice of you to come, Miss Treshchenko," he said. Then he looked at me and nodded. "I think you have a lot of questions, Carter?"
  
  
  "A little or so, sir .
  
  
  Hawk leaned into the two chairs to one side of the chair. "Please sit down." He walked around the chair and sat down on his creaky chair. The office was hot.
  
  
  Sonya and I played this game, and we waited patiently while Hawk cracked cellophane from a new black cigar. He knew there was no point in starting with a lot of questions. Hawke had a beekeeper to act out the drama. This was one around the two main flaws of the ego character; the other was an almost fervent love of gadgets and smart devices.
  
  
  Now he was sitting across from us, sniffing at his cigar. Soon the room was filled with stinking cigar smoke. I saw Sonya's nose crinkle, and I couldn't help but laugh.
  
  
  She stared at him intently, like a child watching a spider web or a worm crawl along a tree branch. It occurred to me that to someone who didn't know ego well, Hawk might actually seem strange. I understood why Sonya was looking at me like that. But to me, Hawke wasn't a stranger, he was... well. ..The Hawk .
  
  
  "All right," he said. He leaned forward, the burning cigar clenched tightly between his teeth. 'Can we start? He rummaged through the papers in front of him and pulled out three sheets. He looked first at Sonya, then at me. "Ah, I've never brought up a case with so few materials before. To be honest, we have practically nothing."
  
  
  Sonya shifted slightly in her chair. Sir, I hate to interrupt, but I'm sure Nick doesn't think I should be here. If you want to explain emu.
  
  
  "All in good time, Miss Treshchenko. Hawk turned to me. "Miss Treshchenko was sent to Corsica by me. It was her request that she be introduced to the best agent in AH, so I said hey, you were in Corsica. Her hotel, so you can get to know each other better.
  
  
  'Why?'
  
  
  — I'll explain that later. He bit down on his cigar, puffed out the smoke, and stared at the papers in front of him for a while. Then he looked back at us. — Like I said, there wasn't much to learn, damn little. Last week, our radar picked up an object somewhere in the Arctic. Search planes were sent out, but they didn't find anything. Then, three days ago, we got a dot on the screen. Planes were sent out again. Again, nothing. We know there's something there, but we don't know what it is. It could be something coming in and out through the Arctic, or maybe it's something deep under the ice." Sonya and I exchanged glances. But the look in her eyes told me that she already knew all this, that it wasn't a surprise to Nah. Her, felt like a schoolboy entering the classroom after ten minutes, then the start of the lesson.
  
  
  "That's not all," Hawk continued. He shuffled the papers in his hands, turned the top sheet over.
  
  
  "Our patrol ships operating north of the Bering Sea intercepted sonar signals from submarines — nuclear submarines. They must carry tons of nuclear weapons. Last week, there were four accidents. We know there are submarines out there, but they keep disappearing before we find them. The Navy thinks they're sinking under Arctic ice.
  
  
  "It's just a wild guess," I said.
  
  
  "This is more than a guess." Hawk pressed the intercom button.
  
  
  A female voice said, " Yes, sir ?"
  
  
  "Alice, can you get the globe?"
  
  
  "Immediately, sir ."
  
  
  Hawk hung up. He looked at me across the chair. Ego's cigar went out and he chewed it.
  
  
  "We have a few suggestions, Nick. Our planes crossed the entire Bering Sea. They sighted submarines four times."
  
  
  Her brow furrowed. "What submarines? From here? Hawk took out an iso RTA cigar. " Red Chinese submarines. They left for the Bering Sea. We'll keep an eye on them. They always disappear suddenly.
  
  
  I asked her. "They don't come out?"
  
  
  Hawk shook his head. "The first one was spotted over a Sunday ago. She was never seen or heard from again. No, the Foreign Ministry is right — they dive under the Arctic ice and stay there."
  
  
  Her slowly said: "Then they should have a base down there, some kind of activity."
  
  
  Sonya was silent, but she followed the conversation with interest. There was a soft knock, then the door opened. Alice came in with a rather large globe rotating on a stand.
  
  
  Alice was a dark-haired woman in her early 50s. She was short, with thick legs and a big butt. Nah had a plum-sized nose and a soft mouth, and her voice was as absurd as a scratched gramophone record. But nah had a gold dollar stack, and she was soft as butter. She'd helped me curb Hawke's anger more than once if I'd done something wrong. Either the AH did not agree or did not provide me with information that he could not get anywhere else. Alice had a beauty that you couldn't see. She was my woman.
  
  
  She got the globe, Hawke's chair, smiled at me, winked, and walked out through the rooms as silently as flies to moans.
  
  
  Sonya and I leaned forward. Hawk placed both hands on the globe.
  
  
  "I think we can narrow down a bit the destination of these submarines," he said. — As you both know, it would be almost impossible to search the entire Arctic Circle to find out what the Chinese are up to. Even the dots on the radar screen cover too large an area. We can narrow down the ego and still be licks, to where these points come from. One of our radar guys had an idea. Take a look.'
  
  
  Hawk picked up a soft pencil. He set up a point in Washington and drew a red line north, then around the globe, until he returned to Washington.
  
  
  He looked at us. "You saw that I drew a line to the north. Straight north. Now pay attention.
  
  
  He turned the globe so that Russia was in front of him. He dipped the tip of the pencil into Moscow and drew the line north again. He rode an outdoor swimming pool with him and returned to Moscow. He tilted the ball so that we could see the top. Two lines crossed on the Arctic Circle.
  
  
  "We were able to narrow the ego down to an area of about seventy-five square kilometers. Here. He tapped the intersection of the two lines with his finger.
  
  
  He nodded to her. "And my job is to try to figure out what the Chinese are doing and where they are doing it."
  
  
  Hawk nodded. "And destroy what they're doing if you think it's necessary." We named the ego "Ice Bomb Zero" after those Arctic submarines equipped with nuclear weapons. From now on, this is what you call an operation when you contact me.
  
  
  He watched Sonya light her cigarette again. I began to suspect her of why she was here. I had a feeling I already knew what Hawk was going to say next. Sonya smiled at me.
  
  
  Hawk said: "When we discovered that these two lines intersect across Washington and Moscow, we sent a message to the Soviet Union. The Russians want to know what's going on there as much as we do. We have ... certain agreements.
  
  
  Her brow furrowed. — What arrangements?
  
  
  "You have to take a quick survival course taught in the Soviet Union."
  
  
  Its blinked. — What will I do ?"
  
  
  Hawk took two puffs on his cigar. "You will not be alone in Russia. Someone will take this course at the same time as you and join you on your Arctic journey. As far as I understand it, it is almost all over the best agents in Russia."
  
  
  'Who?'I asked, but I didn't need to ask. Hawk gave a short laugh. "Miss Treshchenko, of course. She's going to join you in Operation Ice Bomb Zero.
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 3
  
  
  
  
  I didn't want to take Sonya to the special effects and editing section. Now that he knew she was a Russian agent, the ancient defense mechanism against the enemy was triggered automatically. There were many who tried to kill me. But when we were alone, Hawk told me that Sonya and I had been assigned to the Special Effects and Editing department. There was no risk of seeing anything that wasn't meant for her eyes. We had to go to Dr. Dan Michaels, who gave us most of our gear and informed us about what to expect from it.
  
  
  In the taxi on the way, Sonya unexpectedly took my hand and squeezed it. Her, looked out the window. Her, felt her eyes on his face. It's like someone put a magnifying glass on the sun spot on my left cheek. But there was no us, no sun, no magnifying glass, just Sonya sitting next to me, holding my hand and looking at me.
  
  
  She turned, and her beautiful cerulean-blue eyes seemed to take on a million golden spots.
  
  
  They smiled at me.
  
  
  'Are you angry?'
  
  
  — You could have told me in Corsica." If I knew you were a Russian agent, she'd be... " '
  
  
  "Did what? Ignored me? I'm not from this hotel. We were happy there. We had fun together. We can still have it now.
  
  
  'Perhaps. But I don't quite understand who - or what - you are. A few more details are missing."
  
  
  She took a deep breath. She was wearing a brown suede raincoat, and there was no denying that it concealed a woman's body. "My government ordered me not to disclose more than was absolutely necessary. Hawk knew that. He could have told you.
  
  
  "Perhaps he thought that you would take advantage of this usual courtesy yourself, because you came to Corsica to see me."
  
  
  "She was asked to see you." You know, you're quite famous in Moscow. The unbreakable Nick Carter. Killmaster. Code name N-3. Do you still have the AX tattoo on your arm?
  
  
  I didn't like it. She knew too much. — You seem well informed, Miss Treshchenko."
  
  
  She leaned down and kissed me on the cheek. "She wants to see you," she said again. - "I want to see a person whom one Russian could not destroy us." Long, thick lashes fell modestly over her gray-blue eyes. 'Voices like it was in the beginning. After she found out about you, well, when everything was so perfect between us, so wonderful, I didn't want to ruin the relationship.
  
  
  "You seem to know everything about me, but I don't know much about you, and that puts me at a disadvantage."
  
  
  She made the taxi light up with her smile. 'Do you want to know more about me? She was born in the town of Kalushka, near Moscow . My childhood was spent at the Moscow State Conservatory of Music. She played it in Lenin's parque or Gorky's Parque . She graduated from Moscow State University, then went to work in the Ministry of Foreign Affairs of the Russian Federation. It took me eight years to learn the American dialect of English. For the last two years, she had been studying the life and customs of a certain Nicholas Carter. I know almost as much about you as you do.
  
  
  It was like a cold wind blowing through the hair on my neck. It was like standing naked in a room with one-way mirrors, and everyone passing by could see my nakedness.
  
  
  'Why? I asked her in a voice that didn't sound like mine .
  
  
  She continued to smile. "Purely personal, dear. She wanted to know everything about the man who couldn't be killed. I knew you liked women, that you were a very good lover. Her assumption is that when I get to know you better, I can choose two paths. Hers might refuse to sleep with you at all costs and try to interest you by taunting you, or hers might seduce you. When she saw you, she knew right away that it wouldn't get us anywhere if I kept you at a distance. You had a lot of charm, and if you really loved me, she wouldn't have been able to stop you - I know my weaknesses. So I chose the alternative of letting you seduce me as soon as possible. Once this has been done, there can be no cat-and-mouse game about whether or not we will work together. Her knew it would be good, I didn't think I'd be disappointed, but... .. her never thought... I mean, it was worth a lot better... Look at me, her blushing like a schoolgirl.
  
  
  The woman was almost creepy. I thought there was nothing I could do, that she wouldn't know. She kept me on my toes all the way, and it bothered me here and there. First of all, its still not sorted out with her . And secondly, now that she understood me, what was she going to do with that knowledge? Yes, I was attracted to her - she was more of a woman than many I met her or would meet again in a long time. Yes, she took me. But there was something about her, something I couldn't quite place. Nah had a way of looking at me when she spoke, a way of making me believe everything she said, and yet...
  
  
  "We're here, sir," the driver said. He stopped a taxi in front of the building.
  
  
  I wasn't sure if I should hold Sonya's hand openly now or wait for someone to pick us up. The decision is up to me. While he was paying off the taxi driver, Dr. Michaels came down to stop her. He nodded curtly to Sonya, smiled at me, and held out his hand.
  
  
  "Good to see you again, Nick.
  
  
  "Hello Doctor."
  
  
  Dr. Michaels was a thin man with hunched shoulders, rimless glasses, and sparse sandy hair. Nen was wearing a loose-fitting suit, no coat. We shook hands, then ego gave it to Sonya.
  
  
  "With pleasure, Miss Treshchenko," he said politely. He pointed to the building behind him. "Shall we go through the side entrance ?"
  
  
  We followed him around the corner, along the newly snow-covered sidewalk, and down a wet concrete staircase to what turned out to be the basement of the building. The doctor opened the sturdy-looking door and we went inside. I've never been in this special effects and editing department.
  
  
  The room we entered was large and empty. Dr. Michaels flipped the switch, and the bright brylev came on. In one corner, he saw a pile of equipment and other items.
  
  
  I asked her. "Is this our equipment?"
  
  
  "Partly," said the doctor.
  
  
  We were in the middle of the room. Sonya looked around. Her gaze settled on a path leading to another part of the building. It was more than a woman's curiosity, it was a spy's curiosity.
  
  
  He touched her arm. "Let's see what we've got here, Sonya. The doctor and I exchanged glances. We both knew not to be idle here. Soon Sonya started asking questions.
  
  
  She did it willingly enough. We walked up to the dog's things. They consisted mainly of clothing for the cold season-a parking lot, long fishnet underpants, heavy boots. There was some kind of life jacket, plus skis, tents, sleeping bags.
  
  
  The Doctor was behind us. "Perhaps Miss Treshchenko would prefer to use the property in her own country?"
  
  
  Sonya smiled at em. "Not at all, Doctor. She looked mimmo at the door again.
  
  
  — What did they tell you about your training, Nick?" Dr. Michaels asked.
  
  
  "Just now it will be in Russia."
  
  
  Sonya silently walked to the other side of the room, where two backpacks were propped up against the moaning floor.
  
  
  "I'll tell you how it works," the doctor said. "You will fly from here to San Francisco and there board an American submarine, which will then take you to the Bering Strait. There, you will transfer to a Russian ship that will take you to a small protected camp near the town of Oelen in the Soviet Union. There you pass a survival course. When it's all over, you'll fly in a Russian military plane to an American base camp in the Arctic, where you'll pick up transportation, education, and everything else for the mission."
  
  
  He nodded and looked at Sonya. She opened the backpacks and looked inside. The heat in the room made me uneasy in my coat, but Ego kept it on. Under his coat, he was a walking arsenal. I had Wilhelmina, my Luger holstered under my left armpit; Hugo, a slender stiletto, sheathed on my left forearm, ready to slip into my hand if I shrugged it off with one shoulder; and Pierre, a deadly gas bomb embedded in the hollow of my right ankle.
  
  
  'Any questions? Dr. Michaels asked.
  
  
  "Yes," said Sonya, straightening up. She pointed to the backpacks. "I think she would prefer things made in Russia."
  
  
  Dr. Michaels nodded. "As you wish, Miss Treshchenko." He saw my surprised look.
  
  
  I asked her. — What's in those backpacks?"
  
  
  "Explosives". Then he blinked. "Didn't Hawk tell you?" Miss Treshchenko is an expert on explosions.
  
  
  He looked at Sonya. She smiled at me.
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 4
  
  
  
  
  Sonya didn't hold my hand again until we were playing this game on the plane to San Francisco. There were two large, comfortable seats on the cargo plane, but we were sitting in awkward silence when Sonya took my hand.
  
  
  She squeezed it and looked me straight in the face again. "Nick," she said softly. "Nick, come on.
  
  
  - what?
  
  
  "Darling, we will be together for a long time. We can't go on like this.
  
  
  'What should I do? Nothing seems to have changed? Are we still in Corsica?
  
  
  'No. But we have a locality in Russia. We need to do this together. The least we can do is try to stay friends... lovers, if you will.
  
  
  'Good. What else do I need to know about you? So far, ferret, you've gone from a girl you met in Corsica and had fun with to a Russian agent and extermination expert who has to complete a mission with me. How many more surprises do you have for me?
  
  
  "One for us, dear. Now you know everything. We're both agents, okay, but we're also people. We are a man and a woman, and her, a woman, and love a man very much. I hope it's mutual... at least a little. This is very important to me.
  
  
  Her, looked at nah. She was looking at me intently, and there was a glint of gold in her eyes. He lifted her chin slightly with his finger, then kissed her gently on the lips. "Sometimes I almost believe you," I said. "I almost forget that we're working on opposite sides of the wall." He smiled at her. 'Sometimes.'
  
  
  She came to her senses: "I wish we weren't on this plane. Her, I want us to be alone. .. Back to Corsica.
  
  
  "We'll be alone again soon." Her sel and looked out the window. Now we were flying over the Sierra Nevada , and as always, the sky was choppy. She was smelled by ee's perfume, and, yes, almost trusted by ee. Sonya rested her head on my shoulder.
  
  
  But Hey didn't quite trust her. She was a beautiful woman and a gentle woman-a combination that few men can protect. Few people will even want to object to this. But I couldn't forget that she was a Russian agent, my enemy, and an enemy of my people.
  
  
  We had to work together, she couldn't help it. Something strange was happening in the Arctic that interested both the Soviet Union and the United States. We had to find out what it was. But what would happen if the Russians sent a male agent? How would I feel then? Hers would probably have known he was going to try to kill me if hers had turned her back on him.
  
  
  The Russians tried to do this quite often. And maybe they knew that, maybe they knew that I would be hostile to a man. Maybe that's why they sent the woman.
  
  
  The plane landed at the Alameda International Airport, near San Francisco. It was late, and we hadn't eaten ferret with them since we left Washington. When we got off the car, we were met by the commander of the naval air station, a young lieutenant commander of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs with a tunic full of awards. He treated us with formal courtesy and pointed to a waiting Cadillac. Her, saw the officers standing by the plane and looking at Sonny's feet as she walked from the plane to the car. If they commented on it, they kept it to themselves. Conscripts were not restricted by protocol. There were whistles and growls here and there. Sonya just smiled with the confidence of a woman who knows exactly what nah has.
  
  
  We were taken to the Officers ' House, where a rich buffet was set up. As we ate, Sonya continued to smile at the officers around us. She wasn't the only woman there, but she was the most attractive, and she knew it.
  
  
  We play this game side by side at a long table. The officers were introduced as members of the crew of the submarine we were supposed to take. The captain was a young man, several years younger than the base commander, and a lieutenant commander at that.
  
  
  There was a lot of laughter and jokes at the table. Sonya seemed to like it. The officers treated her with respect. They teased her a bit, saying that they would make sure that all the secret plans were placed in a safe place before she boarded. And she made ih happy, saying that she had no idea that American naval officers were so young and beautiful. At this point, the Soviet Union could learn something.
  
  
  Ee's humor and spontaneous behavior matched ee's. She may be a Russian agent, but that night she won every man's dollar bill at that table. And maybe a little more of mine .
  
  
  After dinner, we separated. Sonya didn't see her again until the next morning, when we boarded the submarine.
  
  
  It was a foggy day, typical of San Francisco. The gray sky seemed so low that you could touch it, and the scaffolding glistened wetly. Over breakfast, she learned that all flights were suspended until noon.
  
  
  He walked with the U-boat captain across the wet asphalt to where the U-boat was moored. I saw her, had a lot of fun on deck, and I was curious where Sonya was. I had no idea where she spent the night.
  
  
  The master's name was Neilson. He saw me looking at the submarine from front to back and then looking around, and he knew right away.
  
  
  "She's all right," he said, picking up his unused pipe and matches.
  
  
  Emu smiled at her. — That's what I thought — by the way, what should I call you?" The commander? The skipper?
  
  
  He grinned as he held the match over his pipe. Carter, in the navy, the one who commands a ship is always called the captain. It doesn't matter if he's a captain, lieutenant, or machine gunner, he remains a captain. He smiled, holding the phone between his teeth. "I'm not saying this to sound arrogant, I just want you to feel comfortable on board."
  
  
  He nodded to her. "Well, her, I want to thank you and meet your people for their good treatment of Miss Treshenko last night."
  
  
  He smiled. "Please, Mr. Carter."
  
  
  He cleared his throat. — Wouldn't it go too far if I asked her where she spent the night?" I mean, I kind of feel responsible for nah.
  
  
  The captain chuckled. — You won't go too far. She spent the night in my house.
  
  
  — I get it.
  
  
  'I don't believe it. She stayed with me, my wife, and our four children. I think the kids liked her. I think they liked it, too. She's a beautiful woman.
  
  
  — I'm getting to know her, too.
  
  
  We reached the ramp of the submarine. Neilson was whistled on board. He saluted the flag at the stern as the duty officer approached.
  
  
  He said to the officer on duty,"I request permission to come on board."
  
  
  "Permission granted," he replied.
  
  
  He stepped out onto the slippery deck, where he didn't feel at home in his usual suit and raincoat. Men in work clothes walked back and forth, winding wires. Captain Neilson led me down a flight of stairs and down a narrow corridor to the officers ' mess. Sonya sat drinking coffee.
  
  
  When I entered, she gave me a big smile. Three officers were sitting around her. She was wearing a Swedish work uniform, like the sailors I'd seen up there, but she looked better in it.
  
  
  Odin, around the officers at the table, turned to Neilson. "Mike, where did you put this adorable creature?"
  
  
  The captain grinned. We have coffee. "In my cabin," he said, " but I think I'll sleep with you."
  
  
  The other two officers laughed. The person who spoke to Neilson said: "I was trying to convince Ms. Treshchenko to try to get some military secrets out around me."
  
  
  "You're all very nice," Sonya said.
  
  
  Neilson and her in such a game on the chair. A beep sounded over the loudspeaker, notifying the sailors that it was time for lunch. He looked at his watch. It was only six o'clock.
  
  
  "We leave at nine o'clock," Captain Neilson said.
  
  
  He looked at Sonny's smiling face. "You don't look bad this early in the morning."
  
  
  She just lowered her long lashes. 'Thank you.'Do you like it?'
  
  
  'Very much.'
  
  
  I didn't get a chance to talk to her alone until late in the evening, when we were out, around the Golden Gate and far out to sea.
  
  
  The submarine came to the surface, just licking, to the Bering Strait. He put on his coat and went on deck. The fog was gone. It was very cold, but I'd never seen her, her dress was so blue. The radiance of the water can only be compared to the clear blue of the sky. The sun was shining; the air was clear. It was close to the bow and held on to the ropes of the railing. There were no waves on the sea, but there was a slight swell. I've seen it everywhere, styrofoam cups. I was smoking a cigarette and watching the up and down bow when Sonya came to stand next to me. "Hello, stranger," she said lightly. — I think I know you from somewhere."
  
  
  He turned and looked at Nah. The wind played with her blond hair, and it fluttered in my face. She was still in her work clothes and had put on a jacket that wasn't Ace's. The cold and wind gave her a warm blush.
  
  
  Hey smiled at her. "You're the most popular character on board."
  
  
  She wasn't smiling now. "I want to touch you," she said simply.
  
  
  — But what will the sailors and officers of this ship think?"
  
  
  "I don't care what they think." The golden sparkles in her eyes sparkled and multiplied. "I want to be alone with you. I want to touch you, and I want you to touch me."
  
  
  He approached her. "I do not know when we will be alone again. There are five officers and twenty-three crew members on board. It's a small boat. I doubt we'll find any more evidence than we do now.
  
  
  "Hold my hand, Nick," she said. "At least do it."
  
  
  He sighed and shoved both hands into the pockets of his doublet. — You're challenging me, Sonya, you know that. I'm starting to believe that you're getting all this attention.
  
  
  She took a step back and gave me a strange look, tilting her head slightly. The big jacket made her look like a little girl.
  
  
  "You're confusing me, Nick. You're too pretty, you know that? It should be the same with all American men. All these officers, they are so young and beautiful... and almost boys. But you, you're not a boy at all.
  
  
  Her brow furrowed. "It looks like you're studying me again."
  
  
  She nodded. 'Perhaps. I'm curious as to why our agents never had a chance to kill you. At some point, they had to be close to it. Of course, all communist agents cannot be clumsy. How many attacks have you been subjected to?
  
  
  "I don't like it. But I'm not interested in failure either. I would be very interested in a successful attempt.
  
  
  Her cigarette was thrown into the sea. — We're a little off topic, aren't we?" I thought we were talking about how we could be alone.
  
  
  She smiled at me. — I'll find a way. When we are in Russia, I will definitely find a way."
  
  
  While we were on this sub, ee wasn't alone with me. For the next two days, Sonia was surrounded by men every time Ye saw her. We ate with Captain Neilson and the other officers, and although we spent most of our time together, we were never alone. There were always men around nah, and she basked in ih admiration. And because she was so exceptionally feminine, she teased me whenever she could because she knew my hands were tied.
  
  
  It was freezing off the coast of Alaska. Even my coat wasn't warm enough. Officers and sailors were given long underwear, just like Sonya and me. On the evening of the fourth day at sea, we established radio contact with a Russian trawler. A meeting place was arranged. The next morning, Sonya and I were supposed to transfer to a trawler. I thought I saw the sadness in Sonya's eyes when she heard the news. When the two officers and I escorted her to dinner, she seemed unusually calm.
  
  
  The officers joked with her, as usual, over lunch. Captain Neilson pointed out that the jacket she was wearing would never fit the sailor who owned it again. But Sonya's reaction was rather half-hearted.
  
  
  After the meal, they brought a cake. At the top was written: "Good luck, Sonya." When she saw this, her lower lip trembled for a moment. Then something else happened. While she was cutting the cake, a machine gun appeared in the cockpit with a gift from the entire team. Sonya just sat there for a while, looking at the package. Finally, at the insistence of the officers, she opened it. It was a ring made exactly to the size he had given the men. The ring was decorated with a miniature submarine, made on a ship's machine for gold at the ship's dentist's action.
  
  
  Sonya put the ring on the ring finger of her right hand.
  
  
  "There's an inscription," Captain Neilson said. All the officers were smiling at her.
  
  
  She took off the ring and read the inscription. I've already read this. It was an expression of affection on the part of the crew. Sonya sobbed and pushed back her chair. Then she got up and ran out in excitement. After she left, there was a strange silence. We sat around the chair, looking at the half-empty coffee cups. Captain Neilson broke the silence.
  
  
  "Women are always very emotional about this kind of thing," he said.
  
  
  The others nodded or murmured agreement and drank their coffee. The next morning, when Sonya and I were supposed to board the Russian trawler, the ring was on her.
  
  
  The meeting took place almost exactly on the dividing line between the United States and Russia. We reached the top of the Bering Strait and waited for the trawler.
  
  
  It was incredibly cold. Mimmo floes floated by . I no longer wore my suit and coat; I was wearing a dark blue parka and thermal underwear. But I still had my little arsenal with me.
  
  
  A Russian trawler hurried to reach us, wading through the ice. Sonya and her were on deck watching.
  
  
  There was tension on the submarine. Captain Neilson was standing on the bridge, looking through binoculars. He was looking not only at the trawler, but also at the sea around the ship. Machine-gunners were stationed at their posts.
  
  
  Frost covered my eyebrows and eyelashes. Her crawled deeper into the hood of her car park. I glanced at Sonya, but all I could see on her face was the tip of her nose. It was getting harder to breathe through my nose. When I lifted my mittened hand, I was surprised to find that my nostrils were clogged with ice.
  
  
  The trawler approached the boat, and the powerful diesels turned back. Her, saw how the ropes were thrown and caught. When the ships were joined, the Russian captain from his pier looked at Captain Nilsson with a stern face. The submarine captain also looked like this.
  
  
  If it was a fishing trawler, he probably would have wanted a very large fish using some extremely unusual tools. A machine gun of at least fifty calibres was mounted in the bow. The radar screen was spinning on a high mast. All the crew had rifles on deck.
  
  
  Suddenly, the Russian captain did something completely unexpected. He saluted Captain Neilson. The salute was answered immediately. A trap connecting the submarine to the trawler was lowered.
  
  
  The Russian captain's eyes fell on me for a moment as he took Sonya's hand and we walked to the gangplank. The look I got when I saw her was enough to make me stop. If he had been alone with him, he would have been captured by Wilhelmina. It was a look that destroyed you before it saw you. He'd seen that look before. ... and he knew I wouldn't be welcome aboard this trawler. Two Russian sailors reached out to help Sonya as she stepped over what looked like a trawler. The sea was rough and dirty gray. The rushing ice floes were the color of freshly cut flesh, the piercing white that you see blatantly before blood flows.
  
  
  They took Sonya by the elbows and helped her on board. Then it was my turn. He stepped carefully over the board. As I approached the trawler, I saw her out of the corner of my eye as the Russian captain came out to the bridge and looked at me. The crew members waiting for me looked back for a moment. But at that moment, the captain gave them some sort of order. He stopped on the rickety board and looked up. The captain and I looked at each other again.
  
  
  The message he gave to his crew members was simple. It wouldn't have lasted twenty seconds in this icy sea. If it had slipped off the ladder, the captain would not have had to take the American agent to Russia.
  
  
  He looked at me. He wasn't a particularly tall man, not even six feet, but he radiated power. He had a massive build, and in parque ego, his shoulders looked like he was wearing rugby shoulder pads . But I didn't see it in the ego of a calf of great power. He saw it as something primitive, fundamental, as fundamental as a big axe.
  
  
  He stood looking down at me from his towering bridge. Although the ship was rocking, he seemed to be standing perfectly still, his hands deep in the pockets of his doublet. It became difficult to stay on the ladder. He was not going to swim in this icy, deadly sea and quickly went to the trawler. Sonya had already been taken downstairs.
  
  
  Two crew members looked at me, and ih rifles were slung over their shoulders. The trap was slippery, but not as slippery as the heaving deck of a trawler. They were watching me when I got to the ship. The Odin around them almost leaned forward to help me, but then they both stepped back. Between the trawler and the submarine rose an active recreation area. This took me out on counterweights. He staggered back and forth on the plank, one foot almost ready to step on the deck. The two Russian sailors looked at me blankly. The whole team was watching, but no one tried to help me. The trawler lurched, and in order not to fall, it seemed to land on one of each tribe.
  
  
  He let his open hands grip the trap. The splashing water soaked me and soaked the board. He gritted his teeth, stood up, and quickly stepped onto the trawler's deck.
  
  
  When he was on board, he grabbed the railing. He was so angry that he couldn't say anything to anyone around them without causing an international incident. But I stood and stared at the two crew members with open hatred. They looked around for a moment. Then they lowered their eyes. Then the couple left. I looked at her on the bridge, but the captain was gone. My pants and parka were soaked, and I was starting to get cold.
  
  
  He turned to go down and saw Sonya. She returned to the deck and must have seen what had happened. There was an expression in her eyes that he hadn't seen before, an expression of utter disgust.
  
  
  Then she flew over to me and wrapped her arms around my waist. "I'm sorry!" she exclaimed. "Oh, Nick, I'm so sorry. She leaned back to look at me. "Please excuse me for the pig-like manners of my fellow countrymen. You can be sure that this incident will be reported. When I've dealt with him, this captain isn't even trusted to command a rowboat.
  
  
  He looked through the gap between the trawler and the submarine. The trap was removed and the ships dispersed. I saw her, master-Nilsson in the submarine's turret. He looked at us and saluted. I was sorry to see him disappear.
  
  
  For the rest of the day, the trawler slowly passed through the ice floes. I put on dry clothes, and Sonya gave me a cup of Russian tea, which wasn't bad at all. I could sense the crew's hostility whenever I came in contact with them, but no further incidents occurred until we reached Hoelen .
  
  
  It was dark when the trawler entered the harbor. Two crew members jumped ashore with cables to secure the ship. Similar ones were lowered, but this time there was no raging wind. They are also two crew members located at the ramp. Sonya went ahead of me again, and they helped me. Obviously, she had talked to the captain, because when her shell reached trpu, the men also reached out to help me. Ih ruki pushed her away and went down without help. Bad for PR, but I didn't care - I was angry.
  
  
  Four men in thick coats were waiting for us from the port of bar. They warmly welcomed Sonya, gave me a compassionate hand and welcomed me to the Soviet Union. Sonya took my hand and led me back to one of the men.
  
  
  "Nick, this is Dr. Perska. He will be our instructor for the next three days.
  
  
  Dr. Perska was a man in his sixties, with a wrinkled, weather-beaten face and a handsome mustache, smeared with nicotine. He didn't speak English, but my Russian wasn't so wouldnt be bad.
  
  
  "We hope, Mr. Carter,"he said in a cracked voice," that you will be impressed by my curriculum."
  
  
  "I'm sure of it, Doctor.
  
  
  He smiled and showed his golden molars. "But you're tired." We start tomorrow morning. Now you must rest. He waved his hand and pointed to a path leading to a cluster of buildings. Sonya walked beside me as we followed the doctor. The rest of the group followed us.
  
  
  He jerked his thumb over his shoulder. "I think we're being watched," I said.
  
  
  — You must speak Russian, Nick. Otherwise, they'll think we're saying something we don't want them to hear."
  
  
  "Okay, who are they?"
  
  
  "Security guards. They're here to make sure... that no one will bother us.
  
  
  "Or that I'm not trying to escape?"
  
  
  "Nick, you're being so hostile."
  
  
  'Oh, right? I ask myself why. I don't have a reason, do I?
  
  
  We walked in silence. Some camp saw him. It was well guarded — I counted at least five uniformed soldiers. There was a two-meter high fence surrounded by barbed wire. The camp was located on a hill overlooking the sea. Projectors are placed on all corners of the fence. At the edge of the cliff were large cannons pointing out to sea. Within the fence were buildings in two rows of four.
  
  
  I didn't like it. I didn't like it at all. I was curious as to why Hawk had put me in this position. I was in a hostile country, surrounded by hostile people, working with a hostile agent.
  
  
  The guards nodded to us as we entered the camp. The gate closed behind us.
  
  
  Dr. Perska noticed that I was looking at this. "It's for our own safety, Mr. Carter," he said with a reassuring smile.
  
  
  Sonya squeezed my hand. "Don't look so glum, dear. We really aren't monsters. Honestly, sometimes we can ... be very nice.
  
  
  Dr. Perska pointed to one around the smaller buildings. "There's a voice in your room, Mr. Carter. I hope this is to your satisfaction. Miss Treshchenko, will you come with me? They went on ahead of him, and came to a small building that Dr. Perska showed me. It was little more than a cabin, one room with a fireplace and a bathroom. The carpet looked like ego had been dragged around an old movie theater. But the fireplace gave the room a cozy warmth. It was a large fireplace that took up almost the entire wall.
  
  
  It was a fireplace in front of which you could lie down with a friend, have a picnic in front of it, look into it and get lost in deep thought. It was made around a rock, and firewood crackled in the nen. Next to the fireplace was a double bed with a thick duvet, as well as a chair and wardrobe. My luggage was waiting for me in the middle of the room. Suddenly, he realized that he was really tired.
  
  
  I had to trust the Russians. They didn't send anyone to kill me until I was almost asleep.
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 5
  
  
  
  
  If you've had a day like mine, you're more or less counting on something to happen. He bench-pressed and slept with Wilhelmina by the hand and fell asleep, but the sleep was light.
  
  
  I do not know what time it was. The fire had turned to coals and crackled from time to time, and the smell of burning wood filled the room. He opened the door carefully with the key, quick enough to avoid a click. He entered with a knife in his hand, inhaling the cold air. The door closed softly behind him.
  
  
  He wasn't tall, and suddenly he knew who he was. The smell of the trawler was still all around him.
  
  
  As soon as I opened my eyes, I watched him walk over to the bed. His burly figure was obvious in the fading firelight. He wrapped his arm around Wilhelmina soothingly, his finger on the trigger. Luger was beside me, out of the blanket by my arm.
  
  
  He stood on tiptoe and kept his eyes on the bed. The knife was long and narrow, and it held the ego against his chest. As he approached, he raised the knife a little. Now her ego smelled even stronger. This trawler caught fish from time to time.
  
  
  He stopped by the bed, raised the knife high to stab, and took a deep breath. He moved quickly, shoved the emu under the nose of the Luger's barrel, and said in Russian,"If you love your life, drop that knife."
  
  
  He was still holding his breath. He hesitated, then looked up at my face. If Wilhelmina's trigger had pulled at this distance, she would have been blown off half her head by the emu. He stood motionless, his massive frame almost completely obscuring the fireplace.
  
  
  The room was very hot. The light from the campfire was enough to show the beads of blood on his forehead. The hand holding the knife moved forward a little. Her finger tightened on the trigger of the Luger. Her ego could easily have killed her, and he knew it.
  
  
  But he tried anyway. Ego's left arm came up quickly, knocking the Luger's muzzle out of the nose. The right hand holding the knife dropped abruptly.
  
  
  The gunshot seemed to rattle the walls of the room. A piece of the wooden wall broke off. When its shot, its rushed at him. The knife sank into the mattress.
  
  
  Her ego slammed its shoulder into his knees and pushed him out of the way. He sprang back to the hearth, the knife still clutched in his hand. He grabbed the edge of the blanket and draped ego over it. He tried to ward it off with his free hand, but the blanket was too big and heavy. He clung to it, but by that time hers was out of bed and running across the room after him.
  
  
  When he pulled the blanket off his face, her ego hit him in the nose with a luger. He growled. The knife fell to the worn carpet as he raised his hands to the remains of his nose. He let the Luger hit ego hard in the skull. He collapsed to the ground with his hands in front of his face.
  
  
  He didn't lock the door when he came in. The door was open now. Two soldiers entered first, rifles drawn. It's already been made on them by Luger. Behind them came Dr. Perska and Sonya.
  
  
  The trawler's captain was still on his knees, making strange gurgling noises. He bent down and picked up the knife. It was thrown by ego one at a time by a soldier, and he almost dropped his rifle to catch it.
  
  
  Dr. Perska said: "I heard a gunshot. Nen was wearing a thick robe and high boots. Ego steel hair was disheveled.
  
  
  "Are you okay, Nick?" Sonya asked. She was also wearing a thick robe. From the way the jacket fluttered at the front, he could tell that there was very little clothing underneath.
  
  
  I looked at them and felt like I looked great in my long underwear. Two soldiers helped the trawler captain to his feet. "He tried to kill me," I said.
  
  
  "You can't be serious about this," Dr. Perska said.
  
  
  Two soldiers led the master out of the room.
  
  
  Her, leaned against the bed. First of all, he said: "I'll say it in your language so that nothing gets lost in translation." I don't want my words to be misunderstood. She's here on behalf of my government. She's not here for fun. There's no one here I trust. So I'll be ready." The next person who tries to enter here uninvited will be dead before the door closes. I won't ask who it is or why it came here. I'll just shoot her."
  
  
  Dr. Perska looked like he'd just swallowed a wasp. "I can't believe you were attacked . Please prima accept my apologies, Mr. Carter.
  
  
  "Apologize again in the morning, Doctor. I won't accept it now ih.
  
  
  Sonya was watching me closely. Now she asked: "What are you going to do , Nick?"
  
  
  'Nothing like that. I nodded at the door where the captain had just disappeared. — What will happen to him?"
  
  
  "They're going to send Ego to Moscow," Sonya said. "He will stand trial there."
  
  
  "I don't believe it."
  
  
  'You don't believe me? Do you want to kill the ego alone?
  
  
  "If his hotel and ego were killed, hers would be." He let Wilhelmina fall on the bed. — If you both want to leave now, I can try to get some sleep." Good night."'
  
  
  He turned his back on them and went to the cabinet, where he put his special cigarettes with a gold holder.
  
  
  The cold air hit her as the door opened and slammed shut. The room was strangely quiet, and the only light came from the red glow of the fire. He shook out a pack of cigarettes and stuck it between his lips. Then it occurred to me that I'd left my lighter on the bed. Her, turned around . . And I saw Sonya. She was sitting in front of me with a lighter in her hand. She opened it and held the flame to my cigarette. When I inhaled it, I saw that she had dropped her robe. Under it was a very thin, very short blue nightgown.
  
  
  Its said: The Luger was lying on the bed next to the lighter. Why didn't you take ego?
  
  
  — Did you really think I'd want to kill you, Nick?" You don't trust me that much?"
  
  
  "What do you want , Sonya?"
  
  
  She moved, just for a moment. The robe slid off her shoulders, then fell to the floor — "I need your trust, Nick," she said hoarsely. "But today I want more, much more."
  
  
  Her hands came up to me, slid down my neck, and pulled my head down. Her soft, moist lips gently stroked my chin, then slid lightly down my cheeks. She took her time to stroke the outline of my lips, then let her lips cover mine . She pressed her body against mine until we were, so to speak, one.
  
  
  Slowly, she took the cigarette around my hand and tossed it into the fireplace. She took my hand, raised it to her lips, and kissed all my knuckles. Her tongue fluttered easily between her fingers. Then she turned her hand to her body and pressed my hand to her chest.
  
  
  Hers, I could feel my passion rising. "You know all the tricks a woman should know," I said.
  
  
  "And you?" - she muttered. "What tricks do you know?
  
  
  He bent down a little and picked her up. Her hands closed around my neck. He carried her to the bed and laid her down carefully. Luger put her down on a locker and picked up a blanket from the floor. When he turned back to the bed, Sonya had already taken off her nightgown. She lay naked on the floor, her feet sliding back and forth on the sheet.
  
  
  Her blanket was thrown to the foot of the bed. "It's going to be very cold tonight," I said.
  
  
  — I don't think so, " she said, holding out her hands to me. I always thought it would be difficult to take off my long johns. I don't even remember how I got out of them. Suddenly I was at her side, holding her in my arms, and my lips brushed hers gently .
  
  
  "Oh, Nick," she whispered. "It took too long, just too long! I missed you. I missed your touch. I missed you.
  
  
  "Shhh ."
  
  
  "Don't delay too long. For me personally.'
  
  
  She didn't have to wait too long.
  
  
  Hers, felt her stiffen as he slid over her. Her hands were on my shoulders. And when her father stepped between her legs and pressed himself against her, he heard her sigh. She let out whining sounds and wrapped her arms and legs tightly around me. And then everything else became meaningless — our attack on me gives us everything that happened in the Arctic Ocean. There was nothing outside this hut, nothing but this bed, no other woman but nah. Sonny had this power, this overwhelming talent. He only knew about the perfection of her body. Finally, when we got together, she wasn't even aware of herself. He slowly returned from where he was. I didn't realize I was sprawled high above her, my arms stiff. She sat up, wrapping her arms around my neck to receive me. Now she's a vote, a vote will fall, and her tongue slid quickly over her parched lips. She closed her eyes and turned her head from side to side.
  
  
  "Oh, Nick, it was so... so..."'
  
  
  "Shhh ." Her, snuggled up to her.
  
  
  "No, — she whispered. 'Not anymore.'
  
  
  — I said shhh .
  
  
  She smiled dreamily with her eyes closed. "Yes... whatever you say." How can you still doubt me? How can you still not trust me?
  
  
  He kissed her, ran his hands over the seductive curves of her body, and plunged into the full pleasure of being with her... But I couldn't bring myself to trust hey.
  
  
  Early the next morning, we started our course. First we had breakfast in the common room with all the sentries, gunners, and everyone else connected with the camp. Everyone felt it necessary to apologize for yesterday's attack. They all assured me that the trawler's captain would be dealt with harshly. For some reason, I didn't doubt it, but I was curious if it was because it tried to kill me. ...or because the emu failed to kill me.
  
  
  Dr. Perska sel is right next to me. Ego's weathered, mustachioed face was tired and worried. "Mr. Carter," he said, " you just have to accept my apologies for last night. She didn't sleep a wink. I was shocked that something like this could happen here, right under our noses."
  
  
  "Don't worry, Doctor. Just don't forget what I said last night. This course lasts three days, doesn't it? You are sitting next to a very careful person. Its found to stay careful while its here. All I'm asking you to do is impress me with this survival course.
  
  
  And he did it.
  
  
  Most of what Sonya and I learned was how to stay alive if we thought everything was lost. The methods were borrowed from the Eskimos and refined.
  
  
  On the first day, we built the igloo under Dr. Persk's supervision. The snow blocks were cut out with a large knife. When the job was done, Sonya, Dr. Perska, and her crawled inside. I noticed that the walls were leaking a little.
  
  
  I asked her. — Isn't this thing melting?"
  
  
  Dr. Perska smiled. "Not from body heat. Body heat will keep you warm enough to walk around without a shirt or clothes on, but it won't melt the snow blocks. In fact, it is good if it thaws the needle inside . This closes all the gaps between the blocks. Snow blocks won't melt even burning candles for lighting.
  
  
  The vaulted palace surveyed her. The Doctor crawled out again. Sonya took my hand and squeezed it.
  
  
  — Have you ever fucked in an igloo?" - she muttered.
  
  
  "Not the last two Sundays," I said.
  
  
  She hit me on the shoulder and quickly crawled out. When I followed her and stuck my head out, she hit me with a snowball.
  
  
  That night he slept alone, in a chair against the wall, Wilhelmina in his hand. It was a restless dream.
  
  
  We spent the first two days mostly in the classroom. Sonya and I were sitting in easy chairs. Dr. Perska was standing in front of the blackboard. Do we need instructions about the polar bear? The doctor lowered the screen and switched on the projector. He let the film run for a minute, without saying a word to us. I smoked a cigarette and watched it.
  
  
  The film featured only one polar bear. It was a big beast, but it looked almost pear-shaped, as if its hind legs were longer than its front legs. He looked clumsy.
  
  
  "Notice," Dr. Perska said, as if he could read my mind — " how clumsy the bear looks. Many victims made the mistake of thinking that this animal could not develop great speed." He spoke Russian.
  
  
  Its said: "It looks like the person will be in a desperate situation."
  
  
  The doctor was wearing glasses. He pressed his chin to his chest and looked at me over the top of his glasses. Mr. Carter, don't make this mistake if you see someone approaching in the distance. You'll be surprised how quickly it covers the distance.
  
  
  Sonya looked at me and winked. We watched as a polar bear prowled here and there on the ice.
  
  
  "The polar bear is a nomad," Dr. Perska said. "Unlike a gray or big brown bear, it doesn't have a permanent base or den. He's always on the move. The camera followed our friend for quite a long time. .. did you ever see him stop?" No, it's always on the move.
  
  
  He lit it, and Stahl watched the walking bear. Sonya took my hand.
  
  
  "There is one very interesting thing about the polar bear," the doctor continued. "This is the only animal in the world that will follow a man, kill and eat him. The ego doesn't need to be cornered to attack, as most animals do." He looked at the screen with a wry smile. "No, all he needed was a little hunger."
  
  
  I felt Sonia tremble next to me.
  
  
  "What does it take to stop such a beast?" asked Persku.
  
  
  The Doctor scratched his moustache thoughtfully. "I saw her once, one bear that got four bullets in an elephant rifle before it fell. It may be harder to kill just the moose."
  
  
  "Or a human," I said grimly.
  
  
  That night, when most of the camp was asleep, Sonya came to my room. He sat in his chair, watching the fire and thinking about the red Chinese submarines circling under the Arctic.
  
  
  The door was locked. Sonya knocked and said softly twice: "Nika! I got up and went to the door with Wilhelmina in my hand, just to be sure.
  
  
  Sonya came in and didn't look at the luger pointed at nah, at her pretty head. She was wearing the same robe as the first night. He slid off her shoulders and onto the floor as she reached the bed. The thin nightgown she wore glistened red in the firelight.
  
  
  There was a dreamy smile on her lips. She climbed onto the bed and knelt down to face me. Slowly, smiling, she pulled the nightgown over her head. Then she smoothed her long blonde hair and stretched out on her back. Wilhelmina put it on a chair, locked the door, and went to the bed.
  
  
  On the third day, Sonya and I learned more about how to survive without equipment. In a small building we called the school hut, Dr. Perska was standing in front of the blackboard. This time, nen was wearing gray slacks and a gray woolen button-down jacket.
  
  
  At breakfast, Sonya held my hand and used every opportunity to touch me or snuggle up to me. This night was one of the best. Only once, in Corsica, was it better. He thought it would be wrong not to trust ay. As she held my hand, hers, I saw that she was still wearing the ring given to her by the submarine crew.
  
  
  Dr. Perska talked about fishing and hunting - without an expensive fishing rod or gun. "You can make fishing hooks around the bones of a wolf or bear, even a fish bone — " he smiled, " to catch other fish. Look at the drawings on the board. Fishing line can be made around anything. Threads from your clothes, the sinews of an animal you've killed.
  
  
  "A bone can even kill a mighty polar bear. For example, a piece of a seal's spine. Whalebone is perfect, but two people, alone and without gear in the Arctic are unlikely to go on a surface hunt." He picked up a piece of chalk and started drawing as he spoke. "You bend the bone, which is usually straight, into a narrow circle. Meat or fat, or whatever you have on hand, is tightly compressed around it so tightly that the bone can't straighten up again. If you roll a ball of meat in the snow, it will freeze, and the polar bear will swallow such a ball in one go. The bone stretches and tears apart the bear's innards."
  
  
  He was impressed, but Sonya was trembling. "Poor animal," she said.
  
  
  Dr. Perska smiled and shook his head. "Dear Mrs. Treshchenko, you wouldn't say 'poor animal' if you were hungry and cold, and this poor animal was your only chance of survival."
  
  
  He put down the chalk, turned-not smiling this time-and looked at me.
  
  
  "Mr. Carter, you two will go to the Arctic Circle this morning, and we'll see if you've taught her anything and what you've learned."
  
  
  He smiled and asked. "Are you impressed?"
  
  
  "Very much," I said, and that's what I meant.
  
  
  "Okay," he said, nodding. "Now it's time to meet your guide"
  
  
  He frowned and sat down in his chair while Dr. Schell nodded. He opened the door and called out to someone. A man came in, dressed in waterproof clothing and carrying an old-fashioned shotgun. He pulled down the hood of his car park, and I saw that he was an Eskimo — or at least looked like one.
  
  
  Dr. Perska has brought ego to the board with the revelations in front of us. "Miss Treshchenko, Mr. Carter, this is Aku . It was chosen as your file explorer for two reasons. First of all, he is an excellent marksman, and secondly, he knows Arctic life like the back of his hand." He leaned back in his chair, stretched his legs out in front of him, and crossed his arms over his chest. It was something I didn't expect, something I wasn't prepared for. It wouldn't be just Sonya and me at the North Pole. It would be Sonya, her and a guide named Aku.
  
  
  Her, looked at him. He looked young, barely able to drink or vote. Ego's eyes seemed clear and confident, but under my gaze, he made a worried face. He seemed like a boy who knew how to approach women. There was an almost arrogant self-confidence about nen. Ego's face was broad, flat, and smooth; Ego's straight black hair fell into Emu's eyes. He kept the rifle pointed at the ground. He was so close to me and could read the Russian words on the trunk. "Mr. Carter?" Dr. Perska said anxiously.
  
  
  There was tension in the room. Aku he looked from Sonya to me, then back again, but there was nothing in the human ego.
  
  
  "I didn't expect to be on the phone," he finally told her . He took a cigarette and lit it.
  
  
  "Don't you agree?" asked Sonya. She quickly continued: "Since we don't know what to expect, I thought we should take all the help we can."
  
  
  "Yes," I said. Her, looked at nah. And just when I started to think I could trust ay.
  
  
  Aku then said in very good English, " Mr. Carter, if you will take me with you, you will probably be pleasantly surprised. Her excellent guide and excellent shooter-I can shoot a seagull in the eye from twenty meters away. But more importantly, I know how to follow orders. I know you're in charge. I'm not asking you to take me with you, but I think it would be nice.
  
  
  He took a drag on his cigarette and looked Emu in the eye.
  
  
  "Why do you have a Russian rifle?"
  
  
  "It's from a poor family," he said quickly. "We couldn't afford an expensive American Marlin or Winchester. We could only trade what was available. When he was a boy, I traded him six skins for this old rifle. That gun saved my life nine times. She gives me an education. I treat him like an old friend. I've never had any other weapons.
  
  
  It was a beautiful speech. He looked at Dr. Perska, then at Sonya. I couldn't say anything to such ih faces. Then he looked back at Aku. All right, I decided, we have a guide.
  
  
  The tension was gone. Aku grinned and showed strong, even white teeth. Dr. Perska flashed his golden molars. Sonya took my hand and smiled at me. He was the only one in the room who wasn't smiling.
  
  
  I packed her things early that night. The plane was supposed to take off at dawn. I put everything around the suitcase in my backpack, leaving my suit and coat in the suitcase. In the Arctic, he probably wouldn't have felt the need for formal wear.
  
  
  It was too early to go to bed - I wasn't tired. I added more wood to the fire and sat down in front of it. But I was uneasy. He got up and walked around the room. He stopped and looked at the fire. It was my last night at camp. The only thing I'll miss is a great fireplace.
  
  
  I checked it again to make sure I'd packed some extra magazines for Wilhelmina. Then he sat down again in front of the fire, disassembled the Luger, cleaned and oiled it. Then it was checked by the hard drive I took with me. Hers was still restless.
  
  
  I tried to calm myself down with yoga. She sat down in a chair, stared into the fire, and forced her body to relax. He used all his concentration to do this. I don't know how long her sat so relaxed, but when her got up, her seemed to feel refreshed. And her hotel to have a woman. Her hotel Sonya.
  
  
  He put on a parka and heavy boots. Sonya's room was in the second row, three rooms down. When he finished, he opened the door a crack to look out. Her window shone holy. She was still on her feet. A light snow was falling, and my shoes crunched as I walked. Bright lights in the corners of the camp shone through the falling snow. A sentry with a rifle slung over his shoulder passed under one of the lanterns.
  
  
  Her carapace slowly pushed her hands deep into the pockets of her doublet. And when her, Sonny, came to the cabin, she heard her voices. Sonya I... I didn't recognize the second voice until I got to the hut. Hers was motionless. It was Aku, and he spoke Russian.
  
  
  "Moscow is losing its patience, Sonya," he said. "They want to know when. They want to know why there was a delay."
  
  
  "The decision about when it will be is up to me," Sonya said. "It was stupid of ih to send that trawler captain."
  
  
  "They are impatient. They may have acted hastily, but they want it to happen, and they want to know when. They want to know exactly when.
  
  
  There was a moment of silence. Then Sonya said ," I've been training for this for two years. I won't let her down. Its not a man. That's the problem, they sent people to kill the ego. Every batch made this mistake. That's why no one managed to eliminate the great Nick Carter. Only a woman can get close enough to do this. So where others have failed, hers will succeed. Hers is already very close to him.
  
  
  "But when, Sonya?" Aku asked again.
  
  
  "As soon as we know what the Chinese are up to in the Arctic, as soon as the settlement of Russia is completed. Then I'll kill the elusive Mr. Carter, " my dear Sonya replied.
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 6
  
  
  
  
  I was far enough away from her house that they wouldn't hear my boots crunching in the snow as I left. My right hand automatically wrapped around the hilt of the Wilhelmina under my left armpit. I fell into a trap and realized it. The camp was practically a prison. Even if her could escape, where would her go? Her couldn't swim away in this icy & nb. And I won't go far overland, either, trying to cross a frozen, desolate, hostile land.
  
  
  No, he was on Russian soil with no escape route. They caught me. Tomorrow morning, I will board a Russian plane that will take me and two Russian agents, Odin, around whom I was trained to kill, to the desert Arctic.
  
  
  He quickly returned to his room. I had no one to turn to for help, but I had one advantage. Now I knew what Sonya was up to, and she didn't know I knew it.
  
  
  I suspected it, but I was disappointed nonetheless.
  
  
  Beautiful, sweet, passionate Sonya. Admit it, Carter, you fell for it. She used her body as a traitorous Venus to make you trust her. Okay, now he realized his mistake. It is unlikely that I will make the same mistake again.
  
  
  He reached his cabin, opened the door, and went inside. The fire was still burning. I took off my jacket and boots and prepared to spend the night in a chair.
  
  
  Then it occurred to me that it wasn't so dangerous. Sonya told Aku that she wouldn't try to kill me until we knew what the Chinese were up to. Her, thinking about the next day. At dawn, we boarded a Russian transport plane and flew deep into the Arctic. There we got everything we needed, such as snowmobiles and extra gas.
  
  
  We were supposed to get this at an American base camp. So, the solution was simple. If we were at base camp, she would have just turned in Sonya and Aku and continued Odin's mission.
  
  
  He was sitting in front of the fireplace, smoking and staring into the fire. Finally its up and bench press to sleep.
  
  
  An hour before dawn, my only transmission is a knock on the door. It wasn't hard to wake me up, her tac wasn't sound asleep. Her carefully jumped out from under the covers, and Stahl jumped up and down to put on his pants. The fire is hot, the cabin is cold. It was still dark, so I lit the lamp and dressed.
  
  
  When he came out, he saw the saint in Sonny's cabin. The sky around black turned to a dull gray. There was no more snow, but there was about three feet of fresh snow. He walked into the dining room with his backpack and Winchester in hand.
  
  
  I was just starting to eat breakfast when Sonya came up to me. As always, she looked charming. Her eyes sparkled with what might have been love. As we ate, she chatted endlessly about the survival course, what we might find in the Arctic, and Aku... Hey, where was he? He showed up when we were almost done eating. He greeted Sonya warmly and was very reverent towards me. Her, felt like a mafia victim getting the kiss of death. But he played along. He was holding Sonya's hand and joking with Aku. She was trying to cling to the only advantage I had.
  
  
  After breakfast, we went outside to find a car waiting for us. Dr. Perska was there to say goodbye. I shook em's hand, wondering if he knew anything about the plan to kill me. Then our backpacks and rifles were tied to the roof of the Moskowich . Sonya sat next to me in the backseat, her hand on my shoulder. She rested her head on my shoulder, and he smelled her breaststroke. Her hair tickled my cheek. Aku was sitting in the front with the driver. The road around the camp to the airport, near Hoelen, was bumpy and very frozen. We drove very slowly. Sonny's lips touched my wand, found my ear.
  
  
  "I missed you last night, honey," she whispered. — Did you miss me too?"
  
  
  He put his hand on her leg. "Of course," I said.
  
  
  She snuggled up to me and sighed. "It will be very cold for a while. It's hard to say what we'll have to do to keep warm.
  
  
  "Is Aku going to photograph this?"
  
  
  She giggled. If only she wasn't such a woman, it wouldn't be so bad, I thought. "Of course not, dear," she said. "Aku knows what's between us. Emu explained it to her. He won't bother us.
  
  
  "This could be an interesting trip," I said dryly.
  
  
  The Moscovitch approached the airfield, where a large transport plane with rotating propellers was waiting for Ego. When the car stopped next to the plane, two men jumped out on the side of the open car. I'm not saying anything, they took these things off the roof of the car and brought purple from here on the plane.
  
  
  The barren landscape around the frozen white and gray blushes was ruddy under the rising sun. It was quiet and cold. Sonya, Aku, and him ran from the car to the waiting plane. The pressure of air sampling from the propellers threatened to blow us away, but we finally played such a game and were happy to find that the plane was warmed up.
  
  
  Sonya, as always, sat down next to me. She snuggled up to me, her face hidden by the hood of the parking lot. When we were warm enough, we lowered our hoods. Aku sat across the aisle, looking out the window with an expressionless face.
  
  
  The plane was mounted on skis. The engines roared loudly before the skis left the ice and the car skidded down the runway. Sonya and I are thrown together as the plane picks up speed. It rumbled like an old truck. We threw ourselves from one side to the other. But when the skis left the surface, the screeching suddenly stopped. The huge car rose smoothly above the almost lifeless landscape.
  
  
  But there were houses here and there, and sometimes a tree. The car was heading east toward the rising sun. When her father looked out of the window, he saw a stream of earth, and then we flew over the water. Sonya's eyes were on her as she stared out the window. I was curious to see what she thought. Was she trying to decide which part of my body would be the best place to put a bullet? Or maybe she hadn't decided what weapon to use yet. If it wasn't a revolver, then what was it?
  
  
  After a while, the entire hotel area was under us again, and we flew over Alaska and northern Canada. And then there was nothing below us but a white void. From time to time we flew over an Eskimo village, but mostly it was all white, so bright in the sun that I was almost blinded.
  
  
  Aku was sleeping with his chin on his chest. Sonya grabbed my arm. I could feel the thinness of her body through her clothes as she snuggled up to me.
  
  
  "Is something wrong, honey?" — What is it? " she asked suddenly.
  
  
  Her, looked at nah with a frown. 'Why did you ask that?'
  
  
  — You're so quiet." All morning.'
  
  
  Hers, he shrugged. 'I have a lot on my mind. I'm curious about what we'll find there.
  
  
  She gave me a knowing smile that clearly told me she didn't believe me. This can also be interpreted as a knowing smile. If her lover had things on his mind that he didn't want to discuss with her, so be it. Her hotel wants us to get to the base camp as soon as possible, so she can get rid of nah. She was starting to make me nervous.
  
  
  "What do you think, Nick?" — What is it? " she asked suddenly.
  
  
  — What do I think ?"
  
  
  "They're Chinese. What do you think they're doing there?
  
  
  Hers, he shook his head. — They must be building some sort of polar base. These submarines just can't stay under the ice that long without a base.
  
  
  "But what kind of base?" And where?'
  
  
  Suddenly, she squeezed my hand. 'It doesn't matter. We'll figure it out, won't we?
  
  
  "I wish she could be sure of that."
  
  
  She smiled. "I'm sure we'll know, Nick. you're the best agent ah. You don't know why.
  
  
  I didn't have to answer that. A member of the flight crew came up to us with three packed lunches, which he silently gave us. Her is the only transmission Aku and gave emu noon. He ate the edu and quickly went back to sleep.
  
  
  Around noon, the same crew member came up to us again. This time he had three parachutes with him. Everyone around us was thrown one into their laps. When he put on his own, he leaned to the side and looked out the window. We were going to fly over the US base camp. Ahead of her, he saw large buildings that looked like bungalows. The largest building had an American flag mast. The flag hung motionless, the sky was clear, and the bright sun made the landscape below look like a desert. The base moved under us, then very quickly was behind us. A crewman opened the hatch. An icy wind whistled through the plane. I put on my sunglasses and made sure the parking hood fitted snugly to my target. A crewman attached parachutes to our equipment-eds, explosives, and backpacks.
  
  
  The plane circled to fly over the base again . Only the terrain directly around and in the base seemed flat and solid. Everywhere was full of crevices and bumps in the ground, which prevented the plane from landing . A helicopter could have done it, but the distance was too great for a helicopter. In addition, the Russians are not, as the embassy reported, the same as the Americans. That's why we had to jump.
  
  
  I could clearly see the base when we arrived. We were too high up to see any small objects, but there was no sign of any activity. There was no traffic in the area of the base. It was as quiet as if the flag was hanging from the mast.
  
  
  Sonya was sitting next to me, looking out the open hatch. Aku was behind us. He looked at Sonya, and for a moment our eyes met. But then she looked back, and her eyes widened with concern.
  
  
  "Aku, what is this?" she asked.
  
  
  Her, turned around. Aku's face glistened with bank, bank, fear.
  
  
  "Him... his never... I didn't jump, " he said.
  
  
  Emu smiled at her. — There's nothing wrong with that, dear boy, " I said, taking ego's hand and wrapping it around the handle of ego's parachute rope. "All you have to do is step forward, count to ten, and then pull."
  
  
  He blinked. Then he frowned, trying to concentrate. "Make a move... count to ten... pull it." He smiled wanly and nodded.
  
  
  Ego clapped her on the shoulder. "To show you that my folding dollar is in the right place, I'll let you go first."
  
  
  Then he began to tremble. 'N-no . .. I don't want to jump. her. .. I don't want to be the first.
  
  
  She was grabbed by ego to Park and slowly turned around so that he was facing the open hatch. "Nick," Sonya said, " what are you doing?"
  
  
  I didn't pay any attention to them. "Don't forget to pull the rope when you count to ten," Aku told him.
  
  
  Her, looked at the Russian crew member. Ego's face was expressionless. We were almost over the base now. The Russian nodded curtly.
  
  
  Aku muttered, " W-when should m-count her years ?
  
  
  'Get started! He put his hands on the emu's chest and pushed it through the hatch.
  
  
  Ego, his arms and legs were shaking as if he was trying to fly. He collapsed and flew into the air. I was waiting for the ego parachute to open, but it didn't. It seemed to slide behind us, and it was getting smaller.
  
  
  'Oh my God! Sonya whispered hoarsely.
  
  
  We both looked at him. Aku was getting smaller. Then, it seemed to linger for a moment. Ego's hands flew up. Something snapped away from him like the tail of an air dragon. A pause, and then the parachute opened. I heard Sonya sigh with relief.
  
  
  "The ego must be counting slowly," I said.
  
  
  Or he had a late start. Nick, I thought it was a bit drastic. No, it was more than that. It was brutal."
  
  
  'Oh, right?"Her, looked at nah. — You haven't been through anything yet , baby.
  
  
  Her mouth opened slightly and she looked at me in confusion.
  
  
  "Jump," I said.
  
  
  She blinked, then turned and went outside. Almost immediately, her parachute opened. Her husband spoke openly about her.
  
  
  The air was even colder than he'd thought. It pierced like a thousand needles. He looked down and saw that Aku had already landed near the base. Sonya was landing about three meters away from him. My shoulders felt the tug of the parachute opening.
  
  
  The shock of the cold was gone. He held on to the parachute lines and looked down. Throughout the hotel, and quickly rose. He relaxed and braced himself for the shock of landing. Sonya and Aku were already on their feet and taking off their parachutes, watching me. Just before my feet hit the ground, a pleasant thought occurred to me: I was a good target hanging from that parachute. If Sonya had had a gun with her when she jumped, she could have killed me without much effort.
  
  
  His heels hit the ice and he rolled back. However, her foot slipped a little on the ground. He was helpless. Aku could have walked up to me quickly and stuck a knife between my ribs. I should have told myself that there would be no attack until we knew what the Chinese were up to. At least that's what Sonya said.
  
  
  It was released by a parachute. Aku and Sonya came over and helped me. We looked up and saw more parachutes descending. Our stuff. The plane turned around. The sound of ego engines seemed to be quieter.
  
  
  Now my main concern was the base. We were only a hundred yards from nah, but no one had approached us yet. Okay, I wasn't expecting a brass band, but there had to be someone. Maybe the entire task was canceled. Maybe Hawk hadn't been able to contact them yet.
  
  
  The first parachute with equipment landed on the ice. Sonya was sitting a little behind me. Hers moved to the side so that hers could keep an eye on her.
  
  
  "Aku —" I said, " check the items when they fall, and put ih in a pile."
  
  
  Aku looked at Sonya, then at me. 'Why should I?'What is it?' he asked, trying to meet my gaze.
  
  
  Her, looked openly at him. "Because I said so," he told her flatly . "The web reason you're here is because you said you can obey orders." I smiled ruefully. "By the way, she's taller than you. And if you don't do what I say, I'll beat you up." Sonya took a step forward. — And you'll beat me up, too?"
  
  
  "If I have to."
  
  
  "Nick, why are you suddenly so hostile?" She took a step toward me. He took a step back. The hum of the plane disappeared. The only sound in the icy silence was the sound of our movements.
  
  
  Sonya stopped walking. "I don't understand you, Nick. You have no reason for this attitude.
  
  
  He smiled grimly. "I know we're three friends who do the same job here, don't we, honey?"
  
  
  She frowned, apparently confused. Aku ran away. Obviously, he decided not to bring the matter to a collision with me, he was collecting things that had fallen.
  
  
  'Come on. Her father grabbed Sonya's arm. "Let's see why no one welcomes us."
  
  
  We were walking towards the base. When we got to the first building, I knew something was wrong. The door was wide open. Wilhelmina grabbed it and took a tentative step toward her. It's been open for a long time. Snow was piled up on the doorstep. She waded through the pile of snow, and went inside with Wilhelmina in her hand. Sonya came with me. We were in the office. Most of the furniture was gone.
  
  
  but there were two pencils on the table. In the big office behind him, even that was not enough; it was empty. He grabbed Sonya's elbow. "Come on," he said, a little hoarsely.
  
  
  When we were outside again, Sonya asked, " What's the matter?": "What does that mean, Nick? There were people here. Here we get transport.
  
  
  "Something's happened," I said. "Depots destroyed."
  
  
  He went from one bungalow to another. When he reached the garages, he saw an old jeep on tracks without an engine and four battered snowmobiles with missing parts. I sniffed it while Sonya stared at the door.
  
  
  "Maybe we can do something about the scooters," I said. "The two around them look like they're working. Maybe I can put it back together, just like the other two."
  
  
  "But what happened here, Nick?" Sonya asked.
  
  
  — I don't know, " I said. I put it in Wilhelmina's shoulder holster. — You don't have a gun, do you?"
  
  
  She raised her hands, her gold-flecked eyes sparkling. "Will you search me?"
  
  
  Her, chuckled. — I'll take your word for it. We went outside. He looked at the part of the camp that we hadn't searched yet and said, "Okay, you take the bungalow on the left, and I'll take the one on the right. Maybe we can find a clue to what happened here.
  
  
  When we were about to break up, she said, " Nick, why did you ask me if I had a gun?"
  
  
  — Just out of curiosity.
  
  
  — You've been acting so weird with them ferrets since we left camp.
  
  
  "Ah, you noticed that," I said. — Well, we'll talk about that later. He pointed to the bungalow across the street. "I believe it's yours there."
  
  
  She ran away from me. I waited for her to come in, then went into the nearest bungalow on my side. The building was empty. When he left, Sonya came out around the other one . She shrugged and moved on to the next one.
  
  
  We were in the last two bungalows. He had just entered the building on his side when he heard Sonya's scream. He went outside and looked at the other bungalow, where Sonya stumbled out with one hand over her mouth. She almost fell down the stairs. Once on the ice, she fell to her knees. Her ran. It hadn't been long since he'd been with her. "What did you find, Sonya?"
  
  
  Her eyes were filled with horror. She kept saying, " Voice, voice."
  
  
  Her ran away from nah and grabbed Wilhelmina again. He walked slowly up the steps of the bungalow and peered through the open door.
  
  
  The first thing that struck me was the smell. .. and then ih saw her. Probably all the men who inhabited the base. .. thirty or forty. Ih was killed, stripped naked and put in a bungalow like logs.
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 7
  
  
  
  
  She didn't want to look back at the corpses. ... I didn't even have the tools to bury the ih. Somehow, I had to send a message to the main base to let them know what had happened here. He went outside and closed the door.
  
  
  Sonya was still sitting on her lap, making crushing noises. Her, standing in front of her and looking down. Her face was white.
  
  
  "Come on," I said, hey, helping her up. — You're an experienced Russian agent, aren't you?" You weren't particularly upset to see a few American corpses, were you?
  
  
  She screamed. "What kind of person are you? Don't you feel sorry for your compatriots at all?
  
  
  "At this point, I just have a huge hatred for those who did this."
  
  
  She was staggering, but the color had returned to her face.
  
  
  "If we're lucky, we can make three moving scooters around that junk in the garage," I said, trying to distract her thoughts from what she was seeing. Ee grabbed her by the elbow and pulled her along.
  
  
  - What... what should we do with them? — What is it? " she asked weakly.
  
  
  Hers, he shrugged. "There's nothing we can do."
  
  
  A light breeze was blowing now, driving snow like sand on a beach, but the sky was clear and the sun shone like a new silver dollar. Aku spotted her and saw him walking from the other side of the base to the garage. The three around us came to the garage.
  
  
  "It took a long time," Aku began, then saw Sonny's unusually pale face and looked from nah to me. 'What happened?'
  
  
  Sonya said to Emu in Russian. As she explained, I went looking for tools to try and fix the scooters. The two devices looked pretty good. I cleaned the spark plugs, sawed the tips, then brought the engines. They started up. Now I had to make a third scooter around the remains of the other two.
  
  
  I turned to Ak, who was looking at me. "Go to our things," I said. "They who destroyed this base may still be here, and we need it."
  
  
  He stared at me blankly for a split second, gritting his teeth, and I thought he was going to object again. But after a quick glance at Sonya, he turned and left.
  
  
  Two snowmobiles that I had to work with were partially dismantled. I started it with the car that was already disassembled the least. A ski and several engine parts were missing. Sonya sat and watched me work.
  
  
  "Something's wrong, Nick," she said suddenly. — You've changed since we left camp, ferret.
  
  
  "It's not every day that Russian trawler captains sneak into my room to try to kill me."
  
  
  — But that doesn't explain your hostility to me. What did I do?'
  
  
  He sat down next to the scooter he was working on, a wrench in his hand. I asked her: "Is there anything you want to tell me, Sonya? A little confession you want to make?
  
  
  She looked confused. 'Of course not. What makes you think I have something to confess?
  
  
  "Why," I said, and went back to work. It took longer than he thought. By the time I finished it, my hands were frozen even under the thick layer of grease, and it had scratched a few joints, but now we had a third usable scooter.
  
  
  Sonya and her took two other scooters and rode them to Ak, who was walking back and forth to get things, with a shotgun slung over his shoulder. Her ego name is back on the scooter that fixed her.
  
  
  Once we had collected all three scooters, we loaded up our gear, including two twenty-gallon gasoline cans that she found in the garage. The wind picked up, and the clear, velvety blue sky turned a soft blue .
  
  
  It was late when we refueled our scooters. I changed my mind and decided to take a patched scooter, mostly because Sonya and Aku wouldn't be able to fix it if something went wrong. They were both very quiet while we were loading things. Now they sat on their scooters and watched as I strapped her to my gear.
  
  
  He straightened up and pulled on his mittens. "We need to search seventy — five square miles," I said. "Aku, you'll go crosswise and circle as much land as you can while it's still light."
  
  
  Aku nodded and took his scooter with him, and Sonya and I did the same.
  
  
  "One by one," he shouted to her over the roar of the engines. "First Aku, then you, Sonya." I wasn't going to leave behind anyone around them with what they had prepared for me.
  
  
  She took one last look at the ghost base as the others set off . The wind was blowing snow as thick as fog. In the ghostly twilight, the base camp looked as still and cold as death.
  
  
  I followed the others. My scooter is absurdly dull compared to the other two. The wind was already howling, and from time to time the snow was falling so thick that I could barely see Sonya in front of me.
  
  
  If she and Aku were willing to kill me now, this would be the perfect opportunity. All Aku had to do was swerve a little , accelerate a little, so he could stop and wait for her to get there, then shoot me. But now wasn't the time, if Mistletoe Dormouse meant what she said. I'm left alive long enough to find out what the Chinese Communists are up to.
  
  
  We were caught in a heavy storm. The howling wind hurt my face with the snow.
  
  
  The snow was blocking out the sun, and it was hard for me to tell which direction we were puffing in. Sonya on the scooter was a blur ahead of me.
  
  
  But the storm didn't bother me as much as what we found in the camp. Exterminated to the last man, and the camp is devoid of everything useful. This meant two things: a fairly large group had raided the base, and that group had to be close enough to drag everything there.
  
  
  Perhaps the Chinese Communists were not so wouldnt go on. And whatever they were doing to us, it had to be important, because the complete destruction of the American base was no small feat.
  
  
  This meant that I had to make a decision soon. While her hobbled towards Aku and Sonya, her thought was to kill ih both now and go alone. There was a good argument in favor of such a decision. It would be hard enough to keep track of what was happening in front of me without worrying about what might appear behind me. But there was an equally good argument for waiting — at least for a while. I couldn't ride three scooters, and I couldn't carry all the explosives and other things on one scooter. No, I have to wait for her. .. which didn't matter as long as ih killed her before they killed me.
  
  
  The storm must have been heavy now, with wind and snow lashing us. Her, I realized we couldn't get any further. The scooters began to rock back and forth in the wind. He saw that Sonya and Aku had already slowed down, and he was about to increase his speed to overtake ih and tell us to take cover and wait for the storm to subside, when he heard a gunshot. Even in the howling wind, it was unmistakable.
  
  
  Her, I saw Sonny's scooter bump into his right ski, forcing him to turn left. Her looked where she was going. There was a steep slope about thirty meters away. Looks like the scooter was hit. As he watched, the car jumped high and threatened to tip over.
  
  
  Her screamed. "Sonya! 'Keep an eye on the break...! ' but my cry was lost in the wind.
  
  
  She threw the scooter straight down the cliff, staggering and swaying as she lost control of the steering wheel. Her suffocated even though there was no way I could get to nah in time. Then I saw it, and if I turned it to the left, I could catch it. Her, turned to the abyss. If the person who fired that gun had had the urge to shoot again, she would have been genuinely in his sights .
  
  
  As I raced after Sonya, it occurred to me that the Chinese might have left a few men to keep an eye on the base camp and eliminate anyone who came there. This explains the presence of the shooter. The only other explanation he could think of at that moment was Aku. He could have gone far enough ahead under the cover of the storm to ambush us. In that case, the shot should have been meant for me . In the conversation between him and Sonya that she overheard, Aku didn't seem very happy that she was putting off attacking me. Sonya was now close to the precipice. I gave her enough speed to get close to her. Then the car stopped moving in zigzags, but it seems that nah had problems with the gas pedal. My scooter's skis whizzed through the snow as his raced over to intercept her. We were on a collision course now, both of us heading for the slope.
  
  
  I got there first. He pulled up to the edge of the chasm two meters away, then turned and followed the edge Sonya was now approaching. Her face in the snowfall was a gray blur framed by the hood of the parking lot.
  
  
  It will hit me from the side. I lifted my knees to put my feet on the seat, then slowed down and saw Sonny's scooter hurtling toward mine . Just before the impact, he jumped.
  
  
  Her jumped up to Sonya, grabbed her by the shoulders, and together we rolled over her scooter on the hard snow. We were sliding on the ground. The thunder of twisting and tearing metal heard her. There was a loud screech as the two scooters grappled together and teetered on the edge of the precipice. Sonya and I glided in that direction. I tried to turn around to put my feet in front of me and finish our slide. Her no longer held Sonya's shoulders, only the fabric of her parking lot.
  
  
  Her first hit was a scooter. Sonya rolled into me, and I felt like we were going to slide over the edge. The scooters fell first. He turned and clutched at the snow. I heard Sonya cry out. Then we slid along the edge together.
  
  
  We were saved by a wide ice-covered ledge about ten feet below . He landed on his feet and hit his heels on the ledge. I staggered, trying to fall forward, but the momentum pulled me back. Odin Poe's scooter-it turned out to be mine-collapsed on the ledge. The other slid off the ledge and into a bottomless canyon of ice. My scooter was lying on the ground, on the edge of the ledge. That saved me. He fell onto the scooter and immediately dived forward.
  
  
  He lay on his stomach in the snow for a long time to catch his breath. My lungs ached . He slowly pulled his legs under him and got to his knees.
  
  
  He peered into the wind-whipped snow. I saw that it was a large ledge. I didn't know how strong he was. But for now, I was worried about Sonya. She lay on the floor, motionless against the ice wall. Her crawled up to her. When she reached nah, she stirred.
  
  
  'Are you all right?'
  
  
  Now she was trying to get down on all fours.
  
  
  Her reached out to help Hey. I asked her to. "Did you hit it? Did you break something?"
  
  
  She shook her head. Then she wrapped her arms around my neck and snuggled up to me. For a second, I forgot she was trying to kill me. All I knew was that I missed her. Then he looked down and saw her gun lying in the snow, and turned away.
  
  
  Her removed a small tent from an overturned scooter. In the meantime, we had to stay here. There was no point in worrying about Aku. If he can find a place to ride out the storm, we'll see the ego later. Guide-The Eskimo must have experienced many similar storms.
  
  
  At this point, we had our own problems. The wind seemed strong enough to blow us off the ledge, and it was getting dark fast. When we finally managed to set up the tent , Sonya pushed her inside and climbed in after her.
  
  
  There was enough room in the tent for two people, provided they liked each other.
  
  
  I saw Sonya take the rifle inside. I had my own with me, plus the coil of rope I had. In the tent, we could at least talk in a normal tone.
  
  
  "I — I'm cold," Sonya said, shivering, her face close to mine.
  
  
  "The only way to keep warm is to generate body heat," I said. "But all in good time. She was grabbed by ee rifle and thrown out of the tent.
  
  
  She looked at me. 'Why are you doing this?'
  
  
  The tip of her nose kissed her. "We'll have to wait until this storm subsides, and I don't want to get shot in the head if I fall asleep."
  
  
  "Nick, what do you mean?" She seemed genuinely taken aback. She played a beautiful comedy.
  
  
  He hadn't really intended to answer Corkscrew's question, but suddenly he decided to speak frankly.
  
  
  I also decided to do something else. He pulled the hood of her tank top off her head, stroked her long, silky hair, then began to unzip her jacket. Hers also started talking.
  
  
  Its said: "I'll tell you what I mean. On our last night at camp, I finished packing early, looked around the cozy room, and found it very deserted without my girlfriend. So I went to see her. I was going to take her to my room. We'd have a drink in front of the big fireplace and talk, or maybe even be silent. You know, just stare into the fire.
  
  
  'Nick, I...'
  
  
  "Let me finish."
  
  
  She was wearing a rough sweater under her parka. He ran his hand down her waist and stroked the soft skin beneath her sweater. Then, her hand slowly lifted.
  
  
  "So I went to see my girlfriend. She put on her heavy boots and parka and went outside to her house. But when I got there, I heard her talking to Hema. He stopped at the window to listen to her.
  
  
  Under my hand, I felt her body tighten. The silver-blue eyes stared back at me, and the gold flecks glittered like spangles.
  
  
  — What do you think you heard, Nick?" — What is it? " she asked evenly.
  
  
  My hand found the softness of her breast. I took her breast in my hand so that the nipple gently stroked my palm. Her body was tense. Outside, the wind howled around the small tent. He hooted and whistled and threw snowflakes at the tarp.
  
  
  "I heard my girlfriend talking to Aku," I said flatly. "My girlfriend told em that all the assassins sent to Nick Carter failed-mostly because they were men. The same voice that had told me all those delicious things back in Corsica was now telling Aku that a woman could get close to me... close enough to kill me. She told emu that she had been training for two years, and that as soon as we knew what the Chinese were up to, she would kill me."
  
  
  Sonya lies motionless for a long time with her eyes closed and her hands at her sides. Then her mouth tightened. "Take your hands off me," she said sharply.
  
  
  Hers was laughing. "Oh, no, ma'am.
  
  
  "We no longer need to pretend that we are a loved one-different, different."
  
  
  "So it was a comedy."
  
  
  "You're attractive, it wasn't hard to play this role."
  
  
  — What about the ring you're wearing, the ring the submarine crew gave you?" The way you left in tears because it was too much for you? Hers, I suppose, was also a comedy?
  
  
  She put her hand on my chest and tried to push me away. "Take your hands off me, Nick.
  
  
  "Tell me it was also a comedy. Tell me those tears were stage tears, like when you were laughing on the submarine. Tell me it was a scene. Tell me it didn't bother you at all.
  
  
  She struggled. "There's no reason for us to fuck anymore."
  
  
  Ee pulled her close. 'Ah, yes. I want to know if it was a game, too. I want to know if you pretended to do this. You give it your all when you play, Sonya. You are fully involved in it, as if you are enjoying it. I don't believe you're such a good actress. I want to find out now.
  
  
  'Not you . .. '
  
  
  My lips pressed against hers. First, she turned her head and tried to pull away. She pressed her hands to my chest. My right hand was holding her close, and I was undressing her with my left.
  
  
  She struggled. She pushed, punched, and squirmed, and her really believed that ee folding dollar was in it. But I didn't let that stop me. To some extent, my life depended on it. If she really was such a good actress, I would be in a lot of trouble.
  
  
  But the only one who was in trouble right now was Sonya. She was fighting me. She pressed her back against the canvas of the tent, but I was so close that she had to take me with her. Wriggling, she wrestled with me until I was inside her. At that moment, her breath seemed to catch in her throat. Her nails dug into the sleeves of my doublet.
  
  
  — I hate you, " she hissed through gritted teeth. "I hate you for what you make me feel and for what you make me do."
  
  
  I pushed her now. "But you like it?"
  
  
  She tried to keep her distance by bending her elbows and pressing her hands to my chest. I leaned on her arms until her elbows finally bent, then my chest pressed against her bare chest. My lips slid down her cheek, brushing lightly against her earlobe.
  
  
  "Take the tailor, woman," I whispered sharply. "Say you like it!"
  
  
  "Yes!" she suddenly exclaimed. She wrapped her arms around my neck. 'Yes! Yes!'
  
  
  She started toward me. It was an involuntary movement over which she was not possessive. Her legs parted to take me even deeper.
  
  
  My lips were close to her ear. "Sonya," I whispered, " don't ever tell me this is a comedy.
  
  
  "No, — she said. "It's so delicious."
  
  
  The wind was still howling around the small tent. I didn't hear her. But I could hear Sonny's heavy breathing and her moans. I could hear her every trembling breath.
  
  
  He leaned up to look at her face. There was enough light to see her. Her face was flushed. She was frowning, blinking, and breathing fast and fast. She closed her eyes, but suddenly they flew open as something exploded inside her. She began to sigh. The sighs grew louder and louder, becoming sounds of torture, fear, but delicious terror.
  
  
  Like a child grabbing a cherished toy, ee pulled her to him. I ignored her struggle as she struggled to breathe. His grip on her was tighter than necessary. She was being held by ee tak strong enough to break her back when my own body reacted.
  
  
  She passed out because I was holding her too tight, or what was going on inside nah was too much for nah. She relaxed beneath me. He relaxed, looked down, and saw a bead of blood on her upper lip. We wouldn't be freezing right now. So, having merged together, we remained warm.
  
  
  She groaned in protest as he sat up.
  
  
  "I'm cold," she cried. Then her eyes popped open at the execution permission flag. 'What are you doing?'
  
  
  He wrapped the rope around her and his ankle before she could move. He tied her in tight knots, then pulled the loose rope under her body.
  
  
  Hey smiled at her. — In case you become a sleepwalker, my dear."
  
  
  She resisted for a moment as he pulled her back to him. "I hate you!" she bit my ear. "I despise you for what you made me do."
  
  
  "Maybe," I said. "But I think you think that's the worst part, that it tastes so good."
  
  
  "You see, it won't change anything," she snapped. — I'll kill you anyway."
  
  
  She was held tightly by ee. — You can try, and I'll stop you if I can."
  
  
  — I hate you, " she screamed.
  
  
  He tucked her head under his chin. "Go to bed," I said. "I might want you again in the morning."
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 8
  
  
  
  
  The next morning, she liked hey even less, though she seemed to enjoy it even more. It was taken by ee at first light. What confused her was that this is the only transmission her further to do so.
  
  
  He untied us, got dressed, and got out. It was incredibly cold, so cold that even the clear blue sky seemed to be covered in ice crystals.
  
  
  I was standing on a ledge, and it felt like I was on an alien planet. Across from her, he saw another ravine wall. It looked like a giant block of ice that had been cut in half. Everything was white everywhere and so bright that it seemed to be surrounded by mirrors. I put on my sunglasses when Sonya came out.
  
  
  Hey grinned at her. — You don't look so bad in the early morning." With your hair all messed up and hanging over your eyes, you really do look sexy as hell. If you weren't going to cool me off, I'd probably drag you back to that tent.
  
  
  Her reached out to help Hey. She grabbed for me, but when she got up, she pushed her hand away.
  
  
  "You feel like a jerk," she said.
  
  
  My smile faded. "You too, Miss Treshchenko. Don't believe that I will be easily killed. This will be the most difficult thing you will ever do... if you get out alive."
  
  
  We were standing there looking at each other when a thick rope fell on the tent. He looked up and saw Aku staring at the edge of the chasm.
  
  
  "Did you get hit?" "What is it?" he asked worriedly.
  
  
  "No, we're fine, Aku," Sonya said. They started talking in Russian.
  
  
  He looked over the edge of the ledge. It was about fifty feet down, where the water was bubbling. Then there were more rowing lanes, but not as wide as the one we'd landed on. Sonny's scooter fell apart. On some of the ledges, we could see fragments.
  
  
  When I saw the wreckage, I knew we were in trouble. Some of the extra fuel was loaded on my scooter, but most of it was on Sonny's scooter. More importantly, she was driving the entire edu on her scooter. It wouldn't be so good if we were hungry.
  
  
  Sonya bent down and reached for her rifle. Her put his foot on the barrel and yanked the shotgun out of her hand. I pulled out the rifle's magazine and put it in a minute and returned it to Ego hey. She glared at me, but didn't object.
  
  
  Aku waited. I tied a rope to my scooter, and by pulling up the ego with our own ego scooters, we lifted the ego. We grabbed the tent and other gear and when the scooter was up, we tied ih to a rope and Aku pulled ih up.
  
  
  Then came the time of the human burden. I knew that I had to act wisely, otherwise I could easily get into a difficult situation. Despite Sonny's other talents, he didn't trust her any more than he could leave a Boeing 747. Aku had the same confidence.
  
  
  When her things were at the top and the rope was lowered again, Sonya came up to her.
  
  
  Hers, standing in front of her. — She could play the noble lord, but I think I'll go first, Sonya." You understand, don't you, dear? I hate to see you two up there with a rope, and we don't have any rope down here.
  
  
  She stepped back. "Come on," she said.
  
  
  He climbed over her shoulder, rifle strapped to his belt. I had a loaded gun so that her could use it if Aku decided to have some fun. He wasn't joking, and as he crossed the chasm, hers, he chuckled at him.
  
  
  "I'll put your rifle in Scooter," he said innocently. Still smiling, he handed it to ego. He watched her carefully as he walked over to the scooter. Then I heard Sonya getting up. He turned his back on Ak and reached out to help her.
  
  
  She was asked to find out if Aku was going to shoot me in the back.
  
  
  He put his arm around Sonya and pulled her over the edge. There was no shot fired. When Sonya got up, her father turned and looked at Aku. He had a shy expression on his face.
  
  
  He walked over to Aku's scooter and grabbed Ego's gun. He watched her take out the store and pawn the ego in a minute parking lot.
  
  
  "This is unwise," he said.
  
  
  "We'll see."
  
  
  He shook his head. "What if we meet people and we need all our weapons?"
  
  
  He put the shotgun back on the scooter. "It's going to be hard enough for me to keep track of what's going on in front of my eyes to also worry about getting shot in the back."
  
  
  He began to shoot something from Aku scooters . I threw some of her clothes and explosives on the ice next to the scooter. Then he turned back to Aku.
  
  
  I asked her. "Who shot Sonya?"
  
  
  Aku looked at nah. He told me, " It was a Chinese soldier. The blizzard was blowing, but I could only see it. I saw her with a team of dogs. He looked at me questioningly. 'What is it?'
  
  
  He walked over to his scooter. "I know that you and Sonya are Russian agents. Its know that Sonya is planning to kill me as soon as we know what we need.
  
  
  Ego didn't seem surprised. He and Sonya stared at each other for a moment. She nodded curtly. Aku shrugged and smiled. He rubbed his nose and leaned against the scooter.
  
  
  He asked. 'So what now?'
  
  
  It was moved by the things he took from his scooter, ego . While ih was folding it, he said to her, " Now Nick Carter is going to be very careful. I have stores to meet your rifles. Maybe I'll be alive for a while if I keep you ahead of me." Her things are already tied up. He looked out at the bleak, cold landscape. A light breeze was blowing, and although the sun was shining, there was no lingering warmth.
  
  
  "Why did you tie everything to my scooter?" asked Aku.
  
  
  I explained it. "In my opinion, the Chinese can't be far away from here. Since you have come as a guide, you can guide us until we reach a village or settlement. Then I'll continue it alone. Meanwhile, you move forward on your scooter. Her beru with a Sonya.
  
  
  I had to clean the spark plugs on my scooter before we could hit the road. He told Aku to go in the direction where he saw the Chinese. My scooter was puffing, but it was moving. He let Sonya sit in front of him and stayed behind Aku.
  
  
  We stopped once and took a survival bag along the way on Aku's scooter. There were brown ones in it, and bait, and a drill to drill a hole in the ice. We were hungry, and it didn't take us long to clean and fry the two good fish we caught. When everything was cleared, it was split by the last of the gas between the two scooters. He calculated that we had more than two hundred kilometers to go, then we had to leave ih behind. We set off again.
  
  
  Aku didn't trust her. How was I supposed to know if he was actually driving in the direction where he saw the Chinese? It's possible that he was driving around in circles to buy time. He and Sonya would have the advantage of walking, especially if the journey took longer than a day or two. I needed to get some sleep; they could take turns sleeping.
  
  
  The bleak landscape looked bleaker than any desert he had ever seen, and the wind was constantly blowing. The small scooters continued to rattle, and the only sound was the whoosh of skis in the snow.
  
  
  Then we reached some hilly terrain. The mountains seemed to rise behind it. I didn't know if they were mountains on the dell itself, or high peaks of ice and snow. But they were frank with us. Otherwise, it was a flat, desolate, windswept icy plain all around.
  
  
  We climbed a small slope. It wasn't cool, but my scooter almost gave up. I had to stop every two hours to clean dirty spark plugs. He was right behind Aku. He was just crossing the top of the slope when it started to approach. My scooter was making loud noises, and as soon as I got to the top and drove a few feet on flat ground, my spark plugs failed again.
  
  
  It was like someone had turned the key in the ignition. The scooter just stopped. Aku turned his scooter around and stopped. He solved the engine's research problems, took off his mittens, and lit a cigarette. Sonya got off the scooter and stood next to him. She was silent for most of the day.
  
  
  This hill was like a staircase. We were on the first step. There were three steps in total, about twenty meters wide and about the same length. Sonya and Aku watched as the toolbox grabbed her, pulled out the spark plugs, and cleared the ih. Her, kneeling in the snow. A light breeze was blowing. After the candles were cleaned and screwed in, he took the lid off the gasoline canister and wiped his hands. When ih dried it, smoke saw it.
  
  
  The sky was a bright, velvety blue all day, and the sun was a round, frozen disk. Now there were some dark wisps of smoke high up in the sky.
  
  
  The binoculars took her. The source of the smoke seemed to be somewhere on the other side of the hill. "Wait here," Aku and Sonya told her.
  
  
  He climbed the second step of the hill, then the third. From there, he could see that the smoke only formed a single pillar. It was a thick column closest to the ground, but it fanned out higher into the sky. The mountains were on my right, the barren plain on my left. He looked through the binoculars at the column of smoke.
  
  
  I saw that it was a village, a settlement about twenty miles away. Around what I could tell, it was a small village. The smoke seemed to form a shell around the shack where the Eskimos smoked fish or meat. There were a few small buildings, but it was too far away to see if there were any iglu.
  
  
  I wondered if Aku had brought us here on purpose. We've always been drawn in this direction. I didn't know her. Perhaps he would have fallen into a trap. On the other hand, Aku might not have known about the village's existence. Then I can handle him and Sonya. And there was a possibility that someone in this settlement had seen or heard something unusual in the area. He was sure that the Chinese were nearby.
  
  
  The wind ruffled my parka, and he strained his legs to study the landscape. She was turned 360 degrees by binoculars over the flat terrain we had just left behind. As far as I could see it, I saw the tracks of our scooters running away like rails. Then I saw her, something else.
  
  
  Since they were the same color as the snow, ih almost missed her. Three polar bears were following the trail of the scooters. They were two adults and a young man. They did not deviate us to the left, us to the right from the tracks of scooters, but followed them sincerely. They seemed clumsy and sluggish, like the bear in the movie Dr. Perska had shown him, and they seemed to be walking randomly. It was then that he made his first mistake. They seemed far away, and I didn't believe we should worry too much about the creatures.
  
  
  Aku looked openly at me as I walked down the hill. He continued to stare at me as I put the binoculars back in their case.
  
  
  I turned to him and lit a cigarette.
  
  
  I asked her.— Did you know there was a settlement there?"
  
  
  "Yes," he said, " I knew that.
  
  
  — Why are you taking us there?"
  
  
  He didn't answer. Sonya looked at both of us, first at him, then at me.
  
  
  "It doesn't matter," I said. — We're going there anyway. I'll leave the two of you there and go alone.
  
  
  He jerked his thumb at her right shoulder. "Oh, and a pair of polar bears and a bear cub are following us."
  
  
  Aku stiffened. "How far away are they?"
  
  
  "A few miles. I think we can get ahead of ih on scooters. If not, I'll shoot her." He took a step toward me. — You must give me the magazine of my rifle. You must.
  
  
  "Absolutely not," I said flatly. "Pick up your mount and let's go."
  
  
  We were going from fifteen to twenty kilometers per hour. Sonya sat down openly in front of me, trying to avoid any physical contact. But every now and then we'd pass through the hole and she'd throw herself at me. For example, after an hour, my spark plug was rejected again. We went through the same ritual again: Aku was smoking, and Sonya was watching her Beru's toolbox.
  
  
  It worked quickly and automatically. When he was done, he washed his hands and put away his tools. Then he got up and looked ahead at the horizon. Now everyone could see it with the naked eye. Then her, looked in the direction we came from.
  
  
  I was interested in the speed with which these polar bears moved. They were more than half a mile away, and they were fast approaching. They still looked ridiculous as they trudged along awkwardly.
  
  
  Aku, who was standing next to me, also saw ih. He screamed and clung to the corner of my doublet.
  
  
  Ruki's ego pushed her away. "Go to your scooter!" "I'll deal with them."
  
  
  'No!"Ego's eyes were wild. "I need a magazine for my rifle. It should be able to shoot. You are welcome! You have to give me this store!
  
  
  Her, looked at him. I saw that even Sonya seemed surprised by his behavior. Her again said: "Go back to your scooter. I'll deal with it.
  
  
  Ego pushed her away and took out a hard drive around the cover of his scooter. Aku screamed and ran out of the scooters. I ignored him. The bears were approaching at an incredible speed. They were now less than ten yards away.
  
  
  He took five steps behind the scooters, carefully removed the scope case, and wrapped the strap around his left wrist. He was waiting for her, legs spread.
  
  
  The bears were so close that I could see ih tongues dangling from the rta. They ran almost in a zigzag pattern, with the young one between them. Ih's fur was not as snow-white as it looked from a distance , but was a dirty cream color. They didn't look threatening, just a little silly. But they kept zigzagging toward us. They were now about fifty yards away.
  
  
  The butt of her Winchester pinned her to her shoulder. I knew that a heavy rifle would give a strong recoil if I fired it — this thing was meant for elephants. He pressed his cheek to the smooth shaft. The bears were now twenty-five yards away, and he was twenty yards away.
  
  
  He kept both eyes open and looked through the scope. I decided to shoot the cub first. This can confuse the other two long enough to target the one around them.
  
  
  I had the cub's chest in the cross lines of the scope. He sighed and held his breath. Her, I could hear the bears panting. They looked close to me. Then Aku heard her. He started screaming hysterically right out of me. But the bears were too close to think of anything else. They were ten meters away and running towards me.
  
  
  He slowly pulled the trigger. He braced himself for the recoil when the gun went off, and pulled the trigger all the way down.
  
  
  There was no recoil, because the gun did not fire. All I could hear, apart from the bear's puffing, was a sickening click.
  
  
  The firing pin hit the empty cartridge.
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 9
  
  
  
  
  The bears growled. He threw out the empty cartridge, then slowly pulled the trigger again. The same empty click. And then her, I realized that there was no point in trying to stredyat again.
  
  
  I had to run as fast as I could . Sonya and Aku already knew. But the bears were too close. We could never overtake ih. In desperation, the Winchester dropped her and fished her out from under the parking lot in Wilhelmina. I didn't have time to aim properly. Besides, I felt like I could kill a baby po Luger. He was shot twice. The echoes of the gunfire bounced off the mountainsides with such a roar that I was sure the ego could be heard in the village.
  
  
  Without making a sound to us, the cub fell and did a somersault. He slipped under the paws of the left bear. Both bears stopped to look at the bear cub. Odin quickly circled the bleeding cub around the two of them. The other continued to run, but now slowed down. I shot him. Gawk got the emu in the neck. The animal lowered its head, missed a step, but kept walking. I shot her again, saw a large chunk of her head fly off. But the bear only shook his head, as if to ward off a fly. Now he staggered back and watched the beast in fascination, firing at the Luger again and again. Every time the emu stared at its chest, it hesitated, then gathered itself and kept going.
  
  
  Blood gushed out around the beast's head and chest. He reared up on his hind legs, then lowered himself again. His front paws nodded, and he fell, sliding headfirst on the ice. He continued walking backwards, holding his right wrist with his left hand for support. Luger picked her up as the bear got back on all fours.
  
  
  The animal lunged at me. I've never heard her growl like that. The animal stumbled and stumbled toward me like a drunk, lowering its head, then raising it again. Then he fired again, and the bear stopped. Then her last bullet was fired at Wilhelmina. The bear's forelegs twitched again. The big target sank into the ice. He was so close that I could feel his warm breath. The eyes closed, then opened again, then closed again. The growl diminished to a gurgling sound as the huge body rocked back and forth and finally toppled over. The beast lay motionless except for a trembling hind leg.
  
  
  Aku heard her shout. He quickly looked around. Sonya was far enough away to be out of danger. But then the second bear went after Aku. The beast quickly began to catch up with the ego with its trudging steps. Aku turned and ran.
  
  
  Her ran back to the scooters and climbed into the minute parking lot for Sonny's rifle magazine. Her shotgun snatched up by scooters and inserted the magazine...just when the bear was next to Aku. The bear lunged at him and clung to him, teeth flashing. Aku held a knife in his hand and savagely stabbed the animal.
  
  
  Her ran there. Out of the corner of her eye, he saw Sonya staring in fascinated horror. The bear seemed to be boxing with Aku. The beast hit his ego and shook its head. Aku wasn't shouting anymore. He seemed to relax as the bear bit ego and turned its huge head.
  
  
  Sonny's rifle was pressed against her shoulder. It went off, and the butt hit me in the shoulder. The bear turned its head to the side, then started forward again. He turned, and I saw a gaping hole where his left eye should have been. Now the beast had forgotten about Aku; he lay motionless on the bear's paws.
  
  
  The huge beast came towards me. He took a step forward and fired again. The second shot tore off the emu's nose. The trigger cocked it and quickly fired a third time, in what I hoped was the lung. The bear screamed, turned, and disappeared. Then he got up and came back to me.
  
  
  Her fourth shot hit him. He stiffened and stood perfectly still, head down, like a bull preparing to pounce. He rocked back and forth on his weak legs. I pulled back the bolt, heard the click as the cartridge case flew out. He felt the warmth of the trunk. He pushed the bolt forward and fired again, almost without aiming.
  
  
  The bear decided to take another step. The paw rose and was held out, like the paws of a large fluffy dog that is engaged in voting-voting will lie down. And then the bear just fell like a felled tree. Ego's huge body split the frozen snow.
  
  
  She stood holding her gun, looking at the beast. Then he slowly lowered the weapon. My dollar stack was beating so hard that I felt a pain in my chest. The silence was so complete that it made my ears pop. I saw that the ice and snow around me were splattered with blood. He looked up and saw clouds of smoke blowing in the wind.
  
  
  Shaggy heard her. Sonya ran ahead of the scooters to Aku. I didn't think he could be alive, he was covered in blood.
  
  
  I had a strange feeling. She felt incredibly calm. I didn't have time to think about it. Everything I did was purely instinctive. But now that it was over, I had time to think.
  
  
  They were beautiful animals, these polar bears. I've killed three of them and I've never experienced anything like this before. I looked from one huge carcass to the next, and I knew what I was supposed to feel as a hunter. It will be something to tell your grandchildren. Her, knew that years later, thinking about it, his would still feel the same excitement.
  
  
  He dropped the rifle and slowly walked over to Sonya, who was already kneeling next to Aku. "How bad is it?"
  
  
  Sonya unbuttoned Ego's thick jacket. "He's in very bad shape, Nick," she said, not looking at me. "As you can see, his face was ripped open and he was severely bitten on the left shoulder. I think the ego's right beginnings are also broken."
  
  
  "But he's still alive.
  
  
  "Yes,"she said," he's still alive."
  
  
  Aku stirred. Ego's eyes opened and immediately filled with fear. "N-no !
  
  
  "It's all right," Sonya said soothingly. "The bears are dead. Nick killed ih and saved your life.
  
  
  Aku looked at me. The emu seemed to be having a hard time concentrating.
  
  
  'Why?'What is it?' he asked in a weak tone. — You knew we were going to kill you. Why?'
  
  
  Sonya looked at me. "Yes, Nick, why?" Yesterday, when she was slipping into this abyss, you saved me too.
  
  
  Hey grinned at her. "Maybe I like to challenge everything," I said. 'Come on. Let's go get help for Aku. Let's go to this settlement!
  
  
  "I did it," Aku muttered. I had to listen carefully because the ego words were unclear. — It's my fault your gun didn't work. When we got to the American base camp, he didn't stay with his things. He wanted her, too. She was found by a magazine that fits your rifle. He took out the cartridges and emptied the powder, then shoved the magazine into his parka. She was waiting for the chance to trade her ego for a full store. This opportunity came when you helped Sonya up. You gave me your gun ... remember? Saliva dripped around the corner of rta's ego.
  
  
  I remembered it and understood why he was so eager to get his bullets back. He knew I couldn't stop these bears. Sonya took out a first-aid kit . While she bandaged Aku as best she could, her jacket loaded her onto scooters. Ego had just finished it when Sonya came up to me. There was blood on the sleeves of her jacket and on the knees of her trousers.
  
  
  She sniffed the cold air and rubbed her nose with the back of her mitt. "You didn't really answer my corkscrew question," she said. — You were just avoiding him. Why did you save my life when you knew what I was up to? And why did you save Aku just now?
  
  
  Her ai couldn't answer. He couldn't tell her, because he didn't know. That was because, no matter what she was, he couldn't just throw her into this abyss without trying to save her, just like he couldn't stand by and watch Aku get eaten by a bear.
  
  
  The voice that I said hey. She sat there, listening, and stared blankly at me. If she didn't understand me, then I certainly didn't understand her either. There was passion in Corsica, and on board the submarine, she cried. He stared at the classic beauty of her parka-framed face, the tip of her nose, and the cold-reddened chopsticks. I still felt something like a connection between us, and I couldn't believe it was just one way. She must have felt it, too.
  
  
  He sighed. "We'll put Aku on my scooter. You get on it, and steer while I pull you. Her, I think this is the best way.
  
  
  "As you wish, Nick." She turned her back on me and walked over to Ak. He was watching her.
  
  
  Okay, I told myself, she's a weak teenager. She's a Russian agent on a mission. Hey was ordered to approach me-hey, what happened-and kill me. Well, if she tried, I would have killed her first.
  
  
  We drove Aku on my scooter, and ih dragged her to the village when Sonya was driving.
  
  
  It was painfully slow. The scooters barely had enough power to tow all that equipment, plus three people.
  
  
  He decided to tell the villagers about the dead bears. As far as he understood from the Eskimos, they offer us almost everything we need if we give them these bears.
  
  
  We were on the road for about an hour when I saw something coming around the village in our direction. Then he stopped and went back to the second scooter that Aku was strapped to. He reached into the ego minute and pulled out the right magazine for his rifle. With a loaded Winchester and the magazines of the other two rifles in his pockets, he was waiting, leaning against the scooter, to see what was going to happen.
  
  
  Three dog sleds arrived . An Eskimo woman sat on each sled, and a man drove. The sledge stopped on our left, and the second one started on our right. The third stopped right in front of us.
  
  
  The sled driver to my left had a rifle in the crook of his arm. He smiled faintly with his broad, flat face. Then he got down from the sled and came up to me. The dogs barked and growled at each other. The two women looked at Sonya curiously.
  
  
  The man who approached me was wearing a fur jacket. Its seen that the ego rifle was an old Enfield 303. Ego's dark face was blank as he scanned both the scooters and gear before turning his almond-shaped eyes on me.
  
  
  He said, " American?". He had a deep voice.
  
  
  He nodded to her. — We have a wounded man with us.
  
  
  He growled and answered. "We heard gunfire." He nodded again. "There are three polar bears. The dead. You can get ih. We just want to help the wounded man."
  
  
  Now he was grinning broadly and showing his horse-like teeth. He had a face that never aged. An emu can be between 26 and 66 years old. He boomed something to the others in a language she'd never heard before.
  
  
  Three women jumped out around the sledge . They hobbled heavily to Ak on the second scooter, and busied themselves with it.
  
  
  With the help of the Eskimos, we brought the Aku in one of the sledges . The driver turned the team around and drove back to the village. Sonya and one of the other women went with them.
  
  
  The man with the horse's teeth pointed behind me. — Are you taking us to the bears?"
  
  
  "Yes," I said. The man looked stunned as the scooter started him up. But the sound of a motor soon solving scientific research problems is the barking of dogs. As he was about to leave, her, he looked towards the mountains ... and tensed.
  
  
  At the top of the hill, she saw the silhouette of a man against the sky. He had a dog sled with him. The man looked at us through binoculars.
  
  
  Then I saw her, and I realized that it wasn't just the bears that were on our trail.
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 10
  
  
  
  
  By the time the bear carcasses arrived at the village, it was already dark. She knows that the chief of this tribe was called Lok. The other members of the tribe were the sons of Lok with ih wives and ih sons with ih wives. The settlement was only a temporary residence for them during the winter.
  
  
  There were eight Igloos next to the smokehouses. One across the needle was larger than the average family home. It was a kind of community center where children played and men and women exchanged gossip. Loka met her there.
  
  
  The emu looked to be a hundred and fifty years old. He didn't speak English, but Ego son, who led the group that came to us, acted as an interpreter.
  
  
  The igloo was both hot and humid. Burning candles provided a single holy light. Old women sat along the walls, gnawing on skins to soften the ih.
  
  
  I was offered whale oil and raw fish, and I took it on myself. The Eskimos looked at me with a faint, mocking curiosity.
  
  
  The real professionals in igloo smelled of stale sweat, candle wax, and bear fat. The candles cast a dancing, flickering glow. Sitting cross-legged on the fur beside Locke, he watched the women. The elders ' teeth were almost completely worn off from chewing the skins.
  
  
  So far, El had heard two things. Aku received the best care these people could provide. The leg was set, the bites were bandaged, and the face was stitched up. Of course, his wounds will heal and Aku will recover. I also heard that Sonya was so tired that she fell asleep in one of the igloos.
  
  
  Lok's son was called Drok. He sat down across from me and stared at me intently. He was as curious as a child, but there was nothing childish about nen, and he seemed proud to speak English.
  
  
  "I was in Anchorage," he said, lifting his chest. "I went to Anchorage with some of my family members."
  
  
  He put some more raw fish in his mouth. "How long have you been here?"
  
  
  He held up his dirty fingers. 'Six months. Long enough to learn American, right?
  
  
  He grinned and nodded. — You've learned that well.
  
  
  He grinned at rheumatism and showed his horse teeth again. He looked around. Without stopping, all the women were grinning and nodding.
  
  
  Then Lock spoke up. Drok listened intently, still grinning. When his father finished speaking, Drok looked at the needle again . Finally, he turned his gaze to a young girl sitting at the end of a row of chewing women. She was pretty, about sixteen, I thought, with smooth skin and a cheerful smile. She saw Drok looking at Nah and tilted her head shyly.
  
  
  Drok turned back to me. "My father has three daughters. There is not yet a single chosen one. He pointed at the young girl. "She's the youngest." He hit me on the arm. — They like you. They're laughing at you. You can choose who you want, but the young one is better."
  
  
  Her, looked at the girl. She still lowered her head shyly, but she looked at me quickly. Then she raised her index finger to her lips and giggled. The women on either side of nah also giggled, as did everyone else in the igloo.
  
  
  I didn't want to offend anyone, especially after the hospitality shown by the Eskimos. They took us in, treated Aku's wounds , fed me, and now they've offered me one of their girls.
  
  
  He said, " Thank you for the tribute, Droc. Please thank your father on my behalf. But I must refuse. I already have someone."
  
  
  He raised his eyebrows. "Is Skinny with you ?" He nodded, watched, and waited for Drock to pass rheumatism to Locke. The old man listened in silence, looking at me. Then he frowned and growled something at Gorse.
  
  
  Drok grinned at me again. "My father doesn't understand why you chose someone so pale and thin." Don't eat meat. He nodded to the young girl. "They have a lot of meat. Keep you warm on a cold night. She gives you lots of babies.
  
  
  She is young, with many years ahead of her.
  
  
  Thanks again for the suggestion, but I've already chosen."
  
  
  He lifted his shoulders.
  
  
  Gork had an Enfield rifle, and his hand was still on the butt. Now he asked her: "Drok, how many guns are there in the village?"
  
  
  "None," he said proudly. — I have a rifle. Her good shot. Her best shooter in the entire Icy Land.
  
  
  "I wish I could believe her. I didn't have to ask for anything else. The only way to snatch the gun out of the ego's hands is through the ego of a corpse.
  
  
  Lock said something to Gorse again. There was a long silence before Drok relayed the message to me.
  
  
  "My father, he's worried. You give us two bearskins, and the meat of the young is good, but you don't take your daughter. He doesn't know how to pay for gifts.
  
  
  Her sel, took out a pack of cigarettes and offered one each to the father and son. They both took it and condescendingly lit a cigarette. Drok coughed, then the first draw, but persisted.
  
  
  He said, " Tell Locke that he can pay me if he wants." Her hotel would like to know if he, or you, or anyone else in your settlement has seen anyone other than us in the last week or month. .. strangers.
  
  
  Drok translated ego before his father. There was a long silence. The old man frowned. Drok waited in awe. Finally, the old man shook his head and muttered something.
  
  
  "He didn't see anything," Drok said, " but he's very old. He can't see very well anymore. I've seen a lot of strangers.
  
  
  Hers, leaned forward. 'Yes?'
  
  
  Drok lowered his eyes. He held the half-smoked cigarette in front of him and looked at Nah through his nose. He knew that my ego father and I were watching him closely. He was the center of attention and enjoyed it. "Yes," he said at last . "I see men. Always with a sleigh and dogs. Always far away.
  
  
  — What were they doing, these people?"
  
  
  He pursed his lips and continued to stare at the burning cigarette. 'Nothing like that.'
  
  
  "They must have done something," I said. 'What? Drok raised the cigarette to his lips and sucked in the smoke. He blew out smoke without inhaling it. "I think they're in the mountains." And we looked through binoculars at the needle.
  
  
  "They were watching the settlement then."
  
  
  'Yes. I believe her.'
  
  
  'How were they dressed? Was there some sort of form in them?
  
  
  Again, Drok waited a long time before answering. He stuck out his lower lip and kept his eyes half-closed. "I haven't seen it," he said at last. He lifted his shoulders. "They are standing on a hill and looking through binoculars. They're too far away to see what they're wearing.
  
  
  He stubbed out his cigarette. "Drok, could you ask your father if he would mind bringing one pair of bearskins?" I want to borrow it for a while, but I'll pay it back.
  
  
  Drok translated ego before his father. Lock nodded and boomed something to one of the women. They brought the bearskin and the decaying ones in front of me.
  
  
  Drok asked: "Where are you going?"
  
  
  — I'm going to leave the village for a while. But there's something I need to do first." He stood up with the fur in his hands. "Thank you for your hospitality, Drok. Could you please thank your father on my behalf?
  
  
  He exited through the igloo and went to where the scooters and gear were parked. Sonny and Aku's guns were there. It took me half an hour to get all the magazines out of my backpacks and empty the powder around the cartridges. When this was done, he inserted the magazines he carried with him into the guns. Now there were only two guns left that could fire. My Winchester and old Enfield Gorse .
  
  
  Wilhelmina Poe took it out of its holster, pulled out the Luger's empty magazine, and replaced the ego with a full magazine. Around one of her backpacks, he pulled out a spare magazine for the hard drive and shoved it in a minute. Then odin emptied it around the backpacks and filled ego with explosives and detonators. I put on an extra parka and a first-aid kit on top. Then he put on his backpack and adjusted the straps to make it comfortable.
  
  
  He picked up his Winchester and left the compound, binoculars slung over his left shoulder. He meant the final destination. I went to the hill where I saw a man with a sledge.
  
  
  I passed it halfway. I figured it would take me almost an hour to get there. Every ten minutes he stopped, lifting his binoculars to look around.
  
  
  If that person was still around, he didn't want to be ambushed.
  
  
  Whatever the Chinese were hiding, it was there — I could feel it. Why else monitor the settlement ? Why were scooters monitored? Why was the American base destroyed?
  
  
  The polar bear fur was wrapped around my waist. Because of this and the weight of the backpack, I often had to rest. It took longer to reach the first hill than he'd thought. It took almost three hours.
  
  
  He walked slowly up the hill. Beyond that, there were two more hills running into the mountains. It wasn't a steep climb, but everything I was wearing made it hard for me. When hers finally reached the top of the hill, hers rested. I sat up and propped my head in my hands.
  
  
  A light breeze blew, cold as the breath of death, as her, rose and surveyed the area. The wind wasn't strong enough to cover all the tracks. The man with his dog sled should have left footprints. The tracks will show me where he went when he left the hill.
  
  
  He walked in semicircles, studying the ground. And it wasn't them, the footprints he'd first seen, but the dog's excrement. Then I saw the sledge tracks. I calculated its direction and continued in life again.
  
  
  He ran between the sled tracks. They led to the other side of the next hill and around the third hill to the mountains. The tracks followed an easy road between mountains, through a narrow ravine, and around the base of a narrow mountain. And then he entered a long valley surrounded by mountains so high that the peaks could not be seen.
  
  
  It was like a Christmas card. Here and there were icy pines. A stream bubbled in the middle of the valley, apparently high mountains and did not allow the deadly Arctic winds to penetrate. It was at least thirty degrees warmer here.
  
  
  The tracks of the sledge were going through the valley, and suddenly stopped. I went through it and came back to make sure of it. He knelt down, frowning. The tracks stopped and disappeared. It was as if the sledge, the dogs, and the man had disappeared from the face of the earth.
  
  
  Ice Bomb Zero started to heat up.
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 11
  
  
  
  
  I looked around in amazement. The mountains were high, but not deep. Beyond these mountains stretched the Arctic Sea with its permanent ice sheet, the largest glacier in the world, which was constantly moving and melting. But this valley was dry land. Frozen, yes, but still it was the entire hotel area, not the ice.
  
  
  Somehow, the sled was gone. He took out a narrow lantern from his pocket and knelt where the tracks ended. I took a good look around. It was as if they were literally cut off.
  
  
  "Come on!" he said aloud.
  
  
  I didn't know what that meant, but I had to find out. He unwound the bearskin around his waist and dropped it in the snow. I felt like I'd have to wait if I wanted to open something up. The sledge would suddenly disappear and just as suddenly reappear. If this miracle had happened, his would have been there.
  
  
  He shook her with the bearskin to rewrite the tracks, then walked away from where the sled tracks ended. Her shell took a while, then stopped. He took his rifle and binoculars from his shoulder, strapped on his backpack, and stretched out on his stomach under the bearskin.
  
  
  He was waiting for her, his binoculars focused on the place where the sled tracks ended. An hour passed. It was quite warm under the bearskin. Now he understood how polar bears can swim in the icy waters of the Arctic Ocean. Another hour passed. He almost choked on it. And then, finally, something happened.
  
  
  Although I watched the miracle through binoculars, I could hardly believe it. The place where the tracks ended was the edge of the trapdoor. But this was no ordinary trapdoor. A chunk of earth rose up, revealing a gaping cavern. He watched her with his mouth hanging open. The huge door creaked and creaked as it rose further and further, taking the frozen snow and ice with it, turning into a gaping maw four meters high and at least twice as wide. Sounds came from around the opening, the sounds of hammers and blows. .. mechanisms that were built there. She saw a long icy slope leading down from the opening. It wasn't steep, maybe at a 30-degree angle, but it led into darkness, and she couldn't see anything else.
  
  
  The warm air was around the hole, felt her ego in her half-closed face. The snow around the hole began to melt, but when the huge door closed again, the snow quickly froze again and helped hide the end of the day.
  
  
  Then, she heard a loud screeching noise above the noise underground. He ducked back into the protection of the bearskin, peering through the binoculars. The creaking sound came from a sled drawn by nine dogs. They were visible on the slope, and a moment later they were sliding through the snow. With a fresh screech and creak, the huge door began to close. There was a loud sigh as the door slammed shut, shutting up everyone gathered. Her binoculars were transferred from the ground to the sledge.
  
  
  There was only one person on the sledge. He headed for a valley between high mountains, about two hundred yards away. He reached the valley and stopped the dogs. I saw him grab his binoculars and start up the slope.
  
  
  He was already on his feet, still covered by the bearskin. He ran up to the sledge driver, bent over. Her ego could see clearly and see that it was a Chinese man in the brown uniform of the traditional Chinese Army. He no longer doubted her. I found it in the Chinese Communist database. Now all I had to do was get there.
  
  
  He crept cautiously up to the dogs. The two animals growled at each other again. The others waited without interest. The Chinese soldier was now standing on the hill, looking through binoculars at the Eskimo settlement far below.
  
  
  He bypassed the dogs and climbed the hill. About halfway there, he stripped off his bearskin coat and took the backpack off his shoulders. The winchester carefully set her down in the snow.
  
  
  I pulled her with my shoulder, and Hugo, my stiletto, slid into my hand. Its crawling on all fours. When hers reached the top, his was eye level with the soldier's knees. He was wearing leggings. He was so close that he could see the rings through which the laces were threaded. He pulled his legs under him and silently ducked behind the emu.
  
  
  The dogs heard or smelled me when I approached the soldier. The growling stopped, and the entire room began to bark. The soldier turned around.
  
  
  I was sincere to them, Hugo was in my hand. Her plan was to reach out and cut the emu's throat. Ego put his arm around her neck, but he fell to his knees, rolled onto his back, and groped for his service revolver. No one around us said anything, but he chuckled to himself as he undid the leather flap of his holster.
  
  
  Her fell on top of him, and grabbed the hand that was engaged wanted a revolver. A stiletto lifted her and aimed for his throat. He turned around with panic in his eyes. Hugo's blade sank into the emu's shoulder. The knife pulled her out again. The Chinaman screamed in pain and turned. Ego's hand broke free at my subterfuge, and now he had the holster flap open.
  
  
  Hugo took it in his hand, raised his hand, and quickly lowered the knife. This time it hit her in the throat. Ego's eyes bulged around his head, and his hands dropped. One of the dogs suddenly howled mournfully, nose up. The others followed suit. The body beneath me shuddered for a moment, then froze.
  
  
  Too much blood was released. It took too long. It was a messy death. Hugo got up and wiped it on the soldier's trousers. I didn't want to undress her body, but I knew I needed some form to get through that trapdoor. In the end, he settled on the man's gaiters and ego jacket. When he was done, he picked up the bearskin and covered ego with it. Then he took his backpack, binoculars, and winchester, and rolled over to the restless dogs.
  
  
  The leader, a sturdy husky, bit my leg and tried to grab me by the throat. Its hit his ego more heads.
  
  
  'Stop! Back! I snapped at him.
  
  
  He took a step back, then attacked me again, snarling as he tried to get at my shin. We were fighting for power, this Husky and hers. Sled dogs are usually semi-feral; they are sometimes known to attack and kill humans en masse.
  
  
  The dog kicked her, so that she crashed into the sled. I slapped three other dogs who tried to bite my hands .
  
  
  I ordered it. "Get in line!"'
  
  
  A big husky sat next to the sled and snarled at me with bared teeth. He knew that the other animals would follow him, because he was the strongest.
  
  
  I went to him and grabbed him by the neck. He snarled and tried to turn his head to bite me.
  
  
  I ordered it. 'Quiet! Her ego pushed her to the front of the room. He was sliding through the snow and trying to get back to me. One around the other dogs tried to bite the ego ligaments of the hind leg. A large husky lunged at him and bit the other dog so hard on the shoulder that blood flowed. The other dog howled and backed away.
  
  
  "Get in line!"
  
  
  Reluctantly, the big husky approached Golovkin. He kept turning his head, baring his teeth, and growling. But now he knew I was in charge. He hated it, but he knew it.
  
  
  When he was there, his father walked up to him and held out his lowered hand. Ego's powerful jaws closed around nah with a growl. Her hand was being pushed further and further into the ego's mouth. The force of the ego bite hurt me. He waited until he felt his ego muscles relax. He had his teeth parted and her hand was in his mouth. He turned his massive head away, and the growl became a soft growl. The growl turned to a whimper.
  
  
  He grinned and patted ego's thicker, softer neck. "Good boy," I said softly. 'Good boy.'
  
  
  Then he went back to the sledge. Knut took it. "Quickly!" 'Hurry up! hurry up!'
  
  
  The dogs began to move. Oni started to walk sincerely, but ih led her in a circle, heading for the hatch. They barked, growled, and made all sorts of noises, but they ran.
  
  
  He leaned forward to cover his pack with the bearskin that lay on the seat of the sled. As he did so, he saw something under the fur: a small black box about the size of a pack of cigarettes. There was a button sticking out, and a yellow brylev was on. Nothing more. It was held by ego in one hand, and with the other he whipped it over the heads of the dogs.
  
  
  He walked over to where the hatch had opened. I had no idea how to open the damn thing, but I thought the black box must have something to do with it. Perhaps it was an electronic device that gave a signal to someone on the other side of the wall or opened a door. Anyway, that was all I had. From now on, I had to play everything by touch.
  
  
  He held the box out in front of him and pressed the button. A yellow glow lit up, and almost immediately she heard the crackle of breaking ice, followed by a crack and screech as the huge hatch opened.
  
  
  The dogs didn't hesitate to dive straight into the gaping cavern. The whip threw her on the seat of the sledge and pulled the hood of the soldier's doublet as far as possible over her face. The next thing I knew, my stomach felt like a roller coaster cart was reaching its highest point and starting to descend.
  
  
  The sledge runners scraped down the slope as we descended. Her, I saw that someone was waiting for us at the bottom.
  
  
  Her head turned slightly. A Chinese soldier was standing at a large lever. I saw him lower the lever. The hatch creaked and slammed shut behind me. As soon as the door closed, the yellow light on the box stopped blinking. As the soldier's mimmo passed, he smiled and waved at me. We came to a small turn to the right and found ourselves in an ice cave, the walls of which were reinforced with steel beams. The curve stretched, and the dogs dragged me on. It was still too dark to see anything, but ahead of me, in the arched corridor, a burning saint saw her, then more sledges and dogs. My dogs started barking as we approached.
  
  
  My front husky knew what to do. He ran openly to the other dogs and the sledge . As we approached, he slowed down and pulled my sled between the other two. All the dogs barked a loud greeting. As I descended from the sled, I saw a tray of raw meat on the right. He grabbed a few pieces for the dogs and threw them at them, making sure that the Husky leader got the biggest piece.
  
  
  Then they all calmed down. He grabbed her backpack and slid his hands into the straps. Then he took her winchester and walked straight down the narrow corridor.
  
  
  He heard the sounds of activity in the caves again. The sounds were hard to hear; she could hear the thunder and clatter of cars. Whatever the Chinese did to us, it must have taken them quite a long time to set it up. They wouldn't welcome an intruder. But there was one thing in my favor. Brylev was not very bright in the corridors he entered.
  
  
  The whole area was a network of tunnels and caves. He passed through three caverns that contained large green machines that might or might not have been generators. Then she heard an unusual sound nearby : the soft splash of water. I went there.
  
  
  As far as I could see, there was only one thing that really set me apart from the others in the caves — my backpack. The men she met were heavily armed, and they all seemed to be in a hurry. Most of the people around them were soldiers from the People's Republic of China. They hardly seemed to notice me. However, she tried to hide her face in the hood of the parking lot as much as possible.
  
  
  The soft splash became more pronounced. Its shell goes around one corridor to another in the direction of sound. The dim lights on the ceiling were about ten feet apart, and she almost missed the cave entrance.
  
  
  It was the biggest room I'd ever seen, big as a warehouse and packed with soldiers. Inside, Winchester prepared it and snuggled up to moaning day.
  
  
  Brylev was brighter here, but fortunately most of the lights were not directed at me, but from the wooden harbor of bar, which stretched out to where the waters of the Arctic Ocean lapped. Two Chinese submarines were moored at the dock, and two rows of people were unloading things from the boats. Large crates were piled around the cave.
  
  
  He moved forward from the wall, crept up to the crates, and ducked behind them. Her hotel saw submarines hit the cave every year. It was easy. Underwater lights were visible along the walls of a large underwater cave drilled into the frozen ground. The submarines entered the water. When they were ready to leave, they dived and exited through the caves in the same way.
  
  
  I tried to determine the location of the valley in relation to the place where I am now. If he was right, all these caves and passageways would have been carved into the mountains protecting the valley. This cave was supposed to be on the other side of the mountains, not far from the shores of the Arctic Ocean. But why? What was the purpose of this complex organization? Around all those caves and armed soldiers? What are the Chinese up to? The loudspeaker blared, and my head went up. The announcement came loud and clear in Chinese: "Attention! Attention! We have two invaders! Ih must be found and destroyed!
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 12
  
  
  
  
  Sonya. The ad mentioned two intruders, and the second one can only be Sonya. There was no reason for the Eskimos around the settlement to come here, and Aku was too badly wounded. No, it had to be Sonya.
  
  
  She must have followed me. Perhaps she found a dead Chinese soldier and somehow found another cave entrance. And maybe she wasn't following me. Maybe she'd seen the man on the hill yesterday, too. In any case, the Chinese will be on their guard now. I couldn't expect to go unnoticed for long.
  
  
  The soldiers around me stopped working and stood at attention as the announcement was made. Then they looked at each other, and about twenty people started walking one by one around the corridors. The others went back to work.
  
  
  He carefully stepped out from behind the crates and crept up to the entrance. Her back pressed against the moan. He made his way back around the corner of the corridor, turned, and came face to face with the young Chinese soldier. We were so close that we almost collided.
  
  
  Ego's mouth dropped open. He started to raise his rifle and wanted to call for help. But I already had Hugo ready. A long blade plunged into the soldier's throat. The scream stopped. Stiletto pulled her out, pushed the dead soldier away, and walked quickly away.
  
  
  He turned the corner and snuggled up to moan, trying to avoid any further encounters. He didn't want to leave the same way he came; he was asked to find out what the Chinese were up to. Submarines were used to transport cargo. Other than transportation, they had nothing to do with what was happening there. These supplies were used for something.
  
  
  He was carried through cave after cave, and passed other caves, not as big as the one with the dock. When the soldiers passed, he stayed in the shadows between two streetlamps. The corridors weren't a maze; there seemed to be a pattern to it. He concluded that all of them must lead to a central room or cave. So instead of walking around one corridor to another, it's better to follow one corridor in both directions. Perhaps the rheumatism she likes was there. He kept walking close to the walls, his winchester ready.
  
  
  The corridor he was in really ended in a cave. As far as I could see, it was bigger than a cave with a harbor. I was about to enter when I heard a shout to my right. A shot rang out.
  
  
  Gawking eyes threw shards of stone candid over my left shoulder. Hers, he turned with the Winchester at waist level. The firing soldier pushed the bolt of his rifle forward to insert a second round into the cartridge. Her shot went first; gawking at the Winchester hit the emu candid between the eyes. The force of the bullet knocked ego's head back, and then his body. The split ego was arched as it fell to the ground.
  
  
  He quickly entered the cave and was just starting to look around when he heard something. He turned and surprised another soldier who entered the large room. He tried to raise the rifle, but Winchester held it on his shoulder and cocked it. My shot tore through the emu's earlobe and knocked it back. He was dead before he hit the ground.
  
  
  He looked around again. It was cold in the cave. Like the harbor, it was well lit, but I couldn't see what it was. .. until he looked up.
  
  
  Four rockets were installed in the ceiling of the cave on the launch pads. When her mimmo looked at it, and her saw the huge hatches that opened to launch rockets. They had to be well camouflaged from the outside. The launch pad for the fifth rocket was under construction.
  
  
  As he went deeper into the cave, hers seemed to notice that the temperature was rising. It was discovered by five huge tanks for eating fuel. I went over to one of the tanks and opened the round valve a little so that some of the liquid got into my hands. I sniffed it and found that it was some kind of fuel, probably for submarines.
  
  
  I went further into the cave. It was the size of a stadium. At the end was a large nuclear reactor. He checked the pipes leading to and from it. The generators he'd seen before seemed powered by him. This meant that this reactor was the only source of power in the caves. In addition to using generators, the reactor also had to generate electricity for ventilation, lighting, and machinery. It was a cave that I had to take out of service. This was the heart of Ice Bomb Zero, the reason for my mission.
  
  
  I took off my backpack and went to work. He made her bundles of three sticks of dynamite and an igniter and attached ih to the tanks for food and fuel. Ih then attached it to all four launch pads. I set up the detonators for an hour - I thought I could get out of here in an hour. That was what he was thinking.
  
  
  It took me about fifteen minutes to complete the task. However, he was surprised that no more soldiers entered the cave. Once all the explosives were attached, I made a detour and turned on the timers to make sure that all the explosives would explode at the same time.
  
  
  My backpack was now empty. It was thrown by ego under Odin po of the food tanks and picked up his Winchester. Until now, the ferret had no soldiers. I saw eight loudspeakers in the cave, but we couldn't hear a word around them. I felt uneasy, as if something was about to happen.
  
  
  Winchester in hand, he made his way cautiously out of the cave toward the passageway he'd entered. It seemed abandoned. What was even more remarkable was the silence. The cars were stopped, the generators were not working - they needed batteries to turn on the lights and emergency power supply systems. He cocked his head and listened. Nothing like that. Mute. Just silence.
  
  
  She went out into the corridor and started walking. My boots creaked with every step. I had the feeling that I was being watched, but I didn't know where she was coming from. I passed it under the first lamp on the ceiling. A second lamp hung candid in front. Then I thought I heard a sound. He stopped and looked back. Nothing like that. I shivered, as if a cold wind was blowing at my back. And then I thought I knew her. She was trapped, and there was no way out.
  
  
  He remembered that even before he saw the first soldier. He came out through one of the side corridors about seven meters in front of me, holding a shotgun to his shoulder and pointing it at me. Then two more soldiers came forward. All the guns were pointed at me.
  
  
  He turned around and saw three more soldiers. The two around them were nearby, and ih weapons were leaning against the groan. A third man stood ten feet behind me, watching me. He had a shotgun slung over his shoulder.
  
  
  He grinned and realized it was a pained grin, then dropped the winchester to the floor. Then his hands went up.
  
  
  "I give up," I said.
  
  
  The soldier said nothing. He just pulled the trigger.
  
  
  Her jumped out of the way, felt a gawk go through my right arm. I felt a dull pain, then a sharp stab that set my entire arm on fire. The gawk didn't hit the bone, but it did hit a lot of muscle and skin.
  
  
  Her, turned and fell on one of every tribe. I knew I'd be dead in a few seconds if I tried to catch Wilhelmina. Her hand instinctively reached for her injured arm. She was bleeding profusely. Her sel and leaned back to moan. My world went gray. I felt like someone had stabbed me with pins. My chopsticks were cold, and sweat broke out on my forehead.
  
  
  It was a shock, and the emu resisted it. Black unconsciousness tried to take hold of me, but I resisted. Through the gray fog, I saw her face as the man who had shot me. He stood openly in front of me with a cold smile. Odin around the other soldiers asked him if they should shoot me. But the soldier who shot me didn't answer; he just kept looking at me.
  
  
  "This is Nick Carter," he said at last . He knelt beside me and felt my sides. He found a shoulder holster and pulled out Wilhelmina.
  
  
  "Kill the ego here?" One of the other soldiers asked.
  
  
  "What are we going to do with him, Sergeant?" another asked.
  
  
  The sergeant stood up and looked at me. "I think Colonel Cheng will want to talk to him." Get the ego back on its feet.
  
  
  They weren't gentle. They grabbed my arms and forced me to my feet. The burning sensation was gone, and now my head was spinning. I doubted I could walk. he kept it.
  
  
  he stood on his feet and leaned against the wall to moan. Warm blood dripped down my arm and dripped from my fingers.
  
  
  "March forward!" the sergeant commanded.
  
  
  Its started to go, and my shaggy legs were shaky and stumbling. Two soldiers came up on either side of me and grabbed my arms. She let out a howl of resentment, but it didn't stop her. I lost a lot of blood, and I felt weak, but I still thought: they didn't find us, Hugo, us Pierre, my deadly gas bomb.
  
  
  I'm being led one at a time around the side corridors. Some where in the walls were day. Offices, I thought. We walked a few more before they stopped. We were standing in front of a door with Chinese characters on it. Although I understand and speak the language to some extent, I can't read nen. The sergeant ordered five soldiers to watch me, then opened the door and went inside.
  
  
  Five rifles were pointed at me. I almost fell - my knees were like rubber. He pushed her two trunks away and leaned against the wall to moan. The door opened again and I was pushed inside. He was in a small office with a desk, chair, and filing cabinet. The chair was empty. The sergeant opened a second door that led to a large office. Two soldiers pushed me inside.
  
  
  The first person to see her was Sonya, bound hand and foot on a chair. She tugged at her bonds when she saw me. There was a chair to the right of nah-two. The soldiers pressed me against him. Its sel edge, my right arm hung limply, so that the blood dripping from my fingers formed a pool on the floor. I thought I should do something about that blood. He extended his left arm forward and found a pressure point on his injured arm. I pushed her hard. He took two or three deep breaths. The soldiers went out through the rooms, and there was silence. He lifted his head and looked around.
  
  
  Sonya looked at me openly. She was seen by bloody after the corner of her rta, and then the parka was torn in the front. Her left breast was exposed almost to the nipple.
  
  
  He took another deep breath and looked around the office. In the heads became valuefoot clearer. There was a desk chair in front of me, and a portrait of the leader of Communist China hung moaning behind it. There was a thick carpet on the floor. There was a third chair in the room, and another behind the desk.
  
  
  A sergeant and a soldier stood on either side of his office. Their rifles were mounted on their right legs, with the barrel pointing up. They weren't looking at us, but at another door, behind which she was suspected to be a toilet or possibly a bedroom. Then the door opened.
  
  
  The man who entered the room, drying his hands on a towel, was wearing the uniform of a colonel in the Chinese People's Army of Medicine. He had no eyebrows, and his skull was bald. However, he had a large and well-pomaded moustache. Ego's eyes were like pencil marks under a shiny skull. He was small, and he estimated that Sonya was at least two inches taller.
  
  
  He dropped the towel on the chair behind your chair and walked around the chair. He stood looking down at me for a moment. Then he nodded to the sergeant and soldier for the day. They came and stood on either side of my seat. The Colonel looked at Sonya and smiled.
  
  
  "Mr. Carter," he said, his voice suddenly heavy and low, " we are honored that AH has sent his chief agent to our little one. .. let's say a shelter. He spoke English. "But I'm a little confused. Maybe you can help me figure this out?
  
  
  I saw that the ego joints of my right hand were scratched. Her, looked at the blood in the corner of Sonny's rta, but said nothing.
  
  
  The Colonel strode to the table. "Mr. Carter, I'll explain my confusion to her." He stood motionless. "Voice I have a cute Russian agent who broke into our office. And in your case, I have a top American agent whom we have... let's just say. ..in their second home, they seized it. Is this a coincidence? I don't believe it. Do Russian and American agents work together? He smiled. "I'll leave the rheumatism to you, sir."
  
  
  "We worked together," Sonya said suddenly. 'But not anymore. My job is to kill Nick Carter. She had to make sure he was dead before returning to Russia. He found out about it, and after that we didn't work together anymore."
  
  
  Colonel Chiang came up to her. — This is very exciting, my dear. He was standing in front of her, legs spread. Then, without warning, he lunged with his left hand and slapped her across the face with the back of his hand. The impact echoed through the room. The force of the blow made Sonya's head spin. Her chin dropped to her chest. My hair covered my face.
  
  
  The Colonel turned to me. "It was the same story she had already told." He leaned against the table, open in front of me. "You're oddly quiet, Carter. Where's the great humor I've heard so much about?
  
  
  Its said: "I found your toys that you collect in your 'second home'. Four nuclear missiles, probably aimed at the United States. Is that right?'
  
  
  "Ah, so you can talk. The Colonel chuckled. "Missiles for your country, Carter, and for the Soviet Union. Want to know where they'll go when ih launches?
  
  
  "With pleasure."
  
  
  Colonel Chiang was as proud as a monkey. He looked at the two guards, then at Sonya.
  
  
  "Routes were planned to Washington, Los Angeles, Houston, and Moscow. We are working on another launch pad for a rocket designed for Leningrad."
  
  
  — It's pretty dangerous to tell us all this, isn't it?" He said it, but he knew it better.
  
  
  Where the ego eyebrows should have been, they looked like two crooked scars. 'Dangerous? I don't think so. He looked at Sonya. — You don't have to worry about your assignment, my dear. I'll make sure it's done. But unfortunately, you will die with Mr. Carter.
  
  
  Sonya raised her head and brushed her hair out of her eyes. Her cue stick, where it was, was bright red.
  
  
  "It's no use to you, Chiang," she said. "Before coming here, I reported my position to my superiors. They're waiting for me.
  
  
  The Colonel laughed. — That was a stupid statement, my dear. We have very sensitive electronic tracking equipment running on a nuclear reactor. We can listen to every radio station in a seventy-five-mile radius. You didn't send the message. You don't have a transmitter. The only people who know you're here are the people in the Eskimo settlement who we're going to exterminate, just like we exterminated the American base camp."
  
  
  Sonya sighed and closed her eyes.
  
  
  The Colonel turned back to me. — What about you, sir ?" Like your girlfriend, have you watched too many movies? Are you going to give me some stupid reason why I can't kill you?"
  
  
  Hers, he shrugged. "All this talk is academic, Chiang. We'll all be dead in forty minutes . It was found by these missiles and booby-trapped by ih explosives."
  
  
  Colonel Chiang chuckled again and returned to his chair. I could feel Sonia looking at me. When I looked at nah her, I saw something in her eyes that I couldn't understand. Chiang opened one around the large drawers of the chair. When I looked at it, I saw Wilhelmina, my Winchester, and Sonny's Russian rifle in the table. Chieng then pulled out the small bags of dynamite that she was putting in the rocket cave. I counted the number that he put on the chair. Four.
  
  
  "You see, Carter," he said, " we're not as stupid as you think. We knew you were in the cave... We've been waiting for you, you know? We didn't think you were sightseeing. My men found explosives attached to the rockets. So you failed.
  
  
  Emu smiled at her. "You're really stupid, Chiang. Her, I knew you'd find this explosive - that was the plan. But that's only half of what I applied. The rest won't be easy to find, and ih is enough to make the whole damn forest plop down on your bald head. He looked at his watch. — I'd say about twenty-eight minutes."
  
  
  The room fell silent. He could almost hear Chiang thinking as he stood at the table and looked at me. Given the dynamite he'd found, he knew what to expect. He knew what those detonators were and the moment when everything would blow up.
  
  
  He sat down on a chair and put his hand under the chair. When he returned, he had a microphone in his hand. In Chinese, he ordered a search for explosives throughout the cave. Ego's voice echoed down the hall, all around the speakers. It will repeat the command twice. He hung up the microphone and looked first at me and then at Sonya. But ego's face was blank.
  
  
  I pulled it with my left shoulder, and Hugo slid into my hand. Her fingers were on the stiletto to hide it. The soldiers surrounding me began to uneasily understand their situation. He knew what they were thinking: if the whole mountain went up in the sky, they'd want to be somewhere else. Colonel Cheng came out from behind his chair. He was standing next to her, his hand on the handle of the box. Then he sat on the edge of a chair and lit a cigarette. He seemed to be considering a decision.
  
  
  Now hers, he was thinking about how to take out the two guards. Her, knew I had to be fast, damn fast.
  
  
  The Colonel leaned back and opened the drawer. He smiled at me. "Mr. Carter, I'm sure you'll be able to endure this very painfully without making a sound to us. I'm going to do a little experiment. I wonder how much hate there really is between you and this beautiful Russian agent. He nodded to Sonya. "I wonder how much pain you can see in her."
  
  
  He stood up from behind his chair with something in his hand. He smiled. "I want to know where the rest of the explosives were placed," he said. Then, holding the cigarette in one hand and the lancet he had taken out around the chair drawer in the other, he walked over to Sonya.
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 13
  
  
  
  
  Colonel Cheng was crouched in front of Sonya, so I couldn't see her. She let out a low, agonized moan, hurt. There was a hissing sound as the colonel's lit cigarette touched ee. Then the smell of burnt hide wafted up to me.
  
  
  Whatever she might have been and what she might have planned for me, I couldn't let that happen. He swung his left hand in an arc in front of him. Hugo bit deep into the chest of the petty officer on my right. Ego grabbed her by the arm, pulled her close, and slammed her into another guard. He used his left hand. As soon as the dead sergeant hit another guard, a lot of things started happening.
  
  
  Colonel Chiang straightened up and turned. The second guard picked up his rifle from the ground. I rushed forward to the table, and my left hand closed around Wilhelmina. Then he turned, and a Luger shot rang out in the room. Hers first, then aimed at the second guard. He had just raised his rifle when Gawk hit Ego's nose and he fell headfirst to the ground.
  
  
  The Colonel reached for his revolver. I shot him twice, in the neck and chest. He stumbled and fell into Sonny's chair. Then the door swung open and the soldier poked his head in. Her shot hit him, and the emu's right cheek was blown off. When he fell on his back, he hobbled to the door, closed it, and locked it. He turned to Sonia. Serre-blue eyes smiled at me.
  
  
  She asked. — Are you going to shoot me, too?"
  
  
  Her, leaned against the locked door. My hand started to bleed again, and the burning sensation returned. Hugo put his hand on the hilt and pulled out a thin stiletto across the petty officer's chest.
  
  
  Then I went to see Sonya. He stood behind her chair and cut the ropes around her arms and leg. Her bare left breast was burned. I put the Luger's muzzle against her cheek. "If you're naughty, I'll shoot you," I said.
  
  
  "Let's try to get out of here, Nick," she said simply. "We don't have much time."
  
  
  — I don't trust you, " I muttered.
  
  
  He took a piece of rope and wrapped it around his right arm, using the stiletto to pull the rope tight.
  
  
  "Let me help you, Nick," Sonya offered.
  
  
  He pushed her roughly to the side. She was hobbled from the nah to the table. Winchester took it and slid his left arm through the belt, holding Wilhelmina in his left hand. Suddenly, he fell to his knees. He wouldn't have done that. .. Her lost too much blood.
  
  
  Sonya sat down next to me. "Come on, Nick," she begged, " let me help you."
  
  
  Then I realized that I should trust them at least long enough to get away from their caves. Her, got up and grabbed nah. Then hers, nodded at the gun.
  
  
  "I trust you," I said. I knew she couldn't kill me with an empty gun. And if she could hold me back, I could do it.
  
  
  Sonya took the gun. There was a lot of knocking and kicking at the door. He picked one up around the dynamite packs and tore off the tape with his teeth. I had the luger in my hand when the door swung open.
  
  
  He took aim and fired twice. The office shook with gunfire. Then he knelt down beside the colonel's body, where the cigarette still smouldered. The fuse of a stick of dynamite pinned her down, and the rod was thrown away. He grabbed Sonya's arm and practically dragged her to the bathroom. As soon as I closed the door, it fell off its hinges.
  
  
  The force of the explosion was somewhat reduced as the air sampling pressure reached us. I leaned against the wall, and the pressure of the air sampling hurled me and the door into the sink. Sonya flew into the tub and landed heavily.
  
  
  He held out his hand. 'Are you all right?'
  
  
  She nodded, picked up the gun again, and we left through the broken door. What had once been an office was now a mess of fallen rocks and chunks of ice. There isn't much left of the front office either. The people knocking on the door were dead, ih bodies were scattered. We went out into the corridor and he looked at his watch. We only had fifteen minutes left.
  
  
  — How did you get here?" Sonya asked. We were walking down the corridor in a new direction for me.
  
  
  She asked. — Was that a lie about the explosives?" "Or did you really plant a booby trap?"
  
  
  He nodded as we ran on . 'Food storage tanks. Fuel for submarines. She felt a little dizzy again.
  
  
  The soldier went out through one of the side corridors. He jumped in front of us and raised his rifle. Her shot at Wilhelmina and sent the emu bullet flying high. The gunshot echoed through the hallways. In a way, it was advantageous - it would be difficult for them to know our location.
  
  
  "This way," Sonya said. She turned left into a side corridor. He ran a few steps and stumbled. He stumbled against the wall and leaned against it. Sonya came up to me.
  
  
  Two soldiers appeared behind us. The Odin around them shot out, and the gawk hit the wall of pay directly above my head. It was picked up by a luger, which suddenly became very heavy, and fired three times. Two shots hit the soldiers. The third time there was no shot, just a click. Wilhelmina was empty. It was requested in his parque spare shop. The Chinese took my ego.
  
  
  "Come on," Sonya said. She moved to my left and helped me up from the wall. "It's not far away anymore."
  
  
  A weight was lifted from my left shoulder. Her vague understanding was that Sonya had taken my Winchester from me. He lunged forward. Sonya slung the Winchester over her shoulder, and Nah had her own gun in her hand.
  
  
  We reached the stairs. Sonya took my hand and helped me up the stairs. Each step seemed higher than the last. He kept thinking that the explosion should have already occurred in the cave. Did they find the dynamite you put in those tanks? When we reached the top of the stairs, Sonya pressed the groan button next to the large steel door. The door began to open. We were hit by a gust of cold air sampling. It was like having buckets of ice water thrown in our faces. We were in a small cave leading out. As soon as we stepped forward, the steel door automatically closed behind us. We walked across the stone floor to the cave entrance.
  
  
  It was almost impossible for us to see the cave from air sampling, or from the ground. We stepped in the midday light between two rocks that were close together. We were about ten feet above the valley floor, the entire hotel area, and it was covered in snow and slippery.
  
  
  Hers began to weaken. His blood squad took every step I took with an effort, and Sonya reached the valley in front of me.
  
  
  As he slid to the bottom for the last few feet, he heard what sounded like thunder. The entire hotel area below me began to shake, then shook violently. I looked back at where we'd come from. The thunder grew deeper and louder.
  
  
  'Run! Sonya exclaimed.
  
  
  He got to his knees and fell forward. He struggled to his feet again and ran after Sonya. The thunder stahl grew louder and filled the valley with noise. Suddenly, the top of the mountain shot up into the sky. One around the lower peaks seemed to lift up like a crown. Flames roared up. The steel door we'd just passed through slammed twice, shot straight ahead, and slid down the stairs toward us. There was a moment of silence, then the thunder began again, but not so loudly. Smoke billowed around the cracks where the mountain's walls had been torn off by the explosion.
  
  
  Ice Bomb Zero was dead.
  
  
  I've been watching the hellfire for a while, I'm standing by a stream in the valley. Then he turned and looked at Sonya.
  
  
  She was about ten feet away, holding a rifle to her shoulder and pointing it at my chest.
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 14
  
  
  
  
  Hers rocked back and forth, almost too weak to stand up from the loss of blood. She was so far away, and there was so little peace. All I could see of her was the shadows of her eyes, and her cheek pressed against the butt of her rifle.
  
  
  "It's time," she said softly.
  
  
  Her, thought I had one chance. I knew her gun wouldn't go off. Maybe I can get in touch with her before she finds out. He took a step forward ... and fell to his knees. It didn't make sense. I didn't have the strength. Standing on all fours, her, looked at nah. A light breeze whispered in the valley, and the roar of explosions continued deep in the mountains.
  
  
  "I have to do this," Sonya said, but her voice was trembling. — It was part of my assignment. I wasn't taught that. She licked her lips. "It doesn't matter now, Nick. And now her voice was shaking. "We had to find out what the Chinese were doing here. It worked. You destroyed the missiles. But this... this is part of my assignment.
  
  
  I was resting to save myself. There were three meters between us, and I had to cover those meters as fast as I could. I wouldn't be standing here on all fours to let ay kill me.
  
  
  But it was as if she'd read my mind. She lowered the rifle from her shoulder and shook her head. "Nick, I know that gun won't go off. What makes you think I took the gun from you?" You thought I was sleeping there, in that village? She was watching you. Her, I saw you talking to the village chief. Her, I saw you emptying the bullets out of Aku's rifle and mine. And I saw her when you left, around the settlement .
  
  
  Dropping the rifle to the snow, she quickly removed her hand from the Winchester belt and raised the rifle to her shoulder. She looked at me from under the gun, not using the scope. "I still wasn't sure you did it, Nick," she said. "Not until I tried to shoot one around the caves."
  
  
  Her, looked at nah. Such a woman. So much passion. And if I had a chance, it would be him.
  
  
  Her, said, " Sonya, before you shoot her, I want you to throw something around your head."
  
  
  She frowned. 'What things?'
  
  
  - Corsica, for example. Forget the Calvi Palace. Forget the blue mountains. Forget my room with that crazy bathroom. And don't ever sing "Harvey Copstoot"again.
  
  
  'Drop it!'No,' she said sharply.
  
  
  "And while you're doing it, forget about that fireplace in my camp hut, and the nights you came to see me . And then there was that night in the tent when we fell.
  
  
  "I said: "Stop it!" She put the rifle back to her shoulder. — You think she's an emotional idiot?" His Russian agent. A good agent. I won't let her down.'
  
  
  She shook her head and aimed her Winchester. "I've been training for six months now. I can't fail. Hers was so weak. .. so weak. I couldn't think... there was something... Then I remembered that I had another weapon: Pierre, my deadly gas bomb stuck in my ankle boot. My hands and feet sank deep into the soft snow. He pushed his legs forward and pushed himself up to sit on his heels. He reached back, reached into his boot, and closed his fingers around Pierre. I didn't want to do it, but Sonya left me no choice. I thought that what we did and what we meant to each other meant something to nah. She was wrong.
  
  
  He said, " Okay. Then shoot. But if I had to die, I'd take her with me.
  
  
  She held the rifle flat, her thumb on the trigger. Then I had one last thought. "But before you shoot, I want you to throw out one thing."
  
  
  She looked surprised. 'Which one?'
  
  
  Pierre slowly pulled her forward into the snow. "Some guys from an American submarine, if you like. Her, I want you to take it off before you shoot me. You don't deserve to wear this ring.
  
  
  For a moment, I didn't think Nah was impressed at all. Then I saw her looking at the ring, ready to pull the trigger.
  
  
  Then I knew she wouldn't shoot me. The Winchester fell into the snow. Sonya covered her face with her hands and fell to her knees. 'I can't do this!'Oh, my God!' she exclaimed. 'I can't do this!'
  
  
  I left Piera in the snow for her and crawled over to her. Her boyfriend gave her a big hug and let her cry out on my shoulder.
  
  
  "Them... they said you were a ruthless killer, " she sobbed. "Maniac. Oni-oni lied! You saved Aku's life... and my life, too. And you've always treated me with... with... How could he help being so affectionate?
  
  
  'Why you? I asked her in a whisper. He brushed her thick hair back from her forehead and kissed her gently on the brow.
  
  
  Its said: "When you had that gun, you knew I couldn't see your eyes. And I wanted to see ih again. ... how they sparkle with those little golden specks.
  
  
  She wrapped her arms around my neck. "Oh, Nick! she exclaimed. "I can't go back to Russia right now. What should I do?' Her pulled her still licks to him. "I'll think of something," I said.
  
  
  We were still clinging to each other when the Eskimos found us.
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 15
  
  
  
  
  Sonya and her started building our igloo the next day. Since the gawk in my hand didn't hit the bone, the Eskimos simply wrapped the wound tightly. Raw fish, rest, and soon her, felt almost normal. His arm was stiff and painful, but he'd been through worse. In two days, we almost finished the needle. Lok and Ego's family offered to help us, but we dorms do it on their own. The ceremony, as usual, was genuinely the opposite. Instead of inviting everyone to lay the foundation stone, we gathered everyone around us as we cut out the last piece of snow for our little igloo and set the ego in place. There were Locke, Drok, and Aku with his arm around the waist of the girl he'd seen, real igloo professionals, and most of the other Eskimos in the settlement.
  
  
  The crowd around us laughed and nodded as Sonya and I put the last block on the needle. I had to use my left hand, so Sonya had to do most of the work. We dragged the block and set the ego in place, then leaned against our little shelter, smiling. The Eskimos grunted their approval. Aku came up to me, leaning on the rough crutch the Eskimos had made for him. Half of their egos were covered with bandages. "I'm glad it turned out that way," he said.
  
  
  "Me too —" I said with a smirk and a wink.
  
  
  Suddenly, he looked shy. "He didn't really thank you for saving my life. I did something stupid.
  
  
  "I did something stupid myself, Aku. But it's all over now. Locality of Russia completed successfully. He looked at Sonya. "Well , at least the most important part."
  
  
  A young Eskimo girl came over and stood next to Aku. She tugged at the sleeve of her own ego parking lot. Aku smiled at hey, then turned and hobbled away, the girl beside her. The others also started to leave.
  
  
  Sonya looked after Aku. She looked a little melancholy. "Nick," she asked, " do you think living in America would suit me?"
  
  
  "You'll love it."
  
  
  'But, ... how will it be?
  
  
  The tip of her nose kissed her. "We can talk about it tonight when we're laughing."
  
  
  She frowned. "If we laugh?"
  
  
  — I'll explain it to you tonight. We eat some raw fish, collect bear skins for blankets, light candles and ... ... laughs.
  
  
  And that night we were alone in the little igloo. Another storm began. The wind howled and whistled around the small structure. A husky howled somewhere.
  
  
  We lay naked and close together between two bearskins. We've already made love twice. Two small candles gave a soft, flickering glow. He propped himself up on his left elbow and looked at Nah.
  
  
  "I feel so ugly," she said, " with this terrible burn on my chest. How can you even look at me?
  
  
  He leaned forward and lightly kissed the dark spot on her beautiful breast. My lips slid to her nipple, then away. "I'll pretend it's a tache de bothe," I said.
  
  
  Her eyes searched my face. "Nick?" she said softly, running her finger along my right eyebrow.
  
  
  "Hmm ?"
  
  
  "Why do they call it laughter? I mean, I don't understand how the Eskimos can call it that. When that high moment comes for me, I don't laugh. I scream at her, and then I cry."
  
  
  "I noticed," I said. "But maybe what they mean is that you smile inside when you're with hema-that's who you want to be with."
  
  
  She blinked her beautiful long eyelashes. "I think I know what you mean. Did you see the girl Aku was with?
  
  
  'Yes.'
  
  
  "It's one of Lok's daughters. I understand he arranged it.
  
  
  — It's quite possible. They have many customs that we don't understand."
  
  
  "Are you kidding me?"
  
  
  The tip of her nose kissed her. "No, her, I'm laughing at myself . She looked up at the ceiling of the igloo. "It's over. The Chinese used these submarines to transport cargo to build an underground missile base. But how did they build these caves in the first place?
  
  
  "Probably the same. The submarines came up with excavators and the people who operated them. They were just digging tunnels. It must have been a long time ago.
  
  
  — But why didn't anyone see ih?"
  
  
  "Then this settlement was not here. Eskimos are nomads, they travel a lot. Radar doesn't work so low-lying. Maybe a scout around that US base camp discovered something and reported it, and that's why they were destroyed.
  
  
  — Do you think they would have launched these missiles?" Hers, he shrugged. 'Perhaps. But it is more likely that they would have used ih as a blackmail tool against the Soviet Union and the United States." Her throat began to bite.
  
  
  'Nickname?'What is it?' she asked sleepily.
  
  
  "Mmm ?" She was stroked by her flat life.
  
  
  "How long did you say it would take for the message to be delivered?"
  
  
  "Well, it takes three days on a dog sled to get to the nearest radio station. By the time all the formalities are completed and we are sent for by helicopter, another day has passed, maybe two. I'd say four or five days in total. He lowered his head and kissed her breast.
  
  
  She shivers a little and puts her hand on my neck. "Nick, honey," she whispered. — Don't you think we should.".. send a messenger... very soon. now?
  
  
  — We still have time, " he murmured against her soft skin. He lifted his head and looked up into her smiling face. Then, with a small push, she let those naked curves melt into my body.
  
  
  — We have one... time... very. . I said.
  
  
  
  
  
  About the book:
  
  
  The Chinese have set up a missile base somewhere in the coldest and most desolate place on the planet, which poses a threat to the balance of power...
  
  
  Nick Carter's mission is to find and destroy the base! To do this, he must team up with the enemy's female agent, Killmaster, in a precarious balance between his duty and the attractiveness of a scheming ally. But no matter how beautiful she is to us, he knows that she will not hesitate to kill the ego!
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Carter Nick
  
  
  The Sign of Cosa Nostra
  
  
  
  
  Annotations
  
  
  
  Assuming the identity of the cold-blooded killer Cosa Nostra, Nick Carter finds himself on his way to Palermo to infiltrate the mafia. Using fake IDs, real bullets, and the help of an AX-trained blonde named Tanya, Russia's ego locality is to stop the flow of heroin to Saigon-China's plot to demoralize American troops in Vietnam, as well as control organized crime in the US. But the game for the Mafia Don has big drawbacks, like the fact that you will be exposed. And when this happens to Nick, he is marked for certain death by a creepy code moved to the mafia.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  Nick Carter
  
  
  The first chapter
  
  
  The second chapter
  
  
  The third chapter
  
  
  The fourth chapter
  
  
  Chapter Five
  
  
  Chapter Six
  
  
  Chapter Seven
  
  
  Chapter Eight
  
  
  Chapter Nine
  
  
  The tenth chapter
  
  
  Chapter Eleven
  
  
  Chapter Twelve
  
  
  Chapter Thirteen
  
  
  Chapter Fourteen
  
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Nick Carter
  
  
  Killmaster
  
  
  The Sign of Cosa Nostra
  
  
  
  
  
  Dedicated to members of the United States Secret Service
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The first chapter
  
  
  
  
  
  For me, it started at a small resort near Flagstaff, Arizona. We have one around the training schools. There wasn't much activity around the resort itself, because it was spring, and the action in the surrounding mountains didn't start until after the first snowfall. It was a place for skiing, snowmen and warm rum, fireplaces in wooden houses with snowflakes floating in the windows, and the smell of marshmallows baking.
  
  
  But it was spring, and the snowmen hadn't started their trek to the mountain town of Flagstaff yet. The AX resort was at an altitude almost into Paris and looked further down on the city.
  
  
  Judging by the photo that was sent to me, I was told to disguise myself as soon as I arrived. He was looking at a painting in his room while waiting for the makeup artist. This person's name was Thomas Akasano, and her ego will get to know her well over the next Sunday.
  
  
  It was an interesting face. His eyes were set back on the back of his head. His eyebrows were as thick as his moustache and his hair was as thick as salt and a bird's. Her nose was Roman, and her lips were full and sensual. It was the face of a man who seemed to know the customs of this world and would only take a life on his own terms. It wasn't a face that could be found at the table. And you won't find the ego smiling at a child playing. You'd expect him to be looking at the corpse of the man he'd just killed . It was a cold face, accustomed to the sight of a gun. I was going to wear this face.
  
  
  Next week, she knows about the person with this face. It took me two days to make her look exactly like him. Our bodies were about the same, but the backs of our hands and neck needed a little wrinkling, and I had to get used to wearing contact lenses that were almost brown in color. Since I wasn't connected to anyone who knew intimate details about the man, I was allowed to keep my personal weapon: the Wilhelmina, my stripped-down Luger holstered under my left arm; Hugo, my thin stiletto, in an ego-specific scabbard attached to my left hand, so when hers shrugged, it fell out of the scabbard into my hand, ready to be used; Pierre, my tiny gas bomb, nestled comfortably between my legs like a third testicle ready to release its super-lethal gas into the air. for five seconds, then after I twisted it in two halves and got rid of it. Pierre never gave me much time to run to hell, but my work was sudden and constant.
  
  
  It turned out that Thomas Akasano was the leader of one of the Cosa Nostra clans. Why I had to become a mafia leader, I still didn't know, even after studying this man on Sundays. She knows the background of Akasano, a widower who worked his way up from a bookmaker to the current position of family boss in suburban New York. In Cosa Nostra, he was known as a decent man. He wouldn't hurt another woman. He had a steady temperament, and often acted as the arbiter in other family squabbles. Rumors swirled around the mafia that Akasano would someday achieve greatness as a family leader. But now that emu was forty-eight, ego would consider himself too young to take on much power.
  
  
  She was refreshed in her Italian and within a week knew as much about Thomas Acasano as AX did. But then I didn't know where he was, and I didn't know why her stahl was theirs. I was told that Hawke would explain all these things during our next meeting.
  
  
  "I must explain how things are going with these educational institutions." Sometimes oni
  
  
  They are used to train an experienced agent for an upcoming task, but ih's main function is to train new AX agents. Well, probably a hundred scattered around the outdoor pool. But they don't stay in one place for long. Places are constantly changing for obvious reasons. Any permanent establishment other than the AX headquarters in Washington can be detected and infiltrated by enemy forces.
  
  
  Training new agents is a round-the-clock job. They should always be on the lookout, because they never know when someone is going to throw their curve. It was the same with experienced agents who took on a new mission; they had to be prepared for surprises and attacks. It was a reflex test.
  
  
  That's how I met Tanya.
  
  
  Hers was at Flagstaff for almost a week and mistletoe all the available information about Akasano. From the first two days, she was constantly disguised as Akasano. If anyone knew Nick Carter, they'd have a hard time recognizing me behind my hair. The area around my rooms was green and lush. Mesquite seemed to grow everywhere. They were full of small green needles. All the paths were lined with these bushes, and some distance behind them was a pine forest.
  
  
  She had just left her room after the last briefing on Thomas Akasano's eating habits. This briefing was recorded on a tape recorder, recorded on my own tape recorder. He left the door locked and walked down the mesquite-lined path, breathing in the fresh mountain air. The air was slightly biting; it almost seemed to crackle with crystal clarity. Several clouds like fluffy pillows floated across the deep blue sky. Ahead of her, I saw a group of twelve girls, dressed in shorts and blouses, moving in a line across a particular green field far to my right. Physical fitness was one of the most important aspects of agent training. I watched with a smile as they went for a run.
  
  
  The camo started to feel comfortable. He was even used to a thick mustache. On the way there, I thought about Thomas Akasano and his ego role in "The Goat of Gordeev". And he was looking forward to meeting Hawk and answering his questions.
  
  
  He felt the movement rather than heard it. An electric charge shot through my shoulder blades, and hers automatically detected where it was coming from. He could hear it now. The mesquite bush behind me and to my right was moving. It took dolly seconds. Then I heard someone approaching me quickly.
  
  
  He was ready. Her step didn't stop or stop. Her continued to walk casually until whoever came close enough for her to do something. Then, it quickly shot out.
  
  
  He leapt to the left and spun around. Two arms that were about to wrap around my neck flew out openly in front of me. He reached out and grabbed both of her slender wrists, then stepped back and pulled. Then her noticed a girl with these hands.
  
  
  When he pulled, she started running to keep up with the force, but she was being pulled faster than her legs were carrying. She started moving forward and would have fallen if ee hadn't been holding her by the wrists.
  
  
  He spun around completely, dragging her with him. When her stopped, her pushed out her hands and released ih. Moving along the path, she turned twice, and then bumped into the blatant sharp needles of a mesquite bush. She gave a little squeal and disappeared behind a bush.
  
  
  All was still. Somewhere in the woods I heard a blue jay. There was still a hint of the girl's perfume around me. He moved toward the bush, frowning. Did she fly off to a place where ee couldn't see her? Maybe it just hurt.
  
  
  I remembered what she was wearing. White blouse, dark brown skirt, brown loafers. What did she look like? Young, very young, under twenty-one. Long, glossy brown hair, perky nose, green eyes, not too tall, about five feet four inches, broad body, very nice legs. Memory was a good practice for the agents, as it burned off the fat tissue around the brain cells. But where did it go?
  
  
  He stepped over to the bush, and Stahl began to walk around it.
  
  
  "Hyaa!" she shouted and attacked me from the left, raising her arm for a karate kick that he assumed would break my collarbone.
  
  
  Ee was waiting patiently for her. She was small when the blow landed, grabbing her wrist. Voice then she's me she's free.
  
  
  She stopped the swing in midair, twisted her belt, bent down, and fired with her left foot. This blow hit me once in my life. She then quickly followed up with another karate kick that I had to break with difficulty. He came at me from the side in a long arc. Maybe she wants to cut off my head with a blow to the neck. Its still not recovered from the blow in life
  
  
  when she saw the approaching blow.
  
  
  He went inside, put his arm around her, and held her. We turned twice and then went down to the soft grass by the side of the road. He grabbed her around the waist and held her tight. My cue pressed against her cheek. She immediately stopped the super-female agent's attack and went back to what she knew best: the usual female habit of kicking, punching, and scratching.
  
  
  She said. "Let me go, you creeping creep!"
  
  
  Hold her until she calmed down. As she went limp in my arms, I moved my cheek far enough away from her sticks to see her face clearly.
  
  
  "Do you want to talk about it?" I asked her.
  
  
  "Tailor damn you!" she answered.
  
  
  It was held by nah. "If you admit that your little attack failed, I'll let you go."
  
  
  "Drop dead!"
  
  
  "Good then. We remain the same. In fact, this is not so bad for me, supposedly. You're easy to hold, and you smell good too."
  
  
  She stuck out her lower lip. "The tailor," she said. "I didn't think I'd be the one to attack the famous Nick Carter."
  
  
  He raised his eyebrows, even though they were thick. "How did you know I was Nick Carter?"
  
  
  The pout returned. Rivnenskaya's tongue poked out just enough to wet her lips. A teasing look appeared in the green eyes. When she spoke, her voice dropped.
  
  
  "Take me to your place and I'll tell you," the girl said.
  
  
  "Can you walk? Or do you want her to carry you?"
  
  
  "What if I tell her my ankle hurts?"
  
  
  Ee picked her up and carried her back down the path. It was lighter than it looked. It didn't exactly look heavy, but it looked fuller than it actually was. At first, I thought it might be because Nah had foam rubber to fill in those bends, but our little wrestling match showed me that she didn't need or get that kind of support.
  
  
  "You look older than I thought," she said. She rested her head on my shoulder and looked up into my face.
  
  
  "I'm wearing a disguise."
  
  
  "I know that, stupid. But that's not what I mean."
  
  
  Her, walked up to day and said hey, put your arm around my neck while her, come in. Once we were inside, she swung her feet to the floor, wrapped her arms around my neck, and traced her lips along the line of my jaw until she found my lips. Her tongue darted in and out as she continued to press her tiny body against mine. When it stopped, and there was only a feather between us.
  
  
  I asked her. "Your ankle doesn't hurt at all, does it?"
  
  
  "Make love to me, Nick," she said. "Please."
  
  
  "Your problem is that you're too shy and retarded. You must learn to assert yourself. Be brave."
  
  
  "Make love to me. Undress me and put me to bed."
  
  
  "Thank you, but no," I said. "Even if I don't have much feeling for the ladies I go to bed with, at least I prefer to know who they are. And I really prefer ih to love her."
  
  
  "Don't you like me?" Her lower lip was sticking out again.
  
  
  "You're attacking me. You call me a scoundrel. You're telling her to drop dead. You say I'm older than you thought. And then you stand there and ask me if I like you. Yes, I like you. But I don't even know you. "
  
  
  "My name is Tanya. Now make love to me."
  
  
  With that, she snuggled up to her licks, and kissed me again. Since we were suddenly old friends, I figured I might as well take her to bed.
  
  
  As she lay on her back and looked at me with her long eyelashes, looking too innocent, she said,"Nick?"
  
  
  He was unbuttoning her blouse. "Yes, Tanya."
  
  
  "You've made love to a lot of women, haven't you?"
  
  
  Her blouse was unbuttoned. She was wearing a white lace bra with a tiny pink ribbon in the center where the two glasses met. "There was one or two, yes."
  
  
  "How many?"
  
  
  Her brow furrowed. "I never really thought about it. I don't keep score."
  
  
  "I bet you can't even remember the faces or names of most of the people around them."
  
  
  "Actually. Do you want to leave?"
  
  
  She let out a small moan. “no. What are you doing to me?"
  
  
  He treated her well. Her bra was off, and so was her blouse. My lips found the perfect plum nipples. She was wearing stockings, which I carefully removed, taking my moccasins with me. And then the skirt. It was simple.
  
  
  Her hands moved over my chest. She kept pushing her heels into the bed until she moaned.
  
  
  "Please!" she whimpered. "Nick, dear, I don't think I can wait much longer."
  
  
  She was wearing cute lace bikini bottoms the color of powder blue. Her thumbs were tucked into her belt. Her lower back was already beginning to burn.
  
  
  My thumb was under the waistband, and her panties began to pull down. The end had already passed mimmo the soft velvet straw between her leg when her saw something else.
  
  
  It was metal. When he pulled her panties down further, he saw a small gun. He was lying flat on her skin, and when her panties were pulled by mimmo him, he jumped out and aimed it right at me.
  
  
  Then he fired loudly. Instinctively, he jumped to his feet and looked down at himself. There was no bullet hole anywhere.
  
  
  Tanya laughed. "If only you could see your face," she said. Then she sat up in bed and picked up the phone. She dialed the number and waited.
  
  
  Her hands were on her hips, and he was looking at Nah. The fire that she had felt in her loins was now extinguished.
  
  
  Tanya shook her head at me. "Her new agent is with AX," she said. "It's a good thing my gun was loaded with blanks, otherwise you'd be dead."
  
  
  She turned her attention to the phone. "Yes? This is Tanya. The pant gun has been tested and works perfectly."
  
  
  He pulled out a cigarette and lit it.
  
  
  Tanya hung up and immediately dialed the number again. She waited, puffing out her chest, tapping her fingernail against her teeth. She wasn't looking at me now. Then she said, " Yes, sir. I contacted Mr. Carter."
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The second chapter.
  
  
  
  
  
  When Tanya hung up, her cigarette was almost out. She reached for her bra and wrapped it around her body, buttoning it in the back.
  
  
  "I'll work with you on this assignment, Nick," she said, making last-minute adjustments to fill the bra cups.
  
  
  I told her. "Oh?" Her, felt like I was being used. I didn't often have that feeling. I didn't really care about that feeling.
  
  
  He said, " I think we have unfinished business here."
  
  
  She blinked as she pulled on her blouse and began to fasten it. "In the dell itself?"
  
  
  "What we started before your little rifle hit me."
  
  
  She got off the bed and started pulling on her stockings. "You're beautiful and all, Nick. But I'm only nineteen, after all. And you... Over thirty, I take it, really? You're really too old for me. Never trust anyone over thirty, that's all. I really prefer her to younger men ." She smiled quickly. "No hard feelings?"
  
  
  He stubbed out his cigarette. "No offense, Tanya. But Hawke must have a damn good reason to pair me up with someone as young and inexperienced as you."
  
  
  She froze and looked at me with fire in her eyes. "I think what just happened shows that I'm not too inexperienced."
  
  
  I thought about her a little - she's right.
  
  
  Her husband smiled. "Okay, but start respecting your elders a little."
  
  
  At first, she just stared at me, not sure how to take it. Then the corners of her rta broke into a smile of its own. She curtsied briefly to me.
  
  
  "Whatever you say, sir."
  
  
  "Let's go see Hawk."
  
  
  Tanya led me down the path to the practice field. The girls I'd seen earlier were jumping. When we reached the end of the field, we turned off the path and walked through the soft grass. Hawke could see her far ahead. He was standing next to the training girls, his hands in the pockets of his brown coat. He turned to watch us go.
  
  
  "That's him, Mr. Hawk," Tanya said.
  
  
  "The camouflage looks really good, Carter," Hawke said.
  
  
  Ego's leathery face looked strange, like it was at home here in the middle of nowhere. The eyes studied me carefully, then glanced at Tanya and turned back to where the girls were training. He pulled one out around his black cigars all over his shirt pocket, peeled off the cellophane, and stuck one of the flossers between his teeth. It didn't ignite the ego.
  
  
  "Sir," I said. "Why Thomas Akasano? Why a young girl like Tanya?"
  
  
  Hawk continued to stare at the girls. "Heroin, Carter. What do you know about nen?"
  
  
  A couple of months ago there was a brief information about this. Dry facts. Up to this point, I guess I knew as little or as little about it as anyone else. I wondered if Hawk was checking me out, trying to find out if hers had actually read them the reports sent out by headquarters.
  
  
  I closed my eyes until all the facts and formulas were in my head. "The chemical composition of heroin is C21, H23, NO5," I said. "It is a bitter, odorless crystalline powder derived from morphine and used in medicine to relieve bronchitis and coughs. But it is addictive; the ego can be sniffed like snow, or injected frankly into the bloodstream as a solution. It is soluble in both water and alcohol. How am I doing?" "
  
  
  "You've done your homework,
  
  
  Carter, " Hawk said. He turned Rivnenskaya enough to look at me. The black cigar butt was still clenched between ego's teeth. The girls switched to push-ups.
  
  
  "Thank you, sir," I said. If Hawke was testing me, he must have passed it.
  
  
  "All right," he said. "A vote on what heroin is. Now I'll tell you what he's capable of. As you no doubt know, our soldiers in Vietnam are abusing drugs."
  
  
  "Sir?" interrupted Tanya. "Isn't heroin sold openly in Saigon?"
  
  
  Hawk and I looked at Tanya. She smiled faintly at dn.
  
  
  Hawk continued. "In Saigon, as Tanya pointed out, heroin is readily available. Pure heroin can be bought for three dollars a bottle; the same bottle here in the States would cost three hundred dollars. As a result, there is an increase in mortality. many soldiers have died from overdoses.And this stuff isn't just sold in dark alleys with secret deals; egos can be bought by asking for egos in crowded Jeolong markets or in blocks with USOS on Flower Street in downtown Saigon. "
  
  
  Hawk turned back to where the girls were doing deep knee bends. "The Subcommittee on Juvenile Delinquency has launched an investigation into these GI deaths. In one 30-day period, investigators identified thirty-three overdose deaths in Saigon alone. And by the time the investigation is completed, the death rate is expected to reach fifty per month."
  
  
  Hawk pulled a cigar from between his teeth. He carefully examined the ego until he had matches in his pockets. He pulled out a match, lit it, and touched both ends of the cigar. The air around us was clouded by the smell of Goshawk cigar smoke. When he got down to business, he said: "The drug problem in Vietnam has reached an incredible level. All departments worked on the problem: Army and Naval Intelligence, CIA, FBI, and Senate subcommittees. All the collected information was transmitted through channels. in AX. It cost eight agents their lives, but we tracked down the material. We know that it is going through Turkey. By tracking the ego, we learned that it gets to Saigon via Mandalay in Burma. We went back to Calcutta and then via New Delhi in India, to Karachi in Pakistan, by ship across the Gulf of Oman, then across the Persian Gulf, up the Tigris River to Baghdad in Iraq, then by plane to Istanbul, Turkey." Hawk suddenly stopped talking.
  
  
  I noticed that the girls were lying on their backs, turning their legs like pedals on a bicycle. Hoka asked her, " What do you think is the source of the heroin in the hall in Istanbul?"
  
  
  Hawk shook his head. "In Istanbul, five people with eight agents each, three CIA agents and two naval intelligence officers were killed. This may be where the heroin originates, but the connection comes from somewhere else. All the agents gave the name of one person. Rosano Nicoli. But whenever the agent started asking questions about the man, he was soon found floating face down in the Black Sea. The cause of death was always the same - drowning. And autopsies always revealed a heroin overdose ."
  
  
  Her name was turned upside down. Rosano Nicoli. Hawk blew smoke above him. Tanya sat next to me in silence. He said to her, " So who is Thomas Akasano? It has to be connected to all of this somewhere."
  
  
  Hawk nodded. "You took on the role of Akasano because you're going to infiltrate the mafia. We know that the Gordeev Goat is the organization behind the heroin supply to Saigon."
  
  
  "I see," I said. "And I think I'll go where the kick-offs really start."
  
  
  "In Sicily," Hawke said. "You don't have to worry about discovering the source of your disguise; Thomas Akasano is completely dead. As for who he is , he is the only person who is considered a close friend of Rosano Nicoli."
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The third chapter.
  
  
  
  
  
  Hawk turned his back on the training girls. He looked north, where the mountain peaks were covered with snow. The black cigar butt was still clenched between Ego's teeth.
  
  
  "We've learned something about Rosano Dvora," he said. "First of all, he regularly flies round-trip to Palermo, Sicily, and Istanbul. Before our agents were killed, everyone around them had to report the same thing. Nicoli is the head of the "family" or "branch" of La Cosa Nostra in Sicily.
  
  
  Tanya said, " So he must be the one behind all the heroin coming into Saigon."
  
  
  Hawk continued to stare at the mountains. "It's very likely. Some time ago, he spent five years in America. It was reported that he was once a high-ranking member of the old Capone family in Chicago, then he was involved with Raul (the Waiter) Dickie, who followed Frank. Clitti, like the boss when Capone went to jail ." He paused long enough to stare at me, his wrinkled leather face expressionless. "Some around these names do not diverge anything
  
  
  either you or Tanya. They were ahead of your time ."
  
  
  He pulled out an iso rta cigarette butt and held ego close as he spoke. Ego's eyes turned back to the mountain peaks.
  
  
  "This Nicoli went with Joseph Boranco from Brooklyn to Phoenix, Arizona. Boranco had shut down most of the Southwest, and Nicoli thought ego would get a piece. He was very disappointed. There was an ambitious young man in the organization named Carlo Gaddino who worked with nineteen contracts for Cosa Nostra. He operated out of Las Vegas, and it was he who laid the foundation for Boranco's life and career. A double-barrelled shotgun was used, one shot removed the lobe and left eye, the other removed the chin and half of the neck ."
  
  
  Tanya's green eyes twitched slightly.
  
  
  "Gaddino made his goals clear," Hawke continued. "He took over all the operations in America, and he played for the Court because Nicoli was involved with Boranco. Nicoli told them that the climate in America was getting too warm. He left for Sicily the next day, followed by Boranco's large and lavish funeral. Ego's idea was to stay there long enough to make peace with Gaddino."
  
  
  "And with them ferret he wasn't in America?" I asked her.
  
  
  Hawk shook his head. “no. After he left, Gaddino actually started moving. He left after wires all over America. Contracts were signed with family bosses in Los Angeles, Brooklyn, Philadelphia, Chicago, and almost every major city in the country. Within the country. For two years, he was the undisputed leader of the national La Koza Gordeeva. He could afford to be generous, so he didn't promote the contract against Rosano Nicoli. Everyone thrived, including Nicoli ."
  
  
  There was a pause. I noticed that the girls had completed the exercises and were running away from the field. Hawk continued to stare at the mountains. Tanya was looking at me.
  
  
  The cigar was dropped on the grass and rubbed with Hawke's shoe. He turned to me. There was deep concern in his eyes.
  
  
  "Many people don't realize, Carter, how truly broad La Cosa Nostra is. The methods that Carlo Gaddino used to seize power simply won't work today."
  
  
  His father nodded in agreement. "It would be too much publicity right now if the boss of every major city was killed. The FBI would have gotten on to him so fast, he wouldn't have known that ego hit."
  
  
  "Absolutely fantastic. There's something else. While Cosa Nostra has expanded in most areas, there is one in which they have retreated. Drugs. The Bureau of Narcotics has become tough on families who sell drugs. So, while they control most of the heroin imports, families are increasingly abandoning the wholesale drug market in America in favor of blacks and the Puerto Rican underworld."
  
  
  Tanya frowned. "Then why do they supply heroin in Saigon?"
  
  
  "Not them, my dear, just Nicoli."
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The fourth chapter
  
  
  
  
  
  Hawk stood in the middle of a grassy field and pulled another cigar out of his pocket. Ego's eyes met Tanya's, which I didn't quite understand. He nodded curtly.
  
  
  She smiled at me. "If you gentlemen will excuse me, I have an appointment."
  
  
  "Of course," I said.
  
  
  We watched her go, and it was more of a walk than a walk. I wondered if it was a good thing for me, or if it was the way she always carried herself. It didn't really matter to Della, I was in my late twenties, and she was probably in her late twenties.
  
  
  "A charming young lady," Hawke said. "Brilliant mind. She'll be a useful assistant on this mission, Carter."
  
  
  "Yes sir." I still didn't understand what kind of assignment I might have. "Although she seems very young."
  
  
  "Out of necessity, Carter. Have you had breakfast?"
  
  
  "No, sir."
  
  
  He took my hand. "Then let's go to the commissariat and see what they can raise for us."
  
  
  We walked across the grass. He held an unlit cigar between his teeth. Dark clouds overhead completely obscured the sun. We both turned up the collars of our jackets as we stepped out onto the path.
  
  
  At the commissar's door, Hawk left instructions that Tanya should be told where we were. We picked up our trays and made our way through the queue, loading trays with scrambled eggs, potatoes, sausage, and a pot of black coffee.
  
  
  While we were playing this game, Hawk poured a cup of coffee. "Where was Nicoli?" "No," he said suddenly.
  
  
  I had to think about it. "Rosano Nicoli". He started buttering the toast. "While Gordeev's Goat was spreading across America, Rosano Dvora stayed in Palermo. He also flourished, but never reconciled with Carlo Gaddino. Things were going well for a few years, and then two Sundays ago something happened. "
  
  
  I asked her. "Is Nicoli back in America?"
  
  
  He shook his head. "Carlo Gaddino was very mysteriously found in the ego sauna of a private club. There were nineteen bullet holes in the egos of the heads. Of course, no one heard the shots. Nine days ago, there was a big and lavish funeral."
  
  
  The Eda was good. It didn't take me long to swallow it. "It looks like Nicoli is trying to clear the way for his return," I said.
  
  
  "Very likely." He held out his fork to me. "Carter, we already have eight dead agents. I don't want you to be number nine. I'll tell you they're eight agents if us before ih was killed."
  
  
  Her sel sipping coffee.
  
  
  "As I said, Nicoli travels between Palermo and Istanbul. And he made some interesting friends. While in Istanbul, he kept company with a well-known Turkish communist named Konya. He also has a constant companion wherever he goes, a Chinese man named Tai-Sheng, who is a high-ranking member of the People's Republic of China. In fact, he is one of the ih ace pilots and has earned the nickname Winged Tiger. We think he has a lot of influence from the Court, and besides, Akasano, for whom you are now impersonating, is Nicoli's closest friend."
  
  
  We finished eating. Besides us, there were two beautiful young ladies here. They were in the far corner, talking in whispers. The commissariat was the same as all the others in the AX educational institutions. The walls are pale green, the surgical rooms are clean, the floors are slicked down, and there are small round tables with wrought-iron chairs. The girls and women selected for training were expected to work as waitresses, cooks, and dishwashers. It was part of the discipline.
  
  
  Hawk and I leaned back, sipping our coffee. He pulled out a third cigar and stuck it between his teeth. He lit this one. He pulled one out around his gold-tipped cigarettes.
  
  
  When we were in the Kuriles, I said to her: "Do we know anything about this Tai Sheng: ego origin, why is he such a high-ranking member of the People's Democratic Republic?"
  
  
  Hawke's face remained passive. "We know a few things. It is believed that he organized the Chinese Communist Air Force, which helped drive Chiang Kai-shek across mainland China to Taiwan. Presumably, he is talking to none other than Mao Tse-tung himself."
  
  
  A whistle escaped my lips. Tai-Sheng was starting to impress me.
  
  
  "After receiving Mao Tse-tung's highest Red China medal, Sheng helped set up factory production of fighter planes and, in later years, missiles." Hawk blew a puff of cigar smoke toward the ceiling. "Like Nicoli, he was about fifty-five years old and had big ambitions. We think he personally organized the heroin route around Istanbul to Saigon. Nicoli lost capital and got most of the benefits."
  
  
  He studied it, frowning. "With heroin being sold for three dollars a bottle in Saigon, Nicoli's profits can't be that supposedly big. The ego should be concerned that it can get a hundred times more in the States."
  
  
  "Believe me," Hawk replied, " it's the ego that's bothering you. But even at three dollars a bottle, he gets one hundred percent profit."
  
  
  My incredulity seemed to amuse him a little. When he spoke again, the heroin report came to mind.
  
  
  "In America, one ounce of heroin will bring seven thousand dollars. Most of the heroin shipments coming here are shipped via Turkey, either directly or via Mexico and Canada. Compared to what you pay for this cargo in Turkey, it can be sold in the US for a profit of three thousand percent. This is the main reason why drug smuggling is so lucrative for many."
  
  
  All of this was reported in. Hawk performed a minor ritual, using the edge of an ashtray to push ash off the tip of a cigar. He seemed deep in thought.
  
  
  "Eight agents, Carter," he said softly, looking at the ashtray. "Ih lives have been paid for your quest. I will tell you what information was obtained at this price. We believe that La Cosa Nostra in America now lacks leadership. Recently, organized crime has shown little activity; everything seems quiet. I think Rosano Nicoli gave the order to kill Carlo Gaddino, and that order was carried out by someone connected to the Chinese Communist Party in the United States, on the orders of Tai Sheng. AX also believes that Rosano Nicoli intends to take on organized crime in the States, and has already begun trying to figure out who will support ego and who will oppose emu. Tai-Sheng used American assassins around the chinatowns of big cities to deal with any opponents of the Court. Nicoli is short-sighted; he can only see how huge the profits from smuggling heroin into the US are. He really believes that he is using Tai Sheng and the Chinese Communists to help Emu take over the States.
  
  
  like providing routing for heroin around Istanbul to Saigon. But what will actually happen is that Nicoli will become a puppet of a Chinese communist, if he is not already hey, not Stahl. Obviously, the Chicoms want to demoralize American troops in Vietnam, but to take control of organized crime in the United States, using Nicoli as a cover, would be like taking over General Motors in Beijing."
  
  
  "Then my job is to prevent it," I said.
  
  
  "Partially. You have to get close to Nikoli to stop ego by killing if necessary, and the flow of heroin around Istanbul to Saigon must stop."
  
  
  He nodded to her. "So why camouflage? Who is this Thomas Akasano I'm impersonating? How did he die?"
  
  
  "Your Akasano impersonation is our only chance," Hawk said, studying the glowing stream of his cigar. "Thomas Akasano was a loyal ally of Nicoli on the East Coast. He had a big grudge against Nikola, which Tai Sheng doesn't like. As for ihk, Akasano is supposedly still alive."
  
  
  "I see. And how did he die?"
  
  
  This is what Hawke revealed.
  
  
  AX agents watched everyone even remotely connected to the Yard, with them a ferret, as Gaddino was shot in the sauna. The agent assigned to Akasano was a good man named Al Emmett. Al intended to do more than just keep an eye on his man. Emu needed to approach Nicoli, so he assumed it was Akasano. So he got too close.
  
  
  At this time, he must have thought about it a lot. He probably went back in the last few days and tried to figure out where he made his mistake. Then a decision had to be made. Should he tell AX headquarters that the ego was discovered? This would mean that the ego would be ripped out on business, and the ego would be taken over by another agent. And just when he was so damn close.
  
  
  Al Emmett was good. What separated the American agents from the agents of the communist world, since these are independent actions. Agents like Al didn't follow us for one instruction. Each case was individual, and he dealt with it as he saw it. That's why he didn't tell HQ that the ego was discovered. He continued to watch Akasano.
  
  
  When Thomas Akasano sensed that he was being followed, he immediately sent a coded telegram to Palermo, asking what to do about it. Rheumatism came in one sentence. Agent AX should have been hit.
  
  
  Usually, when a person took high places in Akasano, the procedure was simple. The killer will also be contacted by age groups. But those were not normal times. Gaddino was dead and not yet frozen in his grave. Organized crime, at least temporarily, was without leadership. There will undoubtedly be a power struggle within the families to see who ends up at the top. As a result, no hitmen could be trusted. Gaddino himself started out as a Las Vegas hitman, and everyone in the organization knew it. There were many ambitious young people who thought that they could take the place of a leader, just like him.
  
  
  Akasano knew that Nicoli had worked too hard, built up too much planning, and was almost ready to return to the States. No lousy AX agent can blow it all up. And since no one could be trusted, Akasano would have to deal with the agent on his own.
  
  
  Al-Emmett knew when the telegram came with the order for ego's own execution. And he knew what it said. But ego's main concern was the code. If AX headquarters had both the telegram sent by Akasano and the telegram returned by Dvora, the code could have been cracked, which would be useful in the future when messages are sent between gang leaders.
  
  
  Three nights after Akasano received the telegram in Palermo, Al left for Long Island. Akasano had a huge house, as well as a luxury apartment in New York, which he kept for his girlfriend. So Al went there at night. He was going to receive a telegram ordering his own execution, as well as a copy of the on that Akasano had sent.
  
  
  It shell snow at night. He parked a block away and walked, listening to his boots creak in the snow. He brought a rope with a three-pronged hook at the end. With that, it was easy to scale the twelve-foot-high concrete wall Akasano had built around the mansion.
  
  
  When Al ran to the special courts, he knew he was leaving footprints in the snow. They will be discovered later. It bothered Ego all the way to the back of the house. Then he was relieved to see that it was snowing again. Fresh snowflakes will cover your ego tracks.
  
  
  He entered the house and headed for the den with the pencil flash. It wasn't hard to find the two telegrams. Too easy. They were in the third drawer of the chair, open up there. It wasn't until Al shoved ih into his coat that he realized that ego had been caught.
  
  
  Akasano was expecting him, of course.
  
  
  the ego. He was waiting in a nearby library. As Al stuffed the telegrams into the minute and headed for the day, Akasano stepped through the adjoining door and turned on the brylev.
  
  
  He asked. "Did you find what you wanted?"
  
  
  Al smiled. "It was easier for me, wasn't it?"
  
  
  Akasano was holding a .38 Smith & Wesson. He gestured Al to the door. "My car's in the garage, buddy. You'll drive the car."
  
  
  "Afraid to get your house dirty?"
  
  
  "Maybe. Let's go."
  
  
  The two men went outside and made their way to the heated garage where a shiny new Lincoln Continental was parked. Akasano made No a .38-caliber revolver and handed emu the keys.
  
  
  "Where to?" Al asked as the Continental started up. Akasano sat in the backseat, a .38-caliber pistol pressed to the back of the agent's head.
  
  
  "We'll make it a classic hit, buddy. We'll drive along the coast of New Jersey. I'll put a silencer on this rod so as not to disturb the neighbors. It will be a gawk at the high, a bit of cargo and a cold Atlantic."
  
  
  Al was driving a Continental. So far, Akasano hasn't tried to return the telegrams. Maybe he wants them to go to the Atlantic with Al.
  
  
  When they reached a dark and deserted spot on the New Jersey coast, Akasano ordered Al to stop.
  
  
  "There are concrete blocks in the trunk," he said. "And a coil of wire. You will find the key on the same ring as the ignition key."
  
  
  Al opened the trunk. Akasano was standing next to the bump stock, the .38 still aimed at the agent. Back then, Al had only one thing in his head. How could he have delivered the telegrams to AX headquarters? It was vital that AX had this code. And Akasano couldn't be left alive to tell Nicola about it. If it did, I would just change it.
  
  
  When Al-lifted the trunk lid, Sergei caught fire. He saw five concrete blocks and a coil of wire. He knew Akasano wasn't going to be easy. He stepped inside and grabbed a concrete block.
  
  
  "Wire first, mate," Akasano said.
  
  
  With a quick movement, Al threw a block around the trunk of Akasano's k heads. Akasano swayed to the side. The block slipped from the ego's head. But the emu managed to squeeze two shots around the silencer .38. The shots were similar to the shots of an air pistol. A concrete block hit with enough force to knock Akasano off his feet.
  
  
  But the shots were well taken. Al-Emmett doubled over as both bullets hit him just short of his life. He grabbed the Continental's wing for support.
  
  
  Akasano hit the snow hard. Now he was trying to sit up. Al, clutching his bleeding belt with both hands, tripped over the gangster and fell on top of him. Ego's hands groped for the coat-covered hand until he found the gun on his wrist.
  
  
  Akasano suddenly came to life. They wrestled and rolled in the snow. Al was trying to put the gun away. Akasano tried to knee the agent in the wounded eye.
  
  
  Time and time again, Al was slapped in the face and neck by a gangster. But he was getting weaker; there was no strength in the ego blows. He concentrated on the wrist of the gun, slamming it uselessly into the snow. Akasano didn't sit down to put his hands down. He kept hitting No's sides and chest, trying to get a clear hit in life. And the blows began to take their toll.
  
  
  Then Al-sank his teeth into the gun's wrist with all his remaining strength. Akasano screamed in agonizing pain, and the .38 fell to the blood-soaked snow bank. Al jumped up to him and grabbed his ego in the arm as Akasano kicked his ego into life.
  
  
  There was no sound but the heavy breathing of the men and the crunching of the snow as they rolled back and forth on it. Since the hour was late and the street was used for medical purposes, no cars passed the parked Continental.
  
  
  Al-Emmett was lying on his back, brandishing a .38-caliber revolver. Akasano leapt to his feet and stumbled toward the agent, hovering over him like a giant bear. Al fired once, then again. Both bullets entered the gunman's chest. He stood there with his eyes and mouth open, not believing what had just happened. Then ego's eyes dimmed and he fell.
  
  
  Al pulled the sickly, bleeding body to its feet. He dropped the .38 in his coat width. Grabbing the bandit's arms, Em managed to drag ego into the backseat of the Continental. He shoved Akasano inside, then closed the trunk lid and stumbled into the driver's seat.
  
  
  He knew he was dying. The bullets were carefully placed inside it. And too much blood was lost. Emu managed to get a Continental started, and he went candid at a partner company in New Jersey.
  
  
  Akasano was dead before Al got there. They had to drag Al around the car, where he fell on the steering wheel. No one would have known that he was
  
  
  he would have been injured if he hadn't crashed into the steps of the building and fallen on the threshold. Ego was immediately taken to a nearby hospital.
  
  
  Even then, he wouldn't let them sedate Em or take him to the operating room. In a mumbling voice, he told them to let Ego live until he could talk to Hawk. A phone call was made and Hawke was on a special chartered plane around Washington, DC.When he got to the hospital, he was rushed to Al Emmett's emergency department.
  
  
  Panting, Al said it was the first real breakthrough in the dell. He told Hawke about the two telegrams and how to crack the code. Then he fell silent.
  
  
  Hawk stood reading the telegrams. Later, when the code was finally decoded, he realized that one of these telegrams contained much more than just access to the code. Rosano Nicoli gave Akasano certain instructions. He had to make a list of those family heads who would side with the Court, and a list of those who would not support. Since it was a very secret list, Akasano extracted the ego personally in Palermo.
  
  
  Hawk stood over Al-Emmett as the agent gathered his strength. Al then motioned for Hawk to lean forward and lick.
  
  
  "Uh-there... a girl, " Al said in a very weak voice. "She's too young... For Akasano, hey, barely more than nineteen... I tried to impress nah with my own apartment. Paid for by him. On... refused. Nah already had a boyfriend. Then... the guy was in a car accident. Both legs are broken. Akasano moved in with... a girl. He showered her with candy and flowers. Removed the ee... the best places. She... not very smart. Impressive. I liked the apartment that Akasano mistletoe made for nah. Six weeks... moved out." Al-Emmett fell silent again.
  
  
  "What was her name, Emmett?" Hawk asked softly. "Tell us her name."
  
  
  In an even weaker voice, Al said, " Sandy... Katron... bright blonde. Padded bra. Lots of makeup. Combs her hair to look older. Chewing gum. Al Emmett died before he could finish the sentence.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  Hawk and I finished our coffee. He held up his hand, and a pretty girl in green with red hair and sparkling blue eyes went to get more.
  
  
  "So what did YOU do with this Sandy Catron?" he asked her. "I think she would have been the first person who wouldn't have missed Akasano, being an ego girl and everything else."
  
  
  The cigar went out. It was lying in the ashtray and looked cold and nasty. "We kidnapped her," Hawke said. "She's in northern Nevada now. We keep her on ice in a secluded cabin on the shore of Lake Tahoe."
  
  
  I smiled at her when the redhead brought us fresh coffee. She held out the pot, returned my smile, and moved away, hip moving.
  
  
  "That's not all we did, Carter," Hawke continued. "Using the name Akasano, we sent another telegram to Palermo informing Rosano Nicoli that the spy agent had been dealt with."
  
  
  "In the code, of course."
  
  
  “yeah. We cracked the code. We also asked Dvor when he wanted Akasano to fly to Palermo with the list."
  
  
  "And?"
  
  
  He shook his head. "No response yet."
  
  
  We sipped our coffee in silence for a while. I thought I'd been told almost everything. My assignment was pretty clear. Under Akasano's cover, he flew to Palermo and tried to get close to Nicoli. Then I would have to stop the ego. And then there's Tai-Sheng.
  
  
  "We know very little about Akasano," Hawke said. "He doesn't have a police record; he's never had any problems to prove. You'll have to play by ear, Carter."
  
  
  He nodded to her. But one thing still puzzled me. How did Tanya fit in?
  
  
  "Make no mistake, Carter," Hawk said, pointing a finger at me. "Despite the fact that Nicoli and Akasano are close, Nicoli doesn't trust anyone at all. The two men hadn't actually seen each other in almost ten years. AX has photos of Rosano Nicoli taken ten years ago, but recently ego, no photos have been taken. He's in the hall, surrounded by bodyguards. And with the exception of those regular flights to Istanbul with that Turkish communist Konya, on rare medical trips leaves his villa. Even then, he boards a private jet, a Lear plane owned and piloted by none other than Tai-Sheng.. There's a winged tiger painted on its tail, and it always lands in a grassy field near Istanbul ."
  
  
  "Can a woman reach the Yard?" I asked her.
  
  
  Hawk gave me a meaningless smile. "Rosano Nicoli has been married to one woman for thirty-one years. As far as we know, he never cheated on us."
  
  
  "Well, I guess it's like ..." I stopped when I saw her walking towards us through the store door.
  
  
  It was Tanya, but it wasn't. She smiled as she approached our table. All innocence was gone. She looked red-haired with wreaths,
  
  
  blonde hair, padded bra, lots of makeup, hair piled on top of her head to make her look older, and she was chewing gum. The skirt and blouse were almost too tight.
  
  
  When she came to the table, her husband smiled and said, " I'm not sure.: "Sandy Cuthron, I presume?"
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The fifth chapter.
  
  
  
  
  
  The next day at seven in the evening, Tanya and I were getting into a taxi in front of JFK International Airport, NY in New York. He gave the driver the address of Thomas Akasano's apartment, the one he'd rented for Sandy Catron.
  
  
  Shell snow, and we drove in silence, lost in our own thoughts. It was impossible to know what Tanya was thinking. But as I stared through the cabin windows at the falling snowflakes, visions of a blood-soaked snowdrift and two men fighting over a gun came to mind.
  
  
  As we drove away, Tanya looked back at Kennedy International. "Every time I come here, I think about how the mafia controls all the cargo."
  
  
  "Not all of it," I said. "It's impossible to say how much they actually control."
  
  
  Her, looked at Nah, with her heavy makeup and false eyelashes. Her eyelids were a light blue color, and she looked very good.
  
  
  The flight through Flagstaff was uneventful. We traveled like Thomas Akasano and Sandy Catron. And we watched a spy movie starring Dean Martin.
  
  
  I had a fake list that AX researched and made up for me to pass on to Rosano Nicoli. It was probably very close to what the real Akasano could give. These instructions were simple. We were supposed to wait at Akasano's apartment for a reply to Hawk's telegram.
  
  
  The windshield wipers clicked loudly as the driver drove the car through New York traffic. "The apartment was on East Fifty-eighth Street. Our cab's headlights didn't illuminate much, just the countless flakes floating in front of us.
  
  
  I huddled in my coat and felt Tanya, or Sandy, as I would now call her, snuggle up to me.
  
  
  She snapped her rubber band at me and smiled. "It's cold," she whispered. "Colder than the bottom of a Klondike well."
  
  
  "You're really throwing yourself into this, aren't you?"
  
  
  "Listen, Buster," she said in a hard, girlish voice. "I spent fifteen hours reading and watching movies about this woman. I know her as well as I know myself. Tailor, hers is her." She snapped the rubber band again to prove it.
  
  
  The taxi driver stopped at the curb in front of a new apartment building. He paid the driver and followed Sandy out into the snow. She sat there shivering as he was dragged down the trunk. Then we made our way through the snow to the archway with the iron gate.
  
  
  Inside, there was a courtyard with three-story wrought-iron balconies. White wrought-iron tables and chairs littered with snow were scattered around us.
  
  
  "What kind of housing is this?" Sandy asked.
  
  
  The key checked it. Since Akasano was holding the AXE when he died, we had access to everything he had with nen. "Bee, one-five," I said.
  
  
  The apartments were located in four buildings, each with a courtyard around the entire building. Sandy and I went through the door to Building B. The doors to the main floor were located on both sides of the corridor. There didn't seem to be much in the world.
  
  
  We went and checked the door numbers. They went from 1 to 99.
  
  
  "On the second floor," I said.
  
  
  We took the elevator up to the end of the hall. When we got to the top of the second floor, it looked dimmer than the one below. The carpet was so thick that it felt like we were in a hotel or a theater.
  
  
  "She's a vote," said Tanya, or Sandy.
  
  
  Her, went to the door next to her. "What am I going to call her when we're alone? Sandy or Tanya?"
  
  
  "Invite me to dinner, you bastard. I'm starving her."
  
  
  It got the key in the lock in a few clicks. "I wish there were more in the world," I muttered.
  
  
  "It's warm, sir," she said. "I need warmth." She flinched to prove it.
  
  
  The latch clicked. He turned the doorknob and pushed the door open. He immediately sensed that something was wrong. There was a smell, an unusual aroma, like incense. I'd know for sure as soon as there was some peace.
  
  
  Reaching into the doorway, my hand found the wall in search of a light switch. Strong fingers wrapped tightly around my wrist. Her, I felt like I was being tugged at in the apartment.
  
  
  "Nick!" exclaimed Tanya.
  
  
  The darkness was absolute. I took a step forward, surprised by the strength of the hand gripping my wrist. The normal reaction of anyone being pulled is to retreat against the force. For someone who practices karate, the opposite is true. If someone grabs and pulls, they expect some kind of resistance, even if it is symbolic. What they don't expect is for you
  
  
  you will rush at them headlong.
  
  
  Which I did. Once inside the apartment, her, I rushed to the person who was dragging me. It was a man, and he was falling.
  
  
  My feet left the floor; they went up to the ceiling, and then passed over me. Her, landed on his back on a chair.
  
  
  "Hyaa!" a voice shouted. It swept from the other both ends of the room, and the punch was followed by the candid me of a lifetime.
  
  
  He doubled over, then rolled over. Tanya turned on brylev. The apartment was a mess, furniture overturned, lamps smashed, drawers pulled out. The ceiling light came on behind me.
  
  
  There were two Ihs, both eastern. As her, snuggled up to moan and got to her feet, one around them quickly passed in front of me. He let out a short grunt, and his arm swung up in an arc, hitting the ball of the ceiling lamp and smashing ego to pieces.
  
  
  Darkness flooded the apartment, and since Tanya had left the door open, a dim light filtered into the hallway. Even before the holy smoke dissipated, she saw the second man pull out a knife.
  
  
  He walked along the wall to the corner and Hugo sheathed it in his waiting hand.
  
  
  "Mr. Akasano?" The voice said. "There is no need for this violence. Maybe we can talk." The voice came from my left.
  
  
  He was trying to distract me from the conversation in order to change my position. It didn't matter that I knew where he was, emu needed help. I didn't know if I had any.
  
  
  "You're not Mr. Akasano, are you?" the voice asked. "The lady called you Nick. She... ah!" The blow landed on the emu's side with a thud.
  
  
  They really helped me.
  
  
  The voice didn't bother me. While he was talking, he was giving me his position. It was different. He was bothering me.
  
  
  He also heard Tanya call me Nick and knew I wasn't Akasano. I couldn't let him leave the apartment alive.
  
  
  My eyes adjusted to the dimness now. He shot along the wall, crouching, moving quickly, the dagger in front of him. That sharp blade was aimed directly at my throat.
  
  
  Hers bounced around the corner, swinging Hugo in a sideways arc. There was a "clink" as both blades slid together. In one bound, he broke away from the wall and turned back. Hugo was ready.
  
  
  "After you!" shouted Tanya.
  
  
  "Hyaa!" another voice shouted.
  
  
  The kick would be one around them, where the fingertips are bent and the knuckles are flapping with all the force the attacker already has. It was aimed at my back and would have broken my spine.
  
  
  But he fell to his knees as soon as Tanya shouted her warning. The blow slid across my left ear, and by then hers had already reached out.
  
  
  He lost his balance, went forward. Both my hands were behind my head, grabbing. The other saw the advantage and stepped forward, dagger ready.
  
  
  Ego grabbed her by the hair, which was good enough, and got to his feet, pulling ego over his head. The smell of ego cologne or shaving products was very strong for a moment.
  
  
  He was forever high above me. The one with the dagger saw ego approaching and opened his mouth. The two men collided with each other with a grunt and hit their backs against the wall. It was a miracle that one around them wasn't slashed by a dagger.
  
  
  For a few seconds, they were a tangle of arms and legs. Her used the time to approach licks, holding Hugo and aiming the candid forward.
  
  
  The one with the dagger rolled away from the wall and jumped to his feet in one smooth motion. He was flying high, the dagger coming down.
  
  
  It wasn't hard back then. He swerved to the right, turned, ducked, and walked over to Hugo. The stiletto entered him, just below the ribcage, and the blade passed through his left lung and pierced the top of the dollar bill. Almost immediately, he pulled out the blade and jumped to the left.
  
  
  The power was exhausted before the dagger completely fell. Ego's free hand clutched at his chest. It only took dolly seconds, but in that time, she was seen by the person she killed. Straight black hair, half covering her face. Suit, well-cut and tailored. His face was broad and flat, about twenty years old.
  
  
  He staggered back, and his dagger fell noiselessly to the carpet. Both hands gripped ego's chest. As he dropped to his knees, his eyes stared straight through me. The front of Ego's shirt was red with blood. He fell forward on his face.
  
  
  This left the other outnumbered, and he knew it. He pushed past me and started toward the door.
  
  
  "Tanya!" He screamed and realized that he'd made the same mistake she'd made before.
  
  
  She was genuinely there. She moved like lace in the wind across the room, her arm outstretched. Then a hand shot out and landed on the man's neck. Ego's legs came out of the way as he slid forward and fell.
  
  
  Then Tanya was between him and the door, and he walked in. I saw him shake his head. In the blink of an eye, he realized the situation: Tanya was blocking Ego escape, her fast approaching from his right. He was on all fours.
  
  
  Too late, he saw the bulge on his cheek and knew what it meant. The dental cap was lifted, and cyanide capsules were released.
  
  
  Her, came up to him on his lap. Ego grabbed her by the throat and tried to open her mouth. Damn him! There were questions she was asked to ask. Who sent ih? Why did they choose Akasano's apartment? Where are they from?
  
  
  One small gagging sound, a jolt of the body's ego, and he died with my hand still on his throat. Ego's body felt fragile and thin.
  
  
  Tanya came out on my left. "I'm sorry, Nick. Ego should have gotten her."
  
  
  "Not Nick," I said softly. "Thomas or Tom. And you're Sandy, we'll do it no matter what."
  
  
  "All right, Tom."
  
  
  Her patted the man's pockets, I know I won't find anything. There are no marks on the jacket. Custom made in Hong Kong. English style. We need the tailor's name, we need identification cards. The other man was also wearing nothing.
  
  
  "Should we call the police?" Tanya asked as she sat in the middle of the mess with her hands on her hips.
  
  
  Her gaze fixed on Nah. "We don't have to do this. Pull blankets or sheets around the bedroom. We have to get rid of the bodies."
  
  
  She sat undecided, looking innocent and tender with her makeup and tight, teasing clothes. I knew what she was thinking. Even with all her training, they had a ferret with them, as far as she could remember, when something happened, you called the police. You let the law decide everything.
  
  
  Hey smiled at her. "That's what we play by ear, Sandy. Call it unexpected, unplanned. Our assignment hasn't changed at all. We still have to wait for this telegram." Her, nodded to the bodies. "These two wanted something from Akasano. From the looks of it, they were in a hurry to find it. Someone knows they're here and will ih wait. Well, they're dead. they would have been dead if Akasano had found ih. We're still safe. We will dispose of these bodies and act as if these two were never here."
  
  
  She looked at them, then at me. "I'll get some blankets," she said.
  
  
  With her help, she wrapped the pair separately in blankets. The stiletto didn't leave much blood. She cleaned up while he carried the corpses one by one into the snow.
  
  
  Behind the apartments, she found a big trash can, like garbage trucks that just hook up, Dempsey trash cans or something like that. Ih there were four people near the alley. Two were half-filled with trash, the other two were almost empty.
  
  
  He carried the bodies one at a time, slinging ih over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes, and carrying ih up the concrete stairs of the back exit. Before throwing ih into large trash cans, he removed some of the trash, and when both bodies were inside, he put newspapers, beer cans, and plastic boxes on top of them.
  
  
  Then Tanya and I are drawn into this place. There was no telling how long we would have to wait - a day, a week, or even a month. We straightened the furniture and put the papers back in their proper places. She had already cleaned up the small pool of blood on the carpet.
  
  
  "Hungry?" "What is it?" she asked when the place was fairly presentable.
  
  
  We were standing in the kitchen, where we found spare bulbs for the broken fixtures. He nodded and watched her go through the kitchen cupboards looking for food.
  
  
  The skirt tightened every time she knelt or bent down. Her bleached hair looked good, and since the real Sandy Catron also had green eyes, there was no need to give Tanya colored contact lenses.
  
  
  Her definitely felt her presence in the narrow confines of the kitchen. It was her physical awareness. She might just have been nineteen, but she was a fully developed mature woman.
  
  
  She turned around with a can of something in her hand. "Aha!" she exclaimed. "Look." It was a can of spaghetti for the whole family. "Now, sir, you will see the magical things I can do with one small jar. You see? Nothing up my sleeve, no hidden wands or magic potions. When you see it, I will turn this modest jar of goodies into a gastronomic delight."
  
  
  "I can't wait."
  
  
  The green eyes mocked, while the rest of her teased. "Out. I'm going to start rattling pots and pans right now."
  
  
  While she was busy in the kitchen, there was still a lot to do. He started with the bedroom, sorting through drawers and stroking clothes in the closet.
  
  
  "It was a one-room apartment, tastefully furnished. We were under the impression that
  
  
  each apartment in the house was exactly the same and furnished with the same furniture. There was a large double bed; Akasano was a big man, just like her. And a vanity table with a mirror, complete with a white wrought-iron chair with a pink lining. Sandy had plenty of cosmetics to play with, and they were spread out on the washstand.
  
  
  There were skirts, blouses, and low-cut dresses in the front and back of the closet. There were shoe boxes on the top shelf.
  
  
  I noticed that Akasano didn't have many clothes: a couple of suits, one drawer in the dresser dedicated to ego stuff with a fresh shirt, three sets of underwear, three pairs of socks, and a few handkerchiefs.
  
  
  What Akasano did was universal. You start with a sleepover once or twice. The weather is bad. You're tired and don't want to go home. Without a difference. This lasts up to three or four nights in a row. You really need to have some shaving gear so that you don't have a five-hour stubble at eight in the morning. Then you will feel a little bad, wearing the same underwear, then the shower that you took before, that is, fresh underwear. A stain on your suit during dinner? Just in case, take a spare one with you. You don't want to be sitting around in a suit all the time. Inserted some kind of Swedish daily routine. By then you spend every night there and see everything in its place.
  
  
  "Go get it before I send it to Red China," Tanya shouted.
  
  
  I just finished sorting through the shoe boxes. There were no shoes in the three boxes. Two men around them held girls ' junk, clippings around magazines with pictures of movie stars, buttons, pins, clothing patterns, pieces of cloth. The third contained two packages of letters.
  
  
  "Hey, I don't work in the kitchen because watching gas flames turns me on." Tanya was sitting in the bedroom doorway. An apron was tied around her waist.
  
  
  I showed it to e-mail. Her brows rose with interest. "And then some food," I said. "We'll take a look at ih and find out what kind of girl Della Sandy Catron really is."
  
  
  She took my hand and led me into the dining room. Somewhere she found bread and a bottle of pink chablis.
  
  
  All the lights went out. Two candles flickered on the table. Tanya disappeared into the kitchen, then returned without an apron, with her hair combed, fresh lipstick and steaming dishes.
  
  
  That was good. It didn't taste like a tin can at all; in fact, she'd spiced up the ego enough to make it taste like a restaurant. When she picked up her mug, she held ego up to me.
  
  
  "To the success of our mission," she said.
  
  
  We touched glasses. "And tonight," he added, which made her frown. She didn't know it, but I made up my mind. Its going to get her. Tonight.
  
  
  When we were done, she was helped to clear the dishes from the chair. We put ih in the kitchen sink. With all the scuffles and candles burning, we barely saw another one.
  
  
  We were right next to each other, standing openly in front of the sink. She reached in front of me to pull out an apron. I wrapped my arms around her waist and turned her so that she was looking at me. Then ee pulled her close.
  
  
  "Nick!" she gasped.
  
  
  "Hush." Her head tilted slightly, and my mouth found hers.
  
  
  At first, her lips were hard and unyielding. Her hands lightly pressed against my chest. Only when he let his hands slide below the small of her back and held her close did her lips relax. He let his tongue slide in and out, then lightly swiped it back and forth across the roof of his mouth. Her hands moved to my shoulders, then around my neck. When I slowly ran my tongue between her lips, she pushed away from me.
  
  
  She stepped back, breathing hard. "Me ... I think we should ..."
  
  
  "What, Tanya?"
  
  
  She cleared her throat and swallowed. Her green eyes blinked rapidly. "Something like that. We have to..."
  
  
  Hey smiled at her. "You have a low boiling point," I said softly. "I could feel your body relaxing. And you were getting warm. Very warm."
  
  
  “no. It was simple ... I mean ..."
  
  
  "You mean it wasn't like before, when you were just checking out your little panty gun and could focus on something else."
  
  
  "Yes, I mean, no. You're just kind of... caught me off guard."
  
  
  His was holding her at arm's length. "What are we going to do about it?" I asked her.
  
  
  She swallowed again. "Nothing," she said, but it wasn't convincing. "Package. Emails". Her face lit up. "We're going to take a look at these emails from Sandy."
  
  
  Her walked away from nah, smiling. "Whatever you say. They're in the bedroom."
  
  
  "Ah. Well, maybe ..."
  
  
  But this time
  
  
  dis her took ee's hand and led her through the living room, down the hall, and into the bedroom. As we stood at the foot of the king-size bed, she looked up at me. There was curiosity in her green eyes.
  
  
  Her husband smiled, then nodded toward the bed. "Letters in a shoebox."
  
  
  She turned to the box on the bed. She then walked to the edge of the bed and sat down on the edge. She opened the box and pulled out one stack of letters. Ih was held together with a pair of rubber bands. With slightly shaky fingers, she pulled out the first letter around the envelope and began to read it selfishly. She pretended not to notice when her sel was next to her and pulled out another stack of letters.
  
  
  Some around these emails were quite heated. A lot of them were from abroad, but they were mostly written by hema-to, named Mike, who I guess was her boyfriend before Akasano came on stage.
  
  
  Twice I noticed that Tanya blushes when reading. Most of the letters were from my parents. But apparently Sandy was having a bit of a hard time staying loyal to Mike. Judging by the tone of some of the other emails, she'd slept with him a lot, even after Akasano put her up in this apartment.
  
  
  And then I found a photo of her. "Give it to me," Tanya said when she saw it fall out around the letter she was holding.
  
  
  It was a bad polaroid of Sandy being paired with a young man. Judging by the way the man's arm went out of reach, it was obvious that he had taken a picture and then moved between the leg and Sandy. As he focused on her small, protruding breasts, she smiled at the camera.
  
  
  "Ugh!" said Tanya. "I wonder if Mike knew about the others?" She flipped the photo over. "On the reverse side it says:"Dear Sandy, it would be nice if we could stay in this position all the time. You're the best I've ever had. Mike. It's cooked the way Mike looks ." She raised her eyebrows. Not bad."
  
  
  "Judging by the tone of the note, Sandy's not bad either," I said. I took a photo of her and carefully examined the young man's face on nen.
  
  
  The quality was poor, but there were enough details to tell what it looked like. Emu was in his early twenties, with blond hair, high cheekbones, a sensual mouth, no chest hair, but plenty of muscle. He was a beautiful child. I was struck by Tanya's striking resemblance to the real Sandy. She could have passed for a twin.
  
  
  I didn't realize it, but Tanya was looking at me while I was looking at her photo. When our eyes met, I read something there. Nah no longer had, he thought, the self-conscious shyness she'd shown in the kitchen.
  
  
  "Do you think the real Sandy is that good? As good as Mike says?"
  
  
  "I wouldn't know, Tanya."
  
  
  Ee pulled her close and gently pushed her onto the bed. My hand lightly cupped her breast as I stared at nah, inches from her face.
  
  
  "I want you, Nick," she whispered.
  
  
  He slowly undressed her, savoring and savoring every part of her he found. My lips moved softly from the hollow of her throat, down the curve of her breasts to her plum-colored nipples. Hers lingered there, allowing the tip of her tongue to move easily over each hardened nipple. She made the ready sounds that a woman makes when she's fully engaged in her emotions.
  
  
  The sounds grew louder as my lips slid over the protuberance of her ribcage and settled on the flatness of her stomach. Her skin was smooth and blemish-free. She started making movements to match the sounds.
  
  
  And then hers, stopped. He walked to the edge of the bed and stood looking at Nah. Her body was still moving, only now she knew I was looking at her. There was no more interference. Like most women, as soon as she was naked and looked at by men's eyes, she became shameless and open.
  
  
  Her watched nah while her undressed. At her insistence, Brylev turned it off. Then he waited until it was completely dark and the room was filled with the shapes of things. That's when I joined her.
  
  
  The first time is always clumsy. The act of love never starts smoothly. There are two fresh and different people unknown to another friend. Hands intertwine. Noses get in the way. Smoothness comes with practice.
  
  
  She was very young and, by her own admission, not a mistletoe of much experience. He guided her gently, letting his lips continue on their course. There was something new about her that I hadn't felt in a long time.
  
  
  At first, she was too impatient, too eager to please. She has so much a hotel to do for me, and she has a hotel to do it all at once. Only after I convinced her that there would be time to take her time did she relax. She was afraid and didn't know her own abilities. Her father told her in a whisper that there would be other times. Everything she'd ever thought would be done.
  
  
  There was plenty of time. And it was the first for nah.
  
  
  Only when she begged and begged her did nah enter. With a sigh, I felt her approach me. Then it came alive, moving with an ancient wisdom, partly learned, partly instinctive.
  
  
  We were very slow. There was nothing wild, bouncing, or screaming. It was a fusion of two bodies: kissing, touching, exploring, while we moved a little at a time together and then apart. And every time she moved, he tried to do it for her in a different way, not in different ways.
  
  
  When it first happened to her, it was the stiffness of her limbs, the clinging of my hair, the closed eyes, the slightly parted lips. And a long, low, beautiful moan that ended in a tiny, girlish whimper.
  
  
  Then she couldn't kiss me enough. Her lips moved over my eyes, my cheeks, my lips, then my lips. She held me tight, as if she was afraid I'd leave.
  
  
  He held her close and was silent for a while. When she fell back on the pillow, her body started moving again. She was shaking her head on the pillow.
  
  
  Ee the target has stopped. Without opening her eyes, she let her hands touch my face... can't... again... " she sighed.
  
  
  "Yes," I said softly. "You can. Let me show you."
  
  
  When hers started moving again, hers, I felt her body come alive under me. The room was no longer dark. He could see her clearly.
  
  
  And the second time, she gave a little cry and screamed. Her heels dug deep into the mattress. My fingernails scratched at my sides and back.
  
  
  For the third time, we were both fully committed to the action. When it happened to both of us, it was chopping, mashing, grabbing, grabbing the other-for the other, us, the one around us couldn't hold each other enough. The sounds were low moans, and no one around us was aware of the noise, the bed, everything but the other, and the draining, blinding pleasure we were experiencing.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The sixth chapter.
  
  
  
  
  
  I told myself I'd just rest for a few minutes. But when he opened his eyes, he found that the first hint of daylight was entering the room. He was lying on his back. Tanya's bleached hair lay on my shoulder.
  
  
  He wondered why a woman's body was always so warm and smooth in the morning than it had been last night.
  
  
  But something woke me up. Something stirred my subconscious mind to make it aware of what was around me. Her left hand lifted just enough to look at her watch. A little after five.
  
  
  Then the sound came again. Constant knocking on the front door, muffled by the air space running through the living room and hallway. It wasn't even a knock or a quick knock. It was slow and uneven, like a loud, dying heartbeat. He stirred, and Tanya woke him up.
  
  
  She lifted her head without opening her eyes. "Nick?" she muttered. "What is it?"
  
  
  "Someone is knocking on our door."
  
  
  Ee target returned to my shoulder. "They'll leave," she said sleepily.
  
  
  He shook her by the shoulder. "Sandy," I whispered loudly. "This is your place, and I want to know who it is."
  
  
  She licked her lips without opening her eyes. "They'll leave," she muttered. "I don't want to know."
  
  
  "I want to know. It might be more like our two friends last night."
  
  
  Her green eyes opened. She stood up when the knock came again. There was no vault in those eyes now.
  
  
  "Nick," she said aloud. "Someone is knocking on the door."
  
  
  Hey nodded at her, smiling. "Why can't you see who it is?"
  
  
  She pulled back the covers, and for a few seconds enjoyed her movements of her nakedness as she rummaged through her suitcase. She found a small powder blue short negligee, complete with matching panties.
  
  
  She ran her fingers through her hair, adjusting her nightgown at the last moment. It was transparent enough to see the color of her nipples. With a quick smile at me, she left through the bedrooms and walked down the hall to the front door.
  
  
  He quickly got up from the trash, knelt down, and opened his suitcase. There was a black quilted robe that she wore. Then I rummaged under my pants, which were lying on the floor next to the bed, until I felt the cold steel of Wilhelmina, my Luger.
  
  
  With the gun in her hand, he walked over to the open bedroom door. He could see her down the hall and through the living room to the front door. Tanya waited for the day, watching me. He closed the door, leaving only a crack to peer through. Then Ay nodded to her.
  
  
  "Who's that?" "What is it?" she asked timidly.
  
  
  The grumbling on the other side all day was male, but I couldn't make out the words. Then the blows started again.
  
  
  Before Tanya unlocked the door, her husband walked over to the bed
  
  
  He took her table and grabbed her cigarettes and lighter. I lit one of them, watching her click the latch.
  
  
  It was Mike, the blond guy in the photo. And he was drunk. He clumsily entered as Tanya fell, then stood up, rocking back and forth. He put most of his weight on the cane; the two broken legs must not have fully healed yet.
  
  
  Tanya was sharp. "Mike!" she said in mock surprise. "What are you doing here?"
  
  
  "Where is that bastard ?" "This place would take a hell of a long time. Where is he, Sandy?"
  
  
  She stepped back a little, so as not to get between me and the guy. He lit one around his gold-tipped cigarettes and blew smoke at the ceiling.
  
  
  In broad daylight, if Mike had been sober, he might have easily noticed that he wasn't talking to Sandy. But the hour was still early; the sun had not yet risen, and Tanya had played her part well.
  
  
  "Mike, you're drunk," she said. "If you wake him up, he'll do more than just break your legs."
  
  
  "Aha!" shouted Mike. "I knew that bastard had caused the accident. Take your clothes. We're getting out of here."
  
  
  Tanya backed into the hall. "No, Mike. I'm staying with her. I like it here."
  
  
  He stood swaying, looking at nah. "You ... are you saying that you'd rather stay with that old bastard?"
  
  
  "He does things for me that you never could."
  
  
  "Come back to me, Sandy."
  
  
  “no. I told you I like it here."
  
  
  Ego's lips quivered. "There is nothing like this anymore. It's not like this without you. You are welcome... come back, " he begged.
  
  
  "I think you'd better go," she said.
  
  
  I noticed that he had a very pretty face. His blond hair was cut in a way that made him look like a little boy, and I'm sure he understood that. If Tanya can't get rid of him, I'll have to. Now she was retreating down the hall.
  
  
  "Sandy," he called. "That bastard is no good for you. You're so young, you don't understand. What he'd done to me, broken my legs, meant nothing. He's a criminal. He's got people killed, you know. He's part of the mafia."
  
  
  "I don't believe you." Tanya's quick wit made a growing impression on me.
  
  
  "It's true," I checked. Sandy, does he have something in you?" Is he forcing you to stay here?"
  
  
  She shook her head. “no. Its told you twice, its here because I want to be."
  
  
  "I don't believe you." He reached for her. "Baby, I really need you."
  
  
  Tanya was walking away. Now she was close to money. "Mike," she said in a calm voice. "I politely asked you to leave."
  
  
  Then he stopped. He stood and stared at nah, his knuckles white as he gripped the cane. "He made you this way," he shouted. "Akasano did it. I'll kill that bastard!"
  
  
  Then he opened the bedroom door and entered the hall. The luger's nose nudged her against the ego's. As hard as he could manage, he said to her, " Now's your chance, punk. What can you do?"
  
  
  Ego's bloodshot brown eyes blinked. He took three steps back towards the living room and licked his lips with his tongue. "You're pretty cool with that gun.".. I wonder how resilient you are without nah."
  
  
  "You won't know, punk, because you're leaving."
  
  
  It was open. "I'm not going until Sandy tells me."
  
  
  Tanya leaned against the wall and watched us. Her nipples pressed against the thin material of her nightgown. "That's what I tried to tell you with them ferrets as you arrived, Mike. Her, I want you to leave."
  
  
  Ego's handsome boyish face crinkled in pain as he looked at Nah. "You mean that? You prefer this one to me... the old man... a human?"
  
  
  He went up to Tanya. Reaching out with his free hand, he lightly patted ee on the left side of his chest. She smiled.
  
  
  "What do you think about it?" I told her. Then he took a threatening step toward him. "Now you listen to me, punk, and listen well. Sandy's my grandmother now, you know? Get the hell out of here and stay away. I'll see your ugly face again, I'll pump up your ego so that it's full you'll look like a diving belt ." To add some zest to her threat, she slapped his ego across the face with her free hand.
  
  
  The slap sounded loud in the still morning air. He spun around and grabbed one of the chairs in the living room to steady himself. The cane fell to the floor.
  
  
  Tanya ran up to him. She took ego's walking stick and handed it to em. Then she turned to me. "You didn't have to hit your ego so hard. You could have just told emu."
  
  
  Hers was silent, and Wilhelmina was hanging loosely on my arm, pointing at the floor. "I want him out of here," I said softly.
  
  
  Mike hobbled toward the door. When Tanya opened the emu, he stared at nah. "And you're here because
  
  
  do you want to be here? "
  
  
  She nodded. He stepped out into the hallway and turned to me.
  
  
  A Luger picked her up. "Anything else you want, punk?"
  
  
  “yeah. I was wondering how interested the police would be in how her legs were broken."
  
  
  "When you get tired of life, ask ih."
  
  
  Tanya closed the door. For a few seconds, she gripped the handle and leaned her head against the door. Then she turned to face me. She sighed heavily. "What do you think?"
  
  
  Hers, he shrugged. "I think he bought it. If anyone had asked ego, I think they would have said they saw Sandy and Akasano."
  
  
  She turned away from me and went into the kitchen. I heard her pull a glass around the cabinet and fill it with water. He threw it to Wilhelmina at the moment of the dressing-gown and stood in the doorway.
  
  
  She leaned back against the sink. "I think something's going on, Nick."
  
  
  "What?"
  
  
  "I feel bad about what we did to Mike." She turned to face me. "Akasano was the lowest type of creature I've ever heard of. And, Nick, I'm starting to think you're him."
  
  
  Hey smiled at her. "Then I must be pretty good at my job."
  
  
  She ran across the kitchen and put her arm around my waist. "I never want to hate you, Nick. Never."
  
  
  The telegram didn't arrive when.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The seventh chapter.
  
  
  
  
  
  My ears started to crack as the po Rimma plane landed at Palermo Airport, Sicily. Below, a patchwork quilt is spread out around the vineyards, like a quilt that stretches to the buildings of Palermo.
  
  
  Tanya, sitting next to me, squeezed my hand. We both knew that was it. We convinced Mother in the morning light when he was drunk, but that was the ultimate test. Nick and Tanya would definitely be gone. One slip here, and we'll be nine agents, and we'll add ten to the list.
  
  
  The instructions in the telegram were direct and precise. Her had to book herself a ticket for the first available trip around JFK International Airport, NY opened to Rome. From there, I could catch trips to Palermo. The hotel limousine waited to take me openly to the Corini Hotel, where I checked in, and then waited for me to be contacted.
  
  
  No one in Palermo has seen Akasano for ten years. This fact worked for me. Sandy wasn't a problem with me either. She was my woman. Around her research, she learned that these men often took their women with them on business trips.
  
  
  The DC-10 slid down the lane, leveled off, then gave a lurch as the wheels touched and screeched. Tanya and I unbuckled our seat belts.
  
  
  She was wearing a light spa suit that Tanya would have thought was too flashy, but it would have been appropriate for Sandy. Under the short jacket, the top three buttons of her blouse were undone, revealing a decent cleavage. Her skirt was one size smaller, and short enough to please every male couple on the plane. There was a look of youthful irritability on her face. Mature, full lips, painted and frosty; too much make-up for blue eyes; jaws pulling out gums, working to the limit; the illusion was cheapness and ignorance of style.
  
  
  Overly developed Lolita, a very young agent AH, Tanya mistletoe talent to portray both.
  
  
  She leaned against my shoulder, squeezing my hand.
  
  
  The plane taxied up to the terminal, and we waited for the steps to be pushed up. Looking out the window, she noticed several waiting taxis, as well as four Fiat minibuses with hotel names on the sides.
  
  
  My gaze shifted from the cars to the faces of the waiting crowd. Each face was carefully examined. I guess there's no reason for that. But over the years of working as an agent in AX, he made a lot of enemies. I got into the habit of checking out individuals in any crowd. You never knew where the killer's gawking eyes came from. But in this crowd, one couldn't wait to greet those coming out all over the plane.
  
  
  Placing a hand on Tanya's elbow, he slowly moved down the aisle. The cute, smiling flight attendant hoped that we enjoyed the flight and that we would have a good time in Palermo. Tanya and I went out on a bright sunny holy day and it was warm. At the bottom of the stairs, taxi and bus drivers begged for our protection.
  
  
  Passengers of the plane moved through the open space from the plane to the wire fence, not paying attention to the screams of drivers. There were hugs and kisses when they met relatives and friends.
  
  
  On the calculations made by one of the software minibuses was written "Corini Hotel". Still holding on to Tanya's elbow, he trudged through the dark-skinned businessmen to the bus. Several people followed them, and each told me that they had the best taxi in all of Sicily. But when we reached
  
  
  the bus, all the men went back except one.
  
  
  He walked over to us, not letting his dark eyes leave where Tanya's nipples should have been. "Do you want to be taken to the Corini Hotel, signor?"
  
  
  "You," I said shortly. "If you think you can take your eyes off my woman long enough to get going."
  
  
  He nodded sheepishly and turned away. "Do you have any baggage checks, signor?"
  
  
  Ih handed it to emu and watched as he trotted toward the terminal. We had already cleared customs when we landed in Rime.
  
  
  "I think he's cute," Tanya said, looking at him.
  
  
  "I'm sure you are. And his confident that he thinks you're more than just cute."
  
  
  He came back ten minutes later with our luggage, and we all played this game on the Fiat bus. Our driver was just as wild and loud as everyone else. Tanya and I didn't have much time for sightseeing; it took everything we had just to hang on. Only in one place, except for Rimma, I saw her on the road of wilder maniacs: Mexico City.
  
  
  Finally, we screeched to a stop in front of an ancient, gingerbread-strewn, crumbling structure that, judging by the glowing sign above the entrance, was called the Corini Hotel. Our boy carried these bags inside and not too carefully dropped the ih in front of the table.
  
  
  "Have you booked adjoining rooms for Thomas Akasano and Sandy Catron?" the clerk asked him.
  
  
  He checked the book at bifocal points. "Ah, you." Then he slammed his hand down on the bell, making a hell of a noise. In Italian, he told a messenger to deliver our bags to rooms four, nineteen, and twenty.
  
  
  As I turned away from my chair, I felt someone tap me on the shoulder. He turned to see an Oriental man who had taken three steps back and was holding a camera. The ego target leaned into the camera, and I was immediately blinded by a bright flash. Too late, he raised his hand to her face.
  
  
  As the man turned to leave, her walked up to him and grabbed ego's arm. "I'd like to buy this photo, just one more."
  
  
  "Don't speak American. Don't understand!" He tried to move away.
  
  
  "Let me see your camera." Her, grabbed it.
  
  
  He recoiled from me. "No!" he yelled. "Don't speak American. I don't understand."
  
  
  She wants to know how the hell the tailor knew I was an American. And why he took my picture. There were several people in the lobby of the hotel. Everyone was watching with interest. I didn't need all that attention. Tanya was sitting on a chair, but instead of looking at me, she was looking at the faces in the crowd.
  
  
  "You let me go!" the man shouted. For someone who didn't understand American, he did a great job.
  
  
  "I want to see your camera, vote, and that's it." I had a smile on my face, but I tried to keep it on. The crowd moved toward us. He hasn't yet become hostile. There were about a dozen people in it.
  
  
  The man pulled his hand free. "I'm coming. Leave it alone."
  
  
  I started toward him, but he turned and ran across the lobby to the front door. The crowd sat and looked at me with mild curiosity. He turned his back on them, took Tanya's hand, and headed for the elevator with the cage open.
  
  
  "What do you think of that, N-Tom?" Tanya asked as we approached the floor where our rooms were located.
  
  
  "I wish I knew her. Someone wants my picture. And now it looks like they have it." Hers, he shrugged. "Maybe Nicoli wants to make sure that Thomas Akasano is actually checking in at the hotel."
  
  
  Our bus driver followed us, helping the delivery boy with his luggage. I gave them both a good tip when we were in my room and locked the door behind them.
  
  
  The room had a high ceiling and four windows looking out over the azure-blue harbor. There was a four-poster brass-framed bed, a commodus odin, two upholstered chairs, and a desk chair with four straight-backed chairs. It smelled musty and hot, so he opened the window. Then his dress could smell it. The fishing boats were white against the dark blue of the harbor. Between the anchored and moored boats, he could see the top of the lighthouse. The docks were surrounded by canals that entered and left the harbor.
  
  
  The streets below were narrow, zigzagging through canyons of compressed buildings like stacked egg boxes.
  
  
  A man in a Lambrette passed below, a pencil-thin trail of smoke trailing behind him. He had a yellow sweater, but he didn't wear it; it was on his back like a raincoat, with the sleeves tied around his neck. I watched him speed through the cobblestone streets, the sun reflecting off his bright red scooter. There were six hundred Fiats parked on both sides of the street, mostly scarlet.
  
  
  The door connecting my room with Tanina opened and she walked towards me.
  
  
  "Isn't it beautiful?" she said with a big smile.
  
  
  She went to the window where he kept it and looked out. Her hand reached for mine and pressed it to my chest. Then she looked at me.
  
  
  "Make love to me."
  
  
  He reached out and pulled her to him. She hugged him eagerly. It was her who dragged us to the bed, and she fumbled with me to get my clothes off. Nah didn't have anything under her skirt or blouse. It didn't take long for us to stretch out on our sides, naked, and embrace each other.
  
  
  He kissed her upturned nose, then each eye, then her mouth. Her body felt warm and smooth. He explored every inch of her body, first with his hands, then with his mouth.
  
  
  He felt her lips on him, hesitantly exploring. Every time she tried something, she paused, as if unsure.
  
  
  "It's okay," I whispered. "There are no problems. It's all good. Let go of yourself. Do what you've heard, dreamed, or thought, but never had the chance to try."
  
  
  She was making moaning noises. It returned to her throat, then raised itself up to look at her in the sunlight.
  
  
  She was thin-boned and fragile. Her breasts were a pile of softness with hard nipples pointing up. She then bent down to a flat life and a very narrow waist. I knew I could wrap both hands around that waist and touch my thumb and middle finger. Then there was the rounded flash of thighs and buttocks that attracted so many pairs of men's eyes with their movement. The legs were well shaped and joined in a small hide of chestnut velvet. It was a pleasurable body, filled with zeal and youth.
  
  
  Her eyes stared intently into my face while his stared at Nah. "Take it," she said in a hoarse whisper. "Take it and enjoy it."
  
  
  I made it. He moved his mouth to hers, and my tongue began to match the movements of my body. One move of his was over her, and then entered nah. The moans turned into a sigh, and around her throat, almost no sound escaped.
  
  
  As hers moved toward her, hers allowed his tongue to move as far along hers as possible. Then hers, he pulled back and pulled his tongue out and back. In fact, it was two acts of love, two thoughts. And she showed me, hey, how I like my body moving.
  
  
  It happened to her all of a sudden, and her body exploded with it. She clung to me, writhed under me, and made wailing, whimpering noises.
  
  
  I couldn't help myself. He was a hot air balloon filled with water, rolling across a long, flat desert. A large spike jutted out in front of the weathered plank. I felt myself pulling, squeezing, and bouncing until I finally hit the spike and all the liquid water gushed through me.
  
  
  It happened again the same way.
  
  
  And then we lay on our backs, naked, while the sun warmed us and washed the bed. He watched with half-closed eyes as the breeze stirred the lace curtain, bringing with it the scents of wine, fresh grapes, fish, and wine.
  
  
  He moved enough to get out his cigarettes and light them. Tanya snuggled up to me, searching and then finding the hollow in my shoulder for her head.
  
  
  "That's good," I said. "You too."
  
  
  This made her snuggle up for another lick. After a while, she said: "You're thinking about the mission, aren't you?"
  
  
  "Too many unanswered questions," I said. "Why are they all Eastern? There were two in the apartment, then the one downstairs in the lobby. What was he doing when he took my picture? Who did he photograph the ego for? And why?"
  
  
  Tanya moved away from my shoulder and sat down. She turned to me gravely. "Do you have any idea how they'll contact us?"
  
  
  Hers, he shook his head. "But I think it's better to be on our toes from now on. No mistakes, nothing even close enough. I have a feeling about this assignment that I don't like."
  
  
  She kissed the tip of my nose. "Feed me, my beautiful man. Your woman is hungry. I'll go get dressed."
  
  
  As she pushed herself off the edge of the bed, we heard a loud bell ring. The phone was on the nightstand next to the bed. Tanya fell silent.
  
  
  With the cigarette still dangling in the corner of the rta, he picked it up. "Yes, Akasano is here."
  
  
  "Signor Akasano," said Clera. "I was told that a car is waiting for you here. A man is standing in the lobby. I can tell her emu when you arrive."
  
  
  "Who sent the car?" I asked her.
  
  
  Ego hand rests on the mouthpiece. When he returned, his voice had jumped about ten points. "The car belongs to Mr Rosano Nicoli, Signor.
  
  
  "I'll be there in fifteen minutes."
  
  
  "G". He hung up.
  
  
  Her, looked at Tanya. "It's him, Sandy, baby."
  
  
  he crossed her fingers over me, then bent down to pick up her blouse and skirt. She ran to her room.
  
  
  He stubbed out his cigarette and rolled out of bed. As he dressed, he checked his small personal arsenal. He was going to wear an open-necked sports shirt, slacks, and a light jacket. Before putting on her shorts, she is checked out by Pierre and advertises a tiny gas bomb between her legs. Then he put on his trousers and ballet slippers, took Hugo's scabbard and connecting straps, and strapped the thin stiletto to his left arm. Then he put on his shirt and buttoned it up. Ivy-colored shirt with a button-down collar, gray color, with long sleeves. When it was turned on, he reached into the shoulder holster that held Wilhelmina. The stripped-down Luger was right under my left armpit. Wearing a light sports jacket, he was ready.
  
  
  Tanya met me in the hall. We walked in silence to the elevator with the cage open. Tanya's beautiful face was expressionless as we drove. She was being searched in the lobby, looking for the man who'd been sent to pick us up.
  
  
  We reached the lobby. It was lifted by a lever and pushed open by the end of a metal-grated lift. Tanya took two steps into the lobby. Hers was a step behind Nah, and had just walked up to her when he saw him.
  
  
  Growing up in gangster movies leads you to get a certain idea of what a gangster should look like. In most cases, this image is incorrect. Today's hood looks like today's success. They remind you of lawyers, doctors, or bankers. But a bandit is a bandit. Time and methods change, but the organization has never outgrown the need for torpedoes or, as ih was sometimes called, muscle men. They did odd jobs. It was them who attached concrete blocks to your ankles, faces over the muzzle of a submachine gun sticking out over a passing car, they who told you that Mike, Tony, or Al wanted to see you. Errand boys.
  
  
  Rosano Dvora sent a torpedo after us.
  
  
  He lumbered toward us as we exited, circling the elevator, his huge shoulders as wide as the doorway. Nen was wearing a white tropical suit that hugged her ego muscles. Ego's arms hung down almost to his knees, his knuckles were bruised and deformed from being hit by too many people, and his face was covered in wounds, blemishes, and the wrong angle from too many punches of the same kind.
  
  
  A long time ago, he was an expert in the ring. You could tell by the twisted meat that used to be ego ears and the curved z-shape of ego nose. Ego's eyes were almost hidden behind two layers of golf ball flesh. And there were a lot of scars. Greasy scars over both eyebrows, a nasty one where the cheekbones cut through the skin; the face looked shapeless, soft and lumpy.
  
  
  And I noticed another bump. Bulge under the left armpit in a tropical suit.
  
  
  "Mr. Akasano?" he said with a low nasal hiss.
  
  
  He nodded to her.
  
  
  Ego's stupid eyes darted from me to Tanya. "Who is she?"
  
  
  "My woman."
  
  
  "Uh... ouch." He blinked very hard and looked from afar, as if dreaming. "You think you're coming with me."
  
  
  She took Tanya by the elbow and walked across the ginger lobby toward the moving crowd. As we approached the front door, he stopped and turned to face us.
  
  
  "Her Quick Willie," he said. "I know you're Thomas Akasano, but I'm not sure what ee's name is."
  
  
  I asked her. "You should know?"
  
  
  He blinked at it for a few seconds. "Yeah. I have to introduce her to the account."
  
  
  "For whom?"
  
  
  "Yes, the guy in the car." He turned his back and stepped out onto the sidewalk. We followed him.
  
  
  A black Mercedes 300-series was waiting at the curb. As we approached it, I saw a Chinese man sitting in the front passenger seat. He watched us arrive, his face expressionless.
  
  
  Quickly, Willie stopped us by taking my hand. "I have to search you," he said.
  
  
  I raised my hands and let him stroke my chest. He stepped inside a light sports jacket and pulled out Wilhelmina. Then he patted my sides and legs. Very few seekers have ever discovered Pierre or Hugo.
  
  
  Then he turned to Tanya, and for the first time since we'd met, his small, dull eyes glittered. "I have to search it too."
  
  
  "I don't think so," I said softly.
  
  
  Willie's small eyes drilled a candid hole in my head. Even the Chinese man bent down enough to see. There was silence.
  
  
  Mimmo drove a blood-red Fiat without a muffler. Then another. Then there were three Lambrettes, their engines making the constant noise of a two-stroke engine. Narrow streets wound in all directions. Thin trickles of heat rose from the banner and sidewalks in the bright sun. There was a harbor three blocks behind us, but even here I could smell the sea.
  
  
  "I have to search her," Willie said. "I've received my orders
  
  
  The Chinese man was watching me intently. He was immaculately dressed in a tailored suit, with light brown skin around his sharkskin. His shirt was white, and he wore a brown and yellow striped tie. Ego's face had a curious expression of amusement. His eyes were, of course, slanted, his cheekbones high, his face smooth. He let out a confident look, as if he had a few problems that he couldn't handle and handled well. He looked like the type of person who takes responsibility and deserves a kind of terrifying respect from others. There was ruthlessness in that, too. Sitting there with that surprised look on his face, he refuted the media reports about a sunbathing rattlesnake. I had no doubt that Hema was the man.
  
  
  "You can't search her, Willie," I said.
  
  
  Maybe he ruined everything for her. By refusing to give Tanya a search, he may have created unnecessary problems. I guess Nicoli had every right to let his torpedo clear all the weapons before we got to the villa. But Tanya let me off the hook.
  
  
  She touched my arm lightly. "It's going to be all right, dear," she said. "I don't mind."
  
  
  "I don't want you to be groped by that villain za."
  
  
  "He won't be looking long." She took two steps forward and almost bumped into Willie. Lifting her hands slightly, she looked up into Willie's battered face. "Okay, big boy, search me," she said from the corner of her rta.
  
  
  He did. He tapped everywhere, and although the search was quick and didn't turn up anything, Quick Willie seemed to like it.
  
  
  "All right," he said at last. He opened the back door of the Mercedes for us. "You still haven't told me her name."
  
  
  Emu smiled at her. "Actually, Willie. I didn't know her for sure."
  
  
  We sat in the backseat and winced when Willie slammed the door. When he got behind the wheel, the Chinese man turned around in his seat to face us. Ego ruka rested on the back of the seat. Nen was wearing a gold watch and a very large ruby ring on her little finger. He smiled at us, revealing perfect teeth that glittered white.
  
  
  Then he held out his right hand to me. "Mr. Akasano, my name is Tai-Sheng. I've heard a lot about you."
  
  
  He took her hand. The government was strong. "And her name is you, Mr. Sheng. This is Sandy Cuthron."
  
  
  "Yes, I understand her. Nice to meet you, Miss Catron."
  
  
  We were all very good friends now. Willie quickly made the Mercedes purr, and we slid smoothly into the traffic of the Fiat and Lambretta.
  
  
  Shan nodded to Sandy, and she gestured back, and as we rolled along, he gave me a big smile.
  
  
  "Can I call her Thomas?" "What is it?" he asked now.
  
  
  "Of course, please."
  
  
  The smile widened. "You, of course, they brought the list."
  
  
  "Of course."
  
  
  He held out his hand. "Rosano sent me to pick it up.
  
  
  Her emu smiled at rheumatism, then leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "Mr. Sheng, he's no fool," I said, keeping my voice even but firm. "I do not know what your relationship with Rosano is, but we broke up more than ten years ago. We know each other well. Ego's instructions were clear; hers had to be delivered to Emu personally. You insult me by requesting a list. By doing so, you think I'm stupid, and Mr. Sheng, I'm not stupid."
  
  
  In a voice as soft as the head of olive oil, he said, " I assure you, sir, I didn't mean that you were... stupid. It's just..."
  
  
  "I am well aware of your intentions, Mr. Sheng. You want to look bigger in Rosano's eyes to get special personal favors. Well, let me tell you, Rosano and I are on our way back. We are very close. You and her can fight for the ego right hand, but sir, when it comes to ego friendship, you stay in the shadows."
  
  
  He thought about it for a few seconds. "I was kind of hoping that we could be friends."
  
  
  Her, I could feel the anger boiling inside me. He knew what kind of person he was and what he wanted. "For a long time, Shen, you've been trying to discredit me in Rosano's eyes. And now you're insulting my mind by asking for a list. You and I can't be friends. We compete against each other, and only one around us will win."
  
  
  He raised his eyebrows. "Just what are we competing for?"
  
  
  "Territory. Organizations in the United States are in chaos. We need a leader, and that leader will be Rosano. We're competing for a place next to him, for a big piece of the pie."
  
  
  Stahl's ego voice is more intimate. "I'm not competing with you, Thomas. I have other plans..."
  
  
  "I don't believe you." With that, her father leaned back in his seat. "But it's all academic," I said. "Rosano is going to be upset about you, because you put me and my woman through a search."
  
  
  "We were ordered to."
  
  
  "Let's see. Give a list
  
  
  Rosano, and no one else."
  
  
  He pursed his lips and stared at me. I think at that moment, if the circumstances had worked out, he would have gladly killed me. Then he turned his back on us and looked out the windshield.
  
  
  Quickly, Willie drove the Mercedes out of the Palermo buildings. Now we passed sun-bleached shacks where dark-skinned children played in muddy courtyards. Some of the shacks were surrounded by faded wooden fences. The children were dressed in ragged clothes as dirty as themselves. From time to time I saw her, an elderly woman who was busy sweeping the dirt floor of the hut, pausing to run her hand over her sweaty forehead.
  
  
  I felt a whiff of cool air sampling as Quick Willie turned on the Mercedes ' air conditioning.
  
  
  And there were vineyards everywhere. The entire area of the hotel was flat, and neat rows of vines seemed to stretch over every hill.
  
  
  Tanya's hand slid across the seat, finding mine. He picked it up and found her palm warm and moist. We've crossed the line. Until then, we could get on a plane and fly back to the States. If something happened unexpectedly, Hawk could contact us and either postpone or cancel the mission. It would have been all over for us. But now we've passed the point of no return. Ah, and Hawke was out. Whether we survive or not depends entirely on our abilities.
  
  
  The road slowly ascended along S-shaped curves that became rigid and turned into reverse curves. Fast Willie drove slowly and expertly. Her wondered how many times he drove the mobster to ih strikes. Our ears began to crack as we climbed into the cloudless sky.
  
  
  At the top of a high hill, we approached the first armed guard. He was standing at a gate with iron bars. A high concrete fence ran off in both directions.
  
  
  In addition to the pistol, the man had a submachine gun slung over his shoulder. As the Mercedes rounded the last signpost and drove slowly toward the gate, he leaned down enough to see us all, and at the same time pulled out a submachine gun at the ready.
  
  
  Willy honked his horn quickly and began to slow down. The guard pushed open the gate and pushed ih. He smiled and waved as we drove into the villa. Her, noticed that nen was wearing brown jumpsuits.
  
  
  After passing through the gate, we were surrounded by rich green lawns with olive trees scattered here and there, and beyond them were even more vineyards. The mansion was just ahead.
  
  
  As far as he could see, it looked as if the top of the hill had been shaved. The villa covered an area of almost a quarter of a mile. As we drove in a large semicircle on the oil-smooth asphalt road, we passed a landing pad with a Lear jet tethered to it. There were many buildings around the mansion. Walking around the mansion, we passed three tennis courts, a nine-hole golf course, and a huge swimming pool dotted with six beauties in short bikinis. Then we walked around the front of the main house.
  
  
  Each window was covered with wire mesh. There were grills above each entrance that were probably ready to close all the openings at the push of a button. There were seven white pillars in front of the long brick porch. The driveway skirted the mansion. Quick Willie pulled up in front of one of the pillars. Four brick steps led up from the driveway to the porch.
  
  
  The mansion itself was no less impressive. It was a three-story building built around red brick with a tiled roof. The windows were gabled and shuttered, and each one somehow overlooked the deep blue Mediterranean Sea.
  
  
  Willie quickly got out of the car and walked around in front of the Mercedes. He opened the Tai-Sheng door first, then ours.
  
  
  Sheng started up the steps, reaching for the massive front door. "This way, please, Mr. Akasano." There was no warmth in the oily smoothness of the ego voice, the words were harsh and clipped at the ends.
  
  
  He took Tanya by the elbow and followed him. The mansion looked familiar, like he'd seen her somewhere before. No, that's not the point; I've only seen her and others like her in New Orleans. Old plantation mansions of the Deep South. It must have cost Nicoli a fortune to move all those bricks and pillars here.
  
  
  Shan rang the bell, and almost immediately a huge black man opened the door.
  
  
  "Michaels," Shan said. "Is Mr. Nicoli available?"
  
  
  The Negro was wearing a yellow turtleneck and gray slacks. The target's ego was shaved bald. "He's talking to his wife, sir."
  
  
  We stepped into a marble floor that was polished to a shine brighter than my ballet slippers. A large chandelier hung about twelve feet above us. It was like a foyer. Through the arched doorway, she could see the marble floor leading to what looked like a hall.
  
  
  Opposite was a carpeted staircase.
  
  
  "I'll show you to your room," Sheng said. He headed for the stairs. Tanya and I followed, and Quick Willie brought up the rear.
  
  
  "She'd like to see Rosano as soon as possible," I said as we climbed.
  
  
  "But of course," Shan said. There were no feelings in the ego's words.
  
  
  When we got to the playground, he went straight ahead. There was a carpeted hallway with doors lined up on either side. What I couldn't overcome was the sheer massiveness of the place. All the ceilings seemed to be at least twelve feet high, and the walls looked as thick as safes. There were an infinite number of rooms.
  
  
  We kept walking. Then, for no apparent reason, Sheng stopped in front of one of the doors. He pulled out a bunch of keys around his pocket and clicked the door open.
  
  
  "Your room, Mr. Akasano," he said firmly.
  
  
  "What about my woman?"
  
  
  He stood there, staring sleepily at my chest. I didn't realize how small it was. The top of my ego head was about two inches below my chin.
  
  
  "We have another room for nah."
  
  
  "I don't like it," I said angrily. "I don't like the hell out of it."
  
  
  Only then did ego's slanted eyes lift to my face. "Mr. Akasano," he said in a tired voice. "I'm just fulfilling Rosano's wish. Please wait inside."
  
  
  Ego's hand pointed to the room. I had an unpleasant feeling at the bottom of life. "That's an order she needs to hear personally from Rosano."
  
  
  He smiled, showing me those perfect teeth. "Order?" he said, raising his eyebrows. "That's not an order, Thomas. Rosano only wants you to take a break from the trip and think about your reunion with him. There's a time for women, isn't there? And time for quiet reflection."
  
  
  "I'll tell you what you can do with your contemplation."
  
  
  "Please." He held up his hand. "She'll be in a room similar to yours. Hey, this will be quite convenient."
  
  
  Tanya took my hand. "It's going to be all right, honey." Then she glanced sideways at Shen. "I'm sure Mr. Sheng is a man of his word. If he says I'll be comfortable, then I'll be right."
  
  
  He sighed. Good. Come here and give me a kiss, baby." She did it, and we did it well for the view, and then I patted her on the back. "Behave yourself."
  
  
  "Always, dear."
  
  
  Everyone was smiling. Her, entered the room. The door slammed shut behind me. And it was locked.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The eighth chapter.
  
  
  
  
  
  Hitting the door was useless. It's like hitting a brick wall. I turned my back on him and looked around the room. There was a comfortable bed, a commodus, a chair with two chairs, and the moans were Grand Canyon scenery. Two windows faced the Mediterranean Sea.
  
  
  She could see the bleached city of Palermo farther down the hill, and the sailboats moving silently back and forth across the harbor. There were vineyards, olive trees, and a high wall. But the closest thing to me was the wire mesh over the window.
  
  
  In addition to the massive main door, there was a smaller door leading to the bathroom.
  
  
  He paced back and forth. They had Wilhelmina, but I still had my little gas bomb and my stiletto. I'd wait for her if they wanted me to, but Stahl didn't wait long. I couldn't believe that Rosano Nicoli had actually left instructions for his old friend Acasano to be locked up. It was more like Shen's idea.
  
  
  I had no other way out but through that door. So, until they opened the ego, all I could do was wait. He walked over to the bed and stretched.
  
  
  Many thoughts raced through my head. There was an information leak. Somehow, Nicoli realized my true identity. Maybe the real Akasano somehow told death about his death later. Perhaps he left an envelope with instructions: "Open it only if I don't drink my usual cup of coffee in a certain place every morning." The open letter will then explain that he was dead and Agent AX was the last person to follow him.
  
  
  Or maybe it has something to do with that Oriental photographer who took my picture in the hotel lobby. The image was clear. Nicoli suspects that Ego old Akasano was killed by government agents. For some reason, agents want to infiltrate the ego organization. They send one of their operatives around under the guise of Akasano. But Nicoli isn't sure. Maybe Acasano wasn't really dead. There is one way to make sure. Ask one of the kitchen staff to take a picture of Akasano as he enters the hotel lobby. Compare the picture with the old real Akasano and see if there are any differences.
  
  
  The camouflage can be as close to perfect as possible. But no amount of disguise can ever compare to a real test. On closer inspection, the camouflage is lost every time. And perhaps that's what was happening openly now. Nicoli was comparing my picture in the lobby with the real Akasano's from ten years ago. How much will a man change in ten years? Not enough.
  
  
  All this, of course, was pure speculation on my part. Thinking consumed part of the day. If what I thought was true, then I needed to get out of there. And I needed to find Tanya. There was no way to know what room they had put her in. I can search this old place over the course of Sundays and still not find half the hiding places.
  
  
  I had one way out. It was reckless and might kill me, but it was a way out.
  
  
  Fire.
  
  
  If I light up a piece of sheet by the window and start screaming, the noise and smoke might make someone open that door. Hugo and I will be waiting. It was the only way.
  
  
  Of course, the entire room can be soundproof, in which case I burn to death or my lungs fill with smoke. To top it all off, he lit one around his gold-tipped cigarettes.
  
  
  I lit it and looked at the shed with me forever. I need to get wet first. A shower in the bathroom will take care of this. Then, I lay on the floor, covering my face with a damp cloth, the smoke didn't bother me for a while.
  
  
  Rolling to the edge of the bed, her legs had just swung over the side when she heard the click of the lock in the day. I shrugged, and Hugo fell into my hand. I was walking out of this room, and I didn't care who I had to go through to do it. The door lock clicked and the door swung open. Its got up.
  
  
  Michaels, the Negro, opened the door. He was pushing a cart. When the cart was next to me, he took the lid off the dish. It looked thick and delicious. There were also baked potatoes and string beans. Next to the main course was a side dish, a salad, and a small bottle of chablis.
  
  
  Michaels was smiling. "Mr. Nicoli thought you might be hungry, sir."
  
  
  He didn't realize it, but he understood. "Is he still talking to his wife?" I asked her.
  
  
  Chablis was in an ice bucket. Michaels was sticking a corkscrew into the top of the bottle. He pulled out the cork with a light pop and poured some white wine into the glass. He handed me the glass. "Does that meet with your approval, sir?"
  
  
  I took a sip of my wine and let the emu wrap around my tongue. It tasted very mild.
  
  
  "Mr. Nicoli apologizes for locking the door, sir," Michaels said. "It was necessary that you didn't know where the girl was being held. The door will be open from now on, sir."
  
  
  Her brow furrowed. "Withheld? Why is Miss Catron being held?"
  
  
  Michaels continued to smile. He bowed, backing out of the door. "Mr. Nicoli will explain everything."
  
  
  "What is p / when?"
  
  
  "Soon, sir." He turned and left. Not only did he not lock the door, but he also left it open.
  
  
  Eda was cooling down, so it wasn't working. It was nice to know that I didn't have to burn this place down. Her voice was angry, partly because I didn't know what to expect, and partly because I didn't like the way I was being treated.
  
  
  When we encounter an obstacle that we know there is no hope of winning, we feel very real fear. But the unexpected creates a fear that stands on its own. It's an excruciating, deep-seated panic that takes a toll on your gut.
  
  
  He was so tense that he couldn't eat more than two or three bites. Why did they hide Tanya? Are you trying to put something on me? Maybe they tortured her to tell them who I really was.
  
  
  Hugo was back in his scabbard. He pushed her roughly away from the cart and went out through the rooms. It wasn't hard to find the stairs leading down. But before leaving the landing, he looked around the corridors. I didn't know what I expected to find. Tanya, my name is?
  
  
  It would be easier if the entire mansion could see her. Then it will be easier to decide where best to put the girl.
  
  
  He took her down the carpeted stairs, two at a time. When he reached the bottom step, Michaels was emptying the ashtrays. The ashtrays looked like movie theaters. He nodded at me and smiled as mimmo passed.
  
  
  "Enjoy your dinner, Mr. Akasano?"he asked.
  
  
  "A little."Her, went into the office and looked around.
  
  
  It was a men's room; books lined every wall. There were lots of dark wood and black leather chairs. There was a huge oak chair in the center of the room. The other door led to
  
  
  to the side.
  
  
  Her and entered another corridor with walls around a dark tree and continued on to another room. This led to a huge kitchen. What surprised me was the smoke in the air, a cigar, a cigarette, and a pipe. The kitchen itself was an island affair; the sink, stove, oven, and work chair were arranged in an oblong shape in the middle of the floor. There was another door, which now must have been the service porch. Voice where they were.
  
  
  Five men are sitting at a card table playing poker. When he entered, they looked up, nodded hello, and went back to their work. The smoke was much stronger here. They all looked like mobsters. They had mangled ears, twisted and blotched faces, and broken noses. Their doublets were off, and they made no attempt to hide the shoulder holsters that hung under their left arms.
  
  
  "Do you want to sit out a few games?" one around them asked.
  
  
  Hers, he shook his head. "No, thank you. I think I'll just watch it for a bit, if it's okay."
  
  
  "Of course." The man was handing out cards. "Jacks or better," he said to those around him. Then he looked at me. "You're an old pal of Rosano's, really?"
  
  
  He lit one around his cigarettes. We'll go back a long way."
  
  
  "I'll open it," the other man said. When he threw two reds, there was a clink of plastic chips.
  
  
  "For me," said the one next to him. "Too much for me," the next man said. He walked until he reached the dealer.
  
  
  He threw two red chips into the pot. "Raise you our kopecks. Maps".
  
  
  When he dealt the cards, he gave himself two cards.
  
  
  "Saving the kicker?" The opener asked.
  
  
  "You'll have to find out, Louis."
  
  
  Louis tossed two red chips. "We're a cop."
  
  
  "Another dime," the merchant said. Then he looked at me while Louis looked at his cards and thought. "So, has Rosano changed a lot over the years?"
  
  
  "I don't know," I said. "His ego hasn't seen it yet. He was talking to his wife with them ferrets as he arrived."
  
  
  The man nodded in understanding. "Another battle. This can go on for hours. I keep telling her emu:"Rosano, I keep repeating it." What you need to do is cheer up some nice young woman, then it will be easier for you to take this wife of yours. . But he listens to me? No. The only person he listens to is this damn thing. It's not like the old days, is it? "
  
  
  "That's definitely not true," I said. "A person used to have a little respect for their friends."
  
  
  "Yes, supposedly."
  
  
  "I'm calling," Louis said, tossing two red chips. "Let's see what you're so damn proud of, Al."
  
  
  Al smiled and turned his cards face up in front of Louis ' nose. "You sent the telegram from the beginning, Louis. Three bullets."
  
  
  "Lousy jacks and tens," Louis said disgustedly. He dropped his cards while Al raked in the pot.
  
  
  I said to her, " So why isn't Fast Willie with you guys?"
  
  
  Al shook his head. "This hook makes Willie jump. Poor Willie doesn't like it, but what can he do? Rosano says:"Do what Tai-Sheng tells you, or go back to the States and fry yourself for this murder, rape thing. Willie's hands are tied. . "
  
  
  "I think you've heard about it," I said. "A schoolteacher, isn't she? He kept her on the boat for three days."
  
  
  Al nodded. "He didn't do much to her either. Also young, maybe twenty-two or... three. He hit her so hard that he was scared. So I think he decided the only way was to knock her down. turn it off completely ."
  
  
  I used one of the ih ashtrays to put out my cigarette. "How did he get a name like Fast Willie?"
  
  
  Al looked at me sharply. "Don't underestimate Willie, other. He may not be a psychic giant, but he's very fast. He gets the name Fast because he's very, very quick to pick up a gun and fire those first three shots. "
  
  
  Her father stood with his hands behind his back while the man next to Al sorted things out.
  
  
  "Same game," he said. "Jacks or better."
  
  
  There was a netting on the back patio. The poker chair came around her and left. The swimming pool was about fifty yards in front of me. Obviously, the girls had gone inside.
  
  
  Manicured lawns flowed under olive trees in all directions around the pool area. Far to my left were the tennis courts, and the vineyards were an oasis of trees, grass, and buildings.
  
  
  Her exited through the mansion, passed mimmo by the pool, and walked down the first row of vineyards. The vines were cleared of grapes. The entire area of the hotel, and between them was as soft as powder. After walking about twenty feet in a row, he looked back at the mansion.
  
  
  It stood grandly, like an old Virginia plantation house. Anyone who has just been delivered there will not believe that it
  
  
  Not in America. But something was wrong.
  
  
  This was the first time she had actually looked at the entire side of the house. The house was lopsided. On the left side of the room, there were no windows. Three floors, the windows are evenly spaced, except for a wide strip at the end. It wasn't that wide, maybe big enough to accommodate a lift shaft. But, allegedly, it is not as big as alone at home.
  
  
  He led her through the rows of vines, heading for the left corner of the house. If you enter the mansion from the front, it will be the right side. When the party appeared, it froze. There are no windows. There wasn't a single window on the entire right side of the house.
  
  
  They tried to hide it so that nearby olive trees and honeysuckle vines grew in the house itself. But the wall was empty - no windows, no doors, nothing.
  
  
  Rosano Dvora had a part of this house, unlike the rest of it. Was it a secret section? This is where they had Tanya? With his head bowed in thought, he headed back to the pool. I almost didn't notice her as Fast Willie approached me.
  
  
  He hobbled along, his long arms swinging like water hoses. Vote only on the size of these hands were licks to the fire hoses coming out over the hydrants. Ego's face had a frown on it as he squinted against the sun.
  
  
  I waited for her, relaxing my arms. I didn't know what he wanted. Maybe he was angry because I went out through the rooms.
  
  
  Before he was five feet away, I could hear him panting. He raised a friendly hand. "Mr. Akasano," he said, panting.
  
  
  "Keep moving like this, Willie, and you'll get a coronary."
  
  
  "Heh, heh, heh. Yes, this is a good case. Ischemic disease. Yeah. It's a heart attack, huh?"
  
  
  "Yes, Willie."
  
  
  He was standing in front of me, looking openly at the vineyards. He wiped his face and earlobe with a handkerchief. There was a concentrated expression on his scarred and disfigured face.
  
  
  "I have something to tell you," he said.
  
  
  "What, Willie?"
  
  
  He stared out at the vineyards, blinking and frowning. Ego wheezing and shortness of breath were nasal. It must have been very difficult for him to breathe.
  
  
  Then ego's face suddenly cleared. “yeah. Rosano says I will follow you. He's ready to see you now."
  
  
  I nodded, and we walked back to the mansion. "What about my baba, Willy? Will she be there?"
  
  
  If he heard me, he didn't notice. He just kept moving forward. At the moment, ego couldn't be confused with the complexities that my questions presented, as he focused on just one thing - getting to his mansion. As he stumbled, he could almost hear him thinking. Right foot, then left, then right. It's not far now. Where will the opening day go next?
  
  
  The door opened and I followed. Although the smoke still hung in the air, all the poker players had left. Judging from the cards and chips on the table, they must have left in a hurry.
  
  
  Willie walked on. Through the kitchen and down the short hallway that led to the study. When he reached the stairs, he paused to catch his breath. Then we climbed them one at a time. There was no sign of Michaels.
  
  
  At the landing, he turned left instead of heading straight for the room he was in. We passed a few more doors that looked as thick as the one that normally covered the room I was in. And then we came to a muffled groan. It was papered over and looked like a thread in any room. Willie stopped walking.
  
  
  "What is it?" I asked, frowning.
  
  
  He turned slowly, his stupid eyes searching the floor. "So that the button is here somewhere." Then the scowl disappeared, and the ego-ugly face lit up again. "Yeah," he said softly. It was a discovery that he shared only with himself.
  
  
  Ego's big toe touched a small square piece of baseboard, and suddenly there was a buzzing sound. The wall began to move. It slowly slid to the side, and when it opened, another corridor opened on the other side with double doors at the end.
  
  
  This hall was well lit. I followed Willie to the double doors, hearing the muffled sounds of voices as we approached them. Willie opened one, blowing out more smoke, then stepped aside to let me in.
  
  
  There can be no doubt about where he was. Windowless part of the house. I saw a group of people playing poker downstairs. They were standing in a group, each with a drink in hand. Then Rosano Nicoli saw her.
  
  
  He had his back to me, but I'd already watched enough ego movies to recognize an ego at a glance. Michaels had just made Em a drink and handed it to em.
  
  
  He turned and saw me. Her face was a lot older than in the movies she'd seen, but the years had been kind to him. He wore a perfect suit
  
  
  stylish suit for expensive materials. The Yard owner was stocky, with short, stubby legs and a broad belly. He was almost completely bald, except for the gray hairs on each ear. Ego's face was round, like a melon, and roughly the same skin texture. Milky gray eyes peered at me through rimless bifocals; the nose was small and pert, the mouth straight, just above the ego of a double chin.
  
  
  This was the man who took over organized crime in the US. He moved toward me, arms outstretched, and I'm standing about five feet nine, a smile showing gold fillings.
  
  
  "Tommy!" he shouted. "Tommy, you old son of a bitch!"
  
  
  Her mouth twisted into the smile he'd seen in pictures of Acasano's clothes. Then we threw ourselves at each other, hugging each other, slapping each other on the back, and grunting.
  
  
  Nicoli patted my flat stomach. "How do you do it, eh? Look at you, tailor take it, you're fifty-seven years old, just like me. And look at you. A full set of hair, and look at this damned life!"
  
  
  Smiling, I patted her ego on the pot. "Life is good for you, Rosano, eh?"
  
  
  He had tears in his eyes, this little man who looked like the head of a bank's credit department. Ego's arm went around my shoulder, and ego's garlic breath came close to my ear. "You know, it's good to have an ally here. Tommy? A person takes my place, he doesn't know who to trust anymore," the ego voice whispered.
  
  
  "You don't change, Rosano," I said. "Always suspicious."
  
  
  He raised his index finger to me. "I have a reason. Believe me, Tommy, I have a reason. Hey! But what is it? A wake? An ego hand slapped me on the back. "Hey guys! he shouted to the other men. "I want you to meet my best damn buddy in the world!" Michaels, take the tailor, Tommy's hands are empty. "
  
  
  "Take care of it openly now, sir," Michaels said with a smile. He looked at me. "Mr. Nicoli says you take his son openly by water trap. Really?"
  
  
  He nodded, remembering that Akasano liked it.
  
  
  "Tommy," Nicoli said as he walked me to the group, " this is Al, Louie, Rick Wint, Trigger Jones, and Martino Gaddillo, the best damn person in this mail business is."
  
  
  He probably knew that one man with a stick was dealing explosives, mostly dynamite and nitrile, for the bank or federal agents ' reports.
  
  
  Quick Willie came up behind us. "Hey, boss," he said in a nasal voice. "I didn't search him when he came in."
  
  
  Nicoli put his hand up to Willy's face. "What's wrong with you, stupid? Do you have a gun? Give it to me! Go, go! Give me that." Search the ego? He's a friend of mine. We're going back to the time when you got your face smashed in during a showdown. "When he had Wilhelmina, he gave me a Luger. He patted me on the back again as Michaels shoved a glass of water into my hand.
  
  
  "Thank you," her Dvora said. Returning the luger to its holster, he took a sip, then rinsed his mouth with water.
  
  
  Nicoli grinned. "Good stuff, huh? All right?"
  
  
  "Great."
  
  
  "Nothing but the best for my friend, really?"
  
  
  We all smiled at each other. The room wasn't much different from the other rooms in the house, but it was probably the largest. Living room furniture was scattered around, and along one wall were what looked like electronic equipment.
  
  
  Nicoli led me to a comfortable-looking couch. "Let's go," he said. "Let's sit and talk where others can't hear every word."
  
  
  Candid there was a television set opposite where we were sitting. He noticed that Tai-Sheng wasn't in the room.
  
  
  "Rosano," I said, looking around. "Such security. And so strong, it's amazing. The ant can't get through."
  
  
  He smiled modestly. "Grills and wire mesh are nothing." Leaning in to lick me, he lowered his voice. "Tell me, Tommy, am I making a mistake? Should I transfer the management of the organization to someone else?"
  
  
  It was a stupid spin, and he knew it. If I had said yes, he would have suspected me. And she didn't want that.
  
  
  "Who else can do this, Rosano? Nobody. Only you have the leadership skills to take over now."
  
  
  He sighed. "But there are so many people against me. I don't know who my friends are anymore. Just last week, someone tried to shoot me, one of my employees. The sides line up, my old one still. And it's time to count our noses . "
  
  
  "You know where I stand."
  
  
  He patted my knee. "Yes, Tommy. I know her." The TV in front of us was empty. "Did you take care of this agent?" "What is it?" he asked suddenly.
  
  
  "An agent?" Then I realized that he was referring to the AX agent who was tracking the real Akasano. “yeah. Some concrete, wire, and Atlantic. O nen is well taken care of."
  
  
  "Where did you catch the ego?"
  
  
  "In my house. Somehow, he broke in and stole the telegrams that you and I were sending.
  
  
  sent "
  
  
  Ego's eyebrows arched. "Just telegrams, nothing else?"
  
  
  "What else..." - I caught her looking at me. "My friend, Rosano, I'm not stupid enough to keep a list of places where a government agent might find an ego."
  
  
  He smiled. "Of course not. But, Tommy, you must be careful. There are enemies very close to you."
  
  
  Her brow furrowed. Akasano might have known what he meant, but he didn't know her.
  
  
  Then he nodded his beaming face forward. "See this TV? This is a video surveillance unit. In every room of the house, a camera is secretly installed. He held up a small control box. "With this remote control, I can see any room I want."
  
  
  "As I said earlier, Rosano, my friend, your safety would be the envy of every man in the States."
  
  
  "Do you know which government agency the person following you worked for?"
  
  
  He voices again, another corkscrew with a trick surprise. Was Nicoli testing me? If so, why? He found himself sweating.
  
  
  "I said no. "He doesn't know her."
  
  
  Nicoli walked over to the couch. "Didn't you search the ego afterwards?"
  
  
  “yeah... of course, but with nen there was nothing, we didn't have any documents, our identity cards."
  
  
  "Hmm." He leaned back again, looking thoughtful: "Of course, he wouldn't bring anything to your house.
  
  
  "Why all these questions? Rosano? Do you suspect me?"
  
  
  "Ha!" he shouted, slapping me on the back. "What's the matter with you, my old friend, eh? Do you have a conscience?"
  
  
  He smiled faintly and noticed that while the other men were still talking, at least one around them was watching us all the time.
  
  
  "My conscience is clear. I was loyal to you, Rosano."
  
  
  He hugged me. And when he looked at me, there were tears in his eyes again. "My old friend, I know her. You and I have gone too far to betray you, haven't we? But I feel so sorry for you."
  
  
  "Sorry?" I asked, frowning. "But why?"
  
  
  "Watch." He picked up the control box from the chairs ' stand next to the sofa and pressed a button.
  
  
  My eyes were glued to the TV as it started to glow. Squiggly lines flashed on the screen, then an image appeared.
  
  
  There was a room. There was no furniture except for one straight-backed chair. The girl was sitting in a chair with her head tilted so that I couldn't see her face. As he started to speak, Tai-Sheng appeared on the screen.
  
  
  It has lost some of its luster. Even in black and white, her flower could see that he was sweating. Wearing a long-sleeved shirt with the collar open and a few strands of hair hanging down over his earlobe, he approached the girl.
  
  
  Nicoli sat quietly beside me. If he was breathing, he wasn't aware of it. Tai-Sheng grabbed the girl's hair and lifted her head so that we could see her face.
  
  
  It was Tanya. Her face was bruised and bleeding. He stared at her in disbelief. As we watched, Tai-Sheng slapped Tanya across the face. Then, he clenched his fist and slapped her hard on the cheek. With a click, the screen went blank.
  
  
  He turned to Nicola. "You must have a damn good reason for that," I hissed. "That's my grandma being spanked by hooke."
  
  
  He raised his hands, palms facing me. "Please, my other one. I can understand your shock. Imagine how shocked we were when we found out."
  
  
  "Knows what? What the hell are you talking about, tailor?" My guts were burning with rage. Her hotel is to rip the little bastard apart; have emu surgery on the open to fold a dollar or tear off a foot.
  
  
  But he sat there and smiled sympathetically at me! Then he nodded. "I can see that she deceived you, Tommy, and everyone else."
  
  
  Everything was going too fast for me. Her, trying to figure out where we went wrong. I must have frowned in embarrassment.
  
  
  "Tommy, have you ever heard of a government organization called AX?"
  
  
  Somewhere in my head, a part of me caught my attention. It was easy for me to panic. Instead, that part of me took two steps back and looked at everything objectively through my eyes.
  
  
  Tanya was tortured. Not because she knew George for me. After all, Rosano felt sorry for me. He said I'd been tricked, too. So they don't know about me, but about Tanya. And Nicoli wanted to know if he'd ever heard of her.
  
  
  He shrugged, then said cautiously,"Maybe you could read about it in the paper or something on TV."
  
  
  Nicoli seemed pleased that I didn't know much about the organization. He leaned toward me, his eyes shining behind his bifocals. "Tommy,
  
  
  my good friend, it's like the FBI or the CIA. This AX is a government agency that wants to crush us."
  
  
  "That's impossible."
  
  
  "For you and me, good friend, it really seems impossible. This thing of ours, this Gordeev Goat, is too big and powerful to crush. But the government still keeps trying, huh?"
  
  
  "So what does my woman have to do with it?"
  
  
  The gold fillings glittered. "Your woman isn't the Sandy Cuthron she pretends to be. In fact, she's an AX undercover agent sent here to Palermo to kill me! "
  
  
  My mouth dropped open. "I can't believe this," he whispered hurriedly to her.
  
  
  "Sheng hasn't been able to find out her real identity yet, but he has ways. It will take time."
  
  
  She ran the back of her hand over her lips, then adjusted the crease of her trousers. He was watching me closely, and I knew it. To show anything other than shock, he would say something. Hers, I made sure my hand was shaking as I lit one of my cigarettes.
  
  
  "Rosano," I said calmly. "I'm not one for jumping to conclusions. I've known Sandy for a while, maybe not as long as I've known you, but long enough. To hear something like this about her is a deep shock. As much as you admire her, my other, I can't accept it without some proof ."
  
  
  He put a hand on my shoulder. "That makes sense, Tommy, that's why I've always admired you. Logically. Of course, you have to have proof, and she likes you. After all, what are friends for, eh? I'll open your eyes to it."
  
  
  "You may be wrong."
  
  
  "No," he said, shaking his head. Ego's hand was still on my shoulder. "Sheng has shown himself to be a good ally. Ego people are everywhere."
  
  
  "Sheng is a person to watch out for," he told her without any emotion. "He'll go far."
  
  
  Nicoli nodded. "Sometimes I think he goes too far. But it's useful, very useful. Listen carefully, Tommy. About a Sunday ago, there was a Chinese chef at one of the big casino restaurants in Lake Tahoe. This man reported seeing Sandy Cuthron come over the mountain cabin. He also saw three men. Since the cook was a good person working for Sheng, he decided to do a little background check. After asking around, he realized that these people were newbies. He already knew that Sandy Cutron was your woman, so he checked out the American headquarters of the Chinese Communists in San Francisco's Chinatown. To his surprise, he realized that Sandy was supposed to be with you in her New York apartment. If this is true, then who was the exact duplicate back on Lake Tahoe? "
  
  
  I smoked it and listened to it. The picture was becoming very clear to me.
  
  
  After patting me on the shoulder to emphasize each sentence, Nicoli continued. "This chef told me that in his staff of three people in the hut. Across San Francisco, a report came in that one of the men was in the hall at the archives in Beijing, as an agent of a government organization called AX. Since one person was an AX agent, it makes sense that the other two were as well. Why did they have a girlfriend who looked like Sandy Catron? When Sheng told me this, I probably thought that these AX agents had planted an impostor in New York and kidnapped the real Sandy Cuthron. And hers, I thought, so that an undercover agent could get a list from you, or somehow get information from you. These women can be very convincing, can't they, Tommy? "
  
  
  "Very much. So, at first you thought she was following me. What made you change your mind?"
  
  
  He shrugged. "The girl came with you to Palermo. This meant that it served a different purpose. And then it became so obvious that I cursed myself for being stupid. She was sent to kill me so that she wouldn't be taken over by the government in the States."
  
  
  He leaned to the left and stubbed out his cigarette in the ashtray. This number gave me a little time to figure out how I would react to all of this.
  
  
  "Right?" Nicoli said. "What does my old buddy Tommy Akasano think of all this?"
  
  
  He looked at her, his lips curled and his brow furrowed. "How did this cook, this stranger who had never met her, know that Sandy Cuthron was my woman?"
  
  
  Ego's face turned red. He blinked, took off his rimless glasses, and stahl wiped his ih with a clean handkerchief. Then he cleared his throat and looked at me intently.
  
  
  "Tommy, we've been friends for over a decade. We've seen a lot of changes in this thing of ours. We've seen young punks rise up and old masters fail. Changes are constant, even in the mail business appears. as stable as ours. I haven't seen you in ten years. Perhaps someone from another family won your loyalty."
  
  
  "Rosano!"
  
  
  He raised his hands and shook his head. "No, it's true. This can happen."
  
  
  "Not to us."
  
  
  Ego's hand returned to my shoulder.
  
  
  "I know it now. But how was I supposed to know you were with me across the ocean, huh?" "I'm one step away from the top. I can't afford to trust anyone. Every single person on my team has been surveyed and continuously tested for several months. Even you, my other one."
  
  
  He watched her as he leaned back and crossed his legs.
  
  
  "I'm sorry," he said, his voice almost whining. "But I felt that such measures were necessary."
  
  
  "I can understand that."
  
  
  "Of course, all information was filtered out and returned to me in strict confidentiality. He knew everything about you and Katron, the accident that broke both of the guy's legs, the apartment you gave him, how you spent most of your time there, everything. It's all in the San Francisco archives." He looked at me sympathetically. "You've been played like a sucker, Tommy."
  
  
  He leaned forward, slamming his fist into her open palm. This is an ambiguous little piece of trash! Sure. She always pretended to have headaches or apologized so she wouldn't go to bed with me. Then its supposed to be suspicious. "
  
  
  Nicoli smiled, as if he had just been convinced of something. "Tommy, she's being touched. You don't know how nice it is to hear you say that. If you were sleeping with a girl, she wouldn't be able to cheat on you. You need to know that she's different, that she's not Sandy Catron, and that would mean that you're in a special operation plotting with her. "
  
  
  "Impossible."
  
  
  “yeah. Impossible. I know her now. But to prove my loyalty to me, my friend, can I get it?"
  
  
  "Absolutely." Her belt unbuckled and ego pulled out enough to open the secret zipper inside. He watched me closely as he pulled out a folded piece of paper and handed it to em without hesitation. "I'll do more than that," I said. "The girl made a fool of me. She has to pay for it. No man will respect me, I know I was cheated on by my grandmother. She needs to be beaten, and beaten hard. And, Rosano, I feel like I'm the only one who has that right."
  
  
  Nicoli carefully unfolded the piece of paper. Holding the ego under his nose, he peered at it through the lower half of his bifocals.
  
  
  As a matter of fact, without taking his eyes off the list, he said, "No, Tommy, that won't be necessary. I have other plans for you. Tai-Sheng will take care of the girl."
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The ninth chapter.
  
  
  
  
  
  My mind raced as Nicoli continued to read the list. I couldn't let Shen kill Tanya, but I didn't even know where she was. Nicoli hid the box next to him so that it couldn't be seen by which room button he was pressing. However, somehow it had to stop them from killing her. The TV was turned off. As far as I know, Sheng might have killed her already.
  
  
  Nicoli cleared his throat and carefully folded the paper again. "Yes, that's exactly what I expected." He smiled at me. "You did a good job, Tommy." Then he sighed, leaned back, and waved to the other men in the room. "You can go now."
  
  
  They nodded in unison, immediately lowered their heads, and followed Michaels to the door. Michaels left with them.
  
  
  "This will work for us, Tommy. I've been waiting for her for a long time to come home. Now its ready. You will soon become a very rich man, my friend."
  
  
  "Her and now a rich man."
  
  
  "Ha! Chicken feed. What do you earn, huh? Eighty, a hundred thousand a year?"
  
  
  "One hundred and thirty thousand. This includes my interest in usury and racketeering."
  
  
  He leaned forward, his ego-gray eyes dancing with excitement. "Dude, I'm talking to her about millions! How would you like to make one or two million a year, huh?"
  
  
  "That would be nice."
  
  
  "You think you can live on that, huh? With ninety-nine percent of that tax deductible? I'm going to open it wide." We are pushing Pankov away from importing heroin and cocaine. It will be ours. . Everything will work: prostitution, racketeering, jukeboxes and vending machines. And we will have more attraction in Washington. I have two senators and three congressmen willing to play ball for a fee. They will get into the right committees. Then, whenever the government tries to harass us, or some newly elected senator wants to make a name for himself by attacking organized crime, these steamboats will start a clean investigation, just like some of the boys did. when they harassed insurance companies. A couple of two-bit punks will be arrested, and that's it. Once again, freedom of action ."
  
  
  "You speak lightly, Rosano."
  
  
  He frowned. "What's up, Tommy? You don't have the enthusiasm. Still worried about that stupid woman? You'll have a hundred women.
  
  
  You'll get tired of choosing around them because they'll all be posh."
  
  
  He shook his head. "That's not the point, Rosano. It's that Sheng. I don't like him. It bothers me that he's with us. How do you know that you trust emus? He's a fucking communist, isn't he?"
  
  
  "Sheng Tai has helped me a lot," Rosano said with a smile. "It will be even more useful when we come to power."
  
  
  "It's possible. But there were rumors among the heads of families who support you. No one around them likes this Shen. We have never needed enemies of our country. Why now? Our form of government is what allows us to act. We wouldn't." We can't earn a cop in a communist country. So why him? Heads of families think that the eastern group is very strong in the States. They are well organized in every ghetto and Chinatown. Maybe with Sheng as their leader, they plan to take over the family's power and push you out in the cold. Remember, he was with you quite a long time ago. He knows a lot about how this thing works."
  
  
  "Fairy tales!" Rosano almost shouted. "What am I? A two-bit operator? I do not know men? Didn't you check out those who come to see me?"
  
  
  "I didn't say that. Everything I've been..."
  
  
  "Nonsense, Tommy. That's what you say. I work not for whispers, but for productivity. Sheng has already proven its worth."
  
  
  He leaned back and held it up to every tribe. There was one ace she hadn't played yet. "Rosano, we are good friends. I wasn't going to tell you that."
  
  
  "Tell me what? Is this about Tai Sheng?"
  
  
  He nodded to her. "That was when he came to the hotel to pick us up. As soon as hers came in, he told me to give em the list. He was very upset when he told em that no one would get it but you."
  
  
  He frowned and rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "It's weird. He knew you had to bring the list here to the villa. Why would he do that?" Nicoli got up and went to the small control panel. He pressed the button.
  
  
  Almost immediately, the door opened and Michaels came in. "Yes, sir?"
  
  
  "Tell Louis to bring Shen to me."
  
  
  Michaels bowed and left. Nicoli paced back and forth, checking his watch from time to time. He soon returned to the sofa.
  
  
  "Tommy," he said cheerfully. "Would you like to see what I was doing on this side of the pond?"
  
  
  "I would very much like this hotel."
  
  
  "Good! The plane will be ready soon, in fact, now the ego is being loaded. Another shipment is being sent to Istanbul."
  
  
  "A batch of what?"
  
  
  "Heroin."
  
  
  The door opened and Nicoli jumped to his feet. Sheng walked in with his perfect smile. He didn't look at me. I noticed that he had put on his coat, straightened his tie, and combed his hair. Our tiredness, our Tanya was not there.
  
  
  "Do you want to see me, Rosano?" he said in an oily voice.
  
  
  "Tommy told me you could get a list from him when you picked up Ego at the hotel."
  
  
  The smile faltered for a moment, but Sheng quickly corrected himself. "And you trust emus?"
  
  
  "Of course, Emu entrusted her. Why didn't emu trust her? Do you deny it?"
  
  
  The smile widened. "No, it's absolutely fantastic. The list did ask for her. It was intended to be delivered by Ego to you personally, Rosano. I don't trust this Akasano, I never trusted emu. It's hard to believe that he was completely clueless about the fact that the girl is an agent."
  
  
  "That's not the point. The girl has deceived many good people."
  
  
  "As you wish, Rosano. But I think this Akasano guy is turning families in the States against you, not for you."
  
  
  Nicoli took a step toward the Chinaman. "I might not be as smart as you, Sheng. But you'd better prove it, otherwise you'll pay for such an app on my mother's grave."
  
  
  The Sheng man's smile disappeared. "Rosano, I never say anything that I'm not ready to prove. I have a person in Istanbul who has information about Akasano. This math guy was ordered to test the ego. The photo was taken when Akasano entered the Corini Hotel in Palermo. it has been enlarged and studied very carefully. My man will compare the ego to the photos taken in Akasano ten years ago."
  
  
  Nicoli frowned. "What do you mean, Sheng? That Tommy isn't Tommy? That he's someone else?"
  
  
  "Exactly. An AX agent working with a girl."
  
  
  Rosano Nicoli let out a big "stream of deep laughter". He backed up to the couch, still laughing, and almost fell into a sitting position. He slapped me on the shoulder. "Do you hear that, Tommy? You're not you! "
  
  
  Sheng's face was tense with rage. "I'm not used to being laughed at, Rosano."
  
  
  "Forgive me. But it's like some damn movie." He squeezed my hand. "This is Tommy Akasano
  
  
  my old one still. I know that."
  
  
  She could have laughed at everything as easily as Nicoli did. But I was worried. No camouflage in the world would stand up to scrutiny compared to a real test. The Tai-Sheng had pinned Tanya and me down, and just how thorough the man was gave me the creeps.
  
  
  "I'll show you the proof, Rosano, as soon as we get to Istanbul," Sheng said.
  
  
  Then it would be easy for me to kill Nicoli and Shen. He could have rigged the shipment and asked the agents to intercept all contact between here and Saigon. But as he sat there looking at Shen, he realized that something new had been added to the task. There were too many contacts with Chinese Communists in the United States. Too much for one man to remember. Somewhere within Sheng's reach, there should have been some other list showing all the Chinese agents operating in the US, and this list should have gotten him.
  
  
  "All right," Nicoli said, standing up again. "Obviously, you two aren't going to get along. You hate someone else, and that's bad for the family. Both of you are important in different ways. But I don't make any decisions openly right now. When we arrive in Istanbul we'll see what's what, eh?"
  
  
  "Whatever you say, Rosano," Shan said. He walked over to the bar and started making himself a drink. He didn't look at me once.
  
  
  "We need to send cargo that is more important than anything personal." Rosano looked at me, shaking his head. "You see, Tommy, that's why we have to control all the drugs coming into the States. There is so little benefit in doing so by sending ih to Saigon. It seems that everyone on this path has their finger on the pulse. "
  
  
  There was a knock on the door. Michaels came in. "Sir," he said. "I've just been told that the plane is ready."
  
  
  "Good, good," Nicoli nodded.
  
  
  Shen's voice rang out around the bar. His back was to us. "What do you want him to do with the girl?" he asked.
  
  
  "Take her with you. We'll deal with her just like we did with the others." Then he smiled at me. "Tommy, my old friend, you'll come with me on the plane and sit next to me, right? On the way, there will be a lot to talk about in Istanbul."
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The tenth chapter.
  
  
  
  
  
  The flight lasted two and a half hours. We took off from the runway and circled in circles as we rose. Continuing to gain altitude, the Lear flew over Palermo and the Ionian Sea. When we were over Greece, the altitude was so high that I couldn't see us alone around the ruins. But Mount Olympus, the home of the mythical gods, has been left out of the corner of our left wing for quite some time. And then we flew across the Aegean Sea and began to descend towards Istanbul. Below lies the Bosphorus.
  
  
  The aircraft was a new Lear jet, Model 24C, with a take-off weight of 12,499 pounds. As we were sitting down, I noticed a winged tiger painted on its tail. Tai-Sheng, of course, was at the helm.
  
  
  His father was sitting by the window, next to me was Nicoli. The sun had almost set when we made our last approach, near Istanbul. We were going to land in a small grassy field. Beyond it, I could see the harbor with a single cruiser moored with cabins.
  
  
  As a result, we gathered a whole group. Luckily, Tanya was the only one around them. In addition to Nah, Nicola, and Shen, there was a Quick Willie torpedo in the cockpit; a bald Turk who was introduced as Konya and who I thought was an Istanbul heroin contact; and Odin around the world by Shen's boys, in which she knows the man who took my picture in the hotel lobby. We were not introduced.
  
  
  Nicoli spoke throughout the trip, telling me how he planned to work at La Cosa Nostra when he returned to the United States.
  
  
  "Voice how I plan to share this, Tommy," he would say. "We will use Vegas as our central headquarters. A national and worldwide network will operate from there. We don't want any footmen coming and going around Vegas, it will attract too much attention. Only family heads and district managers. Your Tommy neighborhood, for estestvenno, will be everything west of Chicago. Now we'll need someone around the list to take care of the East. Some of the po boys are pretty good, but ... "
  
  
  I listened to her with half an ear. Tanya was sitting somewhere in the back of the plane. I couldn't see her without turning around, and that would have been too obvious. She was pushed on board by Shen's man, and he only caught a glimpse of her. Her goal was omitted, and Nah had problems with her legs, the Chinese had to support her.
  
  
  "...So that's the ego of the problem, " Nicoli said. Then he paused. "Are you with me, Tommy?"
  
  
  Its blinked and looked at him. "Of course, Rosano, I can hear her every word."
  
  
  Good. The East is wide open, there is a huge potential there. in choosing a good person for... "
  
  
  The words were a steady hum, mixing with the whoosh of jet engines and the wind rushing through the plane. The horizon was scarlet with the setting sun. A little behind the place where we went down was Istanbul. The grassy field looked like part of a private estate owned either by the Turk Konya or by Nicoli himself.
  
  
  I was having a lot of thoughts when her voice started to crack in my ears. Aside from the concern he felt for Tanya, I was wondering what Shen's man in Istanbul would say. Looking out the window, I saw her object at the bottom - there were two objects on the dell itself. They looked like cars, but it was too dark to tell.
  
  
  If Shen had had access to the files that contained this Lake Tahoe AX agent's record, maybe he could have gotten the file on Nick Carter.
  
  
  "... I think he would be a good candidate for the East Coast. Tommy, are you listening?"
  
  
  He smiled at her, shaking his head. "I'm sorry, Rosano. I think this height makes my head spin."
  
  
  He frowned. "You've never had a problem with height before."
  
  
  "Age changes all of us, my other one."
  
  
  "Yes, that's true." He shifted in his seat and looked at me intently. "I was thinking about Frank Cook Desmond. It's true that he's not alone around us, I mean not of Italian descent, but he's loyal to me and smart. What do you think?"
  
  
  I still wasn't listening to her, completely. "I like Frank," I said. The name meant nothing.
  
  
  "I see," Dvora said softly. He seemed to settle into his seat, his plump hands folded in his lap.
  
  
  "Rosano," I said. "I have a strange feeling about this Tai Sheng. Before I received your telegram, two Easterners broke into my apartment and completely searched it. They tore it upside down, they wanted something."
  
  
  Ego's eyebrows rose. "And you think ih sent Sheng?
  
  
  "Damn it, really. IH caught her and they tried to kill me."
  
  
  He sat up straight and stared at me for a few seconds before speaking. "What would you like me to do with it, eh? Did he hit him just because you don't like him?"
  
  
  "Check your ego thoroughly. Learn about ego and ambition and what is more important to him: ego loyalty to his Communist party, or ego loyalty to you."
  
  
  "I did it, Tommy."
  
  
  "Well, I'll tell you what I think. It searches for a list. These two Oriental people in my apartment wanted something specific. Oni can get this list on Shen's orders."
  
  
  Nicoli didn't look impressed. He nodded slightly, then let ay fall. Suddenly, out of nowhere, he said, " It becomes so that a person cannot trust those who work in the ego of their own organization." Vote and that's it.
  
  
  Something was wrong here. He grew cold to me. Did you slip it somewhere? Did you say the wrong thing? He recalled what had just been discussed. But the only thing that stood out was that he said he couldn't trust anyone who worked for the ego of his own organization.
  
  
  Now he was acting as if I wasn't there. Ego's double chin fell on his narrow chest, and his eyelids fluttered as if he was falling asleep.
  
  
  The Lear jet had flown mimmo and was now circling to land on a grassy field. The sun turned into a glowing red ball on the horizon. It'll be dark in less than an hour.
  
  
  "Rosano?" I told her.
  
  
  He held up a hand to silence me. "I heard everything you said. Now let's wait and see."
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter Eleven
  
  
  
  
  
  When the Lear jet landed on a grassy field, there were very few aftershocks. He switched to a bouncing roll, quickly passing the mimmo of two cars. He could see what they were now: a black Mercedes and a Volkswagen bus.
  
  
  When the plane slowed down enough, Tai-Sheng slowly turned ego around and taxied back to the waiting cars. Two Turks got out of the Volkswagen and rushed to knock out and tie up the plane.
  
  
  I saw her from the window when the plane stopped. There was a whining sound as the door with its aluminum steps was pushed open and lowered.
  
  
  Konya was the first to get to his feet. He passed mimmo us, ego bald target shining from the upper world, and he walked out the door and down the steps. The other two greeted ego, and all three of them started talking in Turkish.
  
  
  Tai-Sheng walked around the cab and, without looking at us, at Rosano, at us, at me, jumped down the stairs and walked quickly to the Mercedes. Just then, the back door of a black Mercedes opened and a smartly dressed man got out. He greeted Sheng with a handshake and a curt nod. The two men spoke.
  
  
  "Let's go," Nicoli said to me.
  
  
  I was hoping that I could turn around and at least look at Tanya when we got up to go out on the plane
  
  
  . But Nicoli stepped out into the aisle and stood at the back of the seats as hers rose. It would be too obvious for me to look over my ego's head and see Tanya. She was disloyal. Her had to give up on her existence.
  
  
  Shen's man, who had been on the plane with us, the same one who had photographed me in the hotel lobby, pushed past us and hurried down the stairs. Only Tanya and Quick Willie remained.
  
  
  As we came out of the Yard on the plane, I saw three people-Shen, the man who got out of the Mercedes, and now another Oriental-all of them in serious conversation with their heads together. Then Sheng said something to the person who took my picture. The man bowed briefly to the emu and walked towards the Volkswagen bus. He got behind the wheel and Stahl waited.
  
  
  Nicola and I descended from the plane's ramp. The sky was the dark gray of twilight. Tiny mosquitoes tickled my face, trying to get into my eyes. The air was warm and stuffy. Hers, he felt his palms begin to sweat. There was too much in that scene that I didn't like.
  
  
  Suddenly Nicoli turned back to the plane as Fast Willie's heavy feet clattered down the hollow aluminum steps. Hers, turned with him. Although it was almost dark, Tanya had a better view of him than ferret had of them when we parted.
  
  
  "What should I do, boss?" Willie asked.
  
  
  Rage was building inside me. She found the strength to lift her head slightly. Both eyes were swollen and had a yellow-purple tinge. There was still dried blood under his lower lip. Her jaw is swollen.
  
  
  "Let me take care of her, Rosano," I said.
  
  
  He shook his head. "No, that's Willie's specialty. Drop her at the dock. Get rid of nah, like the others, from a heroin overdose in the Black Sea. AX can add another dead agent to its list."
  
  
  "Okay, boss." Willy grabbed Tanya roughly by the arm and dragged her, stumbling and staggering, down the rest of the steps and mimmo us to the Volkswagen bus.
  
  
  We watched as the Chinese man brought the bus and drove towards them. The side door opened and Willie shoved Tanya inside.
  
  
  "It should have been me," her Dvora said. "I was supposed to take care of the broads."
  
  
  He ignored me. It was still cool. We walked across the ankle-high grass to the Mercedes, where Shen and Ego the other were still talking.
  
  
  The bus was almost out of sight, heading for Porto Bar. It was, he remembered seeing, the air-sampling dock. There was a cruiser with cabins. That's probably where Willie was taking her.
  
  
  As we approached the Mercedes, Sheng and the other orientalist suddenly fell silent. Then Nicoli started giggling to himself.
  
  
  "Fast Willie is enjoying this part of his job. He'll have some fun with that woman before he finally kills her." He shook his head, still chuckling. "Yes, Quick Willie really likes his broads."
  
  
  I knew I had to get to this boat somehow. Any list Shen had would have to wait. Its estimated distance and time. Nicoli was licking everyone. Her ego would have killed her first. But by then, Sheng and Ego the other had reached for their weapons. Can I get it from both of them before Konya and the other two Turks arrive?
  
  
  There was enough twilight now to see. We were standing in a small group. It was too dark to see their expressions; their eyes were just dark shadows. The komarowu population has doubled, and they seem to have taken a liking to our heads.
  
  
  The trunk of the Mercedes was open. Konya, a bald Turk, was helping two others carry simple cardboard boxes around the trunk of the plane.
  
  
  Tai-Sheng looked at me openly. Without moving his head, he said, " Rosano, she would like to talk to you in private."
  
  
  Nicoli took a step back from us. "Why?" he asked.
  
  
  "I want to talk to you about your friend around monotonously."
  
  
  In the dark, the traffic was so fast that you couldn't see anything. But suddenly, Rosano Dvora pulled out his revolver and stood apart from us, pointing his ego at me.
  
  
  I asked her. "What is it now?"
  
  
  Even Sheng looked a little surprised, but quickly recovered. He stood silently with his hands clasped in front of him. Konya and two Turks were on the plane.
  
  
  "I can't trust anyone else," Nicoli said. "Even they, who thought her closest, betrayed me." The gun moved from me to Shen for a moment.
  
  
  He tensed. "What!" he said in a hoarse whisper. "Rosano, are you doing this to me?"
  
  
  "Yes," Nicoli shouted. "With you. I was deceived by everyone, even you. First I'll tell her you need a list. You're telling Tommy that I sent you to take ego.
  
  
  It was a lie. And then, on the plane, I hear that two Chinese people have ruined Tommy's apartment in I asked for something. He told me that he thinks they wanted a list. I think it was your people, Tai-Sheng."
  
  
  "I want them to be my people," said a smooth, oily voice.
  
  
  "Aha! Then you'll admit that you were after the list."
  
  
  "Her to us, which I won't admit. How dare you question me! If it wasn't for me, you'd be stealing my gift from the Palermo street markets. The heroin route set her up. I have contacts in America. I will try to make you rich."
  
  
  "In exchange for what?"
  
  
  "I only have the same respect for you.
  
  
  Nicoli raised the pistol slightly. "You still haven't answered me yet. Were these your people who wanted the list?"
  
  
  "Of course not." There was no panic in Shen's voice, not even concern. It was as if he was chatting about the rice harvest or the weather. "What do I care about your list? It doesn't mean anything to me."
  
  
  "But you agree that the two men who searched Tommy's apartment were working for you?"
  
  
  "Indirectly, yes."
  
  
  "What did they want but a list?"
  
  
  "Proof, Rosano. Which I have. Did your good friend Akasano tell you that he killed those two and threw ih in the trash cans?"
  
  
  "They're trying to kill me," I said. "Odin around them pulled out a knife."
  
  
  "Both of you think I'm a fool? Do you think I don't know when I'm being stabbed in the back?" Rosano's voice was hoarse with rage.
  
  
  Konya and the two Turks were on the plane, out of sight, probably stacking boxes. Her, saw the Volkswagen bus coming back, ego lights getting brighter. Tanya and Quick Willie won't be inside. My head began to think about what Willie might do next. He was supposed to transfer to this boat.
  
  
  Sheng only raised his oily voice slightly. "Rosano, you're standing there with a gun pointed at me. What about this Akasano? What charges did he make against him? Will they remain unanswered? I agree, I betrayed you. But not hers."
  
  
  "I don't trust anyone around you," Nicoli spat. "If I had any sense, he would have killed you both sincerely here and now."
  
  
  Both Sheng and his friend's ego seemed to relax. Ih his arms hung loosely at his sides. Sheng took a half step forward.
  
  
  "That would be unwise, Rosano."
  
  
  There was silence for a few seconds. Everyone around us had their own thoughts. He could guess what Nicoli was thinking. He didn't know who to trust with us. The ego organization was solid. Killing someone as high-ranking as her or Sheng would leave a gap that would be difficult to fill. Especially since he didn't have any convincing evidence that anyone around us had betrayed the ego. Shana, it is not adept to read. This man couldn't be brought out through himself.
  
  
  The Volkswagen bus was approaching. I could hear the mechanical ticking of the ego engine. The lights began to illuminate the four of us standing next to the Mercedes. The Turks were still out of sight on the plane.
  
  
  I had only one thought: to leave and get to the boat before Fast Willie got his unique fun with Tanya and stuffed the heroin in nah.
  
  
  Then Nicoli pointed a gun at me. "I think you're the last person I trust, Tommy. There's something about what Tai-Sheng says. He tells me that he thinks you're turning families against me, not for me."
  
  
  "That's nonsense," I said loudly. "Rosano, my old friend, for this we have gone back too many years. We grew up together in the organization. Who better to lead all the families, eh? Her? " Her shook my hand. "No, I'm good with numbers and books, but I don't know how to organize myself. Families will not flock to me as a supervisor. No, my other, you are the only one who will take responsibility. We're friends. We go back a long time. What do I get by cutting you out? Nothing. Now ask your friend Sheng what he'll get if you're forced out."
  
  
  "Friendship is no longer good!" shouted Nicoli. "Our business in the hall is in danger, we have no leadership." Tears welled up in his eyes. "Tommy, Tommy, you were my dearest and sweetest friend. But it was you who betrayed me."
  
  
  Her brow furrowed in disbelief. "You're wrong, my other. It wasn't hers."
  
  
  He nodded sadly, tears still streaming down Ego's cheeks. "Yes, Tommy, it was you. It was when we were talking on the plane. I asked you who you thought was a good candidate for the East Coast. You agreed that Frank - Lavrov about the summit would do. I tricked you, Tommy. It was bad, but I felt like I should have. You see, the chef was killed last week in Las Vegas. NGO was hit by a taxi ."
  
  
  My mind was racing. The voice where it slipped. But its not dead yet. "That doesn't mean I betrayed you
  
  
  . The chef was on the list, you were considering an ego for the East Coast. Sheng's men probably killed him. I'll bet the taxi driver was from the east."
  
  
  But Nicoli was still shaking his head. The tears on his cheeks glistened against the oncoming Volkswagen bus. "That's not the point, Tommy. The fact is that she knows about the death from abroad by phone-from my good friend Thomas Akasano.
  
  
  "Who are you, buddy?"
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The twelfth chapter.
  
  
  
  
  
  The bus was approaching, and ego's headlights were shining all around. He was going to stop. There was no sign of Turki on the plane yet.
  
  
  Tai-Sheng was smiling smugly. "Rosano, she knows something else about your good friend, Thomas Akasano. The photo taken in the hotel lobby has been enlarged and then compared with the photo taken ten years ago. My people used magnifying glasses to find the differences. Ih was a lot. . If you look closely, you will see that the bone structure of the nose is completely different. Also the curve of the jawline. The distance across the bridge of the nose from pupil to pupil is almost a quarter of an inch between the two photos. This man is a liar, Rosano."
  
  
  "Yes," the little man nodded. The gun never deviated from my life. "But please continue, Sheng. It's charming."
  
  
  Sheng's perfect teeth shone brightly in the headlights. He was pleased with himself. "Since we knew Hema wouldn't be this person, we decided to find out who he was. He had one drink at your villa, I think it was bourbon. My man took the printouts off the glass. When we sent an ih with a photo transmitted via coded wiring to the intelligence headquarters in Beijing, the results were very interesting."
  
  
  Nicoli stepped forward. "So? So? Don't play games with me, Shan. Who is he?"
  
  
  "Beijing has a very big case against him. Oh, I don't think a man in your position has ever heard of nen, but I have. You see, Rosano, the girl pretending to be Sandy didn't work alone. She worked with another AX agent, a very good one, which we call Killmaster. Ego's name is Nick Carter ."
  
  
  All the sadness left Nicola's face. He took a step toward me. "You took me for a fool, eh? Is it also so stupid that I can't see through such a disguise? All right, Mr. Carter, you tricked me. But answer me one corkscrew. Where's my old friend, Thomas Akasano?"
  
  
  "Dead, I'm afraid," I said.
  
  
  "You bastard!" The gun jerked in his hand, a jet of fire erupted around the barrel, and a loud sound filled the air.
  
  
  And even when it happened, I couldn't believe it. A strong hand gripped my flesh with all five fingers and pinched me mercilessly. Back then, it was as if a hot poker was pressed against me and someone was slowly pushing it through me.
  
  
  The force of the bullet spun me around so fast that my arms shot up at my sides. My right hand hit Shen in the chest, but the blow didn't stop me. Folding his ankles together, he fell face-first onto the fender of the Mercedes, then slowly slid down and curled up on the steering wheel.
  
  
  All this took dolly seconds. Hers didn't die, his didn't even pass out. My knees were pressed to my chest, my hands were pressed to my stomach.
  
  
  A piece of meat vomited from my side. My shirt and jacket were already soaked in blood.
  
  
  Immediately after the shooting, Nicoli was no longer interested in me. He pointed the gun at Shen.
  
  
  Pain shot through me. I could feel it moving up my spine. My crevice was pressed against the Mercedes ' tire. The Volkswagen bus has already arrived. It's almost stopped.
  
  
  Slowly, he moved her hand up her chest until it came to the slit in her sports jacket. I could feel the hard warmth of Luger under her coat. Without taking his eyes off the group with me, he carefully pulled Wilhelmina out of her holster and pressed her to his stomach. With both hands, it was hidden from view.
  
  
  "I was deceived by everyone," Nicoli shouted. "I think Nick Carter was right, Shen. You need a list. You sent two of your men to this apartment to find him. Then you tried to cheat the ego when you picked it up at the hotel."
  
  
  "That's not true, Rosano."
  
  
  The Chinese man with Sheng was partially hidden behind it. Slowly, ego's hand began to slowly move closer to his chest. He moved a little further behind Shen.
  
  
  Nicoli nodded. "Yes, that's true. I can't trust anyone around you! I'll have to do it all now, starting from scratch."
  
  
  Another shot rang out, another goggle-eyed burst around the barrel. Nicoli dropped the gun and clutched at his life. It bent with such force that the ego bifocals were rimless.
  
  
  fallen from the ego head. In the bus's headlights, he looked like he was on his knees begging Sheng. He held up one to each tribe to try to get back on their feet, and stayed there, looking at Shen.
  
  
  Blood oozed between Ego's fingers and the back of his hand. He tightened his grip on her.
  
  
  The Whitan, who had stepped out from behind Shen to fire the shot, took two steps to the side, holding the revolver pointed at Nicoli. When he reached the gang leader's fallen gun, he threw ego aside. And by then, Shen had his own gun in his hand. He aimed his ego at Nicola's face.
  
  
  "You're a fool!" the oily voice shouted, only some of the ego's flattery gone. "You pompous, stupid bastard. Did you think I would actually let you take something? Really, too? You were so inflated with your ego that you really believed you could become a leader."
  
  
  "C-kill... you..." stammered Nicoli.
  
  
  "Idiot!" Shan said sharply. "The only one you killed was yourself. You could have peace at your feet. Yes, he was willing to let you be the figurehead. The wealth would be yours. More than even a jerk like you could ever imagine."
  
  
  Nicoli licked his thin lips with his tongue. He opened his mouth to say something, but didn't say a word to us.
  
  
  "But you wouldn't be responsible for anything. You'd be a leader in words, but you wouldn't be in charge of operations. It will happen anyway, only you won't be a part of it anymore. I will use the list to find those I like and make ih rated figures. I haven't planned on killing you and seizing power yet, but there are some things that just can't be helped."
  
  
  "M-my business ... my..."
  
  
  "Your nothing," Shan snorted. "You were a puppet, you did what I arranged for you. Nothing has changed. Kolodezny's intervention only delayed the inevitable. I'll just find someone else."
  
  
  Nicoli took his hand out of life to reach for Shen. The effort brought ego to all fours.
  
  
  "Yes, "Sheng laughed," Where you're standing, on all fours like a dog. Look at you lying at my feet. You're fat and sloppy, and life was too good for you."
  
  
  Nicoli tried to get up. But ego's arms buckled and he fell to his elbows. Now there was a pool of blood on the grass, under ego's belly.
  
  
  Shan moved the gun to the back of the balding head. "In time, the People's Republic of China will take over America. Yes, it may take years, but it will be much easier to work from within than to wage war. Gordeyev's Goat service will respond to Beijing. Profit will help us build our armies and buy in America those who are sold: senators, congressmen... well, there were quite a few, judging by the way you said it.
  
  
  "This will only require patience, which is what we Chinese are famous for. But when the time comes for Mao Tse-tung to come to America, the takeover will be complete."
  
  
  Once more Nicoli tried to get up. He lost a lot of blood. Sheng stood over him with a revolver pointed at his head, his legs slightly apart, and the shadow of a smile appeared on his face. Nicoli caught his hand in the grass and tried to get up.
  
  
  "You Americans are such fools," Sheng said. The revolver twitched in ego's hand. A flash of fire shot through the gun's nose and into the Courtyard's bald head like an electric shock. Then the ego part of the head seemed to sway back and forth. It was like a hurricane-force wind blowing pebbles off a roof. The piece swayed back and forth, then quickly separated, leaving behind a trail of pink mist and scarlet pieces.
  
  
  Nicoli straightened up and swayed on his knees. Then he leaned forward, hitting his face hard on the grass. The sound of the gunshot was lost in the open, flat grass. The acrid smell of burnt gunpowder filled the air.
  
  
  Now I could hear the loud mechanical sounds of a Volkswagen bus approaching me. It was almost on top of me. Gradually, she began to straighten her legs.
  
  
  Three Turks poked their heads around the plane to see what was going on. Tai-Sheng waved at them in rheumatism.
  
  
  "Hurry up," he told them. "Keep going about your business. There's not much time left."
  
  
  I couldn't lie there. Tai-Sheng was watching the Turks now, but eventually he turned to me. My friend's ego has already taken a new interest in me. With Wilhelmina in his hand, he straightened his legs and swung forward.
  
  
  The first person to see me was a Chinese man with a Tai-sheng. He let out a short cry and began scratching at his chest under his coat. Shan started to turn. Her Luger made candid emus in the ear. The driver of the Volkswagen was already being teased.
  
  
  In the pocket of Dvor's coat was what was her hotel.
  
  
  Just like her, he knew Shen wanted it too. To get it, the ego had to be killed.
  
  
  I fired at the luger, feeling it jerk my arm up and back. But the other Sheng jumped in the way of protecting bullet's ego. A gawk from Wilhelmina pierced the emu's cheek, revealing a jagged circle of white meat. Then, he quickly blushed as his target jerked to the side and slammed into Sheng.
  
  
  The two of them tangled up with each other for a few more seconds. Once again, he tried to shoot her clearly at Shen. The Volkswagen bus driver started to get out. His body looked like a shadow in the headlights. But there was enough light to see that he had a gun in his hand.
  
  
  I shot him once and saw the ego of the target hit the back of the seat. He fell forward, hit the top of his head at a downward angle, then fell back. He helped em out onto the grass, grabbing ego by the collar and pulling. Two shots rang out behind me. Shen came out from behind the Mercedes ' cover.
  
  
  He shot her once, drawing a star pattern on the back window of a black car. Then I remembered her.
  
  
  I don't need a list. This was what AX had prepared for me to pass on to Nicola. But I knew that Sheng was the hotel of it, and I wondered if he was the hotel enough to pursue me for it.
  
  
  Dvor's body lay two feet away from money. Shan was still circling behind the trunk of the Mercedes. She got out of the bus seat and fell to her knees next to Nicola's body. Sheng fired another shot as soon as her list was taken. It was close enough for her to feel the trickle of air sampling on the back of her neck. He took one hurried shot over his shoulder as he scrambled back onto the bus.
  
  
  At nightfall, the air becomes fresher. The smell of kelp wafted up to me from the back of the house. First of all, brylev R. turned it off, then turned around and went to the docking station.
  
  
  Now it all came back to me. After killing three Turks as they were exiting on the plane, Sheng shot me as he was driving away, the bleeding around my side made me dizzy, a tool box in the back of the bus with hand tools, thought Sheng would either come follow me for the list or forget to equip me and continue delivering the heroin.
  
  
  And she still remembered visions of Fast Willie with an ego-twisted nose broken more times than he could remember, ego-twisted meat ears, puffy eyes, wrinkled and wrinkled hands touching and reaching for flesh and for Better. As Nicoli said, Quick Willy will want to have some fun first.
  
  
  Finally, we reach the boat. Shutting off the engine and moving by inertia to the spot where the cruiser yacht with its fifty - foot cabin is located, the water gently splashes on the ego ball, the cry of gulls in the distance, the warmth of lights filtering through the round portholes, stars glittering on the & nb. the mirror of water in the harbor, the muffled sound of low voices coming from one of the cabins.
  
  
  He stumbled away from the Volkswagen and fell to the asphalt, shading the wooden dock. Then it crawled away, leaving a trail of blood smeared on the forward deck of the cruiser with cabins. On the port side, closer to the bow, dizzy spells come and go, find the porthole next to the deck, holding me in my hand to try and stop the bleeding, Wilhelmina in my hand ... it's getting heavy ... He looks out the window and sees a white house, and Willy looks down at Tanya.
  
  
  And ... Tanya... on the bunk, her blond hair framing her young, bruised, pretty face, her hands tied above her head, wrists together, stockings, blouse, bra on the deck next to the bunk... Willie gave a quick grunt about how good she was going to look as he pulled down Nah's skirt, then reached for the waistband of her panties.
  
  
  Simply... it didn't take much... rest. My mind left me and I left. A few seconds of rest turned into minutes. My goal is to be in your hand. Now it was raised by ego, and with it it was raised by the work flow of my Luger. The cabin was a blur. Her rubbed her eyes until Stahl could see everything very clearly. Its back.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Thirteen
  
  
  
  
  
  The interior of the blurry cabin slowly cleared up. He was lying on his stomach, looking out the window. The cruiser, with its cabins, rocked gently to and fro. Except for the soft splash of water on the sides, there was silence. Crying gull found a mate. She was picked up by Little Wilhelmina and one of Willie's friends.
  
  
  He had just pulled down Tanya's skirt and was straightening it up to her ankles. When he turned the ego off, he dropped the ego on the deck. Then he straightened up and looked at nah.
  
  
  "You young people certainly look good," he said, slightly out of breath. "I'm really going to love this, baby. You're very well portrayed."
  
  
  Tanya was silent. Did not have
  
  
  the fear in her eyes, and even though her face was cut and bruised, you could still see the beauty. She was lying on the floor, one tribe slightly raised, her hands behind her head.
  
  
  Quick Willie hooked his thumbs around the waistband of her bikini bottoms. Slowly, he began to lower the ih. He leaned in slightly, a sly, drooling smile appearing on his stupid face.
  
  
  Tanya's green eyes narrowed slightly. She let her raised knee come down and even lifted her lower back a little to help em pull off her panties.
  
  
  Ego's face was now exposed above her stomach, and it slid down as he pulled up her panties. The top of the triangular, chestnut-velvet straw is revealed. Willie was slowly pulling off his panties.
  
  
  With Tanya's hands held high, her chest looked like an upturned soft bowl of milk topped with half-dollar copper coins. Remembering the taste of those breasts, Willie could understand her eagerness. It made me want to kill my ego even more.
  
  
  When half the chestnut straw came out, Quick Willie saw the thread of a small hollow cylinder. It seemed to grow as he pulled down his bikini bottoms.
  
  
  Willie frowned, his mouth hanging open. "What the hell is that, tailor?" he said with a nasal grunt.
  
  
  He pulled her panties down further and further as the top hat opened. Ego lobe frowned in curiosity. As he pulled her panties up over Tanya's thighs, the little gun's face snapped up. There was a short loud BANG, and the thread trunk began to emit tiny wisps of smoke.
  
  
  Quick Willie stiffened. Ego's wrinkled, swollen knuckles tried to reach his forehead, but they only reached his chest. He turned sideways, still frowning. He was looking out my window now. The scowl disappeared from their egos and was replaced by an expression of utter disbelief. There was a tiny dime-sized hole in the middle of ego brow's stomach that was just starting to bleed.
  
  
  He saw me, and ego's mouth opened wide. It was the last thing he'd ever seen. Arms outstretched, he trudged to the porthole. Ego's hands hit him first, but they didn't have the strength. He flinched slightly as his face hit the porthole. For a split second, he was pinned to the glass, eyes wide, blood streaming down both sides of his mangled nose. Ego lobe pressed himself up against the porthole, drenching ego in blood. He was so close that I could see the tiny red arteries in the whites of his ego eyes, a web of sweat now covered in death.
  
  
  Quick Willie flew away from the porthole and fell to the deck like dried clay hit by a hammer. Back then, all I could see was blood smeared on the glass.
  
  
  Tanya saw me too.
  
  
  Pressing the fingers of his left hand to the wound, he got to his hands and knees and moved across the smooth bridge to the main hatch. It wasn't hard to get down the stairs. I just grabbed the handrail and let my feet fall open in front of me. It was a five-foot-high slide. But hers was scattered like a pile of laundry on the deck below. There was no strength in my legs; they didn't seem to be able to hold me up.
  
  
  He slowly descended the ladder in a sitting position, painfully making his way to the door of the main cabin. It was open.
  
  
  "Nick?" When she entered, Tanya called out. "Nick, is that really you?"
  
  
  Once inside, he stepped to the foot of the bunk and raised himself enough to look at her face. Hey smiled at her.
  
  
  Her lower lip clenched between her teeth. Tears filled her eyes... you gave up your ego, didn't you? It's my fault they found our cover. If you had someone more experienced, the locality of Russia would have been successful. How, Nick?" Where did you slip it?"
  
  
  He rose until he was sitting on the edge of the cot at her feet.
  
  
  "Nick!" she exclaimed. "You're bleeding! They're..."
  
  
  "Hush," he told her in a hoarse voice. Wilhelmina was still in my right hand. He sighed and rubbed his nose with his right hand. " ... Just want to get some rest." The feeling of dizziness was returning.
  
  
  "Honey," Tanya said, " if you untie my hands, I can stop this bleeding. We have to stop the ego. There's blood all over your side, even on your left pant leg."
  
  
  My chin dropped to my chest. She was right. If she could wrap something around my waist, maybe the dizziness would go away.
  
  
  "Go on, dear," she coaxed. "Try to reach my wrists."
  
  
  Her, leaned to the side and felt my face fall on the smooth ee of life. Then, pushing with his hands, he lifted her head up her rib cage and then over the soft protrusions of her breasts. My lips brushed her throat. Then he put his head on her shoulder and felt the blanket
  
  
  a bunk. My neck was pressed against the side of her arm.
  
  
  She turned her head and turned so that our faces were less than an inch apart, the other on the other side. She smiled at me and said: "A girl could be very angry at such a maneuver."
  
  
  The dizziness returned and I had to rest. I felt her lips brush softly against my wand, moving down, searching. Lifting his head slightly, he let his lips touch hers.
  
  
  It wasn't a kiss of passion or lust. She told me I could do it. The touch of our lips was soft, gentle, and filled with emotions that went beyond the physical.
  
  
  Groping with my hands, I heard a clank as Wilhelmina fell to the deck. Then my hands were on her left arm. Ih slowly pulled her out, reaching over his head until he felt the knot on her wrists. It seemed to take forever to untie the damn thing.
  
  
  But I knew I'd done it when I felt her arms wrap around my neck. She pressed my face against the wishbone just below her throat and hugged me. In that moment of hers, I felt like I could stay there forever.
  
  
  "Darling," she whispered. "Listen to me. I'll leave you for a little while. There must be a first-aid kit somewhere in this boat. I'll come back as soon as I find her. Just get some rest."
  
  
  The dizziness had returned, and he was only aware of the chill she'd left behind during her absence. In addition to the bunk, the cabin had a flip-top chair, a chair with four chairs, a sliding closet door, and a ceiling lamp that just kept swinging back and forth slightly. The picture was on the wall, moaning in front of the bunk. The nen was a picture of Konya, younger and with hair. It must have been the yacht's ego, and the runway must have been on his land.
  
  
  My eyes closed, and he thought of Tai-sheng, who was on a Lear plane to deliver a shipment of heroin. Without the list, it won't leave. Will it? Suppose he has all the help he needs on his personal ego list, which lists all the Chinese agents in the Chinatowns of the Americas. Then emu wouldn't need a list of Nicola or her. But she was asked to come to me. Everyone was dead but him. Emu needed this list.
  
  
  I was moved, but my eyes remained closed. It felt like a cocoon was being squeezed around my waist. It hurt like hell, but after the sixth or seventh push, I started to get used to it. The blanket passed behind his eyes, and he was gone again. Then hers, and I felt my shoulder shake.
  
  
  "Nick? Cute?" Tanya was talking. "The bleeding stopped. I gave you an injection. Here, take these two pills."
  
  
  Her waist was wrapped tightly in a sling. When my eyes opened, I blinked at the sharp holy light above my head. Tanya's pouty, dull eyes smiled at me.
  
  
  "How long has she been gone?" I asked her. I thought I heard what sounded like a London police whistle. It wasn't loud; in fact, he could barely hear it. For some reason, the name kept popping up in my head. The winged tiger.
  
  
  "No more than five minutes. Now take these pills."
  
  
  Ih put it in my mouth and drank the glass of water she handed me. The dizziness and nausea left me. I was on my guard, but I was in pain. The sound was bothersome , a high-pitched, screaming sound from afar.
  
  
  "Nick?" asked Tanya. "What is it?"
  
  
  Ey winked at her and said, " Honey, don't let it get out of your head that you failed this mission. Maybe we both messed up a bit along the way, but those covers were blown up because of something unexpected. All right?"
  
  
  She kissed my earlobe. Good. But what was bothering you? You looked like you were reaching for something and couldn't find it."
  
  
  "I still can't find the ego. Shen killed Nicoli. But before he did, he said that he had the Winged Tiger list, then he laughed out loud. I saw something that was supposed to make this whole scene important to me. Maybe it's the things you gave me that messed up my thought process ."
  
  
  "That should make you clear," Tanya said.
  
  
  As soon as she got to her feet, I was overwhelmed by outdoor activity nausea. He fell back on the cot, but stayed on his feet. The feeling is gone.
  
  
  Then he snapped his fingers. "Of course! Vote and that's it!"
  
  
  Tanya sat in front of me, looking me in the eye. "What is it?" she asked.
  
  
  "There is a list of Shen's contacts in the United States. I knew it existed, but I didn't know where. Sure. He told me Sam. The winged tiger. I know where he is now.
  
  
  "Nick, listen up!" Her target was tilted to one side. She was getting dressed. Now she sat down on the bunk, her skirt pulled up high, and pulled on her stockings. We both heard a high-pitched screaming sound.
  
  
  "This is Shen," I said. "He has a Lear jet. Maybe I can stop her ego."
  
  
  She called out to me when her day came. "Nick? Wait for me."
  
  
  "No, you're staying here."
  
  
  "Oh, pooh!" Her lower lip was sticking out, but by then I had Wilhelmina in my hand.
  
  
  and he was outside the door.
  
  
  He took the stairs two at a time. The crisp night air hit my bare torso as I reached the main deck. The blood on my feet was a reminder of how I got there.
  
  
  It was too dark to see the Volkswagen bus. He climbed over the side to the wooden finger of the panel. Stahl's jet jack is louder. But why didn't it fly away? Why did he just sit there and start the engines?
  
  
  As soon as he reached the asphalt, he knew something was wrong. Two things happened at once. From this distance, he could easily make out a Volkswagen bus against the shimmering harbor. There was a smaller, darker shadow behind him. A black Mercedes. Then she heard Tai Sheng purring softly behind her.
  
  
  "Come on, Carter," he said in an oily voice. There was something fun about it. He's got me in a stupid trap.
  
  
  Wilhelmina collapsed on the asphalt when ee released her.
  
  
  "I thought the sound of a jetliner would pull you around the boat. No, there's no one at the helm. It's still tied up and stuck, waiting for me."
  
  
  "Don't let me hold you back."
  
  
  "Ah, you won't. I'm going to go right after I kill you. But you see, Carter, you have something that belongs to me. The Nicoli list. You could have saved us both a lot of trouble if you'd passed it on to me outside the hotel.I had a special little camera that I was going to use to take a picture of it, and then it would be handed over by the list to Nicoli.
  
  
  "Don't turn around, Carter. Don't even think about it. Do you have a list?"
  
  
  "No way."
  
  
  He sighed. "I can see that it will be difficult for you. Its just hoping to shoot you and then take the list. Carter, I don't have much time. At the next meeting point, there are people waiting for heroin. I'm thirty. one minute late. Did you hide it somewhere on the boat? "
  
  
  My arms hung at my sides. "Maybe. What are you going to do about it?"
  
  
  The oily smoothness of ego's voice spoke of impatience. "In fact, Carter, it's academic. You will still die when I leave her."
  
  
  "Let's say I want to go down, filled with knowledge. Since I'm dying for the list, don't you think I have a right to know what it will be used for?"
  
  
  "You don't have any rights. This is stupid, I don't - " He paused for a few seconds. Then he said: "Turn around, Carter."
  
  
  Hers slowly turned to face him. He must have been hiding under the bus. There was no doubt that he had a gun and was pointing it at me. But I didn't see her ego expression, her face. It was just a faceless shadow.
  
  
  "You're trying to buy time, Carter," he said. "Why?"
  
  
  If her ego couldn't see the faces, it couldn't see mine. Pressing his hands to his sides, he gave a small shrug. Hugo, my slender stiletto, fell into my hand.
  
  
  "I don't know what you're talking about, Shen."
  
  
  "Willie!" he shouted. "Willy, are you on board?"
  
  
  We both listened to the water lapping against the yacht and the distant, high-pitched scream of a jetliner.
  
  
  "Aren't you afraid that you'll run out of fuel on this plane all this time?" I asked her.
  
  
  "Don't play games with me, Carter. Willie! Answer me!
  
  
  "He's not going to answer you, Sheng. He doesn't answer anyone."
  
  
  "Good, you killed him. You saw what he did to the girl, and you hit his ego. So much for Willie. Where is the list now?"
  
  
  "If you kill me, you'll never find it. And I'm not going to give up my ego until I know what you're using it for." Out of the corner of her eye, he could see Tanya crawling inch by inch across the bow deck of the yacht. When she reaches the end, she will find herself more outspoken by Sheng. I wonder what held her back.
  
  
  "Good," Sheng said, sighing again with impatience. Multiple copies will be made, and one copy will be sent to each branch's head office in America. Each name in this list will be followed and watched. Personal information will be collected and stored. Any available method will be used: wiretapping of phone conversations, random checks of places visited, house searches while they are absent. You can say that we will act much like your federal government ."
  
  
  "And what will be the purpose of all this?" I asked her. Tanya had almost reached the front edge. She moved very slowly and carefully. She knew what Sheng was capable of, probably valuing the legs better than her.
  
  
  "Information, Carter. Some of it will be used against those who decide that the new mafia should not seize power. Your agency should be thrilled. We will provide evidence so that several criminals can be arrested. Those who go along with us will be rewarded handsomely. But first, we will use this information to find the person with whom you are working.
  
  
  the right combination of stupidity, greed, and ambition. Another Rosano Nicoli will be hard to find. It was really perfect, and everything would have been fine if you hadn't interfered."
  
  
  Tanya was now on the edge of the nose. It turned slowly on its side, fingers on the end. He knew what kind of attack she was going to make - hands to the side, fall, and push, kicking both feet into Shen's head. She was almost ready. All I had to do was buy another minute or two.
  
  
  "What about the Winged Tiger list?" I asked her. "What are you going to use this for?"
  
  
  Ego's shoulders rose and fell in an impatient gesture. "Carter, you're starting to bore me with these incessant questions. No more talking. Where's the list?"
  
  
  "That's a bit silly, isn't it, Sheng? I know what you mean. Once I tell you where it is, my life will be worthless."
  
  
  "Is this what you're trying to buy? More time until five?"
  
  
  "Maybe."
  
  
  He raised the gun. "Turn your pockets inside out."
  
  
  He did this while holding Hugo in the palm of his hand. When my two front trouser pockets were pulled out and down, I found it easier to hold the stiletto. Tanya was ready to jump now. It was going to happen soon, the first one was in my back pocket, and he knew what Sheng would ask next.
  
  
  "All right," he said. "Now turn around and pull your back pockets inside out. You didn't have that much time to hide this thing. It should be easy to find if you don't have it with you."
  
  
  Hers was motionless, not moving.
  
  
  "First I'll shoot her through your kneecaps, then both elbows, then your shoulders. Do as I say." He took a step forward and leaned in a little, looking at me as if he'd just seen me for the first time. "Wait a minute," he whispered. "You're not stalling for time for yourself. You have a bandage around your waist. How... who..."
  
  
  And then Tanya jumped. Her legs went out and down, followed by the rest of her body. The flight was so short that I almost missed ego in the dark. She was like a rocket, falling first with her feet, and her hands and arms rising above her.
  
  
  But Sheng wasn't entirely unprepared. As soon as he saw my blindfold, he knew that Tanya wasn't dead, that she was alive and listening to our conversation. At that moment, he took a step back, which didn't allow hey to calculate the time, he was raising the gun in her direction, turning away from me.
  
  
  Then it started to move. Hugo was now at waist level in my hand. Shen was six or seven steps away from me. I lowered my head and followed him, Hugo leading the way.
  
  
  Tanya's timing was thrown out, but not completely. Her right heel caught Shen's neck, turning his head to the side. He didn't quite aim the gun at Nah. But then everything else crashed into him.
  
  
  For a moment, it was entangled around the ego's head and shoulders. He hadn't dropped the gun yet, but he was frantically waving his arms while he tried to take it off.
  
  
  He was almost on nen. The whole scene seemed to take on a slow tempo, even though she knew that only Dolly seconds were passing. I doubted that two seconds had passed from the moment Tanya made the jump to the ferret's arrival, but it still felt like I needed to get to it forever.
  
  
  He shot down, and Tanya was still on nen. Now he was four paces away, then three. When his back hit the asphalt, he forced himself to move, lifting his legs high to the goal. The ego left to every tribe hit Tanya in the head, which was enough for her to get up and hit the emu behind her back. It hit the asphalt and rolled.
  
  
  Sheng fell completely on all fours. He put his right leg under him, ready to stand, and raised the gun at me.
  
  
  But by then, he'd gotten to it. Hugo had shifted it to his right arm, and now he was pushing me forward. With her left hand, ego pushed away the hand with the gun and struck down, putting all his strength into the nah.
  
  
  He saw it coming and grabbed my wrist, falling to his right. The stiletto blade was aimed at his throat. Leaning back, he caught ego's shoulder.
  
  
  Her, felt him enter. The blade passed easily through the fabric of ego's coat, paused for a microsecond as it began to pierce the skin, and then slid in with all my weight behind it. Sheng's shoulder snapped back as he turned to the side.
  
  
  He howled and grabbed my wrist painfully. Now he was trying to get the gun back. I tried to pull out my stiletto to hit him again, but he gripped my wrist tightly.
  
  
  We were close to each other. He saw the pain in her ego-filled eyes, the straight black hair on her forehead, the loosened tie, the blood gushing through the wounds, soaking her perfectly tailored jacket.
  
  
  He hit me with his free hand
  
  
  on the wounded side.
  
  
  I cried out as the pain completely engulfed me. It was as if a liquid had been poured over it. He got frankly in the bone marrow, simultaneously damaging everything.
  
  
  Her could still see a few things. Her projectile went down, turned twice to the left. Shen now turned the gun toward my target. Somehow the stiletto was ripped from ego's shoulder. It was still in my hand. The pain dulled my brain, slowed my reflexes to elephant movements.
  
  
  Shan was on his feet. Tanya lay to one side, motionless. He sat with his hand pressed to his bleeding shoulder. Then I put both my legs under me when I saw the ego gun pointed at my face. Forgetting about the hurt, he picked himself up and dived.
  
  
  It was a mid-air kick just above the knees, which causes professional quarterbacks to climb stairs very slowly and limp for the first hour after climbing. When I was sure my shoulders had hit the ego, I pressed her ego, calves, ankles, and feet to my chest and continued moving.
  
  
  He couldn't step anywhere. When he fell, his hands went up and back, trying to soften his fall. But he still hit hard. Then he started kicking his legs. It wasn't until her started crawling over him to ego's face that she realized he'd lost the gun in the fall. I just caught a glimpse of it as it bounced off a wooden panel one last time, then fell into the harbor.
  
  
  My right hand with the stiletto was raised high. But he grabbed ego before the emu could hit her in the face. We stayed that way, both of us straining. Hugo held her with all his strength, and I'm drowning in him. All of ego's strength was applied to my wrist, trying to deflect the stiletto blade.
  
  
  Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Tanya begin to stir. The second attempt to look at nah was a mistake. Shen pressed his knee into my back. He screamed and staggered back. Then he knocked out the stiletto around my arm. Too late for her, I grabbed it and watched it roll across the asphalt.
  
  
  The bleeding around ego's shoulder made his arm seem useless. The other slapped me across the throat, with a force I didn't think he possessed. We skated again and again. Her eyes tried to reach out to ego. He tried to knee me in the groin, but I managed to dodge.
  
  
  Then we were on a smooth wooden dock, not far from the water's edge, moaning and panting. No one around us spoke just now. We were something less than human, as simple as time itself.
  
  
  My hand was on his cheek, still touching his eyes. That's when I realized he was stroking my back pocket. My fist went back and smacked his ego in the nose. She was hit by his ego again, and each time he made a grunt that hurt.
  
  
  There was blood running around his nose. This time hers, the emu's mouth rose and fell. Then he reached for her, and tried to pull her hand around his pocket. Everything went fine. He slammed it hard into my open wound.
  
  
  I was again overwhelmed with active rest nausea. All my strength left my hands. Vaguely hers, felt ego's hand reach into the minute and pull out the list.
  
  
  Her ego should have stopped her. If he escapes, everything he planned will work out. The task would have failed. Gritting his teeth, he forced her strength back into his body.
  
  
  He tried to push away from me. She took out her shawl, the sleeve of her doublet, and then her pant leg. She pulled away, then turned to me. He came back and quickly went back ahead. The toe of Shen's ballet slippers connected with the bleeding bandage on my side.
  
  
  Blackness surged like a jet of ink. Her body rolled over twice, thinking that he would keep trying. Everything you have to do not to leave, flew in my head. Her struggled with it all in me. Once this plane takes off with Sheng inside, it will disappear forever.
  
  
  By inhaling and exhaling, I managed to get rid of enough of the blackness to open my eyes. Shan was five feet away from me, one arm hanging uselessly over his calculations, blood dripping from his ego fingers.
  
  
  He stopped at the stiletto. Pausing slightly, he looked at Nah, then at me. The list was in Ego's good hand, moving back and forth between his fingers.
  
  
  Escaping must have been more important, because he left the stiletto where it was and trudged back to the Mercedes. Shaggy's egos echoed across the asphalt as the Lear jet screamed.
  
  
  By the time I sat down, Tanya was already on all fours. Wilhelmina was too far away. The driver's side door of the Mercedes opened.
  
  
  When I got up on my knees, Tanya was sitting and coming up to me. The Mercedes door slammed shut. It was the MAIN solid sound, like a safe closing. Immediately there was a swirl of the starter motor, then the purr of a large V8. Tires rattled on the asphalt as Sheng quickly disappeared from view.
  
  
  He got to his feet and stepped back
  
  
  and so on.
  
  
  Tanya started crying as she came up to me. "Bleeding again. The bandage got wet."
  
  
  He pushed off from Nah, picked up the stiletto, and staggered toward Wilhelmina. Hugo picked up the pistol and slid it back into its scabbard. A bare, blood-soaked bandage, a holster under his arm, a scabbard on his arm. It wasn't enough.
  
  
  "Nick, what are you doing?" Tanya asked.
  
  
  "Stop the ego forever."
  
  
  "But you're bleeding. Let me stop it, then we can..."
  
  
  "No!" He took a deep breath.
  
  
  Mind is more important than matter. Mystical, unknown forces of the East. Yoga. Closing your eyes, its a vast country, all inside yourself. Just as yoga had helped me relax countless times, hers was now calling her to power. Everything I've ever been taught has been called. Its more important to clear my mind than it hurts. There's only one thing left to focus on: stopping Sheng and that plane Pound Sterling. When I opened my eyes again, it was done, or done enough to make me move.
  
  
  "I'm coming with you." Tanya fell into step.
  
  
  "No." Hers was on a Volkswagen bus. And hers was moving fast. Over her shoulder, he said, " This cruiser with cabins must have some kind of ship-to-shore radio. Find Ego and call Hawke. Tell emu where we are."
  
  
  A stupid calmness came over me, a crazy silence that had nothing to do with reality. I knew it. Still, the only thought that didn't cross my mind was, "The sign of the Winged Tiger... The Sign of the Winged Tiger." Shen had a list that our government needed. He should have gotten it. And it wasn't the list he'd taken from me - the one we weren't interested in - it was the one he'd hidden: the sign of the Winged Tiger.
  
  
  Tanya disappeared through the trapdoor when the bus arrived and moved to the "U". Over the mechanical click of her air-cooled four-cylinder engine, I could hear the roar of the Lear jet increasing in pitch and volume.
  
  
  The saint did not turn it off while driving on the asphalt. A Luger pistol, a stiletto, a gas bomb, and an agent who had lost a lot of blood couldn't compare to a Lear plane. But I had an idea that I thought might work.
  
  
  The flashing red-green running lights were now far ahead of me. Ih could see her clearly. The plane was rolling. It comes from the opposite end of a grassy field.
  
  
  At nine o'clock, the asphalt road turned left. The jet rolled down to twelve. She was cut by a bus wheel and pulled out of the road onto ankle-high grass at an angle of about two o'clock.
  
  
  The jets ' flames extended far behind the plane, like a July 4 nighttime salute. Now it was really touching. The bus pushed her to the limit in third gear, then shifted to fourth.
  
  
  Judging by the angle that led her, the jet was approaching at ten o'clock, and hers was heading at twelve. All over the hotel, and the price was a lot smoother than I thought. My speedometer ranged from fifty to sixty. The roar of the jet engines turned into a thunderous roar. The running lights bounced as the plane rolled faster and faster.
  
  
  Soon it will rise into the air. The blades of grass became a blur of darkness. My eyes never left the rolling plane. The distance between us quickly narrowed as the two rolling metal masses were headed on a collision course.
  
  
  She vaguely wondered if he'd seen me. It didn't matter. We've both passed the point of no return. There was nothing he could do about this plane other than fly. It wasn't gaining enough speed to take off, it couldn't brake to a stop, and it couldn't turn without flipping over. It was the same with me.
  
  
  Reaching behind the seat, he felt the cold metal objects until he found a heavy hammer. Ego picked her up and placed her on his lap.
  
  
  As the plane approached, the roar of the engines was so loud that they were drowned out, the wheels whirled in a black mass, the cabin lit up by Rivnenskaya enough for Ego to see. Ego's hair was still slightly disheveled. The oxygen mask dangled to his left. He was an experienced pilot and was awarded the highest Red China Medal.
  
  
  There may not be enough time. I had to hurry. The distance was eating up too fast. It was picked up by a hammer and let the emu fall to the floorboard. The bus slowed down a bit when he took his foot off the gas pedal and put the hammer on it. For a moment, I had a sense of extreme smallness, something like what a man on a day sailboat should feel when he passes mimmo of a finer ocean.
  
  
  My hand was on the door lock. The bus was running at a steady fifty. But the plane is gaining more speed. It took a lot of effort to open the door against the gust of wind. And he could hear the low roar of both engines at full throttle. He turned the wheel slightly to the left. The bus was heading straight for the plane. He pushed open the door and jumped.
  
  
  At first, there was a sense of flying, a timeless twilight area where you don't touch anything on this earth. Then, looking down, the entire hotel area was moving too fast. Its going to get hurt.
  
  
  I thought about getting down to business right away. The voice of why my beginnings hit first. But the force of speed threw my head down and my other leg up to my back. I couldn't control where I was going anymore. All I could do was relax my body.
  
  
  Hers hit her head, then her back, then his was in the air again. This time, he fell on his shoulder and kept bouncing and rolling, gritting his teeth, which hurt.
  
  
  He stopped almost as quickly as he started. I couldn't catch my breath, I was blown away by the wind, and for a moment I was blinded. There was a lot of orange light and warmth.
  
  
  I felt it, not saw it, because I could only catch a glimpse of what happened when it bounced and rolled. Maybe that's what helped me to relax, to focus on what was happening with the plane.
  
  
  Sheng saw the bus at the last minute. He tapped on the left mocker, trying to swerve a little to the side. The Lear jet rolled over on its right wheel, lowering its right wing lower. The bus hit the tip of the wing. With a screech of metal breaking, the wing bent and snapped. By then, the nose of the jet was pointing towards the ground behind the bus, and the tail was rising up.
  
  
  With the roar of the plane's engines, one wheel buckled, breaking the right wing to the nose, from the left wing to the tail. At this moment, Sheng's engines rose.
  
  
  For a moment, the plane froze on its tail, just floating on a grassy strip with its tail less than a foot off the ground, spreading the grass out to the sides like the prow of a ship splitting water.
  
  
  When he fell, he rolled over. The cockpit area was hit hard as the entire plane began to spin and spin, making a screeching sound of metal.
  
  
  And then it exploded.
  
  
  The wings of the tanks flew towards the fuselage,which fell apart like an abandoned puzzle. Orange and red balls of flame boiled from the roaring explosions. The sky grew brighter as flames shot up in all directions.
  
  
  The fragments landed less than twenty feet away from me. The wing section rose high and landed close to where it had jumped. The entire tail section was torn from the fuselage. It flew up like a soccer ball and flew far to my left.
  
  
  An orange flaming saint showed a rolling Volkswagen bus. It didn't explode. Then a wing slam, it came up on its rear wheels like a wild stallion, then tumbled forward, rolled onto its side, and rolled four times before coming to rest upside down.
  
  
  The air was filled with the smells of melting aluminum and magnesium, burning rubber and plastic. There was no smell of burning Sheng flesh, it was too weak compared to the other flaming elements. As the cab melted and flowed, leaving scars on the grass, I saw her, what could be an ego and a body, or what could be a charred, crooked log or a shriveled black cow. The wheel still held on to the crust. Now and then the flames licked at the ego, but not the parts, because it was already burned through.
  
  
  The orange sergey also showed Tanya running towards me on the grass. The calm was still there. I knew what I was going to do now. She came with a high skirt, beautiful legs rocking that soft flesh. Something dangled from her shoulder strap.
  
  
  I forgot what it means not to hurt. In addition to the injured side, which was usually the strongest, I had a lot of bruises. By some happy twist of fate, no bones were broken, at least I couldn't tell us one. When I took a breath, I had a pain in the bottom of my chest, but it was no worse or better than the others.
  
  
  Tanya reached me out of breath. I managed to get to my feet. I stand there, where the whole world is lit up with undulating orange and red flames, and wait for Tanya to come to me.
  
  
  We stood in the orange light for a long time, just holding each other. Her frail body was shaking with sobs. For some reason, I was smiling.
  
  
  Then she pushed away from me and looked up at my face. "Did we lose?" she asked. "I know he's dead... but the mission ... is us... failed?"
  
  
  He kissed her earlobe. "Let's see. I have an idea--. If he's right, we've succeeded."
  
  
  Then she grabbed me again, and it hurt her almost to pass out. "Oh, Nick!" she exclaimed. "When I saw the bus rolling and rolling, I thought you were inside..."
  
  
  «Shh. It's all right. What's in your briefcase?"
  
  
  "First aid kit. She got a call from Mr. Hawke. He's on his way. A nickname? Where are you going?"
  
  
  "I was hobbling towards the overturned bus. She was running next to me. " I want to take a look at the Winged Tiger
  
  
  Uh, " I said.
  
  
  The plane was still burning, but the flames had decreased slightly. I could feel the fervor as I circled to get to the bus. Metal poured out of it like molten silver lava, seeping around cracks and open cavities.
  
  
  He walked over to the bus and opened its large side door. Inside, the smell of raw gas was strong. Tanya waited outside while hers rummaged through the scattered tools. The box was kicked pretty hard, and a pair of wrenches broke through the windows. Using the wavering flame for peace, I found two screwdrivers, a phillips screwdriver, and a straight slot. I wasn't sure which heads to screw-I would remove it.
  
  
  When I left her via the bus, Tanya obediently and silently walked next to me. She doesn't ask questions; she knew that if she kept quiet and watched, all the answers would be there. When we got to the place where the tail section saw her landing, ee put his arm around her shoulders. She snuggled up to me, touching me lightly with each step.
  
  
  There was a loud explosion behind us, and another cloud of flame boiled up.
  
  
  Tanya glanced over her shoulder. "What do you think it was?"
  
  
  "Probably oxygen tanks. Here he is, on the right."
  
  
  The tail section of the Lear jet broke again, and was lying in the grass about a foot high. I skipped the parts that were torn off from the main one, and stopped when I found the main piece.
  
  
  "Winged tiger," I said.
  
  
  I'm on my knees next to Tanya, and I've wiped the grass stains, dirt, and black soot off her smooth surface. The face and body of a winged tiger were drawn. Two flush-mounted screws held the panel about eight inches square. Her discarded straight-slotted screwdriver and applied Phillips. In less than five minutes, he had freed the panel and hung it on a small chain.
  
  
  "What is it?" Tanya asked as she felt her inner cavity.
  
  
  It was a small package of shiny aluminum foil, about four inches by two. Very carefully, he began to unwrap the foil. Inside were several sheets of folded paper held together.
  
  
  Tanya was looking over my arm. "Nick," she said. "That's all, isn't it?"
  
  
  He nodded and handed Hey the cut-off papers. "The Winged Tiger list. All of Sheng's Communist contacts in America." The words came automatically, because I found another sheet of paper wrapped in foil.
  
  
  "Why are you smiling?" Tanya asked.
  
  
  "We have a bonus that I didn't expect. This list lists the names and locations of each contact from Palermo to Saigon, where the heroin is being moved." Hey held it out and kissed the tip of his nose. "Look, my love. Names, locations, and dates of previous meetings."
  
  
  "Nick, then..."
  
  
  My grin turned into a giggle that hurt. "Yes, Tanya, we can say that our locality in Russia was a success."
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The fourteenth chapter.
  
  
  
  
  
  Two days later, he was in Washington, D.C., at Hawke's office, still wrapped in his cocoon. The small office smelled of stale cigar smoke, though he didn't have one now. He sat down at his candid chair across from me. Ego's leathery, wrinkled face was constantly furrowed with worry, but his eyes were contented.
  
  
  "The Attorney General instructed me to write a thank you note on your file, Carter." He smiled at some private joke. "If we can find a place for it."
  
  
  "What about Tanya?" I asked her.
  
  
  Hawk leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms over his flat stomach.
  
  
  "I will make sure that there is gratitude in her file," he said.
  
  
  When he pulled one around his cigars all over his coat pocket, hers, he took out a gold-tipped cigarette. We lit ih together with my lighter.
  
  
  "How's the side?" "What is it?" he asked, his voice softened.
  
  
  "It's a little painful, but not as bad as it's supposed to be."
  
  
  The result was lacerations and bruises, three cracked ribs, and a piece of meat ripped from my side. At one point, it was enough to keep me in the hospital so she couldn't get out.
  
  
  Hawk pulled a cigar around his teeth and Stahl studied the sl. " Well, at least one source of heroin coming in Saigon has been stopped."
  
  
  He nodded to her. "Did you ever find out who fired those nineteen bullets at Carlo Gaddino?"
  
  
  "Yes, they're the two people you caught searching the apartment. They were, of course, acting on Sheng's orders. It looks like they got into Gaddino's house by pretending to collect laundry. Once inside, they went straight to the sauna, opened up. the door, and let him get it around the silenced assault rifles .38. Nineteen times. Then they took the laundry and left."
  
  
  "Afterwards, I think they received an order from Shen to get the list from Asasano."
  
  
  .
  
  
  "Absolutely fantastic. And they should have killed Akasano quietly, with a dagger."
  
  
  "So what's going on with the Winged Tiger list?"
  
  
  "It's already happening, Carter. At the moment, all Communists are being arrested. We found that most of the people around them are in this country illegally, so they will be deported back to China."
  
  
  He leaned forward and stubbed out his cigarette. "Sir, what will happen to La Cosa Gordeeva? With Nicoli, Akasano, and Sheng all dead, who will become the new underworld boss?"
  
  
  Hawke shrugged, then mashed his cigar in the ashtray. "They'll probably find someone that no one has heard of. Its confident that the underworld will continue to function and thrive. Emergency measures are probably already in place."
  
  
  I came up with pictures of Lake Tahoe, and the cabins on the lake shore. "What about the real Sandy Catron? You don't have anything to hold her for, do you?"
  
  
  "No, we don't do that. You know, she's here in Washington. After a lot of talking to her, we convinced her that maybe she would make a useful career with us."
  
  
  Hers, leaned forward. "What?"
  
  
  But Hawk didn't even blink. "She agreed to stay close to Akasano's friends and let us know about ih's activities. Who knows? Perhaps one day the newly elected boss of the American underworld will become an undercover agent working for the government."
  
  
  He stood up and leaned forward, resting his palms on the chair. "Sunday is relaxing for you, Carter. Two, if you want. Any plans?"
  
  
  "All right," sit back told her. "It's about keeping the real Sandy Catron in a shack that gave me some ideas. I keep thinking about those mountains north of Flagstaff, the cabin is high enough that the snow is still all around nah, sitting in front of the stone hearth, maybe not when a little fishing, but at night... "
  
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  People in a small village three miles away said it was too late for snow to fall. Tanya said that snowflakes are a welcome committee.
  
  
  We rented a sledge pulled by a bay mare. And when we had loaded her with food and supplies, we crawled under a thick blanket and made a mare towards our hut. Tanya snuggled up to me.
  
  
  There was a bell on the sledge that led people out to each cabin we passed. They stood on the porch and villages as we passed.
  
  
  The air smelled of pine. And the trees stood like crowds of tall, thin soldiers lined up along our path. The stream curved and curved about four feet from the narrow road we were following.
  
  
  "Good luck fishing," he commented.
  
  
  "If you have the time."
  
  
  I looked at the girl sitting next to me, in her jacket, with a faint smudge around her green eyes, at the tip of her upturned nose, reddened from the cold. And the look she gave me was that of a woman, not a girl.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  When we unloaded the sledge and took care of the mare, it was already dark. We took the dishes, washed them, and lit a fire in the fireplace.
  
  
  The interior wasn't luxurious. Nen had three main rooms. The large living room had a kitchen and dining chair at one end and a fireplace at the other. In addition to the front and back, there were two doors leading to the street, one to the bathroom and the other to the bedroom. All the furniture was handmade, surrounded by pine trees. In front of the fireplace was a large rug wrapped around a bearskin.
  
  
  Sitting in front of the fireplace and smoking it, I noticed that the lamps in the living room were going out. Tanya was in the bathroom. As the single saint radiated from the flickering firelight, hers, I felt her close to me.
  
  
  Her hand lightly brushed the back of my neck, then slid over my shoulder and down my arm to my arm. She was sitting behind me. Now she came and knelt in front of me.
  
  
  She was wearing a knitted sweater with a zipper in the front and a short skater skirt. When he started to unbutton her sweater, he noticed that there was nothing underneath.
  
  
  "Where's the bra," I whispered.
  
  
  "Right. She lay back on the rug around the bearskin, her breasts smooth and red in the firelight.
  
  
  He knelt beside her. My fingers found the zipper and button on the side of her skirt.
  
  
  "You won't have much time for fishing, Nick dear," she said in a hoarse voice.
  
  
  "What do you think I'm doing now?"
  
  
  When he pulled down her skirt, she lifted up so that he could slide it down the length of her slender leg. She was wearing a pair of blue bikini bottoms with white lace edges. I smiled at her as my thumbs caught in my belt.
  
  
  The holy Fire caressed her smooth skin like dancing fingers. She was very young and very pretty. She was being kissed by the hard, smooth ee of life as she pulled down her panties. Then she stood up in surprise.
  
  
  The tiny barrel of the gun pointed straight at me. A smile appeared on Tanya's lips. There was a loud click, but gawking didn't hit me. A small flag popped up around the gun barrel.
  
  
  There were two words on nen: I LOVE YOU.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Carter Nick
  
  
  Cairo or the Cairo Mafia
  
  
  
  
  
  Nick Carter
  
  
  Killmaster
  
  
  Cairo
  
  
  or the Cairo Mafia
  
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  The first chapter
  
  
  The second chapter
  
  
  The third chapter
  
  
  The fourth chapter
  
  
  Chapter Five
  
  
  Chapter Six
  
  
  Chapter Seven
  
  
  Chapter Eight
  
  
  Chapter Nine
  
  
  The tenth chapter
  
  
  Chapter Eleven
  
  
  Chapter Twelve
  
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Dedicated to members of the United States Secret Service
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The first chapter.
  
  
  
  
  The Arusha Police Station was a small whitewashed room with walls peeling off flowers and a few pieces of scarred wooden furniture squatting behind the front desk. Bamboo curtains covered the two windows, and allowed sunlight, then noon, to enter through them and form yellow streaks on the floor and opposite moaning area. A slow ceiling fan idly pushed the heavy, sticky air in the room, but it didn't seem to move the ego. The door to the dirty street was open without a partition, and large brown flies buzzed dully in the stinking air. In the far corner, the cockroach carefully crawled out through the cracks in the moans, then returned to its dark safety.
  
  
  I was standing in handcuffs in front of the counter, my safari shirt torn and blood drying on my underwear. Two big black African policemen surrounded me with batons ready for beating. They had arrested me for fighting in a saloon, and now I was being processed by the I. H. sergeant, a thin, lanky man who sat at an old desk behind the counter and studied the fake papers he had given them.
  
  
  "I see you're Canadian, Mr. Pryor," the sergeant said in English. "Professional hunter". He shook his head slowly. "We have a lot of problems with Americans and Canadians. Well, you'll find that you can't cross the border into Kenya and cause trouble here without consequences ."
  
  
  Her screamed at him. - 'Irina diyesema hivii!'"I didn't cause any trouble! It wasn't her who started the bloody fight!
  
  
  He looked at me dispassionately, adjusting the hair on his dark face. - You can tell your opinion to the judge. He pointed to the two men standing next to me. "Take the ego and lock it up."
  
  
  They dragged me roughly through a doorway and into a long room that wasn't a large cell with a corridor running the length of it. The corridor was separated from the cell by heavy iron bars. The door in the grate was set up about halfway. When they brought me to day, I saw three men in digital cameras sitting and lying on the wet floor. Two were African and the third was white.
  
  
  As the tallest one around the two policemen started to unlock the cell door, she was momentarily pulled away by the other man's ploy. In Swahili, he said, " I was told I could contact a lawyer."
  
  
  "Hapana!" he lunged at me, grabbing my arm again. 'Not now!'
  
  
  'No way!"Her shouted out.
  
  
  The tall policeman turned to me, forgetting the door he was unlocking. "Do you want to cause trouble, Mr. Pryor?"
  
  
  "I want my blood rights," I said loudly. He pulled away from his partner again.
  
  
  Then both men grabbed me, their hard, muscular arms grabbing roughly at my arms and neck. Hers, fighting them, trying to break free. We spun around in a small circle and hit the bars hard, shaking ih.
  
  
  The men on the digital cameras showed interest in the fight, and everyone turned to watch.
  
  
  I managed to break out of the ruse of a shorter guard, but the taller one became enraged and struck out with a club. The kick slid across my head and spent most of its force on my arm and shoulder.
  
  
  He grunted under the blows of the baton, then elbowed the man up and back in the throat. He made a soft sound and stumbled to the floor.
  
  
  When another police officer raised his baton to strike, he punched her candid emu in the face. He fell on the bars, and the rta bled. But this man was a bull, and the blow would not waver ego. He hit hard with his stick. Her caught the club and pulled it hard, bringing the ego out on the counterweights. Her ego tore off the bars, waved a mimmo arc of itself, and pinned her to the moaning hallway.
  
  
  "Hatari!" The tall guard shouted in the direction of the room I was being led out of, and struggled to his feet.
  
  
  My burly friend had already recovered and was reaching out to me. Her ego quickly kneed him in the groin. He screamed in pain and doubled over, clutching at himself, dropping the club.
  
  
  He turned back to the tall policeman as he got to his feet. He swung at it, but missed. He drove his stick into me and didn't miss, hitting me in the face and neck. Pain exploded in my skull. There was a brief moment of blackness, and then it hit the floor with a sharp thud. The tall policeman stepped in front of me and raised his baton again. I grabbed it by the ego of my leg, and with a small amount of force that was still in my hands, he pulled hard. Ego's legs gave out and he fell to the floor for the second time.
  
  
  But the ego partner had already recovered and picked up the stick. Out of the corner of her eye, he could see Baton descending. I ducked, but it caught me in the back of the head and neck. The wavering darkness hit again, and he collapsed to the floor on his back, eyes closed, almost unconscious. When I opened her eyes, the desk sergeant was standing in front of me with a gun pointed at my head.
  
  
  "This will be enough," he told the other two in soft Swahili.
  
  
  The bull, who was still ready to strike with the club, moved, lowering the stick. The sergeant looked at me grimly.
  
  
  "Something tells me that it will be some time before your case is referred to the magistrate," he said quietly.
  
  
  "Go to hell," emu told her.
  
  
  He pointed to the other two. They grabbed me roughly and dragged me into the cell. Then they turned and left, locking the door behind them, and I was left alone with the other three prisoners.
  
  
  She was slowly scanned by ih faces, heads throbbing with pain. My eyes focused on the other white man, moving from his grinning face to the African squatting next to me. He returned her smile with a grimace and relaxed a little. The first stage of receiving work orders was successfully completed. Her voice came to kill a white man, and her voice was locked in the same digital cell with him.
  
  
  "Bwana is too sick from the batons," said the smiling African next to me. "Big Askari, he uses the baton a lot all the time." The man was dressed in Western clothing, ripped pants and a shirt, but he had a fetish bracelet on his right wrist, and there were fine-patterned scars on his cheeks and shoulders where the sleeves ended. He had only one good eye.
  
  
  "I'll be fine," I said.
  
  
  "You're a bloodthirsty fool to start anything with them," the white man told me scornfully. Then, as if that was the only thing worth making a comment about, he Aryans turned away.
  
  
  I didn't answer, but I turned to look at him. He was a little older than me, tall and thin, with a hard face, straight lines and stubble. Nen was wearing a dirty worsted suit and scuffed white ballet slippers. Ego's eyes were cold and penetrating. Ego's name was Brian Sykes, and he was a professional assassin.
  
  
  He trudged to sit next to him at the back of the cell. The one-eyed African came to the bars and sat down next to us, about ten feet away from the third prisoner on the digital cameras. This third man was a primitive African Kikuyu warrior, dressed in tribal garb all over with red ochre cotton and brass armbands. He sat cross-legged against the bars across from me, his back still, his eyes expressionless.
  
  
  He turned away from them all and closed his eyes. I needed to rest - it was going to be a long night. Fighting the cops didn't help, but I had to convince Sykes that he was a legitimate prisoner. The digital cameras stank of urine, and I tried to ignore it. He recalled his conversation with David Hawke in Nairobi about Sykes and the plans of the Russian Novigrom I.
  
  
  "This is going to be the fastest fighter around ever built, Nick," Hawke told me. "But fortunately, we stole the plans. Agent John Drummond will be in Cairo soon with the microfilm and then bring ego here. He will deliver the film to you, and it will be your job to make sure it gets to Washington safely."
  
  
  'Yes sir.'
  
  
  But there is a fly in the ointment. Our sources think that the Russians know about our meeting here. They are believed to have hired Brian Sykes, a professional marksman, to kill Drummond when he arrives in Nairobi with the film. The Oni ego will be captured, and we will return to where we started. So...'
  
  
  "So I'll kill Sykes before he kills us," I said.
  
  
  Vote and that's it. He is currently in the hall in Arusha and is expected to fly here for this last-minute assignment. Follow him, N3.
  
  
  But when she arrived in Arusha, she was discovered that Sykes was locked up in the local jail for drunkenness and disorderly conduct and would be released, just in time to fly to Nairobi. Waiting for the ego to be released was too risky. Besides, I didn't have time. So I was thrown in jail with him.
  
  
  He forced himself to take a short nap. When her woke up, her whole body was stiff, and felt like I needed Sunday in a hospital bed. I looked through the bars of my cell at the bars of a window in the corridor and saw that it was dark outside. He could hear the rain thudding on the metal roof of the house.
  
  
  The light was dim, coming from a low-watt light bulb in the hallway. In one stream of the chamber, water entered from the outside, forming a shallow puddle. In addition, there was a stench of urine coming from both ends of the cell. I looked at the wakeful Kikuyu across from me and guessed that he must have relieved himself. Even now, he was looking down at the opposite stream of the camera. Following ego's gaze, I saw that he was watching two rats looking for food there.
  
  
  Sykes stirred and grumbled to himself. Not far from Kikuyu, another African was fast asleep and snoring.
  
  
  "It's a damned stinking prison," said Sykes. Damned savages.
  
  
  One of the rats boldly approached the Kikuyu. He stared intently without turning his head. The rat came up and licked it. Suddenly, the Kikuyu's hand flew out and grabbed. The rat squealed loudly, but only once, when the kikuyu broke its neck with one hand. Then, while his legs were still twitching, he tore the flesh from the rat's life and prepared to eat it. Ego's eyes met mine in recognition of ego's hunting success, and hers gave emu a small smile. But Sykes was on his feet in a rage.
  
  
  He shouted. "Bloody savage, are you trying to make me angry? He walked up to the kikuyu and punched the African in the arm, knocking out a dead rat on the ego of the hand. "Leave the damn vermin alone, you black bastard, or I'll stick it in your head between the bars behind you."
  
  
  He was leaning over the Kikuyu threateningly. He was the same height as the African, and nen had more meat, but the kikuyu showed no fear. He also didn't move against him, even though he could see the hatred in her ego's almond-shaped eyes. I looked at the other African and saw that he had been asleep all this time. I remember it, it's in my mind.
  
  
  Sykes came up to me, glowering. "And you, Yank, are sitting on the only dry spot in this place. Move on down the line ."
  
  
  Her, looked at him. "I came first," I said.
  
  
  Sykes grinned again and reached into his suit. He took out a small knife and flashed the ego blade. He said. 'Is there something you want? The smile disappeared.
  
  
  Hers, he shrugged. "Okay, don't be so rude about it," I said. Grumbling, he moved about fifteen feet and watched as Sykes took my dry spot. "Fair game Turnabout," I said.
  
  
  He grinned hideously. "The voice is like forever looking at this buddy," he said, putting the knife down in a minute. "Now, you bleeding people, try to keep quiet while I sleep."
  
  
  Kikuyu and her exchanged glances as Sykes slumped and closed his eyes. I glanced at the watch the sergeant had allowed me to keep. There were only fifteen minutes left until the next check-up. I listened to the rain on the roof and watched the black-and-orange line of a dragon lizard on the edge of the wall chasing a brown moth. His thin legs moved cautiously, slowly,like a lioness sitting on a gazelle. Just before the lizard could strike, the moth flew away, and was willingly finished. He passed a hand over his lips and looked at the slumbering Sykes. It won't take long.
  
  
  A few moments later, the police officer on duty came out into the corridor, through another room. He carried a short-barreled revolver in a holster on his belt. As he approached her, he closed his eyes, feigning sleep. I heard him pause for a moment on the day of the cell, then, satisfied, turn and go into another room. I opened my eyes and saw that the kikuyu was looking at me curiously. Emu winked at her and looked at Sykes and the other African. They both seemed to be asleep. The African was snoring loudly, a sound that would have drowned out many other noises.
  
  
  He got up quietly and looked at the kikuyu again. I didn't think that
  
  
  he will interfere, and it will take bombs to wake up another African. It's time to make a move.
  
  
  Hers came softly up to Sykes. He moved his lips and shook his head. I didn't have a weapon, so I had to rely on my bare hands. She crouched down in front of him. At that moment, the sleeping African let out a loud barking snore, and Sykes ' eyes flew open. When he saw me kneeling in front of him, the sleepy look instantly left his eyes.
  
  
  'Hello there! What the hell are you doing, tailor...?
  
  
  He reached out, grabbed ego by the neck with both hands, and pulled him away from the wall. The next thing I knew, he was lying on his back on the floor, my fingers gripping his throat. Ego's face is red and his eyes are bulging. Ego's sinewy hands tried to break free by my ploy. Her, noticed that he was a lot stronger than he looked. But now the ego, the arrogance, is gone. A person's ego developed fear, and then understanding. He tried to speak, but couldn't.
  
  
  Suddenly, with the hidden force of desperation, he broke my grip and slammed his forearm into my face. When I staggered back from the blow, he put his knee between us and threw me off.
  
  
  Her, landed on his back, and Sykes quickly climbed up one tribe at a time. "Just like the voice and everything," he breathed.
  
  
  It wasn't Stahl who answered it. Her foot hit his, and my shoe slammed into Ego's shin, knocking ego's leg off. He let out a cry of pain - thankfully not loud. I lunged at him, but he rolled away from the attacks and got to his knees again. This time, he was holding a small knife.
  
  
  He held the blade out in front of him, the evil grin returning to his hard face. "It looks like you saved me some time and effort," he said. Then he jumped at me.
  
  
  Her moved to the left, avoiding the knife in life, and caught ego's knife hand in the same motion. The force of the ego tug knocked us both to the floor, where we rolled twice, trying to grab the knife.
  
  
  Sykes climbed on top of me for a moment, and I found myself wishing desperately that I could get my Hugo stiletto into the cell with me. But Hugo was deliberately left behind, along with Wilhelmina, my 9mm Luger. Sykes violently pushed my hand away and delivered another blow with the four-inch blade. Ego grabbed her arm again, but not before he'd given me a shallow gash in the shoulder. When he saw the blood on my safari jacket, that awful grin came back.
  
  
  "I'm getting to you, Yank. I'm going to cut out your liver.
  
  
  He tightened his grip on the knife, tensing. She had to be disarmed by ego, otherwise he would find his way to the blade sooner or later. Her ego released her other hand and punched his ego in the face.
  
  
  Sykes wasn't ready for a counterattack. He lost his balance and fell on his side. Then he fell on top of him, grabbing the knife arm in both hands and turning hard. He screamed. The knife slid across the cell floor out of reach.
  
  
  He hit me hard on the head. It fell on its side, and he jumped to his knees, preparing to rush for the knife. But hers, I dove into it from behind, and it sank beneath me.
  
  
  Kikuyu watched it all coldly and calmly from his place by the bars. The other African, though not snoring, was still asleep. There was no evidence that the attendant in the other room had heard anything else.
  
  
  She was hit hard on the neck by Sykes, while simultaneously hitting her kidney with his knee. He grunted, grabbed me, and threw me to the floor in front of him. He quickly got up and saw the fear on his face again. He turned, opening his mouth to call out to the attendant.
  
  
  He slammed his hand down on Ego Adam's apple with a crunch, cutting off the scream before it could escape around ego's throat. He backed away, gasping and choking.
  
  
  I closed the distance, dodged a crazy right that he threw at me, and grabbed ego from behind, my hands firmly clamped over ego's mouth and nose.
  
  
  He tore at me frantically, but I held on like a bulldog. He was kicking and thrashing. Ego's face darkened and the veins in his neck bulged. Ego's hands cut through the air, trying to find me. Muffled choking noises erupted around ego's throat. Ego's right hand slid down my back, his fingernails covered in blood.
  
  
  Ego's hand clenched twice in a convulsive fist, and then his whole body went limp.
  
  
  Brian Sykes was no longer a threat to us, to Agent Drummond, to us, to anyone else.
  
  
  I looked at kikuyu and saw that he was grinning silently. The other African was still asleep, but moving restlessly. We couldn't hear any sound around the room at the end of the corridor where the attendant was.
  
  
  He took Sykes's knife, wiped the printouts off it, and put it back in his pocket. Then he pulled her body up to moan and put her ego in a sitting position, closing her eyes.
  
  
  Now to the point, the part of the operation that deals with may be more complex than the Sykes windings. I had to break out around this East African prison parody. He unbuttoned his safari jacket and examined his bleeding shoulder. As I thought, the wound wasn't deep. He reached under his arm, peeled off a piece of flesh-colored plastic, and removed the small piece of metal he was hiding. It was a lock pick.
  
  
  She was just heading towards the day of the cell when she heard a sound around the room for the hallway. She quickly returned to moaning beside the corpse and hid the metal hook. He closed his eyes as the attendant came through the door and started down the corridor.
  
  
  Without opening his eyes, he listened to her footsteps. They had stopped, and he knew that the guard was standing outside his cell. There was a long pause. I wondered if Sykes looked asleep or dead. Another thought struck me. Suppose the desk clerk wants to talk to Sykes about something? I might have a problem.
  
  
  He kept her eyes closed. Then she heard the guard pull the rope of a weak light bulb, and shaggy retreated down the corridor.
  
  
  He carefully got up and walked over to the cell phone. A single saint now radiated around the window in the hallway and into the closet at the far end. It was hard to see the lock at first, but eventually he put a lock pick in it. Kikuyu watched with interest. The lock was too big for my lock pick, and at first my ego couldn't move it. Her cursed under her breath, followed by five minutes of futile effort. I didn't have all night. In the near future, the police will report their rounds, and this will complicate everything.
  
  
  He wiped his sweaty hands on his trousers and tried again, working more slowly. The toggle switch carefully found it, found the lock pick in the right position, and turned it sharply. The lock opened.
  
  
  He opened the door just inches away, and put the lock pick in a minute. The Kikuyu was watching me closely. Emu nodded, then made a silent gesture to see if he wanted to leave with me. He understood and refused with a movement of his head. "Santa Sana," I told her softly, hoping he spoke enough Swahili to know that I was thanking ego for going about his business. He nodded.
  
  
  He walked through the cell door and stopped in the hallway. This whole Sykes thing would have been a bad game if I hadn't gotten out of here. If he hadn't, he would undoubtedly have rotted away in an African prison for life.
  
  
  There was only one way out-through the office, where an armed guard was on duty. He moved toward the ego light, considering his next move as they approached. As her day approached, her sneaked a peek into the office. The guard was sitting at a desk, reading what looked like comic books. The gun on his hip looked big and ugly.
  
  
  Her ducked back into the shadows for the day. Well, it's now or never. I turned away from the doorway and shouted for my voice to carry down the hall.
  
  
  'Security!'
  
  
  The chair scraped on the floor, and she heard the man grunt. Shaggy then approached the doorway. She stepped back into the shadows as the guard passed mimmo me.
  
  
  She was quickly struck by a blow that clipped the base of the man's skull. My target was a little thinner, and her hit it harder than planned. The man grunted and fell to his knees, stunned.
  
  
  Before he could recover, her hands were clasped together and slammed them down hard on ego's thick neck. He grunted loudly and sprawled motionless on the floor.
  
  
  Ego grabbed her gun, tucked ego into his belt, and stood up wearily. It's been a very long evening. Her, quickly walked through the bright holy office to the day in the back moaning. It was opened by the ego, carefully passed through it. Outside, it was cool dark and crickets were calling. There was a stolen Land Rover just a block away that would take me down the back roads to the border in a couple of hours.
  
  
  Hers moved quickly into the darkness ...
  
  
  Hawk chewed thoughtfully on his dead cigar, looking at the small table between us. He had just joined him in the Thorntree yard in New Stanley and immediately sensed that something was wrong.
  
  
  He took the cigar out around his thin lips, turned his icy gray eyes on me, and forced a faint smile.
  
  
  "It was a great job in Arusha, Nick. Sykes had been interfering with AX and the CIA for some time.
  
  
  He studied her thin, tired face under its shock of gray hair.
  
  
  I prompted it. "But something went wrong, didn't it?"
  
  
  Hawk looks at me like he can see right through you. "Actually, Nick. I'm sorry to tell you this after your successful foray into Tanzania, but ... John Drummond is dead.
  
  
  Her father looked at him incredulously. 'Where?'
  
  
  "In Cairo. Two days ago. We just received a notification. Ego's lean, wiry body seemed to have become even thinner.
  
  
  
  I asked her. "The Russians had a killer there, too?"
  
  
  "Maybe so, maybe not. All we know at this point is that Drummond was found in a hotel room with his throat cut. And the microfilm is gone."
  
  
  He slowly shook his head. "Tailor, Drummond was a good man."
  
  
  Hawk put his dead cigar in the ashtray. 'Yes. And we need this movie, N3. Novigrom I is the most advanced fighter around, ever made, and many better than anything we have in the planning stages. When he acts, it will give the Russians an unbearable military advantage over the free world. I don't need to tell you that stealing the planning for this was our most successful intelligence move in years. And now we've lost the plans before Drummond could hand ih over to us. The president won't be happy... "
  
  
  I said 'No'.
  
  
  Hawk looked at me. "I'm sending you to Cairo, my boy. I don't want to do this on you so soon after Arushi, but I don't have a choice. You're our best hope, Nick. Find out exactly what happened to John Drummond and microfilm. And if you can, a good movie ."
  
  
  "Are you willing to spend money on this?"
  
  
  Hawk grimaced. "If that's what it takes."
  
  
  'Good. When will I fly her? '
  
  
  He said almost apologetically,"There's a BOAC plane leaving here late tonight." He reached into the car, pulled out a ticket, and handed it to me.
  
  
  "I'll be on nen." I started stuffing the ticket into my jacket when he caught my arm.
  
  
  "It's a complicated spin, Nick," he said carefully. "Look over your shoulder from time to time.
  
  
  Her pawned ticket is in a minute. "If I didn't know you better, sir," emu told her, " I'd swear I'd just noticed my father's interest in my welfare."
  
  
  He grimaced. "What you noticed was a possessive interest, not a paternal one. I can't afford to lose all my staff in one operation."
  
  
  He grinned and got up from his chair. "Well, I need to clean up a few things before I leave."
  
  
  "I can imagine," he said dryly. "Whoever she is, hey, say hi."
  
  
  My smile widened. 'I'll do it. And I'll get back to you as soon as I can handle it."
  
  
  Hawke let a small smirk twitch the corner of his rta and smiled slightly as he delivered one of his favorite farewell speeches: "I'll see you when I see you, Nick."
  
  
  I went straight to my hotel room, packed a small suitcase that I always carried with me, and informed the management that I would check out later. Then I took a taxi to Norfolk, where a very nice Belgian colonial and developer named Gabrielle had an apartment. Whenever he was in Nairobi, he tried to spend a few hours of leisure time with her and always said goodbye when he could. This time, she was very annoyed by my sudden departure.
  
  
  "But you said you'd be here for a long time," she said. Nah had a charming French accent.
  
  
  He collapsed on the long sofa in the middle of the room. "Are you going to make things difficult and ruin our goodbye?"
  
  
  She pouted for a moment. She was a little girl, but nah had a choice. Her hair was brown, cut to match pixie, and her eyes were huge, wide-set, and dreamy. She has lived in Africa almost since birth, having migrated across the Congo to Kenya with her parents when she was a teenager.
  
  
  When her parents were killed by the Mau Mau, Gabrielle had a hard time. For a short time, she was a highly paid prostitute in Mombasa. But that was all in her past, and now she held a responsible position in a government agency. Luckily for me, hey still liked men.
  
  
  "It's just that you never come here for medical purposes," she said slowly. She turned her big eyes on me. "And I like being with you for a while." She was wearing a tight sweater and a mini skirt. Now she casually pulled the sweater over her head and tossed the ego onto the nearest chair. She looked spectacular in a bra.
  
  
  "You know, I'd stay if I could," I said, looking at Nah appraisingly.
  
  
  "I know what you're telling me," she said, still sulking. She unbuttoned her short skirt and let hey fall to the floor, then walked out on nah. The white lace bikini bottoms barely covered anything. She turned away from me for a moment, pushing back her skirt to reveal the delicious curves of her buttock. "And what you tell me is very little, my lover."
  
  
  Hers, Hey chuckled, and I knew I really liked Gabrielle. Maybe my quick departure was for the best. She kicked off her ballet slippers and sauntered over to me, turning her back on me.
  
  
  "Help me with a bra."
  
  
  She stood up, undid the hooks, and let her bra slide to the floor. Over her shoulder, he could see her full breasts bulging out in their new freedom. Ee put his arm around her and slowly ran his hands over her chest. Gabrielle closed her eyes.
  
  
  "Mmmm," she breathed. "I guess I'll have to forgive you." She turned to me. Her hungry mouth found mine.
  
  
  When the kiss was over, she leaned down and pulled her panties down from her bulging thighs. She pressed her nakedness against me, and my hands caressed the softness of her skin.
  
  
  'Well?'she said in my ear. "Don't you think you should undress?"
  
  
  She helped me out of my clothes and seemed to enjoy it. She pressed her lips to mine again, and he kissed her fiercely, exploring her with his tongue. She was easily held by ee as the pleasure and sensuality of making love grew.
  
  
  She gasped. "Oh, Nick! Nick!'
  
  
  "Let's go to the bedroom," I said hoarsely.
  
  
  'Mmmm.' No, it's open here. I can't wait." She sat down on the thick carpet at our feet and pulled me to her. 'Everything is fine?' She sat down on the mat, her full breasts pointing at me. 'Everything is fine?'she confirmed.
  
  
  It wasn't Stahl who answered it. He quickly approached her. A sudden sharp sigh escaped her lips. She was taken by ee cruelly, cruelly, without thinking about grace, because she really got me, and there was no other way. The sounds in her throat grew louder and louder. He could feel her fingernails, but he ignored the pain. We exploded together in a brilliant, dazzling climax.
  
  
  Hers lay weakly on top of her. Her eyes were still closed, but her lips were parted in a smile. "Mon Dieu," she said softly.
  
  
  It was a wonderful way to say goodbye. And he wasn't thinking about Cairo at all.
  
  
  
  
  The second chapter
  
  
  
  Cairo is not a civilized city. At least not by Western standards. I felt it, as I had during my previous visits, when I first came in contact with this place at the airport. The Arabs were roughly shoving each other and tourists-tonu elbows on the ribs, shouting obscenities, fighting for seats at the reception.
  
  
  It took me two hours to check, but my fake documents passed the test. I took a taxi to the city. We passed through the old town and the bazaar area, where the streets were filled with businessmen, pimps, and tourists with ih guides. There were also dark veils and kufiyahs covering sullen faces, and legless beggars begging for charity. Above all this rose a persistent war cry, an alarming chaos. I remembered that you don't walk the streets of Cairo at night, not when you have your hand on your wallet.
  
  
  At the New Shepherds Hotel, she checked into her room and then visited the fifth floor. Drummond was killed in room 532. The hallway was quiet. Wilhelmina took it from its shoulder holster, checked the Luger for ammunition, and put Ego back in. Its approached on room 532. Listening to the day, he came to the conclusion that there was no one inside.
  
  
  He took the lock pick out of his pocket, inserted the ego in the lock, and turned it. The lock clicked and he pushed the door open. Without saying anything, he went inside and closed the door behind him.
  
  
  The room was dim with the curtains drawn across the windows. He opened the door and opened it, letting in the bright sunlight of Brylev. Then hers, he turned and looked around the room. All, apparently, decided not to rent out the ego yet. The police may not have finished their investigation. He walked over to the large double bed where Hawke had said the body had been found. He grimaced when he saw that there was still a dark bloodstain on the carpet. I don't like dirty killing.
  
  
  The room seemed to have been abandoned almost exactly as the police had found it. The bedspread was pulled back, as if Drummond was ready to end the night. On the wooden products and doors, I noticed several places where the police tried to remove finger prints. The rectangular chair by the bed was overturned, but there was no other sign of a struggle.
  
  
  He remembered the last time he'd seen John Drummond in Langley, just a few months ago. He was tall, sandy-haired, and athletic-looking. One of the last things he said to me was, " No one gets A's in this business forever, Nick." But as I stand there, smiling at me in the sun, tanned and toned, he looks like he might be the exception.
  
  
  He sighed heavily and moved slowly around the room. It was days like these that made the agent take a hard look at what he did for a living. It made you look at the odds that you didn't like doing very much parts.
  
  
  He went to an old desk against the wall and pulled out a long middle drawer. It was a meaningless gesture. The police would have found something worthwhile, and he couldn't go to them. He stared at the empty box. Who killed John Drummond? Did he suspect trouble before he was attacked? If so, he could
  
  
  tried to leave a message for us if he had the chance. Our only dead-end hiding place in Cairo checked it out and came back empty-handed. But maybe Drummond didn't get there in time.
  
  
  Then I remembered something about her. Drummond had read that the agent had left a note attached to the back of a chair drawer. He thought it was pretty ingenious, though Hawk didn't agree with him. He looked at the box again. Feeling a little silly, ego pulled her out completely and examined her backside.
  
  
  My mouth dropped open. It's her voice, the paper taped to the back of the drawer. This must be a message left by John Drummond!
  
  
  He tore off the note and slid the drawer back into place. Her sel for the chair, I felt a surge of excitement.
  
  
  The message was in the code, but Drummond used the Key Book code without any complications or changes. He reached into his doublet pocket and pulled out a paperback book called The Black Continent, eighth Edition. Since Drummond had used page 30 in his last message to AX, he went 25 pages ahead and looked at the encoded message again.
  
  
  It was a collection of unrelated numbers, arranged one line after another in Drummond's hasty scrawl. Then I looked at the first two digits and put ih together. I went to the top line of the page, started at the left margin, and counted the letters and spaces, adding the correct letter to my first number, which was already the first letter of the first word of the message. Then it continued in the same manner from the beginning of the second line of the page. The message continued.
  
  
  The transcript read:
  
  
  Casey with a film taken at the airport. I consider it a random switch of luggage. I found it here at the hotel. The replacement case contains undiluted heroin. I contacted the local underworld, and I hope to solve our case tonight. NT.
  
  
  I had just finished reading the message when I heard a sound in the hallway outside the room. I listened to her, but it didn't happen again. He carefully placed Drummond's note and stuffed it and the paperback inside his jacket. Standing up from behind her chair, I reached out to Wilhelmina. Her silently walked over to the door and stood there for a while, arguing in private, in a moment of indecision.
  
  
  If there was a hotel employee or a police officer hiding in the lobby, he wouldn't want me to be caught here. But suppose it was someone who knew something about John Drummond's death and the change of government? I couldn't let him go.
  
  
  I was just about to open the door when I heard shaggy outside, quickly retreating down the hall. The burglar heard me, or perhaps saw my shadow under the door. He grabbed the door handle, yanked it open, and stepped out into the hall.
  
  
  I looked to my left, in the direction of the sound of footsteps, and saw her figure disappear around the corner of the corridor. I didn't get enough time to identify her; all I knew was that it was a man. Closing the door and hers behind him, he raced down the hall.
  
  
  As I turned the corner, I caught another glimpse of her - but I saw no more of her than I had the first time. The man rushed down the stairs.
  
  
  Emu was shouting at her. 'Wait!'
  
  
  But he was gone. He ran down the hall to the stairs, Wilhelmina in his hand, and started down three steps at a time. I could hear shaggy banging on the stairs a couple of flights ahead of me, but I didn't see the man running away again. As he neared the first floor, the door leading to the lobby was just closing. He paused for a moment to put Wilhelmina in her holster, then walked into the old hotel's tiled lobby.
  
  
  There were a few tourists hanging around the chair, but there was no sign of my man. The revolving doors at the entrance opened slightly. He walked briskly across the lobby toward them. Outside, I scanned the busy street, but it was hopeless. Her ego has lost it.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  An old friend visited her that night. Hakim Sadeq was a local university professor with an insatiable thirst for excitement and adventure. He worked for AX a couple of times. I knew that he knew a certain amount about the underworld of Cairo, so I went to him, armed with my decrypted note.
  
  
  "Nicholas!" he greeted me warmly at his upscale home on Shariat Fouad el Awal. "That was a long time ago. Al-salam alaikum.
  
  
  "Y -' alaykum as-salam, " I said. "Peace be with you, too, old friend."
  
  
  "Please," he said, offering me a seat on the low couch.
  
  
  When she was gone, he called a servant and ordered us two mint teas. I couldn't bring myself to tell Hakim that I didn't like peppermint tea. He thought it was one of my favorite drinks.
  
  
  "So, what brings you to my humble home?" he said, smiling. He was thin
  
  
  an almost hunched-over man with a slaver's face. His ego sticks were pockmarked, and his thin lips looked cruel even when he smiled. But he was an extremely educated man, and his English was better than mine.
  
  
  "You and I are going to rob the Museum of Antiquities," I said.
  
  
  He looked at me expectantly, his eyes lighting up, and then he saw that I was joking. "Oh, you're a funny guy, Nicholas! "He laughed out loud, but leaned in conspiratorially:"You know, this isn't such a supposedly bad idea."
  
  
  Her, grinned emu in rheumatism. Hakim was one of the most prominent figures hired by AX in the recent past. In his red fez and djellaba robe, he looked very much like a treacherous desert bandit.
  
  
  "If I had the time, she would be invited to try it out with you," emu told her. "But I'm afraid I have a problem, Hakima."
  
  
  Ego's eyes narrowed, and he touched a finger to his caramel nose. Let me tell you what your problem is, Nicholas. Last week, an American man was found dead in his hotel room. He was an AX agent, really?
  
  
  "All right," I said. He pulled out a decoded note and gave it to Hakim. "He left it to us."
  
  
  Hakim studied the note carefully, then looked at me. "If the mix-up eq really did contain heroin, Nicholas, the switch must have been a mistake. And if it was a mistake and your person tried to fix it, why was the ego killed?
  
  
  "Good corkscrew," I said. "The Russians may have found Drummond, and the replacement case is just a red herring that is confusing us. But if the underworld is really involved, there could be a dozen possible explanations for Drummond's death. It's important to return the tape he carried to Casey attache."
  
  
  A small, thin servant with a brown, nutty face brought us tea. Hakim stirred the green mint leaves in our glasses. Her, as politely as possible, declined the sweetmeat. When the servant had gone, Hakim looked at me.
  
  
  "This important microfilm, then?"
  
  
  "Very important, Hakim. If you still have connections to the criminal underworld of Cairo, I would be grateful for your help. I need to find out who killed Drummond and why. That might lead me to this microfilm."
  
  
  Hakim stirred his tea slowly. "I must admit, Nicholas, that over the past year I have lost touch with the criminal element here. My help would be really negligible. But since it supposedly happened to my friend that I know of an Interpol agent who could help you.
  
  
  "Nothing about this should be included in official reports," I said. "Can he keep his mouth shut?"
  
  
  Hakim smiled, a smile that even if ego didn't know it, would have convinced me that he was going to cut my throat. "The agent is a girl, and she is very nice. She's an Arab with some French blood. Her name is Fayeh Nasir. In Arabic, Fayeh means " The Flame of Desire." The smile widened to a degenerate grin. "She works as an animator at the Scheherazade nightclub on Alpha Bay Street. Exotic dancer. You must, of course, judge for yourself. But maybe she can help."
  
  
  He took a sip of his tea and tried not to grimace. "Okay, I'll see her," I said. "I have to start somewhere." Hers rose from the low sofa, and so did Hakim. 'Now its up to me to go.'
  
  
  "You should come when we can talk, Nicholas," Hakim said.
  
  
  "That would be great. And thank you for the initiative.
  
  
  He shook his head. "Her hotel could have been more personal. Keep in touch. And don't let me find your name in the obituaries."
  
  
  "Allahu Akbar," I said. "May Allah's will be done."
  
  
  Hakim's crooked grin reappeared. "You should have been born an Arab."
  
  
  It was almost midnight when her husband Hakeem came out of the house. I took a taxi back to the city center. On the way there, through the dark streets, I could have sworn we were being followed. When we entered Ego's Sharia Maspero with bright lights and more heavy traffic, she was released by a taxi, planning to walk to the hotel on foot. The car that seemed to be following us passed mimmo as the taxi stopped and turned the corner. "I must have imagined her," he said to himself.
  
  
  I started walking, unconsciously nudging Wilhelmina with my left hand. Even in this wide street - with the Nile to my right-all the buildings to my left looked like narrow, dark doorways, and its carapace through several gloomy alleys.
  
  
  It was passed by a mimmo of a handless beggar who chanted a begging request. He paused and tossed a few piastres into the container between leg's egos. He thanked me pointedly with a toothless grin, and he found himself suspecting even this poor helpless man. I walked back to my hotel, unable to shake the feeling that there was something wrong with my world. I walked another block when I heard shaggy behind me.
  
  
  They were soft and shaggy, and most people would have missed the sound.
  
  
  But they were there, and they were catching up with me. I didn't turn it or speed it up. I pictured the beggar behind me. He had torn his hands from under the djellaba and was gripping a long, curved knife tightly in his fist.
  
  
  But this is nonsense. If shaggy really chased me like they looked, the culprit behind the pursuit was undoubtedly by the black car that was engaged in following the taxi from Hakim.
  
  
  Shaggy were now close. He decided to stop, turn around, and confront his pursuer. But before he could, he reached another dark alley. He was so preoccupied with the footsteps behind him that he didn't pay attention to the alley when mimmo passed him.
  
  
  A hand shot out through the darkness of the alley, grabbed my arm violently, and knocked me off balance in the darkness. I was caught off guard, and I remember being angry with myself for being so careless when I threw myself over her protruding leg onto the sidewalk. In the next instant, she was looking around the prone position of a figure in black who was engaged in grabbing me. He was wearing an ankle-length striped djellaba, and his target was covered in a desert kufiyah that hid his face. Then I saw a silhouette appear in her mouth in the alley, another large figure in the shadows, and I knew it was the person who was chasing me. He was holding an ugly pistol with a heavy silencer, and the ego of the comrade standing in front of me had a broad-bladed dagger.
  
  
  'What's the matter?'Its said. "What do you want - my money?"
  
  
  But they weren't going to discuss things with me. While the man with the knife held the weapon threateningly pointed at me, the man with the gun raised it, apparently aiming at my chest.
  
  
  There wasn't much time to think. As soon as he pulled the trigger, her fire lines turned to the moaning buildings to my left. I heard the soft click of a silenced pistol, and felt the fire shoot through my right arm. The gawking stung me.
  
  
  Hers landed next to a wooden crate that had a lot of trash in it. He grabbed the box with one hand and swung it in an arc toward the gunslinger. The box and its contents hit Ego in the face and chest, and he lost his balance.
  
  
  But then another man was on top of me. He lunged at me, the knife plunging into my chest. He turned, managing to grab the knife hand. My ego body hit me hard and I almost lost my grip on my arm. Ego's face was next to mine, lean and cruel as he struggled to stick the knife in.
  
  
  He gathered his strength and fiercely pushed the figure aside. It flew away from me, hitting the sidewalk a few feet away. But now the other gunman had recovered from the collision with the crate and was pointing his gun at me again. He swore and rolled away from the wall as he fired. This time, the gawk bit into the sidewalk next to my head.
  
  
  When I saw her, I rolled over and squeezed her right forearm, and Hugo slid into my palm. When he found himself face-to-face with the gunman, Hugo was ready. I swung my hand up, and the stiletto slid noiselessly around my arm. He rolled over once, and noiselessly buried his face in the lower part of the Arab's chest.
  
  
  Even in the dark, I could see the bandit's eyes widen, and then he stumbled toward me, one hand on the hilt of his stiletto, the gun hanging loosely from the other. When he hit the wall, the gun went off twice, two thuds, bullets bouncing off the sidewalk at my feet, and the wall from which he had just moved. Then the man fell. It fell slowly like a tree and hit Hugo in the face and chest with a thud.
  
  
  The bandit lay dead between me and another Arab. The survivor looked at his dead comrade, then turned. The cruel eyes closed to ugly slits. Suddenly he lunged at me.
  
  
  The knife was in my throat. Her father tried his best to keep it away. One blow cut the jugular vein. My attacker's hand was shaking as he tried to reach me. He moved his foot between ego's legs and kicked to the right, simultaneously pushing ego's arms and shoulders to the left. He fell off me, grumbling. Her rolled onto it, and he grabbed the knife arm, trying to turn it. He hit me with his left hand and he lost his balance. A moment later, he was on his feet.
  
  
  Its jumped up when it circled me forever. Now, he was going to be careful and wait until he could do the killing. He saw an opportunity and came over, swinging a wide knife at me for the first time. I pulled away, and the blade sliced through my jacket and shirt. He swallowed hard. He was very good with a knife.
  
  
  We went around the circle again. Now that my eyes had adjusted to the darkness, he could see what I was doing better. Hers wasn't looking at the sword, his was looking at the man's face. Her eyes changed,
  
  
  he was planning a second attack, and he was ready. He grabbed her hand with the knife and pulled her towards him, bypassing himself. Turning at the same time, he threw the man over his shoulder and threw him hard. He slammed his back and head against the sidewalk, losing the knife.
  
  
  Ego pulled her to her feet. He struggled to wake up and fight back, but her ego punched him in the face, knocking him back against the moan of the alley. Her, moved toward him, slammed candid into life's ego and heard him gasp as he doubled over, clutching at life.
  
  
  Her ego jerked her up and studied the hard, lean face. I'd never seen it before; I wondered if it was the man in the hotel room outside Drummond's room.
  
  
  I told her. 'Who are you?"What do you want?'
  
  
  He glanced at the man on the ground, gasping, " Our brothers will find you." He spoke English with a strong accent.
  
  
  Then he broke free and ran outside. It was ego who let her go; His knew I didn't have much chance of getting more out of him.
  
  
  He walked over to the dead man and turned him over. Ego's face was also unfamiliar. And that face looked more Spanish than Arabic. Hugo pulled it out across his chest, wiped it on the man's jellab, and returned the stiletto to its scabbard. Then he looked through the dead man's clothes for identification. There was nothing there.
  
  
  Her, leaned against moaned next to him, trying to regain her strength. These two men were sent by someone who knew I was in Cairo to investigate Drummond's death. And if I hadn't been so lucky when the dead assassin started shooting around that gun, he would have joined Drummond in the ranks of the dead AX agents. It was an unpleasant thought.
  
  
  Moving heavily into the street, he cautiously looked out and saw that there were almost no pedestrians on the boulevard. He left her,stepped out onto the sidewalk, and headed back toward the New Shepheards.
  
  
  I needed to get to the girl quickly through Interpol, that's for sure.
  
  
  
  
  The third chapter.
  
  
  
  The nightclub had muted consecrations, odorous substances, and heavy draperies, and a string ensemble played a very unmelodic Egyptian song under the lilac light. Cigarette smoke hung thick and pungent over the heads of the patrons at the small, low tables.
  
  
  In the center of the tiled floor, a girl danced a kind of dance of life. She was slender and dark, with long, straight hair falling over her bronzed shoulders. Her dark eyes were framed with makeup to make them look even bigger and darker. Beneath them was an aquiline, finely shaped nose and a full mouth with full lips. She was thin, but she had plenty of flesh. Her legs were long and perfect. She was wearing a bra that covered the nipples of her breasts with a small triangle of fabric that served as the rest of her outfit; a sheer veil hung ankle-length from her bikini-type panties. Small bells were tied around her ankles, and in each hand she held tiny metal trays.
  
  
  The trays made a rhythmic metallic sound as she moved across the floor to off-key music, making the hard muscles of her beautiful thighs vibrate as she bounced from one chair to the next. She came over to my table just as the music was peaking. She moved her hips closer to me, shaking me nervously, and shook her shoulders so that her breasts moved excitedly in the fragile bra. All the while, she was smiling, a smile designed to tell the man that she understood the ego, the desire for her.
  
  
  The music ended abruptly with a burst of sound, and Fayeh Nasir, the Flame of Desire, acknowledged the scattered applause of the patrons. Then she came over and sat down in the chair opposite me. Jongleur stepped out onto the floor to watch her move.
  
  
  She smiled at me, showing perfect teeth. 'Did you like my dance?'she asked.
  
  
  Before she could answer, a turbaned waiter came over and we ordered two glasses of local wine. I realized I was looking at the way Faye's breasts seemed to be trying to avoid that tiny bra. "Yes," I finally managed to say. 'You're very good.'
  
  
  She was pleased. "Thank you," she said. "It's more important for me to be a good dancer than a good cop."
  
  
  Her, chuckled. "Some cop," I said. "Nice to meet you, Faye."
  
  
  "And she's with you, Mr. Carter. I was told to wait for you.
  
  
  The waiter brought the wine. I tried it, and it turned out surprisingly well. The girl smiled at me over the rim of her glass, and then her sparkling dark eyes turned somber. "I am very sorry for your colleague," she said.
  
  
  He looked down at his glass. "He was very young." He took another sip of wine. "And the fact that he was Nessus was very important."
  
  
  "Hakim Sadeq didn't mention what it was."
  
  
  Her, looked at that beautiful face. I had to trust her to some extent, or she wouldn't be able to help at all.
  
  
  "Hakim doesn't know Nessus Drummond," he said slowly and deliberately.
  
  
  'I understand her.'
  
  
  "I'm going to tell you, but I want you to understand that this is in the strictest secrecy. You must not repeat this to anyone, not even Hakim." He watched her face carefully.
  
  
  'I understand her.'
  
  
  He took a deep breath. "It's a microfilm. Drummond kept his ego in the handle of a safety razor. The razor was included in the shaving kit in the ego suitcase." Hey told her about changing suitcases and undiluted heroin.
  
  
  "Mr. Drummond seems to be the victim of an unpredictable case," she said thoughtfully.
  
  
  He suppressed a smile. I suddenly found it inappropriate to sit and discuss the crime with an Arab dancer as if she were a Scotland Yard inspector.
  
  
  "The ego killing wasn't part of the operation," I said. "Whoever came to his room to pick up that extra suitcase, apparently he wasn't going to return Drummond's suitcase. Of course, he might be at the bottom of the Nile with the microfilm right now, because it doesn't seem to have any value to the thief. But I don't think so. I think whoever killed Drummond has microfilm, and he knows the importance of ego."
  
  
  "Which is very cool?"
  
  
  Her, looked at nah seriously for a moment. She must know. 'Yes. We stole the blueprints for a Russian plane, a very special plane. Knowledge is vital to the free world. The microfilm was about these plans, and I expect that the ego will be returned."
  
  
  She nodded. "If the underworld has plans, Nick, I can help you," she said. "I have contacts. Its know ih names and operations. Do you have something to do?
  
  
  'Very little."He mentioned the attack on me the night before. "I don't even know if anyone will recognize her from the faces in the archive photos." But Odin around them said something strange - the one who escaped. He mentioned something about his brothers - or ih brothers - who were bothering me.
  
  
  She looked startled. 'Of course! It makes sense, Nick. He didn't mean family relations. He was talking about accomplices in a formidable new underworld syndicate, the New Brotherhood.
  
  
  The New Brotherhood? - repeat it. "Sounds like a partner mafia."
  
  
  She laughed softly. "Odin around the leaders is a Sicilian. But the big man, Pierre Beauvais, is a Frenchman around Paris. In fact, it's a pretty cosmopolitan group. And we're starting to think that this is the most ruthless criminal organization we've ever had to deal with. Ih's actions caused public discontent even in Cairo. They're big drug dealers. But so far we haven't been able to get any evidence against them. We don't even know what Beauvais looks like."
  
  
  "They sound scary," I said.
  
  
  She frowned thoughtfully. "If the New Brotherhood gets involved in this, it won't be easy for you. Do you need help from Interpol?
  
  
  "No," I said quickly. "If you can use the recordings without arousing suspicion, fine. But you don't have to trust anyone. You are now on AX's payroll and will only discuss this assignment with me ."
  
  
  She shrugged her beautiful bronze shoulders. 'You're the boss. I'll do whatever you say."
  
  
  He reached out and put his hand over hers. 'It's good to know. So, where do we start?
  
  
  She hesitated for a moment, then asked: "Can you pay?" When he nodded to her, she continued, " I know a person, a kind of informant, named Thin Man. I believe that Hakim Sadeq is also familiar with him. He transports information back and forth between the law and the criminal world for a living. It is not a small business to survive in this world, but the EMU has been able to successfully move between the two worlds for several years, because it has value for both sides."
  
  
  "And he knows how to contact this New Brotherhood?"
  
  
  "The thin man knows more about this organization than any cop. Don't ask me how he realized that. Her confidence that he knew things that he would never have told us. But for money, he can connect us to them. They'll decide if they want to talk to you."
  
  
  "If there was any indication last night that they weren't in the mood for conversation," I said grimly.
  
  
  "There was a report that a member of the New Cota gang was killed on the same night that your agent died, "she said," although the police will not verify this story. If this is true, the New Brotherhood may think that Drummond killed ih man, and may have decided that you should pay for the death as well. Or they just might not like your presence here."
  
  
  "Well, they don't know that I still have money to pay," I said. "Maybe this will make ih see me in a friendlier light."
  
  
  When Faye finished her evening performance, she dressed and walked out of the dressing room as a schoolgirl in a white sweater and blue mini-skirt,
  
  
  her long dark hair hung down over her shoulders. Most of the makeup was gone, and removing it enhanced the natural beauty of her face.
  
  
  "Very good," I said.
  
  
  She smiled and took my hand, leading me out of there. We had a taxi outside, and Fayeh gave the driver an address in an area I wasn't familiar with. We drove through Cairo to the old part of the city, where the streets were narrow and there were figures hiding at every corner. She told the taxi to stop in the middle of a block of ramshackle old buildings.
  
  
  I paid the driver and watched him drive away. When the sound of the car disappeared, he suddenly seemed very lonely. The girl walked me both ends of the block to a dilapidated apartment building, and we went inside.
  
  
  It was worse inside than outside. A dim light bulb hung at the foot of a rotting wooden staircase. We climbed a mimmo staircase peeling off flowers and wall graffiti to a room on the third floor. Faye knocked three times, hesitated, then knocked again.
  
  
  A moment later, the door opened and a man was standing there. He was a fragment of a human being, not just thin, but bony as a skeleton. Ego's face was long and sallow, the Swedes on nen were little better than rags, and he stank.
  
  
  He squinted at the girl and made a throaty sound. 'Yes?'
  
  
  "This is Fayeh Nasir," she said.
  
  
  'Yes."He looked at me mimmo nah. Ego's eyes were glazed, as if he had descended from some height. He studied me for a long moment, then looked back at the girl. 'What do you want?'
  
  
  "Information," she said.
  
  
  'Which one?' He scratched his crotch.
  
  
  "We want to establish contact with the New Brotherhood," she said.
  
  
  Some of the icing left his eyes, and fear crept into them. "You're crazy," he said. He started to close the door in our faces.
  
  
  He planted his foot on it. "We're not going to cause trouble," I said. "We just want to talk to someone. I can pay you well."
  
  
  He searched my face again. "Go inside for a moment," he said at last.
  
  
  The room he lived in was littered with papers, leftover food, and various bedding items. Apparently he slept on a low pallet in a dark corner, in a dirty and greasy mess, but there were dirty bedclothes everywhere. There were wine bottles everywhere, and the musty air smelled sweetly of hashish.
  
  
  He collapsed into a straight-backed chair at a small table in the middle of the room. "Sit down and talk," he said. Ego's accent wasn't exactly British.
  
  
  We chose to stand. "I want to contact Pierre Beauvais," I said.
  
  
  He looked at me, then gave an ugly laugh. "Why don't you ask for something easier, like breathing life back into Tutankhamun?"
  
  
  He didn't laugh. "I don't play games," emu told her. "The girl said you could help. If not...'
  
  
  "No one sees Pierre Beauvais," he said. "You don't know what you're asking."
  
  
  Then Fayeh spoke up. "We thought we could first convince someone around the emu's loved ones," she explained. "You connect us with the New Brotherhood, and we continue to work."
  
  
  He rubbed his chin and thought for a moment. "How much is that for me?" "What is it?" he finally asked.
  
  
  He pulled out her wallet, took out a few bills, and put ih on a dirty chair. He looked at them and chuckled. He added three more bills. He looked at them hungrily, then at me. "What do I tell them you want?"
  
  
  "That I want to buy something."
  
  
  'Drugs? I can give you anything you want."
  
  
  "Not drugs," I said.
  
  
  He glanced at me again, then reached out and took the money. He counted carefully. 'It's all right. Her, I'll do what I can. Where can I call you?
  
  
  Emu said it.
  
  
  "I'll call you tomorrow morning." Be there.'
  
  
  "I'll be there," I said. "Just don't forget to call."
  
  
  The session ended. The girl and I walked out of the pigsty Tinman called home. We found a taxi outside.
  
  
  Fahey saw her at home. She rented a small apartment near Shariat, El Abdel. She asked me to come up, but I refused and took a taxi away. Tomorrow was supposed to be a busy day, and as much as I would have liked to be alone with her, and as much as she meant to us today, the locality of Russia was in the foreground... as always.
  
  
  Just after ten o'clock the next morning, the phone rang. The thin man's voice on the phone sounded as uncertain as he was. He had instructions for me.
  
  
  "You must have a car," he said. "I think the girl has one."
  
  
  'It's all right.'
  
  
  "You will go out of town according to the Sharia law of Khedive Ismail. Follow this route into the desert until you arrive at the old caravan route. Make the signs straight ahead and drive ten kilometers in the desert. In that case
  
  
  to your left, there will be a smaller trail with a sign pointing to an abandoned well called "Shark". He asked. "Do you read Arabic?"
  
  
  "That's enough," I said.
  
  
  'Good. Drive along this Rivnenskaya highway for three kilometers, stop the car and wait. You will be welcomed."
  
  
  'Who?'
  
  
  "Article of the New Cats".
  
  
  'What's the ego's name? What will it look like?
  
  
  There was a soft chuckle. "You'll find out when you get there." The phone clicked in my ear.
  
  
  The meeting was scheduled for noon, and in Rivne at two. Faye called her to her apartment, and as the Thin Man suggested, we drove in her car. Nah had a weakness for bright, shiny things, and she drove a bright blue Citroën SM convertible.
  
  
  "You like driving," Khedive Ismail told her, hey, as we drove through Sharia, the fragrant air blowing her long hair.
  
  
  "I like to drive beautiful cars," she corrected me. "I'm told it has a Maserati V6 engine with a double overhead camshaft, whatever that means to us."
  
  
  Hers, he chuckled, studying the expensive dashboard. "That means you're lucky to have two jobs to support your ego," I said. He glanced at the clock on the panel and at the clock. He leaned forward and adjusted the clock's hands. "Your clock is ticking, but it's already almost an hour behind. You should pay more attention to the time in your email business, " it says.
  
  
  "Why is time important for a dancer?" she said, smiling.
  
  
  She smiled at the rheumatism. Sitting in the seat next to me, with the most beautiful legs in the Middle East exposed in a miniskirt, she didn't seem to fit the role of a cop. She could be a secretary in New York on the weekend.
  
  
  Soon we were in the desert. We found a caravan route and took a straight turn. Traffic was slower here, because we kept bumping into soft sand. Then, with nothing but sand, sky, and shimmering heat waves around us, we saw a sign pointing to a Shark Well in a fuzzy road.
  
  
  "Can we take this road?" "What is it?" she asked doubtfully.
  
  
  "If you're careful. In a slower way.'
  
  
  We got on the track, the car was in low gear. I watched her carefully from all sides as we rode, because I didn't trust us, the New Brotherhood, us Thin. The latter seemed very evasive on the phone. I was looking at the odometer of the panel, as we had to drive three kilometers from Rivne on this route. At one point, Fayeh almost got stuck in deep sand, but then the car broke free. At a distance of two point five kilometers of it, he said, " Stop."
  
  
  She slowed the car down. He stood on the seat and stared at the hot sand in front of him. Zest rose from the dunes around us and distorted the landscape. A vulture circled silently high in the cobalt-blue sky.
  
  
  He sat down again and glanced at his watch. "It's almost two o'clock in the morning, but there's no one in sight. Maybe the last distance to walk...
  
  
  He paused, looking at the clock on the panel. They seemed to be running - I could hear the ticking - but the arrows were in the same position as I had set it ih earlier. Then it came to me.
  
  
  Her, yelled at nah 'Get out!' . "Come out quickly and run to that dune over there!"
  
  
  'What...?' She was cut off in confusion by the sudden change.
  
  
  'Do it! I said sharply. Mimmo nah pushed past her, threw open the door, and pushed her out. Then he jumped over the edge of the car and onto the sand beside her.
  
  
  I told her. 'Over there!' Ee grabbed her by the arm and dragged her up a sand hill about fifty yards away. He pulled her over the ridge and pushed her onto the warm sand on the opposite side. Then he looked back at the car. "There was a ticking sound,"I said," but your watch didn't run."
  
  
  She stared at me blankly, then looked wide-eyed at the Citroen SM, shining and beautiful on the track in the bright sun.
  
  
  And then it happened. The car seemed to burst into a blue glow, accompanied by a deafening roar, and was immediately engulfed in yellow flames and black smoke. She was pushed down again by Fayeh as twisted pieces of metal flew past mimmo and the attack skill value thrown by the massive explosion.
  
  
  As the flying debris landed, we looked up. The car burned brightly in the desert sun. It turned out that there wasn't much left of the front seat we'd been sitting in a few minutes ago. At another moment, there was a second explosion - a gas tank-and the flames rose even higher.
  
  
  We watched in silence for a long time before her, turned to Fayeh. "Good people," I said.
  
  
  'Oh my God!'she said, grabbing my arm and walking towards me.
  
  
  "I think the New Brotherhood is trying to tell me something," I said, watching the black smoke billow into the sky.
  
  
  "But, Thin..."
  
  
  Something tells me
  
  
  "He knew what they were up to," I said. "He set us up."
  
  
  "But why would he do that?"
  
  
  "Because he's afraid of ih-and maybe the trouble we emu cause."
  
  
  Suddenly she laughed. "I still need to pay fifteen thousand for the car."
  
  
  Her, smiled and looked at nah. We lay side by side on the sand. "Let your insurance company take care of it. How do we get back to the city?
  
  
  She sighed and rolled over to me, her slender curves brushing all the way down my flank and thighs. Her skirt was pulled up around her hips, revealing a triangle of white panties.
  
  
  The bus will run along the main track - there, at the intersection, about three-thirty.
  
  
  "Well, that's our way back," I said.
  
  
  She started to get up, but I grabbed her arm and pulled her so that her full breasts were pressed against my chest.
  
  
  'Where are you going?'
  
  
  "Well, you said..."
  
  
  "I said we would take the bus. But that's in an hour and a half, isn't it?
  
  
  She smiled, and it made her face look even more beautiful. "Yes," she said softly. "We have time. And it would be stupid to wait for a bus. Besides, you saved my life ...
  
  
  "Absolutely," I said. I took off the light jacket I was already wearing, exposing the Luger. She glanced down at the gun, then turned so that her jacket could be spread out under her. "It's a breeze here, and it's quite comfortable. Let's forget about the burning car and the New Brotherhood and stay here."
  
  
  She snuggled up to me. "I'd like that, Nick."
  
  
  She'd been waiting for a kiss, and he'd agreed. Her lips were warm and moist, and her mouth responded hungrily to mine. Her breasts, which had worked so well in the dance, were now pressing against me. I ran my hand over the most accessible ones.
  
  
  My hand slid under her blouse, undid her small bra, and slid over her hot, silky skin. She rolled onto her back, closing her eyes against the bright, cloudless sky. Her body began to move under my touch, and soft sounds came from around her throat.
  
  
  In one motion, he pulled the blouse over her head and freed her breasts from the bra. They were round and full with big brown nipples. He leaned down and kissed each of them. She gasped at the touch of my lips.
  
  
  As my mouth moved over her breasts, my hands explored those beautiful thighs. She reached for the hem of her short skirt and fumbled in it for a moment. She lifted her hips slightly and pulled her skirt up to her waist without opening her eyes. He ran his hand over the inside of her thigh and felt extra warmth there, and she parted her thighs slightly.
  
  
  "Oh, yes," she breathed, moving her hips and torso under my touch.
  
  
  I found her mouth again, and she opened her ego to receive me. We slowly studied another one. My hand went to my lacy panties. Ih pulled her over the olive-bronze swell of her thighs and legs, her long legs, and she threw off ih. Then I felt her hand on my trousers. She wanted what she so desperately wanted. A moment later, she got it, and joins me to her side. And then there was this amazing moment when we connected.
  
  
  
  
  The fourth chapter.
  
  
  
  My initials slammed violently against the door, slamming it into the dark corners of the room, sending shards of glass flying across the floor. He walked into the room and looked around for the Thin Man. He was just trying to get up from his dirty bed around the pallets.
  
  
  Her growled at him. "'Tailor damn you!'
  
  
  He leaned away from me as I quickly mimmed past him, grabbed the dirty curtain on the window, and tore it off, throwing it in a heap on the floor. The room was reeling with sunlight. The thin man squinted away from him and raised a hand to shield his eyes.
  
  
  'What is it?'he said stupidly. 'What's the matter?'
  
  
  I walked up to him, grabbed the front of his soiled shirt, and knocked him off his feet, slamming him hard against the wall behind him. Ego's eyes widened and his mouth opened.
  
  
  "You sent us into the desert to be killed," emu growled at her.
  
  
  He licked his dry lips. 'Of course not! I know her better than that. They said they would talk. It's true!'
  
  
  Her ego slapped him in the face. "You knew what they were going to do. But you thought there were a couple of cops out there, more or less. It's true.'
  
  
  "I didn't know about rigidity - I swear."
  
  
  Her, looked at him. "Who told you anything about being tough?"
  
  
  The realization that he was wrong showed clearly on his face, and he turned away from me. 'Good. They mentioned it. But what was I supposed to do?
  
  
  Her ego tore off the wall, turned with it, and slapped it blatantly into Ego's sallow face. Bones crunched
  
  
  and he grunted loudly and fell to the floor. He was lying there, moaning, bleeding from his nose and mouth. He looked at me with dull eyes.
  
  
  "You could have told us," I said. "You took my money, remember?
  
  
  "Look, they do what they want," he gasped. "You want me killed?"
  
  
  He bent down and roughly pulled Ego to his feet.
  
  
  "Better us than you, eh?" Her ego jerked her head up with one hand, forcing her to look me in the eye. 'Listen to me carefully. I need names and information. If I don't get what I want, I'll kill you."
  
  
  He looked at me, studying my face, puzzled. He said. 'Who are you?"You're not acting like a cop."
  
  
  Her ego hit him with another fist, this time lower, around life. He screamed and fell to his knees. "This is for asking," I said. "Now tell me how to get in touch with the New Brotherhood without getting my head blown off."
  
  
  "They're not interested," Tonic breathed, his face contorting painfully. "There's nothing I can do."
  
  
  Her ego kicked out at the target, knocking her off her feet. He lay motionless, making groaning sounds in his throat. I knelt down beside him and let Hugo slide into my hand.
  
  
  I asked her. 'Do you see this?'
  
  
  Ego's eyes focused on the shiny hairpin.
  
  
  "I'll kill you little by little," emu told her, " if you don't get your memory back in a big hurry."
  
  
  'What do you want?'he said at last.
  
  
  "Who's putting the bomb on? Is this an order from Beauvais?
  
  
  He shook his head. "Honestly, I do not know. I was talking to one of the three ego assistants, a man named Selim el-Bekri, an Egyptian. Perhaps El Bekri acted independently. The ego brother, his cousin, was recently killed. They say ego killed an American, probably the CIA. For estestvenno, right now El Bekri will not be friendly towards any American spying.
  
  
  Her, he chuckled. This is another reference to his Brother's death during the Drummond murder. But Drummond would have mentioned the need to kill a man in the note he left.
  
  
  "Who are the other assistants of Pierre Beauvais?" I asked her.
  
  
  "I've told you everything I can. God's bone!'
  
  
  Hugo moved it to a point just above the right eyeball of the Keynote. "Maybe I'll blind you first," I said. "Do you know how easily a thin blade penetrates the eyeball?"
  
  
  He sucked in a breath. He shouted. 'It's all right!"The other two are an Italian named Carlo Mazzini from Sicily and a man known as Reinaldo."
  
  
  The thin man finally told the truth. The Sicilian would be the man Fayeh mentioned. The preliminary interrogation was over.
  
  
  "All right," I said. "So, if she was asked to buy drugs from a New Cat in significant quantities, how would she do it?" The thin man licked his lips again, and sweat glistened on his forehead and upper Ap. "I know a realtor who sells to sellers. He gets his stuff candid brother."
  
  
  'How?"Her insisted.
  
  
  The thin man winced in mental agony and glanced at the open door, as if a Brother might be lurking outside. "He acts as a peddler at the pyramids. Every Wednesday, he sits at the wall, not far from the Sphinx, and waits for his outlet. For example, in the middle of the morning, my Brother comes in, buys a bag of basbussa and leaves a bag of undiluted heroin. Pay for heroin in the gym in a bag of basbuss candies."
  
  
  Now it's being taken somewhere. "How can I identify this peddler?"
  
  
  Tinman sighed heavily. The stiletto held it up to ego's face. "He always wears a blue-striped djellaba and a dark red fez. He has a small scar on his right cheek. You can't confuse the ego. The brother who makes the deal is called Abdullah."
  
  
  Hugo turned it away from Keynote's face. "You know, Slim, you know how to be friends with people. And the last corkscrew, where in the headquarters hall is the headquarters of this top-secret New Cat?
  
  
  He stared at me. "Do you think he would have known that?" He shook his head. "Only the members of the Cats know. And to speak means death."
  
  
  Hers, he decided, was probably true. 'Good. He tucked the hairpin into his belt and stood up. The thin man relaxed a little. Her ego kicked him in the side, and he grunted at the flag of permission to perform and hurt.
  
  
  "It's just a reminder," I said, " of what will happen to you if you tell anyone about this conversation."
  
  
  He went to the open door, paused, and looked around the room. "You really should clean up this place," I said. 'It's a mess.'
  
  
  The next day was Wednesday. I told Fayeh where I was going and took a taxi alone to the pyramids. We drove through Sharia el Giza mimmo Egyptian University with ego green gardens, and then found ourselves on the edge of the desert.
  
  
  The pyramids of Giza loomed up ahead, while the pyramids of Cheops and Chephren stood out against the clear morning sky.
  
  
  As we approached lizhet, an unfathomable sphinx appeared at the base of the pyramid of Chephren, representing the god of the rising sun Harmachis. But the serenity of this scene has already been disturbed by camel drivers with ih roaring animals, all sorts of merchants and tourists.
  
  
  The driver dropped me off at the Sphinx, and I was immediately approached by several guides. After convincing ih that I didn't want a field trip, her looked around in the direction of the person I was told was Tonic. I was half expecting a new trap, but I had to risk it.
  
  
  Next to the Sphinx, there were several merchants who usually loitered around the area, selling everything from Egyptian pretzel-like bread to dry goods and souvenir trinkets. But the person she wanted didn't seem to be there. Of course, it would not exist if the Subtle Person warned the ego.
  
  
  He almost decided my man wasn't going to show up when her ego saw her approach. He wore a bright blue striped djellaba with a dark red fez on his head, and when he looked closely, he saw a faint scar on his right cheek. He disappeared somewhere.
  
  
  He carried a folding stand that, even when closed, formed a wooden box with a handle. He guessed that there was a basbussa inside. He stood at a distance and watched him sit down. He missed a few tourists without trying to sell them his sweets. Yes, it was my man. Her, went up to him.
  
  
  "You have some sweets to sell," he told her in Arabic.
  
  
  He gave me an Aryan look. He was a tall, thin Arab with rather dark skin and a large, bony nose. 'How much do you want?'
  
  
  "I'd rather sell than buy," emu told her.
  
  
  Ego's eyes now suspiciously wanted mine. 'What do you mean?'
  
  
  I looked around to make sure there were no tourists nearby. "I mean, I have something for sale that you might be very interested in."
  
  
  He stared at me for a moment, then grimaced and looked down at his tray of merchandise. "I think you misunderstood. Her poor candy vendor. I don't buy goods from rich Englishmen."
  
  
  He was one of the desert Arabs who called any white man an Englishman because it was the worst insult in the ego world.
  
  
  "Look, they sent me to you. The sale has received ih approval. Her, talked to Abdullah."
  
  
  Ego eyes changed at the mention of the name ego contact. He slowly looked me over again. "I don't know what you're talking about."
  
  
  Her, bent down to lick. "I have a large package of full-fledged hash. My unbeatable price. Do you really want her gone?
  
  
  Ego's eyes slowly lifted to meet mine. He quickly looked around before speaking. "Did Abdullah send you?"
  
  
  'Actually.'
  
  
  "Where is this hash?"
  
  
  Emu smiled at her. "In a safe place. Come down to the street with me for a moment, away from these tourists, and I'll tell you about it. Your platter will be safe.
  
  
  He hesitated for a moment. "All right, Englishman," he said softly. "But what you say must be true."
  
  
  We went down to the street together, and Ego escorted her to an alley and asked her to go there. He objected, but when her impatient voice said, " Go, I don't have time," he moved. The rest was easy. Two quick karate kicks took ego down. He took off his djellaba and put it on, putting the fez on his head. Left her ego bound and gagged in an alley, and Stahl a merchant.
  
  
  He went back to the ego stand and sat cross-legged beside her, and Stahl waited. He hoped Abdullah would show up before anyone found the real peddler in the alley. It was about fifteen minutes before she made contact.
  
  
  A large square Arab in a neat Western business suit casually approached the tray. It looked like he was looking at sweets. I was holding her face down, and he hadn't seen me yet.
  
  
  "A kilo of basbussa," he said. In his right hand, he held a small bundle. The bulge of a pistol was visible under the tight jacket.
  
  
  He grabbed it, pulled something over the tray, and stuffed it into a small bag. When ego handed her over to emu, he looked up and saw my face. Ego's eyes widened. He said, " What is it?' 'You don't -"'
  
  
  Then he saw Wilhelmina in my hand under the bag. A small Luger was aimed at the emu's chest. He slowly stood up.
  
  
  "Don't make a scene," he told her.
  
  
  He glared at the gun, and I was afraid he'd just call it a bluff.
  
  
  He said. "Are you a cop?"
  
  
  He said, "' No, now come with me to the Pyramid of Cheops and buy us two tickets to enter. The Luger will be constantly under this djellaba, aimed at your back
  
  
  He watched her
  
  
  I stuffed Wilhelmina into my dressing gown. "If you need the letter 'H', take it now, " he said.
  
  
  "I don't want that," emu told her. "And I'm losing my temper."
  
  
  He hesitated, then shrugged and slipped the pack of heroin into his doublet pocket. He turned and walked toward the pyramid. I followed him. At the entrance, he bought two tickets from a sleepy employee, and we walked up a mountain of cut stone.
  
  
  Inside the ancient tomb, it was damp and cool. There weren't many visitors yet. The thug of New Kota and her alone descended through a stone tunnel to an underground room, a burial chamber that Cheopsa never used. There were two tourists there. We went down to the base of the shaft, to its dark end, and turned straight into a smaller passageway, where we had to bend double to walk. We soon arrived at a small room where few visitors came. Ego was dimly illuminated by a single bare bulb. We were all alone.
  
  
  It was pulled out by Wilhelmina Po of the dressing gown. "It's going to be all right," I said.
  
  
  Ego's dark eyes flashed angrily. "What do you want?"
  
  
  "I want to see Pierre Beauvais," I said.
  
  
  'Ah. So you're that American.
  
  
  "I am someone who is still alive and well. And not in the mood for games. Her, I want you to go to Beauvais and make an appointment for me. You will not discuss this corkscrew with Hema and me, except for Beauvais, especially with El Bekri.
  
  
  Ego's face expressed surprise that I knew the names. "Beauvais won't be interested in you."
  
  
  "Let him decide for himself."
  
  
  He hunched over. 'It's all right. If that's what you want.
  
  
  He made a motion to reach into the side pocket of his jacket, as if he was looking for something, and suddenly his hand clenched into a fist and hit my hand with the gun. He was caught off guard. The fist hit me hard on the wrist, sending the Luger flying to the floor.
  
  
  I moved to the gun on the floor, but Abdullah was there, between me and the Luger . He was very confident. He was going to teach me a lesson... I saw it in egoism.
  
  
  He threw his left hand sharply at that square face, but it barely affected that bull-man. He took a step back, but he wasn't really shocked. In fact, he was still smiling.
  
  
  Before he could finish, he returned the blow with his fist. Ego tried to deflect it, but it caught me on the cheek and jaw and knocked me off my feet. He sprawled on the floor, dazed. He slowly got to his feet. Hugo was about to draw her into the game when a big fist slammed into my chin again. She was sure he'd broken my jaw when her staggered back to the stone moan.
  
  
  It hit the wall hard. Before he could recover, he slammed another fist into my chest, under my folding dollar, and it bent with a sharp, gasping pain. He dropped to his knees.
  
  
  He stood triumphantly in front of me. He said."Indeed, Pierre Beauvais! He turned away from me with contempt and crossed the room to Wilhelmina.
  
  
  He sucked in a breath and rolled her legs under him. Her, threw himself at ego's feet. He collapsed heavily, hitting the stone floor hard. He rolled over, and I saw the anger on his face. He kicked furiously, hitting me in the head. Then he got to his feet again.
  
  
  "I'll step on you like an elephant steps on an ant," he growled at me in Arabic.
  
  
  He punched me in the head again. But this time he was ready. Ego grabbed her arm and pulled, twisting his body at the same time. It flew over my shoulder and hit the rocks. Her, heard her ego lungs choking with breath.
  
  
  But Abdullah didn't give up. He struggled to his knees. Her stahl didn't wait to see what he meant. Her ego hit him in the face and he heard a broken bone. A lick came up to her and slapped her thick neck. He chuckled. He gathered all his strength and hit her again. Abdullah sprawled on his face.
  
  
  He moved wearily toward Wilhelmina. When he turned back, Abdullah was just reaching for his jacket to find the bulge under it. It was the emu's luger that brought it down on its head.
  
  
  "Don't try," I said.
  
  
  He gave me a calculating look, then lowered his hand. When hers came up to him, he shifted heavily to a sitting position against the wall.
  
  
  "Get up," I said.
  
  
  He hesitated for a moment, then struggled to his feet. It was aimed at Wilhelmina Emu's face.
  
  
  "Now listen to this," I said. "I know that the New Brotherhood was involved in the death of John Drummond. I know that when he was killed, he had a certain attache-Casey, who was replaced by ego. I want Casey's ego back, and I'm willing to pay well for it. Tell that to Beauvais.
  
  
  Abdullah focused on me. "All right," he said. "I'll tell Beauvais",
  
  
  "Tell em that Nick Carter wants to see ego," I said. "And you say my patience is limited." Make an appointment within forty-eight hours. You know how to contact me."
  
  
  A certain respect appeared on his face: "All right, I'll do it," he said.
  
  
  "You'd better do it," I said.
  
  
  
  
  The fifth chapter.
  
  
  
  
  Fayeh said: "But Nick, you can't go alone!" We were having dinner at the Roof Garden restaurant of the Nile Hilton Hotel, with a small band playing Arabic music behind us.
  
  
  Her skewered meat and vegetables skewered lamb from the hot skewer on which ego was served. - What do you suggest - to take a police guard?
  
  
  "Let me go with you."
  
  
  "There's no point. You're more valuable in a safe place, so you can pass a message to Hakim Sadeq if I don't show up again.
  
  
  There was genuine concern in her dark eyes. "I hope you know what you're doing, Nick. These people are extremely dangerous."
  
  
  "There's only one way to find out if Beauvais has microfilm," her husband said. - The voice of egoism. Face to face.'
  
  
  He glanced at the chair in the far corner and saw a man she knew. He was a Chinese man, a tall, slender young man with an intelligent face and a shock of black hair, dressed in a gray and spa suit. It was Cam Fong, an agent of Beijing's dreaded L5 intelligence service. The last time I saw her, ego was in Kinshasa, Congo, where he came close to killing me. He looked at our table and recognized me, too. He was looking down at his plate now.
  
  
  'What is it? Fayeh asked.
  
  
  "There's my old friend. Chicom agent. If he's in Cairo, something big is happening. I wonder if the New Brotherhood is already dealing with the Chinese and Russians."
  
  
  "Do you want to leave?"
  
  
  Hers, he shook his head. "No, he saw me. Listen, I'll be busy with the New Fraternity tonight. If you want to help, find out where Kam Fong is staying."
  
  
  "I think I can handle it," she said.
  
  
  "He's very smart, Faye," he warned her further. "And effective. If he spots you, your career at Interpol will quickly end."
  
  
  "I'll be careful," she promised.
  
  
  He smiled at her and took her hand. Hers, I hoped it would be.
  
  
  We hurried with our food and rode far ahead of Kam Fong. He didn't admit that he'd seen it, and hid Faye's face as he walked between her and Cam as we left.
  
  
  I left Fayeh with her in the hotel lobby and went back to my room at the New Shepherds. He followed the instructions of the New Cat. Earlier in the day, I received a call from an unnamed man asking me to go out around the hotel at ten in the evening. sharp. I would have been met. It was almost ten o'clock. Ih took off her Wilhelmina and shoulder holster and left her in his room. Hugo stayed in my hand.
  
  
  I took off my shirt and reached for the suitcase Hawk had given me when he left for Nairobi. It was another of these unusual gifts from the boys around the special Effects and editing department in Washington. Ego opened it and slid open a secret panel. She took out two flat rectangular metal boxes, one about the size of a small lighter and the other about the size of a fairly large whiskey flask.
  
  
  There were a few buttons in the small box, and it was an electronic detonator for explosives packed in a large metal container. They were both strapped into a light elastic belt that hugged my neck and waist. The two devices were slung across my chest, with almost no bulge under my shirt, in a position that only an experienced search engine would have found. After putting on this device, he put on his shirt again and tied a black tie. When I put on my jacket, there was no sign that I was wearing anything out of the ordinary.
  
  
  Ten minutes later, he was standing on the dark sidewalk outside the hotel, waiting for contact. Ten hours passed; ten to five. Then a pair of headlights turned the corner onto the boulevard and came slowly toward me. If they were still going to kill me, she would have been an easy target. But a big black Mercedes pulled up beside me at the curb. There were three heads inside, two in front and one behind. The one in front, the one closest to the curb, got out and gestured to me. Her, went to the car.
  
  
  The man who came out was a thin Arab with long, thick hair and a very grim expression. He was wearing a dark suit. "Sit down," he said. He pointed to the backseat.
  
  
  She was put in the car next to a dark-haired man. Two cars slammed shut, and the car roared away from the curb. While we were walking along the boulevard, the man next to me put a blindfold over my eyes and carefully blindfolded my eyes.
  
  
  "Abdullah said you weren't a cop," the man next to me said. He spoke English with an Italian accent. "But you look like a cop to me."
  
  
  "Beauty is just skin," I said.
  
  
  They didn't tell me anything else during the trip, which usually lasted about twenty minutes. Although I couldn't see it, but
  
  
  he mentally recorded the left and right turns, sounds and smells on the route. We passed two vendors selling baked potatoes, for example. And just before we turned onto the gravel road, she was heard by the thunder of a small machine factory, or something similar, across the road. A couple of minutes later, the car stopped and I was being led up the stairs. There were four steps. There were four knocks upstairs, and the door opened. I was pushed forward. As the door closed behind us, I felt her hands untie my blindfold, and suddenly I could see her again.
  
  
  Hers was in the lobby of what was obviously a very expensive house. They were all internal columns, smaller eastern ones, and potted plants. On the ceiling was a mural depicting biblical Arab life.
  
  
  "Very impressive," I said. The three men who accompanied me were standing next to me, along with a fourth man who must have let us in. Her, thought they were all subordinates.
  
  
  "You must be crazy," the fourth man told me. He looked Spanish, but spoke English with a British accent. "But you want to see Beauvais, and you will. Get.'
  
  
  They led me to a small elevator. As we entered it, I tried to remember the last time I was in a private building with an elevator. We went up to the third floor and went out into a bright corridor. There, the man who was talking to me downstairs stopped me and searched me. He did a pretty good job. He found Hugo, but not the explosive devices.
  
  
  "We'll give this back to you," he said, accepting the knife.
  
  
  He nodded to her. He started toward the door at the end of the hall, but they didn't go. The Italian man sitting next to me in the car was now patting me down. He also missed the explosives.
  
  
  "All right," said the first person to search me. We came to the big door at the end of the hall, and he opened it. We entered the room together.
  
  
  Hers, he was forced to squint in the glare of a powerful light set at head level about two-thirds of the way across the room. There was a long chair for Farami. There were three men sitting on nen, and ih's torso and heads were just silhouettes behind the bright lights.
  
  
  "Sit down," the man at my elbow said. "No more approaches to the table lick than the chair." He pointed to a straight chair in the center of the room, in front of the desk, but far away from it. When she was sel, she was seen by even fewer men at the table. The lights shone openly in my eyes. The door closed behind me, and I sensed that most or all of the men who had accompanied me to the room were still there.
  
  
  "Is all this really necessary, too?" I said, squinting in the light.
  
  
  The man in the center of the chair spoke up. "The person who runs your business shouldn't ask that tailspin, Mr. Carter." Ego's English was good, but he had a French accent. It was probably Pierre Beauvais. "I'm just a name for the police. They don't know what I look like, and I want them to. It's the same with my comrades here."
  
  
  The heat of the fight made sweat break out on my upper lip. It was similar to Poe's 1984 scene. I asked her. "Are you really Pierre Beauvais?"
  
  
  'Actually. And you're an American agent with a problem. Why are you reasoning up to me this problem?
  
  
  "Someone at the New Cota killed our man, John Drummond," I said sincerely.
  
  
  "John Drummond killed his brother," Beauvais said. "When he contacted us about his attache case, we thought he was sincere in that he just wanted to exchange cases and get his own compensation. So we went to see him. He killed one of our men, Juan Maspero, and we had to kill him. It's all extremely simple ."
  
  
  I asked her. "Why would Drummond want to kill your man?"
  
  
  I saw him shrug. "It's unknown, my other one."
  
  
  "You ordered Drummond killed?"
  
  
  A small pause. "Odin around our Brothers completed the task on his own. But I would have ordered this, Mr. Carter, from you under different circumstances.
  
  
  He counted the heads at the table again. Only two, except Beauvais. Tonman said three lieutenants. I wonder who is missing it and why. I also wondered if the one around these silhouettes belonged to the math attack skill value that recently tried to kill me, Selim el Bekri. My curiosity was soon satisfied. A car started toward Beauvais. The man to his right was whispering something very excitedly.
  
  
  "Selim wonders why you should be seen with an Interpol agent if you are not working with Interpol on the investigation of the New Cota?"
  
  
  And I wondered if it was Selim who had made the decision to kill Drummond, since he had undoubtedly ordered the execution of Faye and me. He definitely had a motive, like Tonman said, if Maspero was an ego cousin.
  
  
  "I needed a girl to contact you," I said.
  
  
  "And for what purpose? Gol asked from Beauvais ' left. A Sicilian accent caught her eye; it was Mazzini's. So Lieutenant Reynaldo is missing.
  
  
  "John Drummond never got his briefcase back," I said. "There was something very important about this dell for the security of the United States government."
  
  
  El Bekri gave a short laugh.
  
  
  Beauvais was more civilized. "Our last concern, Mr. Carter, is the welfare of the American government."
  
  
  "As I told your math class at Giza, I have money to pay for the return of the suitcase and its contents," I said. 'Lots of money.'
  
  
  Beauvais paused. When he spoke again, his demeanor was cautious. - And if we had this suitcase, what object of ego content would be so important to you?
  
  
  He remained confused, but was surprised. Does this corkscrew mean they didn't find the microfilm? "If you have a case, you should know rheumatism on it," I retorted.
  
  
  "If you want to play games, you've come to the wrong place," Beauvais told me coldly.
  
  
  I was starting to think that he really didn't know what I needed. He could, of course, have dealt without finding the tape. It was only possible.
  
  
  "All right," I said. "I'll tell you, because if you have a suitcase, you'll still find the ego. This is a microfilm of stolen documents. It's hidden in the handle of a safety razor.
  
  
  There was another silence, longer this time. I had a sudden feeling that Beauvais didn't know what I was talking about. Or he played a game because he already sold the movie to the Russians. Or to Chicoms.
  
  
  "We don't have anything to do," Beauvais said at last. "When the switch occurred, we had no idea that it made any difference, so the case was disposed of."
  
  
  He swallowed hard. If this were true, the plans of Novigrom I were lost to us. But how could he be sure?
  
  
  'How?'I asked her. "How was the case closed?
  
  
  Beauvais turned to Mazzini, ih silhouettes briefly touching to light up. Then Beauvais turned to me. "We believe it's a hall at the bottom of the Nile," he said. "Unfortunately, we were not able to do business."
  
  
  Hers slumped into a chair. Whether Beauvais was lying or not, it was a bad thing. "Yes," I said. 'This is too bad.'
  
  
  There was silence. He heard the impatient shuffle of feet behind him. Finally, Beauvais said, " Mr. Carter, I was hoping that this meeting would somehow be mutually beneficial. Since there is no ego, you are a small problem for me ."
  
  
  El Bekri grunted.
  
  
  I guessed what he was thinking. "I'm not a threat to you," I said. "Your people blindfolded me to bring me here. And your faces are hidden from me."
  
  
  "Nevertheless, you are a clever man, Mr. Carter. You must have mastered information that can only be harmful to us. To be honest, I don't see any reason why I should let you leave here alive.
  
  
  Vote what it was afraid of. Since a deal between us is impossible, Beauvais has classified me as expendable. He reached into his shirt and pulled out a small detonating device. Two men behind me moved forward with submachine guns, and Mazzini's shadow rose from behind the chair.
  
  
  "Maybe that could be the reason," Bovetu told her.
  
  
  Odin around the militants attacked me. He held the instrument away from him, showing them the buttons. "I'd tell em to hold back if I were you," I said loudly.
  
  
  Beauvais waved the man away. He leaned forward on the table. "What have you got there, Mr. Carter?" Some smart American gadget?
  
  
  "You can call it that," I said. "But in fact, it's just a simple explosive device. Very powerful. If I push this button, we'll all go up with the whole building."
  
  
  The three men at the table were muttering.
  
  
  "I think you're bluffing," Beauvais finally said. "You will die first."
  
  
  "Isn't that what you're thinking about when you tell me?" No, it's not a bluff, Beauvais. I'll show you the explosives if you want.
  
  
  Then, with a brief hesitation, " That won't be necessary, Mr. Carter. However, I believe that you are just around those people who, due to the mistaken idealism, will turn themselves into a human bomb. Put away your weapons, gentlemen.
  
  
  The men behind me hid their weapons. Mazzini sat down again, very slowly. Just as slowly, hers rose from the chair, holding out a small control box so that everyone could see it.
  
  
  "I'll go to the car with one man," Bovetu told her. One is here. He pointed to the person who had brought me upstairs. "You can close the car windows in advance. I'll sit facing the back of the car until we reach the boulevard."
  
  
  Beauvais got up from behind his chair. The ego voice is absurdly tense.
  
  
  Get the ego out of here.'
  
  
  After the driver of the big Mercedes dropped me off at the hotel, hers, he went to the balustrade along the Nile. Here it was defused by an explosive device and the entire vehicle was thrown into the river. I won't need it anymore. Hugo had already returned it to its scabbard. He insisted on returning the stiletto when he left the New Cats ' headquarters.
  
  
  The hotel was quiet at this time of night. I picked up my key at the front desk and took the elevator to my room, feeling drained and disappointed. When I unlocked the door, I had a surprise waiting for me.
  
  
  The blow landed on the back of my head before Brylev could light it. He fell to all fours and kicked me in the left side, knocking me off my feet. He lay there moaning and thought that the second man had struck him. Two against one.
  
  
  When Nachalach came up to me again, her, grabbed her and turned her around. Ego master screamed and fell heavily to the floor on his back. Her ego saw her face in the light of an open day. He was an Arab. Her guess was that the other man was too. Now he grabbed me from behind, cupping my face in his hand and pulling me to the floor. The emu let her - then rolled over, lifted his legs above his head, and leaned back. I heard a muffled cry from her, and my attacker let me go. I jumped to my feet, letting Hugo fall into my hand. Now he was ready for it.
  
  
  "All right, Carter. This is a thread.
  
  
  The voice came from the light switch. He turned around just as Sergei lit up, revealing a third person. He wasn't an Arab. He was tall, muscular, with a square face and blond hair. He was standing there with a slight smile on his face, holding a Mauser Closed 7.65 Parabellum submachine gun on his chest.
  
  
  "Damn her," I said. Yuri Lyalin. First Cam Fong at dinner, and now you're in my room. It's great to get the old gang back together, " I added sarcastically.
  
  
  Lalin's smile widened slightly. He was a formidable opponent, according to some of the best in the KGB. After working briefly at the KGB headquarters on Dzerzhinskiy Square in Moscow and receiving a lot of attention, as a relative of General Serafim Lyalin, the head of the KGB code-breaking department, Yuri, volunteered for the Wet Cases department, which the Russians nicknamed " Wet Cases." Wet meant bloody, and Lalin was never bothered by the sight of blood. I discovered this in Hong Kong during another assignment.
  
  
  "I'd almost like you, Nick,"he said haughtily now," if you were Russian." He motioned for one of the Arabs to close the door.
  
  
  "If you were an American,"I said," I'm not sure my opinion of you would change much."
  
  
  The smile faded, but otherwise his face showed no emotion. He was cool, and he was good. "Your people shouldn't have stolen Novigrom's plans," he said calmly. "It's all been wasted energy and life for you. We will restore the film soon, and it's all in vain ."
  
  
  "You're going to lose," I said.
  
  
  One of the Arabs, a stocky character with a potato face, came over, took the stiletto from me, and threw ego into a corner.
  
  
  "Apparently, you found the film in the possession of the criminal world," Lyalin continued. "You bought it from them?"
  
  
  Hers hesitated. If Lyalin should have asked, he probably wasn't approached about buying the film. "They didn't have egos," I said. "At least they said no."
  
  
  Ego's cold gray eyes narrowed. "I don't think I believe you," he said.
  
  
  He looked around the room. They've already turned this place upside down. "It's true," I said.
  
  
  "We'll see," Lyalin pointed out to the two Arabs. "Search the ego."
  
  
  There was nothing to do but serve the emu. A stocky Arab grabbed me roughly from behind. The slimmer Arab, a hawk-nosed young man, quickly searched me. He emptied my pockets, then made me take off my shirt and shoes. The shoes were carefully examined.
  
  
  "It looks like he doesn't have a movie," slender arab told Lalin.
  
  
  The Russian chuckled. "I think you must have hidden the movie somewhere, Carter. Where?'
  
  
  "I told you , I don't have an ego," I said.
  
  
  The gun never strayed from my chest as Lalin's eyes searched mine. I wondered how he knew I was in Cairo. And how he knew I was joining a new Fraternity.
  
  
  "Tie your ego to this chair," Lyalin told his employees. He pointed to a straight-backed chair in the corner of the room.
  
  
  "This is ridiculous," I said.
  
  
  But they they brought a chair and they tied me to it, hands behind my back. Lyalin holstered a large submachine gun and came over to me. He took another chair and straddled it, placing it across from me.
  
  
  He asked. "Are you sure that you are
  
  
  do you want to tell us something?"
  
  
  Lyalin wasn't bluffing. He was going to make me talk. But I couldn't tell her, because I didn't have anything to say to emu. Now we're going to get to the damn wet del part.
  
  
  "Go to hell," I said.
  
  
  Ego's face hardened. He pointed to the Arabs. The young man grabbed me by the shoulders, presumably to keep the chair from falling over. The husky came and stood very close to me. He pulled a long rubber hose down the front of his jacket. Now, at Lyalin's signal, he brought it down on my head and face.
  
  
  The blow turned my head to the right. The skin on my cheek tore and blood began to flow.
  
  
  A searing pain shot through my neck.
  
  
  The hose came down again on the other side of my head. This time the shock was stronger, and he felt himself momentarily losing consciousness. But Lyalin didn't know that. Arab slapped me and I came to my senses.
  
  
  "Don't be a loser, Carter," Lyalin said. "Every person has a limit of strength. As a professional, you know this simple truth. So why prove to us how much you can handle? What is the logic behind this?
  
  
  Her, looked at him. Just as Kam Fong nearly killed me in the Congo, so he didn't shoot her in Lalin in Hong Kong. I wanted to put a 9mm bullet in the ego of folding a dollar.
  
  
  The hose hit him again on my neck and legs. He saw bright lights in the dark and heard a loud scream. The scream came from me. Then blackness flooded in.
  
  
  The cold water hit me in the face. The cold seeped into me, brought me back to life. I opened my eyes and saw the three Lyalins standing in front of me. Three hands lifted my head.
  
  
  "Look, for a smart person, you're being extremely stupid." The voice echoed in my head.
  
  
  Heavy arab walked up to him so that her ego could see her. Everything was threefold. He was holding something in his hand, and he tried to focus on the triple image. It was like a pair of pliers.
  
  
  "Let me continue," he said to Lalin gently. "He'll ask you to let us know when I finish it. This is a great tool. It can pull out teeth, tear flesh, break and crush bones. I'll show you my ego nose."
  
  
  He held the pliers to my face. Somewhere I found the strength to call the ego an ugly name. He focused - tried to focus - on Lyalin.
  
  
  "You're a fool, Lalin," I said hoarsely. "I'm telling the truth. They didn't give me that damn movie."
  
  
  Arab grabbed my hair with a pair of pliers. "Come to think of it, maybe we should break a few teeth first?" he suggested. Ego face used to tell me that emus would enjoy getting maimed.
  
  
  "Wait a minute," Yuri Lyalin said.
  
  
  Arab looked at him.
  
  
  "Perhaps Mr. Carter is telling the truth after all.
  
  
  'He's lying! I can see it in the ego's eyes, " the stocky Arab countered.
  
  
  'Maybe. But so far I assume it differently, " Lyalin said. He waved the two friends away. They retreated to a position near the bed.
  
  
  Lyalin leaned toward me. "The KGB is still a civilized organization. We don't want to harm anyone unnecessarily in all the houses around. Even our enemies."
  
  
  Now he was a double image, but even so, the cold calculation of a person's ego could see her. Her, knew what he had decided. He guessed that I didn't have a movie, but he was hoping that I would somehow lead ego to him. And there was always a chance that I had the movie, but it was hidden somewhere.
  
  
  "Who says the KGB isn't civilized?" he said to her through swollen lips.
  
  
  He smiled his tight smile. "Untie him," he ordered.
  
  
  The big arab didn't move. The other reluctantly came over and untied me. Lyalin stood up.
  
  
  "Since I saved your life,"he said," you should give up this dangerous game that I designed for you and give up planning Novigrom."
  
  
  He just stared at it. Imagine a similar idiotic application by another professional! He knew I wouldn't turn down the assignment, and I knew he knew it.
  
  
  "Goodbye, Nick. Maybe our paths will cross again, right? If so, remember what you owe me.
  
  
  Another idiotic remark. I expected more from Lyalin. "Oh, I won't forget that for a long time," I said honestly.
  
  
  I thought I noticed after the grin on his face as he turned and walked out through the rooms, with two egos on the other side-the killers-right behind him.
  
  
  
  
  The sixth chapter.
  
  
  
  
  We drove slowly down the dark street in a rented Fiat 850 Spider, Fia at the wheel. We were trying to figure out where the headquarters of the New Cat were located in the hall. I wasn't at all sure that Beauvais was my equal. So I decided to go back to HQ - if I could find her-and try to break into this place.
  
  
  He'd noticed a partially open door on the third floor on his way to the conference room last night, and he was sure it was Beauvais ' private office. This would have been a suitable location for the film's demand, if the New Kotas had one.
  
  
  "I don't understand," I said. "From the sounds that I heard her, her, I was sure that there was some kind of factory here. Maybe we're not him on the street after all."
  
  
  "No one could remember all those twists and turns, Nick. Don't blame yourself, " Fayeh said.
  
  
  - But we passed mimmo shopping carts, it confirms. I don't understand It, I know that I heard the clatter of some equipment."
  
  
  "It may have been a business that only operates at night," she said. "We can still..."
  
  
  "Wait," I said. 'Look. It's a lighted building over there.
  
  
  "It's a small newspaper."
  
  
  As we approached, I heard the clatter of machinery, just as I had that night. 'Voice and all!' I told her. 'Printing presses. They should only run ih at night ."
  
  
  "So we are very close," Fayeh said.
  
  
  I looked across the street at her. Yes, there was a line of expensive estates coming up off the street. The third one is gravel.
  
  
  "That voice," I said. Third. Come here."
  
  
  She pulled the Fiat to the curb and we looked down the darkened road that led to a massive house behind tall bushes. "I'm sure that's all," I said.
  
  
  She reached out and touched one or two of the small Band-aids that she still wore on her face around the episode with Lyalin two nights earlier. "You're still healing from your last encounter with people who were rude, Nick. Are you sure you're ready for this?
  
  
  Her, Hey chuckled. "Her parts hurt worse than this shave," I said. "Look, relax. Everything will be fine. You just keep traveling for an hour. If I'm not gone by then, you can summon the entire Egyptian army if you want.
  
  
  "All right," she said, but doubtfully.
  
  
  He left her and quickly crossed the street into the shadows. When I looked back, Faye had already pulled away from the curb and was heading down the boulevard to the Fiat. Then he turned and walked up the driveway to the house.
  
  
  She was unopposed. There was an electric eye on the road outside the house that spotted her, and just in time. Her sunset beneath him was home. It was an impressive place with Moorish arches along the facade on two of the three levels. On the first floor plan, the light was holy, but on the next two floors, it wasn't.
  
  
  He moved quickly into the thread of the room, waiting for more electronic alarms to appear. Another man found her in the back corner of the house. It was a tripwire that wasn't supposed to trigger an alarm. He avoided it and moved on to the grate, which now took up the entire height of the building. There was a vine growing on it, but not a thick one. Her, grabbed the bars and found that it can withstand my Alyonka. He climbed up and in a couple of minutes was on the roof.
  
  
  From there, it was easy. She'd slipped out of a skylight into the third-floor hallway she'd been escorted down two nights ago. It was dark and no one was there. I listened to her and heard someone moving down. It was just like one person. If the rest of the family left, it would be a breakthrough for me.
  
  
  He quietly approached the door, which he had noticed partially ajar when he had been there earlier. When I tried it, it turned out that it was blocked. He pulled a key ring with half a dozen lock picks from around his pocket, inserted one in the lock, and felt it work. He opened the door and stepped into the darkened room, closing the door behind him.
  
  
  I think I guessed it right. A long chair stood in front of the heavily draped windows. He went to the desk and picked up a couple of papers signed by Beauvais. The other sheet was signed "Henri Perrotte," but the handwriting remained the same. Vote and that's it. Here in Cairo, Beauvais posed as a legitimate businessman. This information may be of interest to Interpol.
  
  
  I tried to open the chair drawer, but the chair was also locked. I didn't have a key to open it, so I had to struggle to pick the lock with a letter opener. I went all over the chair, but couldn't find the microfilm.
  
  
  I thought I should be safe either in this office or in another room of the house. Her walked on the walls. I looked at a couple of oil paintings that turned out to be originals, but I couldn't find anything other than a hidden microphone. Beauvais played spy himself.
  
  
  Finally, a safe in the floor found her. You pull back a corner of the carpet, lift up a metal plate on hinges, and there it is, embedded in the thick concrete floor. It was an ingeniously chosen spot, and he might never have found it if he hadn't noticed the worn corner of the carpet.
  
  
  It was hard to tell if the safe was equipped with an alarm system. But I had to take a chance, so the combination dial began to turn it, feeling for subtle clues in the movement of the mechanism. After a few minutes, he worked out the combination and carefully opened the safe door. He listened for the alarm. Nothing.
  
  
  The contents of the safe would be a gold mine for a cop. There was a full list of New Cota members, a couple of packs of undiluted heroin, a list of phone numbers for sellers and dealers, and a lot of other things, but no microfilm. It seemed that Beauvais was telling the truth.
  
  
  I crouched over the safe, wondering where I would go next. It's not going anywhere anymore. The only consolation was that the Russians hadn't found the film yet either. But there was Kam Fong. He can laugh at all of us.
  
  
  The most logical conclusion, of course, was that the New Brotherhood, I don't know what Drummond was carrying, had just dropped Ego's briefcase into the Nile. Which could have been a happy ending for Yuri Lyalin, but some people in Washington would have torn their hair out.
  
  
  He shoved the contents back into the safe and started to close it when he saw the tiny wire that had let her through, it was attached to the bottom of the inside of the security box. There was an alarm! Either a quiet beep that I couldn't hear here, or maybe something like a flashing light. He slammed the safe door and turned the dial, closed the outer plate door, and replaced the corner of the carpet as the room's door swung open. A large man stood in the doorway, a heavy revolver in his hand and blood on his eye.
  
  
  He saw me in the light down the hall, took aim, and fired. The gunshot rang out loudly in the room. Her, flattened to the floor, and gawk missed, splitting a tree somewhere behind me.
  
  
  The gunman swore under his breath and reached for the light switch. The room suddenly flooded with light, and he found himself genuinely in the ego light. The big man glared at me and took aim again.
  
  
  When his thumb pulled the trigger, hers rolled toward the table. Gawking eyes split the floor between my legs. Another shot rang out, and I felt a stab in my left arm. He was going to cut me into pieces if I couldn't hide.
  
  
  Hers, he rushed to the table as the fourth shot rang out. The chair split open over my head when hers came up to him.
  
  
  "Sacré bleu!" The big man cursed for his mistakes.
  
  
  As he fell to the floor behind his temporary shelter, he grabbed the Luger under his jacket. Then hers, reached out and quickly shot through the chair. The shot ripped open the sleeve of the bandit's doublet and hit the wall behind him.
  
  
  He swore again and quickly turned off the brylev. He saw the silhouette of a hand grab the door, slam it shut, and the room went dark again.
  
  
  I listened to him, as if the big guy gave away his location, but nothing - I didn't even hear ego breathing. If there had been anyone else down there, they would have been here soon. But there was no sound from this side, and the man did not call for help. Obviously, he was alone.
  
  
  Somewhere near my head, the clock on the desk was ticking. It was the only sound in the room. Outside, a dog barked for a while, then went quiet again. The ticking clock reminded me that the one-hour deadline Fae had given me was fast running out.
  
  
  The bandit knew where hers was, but I had no idea where he was in the hall, in the room. I couldn't stay where I was, or I'd have a hole in my head. A paperweight on the edge of a chair caught sight of her. Without a word, he reached out and grabbed it, weighed it for a moment, and then threw it into the corner of the carpet where the safe was hidden. When the paperweight landed in the trays under the carpet, there was a muffled metallic clang.
  
  
  There was a thundering sound in the room - the gunman had fired at the sound, just as I'd hoped. Her quickly moved in the opposite direction, squatting down to make a soft chair, not far from the chair. But at my level, it scraped the floor, and the shooter heard it.
  
  
  Another shot. Gawk slammed into a chair, level with my face.
  
  
  My ruse didn't work as well as I'd hoped, but at least I knew where my opponent was now. He fired from behind another chair in the opposite corner of the room. I thought I saw a blur of movement, and she returned fire. I heard a muffled grunt from around the other corner. Either his ego was hurt, or he wanted her to think so.
  
  
  I carefully rounded the corner of the chair so that the black-and-gawking eyes hit the padding next to my head. Then I heard a familiar click. Apparently he was out of bullets, but she didn't want to rush him. This can also be a trick. This has happened to me before. I waited and listened to her. If he runs out of ammo, the emu will have to reload, and I'll hear it.
  
  
  I waited and listened to her. I finally heard it, but from a different place: the unmistakable sound of bullets sliding through the magazine. He squinted in the direction of the sound and made out a shadow at the end of the short sofa. He took careful aim and fired.
  
  
  There was another moo, loud and definitely painful. It doesn't make much sense, as if it could fall to the floor. He sat down on one of each tribe and listened. Then I heard a scratching sound and saw a blur of movement. He was crawling toward them, apparently badly wounded.
  
  
  I told her. 'Wait!'"Move again and I'll kill you!"
  
  
  The shadow paused, "a ne fait charity," he breathed. "It doesn't matter."
  
  
  He approached it cautiously. Close to her, I saw that he was wounded in the side and chest.
  
  
  'Who are you?'What is it?' he asked, switching to English.
  
  
  'Does it matter?'
  
  
  He gasped. "They'll kill me for letting this happen if your last shot doesn't happen."
  
  
  Her, looked at the wound. "You'll be fine. I doubt Beauvais will kill you if you tell me." The emu's luger aimed at her head. "But I'll kill her if you don't answer a few questions."
  
  
  He looked at the Luger ,then at my face. He trusted me. 'What questions?'
  
  
  "Do you know anything about Della Drummond?"
  
  
  'Malo.'
  
  
  "Did Maspero take anyone on a date with Drummond?"
  
  
  He groaned, which hurt. 'Yes. Maspero wanted to go alone, but he told Reynaldo about it, and Reinaldo followed him, fearing that Maspero would do it wrong. He found Maspero dead outside the hotel. It is believed that Drummond shot ego, and Reinaldo avenged Maspero. He took out both bags and informed everyone in Beauvais of the equipment."
  
  
  "The organization didn't know if the cases were accidentally swapped until Reinaldo reported it after Drummond and Maspero were killed?"
  
  
  "This is for real. Reinaldo says Maspero didn't want to admit the mistake to Beauvais. Instead, he trusted Reinaldo.
  
  
  "I wonder why he told Reynaldo and not his cousin El Bekri?" He said, more to himself than to the man on the floor.
  
  
  "I can't tell you that."
  
  
  "Let me clarify this. The web story that Cota recently had about this is the one that Reinaldo told Bovet?
  
  
  He looked me in the eye. This is for real.'
  
  
  I was collecting her theory. "Where is Reinaldo now?" she asked, remembering that he must have been absent on the night of her interview with Beauvais.
  
  
  The man shook his head slightly and grimaced, which hurt. "I don't know," he said. "Beauvais sends parts of ego to the city on business. Honestly, there is no love between them. Reinaldo has fallen out of favor with Beauvais, Beauvais, and doesn't seem to want Reinaldo around."
  
  
  He glanced at me and quickly added, " That's just my observation, of course."
  
  
  He shoved it into Wilhelmina's holster under his jacket and stood up.
  
  
  "You're the American who came here last night," the man around Kotah suddenly said.
  
  
  'Yes. And you can tell Beauvais that I believe her emu now. He probably doesn't have a microfilm. But I think I know who knows."
  
  
  "I don't understand," he said.
  
  
  Her, chuckled. 'Good. See you.'
  
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  Faye handed me a glass half full of brandy, poured herself a glass, and sat down next to me on the couch in her apartment. She had just arrived, around a nightclub, and her beautiful dark eyes were still wearing exotic makeup.
  
  
  "Now tell me your theory," she said.
  
  
  He sipped his brandy. "It's not difficult. Reinaldo is the villain in this play, not in Beauvais. All we know is what Reinaldo says to Beauvais. So let's modify the facts a bit. For example, when Maspero realized that the cases had changed, he intended to tell Beauvais, but Reinaldo came across him while he was studying the case, and so Maspero was forced to tell em what had happened. Reinaldo - or perhaps both of them together-found the microfilm.
  
  
  Not in favor of Beauvais, Reinaldo decides that he will not tell the New Brotherhood about this valuable discovery, and he cashes in on nen. If he did everything right, Beauvais would never know that Reinaldo ego was holding back. So when Drummond exposes his tentacles, Reynaldo and Maspero decide to contact him to get the heroin back. Reinaldo persuades Maspero to wait until they return the items before telling Beauvais. They go to Drummond's together, kill Ego, and take the heroin. Reynaldo then kills Maspero and puts the blame on Drummond. Reinaldo passes both cases to Beauvais, but Drummond's briefcase no longer has the microfilm."
  
  
  "It's an interesting idea," Faye said. "But there's an obvious tailspin, Nick. If Reinaldo wants to make a personal profit from selling the film, why wouldn't he?
  
  
  Did he go to the Russians? Obviously, he wasn't approached."
  
  
  "Maybe he went to the Chinese first," I said. "And, perhaps, by now they have turned to the Russians. One thing is for sure: Reinaldo is currently unavailable.
  
  
  "Then take advantage of the situation and relax," Fayeh suggested. "Think about the riddle, maybe it will solve itself. In the meantime... she leaned close to my ear and kissed me, her lips brushing my neck.
  
  
  If her goal was to distract me, hey, it worked. He looked at her and smiled. She was especially sexy today. Her long dark hair was caught up in a French head curl, and she was wearing a floor-length kaftan with a thigh-high slit that exposed her perfect legs.
  
  
  "Are you sure you're a cop?" I said, touching my lips to hers.
  
  
  "It's just fun," she said. "Dancing and making love are my main interests."
  
  
  "A sensible approach to life," I said. He kissed her again, and this time he held back the kiss.
  
  
  She reaches out and puts her hand on my hip. "Do you want to make love to me, Nick?" she teased.
  
  
  "That thought occurred to me," I said.
  
  
  The caftan was fastened with a zipper in the front. He reached for it, slowly pulling it down. The caftan fell off. Fayeh was naked except for a pair of short lace panties. He gently laid her down on the back of the sofa.
  
  
  He knelt beside her on the floor and pulled down her lacy panties. She seemed to have almost stopped breathing. She was kissed by the ee of life, that tummy that moved so meaningfully in the dance going down to her thighs. I could feel the tremor in her.
  
  
  She ran her hands over my bare chest as I took off my pants. At another moment, Eugene was with her.
  
  
  We lie side by side, our bodies hotly touching. Her soft form pressed against me, gentle and insistent. We kissed, my hands exploring her body, our lips making love. And then he cautiously approached her ...
  
  
  
  
  The seventh chapter.
  
  
  
  
  When the Thin Man saw me enter the ego's dark room with Fayeh, fear crossed his face. He hasn't forgotten us.
  
  
  "I've told you what I know," he said sourly.
  
  
  "Mr. Carter wants to ask you a few other questions," Faye explained. "Will you answer them?"
  
  
  "Will he use the same tactics as before?" he said with an ugly mouth.
  
  
  Faye glanced at me, and I shrugged. I didn't go into the details of my last visit here. "Look," he said to the Thin One. "Spare us the unrighteous indignation. Will you cooperate or not? Yes or no.'
  
  
  "What do you want this time?" he said sarcastically. "Autographed photos of Beauvais?"
  
  
  She went over to lick him, and he shuddered uneasily. "What do you know about Reinaldo?" I asked her.
  
  
  Ego's eyes avoided mine. "I told you, he's the main man in the New Brotherhood."
  
  
  'I know her. But isn't there a problem between him and Beauvais?
  
  
  He looked at me in surprise and nodded. - Yes, they are talking about a split between them.
  
  
  "What is the reason for this?"
  
  
  "It is said that Reinaldo exceeded his authority several times. He's an ambitious man ."
  
  
  I asked her. "Where is Reinaldo now?"
  
  
  Tonic looked at me. 'How am I supposed to know?'
  
  
  Do you understand our words that he split off from the organization?
  
  
  The thin man grinned an ugly half-smile. "You don't go out by organization. Except for the bottom of the Nile.
  
  
  I thought about it. Perhaps even Beauvais didn't know where Reynaldo was in the hall. This could mean that he was busy making deals with anyone interested in microfilm.
  
  
  Her, looked at Thin. "Do you think you can find out how I can contact Reinaldo?"
  
  
  "Mr. Carter expects to pay you," Fahey said quickly. "Isn't that right, Nick?"
  
  
  Her, grimaced. "Yes, I expect to pay it. Well?'
  
  
  Slim looked wary. "I could help. I can't promise. I'll see what I can do.'
  
  
  "All right," Fayeh said.
  
  
  "But don't come here again," he said irritably. "You're going to kill me."
  
  
  "I'll meet you wherever you say," I said.
  
  
  He thought for a moment. "Cairo Tower, tomorrow at noon. Observation deck.
  
  
  She was pictured as a Thin man in a Cairo Tower surrounded by gaping tourists. 'Good. But this time, "I said warningly," you'd better remember who you work for.
  
  
  He looked at me with watery eyes. 'Of course.'
  
  
  The thin man had no idea what Reinaldo looked like, so he returned to Hakim Sadeq later that day. On the way, I stopped at a dead end to check. It was a dirty sidewalk restaurant in an alley in downtown Cairo.
  
  
  I sat her down at the third table in the first row and ordered a Turkish coffee. When the waiter left, her and reached under a chair and found a note from some nameless courier. Put it in a minute before the waiter came back. Mistletoe coffee tastes like Nile mud. He took one sip, tossed a few coins on a chair, and left.
  
  
  In the taxi on the way to Hakim Sadeq's, I decoded the note. As I suspected, it was from Hawke. It was short and sweet.
  
  
  Washington is in turmoil. The man is very unhappy. Restore your goods or find a job in Cairo.
  
  
  
  
  Later, when she read it to Hakim, he grinned and gave her his slaver's grin.
  
  
  "Your David Hawke has a great sense of humor, Nicholas."
  
  
  Her, he chuckled. He wasn't at all sure Hawk was joking.
  
  
  "He's not the only one with a croup in a sling," I said bitterly. "I have in my enemies all the New Brotherhood of sweat of my blood, the Chinese are breathing down my neck, and the Russians have given way to me."
  
  
  Hakim smiled and took a sip of wine. This time he asked for a brandy and took a long drink.
  
  
  "Your work, thankless as it is, will help others," Hakim said. Today, he was wearing a spa suit, but he still looked like the kind of person you need to protect your wallet from. The red fez was missing, revealing thick hair brushed across the slick skin of his skull. He was at home because after lunch he had a day off at the university, where he taught a course on "The Seven Living Arts" and another course on Arabic literature. He asked. 'How does the girl train?'
  
  
  "All right," I said. "She helped me a lot."
  
  
  'That's good to hear. This is the first time I've had to offer her services. I believe that Interpol also considers it very valuable. She is a woman of many talents ."
  
  
  I could agree with that. "Many," I said. "But us she and us Thin Man don't know what Reinaldo looks like, and they can't tell me anything about nen. Do you know this person?
  
  
  "I checked my personal files when you said you were coming, Nicholas. He picked up the Manila folder. "I found it. Many years ago, here and in Alexandria, there lived a young man named Rinaldo Amaya, a Spanish gypsy with a thirst for wealth and power. A clever, very clever man - and utterly ruthless. Less than a year ago, a friend of mine reported that Amaya had been spotted again here in Cairo. The ferret didn't tell her anything about them, but it's possible that Rinaldo Amaya and your Reinaldo are the same person. Vote on photos. It will change a bit, but it will give you some idea ."
  
  
  I took the photo and examined it. On nen, Amaya was seen walking around the public building with a couple of Arabs. He was quite a tall, slender, handsome man, the kind of guy you'd expect to dance flamenco. His face was rough, his lips full, his chin slashed. But the eyes caught my attention. They were dark, with thick eyebrows, and the sight of them sent a chill down my spine. It wasn't open hostility or belligerence, but something much more subtle. He was the type of real psychopath, a person who didn't care about our morals, us about the rules, us about human life.
  
  
  Then he noticed her in the photos, a third Arab, a man whose target was obvious behind the others. I've seen that face before. It was Abdullah, the Brother who tried his best to kill me at the Pyramid of Cheops.
  
  
  "This man works for an organization," Hakimu pointed out to her. "And Amaya knew ego years ago. They probably recruited ego into the New Brotherhood. Amaya just might be Reinaldo.
  
  
  "That might help you." Hakim rubbed his sharp chin. "I can't tell you much, other than that it's considered extremely dangerous. He is good with weapons, and instead of a dagger, he carried a weapon that resembled an ice pick with a thick blade. It is said that he can deal three blows to them, while the opponent deals one blow with a normal knife."
  
  
  A man with such eyes would have thought of such a weapon. I asked her. "Is that all you have for me?"
  
  
  "I'm afraid so.
  
  
  'Good. You've been very helpful, Hakim. Hawk will be financially grateful." He got up from the headrest chair where he'd been sitting.
  
  
  Hakim quickly got up with me. "Are you sure you don't have time for a quick game of chess before you leave, Nicholas?" Maybe with a cup of mint tea?
  
  
  He tried not to think about the dreadful mint tea dripping over the brandy. "Another time," I said. Ego grabbed her arm and looked up into that long, ugly face. She would like to see Sadeq more often.
  
  
  "Yes," he said, " Some other time."
  
  
  The next day, at noon, he passed through the Izmailovsky Bridge to the Cairo Tower. It was nice to walk along the boulevard of the island, where the Tower was located. It passed the sports club and the Anglo-American Hospital and the El-Zurya Gardens, and suddenly it was there.
  
  
  The tower rose abruptly from the river basin by about five hundred feet, creating a sensational attraction. It had a rotating Seattle restaurant and an observation deck. Around the restaurant, you could see all of Cairo and its surroundings, the rotating platform on which the restaurant was built gave the visitor an ever-changing view.
  
  
  Seeing a crowd of festive visitors at the entrance, remembering the beauty of the gardens where mimmo had just passed it, it was hard to believe that I was waiting for an ominous meeting with a very dark character, with whom, perhaps, the killer was waiting for me. It just didn't fit in with this serene picture. But the scene quickly changed.
  
  
  As he approached the entrance to the Tower, he saw several people looking up at the observation deck and gesturing excitedly. The woman screamed, and then I knew what all the fuss was about. Two men were wrestling on the superstructure outside the platform. As he watched, one managed to throw the other into the air.
  
  
  When the man fell, there was a tense silence among the watchers on the ground. Ego's screams started halfway through and stopped abruptly when he hit the sidewalk five hundred feet below, fifteen feet away from the nearest observers.
  
  
  There was another moment of stunned silence. He looked back at the platform. The other man was gone. He moved toward the motionless figure on the ground, the tension building in his chest. Her father pushed through the excited crowd as the woman resumed her shouting.
  
  
  Her, looked at the body. There was a lot of blood, and it was fairly well whipped, but the victim's identity couldn't be determined. It was or was a Thin man.
  
  
  He swore out loud and pushed through the onlookers. There was more shouting now, and a lot of shouting. A police whistle heard him. The queue for the elevator was already full of excitement, so she was asked to wait until the elevator came down. Maybe I'll recognize her as the Thin Man's killer.
  
  
  But then she heard a siren wailing across the Izmail Bridge. He didn't want to be here when the police arrived. So I went back outside the Tower and went to the Sports Club. Maybe I can have a good drink of it there."
  
  
  I needed this.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  I knew it was risky, but I needed to visit Tinman's room. There just might be something out there that will help me solve Reynaldo's riddle.
  
  
  I got there early, not when. The street was crowded with noisy children and vendors, but the inside of the building was like a grave. I went to Thin's room and went in. As usual, the curtains were drawn and the room stank.
  
  
  I looked around. The thin man wasn't the smartest informant in the world, and he might have left some clue to what he knew. I combed the place, but found nothing. Nothing that would help me find Reinaldo. Then, as he was about to leave, he saw her trousers hanging moaning on a hook. Wasn't this the m pair that Thin used to wear? The old devil must have cleaned up to come out. He took her greasy trousers off the hook and began rummaging in her pockets. In the right back pocket was a piece of paper on which a Thin Man was drawing.
  
  
  Lifting ego up to the window, he pulled the curtains back a little to give her a better view. She made out a capital R, an arrow pointing to the right, and the word "China." Below it again were the letters R and arrows, and the Arabic word "Russian" with a question mark, then his.
  
  
  The thin man was drawing last night or this morning, and it seemed to make sense. Reinaldo has already contacted the Chinese and possibly the Russians. This meant that he actually had the microfilm, just as I had imagined. He didn't tell me where he was hiding, but he gave me a starting point.
  
  
  Faye found out where Kam Fong was hiding in Cairo. Since Reinaldo was obviously in contact with Cam, it was clear that Cam was my best bet to find Reynaldo.
  
  
  I tore the paper to pieces, lifted the window a little, and let the confetti flow out into the fresh breeze. Then hers, he turned and walked out through the rooms.
  
  
  He closed the door behind him and turned around when he saw ih. Her guess was that there were three of them, all loyal members of the New Cats, although before her, I hadn't seen anyone around them. The one on my right in the lobby was holding a Smith & Wesson .44 Magnum revolver aimed at my middle, and it looked like he was trying to use it. The one on my left pointed a Webley revolver at my head .455 Mark IV.
  
  
  "What a pleasant surprise," I said.
  
  
  The third man standing on the stairs was holding a small walkie-talkie in his right hand. Now she could hear him say, " He's here, Mr. Beauvais. We caught the ego. He was rummaging around the room."
  
  
  Very clever Beauvais gave instructions
  
  
  so, while maintaining your anonymity. The man with the walkie-talkie listened for a moment, then said:
  
  
  "Very well, Mr. Beauvais. Just like you say. He grinned and pointed at the other two.
  
  
  They were going to shoot through the smoke. I thought of Hugo and Wilhelmina, and I knew I wouldn't get ih involved in the game in time. 'Forever wait!' I told her. "Beauvais may want to hear what I have to say."
  
  
  "Don't play games with us, Mr. Carter," the young man on the stairs said tartly.
  
  
  'I'm not playing. I know something about Reinaldo that Bovet would like to hear.
  
  
  "To hell with that, "the big man with the Magnum said in a gruff bass voice. He pointed the gun at me.
  
  
  "Just a moment," said the young man on the stairs. He used the radio again. "He wants to talk about Reinaldo, Mr. Beauvais."
  
  
  There was a heartbreaking silence. Then the radio operator looked at me: "He says, make a speech."
  
  
  He licked his lips, which were suddenly dry. "I'll tell Bovet something very important about my good friend Reinaldo,"I said," in exchange for a truce."
  
  
  The dark-skinned man on my left muttered something dismissive in Arabic, and the radio operator repeated what I had said to Bovet. I had an even longer wait, my skin prickling. Her, felt the bullets around those two guns slam into my life. Finally Beauvais answered.
  
  
  'Yes sir? Yes. Okay, I'll tell her emu. The ham radio guy looked at me. He says: tell me what you know. If it's of any value to him, you have a truce. If not, then you have nothing."
  
  
  According to my calculations, a drop of water was running down under my left hand. Beauvais didn't offer me a special offer, but it was the only one on the table.
  
  
  "All right," I said. "Give me this thing."
  
  
  The amateur radio operator hesitated for a moment, but then handed me the walkie-talkie. He pressed the button and spoke. "Beauvais, this is Carter. You seem to have trusted Reinaldo for too long. He's an ambitious man, Beauvais. In this case, there was a microfilm. He found it and didn't tell you. He deceived you. It was Reynaldo who killed Maspero. Maspero was the only one other than Reinaldo who knew about the microfilm in Drummond's briefcase. Reinaldo killed ih both and left the microfilm. He's trying to sell it openly now to the highest bidder. That's why you haven't seen much of ego lately. When emu is charged for this movie, he will become an influential person ." He paused. "Is it worth the truce for you?"
  
  
  No response. He could almost hear the wheels turning in La Beauvais. Finally, he asked. "How do you know all this?"
  
  
  "I know," emu told her. "And you'll know the truth when you hear it, Beauvais.
  
  
  Then silence again: "The truth is in my math class."
  
  
  He wondered if this meant that Ego's decision was negative, but it was returned by the walkie-talkie. "He wants to talk to you," I said.
  
  
  He watched the thugs with their guns as the young man put the radio to his ear. I let Hugo slip into my hand without being noticed. I didn't have much of a chance, but I would have taken at least one around them with me.
  
  
  The radio operator looked at me expressionlessly.
  
  
  'Yes. All right, Mr. Beauvais. I'll tell them.
  
  
  He turned off the radio. "Mr. Beauvais says not to kill the ego," he said grimly. 'Let's go.'
  
  
  'Are you sure? The big man with the Magnum said.
  
  
  'Let's go!'- repeat the radio operator sharply.
  
  
  Ego friends holstered their guns like two little boys who had their Christmas presents stolen. The one who spoke Arabic made me happy with his native language. The big one grazed my shoulder roughly as it passed mimmo me on its way to the stairs. And then they were gone.
  
  
  
  
  Chapter Eight
  
  
  
  The girl was swaying her hips, her pelvis bulging out significantly. Her wet breasts strained against her tiny bra, and her long dark hair brushed the floor as she leaned back in the blue light of the flashlights, moving to the minor key of the music.
  
  
  That girl was Fayeh, and while I was watching her perform, a fire broke out in my groin and he wanted her. She was definitely wasting her time as a police officer.
  
  
  When the dance was over, she winked at me and disappeared behind the curtain to a wild round of applause from all the men present. He waited until the next act started, then went through the curtain to her dressing room. She recognized me, still dressed in a black suit, but without a bra.
  
  
  "How nice," I said, closing the door behind me.
  
  
  She smiled, moved her hips quickly, and asked. 'Did you like my dance?'
  
  
  "You know what I did."
  
  
  "Did that make you want me?"
  
  
  He smiled at her. "You know that, too. But right now, I need to talk to you.
  
  
  "We can talk while we make love," she suggested, wrapping her arms around my neck.
  
  
  "Later," I said.
  
  
  she shrugged and moved away from me, taking a seat at the toilet chair. "There were events," her husband said. "The thin man is dead."
  
  
  Her beautiful eyes widened. 'Dead?'
  
  
  "The New Brotherhood". As you said, in the mail business, whistleblowers are hard to survive. Thin's luck finally ran out.
  
  
  She shook her head. "It's crazy, but even though he sent us to the desert to die, I still feel sad." She sighed and asked: "Did you get any information from him?"
  
  
  "Indirectly," I said. "Look, what's the exact address of Kam Fong's house?"
  
  
  She serves my ego and asked. 'Are you going there?'
  
  
  'I'll have to. Cam might be the only lead I have on Reynaldo.
  
  
  She shook her beautiful head. "This is a bad idea, Nick. Even if you get to the Dagger without getting stabbed in the back, it won't tell you anything. Of course, it is better to wait until Reinaldo makes you an offer.
  
  
  She shook her head. "He may not make me an offer because he stole microfilm from my government. No, it was up to Reynaldo to find her, and quickly, before he made a deal. If Kam doesn't know anything, Lyalina will try it."
  
  
  She stood up, reaching for her robe. "I'll go with you," she said.
  
  
  "Don't be silly."
  
  
  'I can help her.'
  
  
  "You can help by staying alive." Ee gave her a long kiss on the lips. "Stay by your phone. I'll call you later.'
  
  
  "All right, Nick."
  
  
  "And keep the fires burning in your homes."
  
  
  She looked up at me, smiling. "This is a simple task."
  
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  I'm standing across the street from the dreary La Tourelle Hotel, wondering if Kam Fong is waiting for me. When L5 or the KGB find out that AX is on a case, they tend to squirm a little. Not because we're smarter than the CIA, but because of the nature of the organizations. Simply put, we're bullies.
  
  
  The honeymoon will end when AX arrives. Small professional attentions given by one agent to another under normal circumstances are discontinued. When AX appears, the kill begins, and the enemy knows it. Therefore, Lyalin tortured me without regret. He was just completely inside me. He could give math and CIA a couple of days to think before getting down to the rough stuff. But Lyalin probably didn't know enough about AX, or he wouldn't have let me live, hoping I'd lead ego to microfilm.
  
  
  Since Cam Fong knew I was in Cairo, he would be on his guard. I had to move carefully. As I started across the narrow street, I was almost hit by a datsun full of young riders. Finally, he reached the hotel entrance. Of course, it wasn't an impressive place. This is undoubtedly why Kam chose ego.
  
  
  There was no elevator. She walked up five flights of stairs to the two-room Dagger suite.
  
  
  The dimly lit corridor was quiet; no one was in sight. Maybe it was too quiet. Kama listened to it at the door and heard soft oriental music. That's a good sign. Her, knocked.
  
  
  First no answer, and then Kam Fong's voice demanding, " Who is this?"
  
  
  She replied in Arabic, I know Cam is fluent in nen, and hoping to hide her voice. "A package for you, sir.
  
  
  There was some movement and then followed by rheumatism in Arabic: "Please wait."
  
  
  Her, heard the lock turn. The door opened and Cam looked out. He pinned Wilhelmina to the opening, his ego aimed at her chest.
  
  
  "Surprise, Cam," I said.
  
  
  He waited a moment for the gun to go off. When that didn't happen, he said in a low monotone voice: "Why are you here?"
  
  
  "Can we go inside and discuss this?" Her Luger swung.
  
  
  He let me in, and I closed the door behind us. I quickly looked around the room to see if he was ambushing me. There was a closed door to the bedroom and an open one to the bathroom. I walked around the walls looking for bedbugs, but the place was clean. It was a surprisingly attractive place, considering everything he was in. It was decorated with oriental furniture, and some of the walls were covered with bamboo. It might have been the permanent address of the L5 operative that Cam had taken over for the duration of his stay.
  
  
  He was wearing a robe. There were no bulges under it. He let Wilhelmina go down, but held on to the Luger. "It's so nice to see you again, Cam."
  
  
  He grinned at me forever. Ego's intelligent eyes glowed with hatred. He said. "They sent you to finish the work you left unfinished in Kinshasa?" "To kill me?"
  
  
  He sat her down on the arm of an overstuffed chair and grinned at emu. "Don't flatter yourself, Cam. You know why she's here."
  
  
  "I don't know what you're talking about," he said coldly.
  
  
  'Contacted you
  
  
  a man named Reynaldo. He's trying to sell you some microfilm. Have you made an offer?
  
  
  "Microfilm?" Cam asked innocently.
  
  
  "About Novigrom I. Don't play tricks, Cam. He's not in the mood.'
  
  
  'Ah. We heard that your people stole the plans. Good job for Yankee capitalists. But why would anyone sell ih to me? "
  
  
  Kam had no credit for me at all. The luger pointed it at him again. "Reinaldo came to you and offered you a film - for a fee. I want to know if you've settled the deal. If not, I want to know where Reynaldo is."
  
  
  "You're very persistent, Carter. If you let her show you something-something that might clear it all up for you." He went to a small table and picked up a piece of paper. "Please read this."
  
  
  Her father automatically took the paper from him and glanced at nah. By the time I realized there was nothing written on it, the Dagger was already a success. He hit me on the right wrist with a clever karate kick, and Wilhelmina flew away. The Luger ended up under the couch across the room, for the moment lost to both of us.
  
  
  Then Kam's first blow was a blow to the neck. Her, felt the needles, hurt and paralysis pierce my head and shoulder. Her back hit the floor hard.
  
  
  My head was buzzing, but I saw Kam's foot move toward me. Ego caught it, then grabbed it with both hands and pulled, and Cam fell to the floor as well.
  
  
  Somehow I managed to get to my feet first, but now Kam was shouting my name and looking at the bedroom behind me. It should have been checked when he came in, but not by Stahl, because men of the fifth level always worked alone.
  
  
  By the time he turned to the door, it was open, and one of the biggest Chinamen he'd ever seen was moving across the nah toward me. He was a couple of inches taller than I was, and must have weighed three hundred pounds - all muscle. His goal was like a wrestler's, white shirt and trousers with a belt. Ego's feet were bare.
  
  
  "Take your ego out, Wong! Kim said unnecessarily from the floor.
  
  
  The big Chinese man slashed at me with a hand the size of a hunter's glove. I dodged it, but it grazed my head. Her quickly entered under the armpit, grabbed ego with both hands. Alenka's ego carried us both a few feet forward until it hit his ego more heads. It didn't bother the ego.
  
  
  Now I really had problems. Those tree trunk arms wrapped around me, and he clenched his fists behind me. He was going to crush me to death. This probably seemed like the easiest way for emu to do it.
  
  
  My hands, fortunately, were not pinned down. My hands were free to hit the ego more heads, but it made very little impression. Ego's small eyes were almost impossible to reach, set against a broad nose, and the usually vulnerable areas of his neck were protected by thick, unyielding muscles.
  
  
  But he had rather big ears, and she was chosen by ih to work with. He dug his fingers deep into both of her ears, into the sensitive inner part, and hollowed out ih. He grunted and released me, grabbing my arms.
  
  
  This gave me time to quickly and forcefully push each tribe's ego into a well-protected groin. He chuckled again as he delivered a savage blow to the bridge of her ego's nose, a blow that would have killed any other person, but he only staggered back half a step.
  
  
  Their egos changed. The fight was no longer a routine for him - now he wanted to kill me. He once again fiercely swung one around those huge hands. He tried to block it, but couldn't. He hit me on the head and neck, and the room began to darken. Paul couldn't feel it on impact, and he was fighting unconsciousness. I could only see the mountain man approaching me, but I couldn't focus my ego. Then Les knelt by me forever. He saw two massive hands clasped together. He was going to hit me with them and crush my face like a rotten tomato.
  
  
  Her, rolled. Hands thumped on the floor next to my head. He blindly kicked the huge torso and hit it on the left kidney. The big Chinaman collapsed on his side.
  
  
  He struggled to his feet. Cam came up to me, and I hit his ego in the face with my elbow. He fell backward with a muffled cry, his face a bloody mess. He went back to the special man who was getting to his feet and delivered a vicious punch to the back of the emu's head. He fell again, but then he rose again, like one of those damned weighted dolls.
  
  
  Emu hit her again, but it didn't work, and he jumped to his feet, muttering in Chinese. He waved a massive hand at me. She was blocked by a punch, but lost her balance. He fell back again and landed in a sitting position opposite the sofa where Wilhelmina had disappeared. The Luger groped for it behind him, but found it empty-handed. By this time, Big Wong had picked up a metal and wood stool to smash my head in.
  
  
  Then Hugo remembered her. He flexed the muscles of her forearm, loosening the stiletto from its suede scabbard. It slid into my palm like a silver dragon. As Wong lifted the stool higher, Hugo pushed her into his path.
  
  
  The stiletto went in to the hilt just below the giant's ribcage. He looked at me in mild surprise, then threw the stool at my head.
  
  
  Her ducked to the left. The stool grazed my shoulder and hit the couch. He struggled to his feet as the big Chinese man disdainfully pulled out a stiletto across his chest and threw Ego to the floor. Then he came at me again.
  
  
  I didn't have a gun now. If he grabs me again, in my weakened state, he will definitely kill me. Her took a potter's lamp from a chair at the end of the sofa and smashed ego emu in the face.
  
  
  It blinded him for a moment. He hesitated, muttering, muttering curses, wiping the dust and broken pottery from his eyes and face. He pulled out the wires around the remains of the lamp, held ih in his right hand by the insulated part. The live wires extended about an inch beyond the insulation. Wong moved again. I let the emu come closer, grab me, and clamp the ego wires with my right mastoid.
  
  
  Flash and crackle. Wong's eyes widened slightly as the current passed through him. He staggered back, trying to keep his feet under him, then fell heavily on the coffee table, smashing his ego to smithereens. He lay there, staring at the ceiling, unseeing. Adding up a big guy's dollar must not have been very healthy with all those muscles shackling him. He was dead.
  
  
  I realized that Cam was scrambling for the luger under the couch. It must have been more convenient than any other weapon he had. Her lunged at him and slammed his right fist into Ego's already bloodied face. He groaned and collapsed.
  
  
  It was moved by the sofa and handed back to Wilhelmina. Then her, walked over, picked up Hugo, and tucked ego into his belt. Finally, he walked up to Camus and pulled the emu's Luger in his face.
  
  
  He swallowed hard, watching as my finger tightened on the trigger.
  
  
  He said. 'No, wait!'
  
  
  'Why?'
  
  
  "Me... I'll tell you about Reinaldo."
  
  
  "All right," I said. 'It's time.'
  
  
  He didn't look at me. He was losing a lot of face, and it was almost as bad as staring at a luger. "Reinaldo's man came to me. He said he had a movie and asked if Ego wanted to buy it. When I told him I was interested, he frankly told me that he expected to receive several offers and that the bidding should start at one million British pounds."
  
  
  He whistled at her. "He's ambitious."
  
  
  "I assume that he sent a letter to the Russians, with the same offer," Kam said. "I advised emu to wait, let me consult with my government. He said he would find out in a few days.
  
  
  He nodded to her. 'Where is he?'
  
  
  Cam hesitated, looking at the Luger. Her moved ego licks, just to encourage him. "He has flown to Luxor and will wait for news there. He's in the ballroom at the Pharaohs Hotel, near Sharia el Mahatta."
  
  
  Kam's eyes studied her. For some reason, I trusted that he was telling me the truth.
  
  
  "How long will he be there?"
  
  
  Cam shook his head and winced, which hurt. "He didn't say definitely. He may have already returned to Cairo." Now it felt like he was lying.
  
  
  "I asked you how long Reinaldo would be staying in Luxor," I said quietly.
  
  
  The ego face showed ego, an inner conflict. "All right, Carter, tailor damn you! He expects to be there at least until tomorrow."
  
  
  That seemed to be all Cam could tell me, and I knew what to do. Camus couldn't be allowed to kill me before Reinaldo, or, if he was lucky, kill me earlier. My swollen face and chest throbbed. The bruises all over my body ached, reminding me that Cam had tried to kill me.
  
  
  Luger put a dagger to her throat and pulled the trigger.
  
  
  
  
  The ninth chapter.
  
  
  
  Fayeh and I walked through the high-ceilinged halls of the Egyptian Museum of Antiquities, not far from my hotel. We moved slowly, looking into jewel-encrusted cases, gold-encrusted necklaces and pendants, scented spoons, amulets, and so on. We talked on the way. I didn't think there would be more ble conversations in our rooms.
  
  
  Kam said Reinaldo was in Luxor. So I need to fly there, " I said, studying the setting for an ancient Egyptian dining chair.
  
  
  "We have to go there," she said, holding my hand.
  
  
  Her, looked at nah. 'Why us?'
  
  
  "Because I know Luxor," she said, " and I know the people there. If Reinaldo suspects you're on your way, he won't be easy to find. And time is short - you said so yourself. That's what you need, Nick.
  
  
  'She was right; she could have helped in Luxor. However ... '
  
  
  Okay, sure, you could save me some time, but from now on, it's going to be dangerous.
  
  
  "You just got rid of your biggest opponent..." she began.
  
  
  Hers, he shook his head. "I was very close to buying an ego from Kam. And don't be fooled into saying that Chicoms were the biggest competitors. Then there are the Russians, and they, to whom Reynaldo could offer the film. And then there's Beauvais, who will now also be hunting for Reinaldo and will most likely be the first to reach him. If he does, we may never know where Reinaldo hid the microfilm. And there is a chance that Beauvais alone might be interested in it ."
  
  
  "Yes," Faye said slowly. 'I know what you mean.'
  
  
  "The thing is, Luxor can be very hot - do you still want to come?"
  
  
  "Yes, Nick," she said seriously. 'I really want it. I want to help her.'
  
  
  He nodded to her. "Okay, you can go... on one condition. That you will do what I tell you, and when I tell you.
  
  
  "It's a case," she said, smiling.
  
  
  "Then let's go to the airport. The plane is leaving soon.
  
  
  The flight to Luxor took only a couple of hours. When we landed, we were in Upper Egypt, which meant we were five hundred miles or so south of Cairo. With the exception of Luxor, which wasn't a megacity, and the Nile, we were in the desert.
  
  
  The airport was small and primitive. Sand hit us in the face as we made our way to a ramshackle terminal with ego-buzzing flies and hard benches. A few minutes later, we were playing a game of a vintage Chevy used as a taxi with an Arab driver who looked like he could offer us dirty postcards. Instead, he continued to annoyingly whistle out-of-tune old Hit Parade tunes all the way to the Winter Palace Hotel in Luxor, apparently to show us what a worldly person he was. At the hotel, when he gave Em a fifteen percent tip, he apologetically denied the media reports to me that Em had to carry the woman's bag. I gave em a few more piastres and he left.
  
  
  The Winter Palace was an old but elegant place where many Europeans wintered. We registered as husband and wife. Faye liked that. When we settled into our room with a view of the boulevard and the Nile, she offered to take advantage of our new identity.
  
  
  "It's hard for a cop to focus on business," he said, teasing her.
  
  
  She came up to me and kissed me. "All work and lack of entertainment make Fayeh a boring companion."
  
  
  "No one could blame you for that," I said, laughing. "Let's go, we have until lunch. Take a look at all the Pharaohs in daylight. We might find Mr. Reynaldo napping."
  
  
  She reached into her purse and pulled out a small .25 Beretta with an ivory backplate. It was a cute little gun; it looked like something she was carrying. She flipped the shutter back and charged the camera, now in a very businesslike and professional way, a complete change of mood. She was definitely an amazing girl.
  
  
  "Have you ever used this thing?" I asked her.
  
  
  "Yes," she said, smiling, and put the ego back in her purse.
  
  
  "Okay, keep your ego in the bag unless I tell you otherwise, okay?"
  
  
  She nodded, not at all upset. 'I understand her.'
  
  
  We took a taxi to the Pharaohs Hotel and got out across the street from it. This made La Tourelle in Cairo, where Kam was hiding, look like the Cairo Hilton. We entered the lobby and looked around. It was hot and cramped inside, and the dusty ceiling fan had been out for the last day. It hung motionless over the dilapidated corner reception desk. A small, thin Arab was sitting on a straight chair at the table, reading a newspaper.
  
  
  I asked her. "Do you have any rooms?"
  
  
  He looked at me, but didn't move. Ego's eyes rested on Fayeh. "At night or by the hour?" he said in English.
  
  
  Fayeh smiled, and hers ignored the insult. Let him think I was a tourist and had fun with an Arab whore, which was good for us.
  
  
  "I'll take ego for the night," I said.
  
  
  He stood up as if it was a great effort and placed a mud-spattered book on the chair. "Sign them up for future spelling literacy," he said.
  
  
  He signed two different names for us and returned the book. I would have found a name similar to Reinaldo on the previous page, but I didn't find it.
  
  
  "Room 302," the desk clerk told me. "Departure at noon."
  
  
  Her, grimaced. "Show the lady to the room," I said, " and get on with it. I'll go outside for a minute."
  
  
  I shoved a couple of bills into Emu's hand, and he showed the first sign of a smile, a crooked, ugly one. "All right, Joe," he said with irritating familiarity.
  
  
  When he went up the stairs with Faye, hers moved away from the front door.
  
  
  He went to the front desk and went behind the cash register. I flipped through the pages preceding it, which he signed, and after a moment found: R. Amaya. Rinaldo Amaya, aka Reinaldo. It's a good thing I talked to Hakeem. Reinaldo was in room 412.
  
  
  Hers, I went up the stairs to the fourth floor before Clare noticed me on my way up. I went to room 412, stood outside the door, and listened. There was no sound from inside. Reynaldo probably wouldn't be here at this time of day. He slid the pick into the lock and opened the door a couple of inches. I could see most of the room, but it was empty. He carefully stepped inside and closed the door behind him.
  
  
  In the ashtray was an extinct but still warm Turkish cigarette. The bedclothes on the iron bed were rumpled. Maybe an afternoon nap? He went to a small chest of drawers and looked at it. There was a briefcase in the bottom drawer. On nen, there was one message: R.
  
  
  He carefully opened the case. It looked like there were only toiletries and green striped pajamas. I examined the toilet articles and the inside of the case itself and found nothing. He hadn't really expected Reinaldo to keep the film, but he had to check it out anyway.
  
  
  After taking another look around, he calmly left through the rooms and went down to 302. Fayeh waited impatiently.
  
  
  She asked. "Did you find the ego?"
  
  
  "He's in room 412," I said, pointing over our heads. "There is no ego right now. Go down to the clerk, turn on the charm, and tell em that you don't like the bed in this room. Tell em that your friend recently occupied room 411 and liked it. I think it will work. Ask him if we can get it. Tell em we'll move our own stuff.
  
  
  All right, " she said. "Maybe he'll send you some champagne." This can be quite a long wait. She smiled. "And in these other circumstances, he fits our cover."
  
  
  "When we move to 411, I'll take you to dinner at the Winter Palace," I said. "You can order a bottle of the best there."
  
  
  Half an hour later, we were put up in room 411 next door to Reinaldo. He couldn't come or go without our egos hearing. Her undid the locks on the attache case that Nessus had, and put ego on the bed. He reached into the nah and picked up a Luger magazine. He took it out of Wilhelmina's holster, replaced the magazine with a fully loaded one. As he was putting Wilhelmina back in her holster, Fayeh came over and looked into the suitcase.
  
  
  "Praise the Society Youth!'No,' she said, surprised. 'What is all this?'
  
  
  "Equipment," her father said. Her took out Pierre, the cyanide gas bomb that her sometimes carry strapped to my hip, and put ego on the bed. Then he took out her two largest objects in the box, one at a time. The first was a large Buntline revolver .A 357 Magnum with an eighteen-inch barrel that could be disassembled into two parts. The first second was a Belgian detachable pistol-type carbine stock with a Buntline butt adapter. He twisted the two parts of the Magnum together, gripped the butt of the carbine, and screwed it firmly into place.
  
  
  It was considered all the details. Then he took the thing apart again, returned all the equipment to Casey Attache, and turned to Fayeh, who was just watching the whole thing in silence.
  
  
  "Okay, let's go get some champagne now."
  
  
  Dinner at the Winter Palace was excellent. In addition to lamb kebabs, we had vichisoise, a light fish dish, a sweet pastry dessert, followed by fresh tomatoes and cheese. After the last course, brass finger bowls were brought in, an elegant reminder of the days when heads of state and nobility wintered in Luxor. Fayeh exclaimed about the quality of the food, but Pridi didn't come much and looked unusually depressed. I wondered if this was a reaction to the appearance of all my weapons. But she was an Interpol agent, and she shouldn't have been under any illusions about how rough the world could get.
  
  
  I didn't notice her mood until we were back in the dim room at the Pharaohs Hotel. We quietly entered our room, even though there was no peace in 412. After listening to her for a few minutes, I made sure that we didn't find Reinaldo. Faye collapsed into a chair. He lifted her to the edge of the bed and stared out the window at the darkness outside.
  
  
  "You're pretty quiet today," I said. "Are you sorry that you came with me?"
  
  
  She was smoking a small brown cigarette, a brand she always kept with her. He was smoking one around his last American cigarettes. She took a deep breath and looked at me. "Simple ... Well, this is an unusual assignment. I guess I'm nervous.
  
  
  Vote and that's it, " her husband chuckled. 'Hello there! I was here for a while, remember? We can handle it."
  
  
  She wasn't comforted by my comment. She suddenly began to mash her cigarette furiously, not looking at me. He put down his cigarette and walked over to her.
  
  
  He leaned down and kissed her warm lips, but she didn't return the kiss. I tried it again... nothing. He straightened up and walked away.
  
  
  "You're worried as hell," her father said. "I shouldn't have brought you here."
  
  
  Suddenly, she stubbed out her cigarette, quickly got up and put her arm around my waist, pressing hard against me.
  
  
  "Hey, relax," I said.
  
  
  She was crying softly. "Make love to me, Nick."
  
  
  He kissed her wet cheek. "Faye, Reynaldo could be here any minute."
  
  
  'Let emu wait. He'll be here for a while if he does. We will not lose our ego. Make love to me, Nick. I need it.'
  
  
  'Well...'
  
  
  She began to undress. The blue scabbard slung over her head, the small bra came down, the ballet slippers were kicked off, then her panties slid to the floor and she was naked.
  
  
  "We have time, Nick. We have time, " she pleaded.
  
  
  She snuggled up to me, and my hands automatically began to explore her curves. Her mouth wanted mine. When the kiss was over, she started undressing me. She took off my shirt and ran her slender bronze hands over my chest, shoulders, and arms. This time, she took the initiative, showing me the way. I barely had time to undress before she dragged me onto the bed with her.
  
  
  She covered my breasts, and the life of kissing, and then on to flattery, went on. My mouth was dry. There was a sound-and it escaped around my throat. Fayeh was an Arab woman well versed in unusual sex.
  
  
  And then I walked over to her, and she led me to her, stretching and straining her full hips. Her persistence was infectious. I didn't understand it, but I didn't care. At this point, there was only one thing in the universe. This woman is an animal beneath me, this writhing, moaning pleasure. And he filled her being with his own throbbing desire.
  
  
  After that, unlike other times when we were together, she didn't kiss me or even look at me, but lay there staring blankly at the ceiling.
  
  
  He got up and dressed slowly. Making love didn't ease what was bothering her. She wanted to talk to her about it, but right now I needed to focus on Reynaldo.
  
  
  When the luger strapped her in, Faye got out of bed, came over and kissed me, smiling. "Thank you, Nick," she said.
  
  
  'Are you all right? I asked softly.
  
  
  She responded with a smile, and it really did seem the same when she started getting dressed. 'Ah, yes. There's nothing wrong with me if making love to you can't cure you.".
  
  
  Shortly after Faye finished dressing, shaggy heard her in the hall. They passed mimmo every day and stopped at 412. I heard the key go into the lock and the door open and close.
  
  
  "It's Reinaldo," I whispered.
  
  
  She nodded, and the old tension seemed to return to her.
  
  
  "I'll go over there and talk to him," I said, pulling on my jacket.
  
  
  "Empty for me, too, Nick," she said.
  
  
  He looked at her tense face. "Will you stay away from him?"
  
  
  "I promise," she said.
  
  
  'Good. Let's go.'
  
  
  We went out into the corridor. All was quiet outside, but I could hear Reynaldo pacing room 412. Day touched the handle and turned it slowly. He didn't lock the door behind him. Fayeh nodded, then pushed open the door and entered the room, Fayeh behind me.
  
  
  Reynaldo leaned over the nightstand and reached for the bottle of alcohol that was sitting there. He turned quickly to us, surprise on his face.
  
  
  'Quien es? What happened?'he said in Spanish. He was a tall man, older than the photograph Hakima had shown me, but his eyes were just as cold and deadly under thick brows. His full lips were now set in a tight, menacing line, and it was the scar on his left ear that hadn't been there in the earlier photo that noticed it.
  
  
  I showed it to Em Wilhelmine. "Relax," I said softly, closing the door. "We just want to talk to you."
  
  
  I saw him think about reaching for the gun under his jacket, but he refused. He turned to us, studying our faces, and finally focused on me. "You're an American," he said.
  
  
  'Actually. The other is John Drummond. I watched the ego's reaction. "You know the name, don't you?"
  
  
  He glanced at Fayeh again, and her eyes revealed that he thought she was a cop. He looked back at me. 'What are you here for? To arrest me? It wasn't Drummond who killed her.
  
  
  I walked over to him, put my ego jacket on, and pulled out a .44 Smith & Wesson . The gun was stuck in her belt.
  
  
  "I told you, well done=) to talk," I said.
  
  
  'Talk about what?'
  
  
  'About what you stole from Drummond's Casey attache.
  
  
  
  The dark eyes darkened. "Did I steal something from the suitcase's ego?"
  
  
  "Actually," I said.
  
  
  "I think you've come to the wrong place, my friend. It wasn't me, but a man named Maspero, who was involved in Drummond and the ego case.
  
  
  "I know all about Maspero and who killed ego." He blinked, but otherwise his face gave me nothing. "You have a microfilm that you found in Drummond's attache, and you're trying to sell the ego."
  
  
  He laughed harshly. "You'd better discuss this corkscrew with Maspero's superiors. If anyone has a movie, it's them ."
  
  
  Fayeh, who had been silent all this time, now turned to me. "He must have gotten rid of the movie by now, Nick, or he wouldn't be so smug."
  
  
  My eyes never left Reynaldo's face. "No, he still has it," I said. "Listen, Reinaldo, everyone will understand you. I know her, and you have a movie, and Beauvais, too.
  
  
  There was an expression on his face now-hatred, worry. "Bovet?"
  
  
  'Actually. He knows you've been holding on to it, and I don't think emu likes it."
  
  
  'How do you know that?'
  
  
  Her, chuckled. 'It doesn't matter. Your time is running out, Reynaldo. Beauvais will come for you. You can't slow down any longer. You have one chance - to get everything you can into the movie and run! »
  
  
  Ego's eyes snapped away from me as he tried to think. Finally, he looked back at me. "Let's say I have this movie. Have you come to make me an offer?
  
  
  "I'm willing to buy a film from you at the minimum that I understand you set - a million pounds sterling."
  
  
  He hesitated. "If I had this movie, I could expect more offers from other sources," he finally said. "The Chinese, for example, who would like to get an ego. And, of course, there are Russians."
  
  
  "You won't get a better offer than Fong's Dagger,"he told her casually," for the simple reason that he can't do anything more ego - wise."
  
  
  If Reinaldo was shocked by this, he didn't show it. The Russians still need it, " he said. "Who knows who else? That is, if I had this movie. And if I had one, my friend, your offer wouldn't be enough.
  
  
  Now its angry. Hawk had told me to make my own decisions about how much we offered, but at the time I wasn't in the mood to raise the bid. Before she could tell Reynaldo, however, Faye pulled the Beretta out of her purse and walked over to him.
  
  
  "Give up the film, you greedy pig!" she said. "Drop it now!"
  
  
  'Faye!' Her screamed at nah. I was afraid of something like this.
  
  
  She was waving the Beretta in Reynaldo's face, standing between him and me. He was about to tell hey to back off when Reynaldo made his move.
  
  
  He quickly grabbed the beretta ,his hand moving like a striking cobra. In the blink of an eye, he yanked the gun around the girl's arms and pulled her close, holding her between him and me like a shield and pointing the Beretta at me.
  
  
  "Now it's your turn, Mr. Carter," he said.
  
  
  So he knew who I was. "That's not a smart move, Reinaldo," I said, still holding the luger.
  
  
  Fayeh hissed at him in Arabic, kicking and writhing in his arms. She might be a lousy cop, but she had the guts.
  
  
  "Drop the gun," Reynaldo ordered, pointing the girl's mimmo beretta at my head.
  
  
  "I can't do this," emu told her.
  
  
  "Then I'll kill you."
  
  
  "Maybe," I said. "But not before I shoot this girl and you and that Luger."
  
  
  That stopped him. "Would you kill that girl?"
  
  
  "Yes, if I need it."
  
  
  Fayeh looked at me grimly. I knew she was trying to guess if I was bluffing or not. Reinaldo paused for a moment, then headed for the door to the corridor. "All right, we'll bluff," he said. Now he held the Beretta to Fayeh's temple. "But I assure you that if you try to stop me, Mr. Carter, the girl will go first."
  
  
  Watching him sneak up on me, her, knew he was keeping me in a small corner. She wouldn't have Stahl kill Fayeh so he wouldn't come out through the rooms, and he saw it in my eyes. Now he was opening the door.
  
  
  "Remember, she will die first."
  
  
  "You're being an idiot, Reinaldo," I said, following him with the luger. "You won't get a better offer." You'd better think about it before you leave.
  
  
  "I don't think you're going to pay me for a movie that stole it from your government," Reynaldo said frankly, finally dropping the pose. "The thing is, I don't think I can trust you at all." Now he was backing out into the corridor, the Beretta still sitting at Faye's head.
  
  
  "Pig, let me go!" she shouted.
  
  
  We both ignore her.
  
  
  "All right, have it your way," I said. "But don't say I didn't try to do it the easy way."
  
  
  "In this case," he said, " there is no easy way."
  
  
  He began to agree with him. "Leave the girl, Reynaldo. You don't need it anymore.
  
  
  "You're right, Mr. Carter," he said. "You can get ee." He suddenly pushed her hard. She flew back into the room, landing on top of me, knocking the Luger out of the way.
  
  
  Reynaldo, meanwhile, disappeared down the corridor. Fayeh grabbed her to keep her from falling and moved around nah toward the corridor. But she beat me to it. She snatched the .44 Russian from my belt, Reinaldo's pistol, and ran out into the corridor with it.
  
  
  "I'll get ego!" she said, her dark hair swirling around her face.
  
  
  Before he could stop her, she fired two shots down the hall after Reynaldo as he reached the stairs. Both shots missed, and he was gone. Her gun was snatched from Nah.
  
  
  "Damn the tailor, Faye!" I told her. "If you kill him, we'll never find the damn movie!"
  
  
  She looked at me. "I'm so sorry, Nick. Its almost ruined everything, isn't it?
  
  
  He looked at Nah wearily. "Go back to the Winter Palace and stay there."
  
  
  Then hers, he turned and followed Reynaldo down the corridor.
  
  
  
  
  The tenth chapter.
  
  
  
  He reached the hotel lobby. Clare stared at the gun in my hand, and I stopped to put the emu down for a few piastres a minute.
  
  
  "You didn't hear or see anything," emu told her.
  
  
  He looked at the money, then at me. "Yes, sir," he said.
  
  
  He heard the car's engine start and headed for the door, just in time to see a maroon 2002 BMW pull away from the curb and roar down the dark street. He looked down the street and saw a man moving toward the old Buick. Her, ran up to him. He was an Arab in Western clothing.
  
  
  I'll borrow your car for a while, " emu told her. He handed Em a wad of money. 'Here. I'll leave the car where you'll find it later. Give me the keys."
  
  
  He glanced at the Luger and quickly reached for his car keys. Ih grabbed it and jumped into the Buick. It was a clunker, but it was wheels. The Luger holstered it and took the engine with it. He was alive. Then it burned rubber to get away from the curb. Reynaldo had already disappeared around the corner at the end of the block.
  
  
  When he turned the corner, Reynaldo's car was nowhere in sight. I hit her hard on the accelerator, made an old relic into the next corner, and turned straight. The BMW was two blocks ahead and moving fast. We were on Sharia al-Karnak and had just passed the Luxor police station. I held my breath and hoped no one would see or hear us go by mimmo. Then we passed the Public Garden Square on the left and the Hotel de Famille on the right, and found ourselves on the old avenue of Sphinxes leading to the village of Karnak, where the famous temples stood.
  
  
  There were few cars on the road at this time of night, which was lucky because no one around us was going to stop or slow down. A few pedestrians watched us go as we roared past mimmo, but otherwise they didn't notice the chase. Surprisingly, I kept up with the BMW, despite its great potential speed and maneuverability. The Buick bumped into potholes in the street like a production car in an emergency derby. My goal hit the roof in a couple of seconds. And then we were in the temples of Karnak.
  
  
  Reinaldo realized I was too close to try to lose me in the city, so he adopted a plan that didn't involve the maroon sedan ego. He stopped abruptly at the temple gate. When Ney rode up, her, saw him heading for the massive South Gate of Karnak. For the last hundred yards of the palm-lined Avenue of Sphinxes, ram-headed sphinxes bordered the road, sitting as they had thousands of years ago, but now in various stages of decay. The pylons of the South Gate rose magnificently in the moonlight. She was stopped by an old Buick car next to a BMW and watched Reinaldo run a mimmo of the night network, designed to keep out tourists during off-hours. Ego the dark figure disappeared into the courtyard of the Khonsu temple as he walked her around the car.
  
  
  Her carapace is behind him, moving quietly. He still had the Beretta, and although it was a small rifle, a good marksman could kill very effectively on the nah.
  
  
  Moving cautiously through the front yard, he looked at the deep shadows cast by the thick walls decorated with hieroglyphs and the towering pillars made by lotus. I didn't think Reinaldo would stop there. He walked through the front yard and into the Small Hypostyle Hall behind it. The roof was long gone, and the whole place was bathed in ominous moonlight. Suddenly, four thousand years magically disappeared, and I found myself in Ancient Egypt, at the court
  
  
  Ramses XII. The ego relief stood out clearly on the moans, staring unseeingly at the ages. There were pillars in this hall, too, and he moved cautiously through them. Then he heard loose rocks rolling somewhere ahead of him.
  
  
  "Reinaldo!" Her, shouted. "You won't be able to get out of here. Give you another chance to make a deal."
  
  
  There was a moment of silence in the moonlit temple, then a rheumatic voice said, " I don't need to get out of here, Mr. Carter. I could kill you."
  
  
  He noticed the direction of ego's voice and started walking towards it. Her last offer was made; now it was a duel between him and me.
  
  
  Silently by her shell, across the temple complex and halls, the pharaohs ' ih wives stared blankly at me from their pedestals. A light breeze whipped up dust and debris in the corner and made me jump. The atmosphere of this place reached me. Maybe that's what Reynaldo was hoping for.
  
  
  He walked between another pair of massive, bulky pylons that crouched menacingly in the darkness. My foot scraped on a rock, and suddenly a gunshot rang out. Out of the corner of her eye, I saw a flash of light before the ancient stone shattered near my head.
  
  
  He ducked and swore. In these different circumstances, she was at a disadvantage as a stalker. If Reinaldo keeps his composure, he can shoot me from any number of excellent positions.
  
  
  He crouched in the dark and waited. Then he saw a shadow in the direction from which the shot had been fired, moving quickly from one column to the next. The Luger put it on her arm, and Stahl waited. A shadow appeared and moved toward another pillar. I shot her. Reynaldo screamed and fell on his face.
  
  
  But the ego didn't hurt much. A moment later, he was on his feet again. Another shot was fired as he ducked behind a stone pillar and missed.
  
  
  He was now at a slight disadvantage to me. The wound was probably only superficial, but it gave Reynaldo pause. This made ego realize that ambush is a dangerous game.
  
  
  We were now in a Large hypostyle Hall, the largest in the ruins. Here, too, the roof was gone, but there were still 134 pillars placed at regular intervals throughout the huge room. They were massive blocks of stone that towered high overhead like giant dead trees. And Reinaldo was somewhere in this forest of ancient columns, waiting to shoot me in the head.
  
  
  He slowly walked over to the nearest pillar and leaned against it. Reinaldo didn't leave this room, and probably didn't intend to. Of course, here she will have the best chance to hit me before her, do the same with him.
  
  
  Gliding quickly to another pillar, he glanced at the next row of pillars. There was no movement. The moon cast silver bars between the heavy shadows of the pillars. The pillars now surrounded me. It was like a ghostly dark hall of mirrors, with columns reflecting in all directions.
  
  
  "I'm coming for you, Reynaldo." My voice echoed slightly. I knew her ego must have been a little shaken up from the wound, and I decided to work on it a little.
  
  
  He moved toward the other pillar, deliberately slowing his movements. The fastest way to find Reinaldo is to attract the ego fire. And the further you were with him, the better. As hers slowly moved towards another pillar, hers saw Reynaldo step out from behind a pillar along the line. The Beretta barked again. Gawk ripped the sleeve of my camisole.
  
  
  Wilhelmina bellowed her rheumatism. 9 mm. gawk looked up from the pillar that Reinaldo had just crouched behind. While Reinaldo lay there, he moved to the right, to another row of pillars. He listened intently, turning his head. I heard a sound to my left, turned around, and saw a torn newspaper fluttering in the wind. He almost shot nah.
  
  
  I moved quickly to Reinaldo's last position, the pillar that would bring me no closer to him. He spotted me as I reached my new hiding place, and the Beretta fired again, gawking as it hit the column behind me. She was returned fire, two quick shots fired. The first one flew away from Reinaldo's column, came back, and almost hit me. "The second one hit Reinaldo as he was returning to cover.
  
  
  I heard him swear in Spanish, then he yelled at me:
  
  
  "Damn the tailor, Carter! All right, let's get this straight and make a deal. You know where she is."
  
  
  It was getting close to small things. I knew that sooner or later I would have to go after him, like a white hunter going into the bushes after a wounded leopard. But then he'll have a better chance of attacking me.
  
  
  He took a deep breath and stepped out from behind his pillar. A moment later, Reinaldo also stepped out into the open. He struggled to get up, but kept going anyway. Like her, he knew the time for caution was over. He walked slowly down the aisle between the tall pillars toward me, the Beretta aimed in my direction.
  
  
  She didn't want Reinaldo dead.
  
  
  But now it was an ego game, and he wanted a shootout. He started toward me.
  
  
  "You can't fool me, Carter," he said finally. "You don't get anything from a dead person. You'd rather not kill me. But I don't suffer from such a disadvantage."
  
  
  "I'll kill you if I have to," I said. "Just tell me where the microfilm is and you'll live."
  
  
  "I will still live." He kept moving. I couldn't fit licks. Suddenly, he fired, but fortunately, hers moved to the left. The shot still went through my right shoulder, leaving a burning wound on my body. He backed up against the column, took aim with the Luger, and returned fire.
  
  
  Reynaldo clutched his chest and hit a pillar, but didn't fall. He didn't give up - he really thought I was going to kill him. He fired the Beretta again, and missed.
  
  
  I didn't have a choice. Another round squeezed it out, and it didn't miss. This time, Reinaldo was knocked off his leg by a bullet and thrown roughly onto his back. The Beretta flew out at Ruki's ego.
  
  
  He waited a moment, watching him. I thought I saw him move, but I couldn't be sure. There was a commotion somewhere to my right. I turned around, looking into the darkness, but I couldn't see anything. The place was coming back to me. It moved between the massive pillars until it came to rest over Reinaldo, my Luger ready in case I had to use it anyway.
  
  
  Reynaldo lay with one arm tucked under him, his face white. The last gawk hit the emu in the right side of its chest. I didn't see how he could have survived.
  
  
  Hers, leaned over him. Once again, I thought I heard a commotion nearby. He crouched down and listened. Silence. He looked at Reinaldo.
  
  
  "Look," emu told her. "You'll be fine if you see a doctor." I hoped he wouldn't know I was lying. "I can take you there if you want to talk to me about the movie. I also won't tell Beauvais about your whereabouts.
  
  
  He laughed, a guttural laugh that turned into an ego throat that turned into a cough.
  
  
  "If you don't like the sound of this sentence,"I added," I can promise you that you won't die easily."
  
  
  Mixed emotions showed on his face. Then a hand hidden under my ego and body suddenly flashed at me. In his fist was the weapon Hakim Sadeq had told me , a thick-edged ice pick dagger. It hit me in the life when its, receded. It tore through my jacket and shirt and pricked my flesh. Reynaldo grabbed her arm, twisting it with both hands, and the dagger fell across the ego of the fist.
  
  
  Her ego slapped him savagely with its hand, and he chuckled. The emu grabbed her dagger and raised it to his chin. "Okay, I was nice to you. Do you want her to start poking this thing in different places?
  
  
  Ego's face was drawn. There was no more fighting in nen. There was nothing left for Emu but the straw I offered.
  
  
  "Valley of the Kings," he croaked. Burial chamber.'
  
  
  He coughed, spurting blood.
  
  
  I prompted it. "Where are the digital cameras in the burial chamber?"
  
  
  He gasped. 'Save me!'"In Luxor... there is a doctor. Next to the pharaohs. He can... keep your mouth shut ... on the lock.
  
  
  "All right," I said. "Where are the digital cameras in the burial chamber?"
  
  
  He opened his mouth to say something. The blood oozed out even more, and that was all. Ego's eyes glazed over, and the target tilted back. He was dead.
  
  
  I thought I was lucky. He could have died without telling me.
  
  
  Slowly, she walked back through the Large hypostyle Room. When he reached the entrance, he heard something again. This time it was definitely shaggy. He looked out into the open courtyard and saw an Arab peering into the darkness of the great hall.
  
  
  'Who is it? he shouted in Arabic. 'What's going on there?'
  
  
  Apparently, he was the caretaker who was alerted by the shooting. When he found Reinaldo's body, there was quite a commotion. He didn't want to be around her.
  
  
  Hers moved silently between the giant stone pillars, avoiding the courtyard where the caretaker stood uncertainly, heading for the South Gate through which hers had entered.
  
  
  The BMW was the most comfortable and fastest. I looked inside and saw that Reinaldo had left the keys in the ignition. He jumped up, turned the key, and put the car in gear. I slipped on the gravel as I rounded the car, and as I started to move, I saw the caretaker running toward me, waving his arms and shouting.
  
  
  It would be difficult for an EMU to get a good look at the car. The BMW's engine started it up, and it roared through the night. Within seconds, the temples were out of sight, and he was heading back to Luxor and the Winter Palace.
  
  
  On the way back, I remembered the sounds I thought I'd heard her make when Reinaldo was dying. It must have been the caretaker. If not... I didn't want to think about possible alternatives. Well, she would have paid an early visit to the Valley of the Kings tomorrow morning.
  
  
  With any luck, I'll find a microfilm, end this Arab nightmare, and ask Hawk for a raise and a two-week vacation.
  
  
  It doesn't make a lot of sense just like that.
  
  
  
  
  The eleventh chapter.
  
  
  
  
  The next morning was cool, bright, and clear as an African star. The eternal Nile ran placidly like a greased metallic blue. For this winding ribbon of life, the polished copper of the desert and hills shone.
  
  
  It was against this serene backdrop that the day began as he drove down the dusty road to the Valley of the Kings. It was a rented Alfa Romeo 1750, and Faye sat next to me, not protesting, and listened while na nah yelled at her.
  
  
  "You damn near killed us yesterday," her husband denied the media reports, " so please let me shoot you this time."
  
  
  In fact, Fayeh wouldn't have taken her at all, but she told me that Merenptan's tomb was temporarily closed to tourists and I needed her to get there. I agreed to take it, but I didn't like it, and she knew it. She got into the car, as far away from me as possible, and we didn't say much on the way.
  
  
  We passed the mimmo of the Colossi of Memnon and the temple of Queen Hatshepsut, mimmo of bleached peach-colored villages in the early sun, where people still lived just as they did in the biblical days. Camels harnessed to grinding wheels moved in an endless circle around the primitive mills, as if they had been doing the same job for thousands of years. Women in black, some with water jugs on their heads, looked at us through veils as we passed. Fayeh did not comment. I didn't mind, because on this clear morning my mind was on finding the microfilm.
  
  
  We arrived at the Valley of the Kings in less than an hour's drive. When we got to the parking lot and he looked around, he was disappointed. It didn't look grand at all. It was a wide ravine surrounded by high rocky cliffs that had sand around them. There were a few service buildings, hot in the sun, and you could see the scattered entrances to the tombs - unsightly holes in the ground with ticket counters, an Arab in each booth.
  
  
  I asked her. 'Is this it?
  
  
  "It's all underground," she said. 'You'll see.'
  
  
  She joins me with an Arab in one of the shacks, a man who seemed to answer to this place. She showed me her Interpol ID, told Em a story about heroin smuggling, and asked if we could enter the tomb without wires.
  
  
  "Of course, madame," he said in Arabic.
  
  
  As we approached the tomb, her father looked at nah. "Are you sure the tomb is closed to the public?"
  
  
  She smiled a mysterious smile. "Do you think he would be able to deceive you, lover?"
  
  
  There was no guard at the tomb gate, so we just went inside. It was like entering a mine. We immediately discovered that we were going down a special stone tunnel. The walls on both sides were covered with hieroglyphic inscriptions carved into the stone by hand. We went down and down, and the hieroglyphs didn't end.
  
  
  "Inscriptions from the Egyptian Book of the Dead," Fayeh told me as we descended. "Very important for survival in the Otherworld."
  
  
  "I wonder if they have the power to survive in this world," I said. He stopped at a turn in the corridor and pulled out a thick travel guide around his jacket pocket. Ego flipped through it and stopped at the page that was turned over. "It says here that there are several burial rooms."
  
  
  Actually. The first one is in a hall near the pass to our right. The main one, with Merenptah's sarcophagus, is in the hall further down this aisle, the Burial Hall.
  
  
  'It's all right. Go to the smaller room, and I'll take the bigger one. If you find what we're looking for, shout it out."
  
  
  He watched her turn and walk down the dimly lit corridor, then down the main corridor. He went to the stairs and descended to a lower level. Here he found himself in another tunnel-corridor. There were more hieroglyphs and colored murals of Merenptah in the presence of the god Harmachis. The corridor led to a fairly large room. It was obviously a burial Hall. Another passage led from the opposite side to a much smaller room: the burial chamber.
  
  
  Merenptah's sarcophagus occupied a large part of the room. The lid of the ego grave was beautiful and intricate. They were all standing on a stone podium. Ego walked around her, taking a good look around. Then he searched her room. On the shelves were funeral urns. The microfilm could have been hidden on one of these pollocks, but that would have been too obvious. He looked back at the lid of the sarcophagus. She sat partially above the vessel so that the dark corners of the empty coffin could see her.
  
  
  Of course, I thought, Reynaldo hadn't dropped the film into the big box, but had leaned his shoulder against the lid. Her ego couldn't move her, so Reinaldo couldn't move the ego either. Then I came up with an idea - the same one, as it turned out, for Reinaldo. He put her in the sarcophagus and felt the lower part of the ego lid as best he could. Nothing. Then he felt the inside of the sarcophagus. Nothing yet. He returned to the lid. He held out his hand under it and reached out as far as he could. And then I felt it.
  
  
  It was a small package, no bigger than my thumb, and it was taped to the underside of the lid.
  
  
  Ego pulled it out and pulled his arm around the sarcophagus. My folding dollar almost stopped when she carefully unwrapped the tiny bundle. It's something to vote for. Microfilm. Novigrom I plans And now in my hand, they belonged to the U.S. government.
  
  
  He allowed himself a satisfied smile. If Drummond was going to die, at least not for nothing.
  
  
  Someone's foot was scratching the stone. He put the tape in a minute and reached for Wilhelmina. Its a little late. There, in the doorway of the burial chamber, two thugs stood grinning. She became aware of the big man with the Thin Man's Magnum. Magnum was looking at me again. The other man, a short, wiry Arab with a rat's face, pointed a European-style .32-caliber revolver at me.
  
  
  "Well, look who's on the sarcophagus tour," the big man said.
  
  
  The little man gave a short, staccato laugh, slightly inflated with sticks.
  
  
  I asked her. "Is there something wrong with seeing the sights?"
  
  
  My mind raced back like a rewinding movie. Hypostyle room last night. Noises I thought I heard. In the end, Caretaker ih didn't. Someone, probably Odin around the two of them, followed Reinaldo and me to Karnak and quietly entered in time to hear the final scene. But they didn't hear it, because they let me find a microfilm for them.
  
  
  "You're not an owl here," the big man told me.
  
  
  I told her. 'No? Her hand dropped from her doublet.
  
  
  "Reinaldo told you where the movie was," the big guy continued.
  
  
  "Beauvais made a deal with me," I said.
  
  
  "Mr. Beauvais gave you your life for information about Reinaldo," the big man said. 'Voice and all. He says not to kill you now if you cooperate."
  
  
  "How to cooperate?" - I said, I already know, rheumatism.
  
  
  There was that ugly grin again. "Mr. Beauvais wants this movie. He says he got it right because Reinaldo stayed away from him. Of course, he will sell the ego to you at the right price, if you can think of one. There may be other suggestions ."
  
  
  He sighed, thinking, that's all. "I didn't find the movie," I said.
  
  
  The little man shook his head and called me a liar in Arabic.
  
  
  The movie's in your pocket, " the big man said. "We saw how you put the ego in there. Give it back, and there will be no shooting."
  
  
  I wasn't going to give this microfilm away now, especially not to an international gang of hooligans.
  
  
  "Okay, I guess I don't have a choice," I said.
  
  
  That's right, Mr. Carter, " the big man said.
  
  
  Its time per minute for microfilm, simultaneously taking two steps towards them. The big man reached out with his free hand, trying to keep the Magnum in my chest with the other. I had to pass in front of the little Arab to get to him.
  
  
  "Just give me the tape and you'll be fine," the big man assured me.
  
  
  Her, I asked. Anyway, he wasn't going to find out. It was taken from his pocket by an empty but clenched fist. I was standing sincerely in front of a small Arab, and ego revolver was watching my every move. But I had to risk it.
  
  
  Suddenly, it opened with an empty fist and grabbed the little Arab by the hand with the gun, moving out of the line of fire. The sound of gunfire filled the stone room as Gawk flew off the sarcophagus behind me and hit the wall.
  
  
  Now she had a firm grip on the gunslinger's arm and knocked Ego nog down, putting him between himself and the big guy with the magnum. The little Arab's gun went off again, gawking as it hit the floor. At that moment, the big guy fired, trying to hit me in the chest. Little Arab screamed when gawk hit the emu in the left arm. The big man cursed as her now pushed the little Arab in it, temporarily knocking ego off the counterweights.
  
  
  He dived to the end of the sarcophagus, hoping to use the ego as a hiding place. The big man fired two more shots while he was fleeing for a moment. The first one broke off the sarcophagus, and the second one tore the heel off my right shoe.
  
  
  "I'll get you, Carter!" The big man meant business. He was very disappointed with Tonman that day when Beauvais withdrew his ego.
  
  
  Now he was going to fix it.
  
  
  It was heard by shaggy's ego while walking around the sarcophagus. There was no time for Luger. I moved it with my right forearm, and Hugo slid into my palm.
  
  
  A large man, massive and vicious, came around the corner of the sarcophagus, clutching a magnum. He saw me and took aim, and he pressed himself against the coffin. The gun exploded, and I heard Gawk hit the floor next to me. He shot madly, and I was lucky. Hers, he threw up his right hand, revealing it in front of him, releasing Hugo. The stiletto slid silently through the air and slammed into the big man's chest.
  
  
  Ego's eyes widened in surprise. He automatically grabbed the cold steel in himself. Magnum roared three more times as he stumbled and fell heavily against the coffin lid.
  
  
  Just in time, he heard a sound behind him. I turned and saw a small Arab, his wounded arm hanging limply at his side, and he aimed his revolver at me from both ends of the sarcophagi. Hers rolled away from the stone base as it fired, grabbing Wilhelmina as hers moved. Ee took it and shot it.
  
  
  He shot her three times. The first shot hit the wall a foot above the Arab's head. Then the second one made a groove on Ngo's left cheek, and the third one entered his chest. Gawk hit him and slammed him against the wall. He fell to the floor, disappearing from sight.
  
  
  There was a low murmur in Arabic. Then the little arab got to his feet and moved to the doorway of the burial chamber. He turned weakly and fired at me to cover his retreat. But when he got to the doorway, her shot went off again at Luger and hit him, at the base of his spine. It twitched as if the ego was being pulled on some invisible wire. The sarcophagus went around and looked at her. The little Arab's body jerked and froze.
  
  
  He went back to the big man and pulled out a stiletto across his ego's chest. Ego ego wiped it on his jacket and returned it to its scabbard. "You should have quit smoking while you were ahead," he told the corpse.
  
  
  Then he heard Fahey calling out,"Nick!"
  
  
  He turned as she entered the burial chamber. She walked past the mimmo of the first corpse, glancing at it in surprise, and then came up to me and started talking to my second victim.
  
  
  She asked. "The new Brotherhood?"
  
  
  Actually. Beauvais Stahl was greedy when he thought about the film's value ."
  
  
  "Do you have one?"
  
  
  He pulled out the tape around his pocket and handed it to Hey. "That's great, Nick!" she said, smiling.
  
  
  "Did you see anyone else from Novy Koty in the corridors?"
  
  
  "No, I haven't seen her at anyone's place at all. And I suspect that after that Beauvais will refuse the film. He really doesn't want to get into a fight with the US government."
  
  
  "If this is true, then this locality in Russia is starting to look like a success story," I said, holstering my Luger . "Go, go get out of here while we're still lucky."
  
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  When we reached the entrance to the tomb, squinting in the bright sun, everything was quiet. There were no guards nearby, and the depths of the burial chamber must have drowned out the sound of gunfire. We went straight to the Alfa Romeo and climbed in.
  
  
  As we drove away around the Valley of the Kings, it relaxed a little. It was an unpleasant task, but it ended well. I had microfilm, and I had my health. I thought of the briefcase I'd hidden in the luggage compartment earlier, just in case, and was glad to know I wouldn't need it now.
  
  
  He was still in this triumphant state, feeling pleased with himself and how he handled the difficult task, explaining to Fayeh how important the film was to the free world, etc., etc., when it happened. We went around a rocky signpost on a dirt road and almost ran into a black Mercedes 350 SL parked across the road, so it was impossible to avoid ego.
  
  
  I'm drowning, bullying, her pulled over to a dusty stop just a few feet from the Mercedes. When the dust cleared, he saw three men standing around a large black car. My jaw dropped slightly. It was Yuri Lyalin and the two Arab thugs he used to beat me up. Lyalin held his Mauser pistols, and the Arabs each held a snub-nosed revolver. All the guns were pointed at my head.
  
  
  "Damn the tailor," I muttered. "Damned Russians." Faye just stared at the trio. "I'm sorry, Nick."
  
  
  Lyalin shouted at us, while hers sat and decided what to do. "Get out of there, Carter. You don't have to disappoint me now. That's what I saved your life for."
  
  
  "You'd better do what he says, Nick," Faye said softly.
  
  
  If the engine had started her up and headed straight for them, she might have been hit by one, maybe two shots, but he couldn't get around this giant car.
  
  
  He was suddenly so angry, so upset, that he couldn't think straight. Finally, the engine shut her down.
  
  
  "All right," I said to his girlfriend. "Let's surrender to the KGB."
  
  
  We got out of the car and Lalin waved his mauser at us. I looked at his little one, and it was like looking into the little one of my own Luger. Her ego knew power and efficiency. The Arab thugs held their revolvers tightly, ready to use them. I didn't see a way out.
  
  
  "So everything is going according to plan," Lialu told her.
  
  
  "Actually, Mr. I-man," he said with a tight smile. "You found out where the movie is in the hall and brought us to it. We should have just waited and let you do all the work for us."
  
  
  He was gloating, and I hate her gloating.
  
  
  "Now for the movie, please."
  
  
  He sighed heavily and looked at Fayeh. She looked down at the ground. We went through a lot with her, but it looked like we lost the game in double overtime. He covered it with a film about its width, took one last look at the package, and handed it to Lyalin.
  
  
  He took it carefully. Holstering the Mauser, he unfolded the film and examined it carefully. He swallowed hard. There were only two guns pointed at me now. And Lalin will probably kill me anyway before he leaves here. It was hard to think about Fai, but her safety wasn't part of the mission. Maybe she can use the Beretta that Reinaldo took from her in time to save us both.
  
  
  Its made its move. While Lyalin held the film up to the light, he took a step forward, putting the ego between me and the distant fighter and me, within reach of the nearest one. Suddenly and violently, her ego slapped her hand with the gun. The gun went off over my head, and the thug staggered back against the hood of the Mercedes. At the same time, he threw himself at Lyalin. He started to pick up the Mauser, but didn't have time. Ego grabbed her and pulled her close, trying to keep ego between me and the other Arab.
  
  
  The first gunman came to his senses and was still holding the gun. The other one moved to shoot me. Lyalin and I were locked in a deadly battle, my hands at his throat, his fingers touching my eyes.
  
  
  It was Fayeh who shouted it. "Beretta!"
  
  
  I grabbed Lyalin and pushed ego in the direction of the bandit who was trying to guide me. Startled by our combined weight, he momentarily lost his balance. But the other man, as I knew her, was now behind me. For example, in a second I would have a ragged hole in my back.
  
  
  Pulling hard on Lalin's shoulders, he dragged her ego to the ground and onto himself. Now it will be harder for any shooter to hit me without hitting Lyalin.
  
  
  "Come on, tailor damn you! he gasped, elbowing me in the side.
  
  
  Its only fought for time. If Faye had been able to use Beretta, she could have turned the tide in our favor. If not, it's over. I saw her out of the corner of my eye, and luckily she pulled out a gun!
  
  
  I shouted it out. "Shoot them!"
  
  
  Lalin managed to speak even though I was holding ego by the throat. "Stop the ego," he said, looking at Fayeh.
  
  
  And Fayeh, this voluptuous beauty with a seductive smile, moved forward and shot a Beretta at my head. "Let go of your ego, Nick."
  
  
  Her, looking at that beautiful face. He gradually released Lyalin. He moved away from me, rubbing his throat. I kept looking at the Beretta.
  
  
  "I'm sorry, Nick," the girl said softly.
  
  
  Lyalin took out the microfilm and put it in his pocket. "Yes, Carter. Fayeh is a KGB agent. Yes, sometimes she also works for Interpol. But first of all, it is loyal to the Soviet Union. Isn't that right, Faye dear?
  
  
  Slowly, he got to his feet. Fayeh sat sullenly, not answering Lalin. Some thoughts were coming back to me now. She wasn't very keen on going to see Reinaldo when he told her, hey, it's the one with the microfilm. And Dagger's death didn't bother her. Now I knew why, because I had eliminated part of the competition with the KGB. There were other things, too.
  
  
  "You tried to kill Reynaldo last night," her father said. "Because you knew that after the ego of death, no one would be able to find the microfilm."
  
  
  "Nick, I -"
  
  
  Two mercenaries approached me just now. The one who grabbed her glanced at Lalin, who was dusting off his suit.
  
  
  "Let me kill my ego," said arab.
  
  
  Lalin almost allowed himself a smile. "Will you see how my comrades want to get rid of you?" He came up to me and searched me, getting rid of Wilhelmina and Hugo. He threw ih to the ground near the Alfa Romeo. Then he turned to me and punched me in the face.
  
  
  He fell into the mud, dazed. I thought my nose was broken. This man had a great punch. He hated it.
  
  
  Hers was still on the ground.
  
  
  "It's because of the trouble you caused me, and because of my sore neck," he said, touching his throat where it had almost been strangled by ego minutes ago. Then he came over to lick me, and before she could react, kicked me in the face, and over my head.
  
  
  A tearing pain exploded inside me. I tried to focus on Lalin, but he was a blur in front of me.
  
  
  Her, I heard Faye say: "Not forever!"
  
  
  Lalin moved away from me, and my vision cleared somewhat. I saw him give Fayeh a dark look.
  
  
  "Kill the ego," he ordered.
  
  
  Fayeh turned quickly to face him. "No," she said.
  
  
  She struggled up on one elbow, the target still spinning.
  
  
  "I said kill the ego!"
  
  
  "The Odin around them can do it." She pointed to the two Arabs.
  
  
  'No. You have to do it."
  
  
  I could see her clearly enough now, and I watched in a daze as Fayeh slowly approached me, holding the Beretta in front of him. Her face was grim, her eyes wide. And then I saw the tears running down the corners of those eyes. The tears I saw her cry the last time we made love. I understand her now. She raised the ivory-handled pistol until it was aimed squarely at my chest.
  
  
  'Oh my God!'she said.
  
  
  Then she pulled the trigger.
  
  
  
  
  The twelfth chapter.
  
  
  
  
  Gawking eyes slammed into me hard. He felt a sharp pain just above his heart and hit the ground. Fayeh shot me. She actually shot me.
  
  
  Not so many came before me. It was cool dark, and there were sounds as the four of them got into the Mercedes, and the roar of the engine as they drove away.
  
  
  The blackness receded again, and that surprised me. Another surprise was the absence of a hot fireball inside my chest, which shocked me and almost killed me.
  
  
  Eventually its discovered that I can move. He slowly opened his eyes and looked at the hot sun. A bloody miracle had happened. He propped himself up painfully on one elbow and put a hand on his chest where the hole should have been. It was then that I realized what had gone wrong - or rather, correctly.
  
  
  He reached into his doublet pocket, into his right breast pocket, and pulled out a thick guide to tombs. A ragged hole on the cover that runs through the book. Gawk .The .25 protruded about a quarter of an inch across the back of the book. He dropped the book and carefully unbuttoned his shirt. There was a large red welt where the skin had been torn by the projecting edge of the bullet. I would have had a deep bruise, but the guidebook saved my life.
  
  
  Her, I remembered how Fayeh tried to talk me out of buying the book, I say that she can tell me what I need to know. Hers was a weak laugh. Sometimes it was so crazy.
  
  
  He slowly got to his feet. Lyalin's punch made my heart pound. Lyalin. Damn microfilm. He had to follow them. Lyalin had to find it before he destroyed the film.
  
  
  Wilhelmina and Hugo were lying on the ground, kuda ih threw Lyalin.
  
  
  After receiving the Luger and stiletto, he transferred to the Alpha and climbed into the nah. It was checked by a Luger, it was stuck with sand. He cursed under his breath until he remembered the attache case in the luggage compartment with the custom Buntline work. Maybe it would have been a better weapon under different circumstances.
  
  
  I picked up the Alpha's engine and put it in gear. The small GT roared and kicked up a large cloud of dust.
  
  
  It must have been five miles before hers came to a fork in the road. One path led to Luxor, and the other led to the coast through the Egyptian desert. Stahl went out to study the ground; he noticed the tire tracks of the Mercedes. Lyalin left for the desert. It has set its sights on the port of Safagi, where it is likely to rendezvous with a Russian cargo ship. But not if I could stop her.
  
  
  The Alpha roared out onto the empty road. At first, the road was good, but then it turned into a highway that gradually became worse and worse. There were deep mounds of sand, and the Alpha, despite its low landing, had to drag itself through them. With a Mercedes, it would be less of a problem. In the end, I had to switch to low gear for power.
  
  
  By midday, the Mercedes ' tracks were getting fresher, but the sun was getting unbearable. The outside metal of the car was too hot to touch, and he could feel the effects of everything I'd been through before. He gripped the bank-slick tire as the car drove steadily, squinting through the dusty windshield at the heat waves rising from the sand and making the landscape glide, and wondered what this desert should be like in summer. Then I noticed something on the side of the highway.
  
  
  At first I couldn't make out what it was because of the heat waves. It could be part of a car or a pile of old rags.
  
  
  Then, when approached by her lick, she was able to get a better look at the ego shape. I watched it. It wasn't something, but someone. A figure lying motionless on the sand. A girl...?'
  
  
  A moment later, he reached it. He stepped out of the cars, walked to the side of the road, and looked at the figure grimly, swallowing painfully. It was Fayeh.
  
  
  They killed her. Part of her clothes had been torn off in a violent struggle, and there was a laceration under her ribs on the floor. Odin was stabbed around them with a knife.
  
  
  He sighed heavily. He remembered her warm body moving underground, her sparkling eyes , and the way she'd cried before pulling the trigger on the Beretta. Now she looked like a broken circus doll.
  
  
  With Lyalin, she made a fatal mistake. She showed no desire to kill me. She even cried. Lalin didn't want people around him who could cry.
  
  
  Back at the Alpha, I found myself thinking that Fayeh, the beautiful Fayeh, had memorized the guidebook in my pocket and was aiming at it when she fired. I'll never know. He looked up at the sky and saw that the vultures were already gathering and silently pirouetting. And her, he swore, because he wouldn't have had time to bury her.
  
  
  Another half-hour's ride and he saw a wavy speck ahead. When it closed the distance, the speck turned into a shimmering drop, then the drop turned into a car. A black Mercedes.
  
  
  The engine started her up. The Alpha rolled across the sand. There was a good opportunity in front of me, and he intended to close the distance. As I stepped hard on the gas pedal, it occurred to me that Lyalin might have already destroyed the film. But that was unlikely. Ego bosses will undoubtedly need material proof that it was returned.
  
  
  When hers came within a hundred yards of the Mercedes, he stopped. Lyalin and two militants came out and watched me go. They probably couldn't believe their eyes. When I pulled up in a dusty parking lot just eighty yards away and got out, I saw her, even at this distance, wearing Lalin's incredulous expression.
  
  
  I shouted it out. "Actually, Lyalin! It's hers! From now on, you'd better kill yourself!
  
  
  They opened the door of the Mercedes to take cover and stood behind them, even though they were out of reach.
  
  
  "I do not know how you survived, Carter," Lyalin shouted at me. "But you've got nothing to gain here but another bullet." There are three more of us. You can't get the movie."
  
  
  So he still had it. Just like I expected. But the man was right. They were three to one against me, and they were professionals. No sane person would support my chances.
  
  
  He went to the back of the Alpha and opened the trunk. Inside was an attache-Casey. It was quickly opened by ego and grabbed by Buntline. He carefully twisted it into two pieces and attached it to a foot-and-a-half-long barrel. Then a Belgian pistol carbine snatched her up and snapped ego on the butt of the revolver .357 Magnum and screwed it tight.
  
  
  The Arabs fired a couple of shots at me. One fell, spattering sand, and the other lightly grazed the fender of the car. They were too far away, and now they knew it.
  
  
  Lalin waved his hand at them. They moved toward me, on both sides of the road. When they get close enough, they'll flank me and take me in the crossfire. They didn't know about Buntline.
  
  
  He knelt behind the open door of the Alpha and laid the long, custom-made revolver's head on the hot metal. Sweat trickled down my face from my hairline. Ego shook it, and aimed it around the long barrel at the Arab on the right, the one who wanted to kill me so badly. He pressed the butt of a rifle firmly to his shoulder, found the shooter in the Buntline scope, and pulled the trigger.
  
  
  The man literally jumped into the air, curled up in a tight circle, and was abruptly thrown to the ground with a large hole in his back that gawked through. He was already dead when he hit the sand.
  
  
  Another militant stopped. Lalin looked from the dead man to me. The surviving arab also looked at me, then back at Lalin, and then back at me. Then he turned and ran back to the Mercedes. He got to the car before Ego could get his attention.
  
  
  Arab crouched behind the car, gesturing wildly at Lalin. They were now well covered. Her noticed the rise of a dune to the left of the track, a little lick towards them. This would give me the ability to shoot from a height. He took a deep breath and ran.
  
  
  Ih pistols fired simultaneously
  
  
  Bullets tore through the sand around me. But I kept running, and finally I was there. I ducked behind a dune as a gunshot shattered the sand inches from my head.
  
  
  Rising to his elbows, holding the Buntline in front of him, he looked down at them. They moved to the opposite side of the Mercedes.
  
  
  "Come here and I'll destroy the film!" shouted Lyalin.
  
  
  Its grimaced, lying there. What choice did I have? Arab shot me in the head and missed. He looked to his left and saw a slightly better sand dune, with a steeper slope for cover. I got up and ran after her. Again the shots rained sand on me, and again I managed to reach the shelter without a single hit.
  
  
  I took another look at her. Lyalin shot at me and missed me by an inch. Emboldened by this, arab sat up slightly to take another shot himself. It was found by Ego chest in the sight of a long barrel and fired. He screamed and fell on his back, disappearing behind the car.
  
  
  Her, I saw Lalin looking down on a person. Then he looked back at me. From the look on her ego faces, I could tell that the last thug's ego was dead. He fired two quick shots at me, and hers was another shot. He jerked back, wounded in the shoulder.
  
  
  "You said this is the one who owes it to you," her ego warned her.
  
  
  He shouted. "I'll destroy the movie and you'll lose!"
  
  
  He climbed in from the other side of the car, then reached out and closed the door on my side. I didn't know what he was going to do there, but I had to act fast to stop the ego.
  
  
  He got to his feet and ran to a small sandy hillock about halfway to the car. A gunshot rang out around the car, grazing my pant leg. Hers hit the sand; now hers could look into the car.
  
  
  It was clear what Lalin was doing there. He kept the cigarette lighter on the dashboard. He's going to put it in a movie now.
  
  
  She was shot at the car, but Lyalin kept quiet, and her ego could not hit. He reached in a minute for Pierre, a gas grenade. This was my only chance now. He pulled out a small grenade pin, took careful aim, and threw it through the open window of the Mercedes. It formed a high arc and disappeared inside.
  
  
  Smoky gas filled the car in seconds. Her, I could hear Lyalin gasping for breath. Then the door opened and he staggered out, firing at the Mauser as he left. He fired three times, and all three bullets sank into the sand in front of me. She responded with a shot at the Buntline. Lyalin was hit in the chest and forcefully thrown back to the car. Ego's eyes widened in shock, then he slid to the ground.
  
  
  He cautiously walked out through the shelters. Approaching Lyalin, he took a look and realized that he was dead. Now the gas was being removed around the car, but there was no need to get into the Mercedes for microfilm anyway. Lalin was still clutching the ego in his left hand.
  
  
  I took the film on the dead trick of a KGB officer and examined it for a long time. I wondered if it was worth what it was worth.
  
  
  After putting the film in a minute, it slowly returned to the Alpha, shining in the desert sun. I still had work to do, the last task in this assignment, before I could consider it completed. I had to go back to Fayeh. Whatever happened, whether she remembered the guidebook or not, when she pulled the trigger on the Beretta, hers was coming back to bury her.
  
  
  Her, thought I owed her.
  
  
  
  
  
  Carter Nick
  
  
  Inca Death Squad
  
  
  
  
  
  Nick Carter
  
  
  Inca Death Squad
  
  
  
  
  
  Dedicated to members of the United States Secret Service
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The first chapter.
  
  
  
  
  
  He wrapped a towel around his waist and went to the next antiseptic white room. So far, a new AXE health professional has checked my eyes, nose, throat, blood pressure, and pedicure. He went up and down the ladder long enough to climb the Great Wall of China.
  
  
  "You must have a tremendous healing rate," he said, looking at the pinkish scar on my chest.
  
  
  "I also have a hell of an appetite."
  
  
  "Me too," he said, as if that gave us a common bond. "It just turns into fat on me."
  
  
  "Try running away from a bullet once a day. This will reduce your alenka."
  
  
  The medical officer shook his head. "You murder masters have a terrible sense of humor."
  
  
  "Occupational disease".
  
  
  He led me to the reaction chamber and sat me down. I'm used to it. The camera is a dark box. The man in nen, her, holds a button string and waits. The saint lights up and you press the button. Brylev can appear candid on the front or sides, and he appears at random intervals. You can't calculate the time in advance, and because you don't know where it will be, your peripheral vision is put through a grueling workout. Reaction time - how quickly you press a button, then how much holier it is read by a digital computer outside in thousandths of a second.
  
  
  And the tester doesn't say, " Ready? Go ahead." The saint lights up and you press the button as if your life depends on it. Because in a disgusting way it is. In the field, the saint shoots back.
  
  
  The placemark appeared at an 80-degree angle to the left. My thumb was already down. My mind was shut off because I had been thinking too long. It was strictly between my retina and my thumb.
  
  
  Another shot from a different awkward angle, and another. The test lasts half an hour, although it seems like six months, when you have dry eyes from not blinking, and the lights come on two or three at a time. You switch hands on the button because the constellations today of one thumb causes the destruction of the axons of the nervous system. Then, just in case you feel confident, they make the brylev dimmer and dimmer until you strain to see the flicker equivalent to a candle three miles away.
  
  
  Finally, as he was about to exchange his eyes for a used walking stick, the black sheet on the side was torn off and the doctor stuck his head in.
  
  
  "Has anyone ever told you that you have fantastic night vision?" online hotel to know.
  
  
  "Yes, someone is a hell of a lot cuter than you."
  
  
  It seems that this ego has offended.
  
  
  "Of course, it's not entirely fair. I mean, you made it up yourself."
  
  
  It was true. It was created by the reaction chamber during my last forced stay in the TOPOR infirmary. Hawk called it occupational therapy.
  
  
  "Please have a seat. There is another series, " the medic said.
  
  
  She found herself back in her chair in the room, only guessing what the hell was going on. The doctor said I should push the button as soon as I saw the red brylev. I shouldn't have done anything if the green light was on. In other words, there will no longer be a simple motor response. This time judgment and reaction overlapped with everything else
  
  
  with the addition of red for the transition and green for stopping.
  
  
  By the time this torture was over, another half hour had passed, and he was on fire as he dragged himself along the cramped cell floor.
  
  
  "Look, Hawk came up with this little idea," I said as I walked out. "Let me tell you what you can do about it."
  
  
  Then he held his breath. My man left, and in his place was a very cool, very effective blonde. Nah was also wearing a white jacket, but somehow the effect was different, more like a tarp over a pair of 12-inch naval guns. And if she was looked at by nah, she responded to the compliment.
  
  
  "Dr. Boyer was right. You are a wonderful specimen, " she said coldly.
  
  
  He demanded to know her. "How long have you been here?"
  
  
  "There's a ferret with them as you entered. Dr. Boyer went to lunch."
  
  
  Typical.
  
  
  She looked at her printout.
  
  
  "These are unusual times, N3."
  
  
  I can always tell when one of the girls at the agency wants to keep a formal relationship, because then she'll use my Killmaster rank. Actually, US N1, US N2 are no more; they were killed in the line of duty. In any case, the blonde in the white jacket was obviously involved in Nick Carter's love affairs - and she decided not to participate in them.
  
  
  "Emergency time: 0.095, 0.090, 0.078 and so on. And not a single mistake in the green light. Very fast and very confident. By the way, you're absolutely right, the colors were the boss ' idea."
  
  
  He leaned over her shoulder and looked at the map. If she thought I was worried about my reaction time, she was wrong.
  
  
  "Well, Dr. Elizabeth Adams, if I'd known you were testing me, I'd have slowed my reaction so we could spend more time together."
  
  
  She ducked under my arm and stood up. The movement was neat, precise, and fool-free.
  
  
  "I've heard something about you, N3. Enough to know that you're just as fast when you're not burning holy.
  
  
  I thought I saw a sign of reluctant interest. Maybe she was just shy, not used to agents who only messed around in towels. Then:
  
  
  "Do you exercise to keep fit?" "What is it?" she asked, when the plywood was a little cracked.
  
  
  "Yes, Miss Adams. Elizabeth. Maybe I can show it to you sometime. Maybe tonight?"
  
  
  "There is a rule that testers contact agents."
  
  
  "This isn't a marriage proposal, Elizabeth. This is a suggestion."
  
  
  For a moment, I thought she might call security. She frowned and bit her lips.
  
  
  "The director told me that you were a very direct person," she said.
  
  
  "What did the other girls tell you?"
  
  
  She was silent for a moment, and then, wonder after wonder, she smiled. It was beautiful.
  
  
  "They used words like very fast and very confident, Mr. Carter. Now, "he said, picking up the diagrams," I'll send someone with your clothes. In the meantime, I'll think about our little conversation."
  
  
  The chauvinist pig that he was whistled as he dressed again and went to join the sardonic old man who ran the most efficient spy agency in the world.
  
  
  She was found by Hawke in Ego's office, who was rummaging through his desk at I asked for one of the cheap cigars he likes to smoke. Her sel and lit one around his gold-tipped cigarettes. Other agencies - Central Intelligence, the Department of Defense, the FBI-invest a lot of money in interior decoration. But, to put it mildly, no. We have the smallest budget and the dirtiest job, and Hawk's offices show it. Personally, I sometimes think he prefers it that way.
  
  
  He sat in silence for a while. I don't want Hawk to get down to business. In his detour, the old man is always at a dead end in the hall. Finally, he reached into the drawer of his chair and pulled out a piece of paper. It was immediately recognized by ego by its cheap grayish tint-it's the uniform of the State Security Committee, also known as the Soviet State Security Committee, or simply the KGB.
  
  
  "A' comrade 'took it from the Politburo archive," Hawke said, handing it to me.
  
  
  He whistled when he saw that the report was only two days old. As I said, Hawke was not to be underestimated. However, the essence of the report was really interesting. Especially since it concerned your humble servant.
  
  
  "This is wrong. In nen, I'm fine with the Kraznoff case, but Chumbi's blasts are assigned to the new Killmaster.
  
  
  "Absolutely fantastic. I had other reports from the same source. You will be interested to know that the Russian estimate of the strength of AX is more than twice the actual one. You're worth five agents yourself." A grin crossed his thin lips.
  
  
  They'll say I'm "the most perverted genius since Rasputin." I am trying to convey to her that the boys in Moscow were not able to keep their eyes open as they should have."
  
  
  He set me down on the edge of a chair. Now I was hooked, and he knew it; and he was beginning to agree with the Russian assessment of the ego of the individual.
  
  
  "How would you like to have lunch?" Hawk changed the subject.
  
  
  The commissioner sent out trays of roast beef and cottage cheese with peach halves. Hawk gave me roast beef and took some cottage cheese. The ego was welcomed.
  
  
  "How do you like the Russian analysis?" he asked.
  
  
  "I think it's a sign that we're doing a good job."
  
  
  "What about them? What do you think the opposition is doing? I don't want any political nonsense from you, N3. I get it every time I'm in the elevator with someone at the State Department. "for some time together with these people. I want to share with you an assessment of the quality of the labor force that the Reds are putting up against us ."
  
  
  This was something that he didn't really think about. Now that he did, some interesting things came to mind. Like the boy around Chumbi Valley, I didn't have the courage to kill. And the confusion that engages has allowed the Russian ballerina and I to slip away around the very heart of Moscow.
  
  
  "Tailor take it, sir, they're slipping."
  
  
  "Yes. N3. The expansion of operations throughout the open basin - in the Middle East, the Indian subcontinent, the border with China-has provided the Russians with more headaches than they could ever have imagined. They're in the big leagues right now" They think things are a little more complicated than they thought. They have all sorts of logistical problems with ih new airfields and ships, and most importantly, a thin layer of high-level agents that is getting smaller and smaller ."
  
  
  "Sir," I said sincerely, " can you tell me what you're getting at?"
  
  
  Hawk shoved another cigar into a tight grin.
  
  
  "Not at all. How would you like the idea of renting you out to the Russians?"
  
  
  He almost jumped out of his chair and then said he was joking.
  
  
  "We need a drop, N3. You may not have known this, but with them a ferret, as you entered the cell this morning, checks the reactions, you were rented by the KGB."
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter Two
  
  
  
  
  
  We met the Russians at an abandoned civil airfield in Delaware. There were three of us and three ihs.
  
  
  Kasoff and her immediately recognized each other from their files. He was a well-dressed, elegant Muscovite, an Aeroflot tour director when he wasn't working for the KGB. The two bandits with him weren't that elegant. They both looked like they were lifting weights at the same health club and buying costumes on the same shopping cart.
  
  
  In addition to Hawke and me, AXE's Director of Special Effects and editing, Dr. Thompson, was on our side. He was carrying a box labeled "Deluxe Formal Clothing".
  
  
  "The famous Nick Carter. Nice to meet you." Kasoff said it like he was serious.
  
  
  The cool spring breeze made the ego thugs ' coats cling to the bulges under their armpits. Because of the size of the bulge, they wore a .32 caliber rifle. Despite the polite greeting, he knew what to do if something went wrong. I won't be able to get to the Luger, but I can gut Casoff and get the knife through the throat of the man to his left before anyone else can reach their gun. I would have risked it. Maybe Kasoff read my mind, because he raised his hands.
  
  
  "You're on our side now," he said in Russian. "Please, I know your reputation. That's why we asked for you."
  
  
  "Before we start talking, let's get comfortable," Hawke suggested.
  
  
  There was an empty terminal on the field. He was about to break down the door when Hawk took out the key. He always thinks about everything in advance. There was even a pitcher of hot coffee waiting for us, and Hawke did the honor of pouring it into paper cups.
  
  
  "You see, we Russians and you Americans, we are agents on both sides, just pawns of our governments. Not when to go back - sworn enemies. Today, if you read the newspapers, we have a closed billion-dollar trade agreement between Moscow and Washington. Trucks, turbines, grain. Instead of fighting a cold war, these countries began to trade. Times are changing, and we poor agents must change with them ."
  
  
  "You must remember that I read more than the newspapers," I said tartly. "For example, a secret report about how you shot down an American plane over Turkey, so that you could record the drop of information from one of our satellites."
  
  
  Kasoff's eyes lit up for a moment.
  
  
  "It wasn't planned. The main thing is that in many parts
  
  
  
  In the modern world, American and Soviet interests are identical. He studied his manicured nails. "Like in Chile, for example. I hope your Spanish is as good as your Russian? "
  
  
  "My agent speaks half a dozen Spanish dialects," Hawk said, and sipped his coffee. He wasn't bragging, just putting the Russian in his place.
  
  
  "Of course, of course. We value our ego abilities very much, " Kasoff said quickly.
  
  
  Then, without further ado, he moved on to his sales pitch. Chile now had a Marxist government; it was a country with strategic copper reserves. The Moscow problem was a problem that Russians faced all over the communist world: ih a fight to the death with red China. A new underground army has emerged, consisting of Maoist students and Chili natives. They called themselves "Myrists" and tried to take control of the Chilean government. The United States has already lost Chile to the communist world, and with it Chilean copper. The Soviet Union was ready to make this copper available on the world market again, and at the same time did not promise any Marxist subversion of neighboring South American countries.
  
  
  "After the Cuban missile project, we know how much that promise is worth," I said grimly.
  
  
  "We've all learned our lesson," Kasoff said calmly. "Everyone except the rabid Chinese."
  
  
  "Get to Belkev," Hawk told the Russian.
  
  
  "Ah, yes. Perhaps, Mr. Carter, you remember Castro's trip to Chile. In two days, a new tour will begin, which this time will be undertaken by our good friend Alexander Belkevich around the Ministries of the USSR. Our goal is to strengthen Russian trade. agreements with the Allende regime. We have reason to believe that the MYRists may try to interrupt the ego visit by violent means, and vote where you enter. We want you to bring something to Belkevu when he arrives in Santiago."
  
  
  At the same time, Dr. Thompson opened his box, revealing an elegant tuxedo. He showed it off with the pride of a new parent.
  
  
  "As you probably know, N3, the United States produces the best light body armor in the world. The reason Castro looked so fat and stocky when he was in Chile was because he was wearing a Russian model, no offense taken. The model we see here was created for the Air Force's Office of Special Investigations when emus had to protect some Asian leaders of small build. Feel it."
  
  
  He picked up her jacket. Despite the shields on the front and back, she couldn't have weighed more than six pounds.
  
  
  "Especially for Belkeva, we added a rear shield. A normal vest only has one on the front. Inside, there are overlapping Teflon-coated plastic plates. They will withstand direct shots from an automatic pistol .45 caliber. In fact, Gillett can stand to gawk around any known gun."
  
  
  Kasoff looked at Gillette enviously. I could remember it several times when I could use it myself.
  
  
  "And you want it extracted from Belkevu? That's it?"
  
  
  "Deliver and put it on. Unfortunately, our comrade is a suspicious person, " Kasoff said with a straight face. "We felt that he would have more confidence in this mutual agreement between our countries if this mission was carried out by someone as high-ranking as you. This is a small matter to ask, and it will help strengthen U.S.-Soviet cooperation and trust. "
  
  
  A breeze blew through the dilapidated walls of the terminal, but there was no wind strong enough to even once carry away the smell of this offer. This allowed someone to collect a hundred thousand dollars for the head of Nick Carter. Only my confidence in Hawke prevented me from immediately telling Kasoff that he could throw Gillett ego into the Aeroflot fuselage.
  
  
  "And when I deliver this plastic suit to Belkevu, my job is done?"
  
  
  "Exactly," Kasoff muttered, like a cat with canary feathers on its lips. Then he turned to Hawke. "Carter will be in Santiago by five o'clock tomorrow night, really? Tomorrow evening there will be a reception for Comrade Belkevich at the Presidential Palace."
  
  
  "He'll be there," Hawk said. I saw that Kasoff wasn't going to get any more details.
  
  
  The Russian took the rebuff positively, but why not? He shook my hand.
  
  
  "Good luck, comrade. Maybe we'll meet again sometime."
  
  
  "I'd like that," I said. Her hotel add: "In a dark alley."
  
  
  On the way back from the airfield, he tried to get information from Hawke. We were sitting alone in the ego limo. Dr. Thompson was in the front with the driver. The glass partition was lifted and the phone was unlocked.
  
  
  "You were flying an Air Force plane to Santiago. We still have good relations with the Chilean military, and you will receive from them all the necessary cooperation within the framework of ih constitutional restrictions.
  
  
  "I still don't understand the ferret, sir, why you have to send me by courier."
  
  
  Hawk looked out the window at the Delaware countryside. It was dark all over the hotel, but it appeared in the snow, and patches of pale grass were scattered across the fields.
  
  
  I know this part doesn't seem important, " he said softly. "This is a much more complex case than Gillette Belkeva. Even with this thing, a man will be vulnerable. He will be watched, and who knows what egos will be waiting for? Of course, the MIRists will go to any lengths to remove their egos, and in this case, Soviet-American relations can really go to the peak ." He shrugged."That's all I can tell you. If all goes well, you'll be back home in two days. Otherwise, you will receive the rest of the instructions in Santiago."
  
  
  There was one more thing if he didn't mention it, but we both knew it. Thus, if he was captured by the Russians and tortured, he would not be able to tell them more about the mission in Santiago, even if he wanted to.
  
  
  "I can add a lot to that, by the way," Hawke continued. "If the Russians break their promise, Kasoff will not live until the next day. If you remember, he let me use his lighter to fight my cigar. Now he has a new lighter. It looks exactly like Ego's own, but it contains a radioactive package with plastic explosives and a casing around anti-personnel darts. She would kill him if he was in the same room as her.
  
  
  This is the cold comfort that Killmaster calls happiness.
  
  
  Since hers was flying to Santiago on a supersonic military plane, it was only a few hours before takeoff. Hawke had to attend a meeting with Naval Intelligence, so he was alone in his office, ALONE, when there was a soft knock on the door. Dr. Elizabeth Adams opened the ego and walked in.
  
  
  "I've been thinking about your offer," she said cheerfully.
  
  
  So much had happened since the session in the reaction chamber that I barely remembered what she was talking about. I didn't have to.
  
  
  She locked the door behind her and took off her white jacket, and a second later, she was naked and let down her long blonde hair.
  
  
  We made love on my desk, a pile of notes and reports crackling under our bodies.
  
  
  Somewhere along the way, someone put a white jacket on this woman and told her that she was just an insensitive brain. Now that the white jacket was off, all her inhibitions were gone. The memories of Casoff and the vest were gone like a bad dream, a nightmare washed away by the silky skin of her passion.
  
  
  I've heard you're nice, but nothing like that, " she whispered.
  
  
  "You wouldn't be so bad yourself, Doctor."
  
  
  "Elizabeth, please."
  
  
  "Liz."
  
  
  Her fingertips slid down my back. "I mean... well, it was fantastic." She kissed my ear.
  
  
  Then, as she started to switch off, Kasoff came to mind, along with the realization that I was late for a briefing on the leading Chilean Reds. He sighed and got to his feet.
  
  
  Elizabeth stared at me with wide eyes. Even naked, he still carried the ugly Luger in his left hand, the stiletto sheathed on his left forearm, and the gas bomb taped to the hollow of his right ankle. Symbols of an active service.
  
  
  "Then it's true," she said. "There were rumors that you had a new mission. That's why I decided to come when she found out."
  
  
  "Well,"I said, looking at her beautiful body sprawled over the pile of papers on my desk," you definitely did it."
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The third chapter
  
  
  
  
  
  Santiago is similar to most of the major capitals of South America. It is a sprawling city of modern unfinished buildings next to timeless ghettos, wide avenues basking in the sun, and narrow alleys where the dark faces of Native Americans glow with the oppression of centuries. Santiago was once a demonstration of democracy in South America, where even a communist could win a fair election.
  
  
  There are only ten million people in Chile, but around them there are five in Santiago. The whole country in the hall is not deeper than the western end of the Andes, only 250 miles wide at its widest point; but Chile stretches for 2,650 miles, and makes up half the west coast of the entire continent. You couldn't find a better base for subversion if you could draw the map yourself.
  
  
  The people are tired of the Reds. Wait until the next election, and then you'll see, " said a Chilean army colonel who met me at the airport.
  
  
  "If there is a next election," I volunteered.
  
  
  The Colonel took me to a brand-new snow-white hotel that towered over Santiago's busiest avenue. The colonel informed me that it had been handed over to the Government from an American owner a week earlier. Belkevs delegation gathered like this
  
  
  to be alone on the top two floors.
  
  
  The maid showed me to my room. It looked as if it was the first guest who had ever used it, a suspicion that was confirmed later when she learned that the hotel had been nationalized on the day it was completed. I locked her door and opened the windows. Twenty floors below, cars were crawling along the avenue, police were running frantically, pedestrians were crossing the road. The only sign of change in Chili that could see her from where she was kept was a large red banner that hung from the moaning building across the street. It proclaimed: the heroic Chilean people will not rest until all the Yankees are dead or driven out around our country. It was a big banner.
  
  
  He looked at his watch. Belkevs triumphant entry into the capital was still two hours away, and he was dead tired from the flight. Sergey turned it off and went into a second-level Zen trance.
  
  
  "Senor".
  
  
  She came out of a daze and looked at her watch again. It's only been twenty minutes.
  
  
  "Senor, an important message for you," a voice outside my room said to me.
  
  
  "Put it under the door."
  
  
  Fluctuations. The sound of moving feet. More than one around them. He slid out of bed and walked over to her, pulling out the luger.
  
  
  So far, the conversation has been conducted in Spanish. Now my guest has tried Russian.
  
  
  "I can change the money for you. Rubles or dollars. The price is many more escudos than the official rate."
  
  
  "I have no idea."
  
  
  Outside, the foot shuffles again.
  
  
  "This room was reserved for someone else. You must leave immediately, " the voice announced.
  
  
  I tried it on the phone. He was dead, but that didn't necessarily mean anything, not in a South American hotel. At the same time, someone was trying the doorknob unsuccessfully. Ego effort, if I need to. There was a door to the next room. It was locked, but I opened it with a plastic credit card. Another advantage of capitalism. Her, entered a room that was identical to mine. Then he carefully opened the door to the hall.
  
  
  There were two of them, big boys in white shirts with open collars and iron bars that they probably had hidden in their belts.
  
  
  "What's the message, muchacho?"
  
  
  They saw the Luger first, and then me. They didn't drop the iron bars, I'll give them that.
  
  
  "He's a Yankee," one said acidly. "He won't shoot."
  
  
  "You don't rule us anymore, pig. Touch us and the people on the street will tear you apart."
  
  
  They started across the hall toward me. This is one of the main problems in dealing with amateurs. They'll never know when you're serious. Any reasonable Russian would have been quietly humming "Volga Rower" by now.
  
  
  "Is there anyone on the floor below?" I asked her as they approached me.
  
  
  "Nobody. No one can save you, " the first growled.
  
  
  "That's good."
  
  
  The left front of the first one's boot was blown apart. He looked down in shock at the place where ego's two toes were. There was a hole in the carpet now.
  
  
  "Why is there no one?" I asked him again and aimed at ego's right leg.
  
  
  "Wait!"
  
  
  The iron bar fell on the ego of the hand to the floor. However, the second beast also released its weapon. He holstered his gun and shook it with his left hand. The stiletto fell into my hand. The boy in the rear took a look at this and turned to run.
  
  
  "Please don't do this," he begged her.
  
  
  This time, they seemed to trust me. At the very least, they spread out very nicely on moan when she was lightly touched by ih wire with the tip of the knife.
  
  
  "You see, you've done a lot of bad things, boys," I explained patiently as I searched ih. "You don't even know, and you're insulting me. As far as you know, her boyfriend is great. You're offering to exchange money, and you two don't even have a hundred escudos. And, worst of all, you wake me up when I'm asleep. Insults, lies, and rudeness, and he wasn't even in town for an hour. Now its certainly hope you can fix it. I said, " I hope you can do this for me."
  
  
  The Odin around them took the hint.
  
  
  "H ... how?"
  
  
  "Tell me why you did all this."
  
  
  "We are just workers. We don't know anything about politics. Now look at me, madre mia, without fingers. What do I tell Jean? We don't know anything, we were just paid some money. I'm bleeding out, senor. You are a fool."
  
  
  "No, just a professional, you're not a hema."
  
  
  I was glad to know that. One small skin was cut, and they started babbling, even though they didn't know much. I felt so sorry for nu that I returned the iron bars to them and watched them slip away, muttering something about the crazy American.
  
  
  The Garcia brothers were two small-time punks who also worked for the Izquierdo Revolutionario (MIR) Movement. Today, the ih bosses were at the airport waiting for Belkevs, so when an unexpected lone guest checked into Belkevs ' floors, the brothers thought they would do some investigation. Most interestingly, they were hoping to learn Belkeva's route around the country, a schedule that the Chilean government kept secret. Overall, I found the incident mildly refreshing and informative. Even better than taking a nap.
  
  
  If only I knew how cute the Garcia boys are compared to Alexander Belkevy.
  
  
  Comrade Belkiew was driving down the avenue in a limousine with President Allende and Ego, the Minister of Economy. By this time, the communist wing of the government had fielded enough civil servants to line the streets and wave to grinning Russian visitors in rheumatism. Perhaps the reason for the dull applause of people was the lack of good red meat in national stores.
  
  
  Then Belkev, surrounded by bodyguards, would walk around the car and enter the hotel. As the presidential limousine pulled away, several more cars with Belkevs escorts pulled up. She was immediately reminded of the briefing that her headquarters had received.:
  
  
  Alexander Alexandrovich Belkev, 45 years old, 5 feet 7 inches tall, Alenka 210 pounds. Born in Volgograd. He was educated at the Volgograd Gymnasium and the Moscow Mining School. Military service, assistant political commissar 1944-45, Dismissed from office for participating in atrocities at the Berlin police station. Rehabilitation and appointment at the party Congress in 1954 as a young apparatchik for the Khrushchev clique. I switched to Brezhnev after the coup. A cunning, brutal bureaucrat who lost his Permanent Politburo appointment because of shocking sexual appetites.
  
  
  
  
  It was a damned ironic biography. During the capture of Berlin, Russian soldiers rampaged, killing and raping the city. What the hell could Belkev have done to highlight the ego? Another strange point was more understandable. Kremlin leaders may have planned the deaths of millions, but they were invariably sexual hypocrites. As if these two characteristics - murder and sex-went hand in hand!
  
  
  He grabbed her briefcase with Belkevs vest and went upstairs to Ego's room. The first thing I saw was proof that Alexander Belkevwas at least not a prude.
  
  
  He was sitting there, naked to the waist, rolls of fat hanging from his ego belt. His face was grim and badly shaven. Ego's skin was as white as a frog's life, and glistened with the oil rubbed into it by the hands of a beautiful girl. And there were more than one girls. The woman who had the oil on her was East German, judging by her accent. Two Cuban girls were pouring Johnny Walker into glasses at the bar, and a Russian brunette was sprawled on an overstuffed chair, her eyes glazed with drink or drugs.
  
  
  "The man they call Killmaster," Belkev growled. "Come on in."
  
  
  "I have Gillette for you."
  
  
  He smiled and ran his hand down the German woman's thigh.
  
  
  "I don't have time for cardigans right now."
  
  
  Casey dropped it on the coffee table in front of him and opened it.
  
  
  "Come on, let's get this over with."
  
  
  Belkevs hand stopped stroking. Ego white's skin turned red, and he stood up with a shout.
  
  
  "We can't finish anything until I do. Maybe yesterday you were the famous Nick Carter. Today you are nothing more than another KGB mercenary on my orders! You're dirt to me, and I can step on it if I want to. If Gillette doesn't suit me, then you can go back to your own America. I'm not going to try it on right now. Its busy."
  
  
  My hand itched to grab that mountain of tallow and hurl it across the room.
  
  
  "When are you going to try it on?" I asked grimly.
  
  
  "We'll look at it. In the meantime, you're my personal spy, Mr. Carter. Personal killer of Alexander Belkevich".
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter Four
  
  
  
  
  
  The Presidential Palace of La Moneda was lit up like a Christmas hope for the reception. Soldiers from Fuerza Mobil lined up at the gates and patrolled the palace grounds with enough American-made assault rifles to quell a small revolution. The lieutenant stopped me for a search when he got her out around the car. Belkev threw Emu's hand away.
  
  
  "This is Comrade Carter with me," he boasted.
  
  
  As we entered, we passed a guard of honor wearing feathered helmets. A burly, mustachioed man who knows her as Dr. Salvador Allende, President of the Republic of Chile, greeted Belkevu and escorted Ego to a place in the queue. He dragged himself and his attache in among the potted palms.
  
  
  
  High-ranking officials: Ambassadors, ministers, generals and all the politburo of the Communist Party of Chile marched in tailcoats and uniforms to greet the Russian. The Cuban ambassador received a starry reception, and this is not surprising. Just six years earlier, Dr. Allende had been the leader of the OLAS guerrilla front based in Havana. He was the man who accompanied the remnants of Guevara's guerrilla band across the border with Bolivia.
  
  
  He took a mug of champagne from a passing mimmo waiter and leaned against the marble moan, feeling about as comfortable as an insect in a fly trap.
  
  
  "Senor Carter, do you think you could also bring me a glass?"
  
  
  It was one of the Cuban girls from Belkeva's harem. Her long black hair was slicked back in a mane that reached to her buttocks, and somehow she was snuggled up against the sequined dress, so tight that it might give a man a glimpse of the curve. Nah had olive skin and dark eyes, and if there was a more than sexy woman in the Presidential Palace, I'd have seen her.
  
  
  "How's the champagne?"
  
  
  Hey, it was just as boring as I was. We went into the ballroom together and found a chair with rows of chairs behind it.
  
  
  "I'm afraid Alejandro doesn't like you," she said.
  
  
  "Alexandru, you mean? I think not, which makes us equal. Do you like him?"
  
  
  It didn't take much champagne to loosen his tongue. A sympathetic ear was all that hey really needed.
  
  
  "My sister and hers were in the women's militia in Havana when Alejandro saw us. We were ordered to make ego comfortable."
  
  
  "And you?"
  
  
  She grimaced.
  
  
  "In any case, it's better than the police."
  
  
  Rosa and her sister Bonita were the daughters of a Cuban family that also owned one of Havana's most popular nightlife spots when Castro closed down the city. These were incredibly beautiful women who had all the necessary talents and tastes for the open life of Las Vegas, and their attributes were greatly diminished by Alexander Belkevs rough appetites.
  
  
  "I'm twenty years old, and Bonita is twenty-two. Since the age of five, we have been training as flamenco dancers and cante hondo singers."
  
  
  "It's heavy dancing."
  
  
  "You don't believe me. You think I'm just some Belkeva whore, don't you? I'll show you how to dance."
  
  
  Hers is one of his attaches in hand.
  
  
  "I'm sorry."
  
  
  All the while, the band played intensely, mostly playing sedate waltzes that even the most arthritic diplomat might have learned. Rose walked over to the bandleader with fire in her eyes and whispered in Emu's ear. The man nodded and smiled, then addressed a letter to his musicians.
  
  
  When the band started playing, Strauss was swapped for an incendiary flamenco beat. Rose raised one hand high above her head and snapped her fingers. Her tight dress clung to her full breasts and sinuous body. Immediately, dancers appeared in the crowd, and they began to circle around nah, clapping their hands enthusiastically.
  
  
  Rose's eyes were fixed on me, and her heel tapped sharply on the floor of the ballroom. Her sexiness filled the large room, making her pulse to the beat of the guitars. When she turned around, her long black mane swirled in the air with a flick of the whip. Hundreds of eyes were focused on her, and she danced just for me. Hers, was her challenge. As she pulled up her skirt for a violent climax, she was revealed by the beautiful dancer's legs, thin and tapering like a young handsome guy's. When she finished with her hands held high, the audience erupted in applause, including mine.
  
  
  Every man there must have dreamed of physically grabbing her on the spot, and eyes followed her as she came back to me. I had a cold mug of champagne waiting for her.
  
  
  "Do you believe me now, Senor Killmaster?"
  
  
  "I believe that you and I will have a drink. To the Rose, Bellisima ball."
  
  
  "And you," she held up her mug, " are the first person she's ever had to dance for desnuda."
  
  
  Desnuda means naked, and I could only imagine the effect a naked and dancing Rose would have on my feelings.
  
  
  The group went back to waltzing. He stopped abruptly and broke into the national anthem of the republic. As they did so, everyone turned toward the entrance to the ballroom where the president and Belkevs had just entered. Allende accepted the honor patiently and humorously. Belkevs small eyes scanned the ballroom until they found Rose, then narrowed when they saw that she was with me.
  
  
  In any case, the president was relieved when the Russian left him. Belkiew pushed his way through the dancers to the Rose.
  
  
  "What are you doing with this imperialist assassin?" he demanded.
  
  
  Rose shrugged her beautiful shoulders.
  
  
  "You said yourself that he was your private spy, so why
  
  
  I shouldn't be with him? Besides, he's very kind ."
  
  
  "Stay away from them," Belkevs ordered me in Russian. "That's the order."
  
  
  "I don't understand. He's a Yankee. How can you tell him what to do?" Rose asked with all the tenacity of someone who had drunk too much champagne.
  
  
  "He's just an assassin for hire. I'm his minister and I'm giving orders."
  
  
  "Put a gold medal on a pig, and you'll still have a pig," he commented in Cuban Spanish.
  
  
  Rose giggled so hard that she almost dropped her glass. Belkev was furious and asked me what I had said.
  
  
  "He's a naughty person," she teased.
  
  
  "Rose, your thighs are a cool river, and I really want to drink it," he continued.
  
  
  "Very naughty," ee burst out laughing.
  
  
  People began to look at us, and Belkevs could hardly restrain himself.
  
  
  "Keep quiet and stay away from my woman," he ordered me again.
  
  
  "I'll leave you alone altogether if you just take this gillette who tried to give it to you." The emu Casey attache picked it up.
  
  
  "This stupid thing. Why should I worry about it?"
  
  
  "Belkev," he said, without any humor in his voice, " if you weren't on another mission right now, you might have killed her." Suddenly, my Luger was pushed by an ego-puffy life, the movement was hidden from the rest of the host's guests. "Kill you without a second thought, and there's nothing you can do about it."
  
  
  "You're crazy!"
  
  
  "You're the second person to say that today. No, I'm not crazy, I'm just tired of playing games with you. If you don't wear this gillette now, I'll leave." I'll just tell my superiors that you refused to cooperate."
  
  
  Belkev looked at the metal rod firmly pressed against Ego's stomach. He was cold, and he could almost see him thinking.
  
  
  "All right, Carter, I'll try it. Anything to get rid of you."
  
  
  The Luger was back in its holster, and we went out the side door. Belkov picked up the Russian ambassador and a couple of ego-driven bodyguards in a single glance. Rose followed.
  
  
  As soon as we were out in the corridor, Belkevs asked the ambassador if the Russians had a palace.
  
  
  "Whatever you want. This is the president's wish."
  
  
  Great. Where can we find a place to work? "
  
  
  The ambassador was a thin man with dyspepsia. In his tuxedo, he looked like a torn, disturbed corpse.
  
  
  "I understand that our hosts might be offended if we invade the government office. However, there is a large unused basement under the palace where political prisoners used to be held."
  
  
  "I don't think we need that," I said.
  
  
  "But I think so," Belkevs said. "Then with our little deal, you can continue on your way. I don't need you anymore."
  
  
  The Chilean palace guards let us pass through a narrow staircase. The main squares of the Presidential Palace might be lit up and lively, but the staircase and basement it led to were candid around a horror movie. Lightbulbs in metal cages illuminated the fetid corridor. The band sounds were gone, the clink of champagne glasses was gone, and all we could hear was the click of our heels and the faint scurry of rats.
  
  
  "Here," the guard said. He noticed that he had the red emblem of the Communist Party of Chile on his collar. This meant that he was not a military man, and he could not expect mercy from him. He opened the iron door.
  
  
  There was no electric light inside. Instead, the battery-powered lamp cast a dim circle. She was seen on the far side moaning two rusty handcuffs hanging from a stone block. It wasn't a room, it was a dungeon.
  
  
  "What the hell are you up to, tailor?" When I turned around, I realized it. The ambassador's bodyguards pointed guns at me to stack a dollar.
  
  
  "Ask a stupid corkscrew..." she said aloud to herself. "By the way, my father is passing the death sentence on some of your own boys. It won't make you very popular when you get home."
  
  
  "To be honest, Mr. Carter, I think we'd be too willing to trade a dozen bodies in yours. However, I don't mean killing you. Give it to your Casey."
  
  
  But I must give Belkevu credit for this step. He was the only person in all of South America who knew how to open a casey attache case without blowing himself up. There was no key to the lock; the device was nothing more than an electrical contact attached to a shrapnel explosive. He took out a plastic pin and stuck it under the lid; the case opened.
  
  
  "You see, Rose, she really is a Master Assassin," he grumbled, motioning for the bodyguards to move forward. "He has a gun and a knife strapped to his ego in his left hand. It's all in the ego file."
  
  
  They took off my jacket and shirt, took off my weapon, and
  
  
  they dragged me to moan. Everyone around them cuffed one of them around my arms.
  
  
  "How do you like it, Killmaster?" Belkev gloated. "Tied up like a goat? Can't even kill KGB officers instead of your favorite Axe?"
  
  
  "I thought you said you weren't going to kill me.
  
  
  "Ah, she's gone. You must understand that I never liked the idea of accepting a bulletproof vest from you Americans. I mean, what if Gillett wasn't bulletproof? What if he went out into the crowd and thought it was true, and was killed by the first fool he saw with a gun? Wouldn't that be a fun trick for AX? He would be dead and you would be safe in your plane. No, I'm not that naive, Mr. Carter, you'll have to prove to me how good your gillett really is. "
  
  
  "How can he do that when he's chained to moan?" Rose asked.
  
  
  "Very simple," Belkevs replied. "If he's still alive, Gillett will take him. If not, I'll send her back to Gillette with her ego and body."
  
  
  A cold feeling came over me. What if this whole scheme was Hawk's plan? Would he have let Belkev down with a fake vest? Hers, I knew that Hawke's mind was always full of clever ideas, and if this one backfired, hers would be the first to know.
  
  
  The guards took Gillette out of the briefcase and wrapped her around my chest. He seemed even stronger than when ego had held her in his arms at the Delaware airport. He wondered if it was strong enough to deflect a .22-caliber shot, let alone a piece of lead from a submachine gun.
  
  
  "Consider yourself an American salesperson, Killmaster. Sell me your cargo."
  
  
  "I couldn't interest you in a vacuum cleaner, could I?"
  
  
  The guard handed Belkevu his .45-caliber pistol. Belkev pulled back the bolt, replacing the first cartridge.
  
  
  "Always with a sense of humor," he commented dryly.
  
  
  He aimed the bulky pistol at the center of my chest. No one said a word to us; even the rats were suddenly silent. Her, recalled that a .45-caliber submachine gun was created to kill by shock when U.S. Marines discovered that ih conventional firearms could not stop Berserk tribesmen deranged during the Philippine uprising. These strange facts come to mind when you look into a small .45-caliber pistol, and all you can do is keep as quiet as possible.
  
  
  There was a flash, and at the same time, a giant fist slammed into my groan. My ribs felt like they were on fire, and I couldn't breathe. My life clenched in my throat. Then there was a click as the new shell snapped into place. My goal was swaying drunkenly.
  
  
  I didn't see the gun this time, but I did see the black star explode on my jacket over my heart. I couldn't add up the dollar, and my lungs weren't getting enough air samples. When he looked at Belkevu and the others, he couldn't focus ih. I heard Rosa's startled cry and vaguely saw Belkevs sycophantic grin. My legs twitched like a puppet's as I tried to regain my balance.
  
  
  No blood, he told himself. Just shock and lack of air sampling. Its alive.
  
  
  "Gillett seems to be doing his job," Belkevs sighed. "However, there is no guarantee that someone will try to kill me with a gun. I want to see how this Swede stands up to a machine gun."
  
  
  "Comrade, the agreement was very precise," the ambassador said. Belkevs bias toward the grotesque ego was beginning to frighten. "The Americans didn't tell us anything like a machine gun."
  
  
  "A submachine gun," Belkev corrected himself. "Small".
  
  
  A Chilean guard was sent to collect the weapons. Belkev took one of my cigarettes and put his arm around Rose's waist.
  
  
  "You like my taste for women; I like your taste for cigarettes."
  
  
  "What happened in Berlin, Belkiewicz?" I spit out the words with my first breath. "What did you do in the war that didn't make ih break you?"
  
  
  He wasn't surprised or upset. He was proud.
  
  
  "It was just a small game, very similar to this one. But the poor fools didn't have bulletproof vests. There wouldn't have been any problems if she hadn't killed a comrade by mistake. Its just having fun and drinking. You understand."
  
  
  "Yes, got it."
  
  
  "For estestvenno. How many people have you killed?" A hundred? Two hundred?"
  
  
  "Not so. Not the way tolstoy pushes."
  
  
  He blushed, but then regained his composure. "You know, it's much harder to aim at a machine gun," he said.
  
  
  The guard came back with a pistol that Belkevs had found. Belkev checked it to make sure the magazine was full, then released the safety catch. "It will be so easy, so easy," my ego's eyes told me. Even if the gillette doesn't explode under an unfair test, the slightest hitch in my shoulder will send a spray of bullets into my face.
  
  
  "Please be careful," the ambassador said
  
  
  
  That's doubly so, I thought. But he didn't say anything to her.
  
  
  Belkev stubbed out his cigarette under his foot and pressed the automatic rifle to his stomach. Against any known gun, the voice echoed in my brain. Rose sobbed. Belkiew pulled the trigger as if making love to him.
  
  
  The first bullets hit the wall to my right and knocked the pattern in my direction. Too high! I thought of her. Shards of stone cut my arm. Then the spray went openly at eye level. I jerked my head away from the shot that hit me in the ear. Waiting for her between the milliseconds of the next bullet, he, who would soon blow my skull to the ceiling.
  
  
  Instead, Gillett started dancing, twitching and straining under the hot hail of automatic weapons. Once again, the air rushed out around my lungs. My legs were straining to keep my head out of the deadly rain. The unstable pattern moved to the wall to my left, ripping through the stone.
  
  
  Belkevs thumb didn't leave the trigger for even a second, and he turned the machine gun back to me. The fabric of the vest was completely torn away from the plastic plates, plates that were now deformed and covered in mountain ash. The bullets that were fired made grooves in my neck. I managed to catch Belkevs eye. Ih wasn't even in the eye socket. They returned to Berlin and once again watched the shaking bodies of the German prisoners of war he had mutilated beyond recognition. The submachine gun wasn't going to wander around anymore. Blow after blow came down on me, bending the plates even more, threatening to break through ih.
  
  
  I managed to keep from falling. Then hers, and I realized it didn't look right in my face anymore. Small bullets exploded openly in the center of the vest, passing down from the chest to the stomach and parts below. Since the gillette was sewn below Belkev's waist, it practically covered me up to my groin. That was exactly what Belkev had noticed, and that was how he was going to put the thread to Nick Carter; no orders from above could stop em from experiencing his greatest triumph again. Bullets were already clogging the bottom edge of his battered vest. He knew that there was no more protection - and no more hope.
  
  
  Belkevs lowered his head to the last inch, aiming his ego straight between my legs. Ego's face was sweaty and shiny. Nothing happened. He pulled the trigger again. Then he tore down the magazines.
  
  
  "It's deserted. Bring me another one!" he snarled at the guard.
  
  
  The hypnotic spell placed in the dungeon was broken. The ambassador shook his head sharply. Even the bodyguards looked sick from exertion.
  
  
  "It will look very strange. It's one thing to borrow a shotgun, "the guard said," but asking for more ammunition will cause problems."
  
  
  "Comrade, we must return to the reception area," the ambassador interjected. "We've already been gone too long. It would be an insult if we were lost."
  
  
  "I'm not finished!" shouted Belkevs.
  
  
  "Please, please remember yourself, Comrade Belkevy. You've proved your point. Gillett is working." The ambassador glanced at me and then quickly turned away. I was wondering what kind of spectacle it was that made her. "Now you have to insist that we go back. The Maoist bandits will pay too much attention to your absence. They're probably trying to turn the president against you right now."
  
  
  The submachine gun fell around Belkevs hands to the stone floor. He shook himself and wiped the sweat from his cheeks with a handkerchief. Rose started to approach me, and the ambassador pushed her back into the arms of the bodyguards.
  
  
  "Come on, comrade," the ambassador said soothingly. "Regain your composure. Tell me what the president said then something I'm in line for? Tell me all about it."
  
  
  He nodded to one of the bodyguards. The thug crossed the floor and took my gillette off.
  
  
  "Disgusting pig," he whispered, leaving me chained to the moan.
  
  
  If that was any consolation, I knew he wasn't telling me.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter Five
  
  
  
  
  
  A couple of regular army officers drove me back to my hotel room in a curtained limousine. They fussed over me with apologies until ih chased her away and went to work alone.
  
  
  My arms were crisscrossed with superficial cuts, and there were several burns on my neck from bullets stopped by my vest. But the ugliest thing came out when he looked at his chest and life. He looked like he was in a fight. There were a hundred black bruises; her broken ribs were gently felt. I saw her, very badly disfigured bodies, and for a moment I had an all-too-vivid picture of my own body, disfigured if Gillett had broken down. My life almost turned upside down.
  
  
  Belkev! If ego could ever get it, he would be
  
  
  the dead Minister of Commerce.
  
  
  A few shots of scotch restored circulation to my aching body. Each movement brought me a new agony and a new reason to skin the Russian alive. He tried to sleep, but it was impossible without painkillers, so he woke up when he saw the door handle turn. Despite the protests of my bruised muscles, his slid around the bed to day.
  
  
  A figure entered with a pistol. My hand landed like an axe on the intruder's wrist, and the gun went flying across the floor. One arm wrapped around ego's neck, choking out its breath, and the other wrapped around ego's torso to grab what I expected from Comrade Belkevs fat chest.
  
  
  My hand barely touched when I realized I'd taken the wrong man. It wasn't really a man at all. He turned her around, put his hand over her mouth. It was a Rose.
  
  
  "You were supposed to finish me off?" I asked him with some surprise.
  
  
  She shook her head, and he saw anger instead of fear. He took her hand away.
  
  
  "You're wrong about me again. She was worried about you. Hers slipped away from Alejandro when he got drunk, and I gave it back to you."
  
  
  The saint switched it on and bent down to pick up the pistol. It was deserted. As her husband stood up, Rose pulled a long stiletto around the hiding place between her breasts. She turned the ego handle outward and serve me.
  
  
  "Gracias".
  
  
  "Look at you, poor guy. Take you to the hospital forever."
  
  
  She reached out timidly to touch my chest, then quickly pulled her hand away.
  
  
  "The beast!" "What is it?" she hissed, and proceeded to make further furious assessments of Belkevs character.
  
  
  "Well, we agree with that. Alex Belkev is not Albert Schweitzer."
  
  
  "What are you doing now? Kill the ego?"
  
  
  She could see that I was tempted by the idea. Hers, he shook his head.
  
  
  "Not this time. I'll be back in the States tomorrow."
  
  
  "Take me with you. Me and my sister."
  
  
  The suggestion made me blink.
  
  
  "That doesn't mean I don't agree with Fidel's revolution," she said hastily. "I'm just a dancer, not a militia member. Remember the bandleader? Her ego knew them as a ferret, like he used to play at my father's. There are hundreds of other people I know in New York. If I had her, just to get a place there I wouldn't have any problems. I could work at night and do the housework for you no matter when."
  
  
  "I have a servant who is doing this openly now. I don't think emu will like the competition."
  
  
  "You won't take me?"
  
  
  "I can't. Maybe another time."
  
  
  It was as if a part of her spirit had left her. He poured himself a fresh drink and prepared it for nah.
  
  
  "Where is Belkevu now?" I asked her.
  
  
  "At a party. He thinks that there is a wife of one of the ministers around whom he can seduce. He's a libertine."
  
  
  It was spring in the US. Autumn has begun here in Chile. A cool breeze passed along Bernardo O'Higgins Boulevard and blew into the room. Rose finished her drink with a sigh and held it out.
  
  
  "I have to go."
  
  
  "Not forever. Stay here tonight."
  
  
  A smile broke through her melancholy.
  
  
  "I didn't think you could do anything in your current state."
  
  
  "You forgot. He's out of bullets."
  
  
  "No, he didn't."
  
  
  Rose was smiling broadly now. She crossed the room to the door, locked it, and started a fight. In the half-light of her, I heard her dress rustle on the floor, and dimly saw her come out, surrounded by a white mist of panties.
  
  
  His bench press was on the sheets as Rose deftly straddled me. Her ripe breasts swayed and rubbed soothingly against my chest as she leaned in to kiss me. Our mouths opened and we kissed deeply, our passion banishing the ugliness of the night. The discipline of dance gave her body a unique control over her muscles, and she was an erotic mix of cool and warm, hard and soft.
  
  
  All the romance of Havana, as it used to be, was in the beauty and skill of the Rose. My body no longer felt pain. I had just such a huge sexual hunger, which only happens when you are with a woman who is engaged, as you know, can satisfy the ego. The whole nightmare of the Chilean mission was worth getting to know her that night.
  
  
  "Yes, senor," she said, trembling with delight.
  
  
  She was held by her olive satin thighs as she leaned in to meet me.
  
  
  "Belkev is not here," I whispered. "We need it, we need the KGB. Just us. You said you wanted to dance for me. Dance now."
  
  
  The pale light from outside the window curved around her face and streamed down her chest and stomach. In my hands, her hips twisted and heaved, almost knocking me off the bed, but pulling me deeper and deeper into nah.
  
  
  "Make it permanent. Do it forever, " she pleaded.
  
  
  Her thighs were suddenly wrapped around me, and I felt a hot, burning sensation. Blindly, he unleashed all my pent-up rage on Rose. And in the argument of love, the tension and anger were replaced by something else, something sweet and thirst-quenching, something we both desperately need.
  
  
  Later, the night air cooled our bodies. My head rested on one around her hips, and we shared a glass of scotch balanced between her breasts.
  
  
  "You can't believe how good that was for me, Nick." She said it so quietly, as if she was talking to herself. "When a girl travels with a man like Belkevs..."
  
  
  Her head turned and looked at the mimmo hollow between her breasts, mimmo glass and her face.
  
  
  "You don't need to say any more, Rose."
  
  
  She leaned down to touch my wand.
  
  
  "I'll dance for you any time you want. He could be loved by someone like you."
  
  
  "Shh".
  
  
  She gave a cheerful, good-natured laugh.
  
  
  "You are very kind to the math major and the named Killmaster. I hope that one day you will come to Cuba."
  
  
  "I do not know when, but I will drink it for this."
  
  
  Her glass lifted from her chest. A wet ring formed between her breasts, and she leaned down to kiss the spot. Rose's arms wrapped around me.
  
  
  "Could you do it again?" she asked. "If it causes you too much discomfort..."
  
  
  "Occupational therapy," I said. "My boss strongly believes that."
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter Six
  
  
  
  
  
  The plane that was waiting for me at a military base near Santiago had a Chilean Air Force star on it. He expressed some surprise at this, but since the pilot had the correct password, he took his spacesuit and helmet and climbed into the back of the plane.
  
  
  "I thought an American plane would be waiting for me," he remarked over the intercom.
  
  
  "There were rumors that something happened to an American in the palace last night. If you leave like this, no one will notice. I need you to disconnect and talk to the tower."
  
  
  A staccato conversation between the pilot and the control room sounds the same in any language. Rivnenski listened to her just enough to know that we had a flight route for the Pacific patrol, which meant that the plane would probably land a little higher up the coast, where she would have a permanent contact.
  
  
  "Azul Numero Cinco Cinco Tres, resolution tiene..."
  
  
  The last words of the voice in the tower were drowned out by the roar of the jet's engines. The Shooting Star's wings fluttered as we rolled into the lane. Like the weapons of all Latin American countries, with the exception of Cuba, they were purchased in the United States with second-hand weapons at reduced prices. Unlike some other nations, however, the Chileans kept their planes polished to a bright world inside and out.
  
  
  My head tilted back as the plane took off down the runway. For a moment we were held back by the friction of the ground, and then we were climbing into the blue sky that the poet of the Chilean national anthem wrote about. At 10,000 feet, the pressure dropped slightly, and the nose of the plane dipped low enough for her to see that we were flying blatantly over the capital.
  
  
  "Callamps, mushroom huts," the pilot said as we approached a thick, dark fringe of shacks on the edge of town. "We call them ih tak because they sprang up overnight. When Allende Stahl became president, all the poor people around the villages came to Santiago because they thought he would give them money and land. They have been living there for two years now, because there is no money to give them away ."
  
  
  One wing tilted, and we leaned over the old-fashioned buildings of Santiago's business district.
  
  
  "Rich people either ran away with their money or sent ih to Argentina or Uruguay. Seventy years ago, it was a very rich country. Do you know what made us rich? We were the world's largest supplier of nitrates. Fertilizers. Manure. Then artificial ones. fertilizers were invented, and the market collapsed. So look at us drowning in our own manure."
  
  
  The wing came down again, and I saw that we were above a thriving upper-class area of the city.
  
  
  "Our new president said that they deny themselves the presidential palace because it is too big for a communist president. So he's staying here in the Providencia area."
  
  
  He pointed to a small, elegant mansion. He noticed the upturned faces of the bodyguards squinting at the plane. We finished circling the city and continued on to the ocean, the Pacific Ocean looking as calm as its name suggested.
  
  
  We kept up speed until the coastline was almost obvious. Fishing boats bobbed beneath us. Then the plane turned sharply from north to south.
  
  
  What's happening? I asked her."I thought you were taking me to my contact in the north."
  
  
  "I have other orders."
  
  
  Orders? She was checked by the fuel gauge on the dashboard. It was full. At the very least, he won't be able to eject and leave me in a flying coffin.
  
  
  "Orders from whom?"
  
  
  "Don't worry, Senor Carter. I'm not going to play games in the cockpit with someone with your reputation. We'll go south, because that's where AX wants you. The only radar that can catch us right now is when the Force is at work and we're cooperating. I do not know why you are needed there, where I am taking her, and I do not want to know."
  
  
  Understood her. While the average soldier in the Chilean army served only one year, the pilots in the Air Force were professionals. The Reds have just begun to introduce their own people into the ego ranks.
  
  
  The long coastline seemed endless, but finally we started to lose altitude, and at the bottom of it I saw the southernmost place where a person can go, if he is not swimming or not in the hall, in Antarctica; this is the crooked tip of South America, which is also called Fiery throughout the hotel, and. We landed at the base Air Force Punta Arena. As we walked out on the plane, the cold air cut through our spacesuits.
  
  
  The air itself was gray with the cold that had come from the polar cap. The officers threw a sheepskin coat over my shoulders and drove me in a Jeep to the nearest army headquarters.
  
  
  "Welcome to the Southern Division," the wiry little general greeted me as I was taken to the Ego Spartan office. There was a pot-bellied stove in the corner of the room, but the glass of brandy he offered me warmed me immediately.
  
  
  "This isn't exactly where I planned to be," he commented.
  
  
  "To be honest, it doesn't exist either," he replied, " but the Senor President has decided to send some of the Santiago officers around us to this desolate end of the earth. We call it Siberia, " he said with a wink. "A soldier's fate is not happy, eh? And winter is just beginning."
  
  
  The adjutant came in with a clay pot of stew and a loaf of bread.
  
  
  "This is not a very good eda for those who were entertained in the Presidential Palace," the general guessed.
  
  
  "But you never know what exactly you're going to get," I said when we played this game on the chair.
  
  
  "I know." He broke a loaf of bread in half and gave me half of it. "I'm sorry that I didn't introduce myself, but I think it would be better if we didn't mention names. You shouldn't be here. If you were here, I'd have to arrest you. Officially, of course."
  
  
  The stew was simple but good, and we finished the ego with a bottle of red Chilean wine.
  
  
  "Suppose you really tell me why she's here," I suggested at the end of our hurried meal. "I'm starting to feel like a soccer ball bouncing around from one end of the country to the other."
  
  
  Perhaps in pursuit of wild geese, he guessed. "But it could be a Peking goose. I was told you were a good rider."
  
  
  "I can stay."
  
  
  "We'll need every experienced hand available, and I'm told there's no one more capable than you. Consider this exciting event a routine part of your special assignment on behalf of our two countries. As planned, we will fight the enemy together.
  
  
  I wondered if Hawk had authorized this little raid on my part. Whether he was there or not, there was nothing he could do but make the best of the situation and join in.
  
  
  We went through the general's office and into the radio room. It was full of officers, and ih attention was drawn to the reports that usually came in over the receiver.
  
  
  "...Heading towards Boca del Diablo... fifteen, twenty at most..."
  
  
  "The country is divided into four military districts. Each one has a nominal value, " the general informed me. "Of course, all the units are understaffed, because the government has so many troops guarding the mines. But no one is tac understaffed like us. The government doesn't think we can do anything here with one cavalry regiment, but we'll freeze to death. Maybe we have a surprise for that."
  
  
  "...Now we are slowing down... definitely getting closer to the ih camp."
  
  
  "What's the surprise?" I asked her little general.
  
  
  "You'll see the voice."
  
  
  The adjutant reappeared with a pair of fur-trimmed coats. The general put one on with open glee, and he saw that the other officers were looking at me with envy.
  
  
  As we ran out into the barracks grounds, her, saw an olive-green helicopter waiting for us, its propellers spinning slowly in the wind. We entered it, and as soon as we removed our feet, the helicopter lifted off the ground, pulling sharply back and up.
  
  
  Fiery throughout the hotel, a rocky promontory suitable only for sheep breeding. Wisps of mist floated openly above us.
  
  
  We took to the sky, and we cut through the ih, but never more than fifty feet above the ground. We flew over rocky cliffs, driving sheep through the valleys.
  
  
  "We knew something was wrong when the MYRists showed up," the general shouted over the noise of the rotors. "They were busy taking over farms all over the countryside-except here, because what's there to take? Here, everyone is equal and gets their full share of cold and stones. So, we kept an eye on them, thinking they might try to blow up some planes or try to raid our arsenal of required weapons. Instead, they disappeared again."
  
  
  The downdraft pulled us toward the cliff. The pilot coolly allowed the plane to hit the rock surface until the natural turbulence around the cape took out the assembly ego. The man knew what he was doing.
  
  
  "Then we received a report that a cargo ship was anchored off our coast. There was nothing unusual about it, because storms here happen so fast that the captain would go crazy if he went near these rocks. We tracked the freighter. It was an Albanian ship, and its last port of call was Shanghai. Now, why would a cargo ship around China anchor here without sending out a distress signal? "
  
  
  Helicopter landed on the bottom of the valley. As soon as we got out, a squad of mounted soldiers appeared from behind the boulders with machine guns strapped to their saddles. ih horses ' breaths were hovering in the frosty air. The senior captain saluted and dismounted.
  
  
  "You will see that here cavalry is not tanks," the general told me before we reached the troops.
  
  
  The captain spoke briefly to the soldier carrying the radio, and then, without preamble, to us.
  
  
  "They're in their camp, General, just like you said. The scout says the ihc is spread out like they're going to leave early in the morning."
  
  
  "Very good," the general replied. "Ask him what we should do to enter this Mirist camp."
  
  
  The man radioed corkscrew.
  
  
  "He says there's a trail up the canyon and they're watching it. But they don't look at us, at the rocks behind us in the fiery swamp."
  
  
  The General nodded in satisfaction. He was a man of action and obviously enjoyed every second of it.
  
  
  "Then they will be dead," he announced.
  
  
  We were provided with additional horses. He was on a large bay gelding, no doubt descended from horses brought by the Conquistadors. The general ordered one of the soldiers to remove the automatic rifle from my belt.
  
  
  "I'm sorry, but in the worst case scenario, I'll have to come to you as an observer. I can't give you a gun. If you object to this condition, you don't need to come there."
  
  
  "You couldn't keep me away." I still had something up my sleeve, but I didn't tell the general about it.
  
  
  There were twenty of us, riding our horses through the cerro-green undergrowth. The air, already frozen, grew colder and thinner. Sooner than I expected, we were on a ridge with an altitude difference of a thousand feet on each side, strong gusts of wind trying to knock us off the narrow path. From time to time a storm would drive a whole cloud into our midst, and we would have to stand still, blinded, until the fog cleared.
  
  
  "Of course, it would be safer to use the canyon trails," the general said with a happy shrug, " but that would deprive the Mirists of the joy of our flag of execution permission."
  
  
  At last we began to descend, and a man in shepherd's clothing came out on the trail. He lowered the submachine gun in his hands when it became known who we were. I saw a radio antenna in her ego backpack. Obviously, he was a scout master.
  
  
  "Two guards," he said. "Everyone is watching the canyon. I can show you how to get through the rocks."
  
  
  "How long will it take us?" general hotel to know.
  
  
  "Seven, eight o'clock."
  
  
  "At that time, they can leave. It's useless. We'll go the other way."
  
  
  The other way was through a swamp, one of those strange phenomena that caused the entire hotel to fire, and got the name-the entire hotel, and Fire. I understood why the prospect of crossing it scared the soldiers more than the wind, and why the scout wouldn't suggest it even if he led us to the Mirist camp within an hour.
  
  
  Before us lay a seemingly impenetrable field of smoke, a ghostly exhalation around the holes in the ground. Mile after mile of mysterious terrain stretched between us and our enemy, a lifeless minefield where a single false step would throw both horse and rider into the bubbling hot spring around which no one ever escaped. The horses themselves danced nervously at the sight of the smoking barrier.
  
  
  "Please don't think that a Chilean soldier is so young that he is afraid of a hot bath,
  
  
  - said the general. "This is just the beginning of the swamp. There's something else."
  
  
  What's more, he didn't say. The scout rode up to the leader of the party on his horse, a stable pony. The others around us followed in single file, each trying to steer his own struggling horse. One by one, we slid into the eerie haze of smoke.
  
  
  The sound of hooves was lost in the steady hiss of steam. Once the entire territory of the hotel, and was hard as a rock, and suddenly it crumbled and invited the rider to a fatal mistake. Then he heard a desperate whinny as the soldier pulled on the reins for his life. At other times, the entire hotel area would be shaking with the rush of steam escaping; rocks would hit us, and a geyser a hundred feet high would appear where nothing had been a second ago.
  
  
  He looked at his watch. Fifty minutes had passed since we entered the swamp. We should be close to the campsite. What else can it be?
  
  
  Then I saw it. First a flicker of one blue flame, then another. With each step, through the haze of steam, she could see fifty more rapid flames licking the ground. "Fire swamp," the radio man said. We were entering a natural gas field, a gas field that was on fire.
  
  
  The General looked at me grimly and tied a handkerchief around his nose. Everyone did the same, including her. The fumes were nauseating, acrid, and shrill, but what could you expect? It was no longer a haunting landscape, it was a descent into hell. Instead of a geyser of steam thirty feet away, a tower of fire erupted around the flaming gas, scattering the long shadows of our rearing horses across the area. Now he knew what the soldiers were really afraid of. If the Myrists had been watching us before we came out of the fire marsh, no one would have lived to tell this story, because they only needed one grenade to make the entire area explode like a volcano.
  
  
  Every minute was an hour, every step a game with the devil. Behind us, a new pillar of fire reached the sky, covering the path. There was no turning back now. The man in front of me fell into the saddle and started to fall off the horse. She was pinned to him by her gelding and caught by ego. The fumes caused ego to lose consciousness; ego's skin was a sickly green. However, we went against Armageddon like couriers.
  
  
  The general raised his hand and the column halted. There was only one curtain of fire left, and then we could see the edge of the rocks and the camp itself. The steady hissing sound of burning gas overlaid the metallic sounds of submachine guns moving from saddles to hands. With silent signals, the general and captain divided the soldiers into two groups, which were to attack from the north and south to prevent escape. He gave himself orders. If there was a Chinese representative in the camp, and if he saw the inevitability of sacrifice, he would kill himself; even if he didn't, the general's machine guns could do it for him. My job is to rush into the midst of the surprised Myrists and grab the Chinaman before it's too late. Her, I thought that if anyone else had given me those orders, her would have told em to go to hell.
  
  
  The mounted soldiers clutched their weapons in relief and impatience. The general's hand dropped to his side. The two lines parted at a gallop, increasing their speed to a gallop as they parted. From where she was, outspoken around the swamp, she could see the nearest sentry; he was nervously looking at the canyon trail, trying to make out the horses that sounded so close. As soon as he turned around and saw the soldiers, two submachine guns sounded, and he performed an involuntary dance of death.
  
  
  The men in the camp leapt to their feet, shooting sleepy eyes at the two waves of cavalry approaching from each side. He dragged his horse through the flames and charged toward the center of the panicked Myrists. As I expected, they were too busy trying to deal with the main attack to notice a lone rider approaching from a third direction. They were surprised and scared, and I got within ten yards of them before the first terrorist turned his AK-47 on me. Her shot at his luger the moment he pulled the trigger of his combat machine gun, and then hers, threw himself to the ground, rolling away from his dead horse. His bench press was ready for a second shot, but MIRIsta was on his knees, propped up by the rifle he was still holding. There was a dark hole in the middle of the ego's forehead.
  
  
  The general's attack was closing in, and the defenders were collapsing. At least half of the people around them were injured or dead. The rest of them were shooting from the prone position. Only two of them were away, busy around the fire, and in the light of the fire, she noticed the large, angular cheekbones of one of the Mao envoys. He quickly placed the scraps of paper in the embers of the fire.
  
  
  There was no time for zigzags. It sent a chill right through the bodies
  
  
  terrorists to the Chinese and the Mirist leader. The heavy greatcoat the general had given me jerked as a couple of shots went through it. The leader of the Myrists jumped up and hit him in the head with a machete. Her ducked and kicked his emu to life. Another man leapt through the flames, holding the AK-47 high above his head. He didn't have a chance to shoot. Her shot at him while he was in the air, and his body fell into the fire like a sack of potatoes.
  
  
  The head of the Mirists jumped away from the corpse and pulled out a pistol .45. He was already firing when he caught the glint of swinging steel out of the corner of his eye. Mirista, who I couldn't see, knocked the gun out of my hands. For the second time, ego's machete was aimed at my neck. He ducked under the blade of the saber and pulled the man toward him. When we straightened up, it was controlled by a machete and pressed the ego of the edge against the ego of Adam's apple, holding the ego in front of him as a human shield.
  
  
  "Drop the gun!" shouted Mirista to her boss.
  
  
  He was a big man with a red beard and small eyes. He made the decision in seconds, shooting and blasting his friend's chest with one bullet after another, trying to tear his ego apart until at least one gawk went through me.
  
  
  Before that could happen, she was pushed dead by her ego boss. He dodged the flying body, but by then he was already in the air, grabbing ego and knocking him down in the middle of the smouldering fire. My head snapped back from the force of ego's elbow, my hair singed as he pushed me deeper into the fire. His fingers wanted my throat as he swore loudly.
  
  
  He didn't seem to notice that I was holding onto the lapels of my ego clothing. He jerked her forward and threw her face down on the coals. As he stood up with a shout, the end of my arm bumped into his nose like a blunt machete. As blood gushed down RTA's ego, it had already shifted its focus to the main target.
  
  
  The Chinese messenger put a gun in his mouth. One of Mao's sayings," All power comes from the muzzle of a gun, " occurred to me when he acted by grabbing ego's arm, not to pull it away from the gun, but to paralyze the pressure point on his wrist.
  
  
  He sat in the middle of the battle, staring at the gun pointed at the emu's mouth, and wondering why he hadn't come out with a gawk that wouldn't have left his head. Confused and pathetic, he stared at me. The last shots died away, and the general, flushed with excitement and with one hand wrapped around his wound, was the first to join us. He gently pulled the gun out of Chickom's paralyzed hand and looked back at the body of the MYRIST who had left her behind.
  
  
  "You're not supposed to be here, Senor Carter. But if you were present, I would say that you are a magnificent warrior."
  
  
  When we got back to Punta Arena, we questioned the courier at the barracks. Unfortunately, the interrogation started without me, because the Chileans were so excited about their catch that by the time he walked into the room, the entire raid and the fives of a dozen men were all wasted.
  
  
  "I don't understand," the attendant told me. "I just started when he was like this."
  
  
  The messenger was sitting openly in a chair in the middle of the room in the bright light. The first thing I noticed was that it didn't blink. Her hand passed in front of ego's face, and he didn't follow her with his eyes. An emu clapped her hands behind her ear. Nothing. Her emu stuck a needle in her arm. Also nothing.
  
  
  "He's in an induced catatonic state," I said. "Ego breathing slowed down, as did ego heartbeat. Are you saying that he wasn't like this when he entered?"
  
  
  "No, he was just scared. Then I asked him what message he was carrying, and suddenly he was like this. Do you think he's faking it?"
  
  
  She might have hit the officer's head against the wall, but there was no point in blaming ego.
  
  
  "You questioned ego in Spanish, of course."
  
  
  "Of course. No one around us speaks Chinese. He has to speak Spanish, otherwise why would they send ego?"
  
  
  Rheumatism was something that Peking would never have sent ego if he had spoken Spanish. All of this was part of the ih effort to control every subversive activity throughout ih headquarters in China. The messenger was to be taken to Santiago, where the interpreter would receive the message he brought. If someone asked the ego about the ego of the targets in Spanish - and this might happen if the ego was caught-they would immediately fall into a posthypnotic trance. The equipment was taken care of in a lab that specializes in psychological processing, and all that was needed was a tape recorder playing the corkscrew trigger in phonetic Spanish and English, and an electric generator to provide pain relief. And a man who worships Mao. If it had been five minutes earlier, it would have tiptoed around the messenger's entire brain using Cantonese. Now all we had was a man who was no better
  
  
  dead, and dead people don't tell stories.
  
  
  "How long will it be like this?" the humiliated officer should know.
  
  
  "With recovery from a qualified psychologist, it can break out around this condition in a month. Without it, he will be in a coma for six months. In any case, we don't need him."
  
  
  "I'm really sorry. Forgive me, I..."
  
  
  Emu also had nothing to say. Her last look at the event's guest of honor was the ambassador who dragged me through hell. Believe me, if he could laugh, he would.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter Seven
  
  
  
  
  
  Although the messenger wasn't talking, Reed wasn't a total loss. She found out about it during the flight back to Santiago, when she was piecing together scraps of paper that didn't burn. They were written in Chinese characters and charred, but I knew that the AXE special effects and editing lab would get information from them if anyone could. I couldn't wait to jump on an American plane and go home.
  
  
  The capital city appeared below, and then the airport. When we landed, a U.S. Air Force plane was waiting to see her next to us. Instead, the person who met me in the closed limousine had a face that informed her that he had been to the Presidential Palace. He was one of Allende's own cabinet ministers. She wasn't invited to join him, but the driver with the automatic was very convincing.
  
  
  The minister asked her :" What now, a team performance in the palace?"
  
  
  "Is there anything Chinese?" "What is it?" he demanded sharply.
  
  
  He was a thin man with a pale, intelligent face. Now that I was alone with him, I wondered why I hadn't paid more attention to him than I had at the front desk. Her also wondered how the hell he knew about the messenger. Ego the following words answered both questions.
  
  
  "In Chile, Mr. Carter, the seasons go backwards because the world is upside down."
  
  
  It was the password. He was my AX contact.
  
  
  "Only what he couldn't burn," I said, getting down to business. "Nothing that will help us until it's analyzed."
  
  
  "There is no time for this. Read this."
  
  
  He handed me the report. At the bottom of the page was a scrawled message telling her Hawk's name. The gist of the statement was enough to make her ask for a cigarette and bite down hard on the gold tip.
  
  
  He knew her background. A U.S. Air Force reconnaissance satellite regularly dropped a titanium tube with magnetic tape containing information about the Soviet missile program as it crossed the Turkish border. At a given altitude, the tube's braking parachute opened, and he floated to where an American jet plane, stationed by prior arrangement, could grab the ego with the help of an apparatus that was also no more than a conventional hook. Only this time ego stole a MiG-23. Our plane smashed into a thousand pieces was briefly flicked by rockets "Flashing" over the Caucasus Mountains. For estestvenno, the Reds claimed that the incident occurred on the ih side of the border, but then they compounded their piracy. The next time our satellite passed over the territory of Russia, they tracked the ego and launched the Cosmos interceptor from their sites in Tyuratam. "The killer satellite chased our spy through the sky for one orbit, and then both of them exploded, sending millions of dollars and rubles to Earth and starting what could be a full-scale war for control of the sky.
  
  
  Two days later-the day he arrived in Santiago-it seemed like such a costly war was unfolding. A group of CIA operatives infiltrated the Turatam base, where they tried to seize the still-sealed data tube. They managed to take control of the roadblock and stop the second killer Cosmos, but they were destroyed before reaching the room where ih's main target, the pipe, was stored. All of this happened without us Americans or Russians hearing our words about it, and now the two governments have decided to conclude a truce before each of them seems to completely destroy their space program with this confrontation.
  
  
  What caught my attention was an agreement stipulating that the KGB would personally deliver a sealed data tube to the Finnish border, in exchange for which the United States would provide a personal bodyguard to a high-ranking Soviet minister on a trip to the Republic of Chile. The minister was A. Belkiew, and the bodyguard was AX Killmaster N3! Now he knew why Hawke didn't want to talk any further at the airport. The stakes went far beyond the Chilean Myrists and their planned coup d'etat. Hawk played softly, thinking he was protecting me in case I got caught. Now he didn't know if he appreciated all this attention.
  
  
  "This has to be a joke," her at-will told the contact. "Belkevich tried his best to kill me, and her hotel would repay the favor if I ever get the chance. Also, why not let the Russians keep the phone? We can
  
  
  raise a new satellite and get the same information again."
  
  
  It's more than just a satellite, " my contact said. "We have information that the Mirists coordinated their efforts with Maoist terrorists in Peru and Bolivia. A simultaneous coup is planned in all three countries. The signal should be the murder of Belkeva. Then a quarter of our continent will fall under Chinese domination ."
  
  
  "This is reckless!"
  
  
  "I would like that to be the case. But all our armed forces, however good they may be to us, number less than forty-eight thousand men. The armies of Peru and Bolivia were undermined by Maoist agents. If there is a coup, who will help us? America then Vietnam? Unlikely. Russia? They are even further away than China."
  
  
  "That leaves Argentina and Brazil. They both have big armies, and they're not going to stand still in front of Chairman Mao grinning from ihk."
  
  
  He nodded, as if he already had rheumatism on it. But as it turned out, his did it.
  
  
  "There must be some information in the papers that the messenger had. We don't have time for labs, Mr. Carter. I understand you can read Chinese."
  
  
  The car windows were drawn, and he had no idea where we were going. When the limo stopped, I found that we were in the basement of the ministries in downtown Santiago. I was taken to a bare room with no windows, not even a chair or chair. There was a single fluorescent light that flooded the room with a greenish glow. Before leaving, the minister gave me tweezers to work on the charred papers.
  
  
  "You think everyone is happy, don't you?" he commented.
  
  
  "Dr. Thompson said on the phone that you would need them."
  
  
  Six hours later, my chest hurt from crawling on the concrete floor, but I had what I wanted. I managed to piece together hundreds of disparate Chinese characters on badly burned paper, and he finally understood why Hawke was so eager to send me to Chile. After knocking on the door and telling the guard that I was ready, he bench-pressed on the cold floor and smoked a well-deserved cigarette.
  
  
  The minister walked around the squares of blackened paper that he had reassembled.
  
  
  "I'm disappointed, "he said." How can you do anything around this?"
  
  
  "It's not a love letter," I said. "This is a military analysis, and the Chinese military mind is not much different from any other. In other words, it's specific and repetitive, enough that I can capture the general idea." He leaned over and pointed at the characters one by one as he spoke. "Here, for example, is a repetition of the symbol denoting the sea, with a modification meaning south. South Sea."
  
  
  "Very interesting. I wish she had time for a lecture, " he said sarcastically.
  
  
  "Now wait a moment. You dragged me into this garage so that I could do what a team of analysts usually needs to do in one day, with slides, magnifications, and chemicals in a week. Now that she's done it, you tailor it! well, listen to this. It won't take long. As I said, we have a number of references to the South Sea. This is again a reference to the sea, but this time changed to also refer to the ship going under it."
  
  
  "Submarine".
  
  
  "Now you understand. We are talking about a submarine of the Chinese South Sea Fleet. This is not so supposedly scary. This is not a new character in Chinese. It also means a rocket, or rather several missiles, but the modification is relatively new. Atomic. So what we have is weapons ."
  
  
  "Weapons for what? What does this have to do with Chile?"
  
  
  "I didn't know the answer to this corkscrew until I got to the last page, where I found the first mention of Chili by name. A submarine in a hall a hundred miles off the Chilean coast and at this very second. She arrived in a specially equipped Albanian ship. cargo ship. After Belkevs murder is committed and the coup begins, a Chinese submarine is moving to the Chilean port of Antofagasta."
  
  
  "A vote of confidence".
  
  
  "Well, the Mirists have good plans for this. Antofagasta will be the first city captured, so the submarine will dock without any problems. That's when the terrorists announce that they have nuclear missiles aimed at half the capitals of other South American countries. Which will be true. The report doesn't mention this, but I'm sure we're dealing with a G-class submarine armed with a Chinese version of the Russian Sark missile. This last page shows a circle for terror and a distance of 1,700 kilometers. This is the missile's range, a blackmail circle covering Rio de Janeiro, Montevideo and Buenos Aires. If anyone raises a hand against the Myrists, these cities will be turned into a nuclear wasteland.
  
  
  "It is possible that we are trying to interfere. Suppose we send our anti-missile missiles to shoot down ih missiles. As a result, at least a dozen nuclear warheads will still explode over the continent, and let me tell you that one feature of Chinese missile technology has not been the development of clean warheads. South Korea will not be radioactive, from the south of the Amazon rivers ."
  
  
  "If no one interferes with it?"
  
  
  "Then the entire western shelf of South America will turn into the second China Sea."
  
  
  The Minister rummaged anxiously in his pockets. He handed emu one of his cigarettes and lit it.
  
  
  "You are very calm," he commented," so how do we manage to stop the coup?"
  
  
  "Don't let them start. The signal is Belkevs death. As much as her nam hates to say it, we-her have to keep em alive." Hers was added by an expletive in English that showed my true feelings, but we didn't catch it.
  
  
  "Then all we have to do is put the ego under guard at the military base."
  
  
  “no. This is the last thing we want to do. As soon as it becomes obvious that we are on track for the Mirist plans, oni will change ih. Belkev must remain open, a fat target for anyone who wants to shoot him ."
  
  
  He gathered up the charred sheets of paper, made a stack around them, and lit them. He didn't want to leave any clues. The minister in a pinstripe suit sat down and helped.
  
  
  "Remember," he said, " Chile has been a democracy for about twenty years, much longer than the vast majority of countries. We will remain so, and if the Reds try to establish a dictatorship, we will fight with more than words ."
  
  
  He told emu that if he had the words, he should pray for Alexander Belkevs worthless life.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter Eight
  
  
  
  
  
  Every task has its own silver finish, I thought as I watched Rosa and Bonita move from their balcony to mine. The scene behind them was each one of the most spectacular in the world: the mountains of the Andes, covered in snow and glowing in the moonlight. We stayed in parador, a hotel in the Indian city of Aukankilcha, the first stop on the Belkeva route and no less than the highest city on earth.
  
  
  "Buenos noches," the sisters said together as they slipped into my room. "Belkev sleeps like a stuffed pig."
  
  
  At the moment, he wasn't thinking about Belkevy at all. He was busy admiring the scenery, which also had nothing to do with the Andes. Rose and Bonita were almost twins, the only difference being that Bonita was slightly shorter and fuller. They were both wearing silky bikini nightwear that was almost transparent at the same time, and just in case hers got tangled up between them, hers knew that Rose was wearing a gold necklace and Bonita a silver one.
  
  
  They made themselves at home and went straight to the bar, where I had a selection of rum.
  
  
  "Are you as talented as your sister?" Bonito asked her.
  
  
  She ran her hand down my shirt and across my chest.
  
  
  "I'm a singer." She giggled. "If you're as talented as I've heard, maybe you can make me sing something beautiful."
  
  
  "He'll do it," hey Rose promised. She made the mixture all over the room and handed out the glasses. "It's like rum. Enough to get by."
  
  
  "We don't have much time," Bonita whispered. "The other girls will notice that we're gone."
  
  
  Her, realized that Bonita was unbuckling my belt between her giggles. Rose hugged me from behind, and he could feel the pressure of her chest through my shirt. The two of them fluttered around me like a pair of exotic butterflies until all my clothes were on the floor. Bonita then wrapped her arms around me, sliding her hips over me until the United Nations challenged my excitement.
  
  
  Our glasses were empty and the rum was cold inside us, the three of us lying naked on the bed. They took turns kissing me, and when I stretched her out luxuriously, they each wrapped their hips around me, so that. She ran her hands down ih's sides, weighing them.
  
  
  What one fantastic Cuban girl can do, two can do better. As we drank the bottles for ourselves, the moon shone through the window over the Andes.
  
  
  "God, we've been here for two hours," I said, seeing the clock on the table. "I thought you both needed to go back."
  
  
  "Shh," they said as one.
  
  
  I didn't know what kind of girl was there, or what kind of lovemaking she was doing. All I knew now was that one of them had a gold necklace and the other a silver one. Just to move my hand, I had to wriggle my dress out over the warm flesh that was trying to make me forget time over and over again.
  
  
  "This could escalate into an international incident," he warned her.
  
  
  "We're an international incident," Rose teased. "You know, with your hands across the border."
  
  
  "Not with your hands," ee Bonita corrected.
  
  
  "Can't you be serious?"
  
  
  "He looks like Fidel," Bonita pouted.
  
  
  She turned to me, so I pinned her between their bodies. Hers, I felt a skilled hand slide down my thigh.
  
  
  "Ole, and I thought he was done," said a cheery voice.
  
  
  "Who is this?" I asked her.
  
  
  "Does it matter?" lips whispered in my ear.
  
  
  I'll tell you, all women aren't the same in the dark. Her knew who it was every time, and no wonder Rose pulled away.
  
  
  "Madre! We should go now, " she whispered. "They must have heard us in Havana."
  
  
  "Not yet," Bonita sighed, her hips still pressed against mine, driving out the last gusts of pleasure.
  
  
  Needless to say, I wasn't in a hurry to leave either, but the encore was interrupted by the sudden opening of the doors and the sound of footsteps in the hall. In a second, someone will be knocking on my door.
  
  
  "Vamonos ahora," Rose said.
  
  
  They were leaving through the balcony when the knock came. She knew who was on the other side, alone around Belkevs ' regular bodyguards, a balding, suspicious character. Her last glimpse was to make sure the balcony was free before opening the door wide enough for ego-popping eyes to take a peek.
  
  
  "Didn't you hear that noise? Why are you here and not defending Comrade Belkevas you agreed to do? Was someone here?"
  
  
  "Of course. The singing killer. Let me know if you catch an ego."
  
  
  Her door slammed shut and the bench press went back to sleep, this time falling asleep.
  
  
  The next morning, the bodyguard was still eyeing me suspiciously as our happy entourage was escorted by a guide on a walk through Aukankilcha. Belkev looked well rested and looked nasty, he had slept through all the noise. Bonita and the Roses looked like they would want to play again, and the rest of Belkevs harem looked at me thoughtfully. He followed the Indians, who manage to live at an altitude of 17,500 feet above sea level.
  
  
  The exertion of entering the city square was enough to tire Belkevs, especially in the air. Even hers felt like my lungs were in need of oxygen, and yet we were in the midst of a hardy race of barrel-chested Indians who looked capable of outrunning the pursuing llamas. Wearing bright, rough llama-fur ponchos, their wide-slanted eyes shaded by red and green wool caps, they stared at outsiders around them. They may not have been tall, but they were perfectly adapted to the harsh environment, leading their lives on top of a civilization set high in the sky, in the utterly beautiful and treacherous Andes.
  
  
  We were in Aucanquilcha because it is one of the last strongholds of the Inca Empire. Much of the village's stonework dates back to imperial times; it is an incredibly fitted, unmoluted masonry structure that has already survived five centuries, and the people crowding around us were the purest descendants of the masons who built it.
  
  
  "I think I'm seasick," Belkevs muttered to me.
  
  
  "Don't expect any sympathy from me, comrade."
  
  
  "I should have killed you when I had the chance."
  
  
  "Do you like Gillette?"
  
  
  "Of course."
  
  
  We entered a one-story building, one of the few modern structures in the village. It was a state museum, and the curator met us at the door, stared at the unexpected number of women, recovered, and made his greetings to Belkevu. Belkiewicz gave Ego a restrained kiss on the chopsticks, and then Poe pulled out of the embrace.
  
  
  "I want to sit down."
  
  
  "Air," the curator said sympathetically. "I always keep some brandy handy for visitors."
  
  
  While Belkev sat panting on a chair in the foyer, the guardian brought in a glass of brandy. He was giving ego to Belkevu when one of the guards grabbed ego's arm.
  
  
  "He would like you to try it first," he explained to her handler.
  
  
  He hesitated, but it was more out of insult than fear of poison. Haughtily, he took a sip and handed the glass to Belkevu.
  
  
  "Very good," Ego Belkevs said. He gulped down the brandy and belched loudly.
  
  
  "Are you also Russian?" the curator asked me curiously.
  
  
  "I'm on rent." He looked confused. "Never mind, this is an inside joke."
  
  
  He walked out through the groups and into the two exhibition halls. It was a strange collection in the museum, consisting mostly around odds and ends that had not been salvaged after the Spanish conquistadors plundered the land. However, it was oddly effective. There was a map on one wall.
  
  
  The Inca Empire, which spanned almost the entire length of the continent's western coast and was encased around three other walls, contained the pathetic remnants of a once-great civilization.
  
  
  I knew that Belkiew had come up behind me.
  
  
  "The Incas ruled their empire much as the Romans did," I observed, " conquering lands, colonizing ih, building great roads a thousand miles long to connect their cities, and raising the sons of conquered kings in their capital, Cuzco, so that a new generation of nobles would also be Incas. No one can say what heights the Incas might have reached if the Spaniards hadn't arrived, but they did. After all, the Incas were just starting their empire when Pizarro and the ego people destroyed it."
  
  
  "Some kind of empire where a handful of adventurers can destroy it practically overnight," Belkevs said simply. I think he was trying to save face after the humiliating arrival. In any case, the curator, hearing the remark, went berserk.
  
  
  "The drop was only due to an unfortunate combination of factors," he said irritably. "Pizarro arrived at the end of a devastating civil war. The defeated side immediately joined Spain, effectively creating an Indian army under Spanish leadership. Second, the Incas were devastated by smallpox and measles epidemics, each of which brought in a New Saint and, most importantly, the Incas were unaccustomed to European treachery. Pizarro visited the Inca Emperor under the flag of truce, kidnapped ego and blackmailed the ego of the armies, forcing ih to surrender ."
  
  
  "Is this a hint of the good intentions of the Soviet people?"
  
  
  The curator denies any such motivation; in fact, he didn't know what Belkevs were talking about. Belkevich looked as if he didn't quite believe this denial - and why would emu do that if political attacks inside the Soviet Union were subtly conducted in precisely such historical allegories? Someone had to explain the situation to Belkevu, but I enjoyed the misunderstandings.
  
  
  "The Europeans, that is, the Spaniards, took every piece of art made of gold or silver, has the shape of a circle, and melted down the ego into ingots for shipment to Spain. From the complex art of the Incas, we have mostly ceramics and some woven artifacts, " the curator continued.
  
  
  Rose recoiled from the small piece of pottery on the shelf in front of her. It was a ceramic jug, the spout of which was disguised as a tiny statue. The statue depicted a man tied to a tree. He was naked, his genitals heavily emphasized, and the vulture was picking at his ego and flesh. Even for five hundred years, the ego endured pain convincingly.
  
  
  "This work dates back to about two centuries BC. It reminds us that crime among the Indians was high. In this case, the culprit was left to die from exposure to vultures. After all, living in India wasn't easy. these mountains, and since the slightest theft can mean the death of another person, the criminal could expect the most terrible punishment."
  
  
  We moved on to another storefront. It took a second for the eyes to adjust to what they were seeing, and then there was no doubt about it. We were looking at a headless mummy folded in the fetal position. He was richly dressed in a robe decorated with elaborate jaguars, but my eyes were caught by the sudden stop at his neck.
  
  
  "The bodies of the dead were miraculously preserved in the dry air of Chile," the guardian noted.
  
  
  "Is something missing?" asked Rose.
  
  
  "Oh, the goal? Yes. This young man died in one of the conquering Inca warriors. It was common for a soldier to take the enemy's head. We have cemeteries full of headless corpses."
  
  
  It led us to another show.
  
  
  "In fact, Della, hers, sure enough, the one around them had her head chopped off." He pointed to the ominous instrument lying neatly on top of the velvet box. It looked like a knife, but the handle protruded from the back, not at the end. The hilt was decorated with inhuman images of gods, and the sharp end of the blade in the shape of a moon glittered menacingly.
  
  
  "We have other artifacts that are typical of an Inca warrior," the guardian continued proudly. "Quilted suit all over cotton, which was used, for example, as armor. As well as a bow and arrow. The mountain people were known for their skill with these weapons, while the Coast Indians were known for their spearmen. The Indian armies banded together and launched artillery at slings and choking bolas, with which they were proficient. When combat was reduced to hand-to-hand combat, they fought with battle clubs and that unique Inca weapon known as the 'cutthroat'."
  
  
  The puzzle consisted of a pair of jagged bronze weights suspended from ropes. The Crusaders used many of the same weapons, but only against metal armor.
  
  
  The use of such weapons on unprotected heads should have led to terrible results.
  
  
  There was another horror in the room that pleased us. The curator must have fed the ego as a kind of object of resistance - a human skull, oddly distorted, and a gold plate in the elongated bones.
  
  
  "The pride of our exhibition," the curator told us, rubbing his dry hands together. "In many regions of the old empire, babies' heads were deliberately deformed by pressing down on boards. The child grew up with an excessively long, perfectly round, high or short head, depending on local beauty standards. As you can see, the standard here was a long narrow goal ."
  
  
  "It looks like a snake," Bonita recoiled.
  
  
  "Interesting," said Belkiew, " but primitive."
  
  
  "Have you ever heard of a nose job?" Ego asked her.
  
  
  "A remarkable feature of this skull is, of course, the golden plate in the shape of a triangle. This was done by trepanation, the surgical removal of the skull bones by cutting or drilling. This was actually widely practiced by the mountain Incas. although the survival rate after surgery was probably no better than even. Most trepanations were performed for medical reasons, but there is a theory that this was done to some young people to mark them as the emperor's personal bodyguards."
  
  
  "Why didn't the Spaniards take out the gold around that head?" You should know her.
  
  
  "Ah, that's an interesting point. This skull dates from one of the later Indian uprisings against the Spanish. This was either in the seventeenth or eighteenth century, hundreds of years after the fall of empires. The skull wasn't discovered until those ferrets, only twenty years ago. Now let's move to the other room."
  
  
  The second room was packed with woven items. After listening to the curator for ten minutes, the mayor of Aukankilchi saved us and escorted us to his residence for lunch.
  
  
  Over beer, spiced meat, caviar, a type of potato called green and pineapple, Belkiew recovered a little.
  
  
  "It's a very impressive museum," he said, " but you should come to Russia one day and see the progressive folklore. Maybe I can arrange for one of our cultural advisers to come and help you with your national art."
  
  
  The mayor, who also looked like a local type of potato, smiled modestly.
  
  
  "Another beer, Comrade Belkevy? Good. No, take the bottle. So, finally, the two great Communist parties are united and working for the future. Hers was a member of the party, for many years, like all of us here. "
  
  
  Belkev looked at me to calm her down.
  
  
  "I'm glad to hear it," he told the mayor. "I thought that my city might have been a bit, let's just say ... backward people. It is very gratifying to know that people are participating in the socialist revolution."
  
  
  The mayor paled a little, but Belkevs was attentive.
  
  
  "Is something wrong here?"
  
  
  "I'm afraid that in some respects we are not backward at all. Even here, the Myrists are busy with their revisionist lies. However, I assure you, we have ih under control."
  
  
  "You have to crush ih mercilessly," Belkevy advised. "Just as we did with Trotsky."
  
  
  "You killed my ego in Mexico, didn't you," he commented.
  
  
  "The evader is the lowest life form," Belkev growled.
  
  
  "Not in Aukankilch. You can't go any higher."
  
  
  The mayor looked anxiously between us.
  
  
  "Your humor, as always, is inappropriate," Belkevs warned me from across the chair. "You'll pay for it when we get back to Santiago."
  
  
  "Uh, maybe you'd like to see herds of wild vicuna in the mountains," the mayor suggested to change the subject.
  
  
  That's exactly what we ended up doing: Belkevs only agreed to go for a walk after he realized that he could see Vicuna from the back of a packhorse. We didn't see a single Vicuna, but the Andes itself was a sight to behold, breathtaking stalagmites scratching at the top of the sky. The Himalayas may be taller, but there's nothing like the perpendicular walls of a South American mountain range.
  
  
  We drove cautiously along a narrow mountainside path laid by Inca road builders, zigzagging through gaps as deep as Paris in a system that not only ranked highly on Native American engineering, but also on ih military foresight. There wasn't a spot on the trail that couldn't get caught in the crossfire from at least two positions. It was built for ambushes.
  
  
  "I'll go take a look at the Edelweiss," Belkeva told her bodyguards.
  
  
  "Edelweiss?" Belkev exclaimed. "There's no Edelweiss here."
  
  
  "I'll find it," he said,
  
  
  I left my pony and climbed a rocky mountain. I was in better physical shape, but my body was still adjusted to the level of the dress, and soon I was gasping for air. The Indians not only had abnormally large lungs, but also an increased number of red blood cells, which allows them to distribute oxygen particularly quickly and efficiently to the tissues of the body. However, I climbed to a height of a hundred feet above the trail and moved down with Belkevs group, my lungs clamoring for air samples.
  
  
  If you set up an ambush, it should be set up on the high side of the hill. For starters, it's easier to shoot down. More importantly, one of the hardier Aucanquilchi Indians would have had a much better chance of escaping up the mountain, precisely because I had difficulty moving horizontally.
  
  
  There were moments when I felt like I was walking on top of the world, and I knew it was just another effect of the lack of oxygen. I could see the people below me on horseback, as if through a wrong telescope, and then the Andes sloped steeply down, where there was only a smudge far below. Her sel rest on a ledge of rock and lazily stahl look around.
  
  
  Her still ferret doesn't know why her crooked figure noticed her. It was about three hundred yards away, and as still as a rock, but I knew immediately what it was. He knew that as soon as Belkevs packhorse moved within range, he would use a rifle with a telescopic sight. I knew it as well as I knew that I couldn't get to our figure, to Belkevu, in time to change anything. The Luger pulled her out of her doublet, intending to fire a warning shot, and froze. Belkevs horse moved slowly, one at a time, around countless zigzags, and the sudden sound of a gunshot could have startled both horse and rider off the tiny trail.
  
  
  In desperation, she found the silencer of the gun and screwed it on. Every second brought the Russian closer to certain death. Using his left hand as a support, he aimed at a distant target. When the rifle she was expecting appeared in the lens, it was fired.
  
  
  A patch of dirt shot up ten feet in front of the supposed killer. She was taught by the fact that the silencer reduces speed, but she didn't realize how much damage my gun took on Tierra del Fuego. Now the figure turned and found me. The rifle barrel turned quickly in my direction.
  
  
  With a ten-foot correction and a prayer, she pulled the trigger again. The top of the boulder he was leaning on flashed as Gawk hit him, and he slipped behind the rock. Most likely, gawk had hit the emu in the chest, but even so, ego was waiting for her to reappear. At the bottom, unaware of what was happening, Belkevand the company moved on, looking in a different direction. Slowly, without taking his eyes off the boulder, he climbed over the mountainside of K's math class with a shotgun.
  
  
  But when I got there, there was no one there. Spent gawking, flattened from hitting a boulder while lying on the ground. There was no blood. I immediately understood where my man had gone and why I hadn't seen him go. Right behind the boulder was the entrance to a small cave. I had to get down on all fours to get into nah. I had my gun in one hand, and with the other I shone my flashlight on the walls of the musty cave. No one shot at me, so I let her in.
  
  
  The cavern widened so much that I could crouch down and move through the cobwebs and dust. The air was thick and musky, as still as the air in the grave. A ragged hole in the web told me where my quarry had gone, and I followed it, moving slowly forward on the tiny beam of light. The cave led to the center of the mountain and then curved back. The Stahl air is colder, fresher. I ran the last thirty feet, I know I was too late, and sure enough, the rising saint told me I was going out through another exit, another one down the mountainside. Rifle lying frank outside, abandoned. Ego two is gone.
  
  
  He came back through the cave with the feeling that he had missed something. My pocket light illuminated the face of an upside-down sleeping bat. My shaggy footsteps echoed, the sounds muffled by the fabric of the web. Ahead of her I saw a saint at the entrance. It formed an even circle in the black cave and was too round to form naturally.
  
  
  He slammed his beam against the walls and brushed away the thick cobwebs. A stone niche had been carved into the stone walls, and in the niche was a row of jars, each three feet high. The cans were covered in painted jaguar patterns, and the colors had faded. He reached out and touched the wall of each of the vases.
  
  
  Four hundred years had turned the clay to dust. The ceramic shattered at my touch
  
  
  I slammed into the dirt and fell to the floor; hers, I felt my back go cold with horror. Locked in the bank was a mummy, just like the one e had seen in the museum. This one was also headless. It was so complicated that a vase must have been made around it. But there was one difference. Between the ego's leathery side and the arm was a skull-an elongated skull without eyes that had been crushed by an Insect half a millennium ago.
  
  
  The cave may have been an archaeologist's dream, but it was a nightmare for me. The fetid stench that had previously been trapped in the jar along with the body spread out and filled the air. He wiped his hand on his jacket and left, climbing around the small entrance as fast as he could to feel the thin, clean air outside.
  
  
  She was met by Belkeva and the others on their way back to the village. While the girls were clearly happy to see me, Comrade Belkiew looked more unbalanced than ever.
  
  
  "I hope you had fun running around in the mountains instead of doing your job," he spat at me. "A person would have to be crazy to ride these trails. I could have been killed. What do you want the KGB to tell her about this?"
  
  
  "Tell them you were right. There is no Edelweiss."
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter Nine
  
  
  
  
  
  He got up at night and Bonita arrived with a friend, a girl from East Germany named Greta. She was a sprightly athlete with freckles covering everything that wasn't in her short nightgown.
  
  
  "She said she would tell Belkevu about us if we didn't take her with us," Rosa said regretfully.
  
  
  Greta ordered them.
  
  
  The sisters seemed to be debating silently whether to throw it around the window, but prudence prevailed and they went out through the balcony. As soon as they were gone, Greta turned to me.
  
  
  "Three is a crowd," she said.
  
  
  "Well, I have three glasses here. Take two of them each."
  
  
  Hey was twenty-two years old and had competed in the last Olympic Games in freestyle swimming, only dropping out because, according to her, all the other girls on the swim team were lesbians. She wrinkled her upturned nose in disdain.
  
  
  "You used something when I first saw you in Belkevs room. What was that?" he asked her.
  
  
  "Cocaine." She shrugged. "I've been traveling with these pigs since Berlin. I need something to make me forget. Now she's found something better."
  
  
  "What's that?"
  
  
  Then she took off her dress. Freckles stood out everywhere. She was muscular and agile. Both skilled and hungry. Her fingers quickly stroked my back.
  
  
  "Yes, Niki, oooh. Oh, her, feel like the whole hotel is moving as well."
  
  
  "Have you read this somewhere?"
  
  
  "No, it really did move." She added hesitantly: "I think so."
  
  
  After that, we stopped talking. Vaguely, she heard someone knocking on the door below. Then there were more punches. A heavy truck rumbled outside the window. With a muffled roar, the cauldron burst in. My mind works very slowly under these different circumstances, but I remembered that Aukankilch had a clean kitchen and no water in the inn. When the walls started to shake and the bed started to dance on the floor, she woke up.
  
  
  "Earthquake. Get dressed, " Ay ordered her.
  
  
  I pulled on my pants while Greta put on her nightgown, and we were just in time, because the concussion suddenly started. The glass from the falling paintings shattered on the floor. We just kept our balance. Screams could be heard in the hall as people rushed around.
  
  
  "Let's go. No one will see you."
  
  
  The scene was complete chaos. Belkiew was in a panic, knocking everyone down in a frantic fight for safety. Dust rained down from the beams that supported the roof. The mayor was already downstairs and waved a powerful flashlight at us to go outside a day later.
  
  
  The forest seemed to be trying to get rid of the village. The tremor that had interrupted our lovemaking was now a full-blown heaving of the earth. The animals ran screaming in terror, and the noise only added to the confusion. The Indians in the village ravaged their stables to save their Scott, and the llamas ran wildly about the market, their white skins flickering like ghosts in the dark.
  
  
  Then, as suddenly as it had happened, the quake subsided, and we were surprised to hear another voice again. Greta clung to my arm trembling, while Rosa and Bonita tried to hold on to the other for the other.
  
  
  "These are young mountains," the mayor said, mostly to calm himself, I suspected. "They're still moving."
  
  
  There was no guarantee that the earthquake would end, but the Indians were already gathering their animals. Odin's bodyguards ran up to me.
  
  
  "Where is Belkev?" "What is it?" he asked breathlessly.
  
  
  "I do not know. He ran around the hotel like a rat leaving a sinking ship."
  
  
  Sergei caught fire again in the hotel. Bodyguards with weapons at the ready began running through the streets, calling out Belkevs name. There aren't many banners in a village the size of Aukankilch, and they soon returned with their grim report. Belkev left.
  
  
  "We'll have to go house to house," said one of them.
  
  
  "Do it. I have another idea, " emu told her.
  
  
  They snorted impatiently and ran off to complete their mission, the mayor at their heels.
  
  
  "Why don't you move the mattresses to the ground floor?" He offered it to the girls before leaving. He hadn't really expected them to do that, but it would give them something to argue about and distract ih from her fears.
  
  
  The villagers watched me with an almost oriental detachment as I hurried through the muddy streets. It was possible that the Mirists kept Belkevs in one of their houses, but I doubted it. Based on my experience earlier in the day, this wasn't the usual kind of Myrist I was fighting. Aukankilcha wasn't an ordinary city either. It was a climb into the bloody past.
  
  
  The ancient temple overlooked the village. He had withstood this earthquake as well as a thousand people to it, and in the moonlight, ego's silhouette was sharp and timeless. The Incas began to build for greatness. Ih temples were places to which ih enemies were brought into submission. If the enemy wasn't properly frightened, they would stumble upon the temple again, this time as a human sacrifice. Huge stone steps led up to the pyramid that engaged the Incas joins the carved gods of the gate. The stones he now climbed in silence had once been stained with sacrificial blood. And they would be again if he was right.
  
  
  I followed my intuition, but only up to a certain point. Around the cave episode, she learned that the killer was familiar with the secrets of the Aukankilchi stories and was determined to use ih to kill the Russian. She expected him to go so far as to use the ancient sacrificial table on top of the mountain temple. But he hadn't mastered this terrible logic enough, and when he reached the last step at the top of the pyramid, he froze.
  
  
  Belkev was lying on the table, lying on his back, his arms and legs hanging down, his legs lying motionless on the edge of the stone chair, except for the movement created by the swaying weights of the bola wrapped around his neck. Ego's eyes were closed and his face had changed to a flower due to the impending strangulation.
  
  
  But what paralyzed me was the sight of the figure standing over him. When the lunar holy lord illuminated him, her, I realized what had caught my attention earlier, when the killer was trying to catch Belkevu on the mountain path. It was a reflection of the golden plate inserted in the middle of the elongated skull's ego. This was no ordinary MYRIst, but one who was trying to present the murder as a victim; it was an inca, in cotton armor decorated with jaguars, and with a weapon in a golden belt. Ego's face was beautiful despite the distorted skull, and his eyes were as black as obsidian and narrow, as it were. Despite the cotton armor, it was obvious that he possessed great physical strength. I wondered where the Myrists had stumbled upon it, and how many kindred egos were left in the hills. Moreover, he wondered if the Myrists knew about the powers they were revealing. It probably was, and they were obviously used to it going both ways.
  
  
  The Indian lifted Belkevs head and placed it on a stone neck rest, then unwound the bola from Belkevs thick neck, revealing ugly red welts like the marks of hangman roosters. The Russian stirred, and ego's mouth opened to take air samples.
  
  
  Inca held up the object that glittered above Belkevs head. He would never have recognized it if he hadn't seen one like it earlier in the day. It looked like a terrible sacrificial knife in a museum, but it was heavier and sharper. With a single blow, the blood from Belkiew's guillotined neck would have spilled twenty feet down the temple steps.
  
  
  "Atahualpa, I believe," I said as I climbed to the top level of the pyramid.
  
  
  It was Ink's turn to be surprised. He froze, throwing his hands in the air. Hers used the name of the last Inca emperor, and it baffled Ego more than hers dared to hope. Then, as her ego had learned from the previous meeting,he recognized me. The golden crescent of the sacrificial knife swooped down.
  
  
  Belkiew watched us, becoming more and more aware of his position. As soon as he saw that the Indian had decided to act, he rolled out of his chair and hit the rocks with a thud. At the same time, the end of the knife came down to the headrest.
  
  
  The Indian didn't stop. Since hers came from the trash, I didn't have a gun: I only had a knife in a scabbard on my hand. When it slid into my fingers, their expressions were more amused than frightened. The mocking look in the ego's eyes told me that the rifle was never the ego's weapon, only the blades were the ego's strong point.
  
  
  "Run, Belkevy, and don't stop," I shouted.
  
  
  Belkiew struggled to his feet and headed for the stairs. He hadn't gone far when the Indian grabbed the bola and threw it in one motion. The bola wrapped around the Russian's leg, and he fell heavily on his head. The Indian laughed and said a few words in a language I didn't understand. Then he picked up the sacrificial knife and threw the ego lying on nen Belkevu's body.
  
  
  The weapon spun like a planet, open in a stack of Belkevs ' dollars. However, instead of crashing into it, it slammed into the bulletproof vest and ricocheted off into the darkness. As he did so, he stepped over the Russian's body to meet the Indian's next attack.
  
  
  He took a strange device from his belt, consisting of a pair of bronze chains attached to a gold handle. At the ends of the chains were vicious metal balls in the shape of stars. It was a thug! He swung it high at their heads, and the massive balls whistled. Then he began to walk around the chair, his bare feet treading on the cold stone like a jaguar's paws.
  
  
  I've already seen evidence that "Thug" can cause damage to the victim. From the way he swung that thing, hers, I knew that he was an expert at using it and that I couldn't protect myself and Belkevu at the same time. It caught the unconscious Russian's body with its foot and dragged the ego up the stairs, where it fell down the steps, disappearing from view, like a salla carcass that would have been the winner's own.
  
  
  With each onslaught of the primitive Sword, I was forced to retreat to the edge of the stairs. There, in the moonlight, he tried to appreciate the Indian's style. Brawling in a bar while brandishing a broken bottle allows the momentum of the punch to take the ego out of the counterweights. But this was an opponent who could throw off fifteen pounds of jagged metal without swaying an inch. He refuted media reports about samurai who were trained to insert their bear arms into their bodies, thereby combining the paint philosophy with the sheer nervousness that always made ih the perfect fighting machine. Even when the whistling swing of the weights missed my chest, the ego completion brought back the bronze stars again, this time from a new and unexpected angle.
  
  
  Suddenly they reached for my feet. I jumped as he'd intended, expecting me to land helplessly in the path of the ego golf. Then ego's narrow eyes widened as my bare feet flew out and slammed into ego's chest, knocking ego ten feet back and onto the stone chair. An ordinary man would have had a broken sternum, but the Indian only rubbed his chest thoughtfully and came up to me again, this time with some caution. Stepping forward, he spoke words I couldn't understand.
  
  
  "I don't understand a single word," emu told her, " and that's too bad, because the one around us is saying his last words."
  
  
  By this time, the stiletto was swirling in my palm until it wanted a hole that would allow me to pierce the ego of folding a dollar. At the same time, a voice crackled in ego ruku, who also wanted a loophole. When the smash got tangled up in a second, it rushed forward with the tip of the knife. He jumped to the side and swung the "Thug"at the same time. I ducked as the bronze stars danced over my head.
  
  
  "You're fine with these things, my friend. Now let's see how you are without them."
  
  
  It was made by a false attack, and the Headbreaker fell with a whoosh like a locomotive. Her ego caught her hand and yanked out the nah gold handle. When his body slammed into mine, hers, and his ego with a left hook to life. It was like pounding on a stone wall and moaning. Thug and stiletto both fell to the rocks. Her, grabbed onto ego's quilted armor and dropped the emu's jaw with his knee. When it bounced off him, and her emu cut her shoulder.
  
  
  It was supposed to be the scene where he fell to the floor. Instead, he jumped up and nearly knocked the breath out of me. In my confusion, they came to two conclusions. First, South American Indians are experts in soccer, or any other sport that involves a constellation of kicks today. Secondly, I thought I smelled a faint pungent lime leaf smell. The Incas, like most other people in this part of the world, usually chewed coca and lime leaves as a preparation. Perhaps my enemy was so high on cocaine that the emu would have needed to stare to feel the pain.
  
  
  And I understood one more thing all too well; her breathing was heavy, just like Belkevs. He was exhausted from the ordeal of the paint job.
  
  
  All he had to do was stand on his feet until he fell. He knew that as well as she did. Hers lazily hit his ego with a left hook to the jaw. He fell under nah and kicked me on the rocks. An elbow to ego windpipe held ego down until he was on his feet again, swaying like a drunk.
  
  
  The Odin around early Aztec bravery rituals called for one captured warrior to stand up to four Aztec soldiers, three around them right-handed, and the fourth left-handed. A lone warrior had to fight them one at a time with a feathered war club; ego opponents used clubs with obsidian blades. I didn't know if the Incas used the same kind of torture, but this situation was pretty close to it. The Indian was as fresh and strong as he had been in the beginning, but I was dead, I didn't have enough air sampling, and he was ready to fall.
  
  
  He didn't even bother to use the bola left on his golden belt. Every time I got to my feet, he would kick me, forcing me back to my knees. I knew that soon I wouldn't even be able to get it up. My body felt numb and sick from lack of oxygen; hers moved slowly, stiffly. He even prayed that the KGB would come with a rescue team, but I knew he was still playing Gestapo games in the village. One or two more drops on the rocks and I'll have a thread.
  
  
  The Indian confidently made a big jump and hit me with both feet on the ground. It was easy enough for me to fall, but when I did, I reached up and grabbed the dangling bola, pulling it with all the strength I had left. The Indian screamed as he felt the momentum carry ego off the platform; then he disappeared with a wave of his hands.
  
  
  She was on all fours, panting and couldn't keep up with Ego's descent. If he had been able to get back up to the top of the stairs at that moment, I was sure that the bench press would have allowed him to kill me. But he didn't come back, and with each passing second, my dollar stack calmed down, and I felt new sensations in my limbs.
  
  
  My knife and Thug are gone, they flew off the platform during the paint job. All I have left is a gas bomb, useless under these other circumstances. But there was Belkevs - and Belkevs were a good bait.
  
  
  Her slid off the end of the platform and Stahl descended the steps in the moonlight. There was complete silence. A Russian found her five minutes later. Putting his thumb to ego's temple convinced him that he was only temporarily dead to the world. Bola is entangled with the ego of nog. It was quickly turned around by ego and disappeared into the shadows.
  
  
  The Indian was supposed to come back after Belkevs and me. He forced his heart to fold and beat more slowly, even at the risk of losing consciousness due to lack of oxygen. It wasn't too much of a risk when it was thought that anyone living in the high Andes should be highly aware, always alert to the slightest sign of danger. He was right, because he sensed the ego's presence even before he saw it.
  
  
  The Indian was a thin shadow, a little harder than the shadows around him. He slid across the clad stones of the temple wall only ten feet from Belkevs uneven body. There, he lay motionless in one spot for ten minutes, judging by the number of heartbeats I had, before deciding that I must have headed back to the village for help. My ego's attention was now focused on the still body sprawled out in front of it; I let the adrenaline rush through my veins to speed up my last reserves of energy.
  
  
  The moon saint reflected the glint of the sacrificial knife as it flew through the air. At that moment, the bola swung at her and released her. The Indian looked up just in time to see two loads whirling toward the ego heads, but he didn't have time to move. An ugly wheezing sound escaped through the rta ego as the weights tangled around the throat ego. Ego's eyes widened and his body went rigid. After a moment, the ego's sphincter muscles will relax and it will start spoiling the air around it on the spot. He was dead, strangled, and his neck was broken. He went down like a house of cards, one hand coming out of the assembly line, then another, and he lunged forward at Belkevu, still holding the knife in his hand.
  
  
  She rolled over, breathing in relief. Her knife was being knocked out by ego's stiff fingers as my dollar stack began to pound again. The cloud moved away from luna's face, and she saw the dead man's face clearly. There was no gold plate in the ego skull. It was a different man - it was the Indian's bait.
  
  
  I dove to the ground before I could even hear the whisper of the Indian bola swirling down my throat. The metal grazed my back and slammed into the wall. I saw a figure with a golden flame on its head rushing towards me, leaping over the dead man's body and swinging its second bola high above my head. She hugged the wall and rolled to the side as Odin's cargo dug into the ground next to my ear. Then he swung it, swung the bola, and caught ego, using ego power to lift me off the ground. Our
  
  
  the arms connected, and everyone around us swung at the same time, dumbbells clashing and clanking eerily in the night.
  
  
  One clean hit with one on the kettlebell can hit the chest, and a successful throw could choke the neck. There was no choice of weapons at hand, and no Dr. Thompson who could invent a defense. I had to hit Inca ego-ego with a weapon; it was just as he planned it.
  
  
  When our smash connected, he pressed me to moan. Our legs were pouncing on each other, looking for a way to defuse blows to the groin or to any tribe. It was my turn to slam ego against the wall, pulling the bola around his throat. Before ego could intercept him, he swung his weapon at my kidney. He immediately followed up, slamming his bola into my face. Her ego was distracted, but my entire left arm was numb from the impact.
  
  
  We were now moving away from the pyramid and entering a courtyard that was filled with grotesque statues that were half human and half beast. They were old Inca scarecrows waiting to be rid of a dead enemy. Because of the wound in one arm, I could no longer use the bola as a shield, and the Indian attacked me with renewed ferocity. It's time for the death blow. He was crippled and suffocated. We were both bleeding, our footprints decorated the ground, but the killer could taste my death. As I ducked awkwardly away from Bola, the weapon grazed my thigh. He rolled to his feet and almost fell. There was no sensation in the entire right side of my body.
  
  
  He was waiting for her, his back pressed against one of the statues. Close enough for ego to feel her breath, the Indian curled up to throw the bola at his leisure. He knew I wasn't going anywhere. Then, before it was set, the balloons flew at me like deadly spinning planets. They wrapped around my head, and the bronze chain cut deep into my throat, closing my ego. The Indian pulled out his sacrificial knife and leaped at me, preparing to cut me out of the dollar stack while it was still working.
  
  
  He was in the air, unable to hold on as he was able to swing the bola up towards the ego heads with one hand. The heavy metal ball slammed into ego's jaw and hit the middle of his face, driving the broken bones into his brain. A golden plate popped out over the skull's ego; it was dead before it even landed.
  
  
  I painfully grabbed the bola that was already wrapped around my neck, and found that it was also wrapped around the statue's neck. If it wasn't there, it would be sprawled out on the courtyard stones.
  
  
  When he finally returned to Belkevu, he found him huddled in the dark, shivering and irritable. We followed the path that led directly to the village, and with each step he grew braver.
  
  
  "No decent bodyguard would let them grab me. It's not my job to defend myself. It's your job, " he said, laughing.
  
  
  But on the way down, the mountain drew its last breath before settling, and when the jolt passed, the Russian was once again plunged into a terrible silence.
  
  
  The bodyguards ' egos won them over as soon as we reached the outskirts of Aukankilchi. The mayor and curator of the museum were also there to greet us, and I told them to go up to the temple if they were still looking for items of historical interest. The curator took off like a sand flea and returned to the city an hour later with accusing eyes.
  
  
  "There was nothing there," he said. "I would like to go anywhere. Maybe you were fighting a ghost."
  
  
  "It's not a ghost," emu told the doctor, who was still visiting my cuts and bruises, pointing out the purple spots that covered my arms and legs. "Or this," he added, pointing to the raw red circle around my neck.
  
  
  "But there was nothing there, nothing at all," the curator objected.
  
  
  "Other than that," emu told her, and handed her a triangular gold plate.
  
  
  He examined it carefully, turning it in different directions and between his fingers. Then I saw a sudden struggle of understanding come into my ego's eyes. He hurriedly dropped the gold plate and wiped his hands with a washing motion, his eyes becoming mine as if he was seeing me for the first time.
  
  
  "How?" he whispered hoarsely.
  
  
  "I think the scarecrows have decided to switch sides," her emu chuckled.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter Ten
  
  
  
  
  
  Two days later, the cool air of Aukankilchi was almost a sweet memory. We visited the Santiago nitrate plant, the Chukukamata copper mines, and the sands of the great Atacama Desert.
  
  
  There is no desert like the Atacama. It covers most of the northern half of Chile. The ego's flat planes fade into a white horizon, barely distinguishable from the colorless sky.
  
  
  Lizards and snakes wait for the night before they leave their rocks, not when there is little life to be seen, except for giant condors that venture out around their nests high in the Andes in search of carrion. The Atacama is the driest desert in the world, its stretches more forbidding than the Sahara or the Gobi, and there is no better reminder of this fact than the black silhouette of one of Chile's national birds flying overhead.
  
  
  "I wish she could go back to Germany," Greta muttered, looking around the tent where she was being checked for scorpion holes in the ground where the girls would sleep. Greta was dressed in some skimpy field tracksuit, which belied the media reports that appeared to me about how we were rudely interrupted on the night of the earthquake.
  
  
  "Join the Communist Party and see the world. You should appreciate their help. Well, it looks like there are no insects here."
  
  
  She grabbed my arm as I was leaving through the gate and pulled me close. Obviously, she wasn't wearing a bra under her T-shirt.
  
  
  "Stay and keep me company. You are welcome. Then I won't have to think about this awful place."
  
  
  "In the middle of a small camp in the middle of the day with a madman, a potential lover, and ego bodyguards everywhere? This doesn't seem like the best place for a romance, Greta. The sun sets here too. "
  
  
  "But what if Belkevy wants to come to my place tonight? You don't know what he's making me do."
  
  
  "You know the old saying:"Politics makes strange associates.""
  
  
  I walked from her tent to the line of Land Rovers that provided our transport through the Atacama. A web-based concession to Belkevs concerns is a jeep with a rear-mounted machine gun at the head of the line. It was found by Belkeva and Ego of the bodyguards in the Land Rover that was carrying our food and water.
  
  
  "A voice and a Killmaster," Belkev chuckled.
  
  
  "How do I know he's not dragging me into this desert to kill me?"
  
  
  "It was your idea, comrade," emu told her. "You were afraid to fly or take a boat, remember? It's too easy to put a bomb in one around them."
  
  
  "It's very safe, Comrade Minister," ego ego assured the bodyguards, " as long as we have water. There are no Indians around, and we keep in constant radio contact. We should reach the government station by tomorrow night."
  
  
  Belkiew turned on his heel and strode back to his tent, where he was feeding a supply of vodka.
  
  
  "He may be a good salesman, but he's a good one," the chief bodyguard said. "He didn't even thank you for saving his life. I'll do it for him."
  
  
  "Forget it."
  
  
  "Just one thing, Carter. Why are you trying so hard to protect Comrade Belkevs life? Its been trying to figure this out with them ferrets since you joined us. I'll be honest with you - I don't have orders to kill you if anything happens to him. If that were the case, I would understand your concern."
  
  
  "You can just call it professional pride."
  
  
  The bodyguard thought about it.
  
  
  "You are good, and your reputation is good. I wouldn't want to meet you again under different circumstances. It would mean something if you were the person who eliminated us."
  
  
  "Flattery won't get us anywhere."
  
  
  "But you still haven't answered my corkscrew. Why is AX so interested in the skin of a pig like Alexander Belkevs? Don't tell me about the exchange of information in the missile silos. You know what-what else."
  
  
  "And his, I'm sure you'd like to beat it out around me."
  
  
  "In fact, but please do not confuse this desire with the painful impulses of Comrade Belkeva. My goal is to ensure the success of the party, and nothing else. We will win, you know."
  
  
  "Of course. Today Chile, tomorrow the whole world."
  
  
  "In a way, yes."
  
  
  The charming conversation ended with a summons to dinner. A folding aluminum chair was installed, and everyone played a game of eating around canned meat and potatoes. However, the main dish was peaches, and I wasn't surprised when Belkiewo proudly informed me that the cans were brought around the Soviet Union.
  
  
  "My favorite. Mulligin, vegetable stew, " her egos boasted.
  
  
  "We have that in Cuba, too," Rosa said. "We call it ropa vieja."
  
  
  Belkev was delighted with this simple coincidence between the Allies, until he told Emu that the translation of the word ropa vieja is "Swedish aspiration".
  
  
  Before he got drunk, he left the picnic and picked up his gear. Her hotel is located in the desert, away from the camp, because the probability that the Myrists will try to attack in the Atacama is very small. Small, but still there is a chance. If so, it would work better alone than alone.
  
  
  the confusion of hand-to-hand combat.
  
  
  He found a relatively high spot about two hundred yards from the tents and built a strip around the brush. Then, while it was still light, he made a full circle around the area, checking all possible approaches to the area.
  
  
  The Atacama is not a desert of sand dunes. It is more like a desert, consisting of dense, absolutely waterless land. A few plant species are gray low-growing shrubs and wiry cacti. It was cut by one of the cacti to find out how much liquid is stored in such a barrel of natural water. The flesh inside it may have deteriorated under the factory press, but if we ever become dependent on living off the land, the chances of survival will be less than Thalia scorpio. At least the condors made a good job out of our corpses, especially according to Belkeva.
  
  
  Skirting her private camp, she might just find the natural path of thought if the Myrists were crazy enough to venture through the Atacama. The maelstrom that had formed so many years ago lay open beneath my camp, open where it would have been worth it. Satisfied, I retraced my steps and decided it was time to repair the damage to my gun, if I could find it. A sturdy-looking cactus picked it out and sat down a few yards away, taking his time, holding the Luger in both hands, his forearms resting on his knees. There was a yellow handle on the plant, and he used it as a target before taking his first shot.
  
  
  A hole appeared two inches from the handle. Another shot fired it. The hole widened by a centimeter. The angle of the barrel was about ten degrees. Her father hit him with a rock and tried the gun again. A new hole was made through the hole, this time an inch lower. In a shootout, that inch could mean the difference between life and death. On the other hand, a rougher shot might close out a long shot and leave me unarmed altogether. He aimed the gun a fraction of an inch higher and detonated the yellow handle.
  
  
  Before the pieces hit the ground, he ducked into the mud and aimed the rifle at his windbreak.
  
  
  I shouted it out. - "Get out"
  
  
  A shock of red hair appeared, and then I saw Livia's face. Around all the girls in Belkevs harem, only she didn't look at me.
  
  
  "Don't shoot," she said. "After your demonstration, she is absolutely convinced that you can put a bullet anywhere you want."
  
  
  He motioned for her to get up. Lila was the Amazon of a woman who usually sat with her hands on her wide hips. At first glance, she reminded me of the Press sisters, but her waist was slim and her broad face, while not attractive in the endearing Hollywood style, had a powerful sexiness that wasn't worth ten cardboard smiles.
  
  
  "I followed you after dinner, but when he arrived, you were already gone. What were you doing?"
  
  
  I didn't see any reason to lie to hey. I explained my exploration of the area and then asked her why she followed me. By this time, we were sitting on my bed sharing a cigarette.
  
  
  "Do you think I don't know what's going on between you and the other girls?"
  
  
  She leaned back on the roll-up pillow, her red hair unbound. In her sticky Russian blouse, her breasts heaved like hard pillows.
  
  
  "What about your boyfriend?" I asked her. "Won't he miss you?"
  
  
  "Alexandrovich? He gets mad at you, and when he gets mad, he gets drunk. He's already in a stupor. He won't wake up until morning, and I'll be back by then. It's different for me. for running away during the earthquake. Now that we're here, in the middle of this wasteland, I don't see why she should stay with him. Its free. Look, it's the sun setting. "
  
  
  The sun seemed to grow larger and larger as it approached the horizon, and now it slammed into the ground and filled the desert with a bronze glow. Everything that had been ugly and desolate just a few moments ago was now strangely beautiful. That's how I could imagine the Martian desert. Then the aura disappeared, and the desert was plunged into darkness. We watched as the lanterns in the camp below lit up.
  
  
  "It's so different. I don't know if we Russians will get used to it," Lilya sighed.
  
  
  "It's not like Chileans themselves are ever used to this particular place. As far as I can tell, we're the only people in nen right now."
  
  
  "I know."
  
  
  Her rich sensuality shrouded the deserted night in an atmosphere of intimacy. She looked at me with dark eyes as she unbuttoned her blouse and laid it on the ground. Most of the Russian women he'd ever made love to were lithe ballerinas compared to Lila. It was strong enough to tip the small car over on its side, but
  
  
  her broad shoulders more than matched the smoothness of her creamy chest.
  
  
  "Come here, my assassin," she ordered.
  
  
  This time, he was paired with a woman almost as strong as his, a woman with the most primitive and urgent desires. Nothing was forbidden, and nothing was left to chance. Every inch of her body was passionate and alive, and by the time we were joined in a final embrace, we were down like the sun, glowing and glowing.
  
  
  Then we snuggled up to the bedroom, and she gave me a small bottle of vodka that she secretly pulled out around Belkevs tent.
  
  
  "If I'd known you were coming, I'd have brought her a glass," I said.
  
  
  "Mmmm. Are all American spies good lovers?"
  
  
  "We have a special course. At the end of the day, there are standards to adhere to."
  
  
  "You support ih very well," she laughed. "You are doing well. I'd like her to see you fight an Indian." I don't think the minister is worth such joint ventures."
  
  
  Her lips took a sip of vodka, and she handed the bottle back to me. Her, leaned on his elbow to drink a nah.
  
  
  "The manufacturer of this sleeping place, forgot that I might have guests. It's a little cramped here."
  
  
  "I love it," she giggled, pressing her body against mine.
  
  
  "I will call you Nikita. Since you are working with us, you must have a Russian name."
  
  
  "Nikita Carter," he tasted it. "I do not know how the boys would have liked it at home."
  
  
  "The girls here really like it. My Nikita, she would like you to stop risking your life for the sake of that worthless Alexander. I'd hate to see anything happen to you." Please promise me you'll be more careful." "
  
  
  "I promise."
  
  
  "I don't believe you," she pouted. "You say that now, but every time something happens, you throw yourself in front of Belkevym. Can I tell you a secret that you won't tell anyone? Belkiew is a fool, an idiot. No one in Moscow cares if he ever comes back . "
  
  
  "Then vote what I tell you. Let's all jump in the land Rovers early in the morning and leave ego here. We'll give Em a bottle of vodka for the night and a bottle of suntan lotion for the day."
  
  
  "I like the idea," she smiled. Her fingers caressed my chest. "I'd be even better off if I knew I'd see you again. Where are you going in Chile, Nikita?"
  
  
  "Back home. I work as a professor of erotic incunabula when I don't have any assignments."
  
  
  "Are you kidding me? Yes, you're kidding me. You're always joking, Nikita. Its never know when you tell me the truth. I would be very relieved if it became known why you are guarding Belkevu. So imagine her bad things that make me worry.
  
  
  He put his hand on hers.
  
  
  "You're a beautiful girl, Lilya," her father said.
  
  
  "Thank you."
  
  
  "Do you think I'm telling you the truth?"
  
  
  "Well, I dunno, but I'd like to believe you."
  
  
  "Good, because that's how you are. Beautiful and incredibly sexy. And the voice is something else, which is true. You're probably the sexiest agent in the entire KGB."
  
  
  She pulled her hand away from mine.
  
  
  "You're going to make fun of me again forever. Or do you think everyone is a spy?"
  
  
  "No, just you. The Kremlin would never allow a depraved old fool like Belkevto travel an outdoor swimming pool if he couldn't control the ego, and the only way to control such a person is through sex. You're the one who's always with him, making sure he shuts up and goes to bed when he drinks too much and starts talking. No one could have done it with Belkevy, so they gave you the job. And with them ferret-like egos the people in the camp weren't you were able to figure out the reason why her, joined in the fun, you thought you could figure out." He ran his hand over the skin of her satin dress. "Here, Lila, if anyone could, you could. But you can't."
  
  
  "You bastard!"
  
  
  That was the first thing she said in English.
  
  
  "You want the truth."
  
  
  "Let go, assassin."
  
  
  She took off her sleeping bag and stood up. Naked and angry, she was angry.
  
  
  "If I ever see her in Moscow, I will order her to be killed. With pleasure."
  
  
  A luger pulled her out from its side of the sleeping area and handed her to Ay.
  
  
  "Go, Lilya. Do it now. As far as I understand it, the girl who does this will have a big reward, and a dacha. Just pull the trigger."
  
  
  Without hesitation, she pointed my gun at my butt. A cool breeze ruffled her long red hair, coaxing her shoulders. Her, looked at the dark stream of the trunk. She took the gun in both hands and pulled the trigger.
  
  
  Click.
  
  
  She stared at the weapon with a dazed expression on her face.
  
  
  Then she dropped the ego to the ground. He held out his hand.
  
  
  "You see, Lilya, we're not in Moscow yet."
  
  
  Anger turned to amusement. She threw back her head and laughed at herself; then she took my hand and climbed back into the bedroom.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter Eleven
  
  
  
  
  
  Belkiew was bloated and hungover. He pushed aside the canned Russian peaches and ordered another cup of coffee. If there's one good thing about South America, it's coffee.
  
  
  "And then one more day in cars and a train ride to Santiago, I'll get rid of you," he told me haughtily.
  
  
  "This is very bad. I thought we'd become good friends. That's the beauty of this trip."
  
  
  Ego's mouth was moving, as if trying to say something to rheumatism, but ego's brain wasn't working. Frowning, he bent his face over his cup.
  
  
  "I don't have to give you anything," Rose said, holding a steaming mug in front of me.
  
  
  "Why not?"
  
  
  "You know why not." She looked at Lila. The redhead went back to her KGB persona. It was as if last night had never happened, her eyes told me.
  
  
  "Don't be angry," I told Rose when she relented and handed me the cup. "I was busy last night keeping the Myrists away."
  
  
  "There were no myrists."
  
  
  Will see.
  
  
  The bodyguards returned while hiking the trail leading around the camp. Ih chief sel is right next to me.
  
  
  "We can pack everything in the cars as soon as the minister finishes his breakfast. The journey is long, but a special train will be waiting for us at the station. From now on, we shouldn't have a problem.
  
  
  "All right."
  
  
  He studied me for a second before getting up to help the others dismantle their tents.
  
  
  "I told hey, she's not getting anything, Carter," he said, looking at me.
  
  
  "But you're wrong, she did it."
  
  
  He let emu take it the way he wanted and went back to his coffee. As I set the mug down on a chair, I felt a slight vibration run through my fingers. Just a shiver from some distant earthquake, I thought. Chile was full of ih.
  
  
  "The condors showed up early this morning," Greta said.
  
  
  "It's nice to go ahead," Lilya replied.
  
  
  The tremor he felt on the table was getting stronger. She wanted the sky; he couldn't see the condors. But I saw a jet plane coming towards us quickly. The web reason he could see it was because in a flat desert, the eye could cover fifteen miles of sky in any direction. The senior bodyguard also noticed this and ran towards me.
  
  
  "Get down! Everyone get down! " he shouted.
  
  
  The Cuban girls stood up and waved their handkerchiefs at the approaching plane. Belkev raised his bloodshot eyes without interest.
  
  
  The plane flew low over us, one wing swerved. The chair shook in a rheumatic roar of engines that drowned out our screams. It sped by mimmo and rose into the sky.
  
  
  "American," the bodyguard said. "Fighter".
  
  
  "What kind of plane was it?" - asked Belkiew after the answer. "It was more like a rocket than an airplane."
  
  
  "Fighter," the ego bodyguard says.
  
  
  "On its tail was the marking of the Chilean Air Force. Her, I heard that we are transferring some Starfighter fighters to Chile. Trust the Department of Defense to keep selling ego planes, even when its customers have turned red."
  
  
  "It's obvious," Belkevs said. "They sent a plane to guard us. It's about time."
  
  
  The plane flew overhead, at a high altitude.
  
  
  "I called on the radio this morning. The army didn't say anything about the plane," the bodyguard complained.
  
  
  "So what? You can ih on the radio now, and thank you. Go ahead."
  
  
  The bodyguard walked over to the Land Rover with the transmitter and shook his head. Belkev dabbed at his lips with a paper napkin.
  
  
  "See? Now it's coming back, " he said with great complacency.
  
  
  The fighter was descending and racing back across the desert toward the camp, preparing to fly openly over us. Everyone stood and watched. The fighter lowered its nose and leaned toward us. This was the moment when my thoughts boiled over. No one sends fighter jets as cover. Starfighter is a highly specialized bomber / fighter, attack aircraft.
  
  
  "Get down, everybody dive!"
  
  
  Twenty-foot-high columns of dust began to cover the ground a hundred yards away. Lovely spangles of silver glittered around the plane's gun. Belkiew was standing right in the middle of the projectile trajectory.
  
  
  She was hit by an ego leg block from a Minnesota Viking
  
  
  He landed hard on his back and rolled under the chair. He scrambled up to the defenses of the dismantled tent. The entire territory of the hotel, and on which we were lying, crawling, hugging, broke through under the queue of 20 mm. shells. Through the smoke, I could see the Belkevy chair flying through the air. The girls ' jack burst through the thunder generated by the fighter's engine as the jet pulled away from us.
  
  
  The entire center of the camp was torn apart by shelling. I ran up to Belkevu and found that the emu was still lucky. He was curled up in a fetal position, untouched. One of the bodyguards ' egos wasn't so lucky. We found Ego's body lying on the torn ground, a gun in his hand.
  
  
  "You Americans are behind this!"
  
  
  "Shut up."
  
  
  He grabbed my shirt and started fighting me. Its slipped under the ego ineffective right and kept the ego semi-Nelson. By this time, the head bodyguard had returned from all over the Land Rover, looking puzzled.
  
  
  "The Air Force didn't send the plane."
  
  
  You should know her. "Well, they're sending Odin now, aren't they?"
  
  
  “yeah. But it'll be ten minutes before they have anything here. They say we'll have to hold on."
  
  
  It was tacitly stated that we had as much chance against a Starfighter as an ant against a boot. The web reason we weren't destroyed on the first pass was because the bombardment started too early and scattered us. Even now, we could hear the engine whine as it lost altitude and the plane launched a second attack. She was pushed by Belkeva into the arms of a bodyguard.
  
  
  Greta screamed. - "Vote it!"
  
  
  I had to speak quickly so they could hear me before my voice was solving scientific research problems in the hoarse roar of a jet plane.
  
  
  "There's a ditch fifty yards to the left where we can get some protection. Run when I tell her to:"go." I'm going to do it in the rear." Her left arm shook, and the stiletto fell into my hand. "This is for anyone who backs out. All right, he thought. Go ahead!"
  
  
  After the dusty feathers began to cover the camp again, making their way towards us. For a moment, the group sat mesmerized, like an animal waiting for a cobra strike. Then, when he was brandishing his knife, it broke, and everyone rushed out of the stream. The problem was that no matter how fast we ran, it wasn't enough to avoid the nightmare that was chasing us. The air itself was boiling with heavy lead rain. Geysers of dust reached me, holding back my shaggy legs. Bonita fell, and he picked her up without stopping. We couldn't see the others because of the falling mud, and we were still stumbling when we fell into the stream. When her, looked up, her, saw that the fighter had passed almost all of the camp and was climbing for the next pass.
  
  
  "Is everyone here?" I shouted.
  
  
  A chorus of frightened voices answered, but no one seemed to be hurt.
  
  
  Greta shivered. "Are we safe here?"
  
  
  "Don't be a fool," Lily snapped. "Ego On the next pass, this dirt crumbles like dust. Then, on the next pass, it will kill us."
  
  
  "They're trucks," Greta said hysterically, pointing at the land Rovers. "Why didn't we run after the trucks?"
  
  
  "Because it's easier for many people to hit a truck than a running person. Trucks would only be a death trap, " her father said.
  
  
  The stream wasn't much better than this. The fighter pilot shortened his turn this time, as if he was gaining confidence. He was already closing in on us again, but this time he held back his gun until we were looking almost openly into the cockpit. Odin and his bodyguards began to press the shots, and I had to reach out and drag Ego back into the shelter of the trench.
  
  
  "You're not going to bother the ego with this," I shouted, but my words were lost in the roar of the air cannon. The entire side of the stream exploded in flames. Chunks of earth flew up a hundred feet. We were covered in a shower of garbage. When the mud cloud finally cleared, there was nothing left of the earthen rampart. The arm of the bodyguard who held her was staggering with blood. He swore in Russian.
  
  
  He crawled up to Belkevu.
  
  
  "Give me your gillette."
  
  
  "Never. Go away."
  
  
  There was no time to argue. Her ego punched him in the jaw, and watched as the ego's eyes rolled back. Then Gillett took it off him. As ego was putting it on, Lilya grabbed the bodyguard's gun and made ego explicit between my eyes.
  
  
  "Where do you think you're going?" she snarled at me.
  
  
  "Wait, Lilya. The next move will be the last if we don't do something quickly. I'll move it to a Jeep, and I'll need it a lot more than an EMU."
  
  
  
  It was impossible to reach the jeep parked in the camp. It was a good distance, but I remembered the light machine gun that was mounted in the back.
  
  
  "You wouldn't have had a chance," she said.
  
  
  "Maybe not, but a little action will give us time until other planes arrive. Who can drive a Jeep here?"
  
  
  Lilya lowered the gun and shook her head. The bodyguard growled as if he could only use both hands. Then Rose and Bonita started talking.
  
  
  "We rode one all the time when we were in the women's militia."
  
  
  "Well, if we ever get around this alive, you can thank Fidel for me."
  
  
  This time the Starfighter was approaching at a slower speed and at a different angle, so that it was traveling along the length of the ditch rather than across it. Anyone who gets caught in the ego zone of action will be a mouse trapped.
  
  
  "Come on!"
  
  
  They jumped out of the trenches and ran across the torn ground. The jet's wings swayed momentarily in indecision as the pilot spotted us. Even at a lower speed, he was flying at three hundred miles per hour, and he didn't have much time to make a decision. We took advantage of our unexpected appearance and ran in a straight line instead of zigzagging. Behind us, the noise of the jet's engines grew louder. Her, waiting for his rifle to blow us off the face of the earth.
  
  
  The fighter turned right and left, first firing at us and then at the men in the ditch. But the ego's momentary hesitation took up the time, and it was already too late to see us. Frustrated, he lost his angle and rose steeply, becoming only a speck in the sky.
  
  
  We jumped into the Jeep, the girls in the front seat and me in the back. The keys were in the ignition, and Rose's engine was running smoothly as she loaded the plastic belt of ammunition into the machine gun. While working, he gave Ay instructions on how to start moving when the Starfighter returned for the kill.
  
  
  "We're going to have a bullfight, right?"
  
  
  "Exactamente".
  
  
  The plane turned furiously toward the camp. There was no doubt about it - it was flying straight towards us. At the last moment, she was touched on the shoulder by Rose, and the Jeep rolled forward. We went about fifty feet in first gear, and then she turned the signs ninety degrees to the right and put the dual-clutch into third, and we were off.
  
  
  The fighter was hovering behind us. He could feel the growing rage of the pilot's ego. The fighter was equipped with air-to-air missiles, which were useless against us. He had already wasted precious time, and the other Chilean planes should have already taken off. However, he had a rifle and a stand with five-hundred-pound bombs, and it was too much if anyone ever saw it.
  
  
  Rose was skilled. The Jeep used every bump in the desert's hard ground to strip the ego out of our species, which also made it harder for me, as I was now staring openly at the approaching nose of the plane. It used up ten inches of clip, bouncing around in the back of the Jeep. The plane didn't flinch.
  
  
  Geysers whizzed past us.
  
  
  "Straight ahead, turn straight ahead!"
  
  
  The dust plumes got close to the tires and flew up into the air, so I couldn't see what I was shooting at.
  
  
  "Dash!"
  
  
  The Jeep jumped when a shell tore off part of the ego landing gear, but after the ground exploded, it turned away from us as the plane screamed by mimmo. She had just started to breathe again when the entire desert seemed to explode. I didn't see him take pictures of the bombs from his stand. A heavy rock slammed into my chest; only my bulletproof vest kept it from coming out all the way down my back. Miraculously, Rose kept the Jeep moving while the machine gun spun on its mount and I lay dazed on the floor.
  
  
  "He's back, Nick!"
  
  
  The fighter cut the turns sharper and lower, covering the desert floor at the speed of sound. It was barely standing when the pilot pressed the joystick, and the rifle began to rumble across the desert again as the fighter approached us. Rose swung the steering wheel sharply to the right and kept it steady as she drove the Jeep around in a circle.
  
  
  "No way! Cut in the other direction."
  
  
  We were heading outright into the stream of bullets that were flying at us. The Jeep's windshield was smashed by a flying rock, and the car screeched on two wheels as we floated in the line of fire. The fighter jet immediately swerved to another signpost to rain down more deadly rain on us.
  
  
  The jet-powered rifle was the MK 11, a twin-barrel, air-cooled, gas-powered submachine gun that fired 20 mm ammunition with an electric drive on an eight-chamber rotating cylinder. Everything changed after the encounter with an Indian swinging a bola. The time it takes for the pilot to release the trigger is up to
  
  
  The number of rounds fired was one three-thousandth of a second. This is what is called an instant reaction. The only advantage we had was the reaction time between the pilot's brain and the ego with the trigger finger. He could probably have halved that time. The problem was that if I didn't hit it - or the fuel line - the fire I had would have had the same effect as heavy rain. The fighter jet was one hell of a plane.
  
  
  "Rose, how are you?" I asked her suddenly.
  
  
  "It's scary, Nick. When will the other planes be here?"
  
  
  Bad timing, he knew now. The pilot should have killed us long ago, and we're not always lucky.
  
  
  "Just do as I say. Hold the Jeep thirty until it's on top of us, then turn right and step on the gas. You won't be able to hear me when he gets too close, so just keep turning to the side. bullets. This time it will go very low and slow."
  
  
  That's exactly what he did, cutting through the ground no higher than fifty feet to get the longest possible angle. He braced his feet and fired a long burst. He could almost see the shells flying toward the fighter's nose. He returned fire, smothering us in leaden dust, each gawk capable of knocking the Jeep through side to side. Rose frantically hacked at the wheel as the plane continued to descend, the pilot pushing back sharply and pulling the trigger. Two tear drops could be seen flying through the air from the bomb holder. Bonita shouted. The jeep's rear wheels slid and spun on the ground as Rose tried to turn away from the falling trees.
  
  
  One bomb landed fifty yards away; the other was almost in our laps. The Jeep was thrown into the air like a toy car. He fell on his side, throwing us out like dolls, and kept bouncing. My vision turned red when I found her feet; I wiped the blood from her eyes. Rose and Bonita were half buried in the ground, and Rose was bleeding around the ears, then concussed by five hundred pounds of explosives. They were both alive - but not for long. I do not know how much time she lost, stunned on the ground, but the Starfighter was making the last signposts for the final strike.
  
  
  Her, he raced to the jeep. He stood on the wheels. The windshield was cut off, and the machine gun was bent in half. I jumped behind the wheel and turned on the key. At the second corner, the engine started. "God bless all the boys who make Jeeps," he muttered aloud. He had covered the distance of one foot when he realized that something else was wrong. The right front wheel was missing. Blown up. Absent.
  
  
  "Okay, flyer, it's just you and me now. I hope you don't mind going around in circles."
  
  
  It flew across the desert like a giant mechanical condor rushing after the harvest. I cut it to the right and held the wheel. If he'd tried to go any further to the left, the car would have flipped over. A string of 22mm projectiles, woven by a Gatling Fighter jet, shell behind me. With each impact, the jeep's right front end lifted off the solid ground. Now the bullfight has really begun. "Maybe I'm crazy," he said to himself, " but suddenly I'm convinced that I have this bull.
  
  
  The Starfighter is one of the most advanced aircraft ever produced-so sophisticated that many pilots won't want to fly the nen. In West Germany, this is called the Fatal Widow. The plane is modeled after a rocket; the fuselage is thick and snub-nosed, the wings are razor-sharp and short. Take your hands off the controls of any other aircraft and it will glide with the aerodynamic lift of its wings. The Starfighter has all the brick planing models, which is why it got such a powerful engine. He already knew from the fact of his survival that this pilot was impatient but inexperienced. As I was told earlier, the Mirists were just beginning to infiltrate the Chilean Air Force. The man who tried to shoot me must have been one of the first to enter. He had used one of the best hammers in the world to kill an ant, but in his hands was a hammer that could strike back.
  
  
  Its coiled lines of ego fire, oblivious to the cannon. Once, then twice, the Jeep shuddered as the shells hit. Projectiles ricocheted off the hull, some around them ending up in my gillett like Death, trying to get my attention. He could smell the dry zest of the afterburner as he left. The bull was ready.
  
  
  When the Jeep's engine was running, it was still sitting on three wheels when he returned. I was sure of the grim knowledge that - one way or another-our war was about to end. The pilot knew that, too. Two miles away, it slowed down as it came into my line of sight, slowing down at a relative speed of two hundred and fifty miles an hour.
  
  
  A bullfighter's prowess is judged by how slowly he can turn the fighting bull around.
  
  
  The Jeep drove her as fast as it could, ripping up huge ruts on the ground, killing her friends. I was followed by another hole that had been knocked out by a cannon and was meant to be my grave. Then, instead of trying to cut through the ego's path, I expanded my circle again until it was large enough for the plane to turn around with me, making it as easy for the emu as possible. Behind me, the Fighter's huge engine was hitting the gas again - and again. The rifle caught up with the Jeep. The second tire burst. It swung until another shell flew mimmo of my head and opened the hood. The smoke rose for seconds, and he drove the exhausted Jeep to its death at ten miles an hour. When it came to a complete stop, they got behind the wheel and Stahl waited.
  
  
  The gun, too, stopped working, and there was an eerie silence. Then a fighter jet flashed overhead, its powerful engine quieting. The whistling wind around the wings let out a mournful cry. Her jumped out around the Jeep and covered her head.
  
  
  I do not know what flew through the heads of the piles in that last long second of flight. He must have realized that he had made a fatal mistake in slowing down below the two hundred and twenty miles per hour required to keep the rocket-like fighter in the air. When he turned on the afterburner and lit up. The fighter turned around the weapon in a coffin. It was too low-lying to eject - and the only way to get the jet engine going again was to dive at speed.
  
  
  Whatever our ego thoughts, brains, trigger fingers, rifles, and a million-dollar starfighter exploded in a bomb that rocked the Atacama, releasing a black-and-red fireball that rolled a thousand feet. As the secondary explosions turned into more fireballs, he wearily got up from the ground and hobbled back to what was left of the camp.
  
  
  The bullfight is over, and in fights, the bull never wins.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter Twelve
  
  
  
  
  
  A military train pulled up to Mapocho station in Santiago, and he saw that government officials were lined up on the platform to welcome the returning hero Alexander Belkevu. Soldiers in steel helmets walked the catwalks of the old Victorian railway station, keeping a wary eye on everyone in the crowd. At first I thought it was to protect Belkevu, but then I saw the confident figure of President Allende marching up the platform towards us.
  
  
  Belkev stepped forward and received his reward, a kiss from Allende; then, embracing each other, the two men descended the platform, leaving us behind. The only one around our entourage who followed us was the main bodyguard with a bandaged arm.
  
  
  When the platform was finally cleared of all bureaucrats, Belkevs girls also left. He went down the ramp to the luggage compartment. A metal coffin containing the remains of a bodyguard killed in the desert was lowered there by a hydraulic elevator. The clerk wanted someone who could sign the delivery receipt.
  
  
  "I'll take this," I said.
  
  
  "Do you have any documents?"
  
  
  "Her KGB record, can you tell me?"
  
  
  He signed it "Nikita Carter" and added it to the address of the Russian consulate. It was the least I could do for a man who was fighting a Starfighter with a gun.
  
  
  I went to the doctor from the train station and had my wounds stitched up. None of the bullets from the plane reached me, but I soon discovered that the bulletproof vest was so shattered that the ego frame had sunk into my chest in a dozen places. Then I took her for a walk along the avenues of Santiago, and later ate a rare Argentine salad, and a good Chilean wine. It made me feel almost human again.
  
  
  I was lingering over a cup of espresso with lemon zest when two hands gently slid down my throat.
  
  
  "Rose".
  
  
  Smiling, she released me and sat down.
  
  
  "How do you know?"
  
  
  "Just be happy that I did it. I thought you and Bonita had been taken back to the hotel."
  
  
  Instead of answering, she stared at my plate. He waved to the waiter and asked for another drink. It came out on the grill hot and sparse, and only after she had eaten most of the ego was it able to get out of nah rheumatism.
  
  
  "It's not forever anymore. You just need to take me and my sister back to the United States, to New York. I'm not going to spend another day with that pig and ego canned goulash."
  
  
  "You know I can't do that, Rose."
  
  
  Her clear dark eyes were pleading with me. Of course, she acted, but not without good reason.
  
  
  "You must. You will. I know you, Nick. Bonita and I risked the owl's life in that jeep. My ears are still aching and my whole body is covered in bruises. I made it for you - and you take me to New York in return."
  
  
  She finished speaking and quickly moved on to dessert, a caramel custard that was liberally doused with rum. The trouble is, she was right; she risked her life for saving me. He'd be pretty depressed if he wasn't willing to risk bella nah now.
  
  
  "Rose, how am I going to explain this when I show up with two Cuban beauties in bathing suits?"
  
  
  "We can be your translators."
  
  
  "I speak Spanish."
  
  
  "You can forget. Oh, thank you, Nick. “thanks. I knew you'd do it."
  
  
  "I didn't say I would, tailor take it." He lit it, lit it, and literally burst into flames. Then, I know what's eating me, she sighed. "Okay, I'll think of something for her."
  
  
  "I won," she shouted triumphantly, and swallowed the last spoonful of custard before standing up and taking my hand. "Now I have a feast for you. You once saw me dancing in a dreary diplomatic forum. Nothing like that. This time you will see me dance for real."
  
  
  We hailed a taxi and left Santiago's wide avenues as we entered an area of narrow, winding banners and closely spaced houses built in another century. We entered a corner cafe that was covered with posters of football and bullfighting. Bands of old Spanish guitars hung from the rafters of the ceiling. Obviously not when Rose was busy, as the owners greeted her enthusiastically, and the gray-haired man immediately removed one of his guitars and began tuning it.
  
  
  This time we didn't have to think about politics, we didn't have to think about the Minister of Trade all over Russia to poison the scene. Rose danced while the old man sang, and her grace restored the ego's voice to its former strength of youth and vitality. It was clapped to a rhythm that the rest of the impromptu audience joined in. Now I had no doubt that Rose would attract hundreds of clients to Chateau Madrid in New York.
  
  
  Red-faced and giddy, she flew into my arms, and he felt every throb of her aroused body against his chest. We went out for coffee and went openly to the hotel, openly to my room. Her ruffled flamenco dress fell to the floor like a bird taking flight, and he carried her to the bed.
  
  
  Our lovemaking echoed her dancing, passionate and wild. She savored the last drop and fell asleep on my chest, her legs still wrapped around me, a smile on her lips.
  
  
  This is the only transmission we have, a knock on the door.
  
  
  "Nikita, it's me, Lilya."
  
  
  "Not now, Lilya. I'm dreaming her."
  
  
  "You don't understand, I have to see you."
  
  
  "I'm busy."
  
  
  "Are you sleeping and busy? Ah, I understand her, " she said accusingly. "Then you'd better get rid of nah, hema if we had her. Belkiew is missing."
  
  
  Rose and I play this game as one. He quickly wrapped a sheet around her and pushed her into the bathroom. Then he opened it, got dressed, and let Lilya in.
  
  
  "Where is she?"
  
  
  "It doesn't matter. What do you mean, he's gone missing?"
  
  
  "Is that one of the Cuban girls around them? I'll kill her."
  
  
  "Belkev, remember? What happened?"
  
  
  Lily's red hair flushed as her eyes scanned the room. Reluctantly, she moved on to the subject.
  
  
  "There was a welcome reception at the Ministry of Foreign Trade. There were several students present on campus. Some of them were girls around them. They were a little pretty. At least that's what Belkev seemed to think, judging by the way he talked to them, inviting ih to join him here at the hotel. She told emu that it wasn't allowed, that we should first check if they were Myrists or not. He said us one around the girls would not have been detained at the front desk if they were. "
  
  
  Go on.
  
  
  "Well, her, I thought he would follow orders, but we split up in the crowd, and when ego tried to find her, he left. A soldier who was standing guard outside the Ministries said he saw Belkiew getting into a taxi with two female students ."
  
  
  He started to unbutton her shirt.
  
  
  "Aren't you going to do anything?" Lilya asked indignantly.
  
  
  "Look, I did my job. Somehow, I managed to keep this little pervert alive all over the country of Chile. It was returned by ego to Santiago and placed safely in the hands of your security apparatus. here. If he wants the ego killed so badly, that's your headache. I finished it. "
  
  
  "I'll put all available agents at your disposal."
  
  
  "I know. I know how you work. Thugs are running around the streets like crazy and won't get anywhere. I'll keep the money, you don't even have the taxi driver's name.
  
  
  "We will search."
  
  
  "By then, Belkev will be feeding sharks in the ocean."
  
  
  On the way out, she slammed the door. Rose went out, around the bathroom.
  
  
  "Nick, I thought you were going to stay here with me. Why
  
  
  do you wear a gun? "
  
  
  He tied the scabbard to her wrist and checked her ih. The stiletto slid into my hand.
  
  
  "You told hey you weren't going to help. Now you've changed your mind? You must be crazy."
  
  
  "I would be crazy if I wanted the entire KGB to follow me." He kissed her earlobe. "Don't wait."
  
  
  She was hailed by a taxi on Bernardo O'Higgins Boulevard and given an address that was a block away from the Ministry, which was run by my contact agent, AX. There was never a question whether I was going to use it for Belkevs or not. The problem was how to do this without involving the KGB in planting an AXE in Chile or giving them a chance to disrupt a rescue operation in one of those shootouts that all end in death, especially the hostage you're trying to rescue. The coup plot had to be stopped, no matter how her husband felt about Belkevu. The way I felt about Lila was also related to that. You can't sleep with a woman, even if she's your enemy, without the slightest involvement. When she returned to Moscow, Belkevs death would automatically have been her sentence.
  
  
  He discovered that the back door of the Ministries was opening before he even knocked. The minister himself was standing there, a little disheveled and visibly upset. It was almost ten o'clock in the evening, and Belkevs had been gone for more than an hour.
  
  
  "I've been waiting for you," he announced. "This is really very bad news about the Russian. We were on the verge of arresting the ringleaders in all three countries. They can still beat us if they kill ego tonight."
  
  
  "Can't you pick up reed?"
  
  
  "Impossible. Everything is already installed. Do you have any idea where he might be?"
  
  
  "Vote on what I was going to ask you. Don't you know where the people who took the ego live?"
  
  
  He shook his head.
  
  
  "They used fake names to get into the reception area. It was all done very cleverly, using these girls to take advantage of the ego's core weakness, and in the last hour the kids."
  
  
  The minister looked old, old, and battered as he strode across the bare floor where he had collected the charred pieces of the Chinese messenger's papers not so long ago.
  
  
  "Well, the Myrists aren't idiots," I began. "Let's even say they're not pros, in which case Belkevs are probably still alive. This is how smart contracts work. They don't have a sense of time, and they're too cute."
  
  
  "What does it matter? They have him, and it's only a corkscrew hour before he dies."
  
  
  "We'll have all the answers - and more - when his ego is found."
  
  
  Ten minutes later he found her, got back in the taxi, and flipped through the list of addresses where Mirista's agitators were known to hang out. The first address was a disco, a playpen for poor little rich boys whose dads paid ih for Marxist games. When her, walked in there, her, felt all eyes follow me. He went to the coffee machine and then asked at the counter if the Russian had been with the two girls before.
  
  
  "No, senor, there was no such thing. Espresso o con leche?»
  
  
  Hostility was stronger than coffee. As he was leaving, he heard the sound of a chair being pushed back. Instead of hailing a taxi, he sauntered down the avenue, and when he reached the corner, he spun around and slid out of the doorway.
  
  
  Then I saw a broad-shouldered young man standing with his back to me. He pulled out the lead strip hidden under Poe Vicuna's sweater and looked around cautiously. He was waiting for her, and when mimmo passed, my hand flew out.
  
  
  "Que..."
  
  
  It was thrown by ego against the peeling plaster wall and hit him with the fist of life as he bounced back. Ego's fingers dropped the barbell, and he caught it before it hit the ground. While he was still gasping for air, he pressed her bar against his throat.
  
  
  "Where are they?"
  
  
  Her pressure eased a little so that he could respond.
  
  
  "I do not know who you are referring to."
  
  
  The barbell pressed ego's head to the groan, and then he was thrashing around like a trapped fish.
  
  
  "Turning into a fur animal wharf, Chico. Where are they?"
  
  
  "Do whatever you want, pig. I won't tell you anything."
  
  
  I wonder how they always think that way. They haven't learned that bravery, like money, isn't what you want. In this case, the boy saved his arm from a slow, painful fracture when he told me that Belkevs and the girls went to a cafe and then went to another one. However, to verify such information is to tell your informant that he is coming with you, and if the information turns out to be incorrect, both hands will be broken. Its performed this procedure.
  
  
  "It's true!"
  
  
  "Alright, you don't have to come with me. But you
  
  
  you should be more careful when carrying such a barbell. You can drop your ego in your foot and get hurt ."
  
  
  The second cafe was more overtly political. It was a dark, "atmospheric" place, decorated with anti-American graffiti and populated by sullen types who hadn't yet realized that a .38-caliber revolver couldn't be hidden in a turtleneck. Seeing the phone moaning, I was sure they had been alerted to my arrival. As she was led to the wine-drenched counter, she saw one of the bearded patrons pull his hand free around his sweater.
  
  
  Her, turned around and knocked the gun out of Ego's hands. As I'd hoped, he leaped out of his chair, slapping me across the jaw. He slid under nah, grabbed ego by the back, and propped her up against a sign that read "Death to Yankee Imperialists ih running Dogs."
  
  
  By this time, my fellow countrymen had guns in their hands, each aiming a precise shot at me. I shook her hand, and the stiletto spilled on my fingers. Her ego poked her in the throat of a bully.
  
  
  "You can shoot if you want," he told them. " Either you kill him or you kill her if you don't."
  
  
  "Anyone around us is willing to die for this cause," a girl shouted from the other side of the cafe.
  
  
  "Really? Ask your friend here. You're playing with your ego life. Ask him if he wants you to shoot him."
  
  
  The man in my arms didn't say anything. He would have called her an ego boy, except to point out that many of the "students" were in their thirties, too old to expect forgiveness for their teenage dreams of greatness. In addition, these characters were responsible for a reign of terror that included murders, kidnappings, and a host of other atrocities.
  
  
  "We won't shoot," one of the older men finally said. He pointedly put the gun down on a chair. "We won't shoot, but we won't tell you anything either."
  
  
  In ego's words, the others put their guns next to ego. Its too clearly seen, ego point of view. Time worked against me, just like any dead end.
  
  
  "We know who you are and we know your reputation as a violent person, Carter," the spokesperson continued. "But even a man like you wouldn't want to torture one around us, in front of everyone." He looked around in a rage for agreement. "So you can pack up your tools and get out of here."
  
  
  For a split second, her mind weighed the pain that her math class might have caused, which he held in his hands, against the nuclear holocaust that would have followed if hers hadn't moved on him. He lost it. Her ego slapped her hair back and exposed her white throat to the eyes of everyone in the room. The stiletto was fine-tuned to the fineness of a needle. Hers slid in a semicircle over the ego swallowing Adam's apple, cutting only the skin, but drawing a veil of blood.
  
  
  "Bolivar's apartment building," the girl shouted. "They took ego to..."
  
  
  He muffled her mouth as his moved toward the day my hostage was a shield.
  
  
  "You can thank your girlfriend for your life," emu whispered in her ear. Then ego threw her back inside, onto the floor, kicked her back to open the door behind him, and threw the first men who followed me.
  
  
  Bolivar Apartamientos was a multi-story apartment building located between the university and Santiago's wealthiest neighborhood. It rose ten stories above the modern boulevard, ten stories of glass-enclosed apartments and gleaming balconies. Belkev and her somehow survived attacks by evil Incas across Chile's pre-Columbian past and a deadly jet plane cannon in the desert-only to arrive for a final battle at an apartment building that may have been found in Rime. Paris or Los Angeles. The sidewalks were covered with expensive colored mosaics, the grass was green and freshly mown, and the doorman's uniform was new.
  
  
  "It's very late," he complained. "Who do you want to see?"
  
  
  Her slouch was drunken, and when she was spoken to, it was with a slurred Cuban accent.
  
  
  "All I know is that I have to be at the party. They told me to get her."
  
  
  "Who said that?"
  
  
  A nonexistent piece of paper found it in his pockets.
  
  
  "I wrote down the name somewhere. I don't remember her. Oh, yeah. They said to go openly to the penthouse."
  
  
  "Ah, of course." He gave me a wry smile. "The voice is where they are all tonight. Everyone walks. It must be a full moon." He went to the intercom. "Who's her should I tell her that's coming?"
  
  
  "Pablo. They know who."
  
  
  "Bien". He pressed a button and spoke into the phone. «Hay un caballero aqui que se llama Pablo. Dice que le esperan». He listened as he asked the corkscrew questions, and then answered: «Es mucho hombre pero boracho. Cubano, yo creo. Está bien».
  
  
  He hung up and turned to me.
  
  
  "You were right, they are waiting for you. Tap number ten in the elevator of good luck. ".
  
  
  I got into the elevator and did as he said. He told me they were waiting for a drunk Cuban upstairs. I doubted it. Number nine pressed it.
  
  
  The ninth-floor corridor was empty and quiet, but the sound of samba music could be heard from above. He went into the entryway and took two steps at a time.
  
  
  He gently pushed the door open. Two men were standing in front of the elevator and looking at the empty space, their hands in their jackets, as if they had just cleaned something up. Before entering the hall, he unbuttoned his jacket so that he could reach for the gun without hindrance. Then her, walked over to them. Startled, they looked at me with a frown and suspicion. Then one around them spread his hands politely.
  
  
  "Pablo, we thought you'd never get here. The professor and the ego woman have been asking about you all night."
  
  
  Well, she told herself, they didn't want a shootout in the hall if they could avoid it. So Belkev was still breathing.
  
  
  "Well, the evenings can start because I'm here now," I laughed. "Just show me the way."
  
  
  "That's what we're here for," he chuckled.
  
  
  They split up, one on each side of me, as we all walked together to the last room in the hall. Odin rang the doorbell around them.
  
  
  "You'll really have fun here, Pablo," he informed me, patting me on the back.
  
  
  The miniature eye was watching us through the peephole, and then it heard the sound of breaking loose. The door opened and we entered.
  
  
  The living room was next to the foyer, and the sounds of yahoo reached my ears. The path was blocked by an exotic woman in a silk dress with an Inca pattern. Nah had jet-black hair and a hoarse voice as an actress. When she spoke, she was gesturing with a gold mouthpiece.
  
  
  "Pablo, dear."
  
  
  She stood on tiptoe to kiss me and put her arms around my neck.
  
  
  "Sorry I'm late," I muttered.
  
  
  "Don't worry, dear person. We just needed to start without you. Well, you know the procedure. You can take off your clothes in the maid's room."
  
  
  I didn't understand her for a second. It wasn't until the ferret, that is, that one of the voices she'd heard in the other room materialized into flesh as it approached the archway of the foyer. It belonged to a blonde who was giggling and holding a mug, completely naked.
  
  
  "Sure, I'll be out in a second," I said.
  
  
  "Do you need any help?" The landlady asked hopefully.
  
  
  "Thank you, I can handle it."
  
  
  The maid's room was next to the foyer. He left her in nah and closed the door, noticing that there was no lock on it. These people were pretty. Belkev maybe, maybe not. I wouldn't have recognized her until I joined in on the fun and games, and I wouldn't have been able to do that if I hadn't been parted before the buff - which meant leaving my gun, knife, and gas bomb behind. Well, there was no choice. Her clothes were taken off and neatly folded on the bed. I put his gun under the mattress. She took one last look at herself in the mirror, saluted her own image with a faint "peace" sign, and entered to join the group.
  
  
  I can only say that it was not a party, but an orgy. No wonder Belkiewo was so easily drawn into this. Some couples were sitting and talking together, but most of them were tangled up in the luxurious baha'i and chairs, and some were shamelessly making love on the floor. The pungent smell of marijuana filled the air.
  
  
  My hostess, even more attractive, without a robe, casually stepped over the hot couple and handed me a drink.
  
  
  "A toast to victory," she suggested.
  
  
  "Victory of the masses," I said, and took a careful sip. White rum, nothing else.
  
  
  She ran her fingers over my chest and over the fresh seams.
  
  
  "Pablo, did you fight or something?"
  
  
  "I was a bad boy. You know me."
  
  
  "Maybe I'll do it for her tonight," she said pointedly, and followed up with a nod to the massive, mustachioed man who was talking to the people sitting nearby. It looked like Neptune, surrounded by a sea of twisting backs and twisted legs. "My husband is so jealous that I find it hard to have fun at these parties. All I can do is watch everyone else have a good time."
  
  
  "I see that's exactly what they're doing."
  
  
  I glanced at her and caught her making angry mental notes of her orders to me.
  
  
  "Have another drink, Pablo."
  
  
  Before her return, the saint was muted. Her back was to moaning and trying to look around without feeling like a damn voyeur.
  
  
  "Is that all?" I asked her when she handed me the glass.
  
  
  A girl was walking towards us, ee
  
  
  a healthy chest moved in the pale light. Someone grabbed her from behind, and she fell on her back with her arms outstretched. The male body moved closer to her.
  
  
  "Ah, there are some humble people in the bedrooms," she said cheerfully. "Tell me, Pablo, do you think I'm attractive?"
  
  
  She leaned forward so that her chest brushed mine.
  
  
  "Very attractive. I've always said that."
  
  
  She reached for the lamp and turned it off. The living room was now completely dark.
  
  
  "Then what's holding you back? she whispered in my ear. "It's dark. My husband can't see anything."
  
  
  She found my hand and pulled it toward her.
  
  
  "It's just that she's a little more modest," her husband said.
  
  
  "But you have nothing to be modest about, Pablo."
  
  
  "Maybe. Do you think there's anyone in your bedroom?"
  
  
  "Let's go take a look."
  
  
  She took my hand again and we made our way through the crowd of people on the floor to the hall at the far end of the living room. I heard her open the door and we went in. Turning around, she kissed me passionately, and then Sergey took me in.
  
  
  "Sincerely, like a Russian," a fully clothed man with a .38-caliber pistol pointed at my chest said with satisfaction.
  
  
  He was standing in front of the bed with two other men, also holding revolvers pointed at me. There were two other men standing on either side of her as the Garcia brothers leveled their submachine guns. One of them apparently had a sandal on his left foot. Belkiew was crouched in a corner of the bedroom, naked and with a stocking in his mouth.
  
  
  "You did a very good job, Maria," the host said to our hostess. "Was it difficult?"
  
  
  "No, he's just as depraved a pig as the others, only better equipped."
  
  
  "Thank you," I said.
  
  
  "You've had enough, assassin." The chief pointed his gun at me angrily. "You almost ruined everything. Even tonight, you tried to stop the revolution. Fool, no one can stop it. Tonight the armies of the Myrists will rise at the signal of the revisionist's death. Do you know what this party is? it's a celebration, a celebration of ego and your death. Even when you were on the road, we set a trap for you, just as we did for the Russians. And you hit nah. Don't you feel a little confused now, I'm standing there like this? "
  
  
  "It's been so long since a ferret like him blushed. However, I'll admit that the situation looks bad if you want her to say it."
  
  
  "MIRistas relies on the magnificent nuclear power of the People's Republic of China. Three majestic states have united in one revolutionary army that will now control all of South America, " he continued fanatically. I don't think he even heard what I said. "And as a bonus, a hundred thousand dollars that the Chinese pay for your death."
  
  
  While he lied to her, he did some calculations, and regardless of whether he used her new math or the old one, it looked like he was going to get a reward. He was licking me, all of them; her ego could have taken her, and another one, which resulted in three people hitting me. Another move worth considering will be directed at Garcia's lame brother. I had no doubt that I could get to him alive and capture Ego auto. I also had no doubt that I would die before I could clear the room. He looked around for another possible weapon. It was the usual boudoir of a rich woman, filled with an easy chair, a wardrobe full of clothes, a bed, a nightstand, a chest of drawers and a dressing table filled with night creams, a hair gluttonous one, cosmetics and sleeping pills. Nothing special as a weapon.
  
  
  "Someone will definitely hear gunshots over the music. What if the police arrive here before the revolution does?"
  
  
  "We will shoot if we have to, but we have a better plan. See this balcony? In a minute, two drunken foreigners who came to an orgy party will start a fight on nen. Unfortunately, they will both fall to their deaths. We will be witnesses ."
  
  
  The hostess gave way. MIRIsta pulled Belkevu to his feet and removed the iso rta gag. Immediately, the Russian began to cry and sank to his knees like dough.
  
  
  "Raise your ego," the chief ordered.
  
  
  Two egoistic colleagues dragged Belkevu to the second balcony and opened it. A cool breeze entered the bedroom, inviting us to ten floors of darkness. In the distance, the lights of the university could be seen, some around them the victory beacons of Mirista's students. Will there be any signal sent to them from the balcony when we fall?
  
  
  Belkevs clutched at the foot of the bed. One of the men around our captors hit Belkevy with the butt of his pistol, and the Russian let go of his grip with a cry of horror.
  
  
  "At least you know how to die," the leader told me.
  
  
  This is what I keep telling people: "practice leads to perfection." While we wait for your men to get Belkevu off the floor, do you mind if I smoke my last cigarette?" It's a tradition for me.
  
  
  MIRIsta considered the request and shrugged. It would be used by the ego of cigarettes and matches. How can they be dangerous?
  
  
  By this time Belkiew was on his feet, looking wildly around and begging for mercy. The barrel of the revolver bit into the layer of fat that quivered around the ego of life.
  
  
  "Hurry up," the chief told me.
  
  
  "Thank you, I'll light it myself."
  
  
  Belkev was now in the doorway of the balcony, reluctantly crawling back to the railing. He looked down, and as he imagined falling to the sidewalk, tears welled up in Emu's eyes. Hers was standing next to the doorway, near the dressing table, taking a last drag on a cheap cigarette.
  
  
  "You're a man, Belkevy. Don't act like that," emu told her.
  
  
  While ih's eyes were fixed on the half-crazed Belkevu, my hand didn't move too fast, just curious, " and took the spray can of the hostess's hairspray. Next to me was Brother Garcia. My movement meant nothing to him, but the leader's face showed understanding. Ego's gun spun, and ego's mouth opened as he pressed the tip of the canister and held the match still burning to it.
  
  
  A five-meter-long tongue of flame shot out through the cans and licked the front of Ego's shirt. The tongue came up to Brother Garcia, who was standing towards me even licking than the chief. He was pulling the trigger of a submachine gun when his cotton suit flashed a fiery color. Ego's thumb, injured by the electric shock, squeezed the trigger hard as it collapsed during the spin. Even Ego's shiny hair was on fire by the time he hit the floor.
  
  
  Ego brother was limping up from the floor from which he had dived when the shots rang out across the room. He tore the bedspread from the bed and threw it over him, blinding him, then threw it into the writhing field of flames. A few stray shots shot out from under the burning blanket, but they were only effective at keeping the other Myrists pinned to the floor. He tried desperately to tear the burning cloth away; it clung to him more tightly with its clinging red hands. A cry of agony that froze the blood erupted around the flames, and the entire mass ran towards what should have been the door. That's not so. It passed through the balcony doors like a banshee and shot out into the air, a whirling meteor fueled by the incoming air.
  
  
  There were two other Myrists who had guns, and I only had a quick-emptying can. Despite this, they broke through to the day. Hers scattered as the first one just turned the handle and landed ego on his back with two legs missing. Ego target punched through the panel to the other side, and he hung there, unconscious. It was adjusted by the last gunman's pistol and allowed him to stick a .38 caliber in the ceiling, since no one lived upstairs. She then fell onto Emu's shoulders, her arms stiff, breaking Emu's collarbone. After that, just in case, it went to the ego of the falling jaw, and fell, and then to the connection with the skull. It was picked up by ego and thrown in the direction of the balcony, which they thought was the main one. My goal was better than I thought it would be. He swam out into the blue and disappeared.
  
  
  "Go, Belkevy. Someone has to think about where these bodies come from."
  
  
  "Not so fast."
  
  
  Her, turned around. The voice belonged to the black-haired owner of the house. She pressed the charred automatic rifle to her bare stomach. When she told me that she was going to put the last bullet in my body, she deliberately walked around the bed and cut off my only escape route. The gun looked particularly ugly against her thin, pale skin. It was a combination of death and eroticism - a fitting ending for any man.
  
  
  "I win," she said, and braced herself on her feet, ready to take up her weapon.
  
  
  Then, her black hair suddenly turned red. Her eyebrows lit up, and she dropped the gun and screamed. With superhuman strength, she pushed open the broken door and ran down the corridor, dragging a huge flame flag with her, the flames from her hair lighting up the entire corridor.
  
  
  A fire flickered in the bedroom and went out in the mouth of the jar that Belkev was holding.
  
  
  "Go, comrade," I insisted. "I think we're really exhausted this time."
  
  
  Nothing will break up an orgy faster than a woman running through nah like a Roman torch. Belkev and I fought our way through the crowds of terrified partygoers who were loitering around and trying to drag their clothes around the maid's room, and entered the hall. There, all we had to do was stop the first two men coming out of the apartment.
  
  
  and take off their clothes. It's as simple as that if you're organized.
  
  
  Below, the doorman stared at the crowd gathered around the bodies of the dead MIRistas. Belkevym and I ran - if I may say so, about the waddling Belkevym-a couple of blocks and hailed a taxi.
  
  
  This time it was full of camaraderie and gratitude, but I remembered what I'd seen in the apartment. It was the kind of aerosol can that was pointed openly at me right after it set fire to the hostess. If the war hadn't ended at that moment, Belkevs would have killed me.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter Thirteen
  
  
  
  
  
  "Confirm the G-class checkpoint submarine," the sonar told us.
  
  
  We were in the old Super Constellation, five thousand feet up, and a hundred miles west of the Chilean coast. The interesting thing about the old Jumps is that they can stay in the air forever, and then the US Navy repairs the ih and turns it into flying computing centers. This was explained to me by the captain in charge of the operation.
  
  
  "If G-class submarines were nuclear-powered, we could track ih by satellite, because they leave a layer of heat across the ocean that we can pick up with infrared scanners. But in this case, we must turn to Computers. We drop a few sonars on the surface of the ocean, then relax and let them do their job. They themselves triangulate the position and depth of our target, but this is just the beginning. Some fairly sophisticated forms of sonar are currently being developed, and one of them is holographic sonar, which means that these buoys transmit a three-dimensional image of the enemy so that we can accurately determine the origin and class of the submarine. This gives us a clue about what to tell us, whether to attack, and how ." He smiled. "Of course, I never thought I'd send a human torpedo."
  
  
  "At least he wasn't a volunteer," I said, glancing down at my diving suit.
  
  
  The divers of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, also in diving suits, laughed, and at that moment a radio operator entered our section of the plane and gave us a report.
  
  
  "The raids in Santiago, Antofagasta in Chile, La Paz and Sucre in Bolivia, and Lima and Trujillo in Peru were all successful," the captain read aloud. "Radio silence for an hour is guaranteed."
  
  
  "Silence or not," he continued, " the Chinese will know that everything fell apart much sooner. We'd better get started."
  
  
  The three divers, the captain, and his crew moved to the rear of the humming plane. When we reached it, the bomb bay was open, and above it were three objects that, like everything else, looked like manhole covers.
  
  
  "Chrome-plated steel with vacuum locks. They will fall just like you, to a height of thousands of feet, and then the brake chutes will open. The gutters will release when they touch, and these inflatable rings will expand. There is a sensor that will allow you to adjust the amount of air sampling in the rings so that you can maneuver them underwater. The main thing is to act quickly, before the Chinese can send even one person ."
  
  
  "Approaching the drop zone," the intercom said.
  
  
  "Good luck, whoever you are." The captain shook my hand, and then the hand of each diver.
  
  
  The horse made two passes. In the foreground around them, metal shields shot out one by one into the blue Pacific Ocean almost a mile below. As the Horse Race turned, the shield rack had been removed from the road, and the four around us who would fall on the next pass were standing by the yawning bay.
  
  
  "In the zone," the intercom bellowed again.
  
  
  He raised his hand and stepped into the rushing air. Prostrate, he fell in a controlled dive. The sea curved in all directions. He noticed the shields ahead and below, and tilted his arms until he was fifteen degrees out of line. The wind tugged at my wetsuit and whistled around the air tanks strapped to my back. The other divers followed.
  
  
  At a thousand feet, he yanked on the string and jumped as the chute opened. Now I had to pull on the red lead cords to guide me to the bull's-eye. It hit the water twenty feet from the nearest swaying shield. The divers did even better, landing almost an arm's length away. We disabled our parachutes and swam to the shields.
  
  
  "Jesus, look below," someone said.
  
  
  He looked down. And directly below us, just thirty feet from the surface, was the long metal cigar of a Chinese submarine.
  
  
  It released all the air around the ring, and the shield began to sink. We carefully made the ego to the aft deck and walked around the top of the submarine, making sure that it did not touch the surface of the submarine and did not give us away, with a control ring. He pointed to a large trapdoor. It was designed for a rocket, not a human.
  
  
  Lowland's men drove our shield through the hatch. It was a perfect match - mark another point for Navy Intelligence. After the bubbles rose up when the vacuum lock was self-sealed. A third of the work is done. We approached another shield, passing mimmo of another pair of divers as they walked their shield to the hatch.
  
  
  They were finished when we went down with the last shield. As we approached, one of them waved at us. Her thought that this gesture meant that the job was done well, until the swinging became frantic, her turned and looked back. There were four other divers in & nb, and they were not under the US Navy.
  
  
  It is impossible that two men walking under water with a heavy load could move faster than four floating ones. As we continued on our way with the shield, our friends swam past us and met four men who were pulling out their knives as they went.
  
  
  He was sweating under his wetsuit. I couldn't turn around to see if Odina had slipped around the Chinese divers and was about to cut my back. As carefully and slowly as before, we set up a shield over the rocket hatch and waited for the bubble to tell us that it was locked. As soon as he saw him coming, he pushed off from the deck of the boat, hitting the hand that was holding the knife. It was torn apart by the ego of the air hose as it approached me, and then swam over to help two divers who had different chances.
  
  
  One of them was surrounded by a red mist from the back as a Chinese diver carefully cut the hose on the tank. The length of the submarine's aft deck was between us, and there was no way it could reach the pair before the knife delivered the final fatal blow. I didn't have to. The injured diver grabbed another man by the arm with a knife and turned him around. Ego level with the fins hit the opponent's chest, knocking the mouthpiece out of the Chinese diver's face. He then used a loose hose to cock the hangman, winding it around the man's throat until the knife fell to the bottom of the dress. The Chinese diver's body followed the knife even more slowly.
  
  
  Our helicopter arrived just in time, dropped a basket that we could climb into, and lifted us out of the sea. The injured diver was delighted.
  
  
  "They won't be able to remove these shields until they get back to Shanghai," he shouted over the sound of the copter's rotors. "I just hope they try to launch these missiles."
  
  
  "How are you feeling?" - shouted to her in rheumatism. "I would help you if I could."
  
  
  "To hell with it!" he shouted. "That's the trouble with you cloak and dagger guys, you don't want anyone to have fun."
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter Fourteen
  
  
  
  
  
  The fun, if you can call it that, is over. He returned to his hotel room in Santiago, packing his suitcase on the way home. The Allende government made headlines about the MIRIsta conspiracy, which it uncovered and crushed with its own brilliant detective work.
  
  
  If they wanted it, I was fine with it. I put her bag down and left the maid's tip on the dresser. Her plan was to get Rose and Bonita together and somehow convince the Air Force to take me and my translators back to the States together.
  
  
  There was a knock on the door. Out of pure habit, he hesitated before answering. After all, the Garcia boys weren't in the way, there was no reason to be overly suspicious.
  
  
  "Who's that?"
  
  
  It was a submachine gun. The central day panel was removed in less than five seconds. At the far end of the room, windows and windows were breaking and falling. He pulled out his luger and dived into bed.
  
  
  A second burst of machine-gun bullets blasted the lock, and a heavy hand opened the door. I started to move in the direction of the next room, but the pattern of bullets etched on the floor stopped me from thinking so.
  
  
  "Who the hell is this tailor," I thought. Lilya? She may be an angry woman, but she's a professional. She killed only on the orders of the KGB. Remaining MIRIsta? If they had anyone around them, they'd be too busy hiding to think about me.
  
  
  "Get up, Killmaster!"
  
  
  Belkev!
  
  
  "Get up. Its finally gonna kill you that its a hotel, make them ferret like the first time I saw you. Humiliate me when you have the opportunity, make fun of me, make love to my women.
  
  
  Waist-high bullets flew around the room, and I knew that was what he meant.
  
  
  "You're crazy, Belkiew."
  
  
  "Am I crazy? I'm going to get a hundred thousand dollars for murder, and you're telling me I'm crazy? This is the moment she's been waiting for, the moment to show who's better."
  
  
  "Get out of here while you're still alive."
  
  
  The words seemed to amuse the ego.
  
  
  I heard him laugh, chuckle, and walk into the room. He walked over to the bed.
  
  
  "No amount of trickery is going to save you now, Carter. Throw away your gun and knife. And don't forget that little bomb taped to your leg. I know all about these things."
  
  
  I took the Luger out of its holster and dropped it on the floor so that he could see it.
  
  
  Good. Now about the others."
  
  
  He put the stiletto in her hand and dropped it next to the gun. Finally her pulled out the gas bomb around her shoe and pulled out her kids.
  
  
  "Excellent. Now you will get up."
  
  
  I did as he said, even moving away from the bed so that he could have a clear distance.
  
  
  "You know when you're getting hit," ego toadface gloated.
  
  
  "I know when I'll finally have the opportunity and the excuse to do what I did-like doing a ferret with them, like I met you, Belkevy."
  
  
  "What's that?" "What is it?" he asked confidently.
  
  
  "Take you apart with my bare hands."
  
  
  She was kicked by the barrel of the submachine gun and pulled out the magazine. Then he returned it with an empty weapon. He stood there in shock like a statue.
  
  
  "This is called reaction time, comrade. In any case, you now have a good club. Use the ego."
  
  
  Confidence dripped from him like wax from a melting candle. Stunned, he followed my advice and grabbed the machine gun like a butcher's axe.
  
  
  "I think you'll like it, Belkevs, since you love traveling so much. This is called a round-the-world trip. An instructor from the Parris Islands showed me this once. We start with Aikido."
  
  
  He hit it with the butt of his rifle as hard as he could. Its dived under the ego of life. She barely touched it, but it was on the floor.
  
  
  "You see, the whole point of Aikido is to avoid contact and still channel your opponent's power against them. Unlike jiu-jitsu."
  
  
  He stood up and swung again. He grabbed his ego lapels and fell backward. Belkev found himself facing the wall upside down. He stood up a little unsteadily-until he saw my Luger within easy reach.
  
  
  "On the other hand, Thai foot boxing uses its own strength," I explained.
  
  
  My boot caught the ego holding a gun and shot the emu in the chest. He fell as if he had been shot. Her gun was holstered. Belkiew reached for my knife.
  
  
  "Karate also involves hands and feet."
  
  
  Her emu cut her shoulder and heard a pleasant crack. Stiletto took it and slid ego back into the scabbard. In case Belkiew was going to sleep out the rest of the lecture, he brought the ego to stand in front of the bureau. Then shoved her gas bomb in a minute.
  
  
  "When the sun sets in the East, we come to the United States of America. You may have heard of this place. Many arts were developed there, including modern boxing."
  
  
  Her focus was on the hook in life. When Belkev collapsed, her right cross slapped his ego across the cheek.
  
  
  "It's called one-two. And, of course, there are always good old Americans ready for a relentless fight."
  
  
  Ego took her by both hands and steered her across the bed to the full-length mirror. The falling glass formed a lacy pattern around it.
  
  
  "And," I added, drawing ego back to the center of the room,"hand-to-hand combat by the U.S. Marine Corps."
  
  
  Her emu broke her breastbone in half with an elbow that came up to her chin and knocked out a tooth. My other elbow is my left ego squat cape, covering my ego right cheek. He stifled his mouth, gasping for air as each tribe's ego was filled with fat almost up to the spine, and he finished the job by pushing the ego into the mirror table. It rolled off the dresser and fell to the floor like a sack of waterlogged potatoes.
  
  
  "You probably already guessed that hand-to-hand combat proceeds on the principle of" make it free for everyone", no? Any questions?" I can do it again if you want."
  
  
  Ego responded with a mournful mumble. He had a flat face. The Swedish ego was torn apart. He was supposed to have half a dozen broken bones. But he had five. And that's more than he would have done for me.
  
  
  "Forgive me," I said politely. "I forgot one thing. A KGB trick."
  
  
  Hers, leaned over him. He didn't resist.
  
  
  When he was done, he added a few a's to his tip, then climbed the stairs to the top floor of the hotel. Rosa and Bonita were waiting for me in their room, packed and ready to go.
  
  
  He went to the bar and poured three drinks.
  
  
  "We heard a terrible thundering sound from below. What happened?" asked Rose. "See, you cut the joint." She took my hand.
  
  
  "Nothing special."
  
  
  "Was Belkev there?"
  
  
  "Yes, but he won't bother us."
  
  
  KGB pressure point - this simple one
  
  
  and a subtle trick to cut the blood to the brain would have left Belkiewo unconscious for hours.
  
  
  "How do you know he's going to pass out?" Bonita asked, picking up her glass.
  
  
  "I explained very simply to em that you two wanted to come to the States with me and that a citizenship exam was required. She was told that the exam should be conducted in complete confidentiality. No one else will be allowed in."
  
  
  "And he agreed to it?" they exclaimed.
  
  
  "Girls, if there's one thing her business has learned in this world, it's not what you do, but how you do it."
  
  
  Half an hour later, at the end of our private exam, they agreed that I was right.
  
  
  As we were walking out the door, the phone rang. Oh, no, I thought, what now? This was my contact with AX. "I just thought you might be interested to know," he said lightly, " that the Russians have returned the captured satellite data tube. Any locality in Russia that has been completed and..."
  
  
  "This is very interesting," I said. "You know that I'm partial to the missions that are being performed. It's them who don't..."
  
  
  "...And there is peace and good will among all."
  
  
  He smiled at her, broke the connection, hugged each girl, and walked out the door.
  
  
  
  
  
  Attack on England
  
  
  
  
  Nick Carter
  
  
  Attack on England
  
  
  Dedicated to members of the United States Secret Service
  
  
  
  Prologue.
  
  
  It was one of these days for Henry Wellesey, the 55-year-old UK finance minister. It started over breakfast when his wife started talking about the holiday again.
  
  
  "You should have a real holiday, you haven't had an ego in more than a year. A weekend at Scented Hall just doesn't count..."
  
  
  He knew that Bayberry Hall, his mother's ego estate in Yorkshire, didn't really matter to Millicent anyway.
  
  
  "You need somewhere warm and relaxing. Maybe in Spain or Italy. Or Yugoslavia... they say the Dalmatian coast is big."
  
  
  "They'd probably say I'd deserted," Wellsey said dryly, sipping his cocoa.
  
  
  "Don't be absurd," the woman's ego snapped. "Now don't try to push me away, Henry. You need to take care of the holidays. I warn you, if you don't, I'll talk to the Prime Minister myself!"
  
  
  So would she, Wellsey thought grimly, sitting in the backseat of his Rolls 30 minutes later, and then half an hour later. I wasn't in a festive mood. That didn't improve either. There was a special cabinet meeting at the Prime Minister's residence that morning, and Wellesey was going to be late. A grey Jaguar and a lorry, in a deadly argument over pre-emption rights, stopped traffic in London. It would be another hour before the police cleared the scene.
  
  
  Wellsey didn't miss all the cabinet meetings; it lasted until lunchtime. The Chancellor left number 10 Downing Sturt feeling frustrated, as he had done of late. It seemed that international issues always prevailed over domestic ones. Impulsively, he stopped on the Hook to buy travel brochures. Maybe Millicent was right; maybe it was time for a vacation.
  
  
  Back at the office, he was just settling in at his desk when Ego's secretary came in with the mail.
  
  
  "Could you get me some tea, Miss Tanner? I know it's still early, but..."
  
  
  Miss Tanner, not too young, not too pretty, but smart, smiled.
  
  
  Welsey took the top letter and the letter opener-em liked to open the mail himself - but he pawned the ih again and took out the pamphlets he'd put together on the Hook. He leaned back in his chair, studying ih. Spain... Costa Brava ... Very nice, he realized, and not crowded at this time of year, the man on the Hook said. Italy ... Rome... Venice... allegedly diving into the sea. He shook his head. "A trip to the Greek Islands". It was a thought. He's been to Athens, but never to the islands. Mykonos... Lelos Rhodes...... Beautiful...
  
  
  The last thing Henry Wellesey saw in this world was the smiling face of a beautiful young Greek woman holding an armful of red red roses. The powerful 7mm rifle gawk that went into the back of his head at the base of his skull made a pretty neat entrance hole, considering it was supposed to go through a closed window first, but it went through bone and tissue, and when it came out, Wellsey's face was a blur.
  
  
  He slumped forward, his blood mixing with the red roses of Rhodes.
  
  
  Miss Tanner came in with the tea, found ego, and couldn't stop screaming ...
  
  
  The first chapter.
  
  
  The night at Luxor docks was sticky, hot, and airless. To one side loomed the buildings of the port of Bar, squatting heavily in the dark. On the other hand, the Nile slid soundlessly with the current toward Cairo and the sea. Beyond the river was the desert, a lighter strip between the oily black water and the star-spangled sky.
  
  
  While waiting on this deserted Chernaya embankment, I touched my Wilhelmina, a 9mm luger that I carry in a special shoulder holster to calm myself down. A prickling sensation on the back of my neck warned me that I might need it tonight.
  
  
  He was there on Hawke's orders to contact a small-time smuggler and gambler named Nicholas Fergus. Fergus sent a telegram over Luxor to the Prime Minister of England stating that he had information for sale that could potentially shed light on the brutal murder of British Finance Minister Henry Wellesey. Since the British didn't have an agent in the area at the moment, Hawk volunteered for my services.
  
  
  Fergus told me on the phone that he would meet me at the docks at midnight. He glanced at his watch; it had already been fifteen minutes. That alone was enough to alert me, and he was already thinking of leaving when he heard a sound in the dark.
  
  
  I glanced quickly at the small door leading to the warehouse behind me. It opened, and now a man stepped out. He was of average height and was beginning to go bald. Nen was wearing a gray suit that looked like nen had been asleep for a week. But what nen immediately noticed about her was the ego of the eye. They were wide open, bloodshot, and surreptitiously darted left and right, missing nothing. I've seen those eyes on hundreds of men before. They were the eyes of someone scared to death, someone one step ahead of death.
  
  
  "Carter?" he whispered, afraid that night ego would hear.
  
  
  He nodded to her.
  
  
  He opened the door and invited me inside. When he entered, he pulled the rope, and the room was flooded with light from the naked light bulb, which is engaged in
  
  
  it hung from the ceiling. It was a small room, and the only furniture in it was a cracked, soiled washstand in the corner and a dirty mattress on the floor. Crumpled newspapers and empty brown bags were scattered around. The heady aroma of garlic and onions lingered in the air.
  
  
  Gali Fergus pulled a pinky bottle of alcohol around his jacket pocket and with trembling hands managed to open it and drink long and hard. When he finished, he calmed down a little.
  
  
  "Information, Fergus," I said impatiently. "What is it?"
  
  
  "Not so fast," he said. "Not before I get 5,000 pounds and a private trip to Khartoum. When I get her device there, you'll get your damn information."
  
  
  I thought about it, but not for long. Five thousand pounds was a damned low price for what he was offering. Her could get around London a telegram to the British consulate in Luxor to let them if I have the money. And hiring a private jet wouldn't be so difficult. He agreed to the ego's terms, but warned him what would happen to him if he tried anything funny.
  
  
  "It's on the rise, mate," he whined.
  
  
  "All right," I said. "I will have the money tomorrow, not when. Then I'll take you."
  
  
  Fergus shrugged; ego goal. "Tomorrow night, this time." Ell, the whole damn city is crawling with bastards after me. I'll be noticed in broad daylight ."
  
  
  "Who's following you, Fergus, and why?"
  
  
  "None of your business," he retorted. "This has nothing to do with the murder in London. It's personal. Just be here tomorrow night with the money and get out of here."
  
  
  "If that's what you want..." I shrugged and turned to leave.
  
  
  "Carter," Fergus shouted as Day approached her, " one more thing. If anything happens to me, go to the bar of the Grand Hotel in Tangier. Someone will contact you there and give you the information."
  
  
  "How do I recognize her ego?"
  
  
  "Don't worry," he said, " my man will recognize you. Just give the money away and you'll get what you want ."
  
  
  He nodded and left.
  
  
  I had to wait until morning for the telegraph office to open. When this happened, she was wired to London for money. Three hours later, she got rheumatism. The Consulate was ordered to give me 5,000 pounds. After collecting the money, she was booked on a charter plane at the airport. There were still eight hours to go before the meeting with Fergus. I went back to my room, showered, and ordered a gin and tonic. Then her, fell asleep.
  
  
  At eight o'clock in the evening, this is my only alarm clock program. I dressed, packed my briefcase with the money, and walked slowly to Fergus's hideouts.
  
  
  This time the door was opened by a stranger. He was a short, rather thin Arab in a white tropical suit and red fez.
  
  
  He didn't say anything to me, just grinned and pointed with his left hand at the open door; his right hand, I noticed, was stuck in his jacket pocket.
  
  
  Another man came out, a large, heavy Arab, dressed in traditional desert garb-kaffiyah, robe, and sandals.
  
  
  He said. "Mr. Nick Carter?"
  
  
  She wasn't using the cover story with Kalinich; it didn't make any sense. "Actually," I said.
  
  
  "You've come to meet Gali Fergus."
  
  
  He didn't ask, he talked. I squinted at it, trying to see it better in the dark. "Good again," I said, looking at the thin man with his hand in his pocket. "Where is he?"
  
  
  The fat man smiled. "He's here, Mr. Carter. You will see the ego. In the meantime, let's introduce ourselves. Her Omar bin Ayub." He was watching me intently, obviously waiting for some reaction. "And this is my friend Gasim."
  
  
  "If Fergus is here," I said, ignoring the performances, " where is he?"
  
  
  Ayub, in turn, ignored my corkscrew. "You would help Gali Fergus fool the egos of colleagues, wouldn't you, Mr. Carter? You would have helped him to leave Luxor without paying his ego debts."
  
  
  "I don't know what the hell you're talking about," I snapped. "But I want to see Gali, and I want to see ego now."
  
  
  Ayub's smile faded. "All right, Mr. Carter," he said grimly. "You will see the ego."
  
  
  He snapped his fingers and two more Arabs, big men in Western suits, appeared in the black doorway. They were dragging something, the limp body of a man. They dragged ego a few feet away from me and dumped him unceremoniously on the dock.
  
  
  "Kalinich Fergus," Ayub said, satisfaction in his flat voice.
  
  
  Her, looked at the corpse at his feet, my face expressionless, and my life shrank. Okay, it was Fergus. The ego was killed with a knife or other sharp object, and it happened slowly. The body was badly disfigured.
  
  
  "Nikolai realized what happens to someone who is not related to Omar bin Ayub. Now, Mr. Carter, you'll find out." Ayub nodded to the two burly men who had thrown Fergus at my feet, and suddenly they were holding the long knives that desert Bedouins carry. I thought of Hugo, the pencil-thin stiletto strapped to my right forearm. But at the moment, Hugo couldn't help me. In addition to the two muscular boys, Ayub's skinny friend, Gasim, pointed this bump in his jacket pocket at me.
  
  
  Two men with knives went inside. The Odin around them was slightly heavier than the other and moved slower, but he entered first. I thought they weren't going to kill me with the first blow. Oni wants her to die slowly, like Kalinich.
  
  
  Number One walked in, brandishing the knife of my life. I took a step back, and the knife sank into my jacket. I didn't have time to go after Wilhelmina. The big man hit me, leaning his full weight on him again. Her, stepped aside and briefly slapped his ego on the neck as he passed mimmo.
  
  
  He chuckled and turned to me angrily. The second man with the knife hovered just a few feet away. Now, suddenly speeding up, he pulled in to my left. He lowly swung the knife at my ribcage. I turned to him and caught the hand holding the knife, turning my wrist down and in, while at the same time getting down on one knee and throwing the man over my shoulder. He went flying, hitting the dock hard at his friend's feet, narrowly missing ego nog.
  
  
  The first bull dodged and then charged, holding the knife out straight in front of him. I heard Ayub shout, " Take your ego out! Take your ego away! " in Arabic, and then the bull came down on me, aiming my knife at me in life. He slammed the edge of his hand hard into his outstretched knife arm as he turned away from the blow, and heard the crunch of bones. The bull screamed, and the knife clattered to the dock. When the man flew past mimmo me, her ego cut her thick neck and felt the vertebrae snap from the impact. He fell face-first into the dock.
  
  
  Ayub was shouting now. "Kill the ego! Kill ego! " Out of the corner of her eye, I saw that Gasim had pulled out a gun on his doublet and was pointing ego at me.
  
  
  The gawk passed mimmo of my head by a few inches and almost hit the second man with the knife as he entered. Ego grabbed her knife hand, turned, and we fell together.
  
  
  We fell next to the corpse of Gali Fergus. We rolled over, fighting for the knife, and Gasim danced awkwardly around us, trying to shoot, but he was afraid to shoot because he might hit the wrong person.
  
  
  Ayub shouted at him. "Shoot! Shoot!"
  
  
  Its had to do something fast. Arab was now on top of me. He squeezed it for every tribe, stuck an emu in the groin. He screamed and fell to the side. Her ego punched him in the face as he fell. Gasim stopped dancing and aimed carefully at my head.
  
  
  I flexed my right forearm in the way I'd practiced hundreds of times, and Hugo slid into my hand. The man with the knife was getting up, and I threw Hugo at him. The stiletto rolled over and plunged into the Arab's throat. When Hugo left my hand, hers was quickly thrown; Gasim's shot split the wood where my target was.
  
  
  It rolled away a second time as Gasim fired again. He walked over to Luger in his jacket.
  
  
  My first shot missed Gasim's mimmo head by a few inches, but my second hit emu in the chest, knocking ego into the warehouse wall behind him. The ego gun flew.
  
  
  He turned and saw that Ayub had decided to run away. Her hotel didn't shoot; her hotel found out what he knew about Gali Fergus, so her raced after him, dove after him headlong.
  
  
  We went down and got into the dock together. Unfortunately, we landed near an iron bar that some workman was leaving at the port bar. Ayub desperately grabbed it, swung at me. He tried to crush my skull, but the impact bounced off my neck and shoulder. However, it was enough to knock out Wilhelmina around my arms and send rockets hurtfully into my arm.
  
  
  Ayub got to his feet again, still holding the iron bar. Wilhelmina landed somewhere on the edge of the port of bar. He stumbled, spotted the Luger ,and bent down to pick up his ego.
  
  
  But Ayub, moving surprisingly fast for a fat man, lunged at me against the crossbar. He was going to put a stop to it once and for all - I could see it in Ego's eyes. Wilhelmina couldn't lift it in time, and Ayub was moving too fast. When he turned the bar, hers, stepped aside and let the emu pass mimmo me. The next minute, he was in the air above the black water, then plopped down into the Nile.
  
  
  Ego was running high, and he was thrashing around wildly. Obviously, he's not adept at swimming. Ego target went under, but he got up again, gasping for breath. Kafiehed's target went underwater again. This time, only a few bubbles surfaced, then the river became calm again.
  
  
  Her, went back to the dock to get Hugo back. Both muscular boys were dead, but Gasim wasn't.
  
  
  Ego heard her moan. Hugo slid it back into its scabbard and, holding Wilhelmina loosely to his side, walked cautiously to where Gasim lay against the warehouse wall.
  
  
  When she saw the state of the man in the hall, she holstered the luger and sat down next to him. He looked at me with glazed eyes.
  
  
  "What was Nicholas Fergus to you and Ayub?" "If you don't want her to leave you to die, you'd better talk." He was already dead, but he didn't know it.
  
  
  He groaned, shaking his head from side to side, which hurt. "Fergus, "he breathed," smuggled out their program... treasures... around the country for us. Ego was overheard... he said... I intended to leave without paying Ayub... the last shipment. Somebody... the American was supposed to deliver the ego... Khartoum... private jet. Ayub thought it was you. ... that person."
  
  
  He coughed and was ready to give up. Her ego propped her head up. "What about the information Fergus mistletoe provided to the British government?" he asked her. "Was Ayub involved in this?"
  
  
  Gasim's glassy eyes wanted mine. "The British government?"
  
  
  Now he didn't see the point of being modest. "Yes, the telegram that Oji sent to the Prime Minister. Information he had about the murder of Henry Wellesey. Was Ayub extracted around this benefit?"
  
  
  "I don't know anything... about this, "Gasim breathed... Ayub".
  
  
  Suddenly, it froze in my hands, then went limp. He was dead.
  
  
  Her ego lowered its head and knelt for a moment in the darkness. By chance, hers turned out to be involved in one of Gali Fergus ' shady deals-ironically nearly killing himself - and hers, still unaware of the murder. Of course, it's possible that Ayub knew something without telling Gasim. But it didn't matter now, one way or another. Both Nikolai and Ayub were not amenable to further explanation or connivance.
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  The next day, she took off on a United Arab Airlines flight to Cairo and caught the next plane to Tangier. He arrived in Tangier and first checked into the Grand Hotel in Medina that Fergus had mentioned. I had lunch at a nearby restaurant, tasted beer, Mechoui and Stork Pils, and then went back to the hotel bar.
  
  
  Pernod was sipping it, and I was standing by the bar stool, my back to the dark-moustached bartender, when the girl came in. She was young, wearing a black leather case and high-heeled sandals. Her long, straight dark hair fell to her shoulders. She was as beautiful as only young Arab girls can be: a dark, earthy beauty tinged with mystery. She walked in a way that made a man want to reach out to her and touch her, a sensual walk with undulating hips, the movement of her breasts, an erotic but not vulgar display of her body. I watched her as she passed mimmo me, avoiding my eyes, leaving a faint scent of musky brass in the air. She sat down on a stool about halfway to the counter and ordered a sherry. After the bartender served her, he came over to me.
  
  
  "Every day she comes in to vote like this," he said, noticing my admiring look. "She orders one drink - just one-and leaves."
  
  
  "She's beautiful," I said. "Do you know her name?"
  
  
  "This is Hadiya, which means 'gift' in Arabic, " he said, smiling through his mustache. "She's dancing at the Miramar Hotel. Can I introduce her?"
  
  
  Pernod took it. "Thank you," I said, " but I'll do it alone."
  
  
  The girl turned to look at me when her sel was next to her. Her eyes, large and black, were even more beautiful up close, but now they were distant and wary. "Can I buy you a drink?" I asked her.
  
  
  "Why not?" she said coldly.
  
  
  "Because you remind me of the five memorable days I spent with her in Lebanon,"I said," and because I love being around you."
  
  
  She looked me in the eye and studied my face for a long time. "All right," she said suddenly. "You remind me of three beautiful days in Gibraltar."
  
  
  We laughed together then, and her laugh was musical. We exchanged names and talked a bit about Tangier, and then the bartender showed up.
  
  
  "Call for you".
  
  
  Her inwardly groaned. I knew it was a Hawk. Ego the plane must have arrived early. I asked Hadiya to wait for me and apologized. Her phone rang in the lobby for privacy.
  
  
  "Nick?" The voice was brisk and businesslike, with just a hint of a New England accent.
  
  
  "Yes, sir. I hope you had a good flight."
  
  
  "The girls were pretty, but eda was terrible," Hawke grimaced. She was pictured by Ego, a thin, impatient face with thick graying hair, sweating in a Tangier airport phone booth. "I only have a few hours between flights, Nick, so kiss the girl goodbye, whatever she is, and meet me at the Jenina restaurant for an early dinner in the Rivne region... an hour and a half."
  
  
  Her phone clicked in my ear as I nodded. I stood there for a moment, just wondering what Hawk had in store for me right now and whether it would be a continuation of the Luxor business. Then he returned to the girl. "I have to go," I said. "Business".
  
  
  "Oh," she said, pouting sweetly.
  
  
  "But I think I'll go to a concert in Miramar tonight," I said. "If at all possible."
  
  
  "I'd like that hotel, Mr. Carter." She smiled at me.
  
  
  He stepped back. "I gave you my first name, not my last name."
  
  
  "Kalinich Fergus told me you would be here," she said.
  
  
  "What, take a tailor..."
  
  
  Her face became serious. "Nikolai called me yesterday not at all when around Luxor. He described you, and then said that if anything happened to him, I should give you the picture that he keeps in his suitcase in our room."
  
  
  Somehow, the thought of this beautiful piece belonging to Augie Fergus caught me off guard, and I must have registered it. I opened my mouth to say something, but she cut me off.
  
  
  "Something went wrong, then?" she asked.
  
  
  I gave her all the details. She took it all in passively, and then said: "It must have happened while he was on the phone."
  
  
  "What was supposed to happen?" I asked her.
  
  
  "When he was killed. He said:"Tell the Cartel... when the line broke ."
  
  
  "Is that all he could say?"
  
  
  She shook her head up and down.
  
  
  "Nothing more?"
  
  
  "Nothing."
  
  
  "I have money here," I said, patting the attache case. "Give me a picture."
  
  
  "It's in my room," she said. "Meet me tonight, and then the performance. Then I give it to your ego."
  
  
  "Now I know I'm going to the show," I said.
  
  
  "Do it," she smiled, then slid off the chair and left.
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  I went to the Jenina restaurant in the Kasbah. Most of my meetings with Hawke took place in the ego offices in the Amalgamated Press and Wire Services DuPont Circle building in Washington. We have rare therapeutic conferred outside of Washington or New York, yet to cut through outside of the US. Hawk didn't like touring around the outdoor pool and only went abroad for the most urgent matters. He obviously classified his visit to Johannesburg and our meeting in Tangier as urgent.
  
  
  Hawk arrived shortly after me, and we took an outside table. He looked almost English in a tweed jacket and grey trousers. Ego's face was wrinkled and tired, and his lean body was even slimmer than usual.
  
  
  "Bad luck in Luxor, Nick. Damn bad luck. But maybe you'll get something from the girl." He pulled out a long brown cigar up to his waistcoat, put it in his mouth, and swallowed it without lighting it. "You probably haven't seen it in the papers yet, but there's been another murder in London." He took out an iso rta cigar and looked at my reaction.
  
  
  I asked her. "Another government official?"
  
  
  "You could say that. This time it's Percy Dumbarton, the British Defence Secretary."
  
  
  He whistled and looked down the narrow cobblestone street, past the slow traffic of robed Arabs and donkey carts to the crumbling old buildings across the street. I started to comment on it, but then the waiter came back to take our order. She was ordered Moroccan couscous with chicken, and Hawk decided to try it himself. Then the waiter left again.
  
  
  "Dumbarton," Hawke continued without waiting for my reply, " was one of the ablest leaders in England. The killer left another note, and it is now clear that the threat in the first note was not idle."
  
  
  "You didn't tell me about it," her emu denied the media reports. Hawk reached into the folder again and handed me two pieces of paper. "The voice. I typed out what was said in the two notes. The first is the first."
  
  
  I read it: "This proves that we are serious about the case. To prevent the deaths of other cabinet ministers, the British government must agree to pay us a sum of ten million pounds within two weeks. Another execution will occur every two Sundays until payment is made. and the amount will increase by two million pounds, after each subsequent death.
  
  
  "The British government will save important lives, significant suffering and millions of pounds by immediately surrendering to our demand. When this inevitable decision is made, a white flag should be raised over the parliament building. a payment receipt will be delivered ."
  
  
  He looked at Hawk. "Interesting," I said. Then he read a second note, the original of which was found at the scene of the second murder:
  
  
  "You were warned, but you didn't take us seriously. Now your Minister of Defence is dead, and our demand is up to twelve million pounds. Isn't the British government too proud to capitulate? Let's hope not. We'll keep an eye on the white flag."
  
  
  He slowly shook his head. "What do the Brits think about it?" I asked her.
  
  
  "They don't know what to do about it, N3," Hawk said grimly. "They literally run around in circles. These were particularly bloody murders, and panic is growing in high circles. Rumor has it that even the queen isn't safe. This is the biggest thing for many years to come. It could literally destroy the British government if they don't understand what's going on."
  
  
  The waiter returned with the food. Hawk pounced on her impatiently, talking as he ate.
  
  
  "At first they thought it might be one across all international crime syndicates. Or maybe even a former prisoner, recently released, with a grudge against official London. Now they think it might be the Russians."
  
  
  He was skeptical. "In the dell itself?"
  
  
  "Maybe it's not as far-fetched as it sounds. The Russians have serious disagreements with some of the UK's top leaders. Dumbarton was the only one around them. They may be trying to force a change of government in London-directly. This has been done before ."
  
  
  Hawk finished his drink and leaned back. "Maybe Russia is more aggressive than we think, "he continued." Dumbarton insisted on developing a fighter jet that would make the MOMENT look like von Richtofen's Fokker DR-1. He also insisted on creating a bacterial arsenal. British intelligence points to the language of the notes-the repeated constellation of the word" we " today. and "us", the fact that it is the same type of paper that was used by the Russian subagent in the other dell. And finally, to the fact that Boris Novostnoy, who recently appeared in London, has now mysteriously disappeared from view . "
  
  
  "He's one of the best KGB men in the world," he told her thoughtfully.
  
  
  Hawk nodded.
  
  
  "And that's why you're here. Head of the PR Department
  
  
  The Selective Missions group and the Prime Minister got together and decided that since you are already participating in this dell through Fergus ' Gali, and especially because the New and ego people have never seen you, it would be nice if I loaned you them for a while."
  
  
  "And that concludes another short but magnificent celebration," I said. "I just wish I could get something from Fergus."
  
  
  "Maybe he didn't have anything," Hawke said. "The best they could find out about the poor guy was that he served in the commandos a few years ago, and then went under the scythe. Of course, he could do some auxiliary work for the Communists, and eavesdrop on something. In any case, it doesn't matter right now. Brits need all the help they can get to crack this. I'm sorry, Nick, that you seem to get all the nasty assignments, but that's because you're so good at your dell. "
  
  
  It was a small compliment. "Thank you. When will I fly her?"
  
  
  "Early tomorrow morning. This is the first fishing trip." He grinned. "I think you'll have time to see her again tonight."
  
  
  Her, grinned at the rheumatism. "I was counting on it."
  
  
  All Mirimar was an old pre-colonial building that retained its European flavor. The club was located at the back of the lobby. I sat her down at a table and ordered an iced Scotch. When the waiter left with my order, I looked around. The room was dimly lit, most of the light coming from the candles placed on each table. In Tangier, most of the customers were Europeans on vacation, and some modernised Arabs in Western clothing were sipping Turkish coffee and talking animatedly among themselves.
  
  
  As soon as you send my drink, the saint goes out and the show begins. The first was a French singer, who went through several numbers, mourning the heartache of lost love. She was followed by a procession of life dancers whose talent was more worthy of Eighth Avenue in New York than in the Middle East.
  
  
  Hadiyyah was finally announced, and a respectful silence reigned in the room. The musicians began to play for a while, and Hadiya slid down the stage from the wings.
  
  
  She was wearing the standard life dancer costume, but it was just as standard as she was. From the start, it was obvious that she was a cut above the average life dancer. The muscles of her life quivered with the control that had taken years to perfect. Her breasts were shaking as if they had thoughts of their own, and even the movements of her hands betrayed the grace that had been there for a long time, when the dance of life was an art, and not the shabby striptease that ego had been relegated to in recent years.
  
  
  She spun around barefoot, her body responding to the rhythm of the musicians, passionately, rising in rhythm and slowing down seductively on the descents. Around me, she could hear the labored breathing of the male customers, who leaned forward to get a better look at her. Several female observers looked at nah with envy, all the while studying her every move, trying to copy ih at a moment when they could have used ih alone with their men.
  
  
  The music was getting tougher by the end of the show, but Hadiya kept up with Nah, sweat dripping down her face, following the taut muscles of her neck and dissolving into the deep valley separating her breasts. She reached her peak with a final crescendo of drums, then dropped to her knees, bending at the waist.
  
  
  There was a moment of tremulous silence in the room, and then, as one, the crowd burst into a round of applause. Several people stood up, their hands working like pistons, including me. Hadiya accepted the applause and modestly ran backstage. The clapping of hands gradually subsided, and as if on cue, the customers let out a collective murmur of protest, each tongue repeating each movement of her performance.
  
  
  He demanded his salary, paid the waiter, and made his way backstage. Backstage, I was stopped by a burly bouncer who held me back with his meaty hands on my chest. Her ego removed her hand and moved toward the door that I guessed belonged to Hadiya.
  
  
  He felt the bouncer's heavy hand on his shoulder as he knocked. I was just about to argue this point when Hadiya appeared.
  
  
  "It's all right, Kassim," she said, and the grip on my body loosened. He walked into the dressing room, ignoring the fat Arab.
  
  
  Hadiya disappeared behind the curtain, changed into her street clothes, and went out the door. When we got outside, she hailed a taxi and gave the driver the address of her apartment when hers settled in next to hers.
  
  
  Hadiya's house was on the top floor of an old, well-kept building in the Silversmiths ' quarter, overlooking the sea. She opened the door, let me pass, then followed me and locked it. The full moon's holy light streamed in through the window. I scanned her in the living room for any sign of Fergus. There was no Ih. It was a habitat for females.
  
  
  Hadiya poured herself a glass of brandy, handed me one, and sat down in the only chair in the room. I sat down on the couch and looked at her over the rim of my glass.
  
  
  Finally I told her: "The picture Fergus told me to give you?"
  
  
  She reached into the folds of her dress and pulled out a photograph around the pocket. She passed the ego on to me. Her researched it. It was an I try photo, faded with time. There were 20 people in nen, all in desert battle clothes, all lined up in a formal group pose in four rows.
  
  
  "This is an old Fergus commando unit," Hadiya said. "He's in the second row, starting second from the left. The picture was taken in 1942 in Cairo."
  
  
  It was turned over by ego, hoping to find something written there. Nen only had the photographer's name on it. Everything Fergus wanted to tell me was in this photo, probably concerning one of the men.
  
  
  "Tell me about Fergus," I said.
  
  
  She sipped her brandy. "I don't know anything ... About the ego mail business is, I mean. Ego has been arrested several times for gold smuggling. Once ego was questioned by the police about something related to hashish - I think it was sold to ego. In addition, he visited me once, maybe twice, for a year. Sometimes he brought me money. Sometimes he borrowed money from me."
  
  
  "Suitcase, where did the photo come from? What else is in nen?"
  
  
  "Nothing," she said. "Just a few old things."
  
  
  He got up and went into the bedroom. Her suitcase lay open on her bed. I rummaged through my nen and found nothing but a few changes of men's clothing and an old moth-eaten wedding dress.
  
  
  "My mother was in nen," Hadiya said from behind me as she was picked up by ee.
  
  
  He turned to her, asking her with his eyes.
  
  
  "It was my mother's wedding dress," she confirmed. "She was Fergus's wife."
  
  
  "I what?"
  
  
  "I'm a woman. She married him when I was four years old. Fergus was my stepfather."
  
  
  Then, for the first time, she expressed her emotions about Fergus's death. Tears flooded her eyes and she buried her head in my chest, grabbing my hands. Her, as could the moment her, assuring her that everything would be all right. The tears gradually subsided, and I managed to say, " He was very nice to me, Nick. He was like my own father. He may have been a bad person, but he was a good one for me." After my mother died when she was 10 years old, he took care of me like she was ego's own daughter."
  
  
  He nodded in understanding.
  
  
  We were still standing very close to each other, and suddenly her, felt a new, different feeling. Hadiya's chest was pressed against me, and I could smell her warm sweet scent in her hair. My arms wrapped around her body. I kissed her hard, my tongue sliding into her mouth, exploring it, meeting and intertwining with hers.
  
  
  Hadiya reached behind her and undid the buttons of the dress she was wearing. He slid to her feet. Underneath, she wore only a tiny pair of sheer black bikini bottoms that accentuated her bronzed curves. Her bare breasts, which had so excited tourists in Miramar not so long ago, were bulging out, full and loose, and her brown tips were sticking up.
  
  
  He fiddled with his clothes for a moment, then found himself next to that warm, exciting body on the bed. Hadiya's dark eyes glowed softly in the dimness of the room. Her arms pulled me to her, and her hands slid down my back.
  
  
  She was kissed by ee, and now her tongue slid into my mouth and explored it while her hands caressed me. She was laid in a series of kisses along her shoulders, down to those swollen breasts, and finally down the protrusion of her life, to her navel, which was held up by a small artificial gem during her hotel dance. Hers lingered at her navel, caressed her ego with his tongue, and she broke out around a soft moan.
  
  
  Her thighs wrapped around me, and her stahl searched for the depth between them. We connected with her soft sigh. And then they hips, which were doing magic things in the dance, started to move in rheumatism at my measured push. The flow is embedded in us. Her wild thighs twitched and quivered in a primitive rhythm, reaching for me.
  
  
  She lifted her legs above my shoulders, and ee grabbed her buttocks with both hands. She moaned, moving in perfect harmony with my thrusts, deeper and deeper, harder and harder, trying to melt into her. Hadiya's hips continued to move with me for a long time, but then she arched her back, her fingers scratching at my arms, a sharp cry escaping around her throat. I flinched, heard myself making a strange animal sound, and collapsed on top of nah. He was drenched in sweat. Her car moved out of Hadiya. My target sank into the pillow, and he fell into a deep sleep.
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  A tug on my shoulder woke me up. He jumped up to confront the terrified girl.
  
  
  "Someone for a day," Hadiya hissed in my ear.
  
  
  He reached for Wilhelmina, but it was too late. The door swung open and a man rushed in. He fired in my direction. Hers rolled off the bed and landed on the floor. Nightlight grabbed her and threw her, then jumped. Her hit him as he raised the gun again to fire. My hand shot up and smashed into Ego's chin. Ego's neck jerked back with a crack that echoed off the walls of the room.
  
  
  He reached for the light switch with a groan, turned on the ego, and looked at the body in front of me. The man was probably dying. Then he looked at Hadiya. A crimson-red stain spread below her left breast.
  
  
  She held back the shot that was meant for me.
  
  
  He lifted her head with his hands. Pink bubbles flowed down her lips, then she shivered and froze.
  
  
  The man on the floor groaned. I went to him. "Who sent you?" He shook Emu's hand.
  
  
  "Ayub," he coughed, "my brother..." and died.
  
  
  I rummaged through my ego pockets and found only the stub of a United Arab Airlines trip. If he was Ayub's brother, it was only natural for him to track me down. A bloody vendetta is part of life in this part of the world. Her brother's ego killed her, and it was his duty to kill me. It was all so fucking stupid, and Hadiya died because of it.
  
  
  The second chapter.
  
  
  My trip 631 BOAC arrived at London Airport at 11: 05 sunny morning the next day. No one met me, because Hawk didn't want any reception. I had to hire a taxi, just like any other visitor, and ask the driver to take me to the British Tourist Association office at 64 St James's Street. There I saw a man named Brutha. Brutha, his real identity-a well-guarded secret - was Hawke's opposite number in London. He was the head of the Special Missions Division of the Head of Special Operations. He gave me specific instructions about the task.
  
  
  I used a password to gain access to the locked upper floor of the Travel Association building, and was met by a military guard around two men in sleek British Army uniforms. He gave her his name.
  
  
  "Follow us, sir," the one around them calmly told me.
  
  
  We moved down the corridor in a tight, brisk formation, the guards ' boots clacking on the polished floor in a sharp rhythm. We stopped in front of a large paneled door at the far end of the corridor.
  
  
  "You may come in, sir," the same young man said to me.
  
  
  "Thank you," I said, and opened the door to a small reception area.
  
  
  He closed the door behind him and found himself facing a middle-aged woman sitting at a desk, apparently Brutus's secretary. But my gaze quickly passed mimmo nah to a truly beautiful sight. A girl in a very short leather dress, her back to me, was leaning over the windowsill to water the plants in a box outside the window. Still, the dress showed off every inch of her long, milky thighs and part of her well-rounded, lace-covered buttock. I liked Brutus ' taste for office furniture.
  
  
  The older woman followed my gaze. "Mr. Carter, hers, I believe," she said, smiling.
  
  
  "Yes," I said, reluctantly shifting my gaze. As he spoke, the girl turned to us, holding a small watering can in her hands.
  
  
  "We've been waiting for you," the receptionist said. "Her name is Mrs. Smythe, and this is Heather York."
  
  
  "I'd love to," I told her to Mrs. Smythe, but my eyes went back to the girl. She had blond hair and short hair. Nah had big blue eyes, the brightest blue I'd ever seen her. Nah had a perfect face: a straight, thin nose above a wide, sensual mouth. The micro mini she was wearing barely covered her, even when she was sitting naked. Brown skin jutted out over a rounded chest above a narrow waist. Her calves were encased in brown boots that matched her dress.
  
  
  "Brutha will see you immediately, Mr. Carter," Mrs. Smythe said. "The paneled door on your left."
  
  
  "Thank you." He smiled at the blonde, hoping to see her later.
  
  
  Brutha got up from behind a large mahogany chair as he entered. "Well, good! Mr. Nick Carter! Good! Good!"
  
  
  Ego's hand swallowed mine and shook it. He was a big man, as tall as I was, and he had one of those square British army faces. Ego's sideburns were gray and there were wrinkles around his eyes, but he looked like a man who could still lead a military assault and enjoy it.
  
  
  "Pleased to meet you, sir," I said.
  
  
  "With pleasure, my boy! Absolutely fantastic! You know, your reputation precedes you."
  
  
  I smiled and sat down on the chair he offered me. He didn't return to his seat, but stood in the corner of the chair, his face suddenly grim.
  
  
  "We've got a big failure here, Nick," he said. "I'm very sorry that we're dragging you into our problems, but you're not well known here, and frankly, I needed an experienced person who wouldn't hesitate to kill if it became necessary. Our only person of your caliber is inextricably linked to the problem in Malta."
  
  
  "I'm happy to help," I said.
  
  
  She was given a detailed account of what had happened in Egypt by Emu Wa, and then handed over her photograph. He studied it for a while, and then agreed with me that everything Fergus had to tell us had something to do with one or more of the men in the picture.
  
  
  "It will take time to track down all these people," he said. "Meanwhile, there is more news."
  
  
  Brutha paced beside the chair with the bandages on his back. "We don't know if they are Communists or not. We know that Novostny is here for some sinister purpose, but it may not have anything to do with the murders. However, we have to test it, and time is vital. any other ideas, research ih. Just don't forget to check with me regularly."
  
  
  He reached across the chair, picked up two pieces of paper, and handed ih to me. These were
  
  
  original recordings left by the killer or hired killers. Ih studied it.
  
  
  "You will notice that they are handwritten and written by the same person," Brutha pointed out.
  
  
  "Yes," I told her thoughtfully. "Have you analyzed the email?"
  
  
  "No," he said, " but I can arrange it if you want."
  
  
  He nodded to her. I wasn't an expert, but the doodle style didn't suggest a cool professional agent. Of course, this may be part of the smoke screen. "Hawk said the murders were bloody."
  
  
  Brutha sighed and sank into the leather chair behind the desk. You see, we tried not to give the more complicated details in the newspapers. The back of Welsey's head was blown off by a high-powered rifle. He was shot through the window of his office by an experienced marksman from some distance away. . Almost like a professional hunter. "
  
  
  "Or a professional killer," I said.
  
  
  "Yes." He rubbed his chin. "The Persian Dumbarton murder was quite unpleasant. He was stabbed while walking his dog. The dog's throat was cut. The note was attached to Dumbarton's coat. The first note, by the way, was found in unopened mail on Wellsey's desk."
  
  
  "Maybe you should just pay the money and see what happens," I guessed.
  
  
  "We thought about it. But at twelve million pounds, that's a lot of money, even for the British government. I will tell you frankly, however, there is considerable pressure from members of the Cabinet of Ministers and ministries to pay IHT. We may end up like this. But at the moment, you have at least Sunday to work something out ."
  
  
  "I'll do my best, sir."
  
  
  "I know you usually prefer to work alone," Brutha said, " but I'm going to assign an agent around my SM unit to work with you on this. You two will only report to me. There are other agencies that work. on this occasion, for estestvenno, - MI5, MI6, Dvor and others. They should not share any information that you develop, except through me. Is that clear?" "
  
  
  "Absolutely fantastic," emu told her.
  
  
  He smiled. Good. He pressed a button on his desk. "Send York. Miss Smythe."
  
  
  Her brow furrowed. Isn't that the name of the blonde I was introduced to in the waiting room...? The door behind me opened and I turned. A beautiful creature in a miniature leather miniature leather suit quickly entered the room, smiling broadly and walking mimmo me to the mahogany table. She sat on the edge of the chair as if she had sat there many times before.
  
  
  "This is Mr. Nick Carter, Heather, "Brutha said, smiling at hey.
  
  
  "We met outside," she said, not taking her eyes off me.
  
  
  "Ah, good."He looked at me and said,' Heather is the agent you're going to work with, Nick.'
  
  
  Her gaze shifted from the girl to Brutus and back to Nach. "Damn her," I said softly.
  
  
  After telling Heather about the photo, Brut dismissed us. When her father approached her, he said, " Stay in touch. In a day or so, we'll have something about the men of photography."
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  I took a taxi to a small hotel near Russell Square, recovering somewhat from the pleasant shock of discovering that I was going to spend the next week or so with a bunch of goodies like Heather York. In fact, I had mixed feelings for her. Women and espionage don't mix, at least not the way I play her. And I found it hard to believe that a sophisticated girl like Heather could actually help find the killer. But Brutha was the boss during this lend-lease assignment, and he wasn't about to question her opinion.
  
  
  I've decided to stay fairly close to the hotel for the next few hours while Heather prepares us to leave for Cornwall no matter when. A taxi driver took me down Pall Mall, mimmo of the National Gallery in Trafalgar Square, where tourists were feeding pigeons by Nelson's Column in the sun.
  
  
  We were on our way to Russell Square Park. The hotel was only a couple of blocks away, and I wanted to take a little walk.
  
  
  "I'll get out of here," he told the driver.
  
  
  "All right, sir," the man said, slowing down the taxi.
  
  
  Emu paid for it, and he left. I passed it in the park, enjoying the autumn sun, and finally turned down the alley to my hotel. A single black Austin sat at the curb in front of them. As I approached it, I saw three men in dark suits inside. Two of them came out through them and confronted me, blocking my path.
  
  
  "Excuse me, monument, but would you happen to be Mr. Carter?"
  
  
  A man was studying her. He was a square, massive young man. He looked like a cop... or a security agent. So did ego buddy, especially with his right hand tucked into his jacket pocket.
  
  
  "What if it's him?"
  
  
  "Then we'd like to chat with you," the young man said with a tight grin. "Come on, we don't want to disturb anyone, do we?"
  
  
  I looked around. There was always someone at the parque in Russell Square, but the alleys of the section were deserted. But right now, there were only a couple of people walking in the opposite direction. No help at all.
  
  
  "Sit down, Mr. Carter." The order came from the third person, the driver, and he felt something hit me hard in the back. "Search the ego first," he told his fellow humans, leaning out of the windows.
  
  
  The first man stepped inside my doublet and unholstered Wilhelmina. He tucked the luger into his belt, then patted me. He did a sloppy job, missing Hugo on my right forearm and Pierre, a cyanide gas bomb strapped to the inside of my left thigh.
  
  
  "Get in the car, Mr. Carter," he said. "We want to know what business you had with Gali Fergus before Ego died."
  
  
  "Who is 'we'?"
  
  
  "A man named Novosti," said the first.
  
  
  "Just like voting, that's all," I said.
  
  
  "Voice and all, Yankee," the second man said to me, speaking for the first time.
  
  
  "Then take me to him," I said. I don't argue with a gun that looks me in the face.
  
  
  The second man laughed harshly. "You'd like that, wouldn't you? But it won't be that easy. You'll just come with us, tell us what we want to know, and then take the next plane back to America."
  
  
  Her climbed into the backseat, and they played this game, behind me, one on each side. They weren't taking any chances. We pulled away from the curb.
  
  
  We were now driving down Oxford Sturt towards Marble Arch. If they stay on this main street, it will complicate things. However, just before we reached Hyde Park, the driver turned into a narrow alley, heading towards Grosvenor Square. This was my chance, if there ever was one.
  
  
  The man to my left was watching the car move, but the ego buddy with the gun was still watching me - or the gun. So I had to give my ego a little encouragement.
  
  
  "Look out," I said suddenly. "Out there on the street."
  
  
  The driver automatically slowed down, and the two men in the back seat looked ahead for a split second. That's all I need. She was hit hard by an agent to her right, and the gun fell to the floor of the car. It was followed by a quick, sharp blow to the throat that made him vomit.
  
  
  Another agent was grabbing my arm. He pulled away and violently hit his ego in the face with his elbow, breaking the emu's nose. He grunted and collapsed into a corner.
  
  
  Austin raced madly down the narrow street, the driver trying to steer with one hand and pointing a gun at me with the other. "Stop it. Carter! Stop it, you fucking bastard."
  
  
  The gun pushed her toward the roof of the car, twisted her wrist, and the gun smashed through the side window, shattering the glass. I felt a sharp pain in my right cheek as a piece of flying glass hit me.
  
  
  Now the driver has completely lost control of the Austin. It slid from one side of the street to the other, passing mimmo gaping pedestrians, finally breaking the right-hand intersection and crashing into a support post. The driver hit his head on the windshield, and he collapsed on the wheel.
  
  
  Taking Wilhelmina from the man on my left, her, I reached for the agent on my right and kicked the door open on the other side. It swung open and he threw himself through the door, hitting his shoulder on the pavement and rolling from the impact.
  
  
  He stood up and looked around in the Austin, at the two stunned men in the back and the unconscious driver slumped over the steering wheel.
  
  
  "Don't distract me," I said.
  
  
  The third chapter.
  
  
  "Because time is so important," Heather York was saying over a cozy table for two, " Brutha insisted that we leave for Cornwall tonight. Actually, I prefer driving at night."
  
  
  She was wearing a short, very short green dress with matching shoes and a chestnut wig with a shoulder-length hairstyle. I told her when she picked me up at the hotel, " If this wig is supposed to be a disguise, it won't work - I wouldn't recognize this figure anywhere."
  
  
  She laughed, shaking her head. "No disguise, the girl just likes to change her identity from time to time."
  
  
  On the way to a restaurant on the outskirts of London, where we stopped for lunch before heading south to the coast, he described his run-in with the newsboys.
  
  
  She grinned. "Brut must love it... did you call emu?"
  
  
  "I did it."
  
  
  The restaurant was charming, very Old English. The waiters had just brought our order when a man approached the table. He was tall and square, with blond hair and a rough face. There was a thin scar along the left side of her neck, almost hidden by her shirt. He had hard, dark brown eyes.
  
  
  "Heather-Heather York?" he said, stopping by the chair. "Yes! He almost missed you and the wig. Very flattering."
  
  
  Heather gave him a tight smile. "Elmo Jupiter! It's good to see you again."
  
  
  "I was going to ask you and your friend to join us," he pointed to a dark-haired girl at a table in the corner, " but I see you've been served."
  
  
  "Yes," Heather said. "This is Richard Matthews... Elmo Jupiter, Richard."
  
  
  He nodded to her. "With pleasure."
  
  
  He studied me for a moment, and his hard eyes were definitely hostile. "You're an American."
  
  
  "Yes."
  
  
  "Heather has really exotic tastes." He grinned, turning back to her. "On people and cars. Well, I must get back to my black ale. See you later, Heather."
  
  
  "Yes, of course," she said, still maintaining a tight smile. "Have a nice evening."
  
  
  "I always do," Jupiter said, turning away.
  
  
  When he shelled back to the ego table.
  
  
  Heather glanced at the girl who was already waiting for ego there. "I don't like this man," she said sharply. "I met him through another person who works as a clerk in KP. He thinks I work in public health. He asked me out on a date, but she apologized. I don't like ego eyes."
  
  
  "I think he's jealous," I said.
  
  
  "He's probably outraged that I refused emu. I've heard him, he's used to getting what he wants. I think he makes cars. He would have been surprised to find out about the girl he was with. They have a long track record of selling drugs."
  
  
  "How do you know that?" I asked her.
  
  
  "I worked at the Yard for almost a year before KP offered me my job."
  
  
  She said it casually, as if it didn't matter, but I was impressed. Her suspicion was that sweet Heather was full of surprises.
  
  
  Throughout the evening and night, we drove along winding, bush-lined narrow roads, first passing through villages with names like Crownhill and Moorswater, and then along the coast for a while. Heather drove her outdated but bespoke S. O. C. E. M. A. Gregoire.
  
  
  "He's got a Ferodo of the type that got him," she proudly told me as we roared around a twisty bend in the dark, the headlights flashing two lanes of yellow into the night. She'd given up on a wig, and her short blond hair was windblown. "And an electromagnetic gearbox of the Cotal MK type."
  
  
  We stopped at a hotel for breakfast, then midnight, when Heather finally got tired of driving. She asked for private rooms. When the old Scottish landlord gave us adjoining rooms and winked at us, Heather didn't object, but she didn't support it either. So I fell asleep in my bed, trying not to think about her so closely.
  
  
  We arrived very early in Penzance, where, as reported, a couple of days ago we saw New Products. Brutha gave us a detailed description of the ego and what was known about the ego cover-up. He was going under the name John Ryder, and his English was supposed to be impeccable.
  
  
  After some careful inquiries in local hotels and pubs, we learned that the man who answered the description of "Barents Sea territory" was indeed in Penzance, at the Queens Hotel, with another man. He and his partner had checked out around the hotel the previous morning, but the desk clerk had heard the News mention Land's End, the tip of Cornwall jutting out to sea.
  
  
  "So this is Land's End," Heather said as we drove around town. "The perfect place to hide and talk."
  
  
  "Maybe," I said. "But from now on, we will proceed slowly.
  
  
  "Rosneft probably knows that we are looking for egos."
  
  
  She smiled. "You're the boss."
  
  
  The road to Land's End was a dreary one, passing through stony country dotted with heather and reeds, and passing through grey stone villages. For example, five miles from our destination, we stopped a farmer who was traveling in a van in the opposite direction and asked about visitors to the area.
  
  
  He rubbed the red sticks together with a thick hand. "Two gentlemen moved into Hemoor Cottage yesterday. Odin around them gave me a fiver for filling the well. They looked like nice enough gentlemen."
  
  
  From the shell van, the smell of manure. Heather wrinkled her nose and smiled at me.
  
  
  "That wouldn't be our guy," I lied. "The person we are looking for is here with his family. Thanks anyway."
  
  
  The farmer set his horse in motion, and we rode slowly away. When the van was out of sight, we made the first sign in the direction indicated by the farmer. About a hundred yards down the dirt road, he motioned for Heather to turn aside.
  
  
  "The cottage can't be further away," I said. "We'll go the rest of the way."
  
  
  As we were getting out around the car, a bird called irritably from the fields next to us. Otherwise, the morning was sunny and quiet. We followed the winding road for another couple of hundred yards before we came in sight of the cottage.
  
  
  Heather pushed her against the tall grass. "It has to be like this," I whispered.
  
  
  The cottage is surrounded by brown stone and sits on a low hill covered with gorse, yellow flowers giving some relief to this harsh scene. A small blue Sunbeam sedan was parked next to the cottage. There were no attempts to hide the car from the road. Obviously, the "Newbie" thought he was safe - from observation, otherwise he wanted others to think he was.
  
  
  He touched her arm and pointed out that we would circle back to the house, where we could approach him behind the car cover. He started across the grass, and Heather followed.
  
  
  As we crawled toward the parked Sunbeam, we heard voices. There was an open window on the other side of the cottage. He reached into his jacket for Wilhelmina, and Heather took out a small Sterling 380 PPL submachine gun around her purse. She motioned for Ay to stay put and cover for me. He crawled slowly to the edge of the cottage, stopping under the window.
  
  
  The voices were very clear now. He straightened up to the windowsill and quickly peered inside. There were three men in the cottage: a tall, thin man with light brown hair and a bony face-obviously Rosneft Oil company-was pacing the room, talking to two other men who looked British. He crouched down again and listened.
  
  
  "When we return, there will be no further contact in London,
  
  
  except for a pre-arranged message, "Novosti said. - First of all, no one around us should be seen in the Ministry of Foreign Defense until the deadline. Is that clear?" "
  
  
  The others murmured their agreement.
  
  
  Good. At the appointed time, the Ministry will have heavy security. Our timing should be almost perfect. Our facility will only be open to us for a few seconds. We must act quickly and effectively."
  
  
  "Don't worry about us, mate," one of the Englishmen said coldly.
  
  
  "We'll give them a great ending to the war show," Ego comrade agreed.
  
  
  He lowered his voice. I was leaning forward to hear him better when a sound came from the back of the cottage. Heather's whisper reached me almost simultaneously.
  
  
  "Nick! Watch out!"
  
  
  It was too late. A stocky man came around the back of the house with a bucket of water. Obviously, he was at the well behind him. When he saw me, he swore in Russian and dropped the buckets. He matched the description of a KGB resident in southern England that she receives. Spotting Wilhelmina, he frantically reached into his hip-width with a pistol.
  
  
  He took aim and fired at the luger in one motion; the shot rang out loudly on a quiet morning. The Russian clutched his chest, and the gun he pulled out flew into the wall of the cottage. The KGB officer staggered back and landed on the gorse with his legs spread wide, his hands clutching at empty air.
  
  
  "Run to the tall grass," Heather called to her. Then, without waiting for confirmation, he dashed headlong to the back of the cottage, hoping there was a door.
  
  
  He almost tripped over a fallen bucket as he rounded the corner. He saw the closed door. Her ego kicked him sharply, and he collapsed inside.
  
  
  As her husband entered the cottage, the room behind him where he and the others were talking, one of the Englishmen came through the open doorway, holding a Webley 455 Mark IV, and bumped into me without breaking stride. Ego's face showed surprise when we hit. He was knocked back against the door frame, and I had just enough time to aim Wilhelmina and rip a hole in her stomach. He collapsed to the floor, eyes open, a surprised expression on his face.
  
  
  I went to the front room of the cottage, but it was empty. Then I heard gunshots from the front. News and another man were outside and engaged in a shootout with Heather. Apparently, she was keeping ih away from the blue sedan with her small pistol. He was heading for the front door, about to approach them from behind, when a second Briton burst back into the cottage.
  
  
  He fired first, but the shot was mimmo. My Luger exploded twice, and both hits hit home. I didn't stop to watch him fall. There was a quick exchange of gunfire outside, and then she heard a car door slam. A second later, the engine roared. As I left it around the cottage, the car slid through the open area, heading for the road.
  
  
  He could barely see the top of her head as he lowly ducked to the steering wheel to avoid Heather's fire. Placing Wilhelmina on his forearm, he aimed at the barrel and aimed at the right rear wheel. But as soon as it was shot, the sedan seemed to jump out of the ruts, madly changing direction. The shot missed the tire and instead dug into the dirt. Then the car disappeared behind the tall grass on the road.
  
  
  He put the gun back in its holster and sighed. The only man we really wanted to catch ran away. He could find other agents in a matter of days, maybe even hours. And if the killer was Novinkami, we probably didn't even stop him.
  
  
  Then he thought of Heather and turned back to the tall grass. She was discovered to be reloading Sterling's public procurement law.
  
  
  "I apologized that he passed mimmo me," she apologized.
  
  
  "It can't be helped," I said.
  
  
  "I guess it's pointless trying to chase an ego in my car."
  
  
  He has too big a start for us, " I said.
  
  
  "Yes." She seemed depressed.
  
  
  "Are you okay?"
  
  
  “yeah. I'm fine. And you?"
  
  
  "Have a nice day," her father said. "I can't say the same for the two of them." He nodded toward the cottage.
  
  
  We searched the two Britons and the cottage, but found nothing. Then he rummaged through the dead chekist's pockets. Nothing. Novosti was a real pro - pros didn't like to write anything down.
  
  
  "They were talking about the Ministry of Foreign Defense," her Heather said. "They were definitely planning something there.
  
  
  "We talked about 'our topic' and 'target date' and said they should ' act quickly. He could be our man. We'd better assume that this is the case, and that he plans to kill again soon. part of a grand plan, it will simply change the time, date, and method of operation for the next attempt ."
  
  
  Department of Defense, Heather mused. "When Dumbarton is already dead, who will leave it? An ego substitute?"
  
  
  "Maybe, or maybe, General. Who knows? " He said. Her father was going through the wallet of one of the dead men for the second time. It was noticed by a secret compartment that I missed the first time. Inside was a piece of paper. Pulled out " Hey! What is it?"
  
  
  Heather looked over my shoulder. "This is a phone number."
  
  
  "What does it say under it?"
  
  
  She took it from me. "Lower slaughterhouse".
  
  
  "Nizhny Novgorod... What the hell is this?"
  
  
  She looked up at me, her blue eyes smiling. "It's a town, a small village in the Cotswolds. It must be the number in the village."
  
  
  "Well," I told her thoughtfully, "maybe someone around the boys' quarters made a little mistake."
  
  
  The fourth chapter.
  
  
  "And the second note?" I asked, holding the phone to my ear as the photostatic copies of the murder notes Brutha had written for me decomposed on the bed next to me. "Were there any differences?"
  
  
  I was talking to the graphoanalyst Brutha gave me about the murder. Ego rheumatism was listening intently.
  
  
  "Well," I said when he was done,"I appreciate your help."
  
  
  He hung up the phone and turned to Heather, who was working on the village's other single-bed unit. We checked into this Stratford hotel as husband and wife-at her suggestion.
  
  
  "That's interesting," I said.
  
  
  "What is it?" she asked.
  
  
  He studied the photostats thoughtfully. I circled certain letters when I was listening to a handwriting expert.
  
  
  "Look at this," Heather told her. "Notice how all the letters are tilted at an acute angle to the right side of the paper. Graphology-believes that this means that the writer is a very emotional person, possibly an unbalanced person."
  
  
  "But our dossier on Novosti shows that he is a cool, systematic and effective agent," Heather argued. "All the ego records in Gachin tell the same story." She's mistletoe referring to the stolen records from the Soviet spy school.
  
  
  "Exactly. Now look at the open A's and O's in this first note. An attentive and accurate person, such as "Novosti", will close these letters at the top.
  
  
  "Secretive people always close their Yes's," I continued, " and that's not all. See how the letter" T " intersects in Britain? A strong, firm line of intersection in the text of the letter indicates strength bordering on stubbornness and excessive aggressiveness. , "New items" don't fit into the template. Then there's a hasty writing style that suggests irritability and impatience. Will you see how the Soviets choose an impatient person as their top spy? "
  
  
  Heather smiled. "I'd rather they did."
  
  
  She smiled at the rheumatism. "I'm afraid it's not our luck." He looked at the photostats again and stopped smiling as he compared ih. "Last but not least, there is a clear downward bias to the lines in these notes. This is most evident in the very second note. This shows that the writer is overcome with emotions, full of depression and anxiety ."
  
  
  Heather looked at the notes regretfully. "Such a person would have been discovered very quickly by the KGB."
  
  
  "And get a quick resignation," I agreed.
  
  
  "The voice is a yes!" breathed Heather in one of her rare lapses in street slang. "It's a ruddy guessing game, yes!"
  
  
  "Time is running out,"I added," there will be another murder in a few days."
  
  
  "What do we do now?" She crossed her long legs, revealing a lacy patch under the yellow mini dress she was wearing. She looked like a schoolgirl who was just wondering if she had passed the exam. But she wasn't acting like a schoolgirl in a cottage on Land's End.
  
  
  "We go to the Lower Slot and try to move the 'News' while we still have time. Maybe this whole phone number leads to someone's girlfriend. But this may be the real headquarters of the" Barents Sea territories". Its just hoping it's not a dead end."
  
  
  In the morning, we drove to Lower Slaughter along narrow roads, passing black-and-white thatched cottages and signs pointing the traveler to places like Chipping Campden and Bourton-on-on-Water. Lower Slaughter itself was a serene old tree-shaded village surrounded by brown stone cottages with a stream running through the nach. We parked the car in an alley and went to the address that Brutus ' research department traced to the phone number we gave them. It was a small house on the outskirts of the city, and it looked like it was abandoned. There was no blue sedan around, and the door was locked.
  
  
  We went to the back of the building and looked in through a small stained-glass window. No one saw her. He took out an adjustable key around his pocket, one of the many devices provided by the Goshawk special effects and editing boys, and turned their lock. In the blink of an eye, the lock clicked and the door opened. Wilhelmina pulled it out and stepped carefully inside. He walked slowly through the rustic kitchen, into the living room, then into the bedroom. When her husband returned to the living room, Heather was checking the house for bugs. There was no Ih.
  
  
  He had almost decided that there was no point in loitering around when he was discovered by a night suitcase hidden in a small closet. Nen had all the necessary men's toiletries that were recently used. He looked around a little more and noticed a crumpled but fresh cigarette butt in the trash can. The cigarette was one of three British brands preferred by Russians and other Eastern Europeans.
  
  
  "The new ones beat us here," Heather told her. "And he'll come back."
  
  
  "Yes," she said,"and he already had company." She showed me two glasses
  
  
  the liquor she found in the kitchen cabinet was recently used and left unwashed.
  
  
  He smiled at her, then leaned down and brushed his lips across her cheek. "Very good," I said. She looked at me as if she wanted more, then quickly looked around. I found it hard to remember why I was there.
  
  
  "There's a man named Koval," Heather said, not taking her eyes off the glasses she was holding. "This is a Russian agent who was seen in the area and who likes this kind of liquor. Stanislav Koval".
  
  
  "It looks like he's a new subordinate of the Barents Sea territory, "I said," maybe they're not recruiting any more agents right now."
  
  
  "Koval will be able to call a few people," Heather said.
  
  
  "Actually. But now we have a small advantage. We're here and they don't know it."
  
  
  Heather was wearing a corduroy skirt and one of those jersey shirts, no bra , so he could see the outline of her nipples through the sticky fabric. It was no different from what all the other girls were wearing in the new days of women's emancipation, but it was distracting and frustrating for Heather, even in these different circumstances. I think she knew it bothered me, and hey, I rather liked it. I tore my eyes away from those nipples and went to the kitchen to re-lock the back door. Then she changed her cigarette case and cigarette butt, and Heather took the dirty glasses back to the cabinet where she found them.
  
  
  "Now,"I said," we'll wait." He deliberately let his gaze slide from the jersey blouse down to the short corduroy shirt that fell to mid-thigh. "Do you have any suggestions as to where?"
  
  
  She gave me a small smile. "Bathroom?"
  
  
  Hey smiled back at her. "Of course," I said.
  
  
  We went into the bedroom and closed the door. Heather went to one of the windows and looked out. "It's very quiet," she said, turning to me and tossing her purse on the bed. "We can just wait a long time."
  
  
  "We just might, and I'm not going to waste it."
  
  
  He walked over to her, wrapped his arms around her waist, and began to pull her to him. She arched her back so that her soft curves pressed against me.
  
  
  "I've been looking forward to it," I said, kissing her neck with my lips revealing under her blonde hair.
  
  
  "Her hotel has you with them ferret as you entered Brutus 'office," she whispered in rheumatism.
  
  
  She helped me take off my jacket, Wilhelmina, and shirt. Her was undoing the latch that normally held her skirt. A moment later, he fell to the floor. She was sitting there, wearing sheer lace panties with flexible curves and softness, her skin milky white and smooth as velvet.
  
  
  "We can't use the bed," I said, watching her pull her panties up over her hips. He took off the rest of his clothes and placed them next to me on the bedroom rug.
  
  
  Ee pinned her to the floor and kissed her. She responded enthusiastically, moving her hips toward me in soft undulations. I caressed her, kissed her, and felt her thighs part at my touch. Obviously, she wasn't in the mood to waste time either. Gently, he covered her body with his own.
  
  
  Her, entered nah in one smooth smooth motion. Her hands were doing magical things on my back, moving lower and lower, cajoling, cajoling, turning me on more and more. He began to move faster and felt Heather's reaction. Her legs spread wider, as if she wanted to be penetrated as deeply as possible. Her breathing turned into hoarse sobs. I pushed her in deeper, and she moaned as we climaxed together, perfect.
  
  
  After that, we dressed slowly. When Heather put her tank top back on, her father leaned over and kissed her lightly on the lips.
  
  
  "We'll have to make this lend-lease business more familiar," I said.
  
  
  "I'll see what Brutha can do." She smiled.
  
  
  We were dressed when I heard the car stop. Heather was in the kitchen. I quickly went to the bedroom window, pulling on my jacket. A black sedan pulled up in front of the house. There were three men in nen. One around them was "News".
  
  
  Her, rushed to the bedroom door as the Novelty and ego friends got out around the car and headed for the house. I whispered sharply. "They're here!"
  
  
  A key creaked in the lock. Heather was nowhere to be seen. He ducked back into the bedroom as the front door opened.
  
  
  The fifth chapter.
  
  
  "Maybe I can invite someone else here besides Marsh," one of the men said as they entered. He saw a burly, curly-haired man carrying a bag of groceries. He walked through the living room and into the kitchen, and I thought it was Koval. "But you understand that this is a very short time."
  
  
  He held his breath as Koval entered the kitchen. Heather was out there somewhere. Maybe hey managed to sneak into the storeroom. I could hear the curly-haired man moving around the kitchen.
  
  
  "You can tell the Kremlin that, comrade." It was "News" and it was said with great sarcasm. I saw her, ego, when he sat down in the chair for the day. He opened the door a crack, leaving only a half-inch mark. Heather's purse, I noticed out of the corner of my eye, was no longer on the bed. If she'd taken this
  
  
  And then ego saw her in the far corner by the bed, where he must have fallen somehow. A Sterling slot machine will be added to nen.
  
  
  Her mouth clenched in frustration. Heather was unarmed, and we were separated. It wasn't the right moment.
  
  
  A tall, angular British man with a neat mustache moved to a sofa near the Barents Sea.
  
  
  "I know one guy that might work out," he told the Russian. "Harry is a Monkey, as they call it. It's suitable for a fight. He likes to fight."
  
  
  There was a hint of impatience in the Barents Sea Territory's voice. "We can't use ordinary hooligans in this operation, Marsh. We need people with good minds, otherwise the Russian locality will fail."
  
  
  "Absolutely fantastic," the Briton deadpanned.
  
  
  Koval poked his head around the kitchen. "A glass of vodka, comrades?"
  
  
  "I'll try," Marsh said.
  
  
  "Yes, please." He nodded. He got up, took off his jacket, and went straight to the bedroom.
  
  
  He rushed to the closet. As soon as the door was closed, a man entered the room and threw his jacket on the bed. He pulled off his tie, and for a moment I thought he was taking it to the pantry. Wilhelmina pulled it out and was ready to shoot if he opened the door. But he turned away from the bathroom, and for a moment slipped out of my line of sight, apparently hanging his tie on some hook to moan. He was three feet away from a 9mm bullet in his chest. At another moment, he went out through the rooms.
  
  
  I didn't get around the toilet before I heard a commotion in the kitchen. Koval shouted loudly in Russian, and then a thunderous voice rang out. He found Heather. After a few seconds, she screamed.
  
  
  He threw open the bathroom door and rushed into the living room. Novoki heard me coming and was waiting for me. Metal slammed into my skull, and he saw the New One's hand and the butt that had hit me when it fell, the pain ricocheting off my head.
  
  
  Its fired automatically, but the gawk only split the tree behind the Novelty's head. When hers hit the floor, Luger almost lost it, but hers grimly held on as my feet clutched at the purchase. I was aiming for a second shot when Marsh's big fist slammed into my face. The impact knocked me off my feet, and this time the Luger lost it.
  
  
  "Try not to kill anyone around them!"shouted Novosti. Another thunderclap around the kitchen and Koval's shout. Heather occupied the ego. But I had big problems. Marsh came over to me, waiting for me to get up. Ego clipped her leg, grazing her shin, and he screamed. Ego grabbed her leg, yanked hard, and he fell to the floor next to me.
  
  
  I finally got my feet under me. My head was spinning, but when Marsh struggled to his feet, he grabbed her ego lapels, spun it around in a semicircle, and hurled it at Novoki, just as the Russian pointed a snub-nosed auto at me. Marsh knocked Ego into a chair and they both fell to the floor.
  
  
  I moved toward them, but this time the "News" was too fast for me.
  
  
  "Stay put!" "The Russian stood in the way of every tribe, the machine gun was pointed at my chest. I had no choice; Hugo's stiletto couldn't be used fast enough.
  
  
  "Whatever you say," I said.
  
  
  At that moment, Koval came around the kitchen, holding Heather.
  
  
  "Well," he said with obvious satisfaction, " these two friends from Land's End. It's a pleasure to meet you again."
  
  
  "I would like to tell her that the feeling is mutual," I said.
  
  
  Marsh struggled to his feet.
  
  
  "Go wash your face," said the emu of Novelty. "Koval, tie these two up."
  
  
  Koval chuckled. He let go of Heather and disappeared back into the kitchen, then carefully pointed the gun at us. Koval returned a moment later. He tied my hands behind my back with a long, strong rope. Then he tied up Heather. By the time Marsh returned, the Novelties had us seated at an old floral-patterned bed in the middle of the room. He glared at me.
  
  
  "New items" and put a chair and sell next to us. He lit a cigarette that we found in the wastebasket.
  
  
  "Now," he said, blowing smoke in my face. "Do you work for MI5?"
  
  
  The rules are that you never tell your opponent what they don't already know, even if it seems insignificant at the time. They knew about it, but he had to ask.
  
  
  "We're on Scotland Yard," Heather said coldly. "You're transporting drugs, aren't you?"
  
  
  The "novelties" laughed. "Oh, really," he said. "I'm sure you can do better."
  
  
  Heather's face was expressionless. I was relieved to see that it didn't seem to be badly damaged from the battle with Koval. New products have reached out to me.
  
  
  He asked. "What's your story?"
  
  
  He looked into those flat eyes and wondered again how this man could have been our killer. The "novelties" are adept at killing and undoubtedly had this in mind for us. But he did it coolly, ruthlessly, and without emotion, because it was a job that needed to be done. There would be no remorse, but there would also be real pleasure. He was a professional.
  
  
  "I don't have a story," emu told her.
  
  
  He smiled lightly and took a gentlemanly drag on his long cigarette.
  
  
  He blew smoke at me again. "An MI5 girl," he said calmly. "No, wait. kp. I remember the dossier. And you with your American accent. Maybe a trick, or are you borrowed from the Americans? "
  
  
  Novoki was smart. I leaned back on the couch and looked at him. "You understand that."
  
  
  He shrugged. "It doesn't matter what agency you work for," he said lightly.
  
  
  "Let Marsh work on it," Koval suggested.
  
  
  "Yeah, she's got a bleeding guy to think about," Marsh growled.
  
  
  "Will you see how impatient my friends are?" "New Items" grinned at me. "It would be good if you consider working together."
  
  
  "I told you!" said Heather. "We're undercover cops. Why don't you just show us where the heroin is in the courtroom and respond to the charge? We'll recommend leniency at the Yard."
  
  
  He shook his head, smiling. "You have a talented colleague," he told me. "But not very realistic, I'm afraid." The smile faded. He bent down and carefully crushed out the cigarette in the ashtray. When his eyes met mine again, he meant business.
  
  
  "I know you killed a man in Land's End. What about the other two? Did you kill ih too, or are you holding him for questioning?"
  
  
  "No comment," I said.
  
  
  He nodded to Marsh, and the big Englishman slapped me across the mouth with his open hand. My head snapped back so abruptly that for a moment I thought he might have broken my neck. Blood flowed all over the corner of my rta. Hers, saw Heather watching anxiously.
  
  
  Well? " said Novosti. "What did you overhear at the dacha?" Are any of our friends still alive there, and what did they tell you? "
  
  
  I sat up and stared at him, feeling the blood trickle down my chin. I looked at Marsh, and the big hand touched me again, this time clenching into a fist. The impact knocked me down on the couch. I lay limp for a while, and then big hands pulled me back into a sitting position.
  
  
  "I don't like doing this," Novosti said, " but you leave me no choice. How long were you at the cottage window before our other one saw you?"
  
  
  She licked her swollen lips. I told her. "What window?"
  
  
  The Novelty's eyes narrowed: "So it will be."
  
  
  Koval approached the News. "Let Marsh work with the girl," he said softly. He nodded at me. "He loves ee, I can tell."
  
  
  "Good," the Source said. "But start with softness. We want to know what they know."
  
  
  "Probably pretty soft, huh?" said Koval. He nodded at Heather's long, beautiful legs.
  
  
  He waved his hand. "As you wish."
  
  
  Koval glanced at Marsh, and Marsh grinned broadly. He walked over to Heather and pulled her to her feet. Koval held her while Marsh untied her hands. Koval slowly ran a thick hand over her chest, smiling now. Heather pulled away and slapped Ego across the face.
  
  
  Koval in rheumatism slapped her hard on the back. She would have lost her balance if Marsh hadn't been holding her. Her face was red from the blows.
  
  
  He clenched his jaw and tried not to look. It should have gotten worse before I got better. But if they found out that we knew about the Defense Ministry, we would lose the only advantage we had.
  
  
  Koval and Marsh were shaking off Heather's clothes. She fought them with all her might, grumbling but otherwise silent. A moment later, she was naked. Marsh held it, and Koval very slowly ran his chubby hands over it. Novosti was bored.
  
  
  "Leave the girl alone," I said. "She doesn't know anything. Hers, too. I got to your damn window too late to hear anything."
  
  
  The " novelties "looked at me intently, assessing what I had said. "This undoubtedly means that you know all or most of it. Now save the girl any further trouble by telling me who you passed this information on to. Did you manage to contact your headquarters?"
  
  
  "We didn't learn anything," I said. "We have nothing to say."
  
  
  He examined my bruised and bloody face and nodded to Koval. Marsh dropped Heather on the floor right in front of me; he and Koval were watching my reaction. Koval lifted Heather's hands over her head.
  
  
  "Do you want to see your friend get raped?"he said. "How do you like it? She's cute, isn't she?"
  
  
  Marsh grinned and licked his lips. Just looking at him made me sick. She didn't want to look at Heather.
  
  
  Hers hesitated. Was it worth continuing with this? In fact, how much could we win by playing dumb? We didn't protect much information. On the other hand, given what we knew, and a bit of cheating to boot, we could at least find out if the News and the ego team were a team of assassins, or if they were planning some other game altogether.
  
  
  "All right, I'll tell you what you want to know," I said. "Let the girl go."
  
  
  "I hope you won't play games anymore," Novosti said.
  
  
  Marsh gave him a disappointed look, but Koval gave him a look that said he'd have plenty of time for this sort of thing later, before they killed Heather. Koval released her hands, and she sat up, trying to cover her nakedness with her hands.
  
  
  "Take the girl to the bedroom. Give me some clothes, " the Source said. "Do it, Koval. March, stay here."
  
  
  Koval followed her and closed the door. Then he remembered Heather's purse and wondered if Nah would have a chance to get to him and her little gun - before Koval ego saw.
  
  
  "Now, the other one is mine," the Source said. "We will talk about the mail business being announced. First, what business did you have with Gali Fergus in Egypt?"
  
  
  "He was going to sell me some information. But ego was killed by his Arab friends before he could pass it on."
  
  
  "What was that information?"
  
  
  "He didn't say," I lied. "But what was Fergus to you?"
  
  
  "Nothing," he chuckled. "Just a person who did some work for us from time to time in the Middle East. Our people there asked me to find out about your future relationship with him. Now for the friends in Land's End. Are they dead?"
  
  
  "They're dead," I said.
  
  
  "And they didn't tell you anything?"
  
  
  "Nothing. I overheard you talking through the window before your Russian even noticed me. About the Ministry of Foreign Defense".
  
  
  The Novelty's face darkened. "I see."
  
  
  I was thinking while I was talking. They didn't take off my jacket, and when Koval searched me, he didn't find Hugo. But I couldn't use the stiletto while my hands were tied behind my back.
  
  
  "Her understanding is that you plan to complete your mission when your man leaves the building." He faced the News; he remained expressionless.
  
  
  "What exactly is our locality in Russia?"
  
  
  Her hesitated, looking at him, and Marsha; His see hotel ih reaction to what I was about to say. "To kill a third British government official," I said,"in accordance with your general plan."
  
  
  The Novelty's eyes narrowed slightly, the only change in expression. But the March was a different story. Ego's eyebrows rose in surprise, and he laughed. I stared at him, but Marsh's laugh told me a lot. At the very least, he thought that the locality of Russia for which ego was hired was quite different.
  
  
  "We didn't talk about killing at the end of the Earth," the Source said. "Are you playing the last hand with me?"
  
  
  "I haven't actually heard that word on the dell," I admitted, " but we've known for a long time that this alleged attempt to blackmail the British government on the dell itself is a series of planned executions in favor of Russia. This is a Soviet conspiracy, and you were sent here to see it through both ways."
  
  
  Hers was facing the News, and he was looking at mine. It was like a game of draw poker, except that our lives - Heather's and mine - and the safety of the UK were at stake.
  
  
  "But you don't know who we're planning to kill next," the Source mused.
  
  
  "No, it could be one or more possible targets. We also don't know the exact date, but that won't help you much. The game is over, and Russia will soon be exposed." Her voice rose, letting in a bit of emotion. As I watched the News, I came to the conclusion that he believed me. But he wasn't going to deny the accusation, not now.
  
  
  "Take ego to the bedroom," he told Marsh, without further comment on what I'd said to emu. "Tie the girl up again and close the joints on the window. Then take Koval with you."
  
  
  Marsh led me to the bedroom, where Koval was watching Heather. He noticed that the Russian had found Heather's purse, which was a disappointment. They locked the window and tied Heather's hands behind her back. When Marsh came out through the rooms, he hit me with the biggest fist of my life. He chuckled and doubled over, falling to his knees. Marsh laughed, and followed Koval out through the rooms. The door closed behind them.
  
  
  I couldn't breathe for a long, agonizing moment. Heather knelt awkwardly beside me. "Are you all right?" "What is it?" she asked anxiously.
  
  
  I could speak now, but my breath caught in my throat. "I'll catch the bastard," I muttered.
  
  
  "What did you tell the News?" Heather asked.
  
  
  "I told em the truth."
  
  
  "What happened? Is he a murderer?"
  
  
  "You didn't tell me anything," I said. "He's a very good poker player, but Marsh told me a lot, don't say a word to us."
  
  
  Her beautiful blue eyes were fixed on my face.
  
  
  "Either Rosneft has nothing to do with the murder plot," I said, "or Marsh thinks not, which is certainly possible. This isn't the first time a hired agent has been kept in the dark about the real nature of a mission."
  
  
  Heather nodded.
  
  
  "But somehow, I really don't think 'Novelties' have anything to do with the murder plot."
  
  
  "Will he kill us now?" "What is it?" she asked softly.
  
  
  There was no point in lying to hey.
  
  
  "Well, even if we're on the wrong track, it seems like he should. We know that he is up to something, and this concerns the Ministry of Defense."
  
  
  "I guess they're out there right now," Heather said, " planning our unpleasant demise."
  
  
  He pulled her wrists up to the ropes binding ih. The knot was too tight to untie. He looked up at the shuttered window. "They'll probably wait until dark," I said.
  
  
  "They won't want to disturb the village," Heather agreed wryly.
  
  
  I sat there twisting the rope that bound my wrists and wondering what the hell I could do with it. In addition to Hugo's stiletto, I had Pierre's cyanide bomb strapped to my hip, and my belt and buckle had plastic explosives and a miniature
  
  
  ature dart wind gun - all gifts from creative people in special effects and Axe editing. But Hugo was the only weapon that could free our wrists.
  
  
  Her right forearm flexed, and the stiletto slid around its scabbard. But it didn't hit my palm as usual, the rope around my wrists blocking my way. He turned his back on her.
  
  
  I asked her. "Can you lift my hands up to my wrists?"
  
  
  She glanced at me and turned her back on me. "I do not know. But even if I can do it, I won't be able to untie the ropes."
  
  
  "I know. But look at my right inner wrist. There you will see the tip of the knife."
  
  
  Heather looked and saw. "Why, Nick, you have the most pleasant surprises!"
  
  
  Hers, Hey chuckled, and turned even further so that she could reach for the stiletto. I could feel her working on it. "Pull the ego in a steady, slow motion," I said, " moving the ego out and mimmo the ropes."
  
  
  She did so, and the next moment the stiletto slid off the ropes and clattered to the floor. We looked anxiously at the door, but the discussion in the next room continued without interruption.
  
  
  "Take the knife," I said. Heather bent down and awkwardly picked up ego. "Take ego firmly by the handle and come back to me again."
  
  
  Heather did as she was told. "Cut the rope," I said. "And it would be nice if you had more cut rope than flesh."
  
  
  I felt the blade slide mimmo from my palm to the rope, and then Heather cut the knot. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, hers, he felt the rope give way. With one last decisive blow, Heather broke through, and just in time; the voices in the next room suddenly stopped.
  
  
  He released her wrists and turned quickly to face Heather. Taking Hugo, her once cut the ropes binding her wrists and cut ih. At that moment, we heard a sound at the door.
  
  
  "Stay where you are," I whispered.
  
  
  Heather sat down on the bed as if she was still tied up. He stood up, hands clasped behind his back, as the door opened. It was Koval.
  
  
  "All right," he said, smiling at us. "I see you're still here."
  
  
  "Are you going to let us go now that we've told you what we know?" He said. He'd left the door ajar, and she could see him and Marsh talking together in the next room. Marsh looked impatient and expectant.
  
  
  "We'll see," Koval said softly. "In the meantime, we should take you somewhere else, right? Where you'll be safer."
  
  
  He passed Heather's mimmo to me, and knew where they were taking us. Some quiet village street where they can use a silencer or a knife. He took my hand, " Come on, we should blindfold both of you. Go to the other room, please."
  
  
  Heather got out of bed. He watched as she came up behind Koval, clasped her hands together, and swung her neck at him.
  
  
  The Russian grunted and fell on top of me. Her boyfriend held ego tightly with one hand, and with the other, he punched his ego in the face. He screamed and fell to the floor. Ego cut her behind the ear, just in case he fell. I had the stiletto on my belt, but I didn't have to use it.
  
  
  Heather said it. "Take the ego gun!"
  
  
  Her father came up to her, just as a man came running in with a ready-made machine gun. He saw Heather bending over Koval and pointing a gun at her. Her hand came down hard on his wrist. The gun flew out of Ego's hands and hit the floor, spinning on ego's polished surface.
  
  
  Before the tall Russian could recover, Novoki grabbed her by the hand with the gun and threw her across the room.
  
  
  Heather was still trying to find Koval's gun. It was spotted on a bed in the Barents Sea and dived for it. He landed next to her and grabbed her ass. But before I could raise my gun, He was on his feet again and charging at me. He was a lean, wiry man with a muscular body. He hit me hard, trying to wrest the machine gun from around my arms. We rolled twice across the floor to the closed window, the New Items rushing for the gun.
  
  
  Her ego punched him in the heads, and he fell to the floor. Heather arrived with Koval's gun just as Marsh burst into the room. He must have been delayed in getting out his weapon, a 7.75 Parbellum Mauser submachine gun that looked very much like Wilhelmina.
  
  
  Ego's face darkened with anger as Marsh stormed into the room, shooting and cursing. The ego shot was intended for Heather, but the scope was poor; the gawk passed mimmo ee's head by six inches. She returned fire, hitting Marsh twice in a row in the chest and neck.
  
  
  Out of the corner of her eye, he saw News get to his feet again and head for the door. Still lying on the floor, I grabbed her ego by the leg. He laughed and kicked me. I tried to duck, but my foot was still pressed against my target. He lost his grip on her ankle, and before ego could grab her again, he was out through the rooms and heading for the front door.
  
  
  He quickly looked around. Koval didn't move, and Marsh lay on his back, moaning and fighting death with every shallow breath.
  
  
  "Tie up the ego," Heather told her, pointing at Koval. "I'm going to get some News."
  
  
  There was no time to look for Wilhelmina. He headed for the black sedan and changed his mind when he realized that it didn't work out.
  
  
  He took the key and ran to the main street of the village. By the time I followed him, he was already a hundred yards or so away.
  
  
  We ran a few blocks, and then he disappeared around the corner. When I followed him around the corner, I saw her start up a small gray SIM card that he must have left the keys in the ignition. Hers ran faster, but the "Novelties" pulled away before hers could reach the car.
  
  
  I looked around and got my bearings. Heather had left her keys under Gregoire's S. O. C. E. M. A. dashboard, but where the hell was that? He ran to the next corner and looked straight ahead. To vote, that's what it is!
  
  
  She instantly got behind the wheel and held the key in the ignition, and then she saw the astonished look of a village woman carrying a string bag with groceries. I turned back onto main Street, just as the New Cars did when they got up, and saw the Sim Card a few hundred yards ahead of me, heading around the city.
  
  
  By the time the New Cars had reached the open country along a narrow, winding road, Ihei was close to a hundred yards away and picking up speed quickly. The bushes that lined the road towered above the height of the cars, so every time the Newsman left for the signposts, he was out of sight until we were back on the straight.
  
  
  He slid madly at every turn. My sports car was excellent at cornering, and soon had a chance at nen. He saw me, and when I tried to get around him, to force his ego back, he pulled away to stop me. The Emu managed to do this on several turns until it met a slow-moving horse-drawn cart coming from a different direction.
  
  
  I turned my SIM card to the right. Ego skidded and turned left again, catching on the back corner of a cart loaded with hay bales. The van lurched toward the ditch, then swung back and spilled some of its contents onto the road in front of me. As I rode through it, the hay scattered in all directions, and my view was momentarily blocked.
  
  
  When her exited through the seine cloud, her appeared open on the Sim card. I tried to get up next to him, but he stopped in front of me. Her steering wheel jerked sharply to the right, and Novosti followed him as he thought, then she jerked sharply to the left and switched down. S. O. C. E. M. A-Gregoire jumped forward as my initials pressed the accelerator pedal and moved next to Simca before Novosti could pull away.
  
  
  "Rosneft Oil Company jerked the steering wheel sharply, Simca crashed into the right side of the sports car, in the driver's side. Her rheumatism in his sports car by Simca, pushing the "Novelties" to the side of the road. He almost lost control, but recovered quickly and jumped out in front of me for a moment.
  
  
  We turned onto another signpost, ignoring the fact that we were going in a different direction. Hers was level with him again, but before hers could take a step, he hit me in the side with his SIM card.
  
  
  Now it was my turn to lose control. The wheel snapped out of my hands, and the next thing I knew, the sports car was flying off the road and into a large open meadow. Hers, saw the Novelty car racing madly toward the opposite side and the twenty-foot drop to a rocky field, then hers raced through the air, the car began to roll before it hit.
  
  
  I saw a flash in the sky, and then the brown ground. There was a sharp thundering sound, and the door on my side swung open, and I was thrown out. He hit the ground, rolled twice, and lay stunned. The car continued to roll, and fell on a high boulder.
  
  
  Its slow, sat up, moving cautiously. It hurt , but there didn't seem to be any broken bones. Then I heard an explosion across the street. He struggled to his feet. I had to save Rosneft Oil Company - if the ego can still be saved.
  
  
  I stumbled on the road and saw that the Russian was gone. Black smoke billowed from below. He went to the edge of the embankment and looked down. The Sim card was engulfed in flames. She could be seen by a "Friend", unconscious or dead, inside. He was late; there was no way he could get to him.
  
  
  I watched my Sim card burn and couldn't help but wonder when my day would come and some Russian or Agent Chickom would witness my death. None of the agents lived forever; most of them didn't even make it to old age. Voice why did Hawk always say when we were apart: "Goodbye, Nick. Good luck. I'll see you when I see you." Or maybe never.
  
  
  I heard the sound of a car engine and turned around just as a small white Lancia pulled up a few yards behind me. Heather jumped out and ran over to me. A puzzled Englishman crawled out of the car another day and stopped, staring wide-eyed at the burning SIM card.
  
  
  "Oh, my God," Heather said, looking at the flaming wreckage. Then she turned and looked over to where S. O. C. E. M. A. was lying upside down in a field on the other side of the road. It was a mess.
  
  
  "Apologize for that," I said.
  
  
  "Oh, well," she sighed. "If anything, it never shifted very well."
  
  
  Her, Hey chuckled. "This Ferodo clutch must need to be adjusted"
  
  
  "More like it's hurting you?"
  
  
  "Just my ego. Her hotel, so that the Caregiver was alive. Now he can't tell us anything."
  
  
  She gave me a small, smug smile. "Marsh said before he died, her, promised emu doctor, poor guy.
  
  
  These steam engines didn't seem to have anything to do with the murder. It was planned to steal the drawings of guided missiles when they were transferred by the Ministry of Defense to the military headquarters."
  
  
  "Damn her," I said. So I was right about the" quarter of the current " all along. But if it wasn't the Russians who were behind the assassination plot, who was?
  
  
  The sixth chapter.
  
  
  Brutha was sitting at his desk, sorting through a picture of Fergus's commando squad. In front of him was a stack of official army reports, each one containing information about the men in the squad.
  
  
  "We managed to track down ih all of them," Brutha said. "The twelve around them are dead, either killed in the war or dead at home. This one "- he pointed to the man with the lieutenant's badge - " is very interesting. Lieutenant John Elmore. Part of his skull was shattered. reed commando. A steel plate was inserted into the Emu's head. After he retired from the service, he used his commando skills to work for the mafia. He was the most successful assassin in England. These are mostly assignments in the criminal world. This man was a genius at murder . "
  
  
  Her eyebrows rose. Finally, what-what, Brut immediately destroyed my hopes. "He was killed many years ago in a fight with Scotland Yard in the suburbs of London."
  
  
  "Are you sure it was him?"
  
  
  "Of course! Scotland Yard received a tip from an informant that Elmore was hiding in a service station. When they got to the station, he started shooting. Ego could see Odin well enough through the scope of his sniper rifle around a few yards away. . The fight lasted 10 minutes, then the whole place caught fire. One of the bullets must have hit the gas pump. When everything was finished, they found that Elmore's body had been burned to ashes. But there's no doubt that it was him..."
  
  
  "So the killer still hasn't been found."
  
  
  Brut didn't think so. "It's twenty - four hours past the two-week deadline," Brutha would say, pacing up and down in front of his massive desk, pulling his heavy pipe tight around the heather between his teeth. "This may mean that your man Marsh was deliberately misled by the news so as not to give away the true purpose of the mission. In that case, my boy, the killer died in that burning car. Together with others killed or in custody, the plot was thwarted ."
  
  
  "But Koval confirmed the story of the March," Heather said.
  
  
  "But wouldn't he have done it?" Brutha said. "If you were Koval, would you rather be tried for identity theft or murder?"
  
  
  "Good idea," I said. "But I can't help but think that our killer is still out there somewhere."
  
  
  "The handwriting bothers you, doesn't it?" said Brutha, sucking on his pipe.
  
  
  "Yes, sir. And the way the murders were committed. After working in this job for a while, you feel like you need someone, whether you've ever met them or not. the killer just doesn't match the "News" .
  
  
  "Well, I hope you're wrong, Nick," Brutha said heavily. "Because if you're right, all we can do at this stage is to double down on all our senior officials and wait."
  
  
  "I know," I said grimly.
  
  
  Brutha suddenly stuck out his big jaw and grinned. "All right, my boy. Don't look down on me like that. You and Heather continue to do your job and check with me for details."
  
  
  "Then we're on our way," Heather said. "We will divide the work. I'll take the Home Secretary-del-and the Lord Privy Seal, and Nick can start with the Foreign Secretary del. We'll give you the ring tonight, Brut."
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  She was being carried slowly down a wide corridor. At first glance, the office building seemed to be buzzing with the usual routine of daily work: secretaries hurrying from one room to another, typewriters clattering behind closed doors. But if you knew what to look for, you'd see the hidden tension beneath the surface.
  
  
  They were also secretaries who avoided dark corridors and unused rooms. Government agents and Yards of plainclothes men were everywhere. They stopped me every couple of minutes and made me show my I. D. Brutha gave me an ego. I wondered how difficult it would be to fake a KP or MI5 ID card, probably not so wouldnt be difficult for a knowledgeable operator.
  
  
  He went up the stairs to the next floor and went to the office of the Minister of Foreign Affairs of the Russian Federation. There were a lot of people in the corridor here, including a small squad of uniformed soldiers at the wide doors leading to the main work areas.
  
  
  At the other end of the corridor was a smaller, unguarded door that led to a row of smaller Ministry offices. When mimmo passed, a man came out. Nen was wearing a janitor's uniform, carrying a mop and bucket, and he seemed to be in a hurry - he almost knocked me off my feet.
  
  
  He gave me a quick, hard look, and then moved quickly down the hall, almost running. He was a tall man with dark hair and a mustache. He was trying to decide if the mustache was fake, about to fly up after him, when he heard a scream.
  
  
  It could be heard over the office that the janitor had just left. A man in a dark suit and tie was standing in my way. Ego pushed her away and opened the door.
  
  
  When I saw her, I walked into the office, leaving the door wide open behind me,
  
  
  the girl standing on the stairs leading to the next room looked at me with wide eyes and screamed. The papers she must have been holding were at her feet. Mimmo nah walked her into a small private office when I heard shaggy voices coming down the hall behind me. In the inner office, a dark-haired woman sat over the body of Foreign Minister Del, opening and closing her mouth in shock.
  
  
  Her saw the horror on her face and looked at the reason behind it. He was killed by a garrote that the commandos used in the war. He was practically decapitated, and there was blood everywhere.
  
  
  The woman looked at me and tried to say something, but I pulled her over to a chair and sat her down, then looked around the room. There was a note on the table nearby, but he ignored it for now.
  
  
  I thought about finding that janitor, but I refused. The ego was long gone. I tried to remember what he looked like, which made me think the mustache might be fake, and then I remembered something about him. Not only the moustache, but the hair must have been fake-the wig-because I was sure I saw a lock of blond hair on the back of her head.
  
  
  Two men burst into the office.
  
  
  "Is that what's going on here?" One of them asked.
  
  
  "Bloody hell!" said another, noticing the dead man.
  
  
  "And who are you?" The first man looked at me suspiciously.
  
  
  He held up his ID card as more people rushed into the room. "I think I took a look at the killer," I said, " he's dressed like a janitor. I ran down the hall there."
  
  
  Odin rounded on the men and hurried around the room. The others looked at me warily, as the room was filled with terrified Ministry employees. He walked over to the desk and looked at the note. This is read:
  
  
  "Better late than never. The amount of debt and payments increased to fourteen million pounds. Put the ego on a private jet and send the ego to Geneva. You will receive further instructions on which bank to contact for the paid deposit. you don't have enough time."
  
  
  "Here, what do you have there?" A plainclothes policeman next to me said. "Its just take that" He reached for the note, and he let em know. I thought it looked similar to the same handwriting, but of course a handwriting expert should confirm that.
  
  
  He moved away from the chair to take another look at the body. Now there were reporters in the front room, unsuccessfully trying to pass the mimmo of the military guard there.
  
  
  As she walked around the chair to lick at the body, she noticed a scrap of paper on the floor-for example, where the killer might have been standing when he took the note out of his pocket and put it on the chair. It was picked up by ego, who looked like he'd been torn from his stationery, just in the corner of the sheet. A phone number was written on it in pencil. Part of the printed logo remained on the breakaway line.
  
  
  Studying the scrawled numbers, I thought they might have been written in the same hand that had previously written the murder notes. Of course, it was a long way, but we needed it, especially now.
  
  
  A burly man came up to me and handed her a piece of paper in a minute.
  
  
  "You there - who are you?"
  
  
  "KP," I said, holding up my ID card. once again. He didn't see it hidden by paper.
  
  
  "Ah. Good. Just stay away, my boy."
  
  
  "I'll do my best." I said with a serious face. He went over to the body to take one last look at the mess the minister was in.
  
  
  It was another unnecessary killing. The garrote, in this case made up around two metal handles with a piece of piano wire running between them, was a familiar military weapon. The attacker simply wrapped the wire around the victim's head and pulled. The wire cut through flesh, muscle, tendon, and bone until it separated the head from the body. At least it was a fast track. She suddenly remembered that Nicholas Fergus had served in the commandos. Is that how he recognized the killer? If only he really knew ego. Now its playing a guessing game and there was no time for that, its turned and walked quickly through the rooms.
  
  
  It was found by Heather in the Interior Minister's office nearby-del -; she hadn't heard about the latest murder. "I just ran into Elmo Jupiter," she said lightly. "He insisted that emu call her. Are you jealous, my love?"
  
  
  "I'd like to have her for a while," I said. "The Foreign Minister-del-has just been assassinated."
  
  
  Her beautiful blue eyes widened in shock.
  
  
  "Does Brutha know?" she asked.
  
  
  "I called him on the way here. It was in very good condition."
  
  
  "It's fucking awful, isn't it?" she said.
  
  
  "If we don't improve our average soon," Hi told her, " the British government will cease to exist as a viable institution. The Ministry of Foreign Affairs was in complete panic."
  
  
  "Does Brutus have any ideas?" she asked.
  
  
  "Not really. We're pretty much alone right now. The Prime Minister has already been notified, heard it, and wants to deliver the ransom immediately."
  
  
  "He's probably afraid that he might be next."
  
  
  "He's a logical target," I said. The killer left another note demanding payment. And I found it at the scene. "I gave you a note.
  
  
  "This is the ministries' phone number, " she said, puzzled. "Do you think it was written by the killer?"
  
  
  "It seems unlikely that a ministry employee would need to write down the number," I said. "And the scribble seems to be similar to the handwriting in the murder notes. What do you think of the logo?"
  
  
  "It's not enough," she said. "But somehow I feel like I've seen it before. Let's go to my apartment and take a closer look."
  
  
  Heather rented a small flat in London's West End. There were three flights of stairs up, but once inside, it was quite a charming place. She made us a cup of English tea, and we played this game on a small table by the window, sipping our egos. He pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket again.
  
  
  "Hema if we had this guy, he likes to play hard," I said, turning the paper over in my hand. Her father gave Heather the details of the murder. "Rougher than the News. And he's probably more dangerous because he likes to kill and because he's probably irrational."
  
  
  He held the paper up to the light through the windows. "Hey, what's this? It seems that something is written here, under the numbers."
  
  
  Heather stood up and looked over my shoulder. "What does it say, Nick?"
  
  
  "I can't make it out. It's like starting with a capital " R " and then..."
  
  
  "Oh," and "Hey," Heather said excitedly.
  
  
  "And then 'A', and maybe ' L. Royal. And one more thing."
  
  
  "It could be a Ho," she said, " and part of the TV. You know there's a royal hotel in Russell Square."
  
  
  "Of course," I said. "Royal Hotel. But this is the hotel's stationery?"
  
  
  "I don't think so," Heather said. "I told you that I've seen this emblem before, but I don't associate it with a hotel. But we'll check it out."
  
  
  "If this isn't a hotel newspaper," I said, " we have a double tip. Royal Hotel and organizations or ideas represented by this symbol."
  
  
  "Absolutely fantastic," Heather agreed, her face showing excitement. "Maybe this is our breakthrough, Nick."
  
  
  "If the newspaper had belonged to the killer," her lawyer denied the reports that appeared in the media.
  
  
  Then we played this game by taxi to the Royal Hotel and talked to the assistant manager behind the counter. He looked at the piece of paper and denied that it belonged to the hotel. He took out a sheet of hotel stationery and showed it to us for comparison.
  
  
  "Of course, this could belong to a guest," the man said. "One or more of the participants of the congress who meet here."
  
  
  "Yes," I said heavily. "Well, thank you anyway."
  
  
  Outside, Heather said,"I think we'd better introduce Brutus to modernity."
  
  
  "All right," I said. "Maybe he can come up with some ideas about our logo." We hailed a taxi and went straight to Brutus ' office.
  
  
  When we got there, and then a quick march down a long corridor with uniformed security guards, we found Brutha going through old police records. He thought that there might still be some possibility that the killer was a convicted criminal embittered against the establishment. I showed her em a piece of paper, but he shook his head.
  
  
  "I can't do anything about it," he said. "I can make copies and show ih to the entire department. Maybe someone will find out."
  
  
  "It might be worth it, sir," I said.
  
  
  "We checked out this janitor guy you saw coming out of the secretary's office," Brutha told me. "No one can identify a person with that description working in the building."
  
  
  "It's a killer," I said.
  
  
  "He's probably our killer," Heather said. "You were close enough to grab him, Nick."
  
  
  "Don't remind me," I said grimly.
  
  
  "Don't blame yourself, lad," Brutha said, lighting his pipe. "If it wasn't for you, we wouldn't have had anything."
  
  
  "We may still have nothing," I said. "If you need this, I vaguely remember seeing her blonde hair in the dark, as if the man was wearing a wig."
  
  
  Brutha made a note on a piece of paper. "The moustache must have been fake, too."
  
  
  "Probably. I know I thought so when I saw it."
  
  
  Brutha got up from behind his chair, and Stahl walked around him, sucking on his pipe. He looked very tired, as if he hadn't slept in days.
  
  
  "At this point," he said, " despite the evidence, we are far from solving the murder plot. The third note found at the scene tells us nothing more about our man. Or men."
  
  
  "If the killer had accomplices,"Heather said," he seems to be skimping on them."
  
  
  "Yes, it is clear that the murders were apparently committed by the same person - although they might have looked like this if one person had been in charge. In any case, the Prime Minister admitted to me that he would arrange for the payment of the required amount. "
  
  
  "Fourteen million pounds?" Heather asked.
  
  
  "Exactly. We discussed the possibility of somehow deceiving our man by loading the plane with fake money, etc. "
  
  
  "I wonder, sir, if this math class really needs money."
  
  
  "What do you mean?" Brutha asked.
  
  
  "He may think he wants money on a conscious level,"I said slowly," but on another level - a more primitive, darker one - he may only want to kill."
  
  
  Brutha pulled on the phone and studied my face. "Yes, her, I know what you mean. But whatever it is, we have to assume that paying the required amount will stop the murders, don't we?"
  
  
  "Yes, sir, I believe so," I said.
  
  
  Good. Well, you two can rest for a while. But hold on to this piece of paper - there may be something there."
  
  
  Heather got up from her usual spot on Brutus's desk, and he got up from his chair.
  
  
  "There's something else, sir," I said.
  
  
  "Yes?"
  
  
  "Hawk told me that Nicholas Fergus was in the commandos. I think we should get a list of people in the Gali squad."
  
  
  Brutha frowned. "It could very well be a big list."
  
  
  "I would limit this only to people around the ego of the immediate environment. There may be a clue in this."
  
  
  "Actually, Nick," Brutha said. "I'll handle it. Anything else?"
  
  
  "Just a few hours of cola," I said, smiling.
  
  
  "I promise not to disturb anyone around you for both ends of the day," he said. "Have a good dinner and get some rest."
  
  
  "Thank you," I said.
  
  
  Heather and I had dinner at a small, quiet restaurant, and then she invited me to her apartment for a drink before hers, back to her hotel room, paid for by VMX. I had his son, and she had Sherry. We play this game on a long sofa, sipping drinks.
  
  
  "I wish I could remember where I saw her logo on that piece of paper," she said. "I know I saw this somewhere not too long ago."
  
  
  "You'll have plenty of time for that tomorrow, when you're rested," I said. "Let it all incubate inside until those ferrets are ready."
  
  
  "All right, Doctor." She smiled. "I give myself completely to your care."
  
  
  "Is that a suggestion?"
  
  
  "Take it as you like."
  
  
  He set down his half-finished goblet and reached for her. She melted in my arms, her softness pressing down on me. She was wearing slacks and a shirt, but no bra. Pressing his lips to hers, he ran his hand over her right breast. My touch made her nipple harden. My tongue explored her mouth, and she responded passionately.
  
  
  She pulled away from me and stood up. "I'll do something more appropriate," she said.
  
  
  She disappeared into the bedroom and was drained of her bourbon. The warmth of the liquor spread through me. He was relaxed and ready. And then Heather came back.
  
  
  She was wearing an almost transparent floor-length nightgown.
  
  
  Her, undressed and bench press next to her on the couch. He slid his hand between her thighs and stroked her. A small sound rumbled in her throat.
  
  
  I draped the nightgown over her head and let her fall to the floor next to me. And she loves me. It was clear that she loved me very much. I knew it would be even better than last time.
  
  
  We started slowly, comfortably, letting the waves of pleasure pass through us as our bodies touched and the fire slowly ignited inside. It was sweet, very sweet; the leisurely pace ignited the fire and ignited the ego.
  
  
  As the thrusts, thrusts, and probing increased in intensity, Heather began to shiver. The sounds in her throat grew until they filled the room. Then it was a primitive dive, savage in its intensity, as Heather's arms wrapped tightly around me, her hot thighs pressing me deeper and deeper into her.
  
  
  When it was over, he did a bench press, lit a cigarette, and thought about Heather and Hadiya; I couldn't help but compare the two of them. Ih ways of making love were as different as ih nationalities. Hadiyyah was like the desert of North Africa where she was born: a fever like a raging sandstorm that suddenly ended as abruptly as it had begun. Heather's spring was more like an English spring: it developed slowly, following a long-established pattern, gradually moving into the summer heat, and then gradually moving into the cool autumn.
  
  
  What was better? I couldn't tell. Each had its own advantages. But it would be nice, I thought, to have a constant diet first around one, then around the other.
  
  
  Seven
  
  
  It was already past midnight when her returned to her hotel room and bench press to sleep. About an hour after he dozed off, he was suddenly woken up. At first I had no idea what had woken me up, and then I heard it again: a soft clicking sound. What was that? And inside the room or outside?
  
  
  I lay there and listened to her, and I really wanted to go back to sleep, and he knew that this was a luxury I couldn't afford. Many agents woke up dead, so to speak, because they were too tired or sleepy to hear strange noises in the middle of the night.
  
  
  He lay perfectly still, staring into the darkness. Silence surrounded me, punctuated by the noise of the street. Did you imagine or dream about her?
  
  
  Fifteen minutes on the glowing dial of my watch. He yawned and struggled to keep his eyes open. Half an hour. Of course, he was wrong. Sleep was dragging me down into its dark, warm pit. My eyelids closed, then opened wide.
  
  
  That sound again! That soft clicking sound, and this time there was no doubt about it. It radiated from the room to the corridor. Someone was moving a key in the lock.
  
  
  The sound was repeated. Whoever was there was happy that I was asleep.
  
  
  Her silently climbed out around the trash. The only holy light in the room came from around the window and under the door to the church.
  
  
  corridor. The shadow now obscured the narrow strip of light under the door. Yes, someone was outside and soon came in.
  
  
  He was pulling on a pair of pants and a shirt, putting on ballet slippers, when the glass clicked in the lock and the handle began to turn. He walked over to the chair where my jacket was hanging and reached for the shoulder holster under it. Wilhelmina pulled it out, then went back to the bed and pulled the sheet over the pillow. When the door opened a crack, I sat down behind a chair.
  
  
  A broad-shouldered man slowly entered the room, holding a gun in front of him. Another thin man moved behind him like a shadow. They entered the room without a sound and stood facing the bed. The fat-shouldered man nodded to the thin one, and they took their rifles to the bed where he was lying. It was hidden in the shadows, and they thought I was still there. The guns, large and ugly, had long silencers on the muzzles. Suddenly, three or four shots rang out around each gun. He waited for her until they stopped shooting and the bedding was in disarray, then hers, reached out and turned on Brylev.
  
  
  "Surprise," I said, pointing Wilhelmina toward them.
  
  
  They turned to face me, confusion on their faces. I've never seen anyone around them before.
  
  
  "Drop your weapons," I said firmly.
  
  
  Clearly, he wasn't very convincing. The fat-shouldered man shifted his pistol and fired quickly, falling on the shoulder of each tribe. The ego shot chipped wood from the frame of the padded chair that she was using for cover. I ducked as he fired a second time. This time, gawk bumped into the padding of the chair.
  
  
  He hit the floor behind the chair, rolled once, and shot the far one. Wilhelmina, without a silencer, growled loudly in the room, her eyes wide as she slammed into the wall behind the bandit's muscular head. Hers quickly fired again, and then the second shot hit the man in the chest, slamming his ego hard against the wall. He slid to the floor, leaving a crimson trail of moans.
  
  
  The second gunman fired again, chipped colored paper from the wall behind me, and ducked for cover behind the bed. It was fired, but missed by a few inches and landed on the nightstand leg.
  
  
  Now hers, he returned to the chair. He picked up a fallen ashtray, threw it to the right, and drew enemy fire. At the same time, he stepped back to the left, grabbing the light switch above his head again, darkening the room. He quickly climbed up to the special chest of drawers that served as a good hiding place from the bed.
  
  
  The surviving gunman was on his feet, moving toward me from the bed, and shot me as he went. Bullets tore through the wood on the front of the dresser. He stayed standing, but as he started toward the door, I managed to shoot him again. Unfortunately, her shot missed.
  
  
  I jumped up and ran to the door, just in time to see the gunman disappear around the corner into the hallway. He was heading for the back stairs.
  
  
  Her cursed under her breath as her quickly returned to the room. He grabbed a small suitcase and took out a spare magazine for Wilhelmina. The old magazine pulled it out, and then inserted a new one. Then she ran out into the corridor, mimmo of the small gathering of hotel staff and guests, to the back stairs.
  
  
  By the time he walked down the stairs and out into the alley behind the hotel, the other gunman was nowhere to be seen. I ran to the exit, around the alley, looked straight ahead, then to the left - and saw him turn the corner. I followed her.
  
  
  Ego was catching up with her when we got to High Holborn, Euston Square, and he saw the tube entrance, the London underground-and ducked in.
  
  
  He was there in a moment. When I got to the stairs, I saw her ego at the bottom, pointing a gun at me. He pulled the trigger, but the only sound was a futile click. Obviously, the gun had misfired. He cursed and dropped ego.
  
  
  I shouted it out. "Wait!"
  
  
  But he disappeared at the bottom of the stairs. Luger tucked it into his belt and followed.
  
  
  We break through the barriers, and then her, raced after him down the station platform. An elderly man standing on the edge of the platform waiting for a train stared at us as we sped mimmo.
  
  
  At the end of the platform, my man started up the stairs to another level. He turned around, and ego got a good look at him. He was young and robust; his expressions were both anger and despair. He ran up the steps, her eyes following him.
  
  
  At the top of the stairs, he turned and waited for me. As he closed the distance, he kicked furiously. He took a couple of steps back and almost completely lost his balance. By the time he reached the top of the stairs, the gunman was already halfway down the platform. I ran after him, trying to catch up with him.
  
  
  The train roared into the station, but my man didn't try to get on. Obviously, he felt that he had a better chance at the station. At the end of the platform, he ran up another set of stairs.
  
  
  Here, the train was just leaving. A middle-aged couple came out and sat on the bench.
  
  
  They looked up placidly as the gunman looked back at me and ran down the platform again. But ego caught up with her right after the bench. She jumped and was knocked down by Ego nog.
  
  
  We fell heavily, rolling at the feet of the couple on the bench. They sat and watched with mild interest as the man grabbed me by the throat.
  
  
  He broke free, hitting ego on the forearm, then stabbed emu again in the neck. He fell backward. Its hard to stand up to one every tribe and its ego fist in the face.
  
  
  He grunted at the blows, but didn't give up. He kicked me as I lunged at him, the kick knocking me sideways to the edge of the platform. She almost fell over.
  
  
  He saw how close she was to the edge, and decided to help me out a little. He kicked me, aiming in my direction, as soon as the train entered the station. Ego grabbed her by the leg and held her down. He tried to pull away, lost his balance, and rolled off the edge of the platform, almost pulling me with him. Ego jack is solving the research problems of a train that has swept over him.
  
  
  The couple who had been looking at us so calmly before now jumped to their feet, the woman screeching like a stuck factory whistle.
  
  
  Then he turned and walked quickly up the steps. She didn't have to explain all this to the police. Not right now.
  
  
  The eighth chapter.
  
  
  "I get it!" said Heather when he let her into his room. "I remembered that emblem!"
  
  
  He wiped his eyes and followed her inside. She stopped and stared. Thanks to my uninvited visitors, this place looked like a disaster zone.
  
  
  "What the hell happened here?"
  
  
  "You'll never believe it."
  
  
  "Try to enlighten me," she said.
  
  
  "A good guess is that the killer knows I'm on the case and decided that he doesn't want her to have an emu breathing down her neck. He sent a couple of big men with big guns to deliver me a one-way ticket to the morgue. She should have been forced by Brutus to call the police at three in the morning "
  
  
  "But how did the killer know who you were and why you were here?" she asked, puzzled.
  
  
  Hers, he shrugged. I guessed it right. "A leak in Brutus' office?"
  
  
  She was outraged. "Impossible!"
  
  
  "I hope so," I said. "Anyway, it means that we are illuminated, so what about this emblem?"
  
  
  Her face brightened again. "Give me this paper again."
  
  
  Hey handed it to me. "Yes," she nodded, " I'm sure. This is part of the car logo design. I just can't remember which one."
  
  
  He pulled on his shirt and buttoned it up. Her voice also started to worry. "Let's go back and talk to that guy at the Royal Hotel again," I said. "It might be faster than trying to get a list of A. A. emblems."
  
  
  "I have a taxi waiting for me."
  
  
  We drove through the clearing fog into Millbank, mimmo of the massive buildings of Westminster Abbey and the Houses of Parliament. Her, knew that at that very moment, Pavilion Muniz was in an emergency meeting, discussing how best to carry out the Prime Minister's decision to fulfill the assassin's demand for a fortune in pounds sterling.
  
  
  At the Royal Hotel, Heather told our math teacher, " We think we might be able to identify the symbol on the paper we showed you. I think what I saw was the ego in relation to the car."
  
  
  Clare at the hotel thought for a moment: "You may be right," he said at last.
  
  
  I asked her. "Have you recently had any guests who might have been in London representing a car company?"
  
  
  He smiled broadly at us. "Less than two weeks ago, we had a congress of automakers here."
  
  
  "In the dell itself?" Heather said.
  
  
  "Quite!" This person was just as excited as we were. "I can give you a list of all the firms that were represented. In fact, I believe we still have the literature that they passed in the back of the cabin waiting for us. Would you like to take a look?"
  
  
  "Yes, we will. Thank you, " I said.
  
  
  He took us to a small storage room at the back of the main floor. Boxes of pamphlets and notepapers were stacked in the corner. There were insignia on a couple of boxes, but Odin's nam around them didn't match ours.
  
  
  The attendant went back to work, and we were left alone. Heather started going through one cardboard box, and he picked it up. Suddenly, Heather screamed in recognition.
  
  
  "We've got it, Nick! Watch this!" She was holding a piece of paper the same color as ours. He walked over to her and examined her.
  
  
  "All right," I said. "Tack tack tack."
  
  
  The full emblem depicted a scorpion field around grape leaves on the shield coat of arms. We looked at the company name printed in an arc above the billboard, then one on top of the other.
  
  
  "Jupiter Motors Limited," Heather said, her face suddenly changing. "Yes, of course."
  
  
  "Jupiter," I said. "Isn't that your other one?"
  
  
  "I don't like Elmo Jupiter," Heather said flatly. "But he owns Jupiter Motors. Now I know why the logo looked familiar. Hers was in one of the ego showrooms. The ego factory and offices are located somewhere on the outskirts of London."
  
  
  "Interesting," I said. Something about Elmo Jupiter bothered me, but I couldn't concentrate. He shoved a sheet of note paper along with the original in a minute and led Heather through the storeroom and back to the apartment.
  
  
  The hotel clerk was delighted when we told him that we had taken care of the logo.
  
  
  "Coincidence!" he said.
  
  
  "Yes," I agreed. "Now, maybe you can do one more thing for us."
  
  
  "You can."
  
  
  "We need a list of Jupiter Motors employees who attended the meetings, if you can do that.",
  
  
  "Of course! We were provided with a list for each company from the case organizer. Her confident that I still have it somewhere. Excuse me for a moment.",
  
  
  He soon returned with a list and showed us the names of Jupiter Motors employees. Ih had three: Derek Forsythe, Percival Smythe, and Elmo Jupiter himself.
  
  
  I thanked the clerk for all his help, and Heather and I walked slowly toward the park in Russell Square, letting our newfound information sink in.
  
  
  "Jupiter is Scorpio," Heather said. "I mean astrological. Her, I remember him telling me. "Why does the logo have a scorpion on it?"
  
  
  "I'm thinking. Heather, we need to see Mr. Jupiter, " I said.
  
  
  Jupiter Motors was located in a modern resort complex of buildings on North End Road. Obviously, this included a lot of money. However, it showed signs of neglect. After a brief conversation with Jupiter's private secretary, we entered Ego's office. He kept smiling, ignoring me and concentrating on Heather.
  
  
  "Come on, Heather!" "What a pleasant surprise."
  
  
  "You told me to get in touch," Heather said as he took her hand. "Richard is terribly interested in cars and hopes he can take a look at his factory."
  
  
  Jupiter looked at me with his hard brown eyes. I had to admit that he wasn't bad-looking, he had an athletic build. But those hard eyes marred an otherwise pretty face.
  
  
  He gave me a tight smile. "Of course you can look around." "This will give me a chance to talk to Heather."
  
  
  Heather looked at him warmly. Hers, looking at his face. He seemed to be studying her now, as if trying to decide whether she was friend or foe.
  
  
  He pressed the intercom button and asked his secretary to call Mr. Burrows, who would show me while Jupiter and Heather were having tea in the hallway.
  
  
  While we were waiting for Mr. Burroughs, he said casually to Jupiter, " I'm not sure what you're talking about.: "As far as she's concerned, a car manufacturers' convention was recently held here in London."
  
  
  "Yes." He nodded. "I was present along with my sales director and ego assistant. The meetings did not meet expectations. There is too little cooperation between companies here in England."
  
  
  "I think it's the same in the States," I said.
  
  
  "Yes," he said slowly. "And what are you doing there, Mr. Matthews?"
  
  
  "I work in public health, just like Heather. Hey, I've been assigned to show you around London."
  
  
  Heather pulled out a cigarette and deliberately fumbled with the lighter. It fell to the carpeted floor. I got up as if I was going to pick up something for nah, but Jupiter beat me to it. When he lit her cigarette, I pressed it on the leg of the watch I was wearing. In addition to accurate timing, he took great photos.
  
  
  The intercom rang. Jupiter reached out and flipped the light switch. "Yes? All right, send the ego revelations inside." He looked at me. "It's finally Burroughs."
  
  
  Mr. Burrows was polite, but the tour bored Em almost as much as it did me. In sales, I was introduced to Forsythe and Smythe, two men who had attended the congress with Jupiter at the Royal Hotel. Forsythe was a distinguished gray-haired type; Smythe, for example, is fifteen years younger than ego and assertive, around those who stick their foot in the door when selling house after house. For some reason, I didn't think anyone around them was our man, but we would still ask Brutus ih to check it out.
  
  
  Jupiter seemed a little tense when Heather and I finally said our goodbyes. He focused his cold gaze on me and said with complete insincerity: "Come back any time, Mr. Matthews. I'm glad to see you."
  
  
  "Thank you," I said, returning the cold stare.
  
  
  As we walked to West Kensington Station, Heather and I took stock of our morning's work. "Burroughs hinted that the company was experiencing financial problems due to high state taxes," her lawyer said.
  
  
  "Interesting," she said. "I think I have the printouts on the cigarette lighter. Do you have any photos?"
  
  
  "One for him and a couple of papers on his desk for ego handwriting." He lit it for us, cigarettes as we walked. "I also met with Forsythe and Smythe, but I think Jupiter is our man. Its just curious to know how he knew his agent was there."
  
  
  "He knows I'm an agent, too," Heather said. "I'm sure of it. But we got what we wanted, and that's important."
  
  
  "I just hope it all leads to something," I said.
  
  
  She looked at me carefully. "I remembered something else, Nick, while I was having tea with Jupiter. Do you remember the day Foreign Minister Del was assassinated, when I told you that I would run into Elmo Jupiter when I met you on the street?"
  
  
  He stopped and looked at nah. I forgot that "Yes," I said slowly, something stirring in my memory, " you said you just saw ego open outside the Foreign Office." What was he doing there, what did he say?"
  
  
  She shook her head. "Not really. Oh, her did the usual polite speech:"Why, Elmo Jupiter, what brings you to this? »
  
  
  I think he said "one more," but I wasn't listening. Then he started insisting on a date, and she left as soon as she could."
  
  
  "Another one," I said, shaking my head. "It's always possible, of course, but it's too much of a coincidence."
  
  
  "I definitely could believe that he was our killer," Heather said, startled. "Those eyes! They give me the creeps."
  
  
  Her voice froze. "Voice and all! The janitor! That's what I was thinking. He had the same build as Jupiter and the same stern eyes. He was right - the hair and moustache were fake. It was Jupiter." Her confidence in it. And it fits! He recognized me when he bumped into me in the hallway, and correctly concluded that I was with the guards. He was only afraid of that, afraid that I would see ego again and remember, so he sent these thugs to kill me."
  
  
  "I think it's time to talk to Brutus again," Heather said.
  
  
  We found her boss in the ego office. He was in a bad mood, as he had just returned from London airport, where he had watched the loading of fourteen million pounds on board the university plane. The money was packed in steel boxes and guarded by PO agents.
  
  
  We informed ego about our trip to Jupiter Motors, then handed Brutus Heather the lighter and the film from my time-lapse camera. He took an urgent ih to the science department, and we waited.
  
  
  The results were not long in coming, just half an hour. Clera handed Brutus a folded folder. He frowned as he read. Finally, he said, "I think you and Heather have prints of the dead man's fingers, Nick."
  
  
  He handed me the file. On the first page was John Elmore's police file.
  
  
  I asked her. "There's no doubt about it?"
  
  
  Brutha shook his head gravely. "The finger prints match perfectly."
  
  
  "Then he must have picked a fight with Scotland Yard, he left the body and somehow slipped away while the fire was raging. Emu would like to have plastic surgery on her face and go into the car business. All these years he worked in Yasnoye. But why now, all of a sudden, is he ... "
  
  
  "It's good to know when we'll pick up ego," Brutha said, reaching for his phone.
  
  
  "You'd better pick some good people, sir," emu told her. "If Jupiter is our man, and he definitely looks like that, then he's very smart. And extremely dangerous."
  
  
  "You don't need to remind me," Brutha snorted.
  
  
  When he finished talking on the phone, her suggested to go with ego people. "That won't be necessary," he waved my suggestion aside. "You two have done enough today."
  
  
  "What about the money now?" Ego asked Heather.
  
  
  "I spoke with the Prime Minister - the white flag is flying over the parliament, and the ego is not yet impressed with what we have done. He remembers "News".
  
  
  "But this is different!" "Heather begged.
  
  
  "You must remember," Brutha said, " that there is absolute panic at the moment. The Parliament insists that something be done to stop the killings. And the shipment can be stopped in Switzerland if Elmo Jupiter really turns out to be the killer. "
  
  
  After a few moments, we left ego and walked through the building, heading to the parking lot and the beautiful yellow Porsche 911 that Heather had rented.
  
  
  "I think we have a right to a good meal," she said as we approached the car.
  
  
  Her father agreed. "I'm hungry."
  
  
  Heather started to get behind the wheel, but ee stopped her. "You're not the only sports car enthusiast."
  
  
  She got behind the wheel. She grinned and sat down next to me. "Do you like Greek moussaka?" she asked.
  
  
  "If it has a lot of meat in it," I said, starting the engine.
  
  
  "Then I'll make you some delicious food while we wait for word from Brutus," she said.
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  We were lying side by side on the long baha'i in Heather's apartment. It was digested by moussaka, which was also delicious. Heather was definitely an amazing girl.
  
  
  "A penny for your thoughts," she said. She was lying on my chest, running her hand seductively over my jaw.
  
  
  He took the hint and turned to her. I buried my face in her hair, inhaling the scent of her breaststroke. He bit her ear, and she let out a low, deep moan. She turned her face up to me, and while ee kissed her, she was undone by a row of buttons on her housecoat. He wrapped his arm around her back, found the clasp of her bra, and undid it. She took the housecoat off her shoulders and threw out her bra. Her, played with her nipples, teased ih with his teeth. They were as hard as pebbles.
  
  
  He slowly stroked her shoulder, then the outer edge of her chest. When I did, she sucked in a sharp breath, then bit my lip.
  
  
  He ran his fingers lightly over her thighs and thighs, and kissed her breasts. It was all she could bear.
  
  
  She led me to her, single-handedly forming a union, arching her lovely back into the nen and pushing against me until I was submerged in nah. The familiar sound of pleasure rumbled in her throat. My mind and body were focused on the original desire to penetrate, explore, and rape this beautiful woman who was already a part of me. Our passion grew and grew... and it exploded into full execution.
  
  
  The ninth chapter.
  
  
  The phone rang a few minutes after we finished
  
  
  Heather put the phone to her ear, listened for a few seconds, and then gasped. "Yes, sir, immediately," she said, and hung up.
  
  
  I asked her. "Brutus?"
  
  
  "Yes," and then the target swung up and down. "Jupiter is gone. The ego is nowhere to be found, not in the ego office, not in your home."
  
  
  "Maybe he just passed out."
  
  
  "Brut doesn't think so," she said. "He thinks Jupiter suspects that we know about nen."
  
  
  Hers, I thought for a second. Brutha was probably right. A man with the mind of Jupiter will suspect something of our sudden approach to him. After thinking about it, he probably decided to play it safe and hide somewhere.
  
  
  I got up from the couch and started to get dressed. Heather headed for the bedroom. "Brutha wants to see us immediately, if not sooner, in her office," she said over her shoulder.
  
  
  We were ready in ten minutes and went down the stairs around Heather's apartment to the street. It was the middle of the day, and the early autumn sun was already setting. An elegant Porsche 911 was parked around the corner of a cobbled street. As we approached the car, two men came out all around the entrance and confronted us. Each held a revolver in his right hand.
  
  
  "The voice is yes," Heather said softly.
  
  
  "Keep your ego here," said the person closest to us. He was a thin-faced, narrow-shouldered character whose pale blue eyes never left my face. Ego buddy was stockier with the legs of a soccer player. "Search the girl," the thin man said to emu, and then addressed a letter to me: "Stand still."
  
  
  He patted me and did a good job-he found Wilhelmina and Hugo.
  
  
  "What's all this?" I asked, though I might have guessed.
  
  
  "It doesn't matter," the football player said, stuffing Heather's sterling purse into his pocket. He nodded toward the curb, where a black Rolls-Royce was pulling up next to the Porsche. "Just sit down."
  
  
  It looks like we didn't have much of a choice. Heather led the way, and the thin man joined her. Her followed ego buddy.
  
  
  "Where are you taking us?" Heather asked.
  
  
  "You'll find out later," the thin man said. Now we were at the curb. "Get in."
  
  
  "And no fun games," the man next to me added.
  
  
  The Rolls driver wasn't going to get out, around the car. I kept my eyes on the gun my man was holding pointed at me, but I didn't know if Heather was set up to move against them. In the next second, she knew.
  
  
  "Nick!" she shouted, and slashed sideways at the thin man's arm. Ego's revolver clattered to the sidewalk as Heather hit him again, this time in the face.
  
  
  Meanwhile, she was hit on the knee by a football player with a loud crack. He shouted, and doubled over, clutching his leg. While he was distracted, his ego grabbed the gun.
  
  
  Heather now looked good on the thin man. She let the ego's own momentum drive the ego off the counterweights, then used her body as leverage and violently hurled the ego over the hood of the Rolls. He landed on his back.
  
  
  Heather moved to retrieve the gun he'd dropped, but couldn't find it. It was still trying to snatch the gun from the football player, who resisted.
  
  
  Her, heard Heather screaming: "I see!" when she finally reached the thin man's gun... it's too late.
  
  
  "Drop it, or I'll blow a hole in it." The Rolls driver joined in with a large, ugly revolver in his hand, pointed at Heather's back.
  
  
  Heather groaned, glanced at me, saw that I couldn't help, and dropped the gun.
  
  
  "Now," the driver said, pointing the gun at me, " stay here. Come here, little bird."
  
  
  Heather moved in with him. He hit her hard and nearly knocked her off her feet. "Turn around and put your hands behind your back," he said.
  
  
  He nodded to the thin man limping behind the rifle Heather had dropped. He went over, took out a pair of handcuffs around his back pocket, and slid the ih around Heather's slender wrists. She gasped when he squeezed ih, too hard. Ego cursed her under his breath.
  
  
  Now the driver came up to me. He was a large man with a slightly flabby face. He gave me a very nasty look and pointed a revolver at my head. She grunted and fell, bleeding profusely from her cut forehead. Then he and the soccer player yanked my hands behind my back and cuffed my wrists. They pulled me to my feet and shoved me into the Rolls. The thin man pushed Heather toward me.
  
  
  We drove for more than an hour, the lights of London gradually fading behind us. It was a dark night when we turned into the entrance to a country estate, and the rolls stopped at the main entrance to a large stone house. The three thugs got out, circling the car.
  
  
  "Okay, you two. Get out, " the thin man was giving orders again.
  
  
  They pulled us out of the backseat. "Inside," the thin man said, pointing at the house.
  
  
  The place was very elegant, with the look of old England. We entered a high-ceilinged hall. Sergei was on fire, but no one met us.
  
  
  "He said to take ih k to the tower," the driver denied media reports to the others.
  
  
  They led us down a corridor to a narrow circular staircase. It smelled damp and musty. We walked slowly up the worn stone steps, under the light of dim light bulbs set up at rare intervals.
  
  
  At the top, a thin man stuck an iron key in the rusty lock of a heavy oak door and pushed open the door. We entered a circular stone room with a single barred window.
  
  
  The thin man grinned. "Well, that's all. Get some rest."
  
  
  The room was unfurnished.
  
  
  I asked her. "How about we take the handcuffs off the girl?"
  
  
  The thin man turned to me. "You say take the handcuffs off the bird?"
  
  
  "Actually," I said. "Look at your red wrists, you're cutting off the circulation."
  
  
  He said. "Ah! Conversion, isn't it?" "Is that what's bothering you?"
  
  
  He pulled me out and hit me. It fell on one of every tribe, and it hit me in the side. He grunted and fell.
  
  
  He said. "Where's the vote, Yankee?" "This should improve your red blood circulation!" He laughed, and so did the soccer player. The driver looked bored.
  
  
  They went out through the rooms. We heard the key turn in the lock, and then ih shaggy, who were getting fainter and fainter as they went down the stairs.
  
  
  The tenth chapter.
  
  
  "I'm sorry, love. I just can't handle it."
  
  
  "It's all right," I said. Heather moved away from me and fell to the floor, her back to moan. She was very pale and looked completely exhausted.
  
  
  "We've been in this bloody place for hours," she said angrily. She had just tried for the sixth time to undo the complicated clasp on my belt buckle, but her hands were too swollen, she just couldn't handle them well enough, and we needed this belt and buckle.
  
  
  "I'm sorry, baby," I said.
  
  
  "Do you think anyone will ever come?" she asked.
  
  
  "I don't know," I said. "Maybe Jupiter intends to let us die here, but somehow I doubt it. I think he wants to know how much we know first."
  
  
  It was light; the warm sun filtered through the high-barred window into groan, but the heavy oak door remained closed.
  
  
  Her eyes went back to the belt and buckle that I had thanks to the extensive "Special Effects and Editing". The nen had plastic explosives and a tiny handgun unassembled, but if it couldn't be removed by ego, he was of no use.
  
  
  "I'm thirsty," Heather said.
  
  
  He opened his mouth to reply when he heard something on the stairs. He was getting louder. Someone was coming. "Look," I said,"we have company."
  
  
  A moment later, the key turned in the lock and the door swung open. Elmo Jupiter stood in the doorway, tall and imposing. Behind him was a Rolls-Royce driver with a submachine gun.
  
  
  "Good!" Jupiter said cheerfully. "We're meeting again. And so soon."
  
  
  Heather's eyes darkened. "Damn bastard!"
  
  
  Jupiter clicked his tongue. "Such a language for a lady." He entered the room. "I hope you found the room comfortable."
  
  
  "If you've ever had any feelings for Heather," I said grimly, " you'll bring her some water. And loosen the damn cuffs."
  
  
  He looked at me coldly. "I'm so glad you accepted my invitation, too," he said softly. "You who made such a determined effort to ruin my plan."
  
  
  "I failed," Emu told her, " your money should be in Switzerland by now. Didn't they tell you?"
  
  
  "They told me," he said. "I gave your people further instructions, but they didn't comply with ih." He ran a large hand through his dark brown hair. The scarring on his neck stood out very clearly. "Maybe the CP is playing a cat-and - mouse game with me-Mr. Carter?"
  
  
  So he knew my real identity. Jupiter's underground intelligence network was certainly top notch. I saw that he was waiting for my reaction, so I completely ignored it. "No one is playing games, Jupiter. But the CP may doubt will meet your motives with them ferret as we disappeared. What do you hope to achieve? Do you do it for money or do you just enjoy killing?"
  
  
  He laughed, " They taught me how to kill, and I refined the practice into an art." Suddenly, the smile disappeared, and a different mood struck ego. "Yes, I like killing when it removes the leeches around my flesh. I tried to play an ih game, but they had all the high cards you see. Now they have to play by my rules. And they have to pay, Mr. Carter, in different ways. Is rheumatism your corkscrew? "
  
  
  "I see," I said. "Another corkscrew: how does Fergus know you're a killer?"
  
  
  Jupiter looked at me blankly. "Fergus? Who is Fergus?"
  
  
  "Kalinich Fergus. He was in your commando unit."
  
  
  Jupiter's eyes lit up with recognition. "Ah, yes. Fergus. I remember his ego now. Good night, fighter." Then he remembered, snapped his fingers. "The hospital. Sure. He was wounded in the same battle as her. He took the bed next to mine. Most of the time, we had nothing to do but talk about where we were going after the war. I remember her now. It was then that the germ of my plan was born. We discussed all sorts of ways to make a million pounds, and he said how easy it would be to extort money from the government. Just kill a few cabinet ministers and then demand, and ... Oh, I don't remember the number... for the safety of others. Are you saying that Fergus knew Elmore John was the killer? He must have remembered the conversation, and then, putting two and two together.
  
  
  But it doesn't matter now, does it, Mr. Carter? "
  
  
  "You have money," I said. "Let's go and show the government your integrity."
  
  
  Jupiter started to smile again, but suddenly Ego's face changed, and his cold eyes reflected pain. He raised his hand to the heads.
  
  
  "Metal plates," he said sharply. "It hurts at times. And they are responsible for this, they are people who sit in the government. What did they do during the war, Mr. Carter?" When the top of my skull was torn off, what did they do ? "
  
  
  Ego's eyes grew wilder as he continued. "I'll tell you what they did. They were sitting in the safety of London. And they are the same people - how did they pay me for my services? Taxing my business to the limit. All I have, all the money I made her, went into this business. And now it's on the verge of bankruptcy. It's ih fault, "he raged," ih fault. But they pay, " he grinned madly. "They pay dearly. And you two will pay dearly for the hardships you've caused me. That's why she ordered you to bring you here instead of killing you right away. When you invaded my factory with your ridiculous story. The tour was free then, Mr. Carter, but now you're a nah wage. You and this beautiful creature." He looked hungrily at Heather. "I have plans for you, my dear." He leaned down and ran his hand down her thigh; she was trying to move away from him.
  
  
  Anger bubbled up inside me, and when Jupiter touched Heather, hers exploded. He clumsily jumped off the floor and threw himself at him, knocking his ego back. I shouted it out. "Leave her alone, you bastard!"
  
  
  Jupiter's face hardened, and his eyes glittered with madness. A man on the landing approached Licks with a gun.
  
  
  Jupiter told emu. "No!"
  
  
  He closed the distance between us. He was the same height as her and looked as hard as nails. Suddenly he punched me in the life, outright under the fold dollar. Her growl hurt as my breath caught in my throat. Her voice began to moan, and Jupiter followed me.
  
  
  Her ego kicked him in the groin, but he took a step to the side and caught her ego by the hips instead. He hit me hard on the right ear. He fell on one of each tribe, but managed to get back on his feet. Jupiter attacked me again. This time, the end of the ego arm hit my neck, a paralyzing blow knocking me to the floor.
  
  
  Heather heard her scream. "Not forever!"
  
  
  The blow hit me in the side. I screamed, and my whole body burned, which hurt. My hands automatically struggled against the handcuffs holding ih down. As much as I'd ever want them to be free and close around Jupiter's throat.
  
  
  He stood in front of me, breathing heavily. "I'll have more time for you later," he growled.
  
  
  "This... such things... They won't bring you your fourteen million pounds, " I breathed.
  
  
  "How nice of you to bother equipping me with a monument," Jupiter said tartly. "But I won't get the money and my own satisfaction. She had already been warned by ih about a further delay. Now its going to show them just how important it is. There will be a fourth murder ahead of schedule."
  
  
  Heather and I stared at him. Ego's eyes were shining brightly, and his chopsticks were ugly red. Elmo Jupiter looked exactly what he was: crazy.
  
  
  "It's going to be a really big fish this time," he said, smiling again. "And there will be others caught in the same net. Well, ih warned her."
  
  
  "Don't do this," I said. "Let us contact our superiors and we will settle the money situation. Its sure that it's just a misunderstanding."
  
  
  "Misunderstanding, yes," he said. When I promise to kill her, Mr. Carter, I'll kill her. I never say empty threats." He paused to offer a psychotic smirk. "It might give you something to think about, Mr. Carter, to know that I'm proposing to kill you. Very slowly."
  
  
  He shrugged with an obvious indifference he didn't feel. "If that's what you want. But why not relax with Heather for now? Look at her hands."
  
  
  Jupiter's glittering eyes shifted from me to Heather. He nodded at math with a gun.
  
  
  Heather's handcuffs opened. She rubbed her wrists to improve circulation.
  
  
  "Now put the cuffs on Nah, but not so tight," Jupiter said. He wasn't taking any chances.
  
  
  He asked."Are Mr. Carter's handcuffs tightly closed? The servant checked ih and nodded. "All right," Jupiter said. "Leave ih like this."
  
  
  He gave us a parting smile, then he and the ego man left.
  
  
  When we stopped hearing ih on the stairs, her, turned to Heather. "Who do you think Jupiter is pointing out to now?"
  
  
  "I'm afraid, Prime Minister," she said. "But of course, he can't pass the mimmo massive guard!"
  
  
  "He's done it twice, not counting Wellesey," I said. "Tailor, we have to get out around this place. Obviously, this is not listed on Jupiter's estates, otherwise Brutha would already be here."
  
  
  "We were driving somewhere towards Oxford," Heather said. "I could tell by the way they were driving," she said. "Maybe in the Beaconsfield area. There are several large estates in the area."
  
  
  Her lick came up to her and looked at her hands. The metal cuffs no longer cut into her flesh, but her hands were swollen. "Stretch your arms," I said. "Rub ih together."
  
  
  "They really hurt, Nick."
  
  
  "I know. But if we can remove the swelling, we'll try to work on my belt buckle again. If your fingers are working properly, you may be able to undo the clasp."
  
  
  "All right," she said obediently. "I'll stretch it."
  
  
  Hours passed. Soon the saint, through a small opening in the oak day, exceeded the faint sunlight coming in through the latticed window. It was almost dark outside.
  
  
  The swelling gradually subsided; Heather's hands were almost back to normal.
  
  
  I asked her. "Do you want to try undoing the buckle again?"
  
  
  Heather rubbed her hands together behind her back. "They're doing pretty well, Nick. But I can't promise anything."
  
  
  "I know," I said. "But let's try it."
  
  
  She backed up to me and found my belt. "Yes, higher," her father said. "Now pull the buckle into yourself. Straight. I can see her fucking latch, despite that nasty Sergey. Now move your index finger to the left."
  
  
  "That's all, isn't it?"
  
  
  "Actually. Now the ego needs to be shifted to the right."
  
  
  "I remember. But the damn thing's stuck, Nick. Or I'm doing it all wrong."
  
  
  "Keep trying. Try pressing the button lightly before pressing ee to the right."
  
  
  He could hear her grunting as she moved her hands awkwardly behind her back. Suddenly, by some miracle, there was a slight click, and he felt the belt loosen. He looked down, and Heather turned her head questioningly.
  
  
  Hey said it. "You did it!"
  
  
  Heather reached for the belt buckle and pulled it off. She turned to me, holding on to her belt. "What now?"
  
  
  "Now we turn back to back again, and I open the back of the buckle, hopefully using the same latch, but this time moving it down. We can use the blowgun as a lock pick if I can get my hands on it. The challenge will be to avoid the small dart. If I accidentally tear the plastic wrapper on the tip and prick myself, the game is over with it-it's poisoned ."
  
  
  With her back to Heather, he reached for the buckle. He found the trap and then, with some difficulty, moved it in the right direction. The back of the buckle came off. He gingerly felt something inside, touched the dart, and dodged it. Then my clumsy fingers touched half of the tiny, two-piece, larger-diameter half. He carefully removed the other, narrower part from the buckle and turned awkwardly to look at Nah.
  
  
  "Okay," Heather said to her. "Drop the belt and hold the handcuffs to my hands."
  
  
  He touched the cuffs and felt for the lock. With great difficulty, I managed to insert the thin metal tube I kept in the lock.
  
  
  "It won't be much," I said. "Keep as quiet as possible."
  
  
  Working behind your back, and upside down, twisted in an uncomfortable position is not the easiest way to pick a lock. Just trying to remember which direction to move the lock pick against the toggle switch wasn't enough. But after fifteen minutes, the lock clicked and Heather's handcuffs loosened. Her body heaved a sigh of relief as she stepped back and pulled her hands out around the cuffs.
  
  
  "Now you have to do this for me," her father said.
  
  
  She was moving behind me.
  
  
  It was an easier job for Nah. Her hands were free and she could see what she was doing. A few minutes later, she took off my handcuffs.
  
  
  It was dropped by ih Paul.
  
  
  Working quickly, now in near-total darkness, her belt broke. It was filled with explosives in a plastic form, like putty. There was also a fuse and a match. I rolled the plastic into a ball and put the safety catch in it. Then a four-inch blowgun assembled it and unfolded a tiny dart.
  
  
  "Well," I said, " I think we're ready. We don't have anything to pick the door lock with, so we have to blow up the ego."
  
  
  "But there's no escaping the explosion," Heather said.
  
  
  "I know. Lie down for moaning near the same place, opposite the castle." I went to the door and pressed the plastic against the lock; it was stuck there, and the cord was coming out of it towards me. "Cover your ears and head," Heather told her, " and open your mouth."
  
  
  "Here we go," I said. He lit a match and held it to the cord. He saw it light up, then dove atop Heather, covering his head.
  
  
  The explosion wasn't as loud, but it felt like thunder in this small room. My ears were ringing, my target was hurting, and I was hit on the back with a sharp piece of flying wood. We struggled to our feet before the smoke cleared. The door was open.
  
  
  "This will bring everyone who came down here," I said.
  
  
  And so it was. They rushed up the stairs. Heather sat on one side of the table, and hers on the other. Ih was two. Heather had an air pistol, and she was ready to use it. The first person to appear in the dim light of the playground was a thin gunman we'd already met. He hesitated for a moment, then entered the room.
  
  
  Her assaulted ego; her result is, for example, an ego weapon, knocking out the gun. Then he grabbed her ego
  
  
  hand pushing the ego leg into the room. She was knocked out by ego in the middle of the floor when he struggled to his feet and slapped himself hard across the face. A bone snapped in his nose, and he turned heavily to the opposite moan.
  
  
  But the second man, the Rolls driver, was already a day away and pointed a gun at me. Heather picked up the blowgun and fired a dart at him. It caught the emu in the neck, sticking in half of its shaft. Startled, he forgot to shoot me. He pulled out a dart, looked at it, and suddenly ego's eyes rolled back in his head and he fell face first into the doorway.
  
  
  She was struck by a karate kick in the throat of a thin man. He made a gurgling sound and fell down.
  
  
  "Let's get out of here!" Heather grabbed her elbow.
  
  
  We descended the circular staircase. We didn't meet anyone coming up to us, and as we walked down the first floor to the front door, the house seemed empty. We quickly searched the rooms we passed mimmo. We need one person. To nobody. But those guns and Hugo found her on the library table.
  
  
  There was a car in the driveway, but there were no keys in it. I put it under the dashboard, twisted the wires to start it. We closed the day and went.
  
  
  "We need to get to Brutus," I said as we turned off the roadway and onto the main road.
  
  
  "Let's hope we're not too late," Heather said.
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  Brutha paced in front of his desk. He didn't have a pipe in his mouth for a change, which seemed to make his ego more excited.
  
  
  "What does the tailor devil want with us?" he said loudly. "He sent very ambiguous instructions about delivering money to Switzerland. We needed clarification, but we couldn't get ih. And then your disappearance made us wonder what this guy really does. Jupiter's office and home are under surveillance, but he didn't tell us if the ferret wasn't in the same place as them when you were abducted."
  
  
  "He probably won't go back to that village now," I said. "And I think he'll stage another murder, no matter what we do with the money."
  
  
  Brutha called the Prime Minister when we explained why we thought he might be Jupiter's next target, Brutha and Mo.M. agreed that the most likely reason for the assassination attempt would be a conference of the Ministers of Foreign Affairs of the United States at the Ministry of Foreign Affairs the day after tomorrow.
  
  
  "I asked her. "Do you think Sir Leslie will cancel the conference?"
  
  
  Brutha sighed. "I'm afraid Sir Leslie doesn't care as much about his own life as he does about other people's safety. He goes on to talk about the importance of the conference and point out how strict security measures are right now. He'll call me back later and confer with his other advisors. I told emu, of course, to give up on this blood war until all this stops."
  
  
  I asked her. "Scotland Yard trying to find Jupiter?"
  
  
  "They're everywhere," Brutha said. "They questioned everyone at Jupiter's factory and people he met socially. Our agents, MI5 and 6, of course, are also involved. But Mr. Jupiter was gone. We sent people to the house you were taken to. But I'm sure it's too late."
  
  
  "I think it will strike the day after tomorrow," I said.
  
  
  Brutha looked at me grimly. "Yes, I suppose so. Let's hope Sir Leslie decides to play it safe." He sat down at his chair. "By the way, I should have told David Hawke when you two disappeared. He was very worried about you. I should contact him now that you're back."
  
  
  A bell rang on Brutus's desk. "Oh, yes," he said, answering it. He flipped the light switch and stood up. "This is Sir Leslie. I'll take it from the ego in the next room."
  
  
  Heather came around the corner of her chair, dropped her cigarette in the ashtray, and came over to me.
  
  
  She was just about to kiss me when Brutha came in again.
  
  
  "Well, that's all," he said stiffly, his big British army chin jutting out grimly. "Sir Leslie's holding a damn conference on schedule." He shook his head. "It looks like we interrupted our work."
  
  
  The eleventh chapter.
  
  
  It was the day of the ministerial conference. The morning passed without incident, and the Yard and MI5 were already saying that the CP was wrong - there will be no attempt on us today, we are here.
  
  
  He was sure that it would be so. The del Conference of Foreign Ministers was an ideal venue. If some of the Poe ministers are killed along with Sir Leslie, Britain will not only lose its head of state, but also face a serious international embarrassment. Jupiter will love it.
  
  
  I haven't seen her, Heather, since before the midday break, when we met in the cafeteria and had a sandwich together. Brutha has given us complete freedom of action in this security assignment, allowing us to move around as we like and do whatever we consider most important at the moment. Heather spent most of the morning in the conference room while he patrolled the corridors of the buildings. She resumed this activity and accompanied the conference participants to lunch, which was served in another part of the building.
  
  
  If Jupiter was telling the truth about catching the "other fish" during his fourth attempt, then all sorts of questions opened up about the method he was using.
  
  
  can use it. For example, a machine gun, a small bomb, a grenade, or poison gas.
  
  
  The air conditioning sampling system was checked by experts several times, but I checked it again during the morning session. Teams of explosive devices and explosive devices experts went through the conference room before the morning session and during the morning break, and found nothing. The guards started to relax and joke about it all.
  
  
  He didn't laugh; they didn't know Jupiter. Our inability to find anything so far ferret probably meant we didn't want to be in the right place - and Jupiter would probably have the last laugh.
  
  
  He approached the large doors of the conference hall and was stopped by two MI5 officers and a policeman.
  
  
  "KP," I said, showing them my ID card.
  
  
  They checked the map very carefully and finally let me pass. He went into the room and looked around. Everything was fine. A spotter was at the window, watching the nearby roofs, a policeman with powerful binoculars. I walked over to him and leaned on the sill of the open window as a security helicopter flew overhead.
  
  
  "Can I see it?" I asked her of Bobby.
  
  
  "Don't mind if you do," he said, handing me the binoculars.
  
  
  He studied the nearby rooftops. They were swarming with people all over the security service, so there wasn't much point in watching them. I refocused my eyes to infinity and scanned the horizon beyond. He focused on a wide roof with several elevations, and saw movement there. It was a dark-haired man, probably a policeman. Yes, I could see her form now.
  
  
  He sighed and handed it back. "Thank you," I said.
  
  
  He stepped out into the corridor again. The ministers were returning from breakfast, strays down the hall. The afternoon session, which started late, was about to start.
  
  
  He left the place and went up to the roof, stopping to show his ID card. several times. Security certainly seemed tight, but remembering how easily Jupiter had gained access to the office of the US Foreign Minister, I wasn't reassured.
  
  
  Heather met her on the roof. Nah had a walkie-talkie that she could use to contact ZOE's temporary command post.
  
  
  "Hey, Nick." She smiled at me. "Is everything quiet down there?"
  
  
  "It's too quiet." Ee put his arm around her shoulders. "Her ego should understand, Heather. He gives me an inferiority complex. If he's here today, he'll..."
  
  
  Her, stopped and looked at the man who was passing mimmo us. He was wearing a white serving jacket and an instant plate of sandwiches. He was tall, dark, and as complex as Jupiter. Ego grabbed her arm and reached for Wilhelmina.
  
  
  The man turned around with a fearful face when he saw the gun. His hair was real, he had a hooked nose, and he was obviously real.
  
  
  He said."Eh, what is this?"
  
  
  "Nothing," I said, embarrassed. "I'm sorry. Go on - it was a mistake."
  
  
  He muttered something and hurried on. A couple of agents nearby who witnessed the scene chuckled.
  
  
  "I must be nervous," crooked Heather told her. "Although you have to admit that a waiter would have been a good disguise, and in the end, Jupiter snuck into Foreign Secretary Dell's office as a janitor. However, this poor guy doesn't look like him at all. Except for the dark hair. and a serving jacket ... "
  
  
  Her name: jacket... shape... dark hair... I turned and looked out over the city toward the buildings to the west. He quickly walked over to the spotter, who was watching the other police officers on a nearby roof with binoculars.
  
  
  "Let me borrow this for a minute," I said, raising my voice so I could be heard over the flutter of the other helicopter.
  
  
  Good. But you could have asked a little better, " he said.
  
  
  Her emu didn't answer. Her binoculars were picked up and ih refocused on the far building with all the add-ons that her noticed around the conference room. I had a better position here; the roof could see it clearly. There was no movement now. He was looking down a bit at the roof and now noticed something set up there. Her mouth went dry when he adjusted the binoculars. I was looking at what looked like some kind of weapon, maybe a mortar, and it was aimed at me.
  
  
  Then I saw movement again. It was a man in a police uniform, but this time it was dark hair, a mustache, and a tall, square build that caught her eye. It was Jupiter.
  
  
  Downstairs, the meeting of the Foreign Ministers of the United States had begun again, and those damned weapons were pointed directly at the windows of the conference room! Sure. Jupiter wasn't going to try to break into the Ministry building this time. He was going to use his excellent military training to strike from a distance.
  
  
  Her binoculars were returned to the spotter. "Thank you," I said. He hurried her over to Heather. "Get an ID on this building," I said, pointing. "Call Brutus and tell him that Jupiter is in the rooftop hall with a medium-range weapon. Then go to the conference room and try to convince someone to evacuate the ego. Another thing: on the radio by helicopter, so that he stayed away.
  
  
  Jupiter will leave. I'll go get him."
  
  
  It was a hectic race of walking to another building a few blocks away. The sidewalks were packed with pedestrians, and he kept bumping into people. A taxi almost hit me as I was crossing the alley. I was finally there. The building turned out to be a hotel.
  
  
  The elevator waited endlessly for her and went up to the top floor. Then hers, rushing to the stairs leading to the roof. It was found no more than twenty yards from Jupiter.
  
  
  He was leaning over his weapon, preparing to fire it. Three ominous rockets lay nearby. Rocket-propelled mortar. With three projectiles, Jupiter couldn't avoid hitting the conference room. One properly aimed projectile would blow up the camera and kill everyone in nen.
  
  
  I shouted, pulling Wilhelmina out.
  
  
  He turned to me. "You again!" he growled. He pulled a Parabellum and Browning pistol from his belt and ducked behind the mortar. I snuggled up to moan behind me when Jupiter fired. Gawking eyes split the cement at my head, showering me with fine gray powder. She returned fire on the luger, and the gawk bounced off the mortar muzzle with a clang.
  
  
  There was another service station near Jupiter. He fired another shot at me, missed, and ran for cover. He was shot as he ran, but missed, smashing the roof of Ego's leg.
  
  
  "It's over, Jupiter," I shouted. "Drop it."
  
  
  Jupiter leaned out from behind his cover and fired. This time, gawking hurt my left arm, tearing a hole in my jacket. He grabbed her hand and swore.
  
  
  Jupiter was back in hiding. It began to circle away from his field of vision. Moving cautiously, I rounded the superstructure and saw Jupiter, no more than fifteen feet away.
  
  
  Unfortunately, my initials scraped the gravel on the roof, and Jupiter heard me. It spun around and automatically fired, and he dove back in. I heard him running, and when I looked around the corner, I saw him running toward the mortar. He reached it, tucked the pistol into his belt, and lifted the rocket. The weapon was obviously already aimed.
  
  
  I couldn't risk shooting and not killing the ego. He shoved it into Wilhelmina's belt and ran to him. The missile disappeared inside the rifle, and it was simultaneously pushed by Jupiter and the weapon. A mortar fired, and the rocket soared into the sky over London, but it was hit by the barrel at an angle.
  
  
  The rocket exploded over the city, completely bypassed the ministry building and exploded in a small parque next to it. Just as her staff was watching the rocket move, Jupiter punched me in the face and flew away from me. Then he got to his feet again. "Tailor damn you. He pulled out the Browning again and aimed it at me. He fired, and he rolled to avoid; gawking innocently hit the concrete edge of the roof behind me.
  
  
  Jupiter didn't try to fire his second shot. The helicopter came to a stop, hovering a few feet above the roof. I gratefully thought it was a cop helicopter, until I saw the stairs going down to Jupiter. He was on it now, climbing; the helicopter was already leaving.
  
  
  He was shot, but Jupiter was already scrambling into the helicopter, and he missed.
  
  
  Peeking over the rooftops, I saw another helicopter approaching me. I shot him and waved at him. This one did belong to the police. It hovered for a moment, then landed on the roof. I ran, ducking under the spinning blades, the wind they stirred tugging at me.
  
  
  Inside were the pilot and Heather. He jumped up and pointed to the helicopter that had left, heading southwest around the city. "Follow him," I said.
  
  
  We climbed off the roof and banked to follow Jupiter. We flew into the setting sun, and the ego helicopter was silhouetted against the peach-colored sky.
  
  
  Our speed increased, and as we moved out into the open, we approached another copter. The pilot radioed me what was going on, but I knew it would probably all depend on us.
  
  
  We were a hundred yards away from another helicopter, and he took aim with a Luger, I want a rifle, and fired a couple of shots. It was hit by a helicopter, but did not cause any damage. It was clearly seen by Jupiter and the pilot.
  
  
  The sun had almost set. If night came before we caught them, they could easily lose us. He sent a letter to the pilot.
  
  
  I shouted it out. "Get closer!"
  
  
  The distance shortened a little more. We were a long way from London, and heading in the direction of Andover. A thatched-roofed village passed beneath us, and we came to a little lick; the distance between us was little more than fifty yards. He leaned out and fired again. This time it hit the gas tank, but the fuel did not ignite it. Although it leaked out. He expected Jupiter to return fire, but for some reason he didn't. Maybe he was saving ammo.
  
  
  "Now the emu will have to land, sir," my pilot said.
  
  
  "Let's hope so."
  
  
  The pilot was right. A minute later, Jupiter's helicopter headed for the small village below. We followed him. They landed in a field on the outskirts of the village, next to a commercial building that turned out to be a motorcycle garage.
  
  
  "Drop us off," he told his pilot. "But don't go emu make good shots at us - he's an expert."
  
  
  Jupiter's copter had fallen, and he was climbing out. We landed about sixty yards away. It was being reloaded by a Luger, my research problem solving pilot, and impatiently dropped to the ground.
  
  
  Her, yelled at him. "Hide!"
  
  
  But it was too late. Jupiter fired and hit the emu in the chest, knocking Ego out of the way. Jupiter was heading for the half-dozen motorcycles parked outside the garage when he got back to the ground. She was examined by the pilot's wound; it was bad, but he would have been alive if the emu had been helped in time. He ordered Heather to stay with him, then jumped to his feet.
  
  
  I ran to the garage, where Jupiter was already at the motorcycles. I was so determined to catch up with him that I forgot about the ego of a helicopter pilot until a gawking mimmo whizzed past my ear. Then it noticed the man, returned fire on the gun and hit him. He staggered back and fell; he didn't get up.
  
  
  He kept running. Jupiter had started the bike and was turning Ego toward the road leading to this place.
  
  
  He stopped, put Wilhelmina on his forearm, and fired, but Jupiter roared away. He was driving a BSA Victor Special 441 with a long, narrow seat and a gas tank between the seat and the steering wheel. I thought he was going at a top speed of eighty miles an hour.
  
  
  He quickly approached the man who was standing, pale and shaken, openly in the garage. "Police," he said, because that was the easiest thing to do. "What do you have to defeat this Victor?"
  
  
  He pointed to a big old motorcycle, long and heavy; it was a 1958 Ariel 4G Square Four.
  
  
  "Take Squariel," he said. "It's an old timer, but it has fifty horsepower, four speeds, and almost a hundred speeds."
  
  
  "Thank you," I said, walked over to the car, and watched the sunset on nah. I took ee. As the engine roared, he shouted to the garage foreman, " I'll get settled in later. Find a doctor for my friend in the field. The other one doesn't need help."
  
  
  He nodded. A motorcycle started it up and roared down the narrow road behind Jupiter.
  
  
  Ih was wearing a pair of glasses on the steering wheel, and he put it on as he turned around a bend in the shrubbery. It was not Stahl who kept to the left, and rode in the middle of the road. I needed to catch Jupiter, and he knew that he would push his bike to the limit.
  
  
  It was dark, and he turned on the brylev. There was no one ahead of me. Suddenly, a pair of headlights appeared in my rearview mirror. They grew rapidly, then a sedan, MG, pulled up to me. Heather was in the driver's seat. She must have confiscated the car after examining the injured pilot.
  
  
  I sped up, trying to keep up with Nah, but her car was more powerful than my bike. Then, somewhere in the distance, I heard her agonizing screech of brakes and a sickening crash. A lump formed in my throat. The impact was too loud for the bike. It must have been Heather.
  
  
  It was driven by an overturned MG on the road just around the bend. It was half-bent around the tree. The wheels were still spinning horribly. Its slowed down, deciding that no one could have survived this accident. Heather, in her less maneuverable vehicle, must have tried to pass the signposts at the same speed as Jupiter. Only she didn't.
  
  
  Blind hatred made my blood pound in my ears. Until now, ferret Jupiter was just another opponent. He was more than that now: Heather's killer.
  
  
  He drove a few miles, looking down the country road. When I was sure Jupiter had dodged me, I swerved it for signs, and there he was, just two hundred yards ahead of me. He drove without lights.
  
  
  He turned and saw me approaching him. Ego's speed increased somewhat, but hers was still getting closer. He disappeared at the turn, and her ego was lost for a few minutes in a series of blind turns. The next day, ego found her again, only a hundred yards ahead. He turned and shot me twice. At this speed and in the dark, it was ridiculous. Her approach to him.
  
  
  Suddenly Jupiter turned left on the dirt road, sending up a long cloud of dust in the darkness. I managed to stop the Ariel in time, its rear end skidding as it roared down the road after Jupiter.
  
  
  Half a mile later, we crossed a small wooden arched bridge. Our momentum lifted the motorcycles into the air on the opposite side of the bridge and threw us down hard. Jupiter almost lost control when ego hit, ego the bike swung violently. The Ariel was heavier, and her ego held her up better. A couple of hundred yards later, we crossed the same stream by a natural ford, splashing through the shallow water and splashing water on both sides of the bikes. On the other side of the soft sand was a steep hill climb. My Ariel shifted in the soft fabric for a moment, then broke free.
  
  
  On the other side of the hill, Jupiter made a sharp left turn and headed out into the open. I followed, hoping the Ariel wasn't too heavy for the job. Over the next few miles, Jupiter passed me by a bit, bumping wildly into hills, into ruts, and dodging trees.
  
  
  Then we went up a low hill, and suddenly I knew where we were. In front of us, on a flat plain only a few hundred yards away, was an eerie circle of tall, flat rocks, dark and massive against the lighter sky. We were driving towards the ancient archaeological site of Stonehenge, either by accident or by Jupiter's design.
  
  
  Whatever it was, it was clear that Jupiter intended to take its place here. He had already reached the spot, and when he had closed the distance to a few stylish yards, he dismounted and let his bike fall. Then, he quickly moved towards the ancient ceremonial ruins.
  
  
  Its stopped its cycle and turned off the engine. He went out and stood cautiously in front of the menacing ruins. Stonehenge was an ancient temple before the druids, built to worship the sun and moon, and designed to measure the movements of celestial bodies. What was left of it, on the dell itself, was a circle around massive faceted stones set inside a circle around similar stones, as well as several outer ones. Some stones were in pairs, others lay across the tops, forming a primitive arch or lintel. The sun and moon rose and set through these arches on certain days of the year, turning the temple into a giant sidereal clock. But I wasn't interested in that at the moment, because there was a madman lurking here, intent on killing me.
  
  
  He moved slowly toward the ring of giant rocks, watching the shadows. The sky was clear, but the moon hadn't risen yet, so there wasn't much light. The night was completely still.
  
  
  He walked over to the isolated rock and paused, exploring the darkness. Then Jupiter's voice came from somewhere around the shadow ahead of me.
  
  
  "Now, Mr. Carter, you're playing on my home court, "he said." Being an American, I don't think you're too familiar with Stonehenge. You are standing at an ancient execution stone. Isn't that appropriate?" A gunshot rang out a few inches from my head.
  
  
  He ducked and watched as Jupiter's figure left the massive rock and charged toward another. She was shot twice and missed. Then he went to another rock and stopped to listen. Jupiter's nervous little laugh reached her:
  
  
  "This is a charming place, Mr. Carter. Did you know, for example, that there are only thirteen steps between the trilithons on this side of the circle?" The shadow moved again, and Jupiter ran toward the next bulky shape. He fired at him again and missed again. The world just didn't have enough.
  
  
  "It may also interest you," Jupiter's strained, high - pitched voice rang out again, "that the angle formed by the Altar Stone here, the trilithon next to you, and the Fifth Stone removed is forty-five degrees, and that you are aligned with the Heel Stone." Another shot; a gawk passed mimmo of my left shoulder.
  
  
  He ducked and swore. He was beginning to understand why Jupiter had chosen the location for his position. Here he could not only kill me, but also enjoy the formalities of execution. She quickly walked over to another special stone, out of the reach of Ego Fire. He's already made me defend myself.
  
  
  "I'm maneuvering you, Mr. Carter, "he shouted." What's it like being a mouse for a change instead of a cat?"
  
  
  The Browning machine gun fired again. He recoiled and ran to safety. Suddenly, the shadows began to change, and the growing light illuminated the ground. At that moment Jupiter shouted around the shelter nearby:
  
  
  "Excellent, Mr. Carter! You are exactly where I want you to be. The great clock is working against you behind your back."
  
  
  I looked around and saw what he meant. It stood under the arch of the famous moonrise trilithon, which was at right angles to the Heel Stone. Jupiter was actually manipulating me. The full moon was rising behind me, the bright saint making me a perfect target.
  
  
  Her, turned to Jupiter - too late. He was standing in the open air, ego browning pointed at my chest.
  
  
  "Good-bye, Mr. Carter!"
  
  
  He took his time with the final stages of the execution. He aimed along the barrel and slowly squeezed the trigger. He closed his eyes, and a gunshot rang out in the night. But it didn't hit me. Her eyes opened. Next to the stone pillar sat Heather, holding her Sterling public procurement law in her hand. She escaped alive, and was heard by her shot.
  
  
  Jupiter swore loudly, turned the Browning toward her, and fired. But Heather ducked behind a pillar, and Gawk bounced harmlessly off the rock. Jupiter turned the Browning toward me in a lightning-fast motion. He pulled the trigger before he could react, but the only sound was the loud click as the firing pin hit the empty chamber. Jupiter had been playing cat and mouse for too long.
  
  
  He swore furiously and threw the gun to the ground. The luger aimed it at him as he dived to the ground. My shot hit the calf of Ego's right leg. But when I tried to shoot Wilhelmina again, I discovered that I had also run out of ammunition.
  
  
  Realizing what had happened, Jupiter picked up a short wooden pole, one around several nearby objects that had probably been left behind by the archaeologists, and limped over to me.
  
  
  She put Wilhelmina in her holster and raised her own six, just as Jupiter reached me. He hit it with the pole on my head. She was caught at the last moment hitting her pole.
  
  
  "Maybe a little jousting?" Jupiter said, breathing heavily. In the moonlight, I could see the mad gleam in her ego eyes.
  
  
  He swung the pole again with both hands, using it as their Britons had done before, swaying slightly on his injured leg. His ego madness had given him strength. He was on the defensive again. He swung at me again, and this time delivered a glancing blow to my head. He staggered back and fell.
  
  
  Jupiter took advantage, swinging at my head. I tried to parry the blow, but the club still hit me in the arm and chest, knocking out six around my arm.
  
  
  Hers rolled away from the next blow, and when Jupiter raised six again, hers jerked a muscle in his right forearm. Hugo slid into my hand.
  
  
  The pole was nearing my goal again when Hugo entered the Jupiter dollar stack. He stopped, and I stretched out in front of him, looking at me with sudden bewilderment and disappointment. He lifted six slightly, took one tentative step toward me, then made a half-turn to the left and collapsed.
  
  
  He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. It was over. Hugo pulled it out at Jupiter's request and wiped the blade on Ego's trousers. Then he returned the stiletto to its scabbard. He stared at Jupiter in the light of the rising moon.
  
  
  Heather came over to me and put her arm around my waist. She was trembling. "The distance was too great. I knew I couldn't hit it. She was only shot to distract her ego, " she whispered.
  
  
  Her, held her close. "You know, you saved my life," I said. "That last gawk he released at you was meant for me. If it wasn't for you..."
  
  
  She shivered and wanted the warmth of my body.
  
  
  "Anyway, I have to admit, you're a damn good agent. I had my doubts at first, but you're something special as an agent... and like a girl."
  
  
  "A voice like her best," she smiled at me. "I mean, like a girl," she said, taking my hand. She took my hand and pulled me toward the tall grass surrounding Stonehenge. We sank into the dewy ground, and once again she began to prove to me how good she was... like a girl.
  
  
  
  
  
  Carter Nick
  
  
  Omega Terror
  
  
  
  
  Nick Carter
  
  
  Omega Terror
  
  
  The first chapter
  
  
  No one was supposed to know that I was in Madrid, and I tried to make sure that no one knew. I wasn't expecting any attention, but it doesn't hurt to be careful. He was meeting with Hawk in less than an hour, and he couldn't risk letting anyone in on him.
  
  
  After lunch, I went back to the Hotel Nacional instead of taking a taxi. I looked at my car a couple of times, but I didn't see anyone suspicious. At the hotel, she was asked by the desk clerk if I had received any requests, as a double security check. Clare said no, so hers, took the elevator to the fifth floor and went to his room.
  
  
  I was just about to put the key in the lock when I noticed that someone was already inside.
  
  
  Before going out, I left her a thin layer of powder on the handle of the day, and this powder was rubbed by che's hand. There were probably printouts on the pen somewhere, but in my work, I rarely have time to follow this line of identification. The case is moving too fast for detective work.
  
  
  Looking up and down the hall, I saw that I was alone. The 9-millimeter Luger pistol that named her Wilhelmina pulled out of its holster and began trying the door. Her, stopped and looked down the upper corridor just a few feet away. Next to the table, not far from the world, was a straight chair. I took a chair, put my ego under the gadget, and climbed on it. He reached out, removed a couple of screws, the safety glass, and unscrewed the light bulb. The corridor was plunged into darkness.
  
  
  Returning to the day, he slowly turned the handle. As I suspected, the door was unlocked. I turned it carefully so that there was no noise. Vilhemina was clutched in my right hand as I pushed the door open a few inches.
  
  
  It was dark inside. I listened for her, but didn't hear anything. He opened the door a few more inches and quickly entered the room.
  
  
  There was still no evidence that anyone had been at the scene. Our movements, our sounds. My eyes slowly adjusted to the darkness, and I could make out the black bulk of the furniture and the dim holy light from the curtained window. He opened the door a crack behind him.
  
  
  Perhaps during my absence, a maid came into the room. Or that there was an intruder, but he looked around and left. However, he couldn't take it for granted.
  
  
  I had a small suite, and now hers was in the living room. There was a bedroom and a bath on either side. I went to the bathroom first, and the Luger stopped in front of me. If anyone else was here, they would have attacked to protect their identity.
  
  
  The bathroom was empty. Only the bedroom remained. He carefully walked through the living room to the bedroom door. On the way, he stopped again. The room was in perfect order, except for one thing. The newspaper "Madrid", which was left to her by little Bakharev, was moved. Only about six inches, but it's been moved.
  
  
  He went to the half-open door of the bedroom. If anyone else is here, they should be here. When it got to day, she carefully stepped inside with her left hand, turned on the saints in the bedroom and pushed the door open completely.
  
  
  The bed was slightly rumpled, but there was no one on it. Then I heard a sound from around the corner to my right.
  
  
  Hers spun around in a lightning-fast motion, and my finger tightened on the trigger of the luger. It was stopped in time by compression. My jaw dropped slightly as I focused on the girl sitting in the padded chair.
  
  
  Her eyes slowly opened, and when she saw the gun, they opened wide. Now she is very much awake. Her jaw clenched hard.
  
  
  "You almost died," I said. Luger lowered her and looked around the rest of the room to make sure she was alone. She was alone.
  
  
  "I hope you're not angry with me, Senor Price," the girl said. "The messenger, he's..." her voice trailed off.
  
  
  He almost laughed with relief. It seems that the enterprising bellhop around the Hotel Nacional has decided that the tired, lonely Bob Price, under the pseudonym that carried him, can use the company tonight. She would have been grateful for an ego-pensive surprise in the morning. I wonder how emus got away with it in Puritan Spain.
  
  
  He turned to the girl. There was genuine fear on her face, and her eyes were carefully looking at the gun. Ego removed it, walked over to it, licked it, and softened his voice.
  
  
  "I'm sorry, I'm just not interested. You'll have to leave."
  
  
  She was a beautiful little figure, and she might have been very interested if there had been half a chance. But it was late, and David Hawk was waiting for me. He flew to Madrid specifically to inform me about my next assignment.
  
  
  As she leaned back in her chair, a long leg dangled out from under her coat, and she swung it slowly. She knew all the moves, and I bet her money she'd do great in the trash.
  
  
  He couldn't help but smile. "What's your name?"
  
  
  "Maria," she said.
  
  
  I bent down and pulled her to her feet, and she came to rest on my shoulder. "You're a very pretty girl, Maria, but as I said, I'll have to look for you another time." Ee gently nudged her toward the door.
  
  
  But she didn't leave.
  
  
  She walked to the center of the room and while he watched, unbuttoned her coat and opened it wide, revealing her beautiful naked body.
  
  
  "Are you sure you're not interested?" She smiled.
  
  
  I watched her walk toward me. Every curve was smooth, every inch of flesh smooth, taut, and supple. This made the person hungry. My mouth went a little dry as she came up to me, still holding her coat wide open. Then she dropped her ego to the floor and snuggled up to me.
  
  
  I swallowed hard as she wrapped her arms around my neck. He touched her waist and regretted it. Just the touch ignited me. I knew I needed to finish this stupid game, but my body wouldn't agree. As I hesitated, she pressed her lips to mine.
  
  
  Nah tasted delicious. With more willpower than hers, he thought, he pushed her away, reached out and grabbed her coat while he could still think clearly. Her coat was thrown over Nah, and she reluctantly slipped her arms into the sleeves. Tied at the waist.
  
  
  "Now get out of here," I said hoarsely.
  
  
  She looked at me with a final appeal. "Are you sure?"
  
  
  "Jesus," I muttered. "Of course, I'm not sure. Just go."
  
  
  She smiled, and I know she got to me. "All right, Mr. Price. Don't forget me when you're back in Madrid. You promised."
  
  
  "I won't forget, Maria," I said.
  
  
  She turned and went out through the bow.
  
  
  He sat down heavily on the bed, loosening his tie. He tried not to think about what Maria would look like on the bed. Damn the Hawk, damn the AX, damn the tailor. I needed a cold shower.
  
  
  Her quickly undressed and walked through the main room of the suite to the bath. When I got there, " I saw that the first-aid kit door was ajar. He was sure that he had closed his ego before leaving earlier. And it was hard to imagine why Maria was running around there.
  
  
  He carefully opened the drawer door. Obviously, there was no trap. Then he saw a note taped to the inside of the phone. There was a message scrawled on the nen, I didn't think Maria wrote ego because the scribble was very masculine:
  
  
  Drive around Madrid. If you don't, you will die.
  
  
  Something tightened in my stomach. Apparently, I had two customers that night.
  
  
  The second chapter
  
  
  I was about fifteen minutes late for Hawke's appointment, and he chewed three cigars down to the last of them while he paced the floor waiting for me.
  
  
  "I'm glad you managed to do that," he quipped after letting me into a rather shabby hotel room.
  
  
  She suppressed a small grin. Hawke was in one of his moods. "Good to see you again, sir," emu told her, " sorry for the delay. I had a little problem."
  
  
  "The Russians?" he asked.
  
  
  "I'm not sure." Her told Emu about the message scribbled on the note.
  
  
  He chuckled. "I know Madrid is not the safest place for you at the moment, but right now it was convenient for both of us and I had to talk to you quickly."
  
  
  He turned and walked over to a small rickety table where several official documents were spread out. He sat down and shuffled the papers absently, and then collapsed into the straight-backed chair next to him.
  
  
  "I think you've heard me refer to an American defector named Damon Zeno," Hawk began.
  
  
  "Research microbiologist," I said. "You assumed that some time ago he was doing some work for the Russians."
  
  
  "Actually," Hawk said quietly. "But now he gets paid in China. They've opened a research lab for him in Morocco, and he's working on a tropical insect called bilharzia. Are you aware of your tropical diseases? "
  
  
  "It's a flatworm," I said. "A parasite that eats away at a person from the inside out. As far as I can remember, you have an ego in the water. Has Dr. Z done anything about this infection?" »
  
  
  Hawk stared at the remains of his cigar. "Zeno figured out nen to find out what makes it work. And he realized. Our informant informed us that he had developed a mutation of the common flatworm, a nearly indestructible strain of bilharzia. He calls it the Omega mutation. Since Omega is the last letter in the Greek alphabet, we believe that Zeno took the designation from his own surname.
  
  
  "In any case, if what we've learned is true, Omega mutations are particularly dangerous and multiply at an almost unbelievable rate. It resists all the known medications, antidotes and water purifiers that are currently being used ."
  
  
  He whistled softly at her. "And you think Zeno is going to use this against the US?"
  
  
  "He admitted it. America should be a testing ground for any effective biological weapons he has developed. A handful of enemy agents can easily infect our lakes and rivers. Even after we found out about the presence of the strain, there wasn't much we could do about it. In a matter of days, not months or weeks - in a matter of days, then infections, most around us would have contracted the disease. We'll be dead in a few days."
  
  
  "I think I'll go to Zeno's in Morocco," I said.
  
  
  Hawk fumbled with his cigar again. “yeah. We believe that the head of Operation L5, named Li Yuen, has personal ties to a couple of Moroccan generals who are still seeking a leftist coup. He may have made a deal with them; we don't know yet. In fact, we don't
  
  
  we don't even know exactly where the labs are in the hall."
  
  
  Hers, he shook his head. There were no advantages to being the number one person in AXE, except for the salary, and a man would have to be a fool to do what I did for any amount of money. "I suppose time matters?"
  
  
  "Still the same. We think Zeno is almost ready to make a final report to Beijing. When he did, he would undoubtedly send the results of his experiments along with it. I've booked you a ticket for tomorrow morning's trip to Tangier. There you will meet Delacroix, our informant. If you can get Zeno back to us, do so. If not...." Hawk trailed off. "Kill him."
  
  
  Her, grimaced. "I'm glad you didn't set your goals too high for me."
  
  
  "I promise to give you a good rest when this is over, Nick," Hawk said, turning his thin-lipped mouth into a small smirk. Sitting across the table from me, he looked more like a Connecticut farmer than a powerful intelligence chief.
  
  
  "I might get a longer vacation than usual," I said, responding to the grin.
  
  
  The third chapter
  
  
  Iberia Airlines flight 541 arrived in Tangier late the next morning. As soon as I got out of the plane, I noticed that it was warmer here than in Madrid. The terminal was quite modern, and the Moroccan girls in their jay uniforms were friendly. There was a hotel booking kiosk, and I rented a room in the Velasquez Palace in the French Quarter.
  
  
  During a pleasant drive into town along the tree-lined but dusty road of hers, I thought about the note I found in my room. Did the Russians leave this to let him know they were on the trail of TOPOR? Or was it a message from the Chickoms? Perhaps the Chinese L5 became aware of AXE's renewed interest in experimenting with Omega, and the agent tried to scare us off until Zeno received his report in Beijing.
  
  
  Velasquez's Palace was located on a hill overlooking the harbor and the Strait of Gibraltar, as well as the Medina of Tangier, with its cramped old buildings and narrow streets. Tangier was a gleaming white city against the green hills beyond and the cobalt blue of the straits. For more than a thousand years, it was a center of trade, a meeting point for European and Asian trade, where Berbers and Bedouins mingled with merchants from all over the world. Smuggling and shady deals flourished in the narrow streets of the Medina and Kasbah until new laws were passed immediately, after the outbreak of World War II.
  
  
  When Delacroix called her around his hotel room,a young woman answered. Her voice was full of emotion as soon as Andre Delacroix asked her.
  
  
  "Is that the real estate agent's ego?" she asked, using the identification code that Delacroix had given her.
  
  
  "Yes, actually," I said.
  
  
  There was a brief pause. "My uncle had an accident. Perhaps we can meet to discuss any issues you might raise with us."
  
  
  This was one around the problem of this kind of work. No matter how carefully you planned, you were always affected by an unknown factor. He hesitated before speaking.
  
  
  "Mr. Delacroix can't see me? I asked her.
  
  
  Her voice trembled slightly. "Totally incapable." She spoke with a French accent.
  
  
  "Excellent. Where would you like to meet to discuss this corkscrew?"
  
  
  Another small pause. "Meet me at the Tingis Cafe in Medina. I'll be wearing a green dress. Can you be there by noon? »
  
  
  "Yes, noon," I said.
  
  
  And then the phone died.
  
  
  As I was walking around the European-style hotel, a boy in a beige djellaba and brown fez tried to sell me a taxi tour, but I refused. He walked down Rue Velasquez to Boulevard Pasteur and turned straight into Place de France. After a couple of blocks of it, I entered the Medina through an ancient arch.
  
  
  As soon as you set foot in Madinah, you feel chaos. The narrow streets are filled with Moroccans in robes. These are winding streets, overhanging balconies, and dark doorways leading to shops selling brass and leather goods of all sorts of exotic things. When her appeal to Little Sokko, oriental music, somewhere assaulted my ears around the store, and strange but mesmerizing smells reached my nostrils. Women in gray kaftans stood talking in hushed whispers, and two American hippies stood in front of a dilapidated hotel and argued with the owner about the cost of a room.
  
  
  Tingis Coffee was at the end of Little Sokko. It was a big place inside, but no one ever sat there except the Moroccans. Outside, tables were set up on the sidewalk with wrought-iron railings in front of them to separate the patrons from the mass of people.
  
  
  He found Delacroix's niece sitting at a table by the railing. Nah had long, straight, bright red hair and wore a green dress that showed off her long white thighs. But she seemed completely unaware of how beautiful she looked. Her face was tense with worry and fear.
  
  
  I asked her. "Gabriel Delacroix?"
  
  
  "Yes," she replied, a look of relief on her face. "Are you the Mr. Carter my uncle was supposed to meet?"
  
  
  "That's right."
  
  
  When the waiter came over, Gabrielle ordered a Moroccan mint tea, and he ordered hers.
  
  
  coffee. When he was gone, she looked at me with big green eyes.
  
  
  "My uncle... dead, " she said.
  
  
  I guessed it from the way she was talking on the phone. But when he heard her words, he felt a slight emptiness in her chest. Its not telling us seconds.
  
  
  "They killed my ego," she said, tears welling up in her eyes.
  
  
  Hearing in her voice and above, her stopped feeling sorry for herself and tried to comfort her. Taking ee's hand, he said, " I'm sorry."
  
  
  "We were pretty close," she told me, dabbing at her eyes with a small lace handkerchief. "He visited me regularly after my father died and she was all alone."
  
  
  I asked her. "When did this happen?"
  
  
  "A couple of days ago. Ego was buried this morning. The police believe the killer was a burglar."
  
  
  "Did you tell them otherwise?"
  
  
  “no. He has decided not to do anything until you try to contact him. He told me about AX and a little bit about the Omega project "
  
  
  "You did the right thing," her father said.
  
  
  She tried to smile.
  
  
  "How did this happen?" I asked her.
  
  
  She mimicked my gaze across the square toward Cafe Fuentes and Boisson Scheherazade. "They found Ego alone in my apartment. They shot him, Mr. Carter. " She looked at the small table between us. «Je ne comprends pas».
  
  
  "Don't try to understand," I said. "You're not dealing with rational people."
  
  
  The waiter brought our drinks and gave em a few dirhams. Gabrielle said, "Mr. Carter," and I asked her to call me Nick.
  
  
  "I'm not sure how they found the ego, Nick. He used to go out of the apartments for medical purposes."
  
  
  "They have ways. Have you noticed anyone hanging around your house since your uncle died?
  
  
  She grimaced. "I was sure someone was following me when she came to the police station. But it's probably just my imagination.
  
  
  "I hope so," I muttered. "Listen, Gabriel, did Andre tell you anything specific about the place where he worked?"
  
  
  "He mentioned a few names. Damon Zeno. Li Yuen. I've never seen her-the ego is in such a state. He was afraid, but not for himself. This Omega thing they're working for there, I think the ego vote scared me."
  
  
  "I have a good idea," I said. She sipped her thick coffee, and it was terrible. "Gabriel, did your uncle ever tell you anything about the location of the lab?"
  
  
  She shook her head. "He flew here on Zagora, but the object was not in the hall. It's in a hall near the small village of Lijette, towards the border with Algeria. He didn't tell me the ego name. Her suspicion is that he didn't want her to know anything dangerous.
  
  
  "Smart man, your uncle." He stared across the square at the Bazaar Reef, trying to remember the names of villages along the border in the area. A caramel-faced Moroccan man in a knit cap passed, pushing a hand-held luggage cart, followed by a sweating, red-faced tourist. "Is there anyone else here that Andre can confide in?"
  
  
  She thought for a moment. "There's Georges Pierrot."
  
  
  "Who is he?"
  
  
  "My uncle's colleague, a Belgian like us. They were school friends in Brussels. Uncle Andre visited Ego a few days before his death, after he escaped all over the research center. It was around the same time that he was talking to Colin Prior."
  
  
  Colin Pryor was the man on DI5, a former MIS, whom Delacroix contacted in Tangier to get to AX. But AX knew everything Pryor knew, except for the location of the object.
  
  
  "Does Pierrot live here in Tangier?" I asked her.
  
  
  "Not far away, in a mountain town called Tetuan. You can get there by bus or taxi ."
  
  
  He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. If Delacroix had come to see Pierrot in the short time he had been here, he might have told Em the appropriate things. "I need to go to Pierrot's."
  
  
  Gabrielle reached out and took my hand. "I'm very grateful that you're here."
  
  
  He smiled at her. "Until this is over, Gabrielle, I want you to be extremely careful. Call me if you see anything suspicious."
  
  
  "I'll do it, Nick."
  
  
  "Do you work in Tangier?"
  
  
  "Yes, at the Boutique Parisienne, on Boulevard Mohammed V."
  
  
  "Well, go to work every day as usual and try not to think about your uncle. This is the best thing for you, and if someone is watching you, it may lead ih to believe that you are unaware of your uncle's death. I'll get back to you later and talk to Pierrot.
  
  
  "I'll be looking forward to it," Gabrielle said.
  
  
  She wasn't the only one looking forward to the next meeting with pleasure.
  
  
  On that day of hers, I went down to the bus station and found that getting to Tetuan by bus was twice as long as taking a taxi, but I decided to go at least one way by bus because it would be less noticeable. I was told to arrive at the station early the next morning to catch the Tetuan bus at 6: 30. Tickets could not be purchased in advance.
  
  
  That evening, she received a call from Colin Pryor, a DI5 agent. There was no response, although the operator allowed the phone to ring several times. I remembered that a drop-off point had recently been built in the new part of the city, and around noon I went there and the tailor took it, there was no message.
  
  
  I didn't like it. Delacroix is dead, Pryor is unavailable - the smell of rats has picked him up. And then, as is often the case, something happened that confirmed my suspicions. I was walking back to the hotel, walking down a dark street where there was almost no pedestrian traffic. It was a new development area, where shops were being converted to renovated buildings. Less than ten seconds later, after passing through a dark alley, he heard a sound behind him. Her lowlander ducked, turning on his heel, and a gunshot rang out in the darkness.
  
  
  Gawking around the gun stuck in the wall of the building near my head and flew off into the night. As I was taking it out to Wilhelmina, I saw a dark figure move quickly into the alley.
  
  
  Her ran back to the alley and peered at ego black length. There was no sign of the man. The alley was short and opened onto a courtyard.
  
  
  He started to do it, but stopped. It was a sort of multi-house solution. At the moment, it was packed with heavy equipment, including a large crane with a ball head at the end of a long cable. The crane looked American.
  
  
  The walls of one of the houses on my left were partially demolished, and there was a lot of rubble around. The dark figure was nowhere to be seen. But I felt like he was out there somewhere, hiding in the rubble or in the equipment, just waiting for a second, better fight to get to me.
  
  
  Everything was deadly quiet. My eyes skimmed over the black hulls of heavy machinery as mimmo passed them, but I couldn't see it, the human shape. The attacker may have fallen under the rubble of a destroyed building. Her slowly walked over to the ruined moan, keeping a close eye on her surroundings.
  
  
  Suddenly he heard the engine rumble through the silence. He quickly turned around, at first unable to tell what kind of equipment the sound was coming from. Then he saw the crane boom move, and a huge iron ball slowly rose from the ground. Blinded by the crane's headlights, he squinted at the cab of the car and barely made out a dark figure.
  
  
  It was a great idea. The crane was standing between me and the exit, around the alley, and I was stuck in a corner of a complex of buildings with nowhere to hide. He moved along the back wall, Luger ready.
  
  
  I aimed at the crane's cab, but the ball got between me and the cab and swung toward me. It arrived with surprising speed, and seemed as big as the crane itself when it arrived. It was two to three feet in diameter, and had the speed of a small locomotive. Her head crashed into the rubble, the ball flying mimmo of my head and smashing into the wall behind me. Glass shattered, stone and adobe shattered as the metal ball shattered part of the wall. The crane boom then pulled the ball back for another attempt.
  
  
  The ball missed by a few inches. Wilhelmina covered it again and crawled out of the rubble, spitting dust and cursing under his breath. I had to get around that damned crane somehow, or I'd be smashed like a beetle against the windshield.
  
  
  He ran to the left, to the corner away from the crane. The big ball swung again behind me, and the operator timed it almost perfectly. I saw a black, round mass hurtling toward me like a giant meteorite. I threw myself to the ground again, but I felt the massive sphere graze my back as I fell. It slammed loudly against the wall behind me, tearing and tearing metal, bricks, and mortar. In a building to the right of the courtyard, a pair of windows opened, and she heard a loud exclamation in Arabic. Apparently, this building was still inhabited, despite the demolition at the far end of the courtyard.
  
  
  The man in the crane ignored the screams. The engine hummed purposefully, and the ball bounced back to hit a third time. He struggled to his feet and moved toward the far wall. Again the ball flew, black and silent, and this time it tripped over a piece of broken concrete just as it was about to try to avoid the round thing. He lost his balance for just a split second before he was able to dive away from the ball, and when it appeared, it didn't quite get out of the way of ego. As he passed mimmo, he brushed my shoulder, throwing me to the ground as if I were a cardboard doll. He hit the rubble hard and was momentarily stunned. I could hear the crane working again, and when I looked up, the Bosnia and Herzegovina Supreme Court convicted her ten feet above my chest.
  
  
  Then he fell.
  
  
  The thought of this descending spherical horror crushing me in a broken sidewalk spurred me to action. When the ball flew out of the night at me, it made a mad roll to the left. There was a deafening crack near my head as the ball hit, and debris rained down around me, but the ball missed.
  
  
  The man in the crane obviously couldn't see that he hadn't hit me, because he carefully climbed down the cab as the dust cleared. She was grabbed by a piece of broken wood and lay motionless when he approached. The engine was still running
  
  
  He lifted the balloon about six feet, and it hovered in the air. More windows were open in the building, and there were a few excited voices.
  
  
  My opponent was standing in front of me. An emu hit her in the knees with a piece of wood. It connected firmly with ego's kneecaps, and he let out a loud cry and fell to the ground. He was a big ugly Moroccan. Covered in dust and dirt, hers jumped on top of him. He met my attack, and we rolled along the ground to a spot under a large metal ball. He saw the ball slide six inches and swallowed hard. Before leaving the crane cabin, he did not have time to completely stop the pulley.
  
  
  As she quickly rolled out from under the ball, another man slapped me across the face with a large, heavy fist. Then he was on top of me, holding me tightly by the neck. Ego sticky's death grip closed in, and he caught my breath. He had more energy left than I did, and his hands felt like steel bands around my throat.
  
  
  I had to steal my ego or suffocate. I poked my numb fingers into her kidney, and her ego grip loosened a little. With a strong movement, I managed to drive an emu into each tribe's groin. The ego's power was lost, and a big gulp of air sampling drew her in, pushing the Moroccan away.
  
  
  I grabbed my stiletto, which I called Hugo, but I couldn't use my ego. As soon as the big man hit the ground, the ball jerked again and fell on top of him.
  
  
  There was a dull crunch as the ball hit the emu in the chest. The dust quickly dispersed, and I saw that he was split almost in half, and his body was crushed by the ball.
  
  
  He struggled to his feet and heard someone say something about the police.
  
  
  Yes, there would be police. And they would have found me there if he hadn't been moving fast. Hugo sheathed it and, with one last look at the dead man, left the scene.
  
  
  The fourth chapter.
  
  
  "Andre Delacroix? Yes, of course, ego knew her. We were close friends. Please come with me to the library, Mr. Carter.
  
  
  He followed Georges Pierrot into the cozy little room of Ego's Moorish-style house. The room was filled with books, an ornate carpet, and wall maps of various parts of Africa. Pierrot found a niche in Morocco. He was a chemical engineer for a private industrial firm in Tetouin.
  
  
  "Can I buy you a drink?" Pierrot asked.
  
  
  "I'll have a glass of brandy if you have one."
  
  
  "Of course," he said. He went to the built-in bar against the wall, opened the carved doors, and took out two bottles. Georges Pierrot was a small man in his early fifties, with the appearance of a professor at a French university. Ego's face was triangular, with a goatee at the end, and he wore dots that kept slipping off Ego's nose. Ego's dark hair was streaked with gray.
  
  
  Pierrot handed me a glass of brandy, but Pernod kept it for himself. "Were you friends with Andre too?"
  
  
  Since Pierrot was close to Delacroix, he answered her, at least partially truthfully: "I'm the assistant he wanted.
  
  
  Ego's eyes studied me more closely. "I see her." He looked at the floor. All you have to do is do good. He was a very loyal man ." Pierrot spoke with a thick French accent.
  
  
  We play this game on a soft leather sofa. He took a sip of the brandy and allowed it to warm up. "Did Andre discuss the facility with you?" he asked her.
  
  
  He shrugged his thin shoulders. "He had to talk to Hema about something. There's an ego niece, sure, a nice girl, but he seems to have felt the need to confide in another man. He was here less than a Sunday ago and was very upset."
  
  
  "About experiments in the lab?"
  
  
  "Yes, he was very upset with them. And, of course, he barely escaped from there. They knew that he was suspicious of what was going on, so when he tried to leave one night, they followed him, with guards and dogs. They shot at him in the dark, but he ran away-only to have his ego found in Tangier." Pierrot shook his head slowly.
  
  
  "What else did he say to you when he came here?" he asked her.
  
  
  Pierrot looked at me wearily. "Nothing special. You probably don't know anything yet. That the Chinese were working on a terrible biological weapon, and that they had recently moved a lab to this country to complete their experiments. He told me that he had worked with the Americans to monitor the project. I apologize if it was wrong of ego to speak so openly, but as I said, he felt the need to talk to someone."
  
  
  "Yes, of course."It was one around the troubles with addiction to amateurs.
  
  
  "Did he tell you about the location of the lab?" I continued to explore it.
  
  
  Pierrot paused. "He didn't mention the exact location, Monsieur Carter. But he did mention that the facility is in Zala, near the village, near the border with Algeria. Let me think about it."
  
  
  He pressed his fingers to the bridge of his nose, lowering them even further, and closed his eyes in concentration. "It was south of Tamegrut - it starts with an 'M'. "Mhamida. Yes, Mhamid, this is my village that he mentioned ."
  
  
  He made a mental note. "Is that near the border?"
  
  
  "Yes, on the other side of the Atlas Mountains, in a dry, arid country.
  
  
  There is almost no civilization there, sir. This is the edge of the desert ."
  
  
  Well-chosen place, I thought. "Did Andre describe the staff of the facility to you?"
  
  
  "Just for a little while. He told me about an American scientist "
  
  
  "Zeno," I said.
  
  
  "Yes, that's the name. And, of course, a Chinese person who is the object's administrator. Li Yuen, it seems he said what the name was.
  
  
  He took another sip of brandy. "Did Andre mention Li, Yuen's personal connections with the Moroccan generals?"
  
  
  Pierrot's face lit up. He looked around the room conspiratorially, as if someone might be hiding behind the curtains. "There are two names that Andre mentioned, the men that he saw at the facility while talking to Li Yueng."
  
  
  "Who are they?"
  
  
  "I remember both names because they were in the news here relatively recently. Do you remember the generals ' revolt? The coup was suppressed by King Hassan in a bloody massacre. The two soldiers Andre saw were initially among the accused, but they were later acquitted. Many believe that they were the real leaders of the coup, and that they are even now waiting for their chance to make another attempt to overthrow the Moroccan government and install a leftist regime. These are General Jenina and the Governor General, " Piero said. "Jenine is considered to be the leader."
  
  
  "So Jenine promised to protect the lab for a limited period,"he guessed aloud," in exchange for financial support from China for a second and more effective coup."
  
  
  I still needed to better describe the location of the object. He couldn't go down to the border and spend a whole week wandering around the desert trying to find a lab. By then, it might be too late.
  
  
  General Jenina knew where she was in the hall. And if he was like most soldiers, he had written records of it hidden somewhere.
  
  
  "Where is this Jenine now?" he asked her.
  
  
  Pierrot shrugged. "He commands the imperial army in this area, and his headquarters are located in the hall in Fez. But I have no idea where he lives. Undoubtedly, it will be close to Fez.
  
  
  "And this is the ego house, where he would feed everything important, away from the officials," I said. He brought a glass of brandy and stood up. "Well, I'd like to thank you for your cooperation, Monsieur Pierrot."
  
  
  Pierrot rose to escort me to the door. "If you're going to Ibn Jenin's," he said, " you'd better take care of your security. He is a ruthless and dangerous man who wants to be a dictator in this country."
  
  
  I held out my hand to the Belgian, and he shook it. "I promise to be careful," I said.
  
  
  As soon as I got back to Tangier, I went to the Velasquez Palace to clean up and call Colin Pryor again. When her father entered his room, he stopped.
  
  
  The house was a mess. My only suitcase was open, its contents strewn across the floor. The bedclothes were in tatters, and the dresser drawers were pulled out and scattered around the room. It looks like someone wanted to know how much information I have so far, and thought my stuff might tell emu. But the action was also a terror tactic, a show of muscle. When her husband entered the bathroom, he found another note written in the same scrawl as in Madrid, this time taped to the glass of the mirror above the washbasin. He said:
  
  
  You've been warned. The next girl. Read tomorrow's papers.
  
  
  I didn't understand the last part. I slipped her a note in a minute, went to the phone, and called Pryor. This time, her ego caught on. The ego accent was distinctly British.
  
  
  "Nice to hear from you, kid," he said when she introduced emu with a code.
  
  
  "The same thing. I watch its sights. How about you take ih with you tonight? We could meet around 11:00."
  
  
  "That sounds good. I need to stop first to see a friend, but after that, I can't meet you."
  
  
  "That's right. See you soon."
  
  
  I hung up after we agreed to meet at a small sidewalk restaurant on Muhammad V, a place that was previously used by both DI5 and AX. Then Gabriel Delacroix called her and was relieved to find that she was all right. I asked her to join me for dinner at the Detroit Restaurant, in the Kasbah, at eight, and she agreed.
  
  
  The last time she got a call from Avis Rent-A-Car was to see if they would be open for a while. They said they would. I took a taxi and rented a Fiat 124 convertible, which had five front gears as standard and was ideal for driving through the streets of Tangier. He rode up the hill to the Kasbah, through the narrow, winding streets of the Medina, and met Gabrielle in Detroit. The restaurant was located on top of an ancient fortress building that was once the Sultan's palace. Three walls of the dining area were made of glass and offered an incredible view of the Straits of Gibraltar. Gabriel found her at a table by the window. She was pale and looked very different from the way she was talking on the phone.
  
  
  He sat her down on a low round chair and looked at her carefully. "Is everything okay?" I asked her.
  
  
  "I turned on the car radio on the way here," she said in a monotone.
  
  
  "Continue."
  
  
  "There was a brief update on Tetuan."
  
  
  My life automatically shrank. "What was that, Gabriel?
  
  
  The green eyes looked up at me. "Georges Pierrot is dead."
  
  
  He stared at Nah, trying to understand what she was saying. It seemed impossible. Left her an ego just a few hours ago. "How?"
  
  
  "The police found ego hanging from a short rope in the garage. They call it suicide."
  
  
  "Damn her."
  
  
  "I'm really scared, Nick."
  
  
  Now he knew what the note meant. I was just about to speak when the waiter came over, so I stopped and gave Em our orders. No one around us was very hungry, but I ordered two cans of Moroccan couscous with light wine. When the waiter left, he took a note out of his pocket.
  
  
  "I think you should see this, Gabriel," I said, handing hey the paper. "I found an ego in my hotel room."
  
  
  Her eyes missed the message, and as they did, a dullness of raw fear appeared in her eyes. She looked at me again.
  
  
  "They're going to kill me, too," she said dully.
  
  
  "Not if I have something to say about it, "I assured her." Look, I'm really sorry that you and Pierrot were involved in this. But all this happened before I came here. Now that they know about you, the only thing we can do is make sure you don't get hurt. You may need to move out of your apartment for a while until this passes. I'll check you in at the hotel tonight.
  
  
  She had regained her composure now, and there was no longer any hysteria in her eyes. "My uncle fought these people because he knew they had to be fought," she said slowly. "I'm not running away."
  
  
  "You don't have to do more than you've already done," her husband said. "I'm leaving Tangier soon to find a research lab. You'll be alone, and the only thing you need to do is stay out of sight for a while."
  
  
  "Where is the object?" she asked.
  
  
  "I don't know yet, but I think I know someone who can tell me."
  
  
  We finished our meal in silence, walked around the restaurant, and played such a game in my rented car. We rode through the ancient archway to the castle, over rough cobblestones, and back through the Medina to the French Quarter. But before we got out around the medina, we found trouble. I was being followed.
  
  
  It was on a narrow, dark street, far from shops and people. When it happened, we were almost at the gates of the Old Town. On the opposite side of the street is a shell boy pulling an empty hand cart that porters used for luggage. There was plenty of room for us to pass, but suddenly he turned the cart sideways in front of us, blocking the street. Then he ran into the shadows.
  
  
  She pressed bullying and jumped around the car to shout after the boy. In the next instant, a gunshot rang out in the night from a nearby balcony. Gawk punched through the roof of the car next to my left arm and went somewhere inside. Hers, I heard Gabrielle give a startled cry.
  
  
  Her, leaned on one every tribe, heading for the luger while my eyes wanted the blackness of the balcony. He saw the movement of a shadow. A second shot rang out and tore the sleeve of my doublet, shattering the windowpane in the car next to me. Her luger returned fire, but hit nothing.
  
  
  Gabriel shouted at her.
  
  
  Just as she obeyed, a gunshot rang out in the night from the opposite side of the street. Gawk punched through the Fiat's windshield and missed Gabrielle's head by a few inches. If she had sat outright, it would have killed her method.
  
  
  She was shot in the rheumatism by the sound of a gunshot, then spun around on the open car door. I heard a voice shouting loudly in Arabic, calling out to someone behind us. They ambushed us and trapped us.
  
  
  He called out to the girl again. He climbed back into the driver's seat as another gunshot rang out from the balcony, shattering the glass of the driver's window.
  
  
  Her lowly man sat down on the seat, holding on to the Luger all the time, and took the car with him. Another shot rang out from across the street, and I saw that the shooter was in the hall in the doorway. But Gabrielle was between us. I shifted gears as I put it in reverse, and as we both crouched low in the front seat, it roared forward down the narrow street.
  
  
  The figures came out of the deep shadows and opened fire on us as we left. Two more shots shattered the windshield as he tried to stop the car from crashing into the building. A luger pulled her out of the ventilation window and returned fire. Her, I saw a man who jumped from a balcony to the street, fell, holding on to his right leg.
  
  
  "Watch out, Nick!" screamed Gabrielle.
  
  
  I turned around and saw a man in the middle of the street, aiming at my head through the back window. Her crouched lower as he fired, and gawking eyes smashed the rear and windshield.
  
  
  Then he pressed hard on the accelerator. The sports car bounced back. The hijacker tried to get out of ego's way, but I followed him. The car hit ego with a thud, and I saw him fly over the left side of the Fiat and hit the sidewalk against the side of the building. We reached a small intersection, and I backed away from it, then pulled in and headed toward the bright lights of the French Quarter.
  
  
  We pulled out onto Liberty Street, the Fiat limping on a flat tire, its glass web covered in cracks and holes. He pulled up to the curb and looked at Gabrielle to make sure she was okay.
  
  
  "I see you've been through this," I said, smiling reassuringly.
  
  
  I thought she would be speechless, given her reaction to Pierrot's murder, but she looked at me with clear and calm eyes.
  
  
  She reached out and gently kissed my lips. "This is to save my life."
  
  
  I didn't say anything to her. Her exited the wrecked car, walked around and helped her out. Curious passersby were already stopping to look at the Fiat, and he guessed that the police would be in the area very soon. He took her hand and led her around the corner to the Rue des Américes du Sud. In the shade of her tree, he stopped and pulled her to him.
  
  
  "It's about being nice to everything," I said. Then she was kissed by ee. She responded fully, pressing her body against mine and exploring my mouth with her tongue. When it was over, she just sat there and stared at me, her breath coming in ragged gasps. "That was really nice, Nick."
  
  
  "Yes," I said. Then she was taken by ee's hand. "Come on, we should find you a place to stay tonight."
  
  
  The fifth chapter.
  
  
  We took a difficult route through the French Quarter, and when she was convinced that we were not being followed, Gabriel put her up in a small hotel called Mamora, not far from the Velasquez Palace. Then I went to meet Colin Pryor.
  
  
  The cafe we met at wasn't particularly frequented by tourists, even though it was located on Mohammed V Boulevard. There was a single row of tables pressed up against the outside of the building to avoid the heavy evening foot traffic. Colin Prior was already there when he arrived.
  
  
  He joined Pryor with a simple nod to em. We used to meet in Johannesburg, but now he looked heavier and out of shape. He was a square Brit who could have been a football champion.
  
  
  "Good to see you again, Carter," he said after we ordered tea from an excited waiter.
  
  
  I noticed the crowd in front of us in djellabs, fezs, and veils. "How do they feel about you?"
  
  
  "They make me shudder, antiquities. And the salary is the same.
  
  
  "Same thing."
  
  
  It was the perfect meeting place. The noise of the crowd drowned out our voices to everyone but the other other, and since complete strangers sat at tables together for lack of chairs, the viewer had no good reason to conclude that we knew the other other.
  
  
  For the first ten minutes of it, I told Pryor how I almost got killed a couple of times for a couple of hours. He already knew about Delacroix and Pierrot. He had little to add to my meager store of information.
  
  
  "What do you know about the Moroccan general staff?" he asked her later.
  
  
  "Nothing special. What do the generals have to do with Project Omega? "
  
  
  "Maybe very little. But Delacroix thought it might be related.
  
  
  "The army commanders are currently hiding under their desks, hoping that the king won't decide to press charges against them. He believes that there are still traitors in the army who are planning to overthrow ego."
  
  
  "He gave Jenine a clean slate?"
  
  
  Pryor shrugged. "As if. Genina was in the state reception area when the previous coup attempt was made. A bloody novel. Genina killed several of his colleagues and helped prevent the coup."
  
  
  Her pondered: "Before or after he saw how bad things were going for them?"
  
  
  "A good point of view. But for now, Jenine is in the shadows. He and the general-Note ".
  
  
  It was another name mentioned by Pierrot. "Was Abdallah also in this city?"
  
  
  “yeah. He shot his fellow officer in the face."
  
  
  Her, he chuckled. "Delacroix thought that Genina was one of the conspirators of the first coup, and that he was now planning to launch a second one."
  
  
  "He damn well could. But what does this have to do with your problem of antiquity?
  
  
  "Jenina was seen in the laboratory with her supervisors. It is possible that Jenine is scratching the Chinese people's backs so that they scratch their egos. As I understand it, Jenina's Fez team.
  
  
  "Yes, I know."
  
  
  "Does he live on the territory of a military base?"
  
  
  "I think he was giving them a place on the base," Pryor said. "But the ego is never there. It shows a luxurious estate in the mountains, near Al-Hajeb. Keeps troops to guard places. There are rumors that Hassan is going to take away his personal security, but so far this has not happened."
  
  
  "How do I find that ego spot?"
  
  
  Pryor looked at me questioningly. "Aren't you going there, buddy?"
  
  
  "I owe it to you. Jenine is my only contact with the lab. It has been there and knows its exact location. If Jenine has a record of ego connections with the Chinese, I think he would have kept ih at home. They can just tell me where the labs are in the hall. Or Jenine alone.
  
  
  "Are you planning a robbery?"
  
  
  "In these other circumstances, it seems easier than cheating."
  
  
  Ego's eyebrows rose. "Well, you'll need some luck, antiquities. The place is real
  
  
  fortress ".
  
  
  "I've been to fortresses before," I said. Pryor began to draw on a napkin, and she watched him. In a moment, it was finished.
  
  
  "This will take you to the general's manor. It doesn't look much like a map, but it should give you a good idea.
  
  
  "Thank you," I said, tucking my napkin in a minute. He finished his tea and prepared to get up.
  
  
  "Carter, old man."
  
  
  "Yes?"
  
  
  "It's important, isn't it?"
  
  
  "Damn important."
  
  
  He grimaced. Ego's square-jawed face was grim. "Well, take care of yourself," he said. "I mean, we don't want to lose you."
  
  
  "Thank you."
  
  
  "And if you need me, just whistle."
  
  
  "I'll remember that, Pryor. And thank you."
  
  
  When Pryor left her, Gabriel decided to check on her to make sure everything was all right. I checked with her, made sure I wasn't being followed, then went to her hotel. Hey, it took a few minutes to open the door, and she listened carefully to my voice before opening it. When her saw her, her must have been looking at nah for a while. She was wearing a transparent peignoir of pale green that accentuated the color of her eyes, and her red hair fell almost to her bare shoulders. The fabric revealed very much Gabrielle underneath.
  
  
  "It must have dragged you around the trash," I said. "I'm sorry, I just asked her to make sure you got settled in." I wondered, even as I said those words, if that was my only reason for being here.
  
  
  "I'm really glad you're back, Nick. She wasn't ready for bed yet. Please enter."
  
  
  I walked into the room and she closed and locked the door behind me. "They sent me a bottle of cognac," she said. "Do you want a glass?"
  
  
  "No, thank you, it won't be long. Her hotel is to tell you that tomorrow I'm going to climb the hills near Fez to find a general who knows where the lab hall is.
  
  
  "Jenina commands this area. Is that him? "
  
  
  He sighed. "Yes, and now you know more than you should. I don't want you to interfere any more, Gabriel.
  
  
  She sat on the edge of the double bed and pulled me close. "I'm sorry I guessed wrong, Nick. But, you see, I don't want to participate. I want to make ih pay for my uncle's death. It's very important for me to help."
  
  
  "You helped," her father said.
  
  
  "But I can do more, much more. Do you speak the Almohad dialect? "
  
  
  "Direct Arabic is quite difficult for me."
  
  
  Then you need her help, she reasoned. "The General's almohad guards around High Atlas. Isn't it important to be able to communicate with them in their native language? "
  
  
  He was about to say a quick "no," but changed his mind. "Are you familiar with the surroundings of Al-Hajeb?" he asked her.
  
  
  "I grew up there," she said with a wide, disarming smile. "As a child, I went to school in Fez."
  
  
  He pulled out a map from his pocket. "Does this sound familiar to you?"
  
  
  She studied the map for a long time in silence. "This map shows you how to get to the Caliph's old palace. Does Jenine live here?" »
  
  
  "That's what I was told."
  
  
  "My family went there every Sunday." She was beaming smugly. "For some time, this place was open for interaction as a museum. I know that very well ."
  
  
  "Are you familiar with the interior?"
  
  
  "In every room."
  
  
  He gave her a big smile. "You just bought a ticket to Fez."
  
  
  She wrapped her long white arms around me.
  
  
  The curve of soft flesh beneath the transparent fabric touched hers as she kissed me, and the touch seemed to ignite her. She pressed even closer to me, inviting me to explore further with her hand, and her lips brushed mine.
  
  
  His theory didn't just fail to meet expectations. When the kiss ended, she was trembling. Then the saint got out of bed and turned it off, leaving the room in dim shadow. When he turned back to Gabrielle, she was removing the nightgown from her shoulders. He watched the movement. She was a voluptuous girl. "Take off your clothes, Nick." He smiled at her in the dark. "Anything." She helped me, her body touching me as she moved. A moment later, we were wrapped in a new embrace, and I was standing with her long thighs and full thighs pressed against me.
  
  
  "I want you," she said, so softly that I could barely hear the words.
  
  
  He picked her up and carried her to the big bed, laying her on Nah and Stahl to study her soft, light body against the counterpane. Then her bench press is on the double bed next to her.
  
  
  Later, Gabrielle fell asleep in my arms like a baby. After lying with her beside me for a while, thinking about Jenine, Lee Yuen, and Damon Zeno, she finally slipped away from nah, got dressed, and silently left through the rooms.
  
  
  The sixth chapter.
  
  
  The next day we drove through the hills and mountains of northern Morocco to Fez El Hajeb. We were in the Citroen DS-21 Pallas Gabriel, a high-performance luxury car that handles mountain turns well. I drove her most of the way, because time was important for us, and Citrõen could drive her faster.
  
  
  It was mostly dry, rocky terrain. The lean greenery clung to the harsh terrain with a fierce determination to survive that only the Berbers who lived on the rocks of the mountains could match. Goatherds grazed their herds in the deserted fields, and the farmers were completely wrapped up
  
  
  in brown djellabs, so that passersby don't see ih faces. Women were selling grapes on the side of the road.
  
  
  We went straight to the mountain village of Al-Hajeb. Emu felt as if he were a thousand years old, and in the cramped houses of Medina you could see the crumbling bricks of their walls. We found a small cafe where we dared to try a lamb kebab with local wine. Then this Gabrielle drank a glass of tea, and it turned out to be a frothy mixture of hot milk and weak tea, which she sipped, and then left.
  
  
  We took out the map and started up the mountain again. This time we had to turn off the main road and follow some very primitive trails. They were rocky and bumpy, and at times we were surrounded by rocky outcroppings of rock. As we turned onto the green plateau, we saw a manor.
  
  
  "That's all, Nick," Gabrielle said. "It used to be called the palace of Caliph Hammadi."
  
  
  She turned onto Citrõen to a clump of trees on the side of the road. I didn't want the guards to see us yet. The old palace was very large. Built around brick and stucco, it had arches, wrought-iron gates and balconies, and the facade was decorated with mosaic tiles. It was a suitable home for a very powerful man.
  
  
  Around the palace were gardens that extended for about a hundred yards in a wide perimeter. This garden was enclosed by a high iron fence. There was a large gate in the driveway leading into the grounds, and I could see the uniformed security guard on duty.
  
  
  "So how to vote where Jenine hangs out," I said. "It'll make a nice summer cottage, won't it?"
  
  
  Gabrielle smiled. "Generals are important in this country, despite the recent uprising." This one is more important than anyone around the employee ego can imagine."
  
  
  "This place seems to be heavily guarded," Gabrielle said. "Even if we manage to get inside, how do we get out?"
  
  
  "We're not going in or out," her father said. "I win-"
  
  
  He squinted at the setting sun and saw a long black car coming around the garden toward the gate.
  
  
  "What is it?" she asked.
  
  
  "If I'm not mistaken, yes, and the general," I said.
  
  
  A black limousine, a Rolls-Royce, stopped at the gate while a soldier with a submachine gun slung over his shoulder unlocked it.
  
  
  The Citroen put her in low gear and turned the wheel as the car lurched forward. We pulled off the road into tall bushes, right on the level shoulder, where the Citrõen was hidden from view.
  
  
  The Rolls slid along the dirt road, moving quickly but almost silently, sending up a huge cloud of burnt brown dust. Soon the ego was gone. Hers rose with Citrõen, and Gabrielle followed me.
  
  
  "It was the general, all right," I said. "I caught a glimpse of the ego and saw the insignia. He looks like a tough hombre.
  
  
  "He has a difficult reputation."
  
  
  "I just hope he's decided to leave tonight," I said, glancing back at the peach-colored sun already sinking behind the mountains surrounding the palace. He looked down the road at the high, rocky road that adjoined the estate grounds. "Let's go."
  
  
  Gabriel grabbed her arm and pulled her out into the road, through the nah, and into the bushes. We walked a hundred yards along a low road, always going uphill, and found ourselves in the rocks. We continued climbing until we overcame the strip and came out on a rocky ledge that overlooked the palace and grounds, giving us a good view of the place.
  
  
  We lie on our stomachs on the rock, studying the scene below. In addition to the security guard at the gate, we saw at least two other armed soldiers near the building itself.
  
  
  The sun had disappeared behind the mountains, and the sky was losing its warm colors and turning to dark mauve and pale lemon. It will soon be dark.
  
  
  "You said I couldn't come with you?" the girl asked.
  
  
  "Actually," her father said. "When I overcome this fence, it will be the work of one person. But you can give me a few hints about what I'll find inside. And you can help me in."
  
  
  Gabrielle looked at me and smiled. Her hair was pulled back in a knot at the nape of her neck, but some strands were loose. It was very helpful. "How, Nick? How can I invite you? »
  
  
  "Using your Almohad dialect to talk to the guard at the gate." But first, let's talk about the palace. I assume that the third floor is primarily a stock?
  
  
  "The upper floor was never used as a living space, even under the caliph," she said. "Of course, the general could have repaired the ego. The second floor consists of a bedroom and a small office in the northeast corner ."
  
  
  "And the first floor?"
  
  
  "A reception hall, a kind of throne room, a ballroom for receiving European visitors, a library and a large kitchen."
  
  
  "Hmm. So the library and study on the second floor will be the most suitable areas for an office if the general doesn't want to renovate the guest room?
  
  
  "I think so."
  
  
  "Excellent. I'll go to the library first. It would seem that this corresponds to the great style of the general. But getting to the ground floor without breaking a window can be quite difficult, so
  
  
  I need to try the roof."
  
  
  "That sounds dangerous."
  
  
  "Don't worry about my role. You'll have enough to do on your own. I'll tell you the details when we get back to the car. But we could wait here until it gets dark.
  
  
  We lay in the gathering dusk and watched the outline of the estate fade into shadow. The moon was rising behind us, and a cricket was beginning to chirp in the nearest thicket.
  
  
  Gabrielle turned to me, and I hugged her. Our mouths met, and my hand slid into her dress to soothe the soft warmth of her breasts. She sighed, her legs parting almost automatically. She lifted her hips to help me as I pulled down her panties and then her, walked over to her. She moaned as she was thrust deep into nah, and then there was nothing left for me, nothing for nah, but our bodies and the need to be satisfied over and over again.
  
  
  When it was over, she was silent, and we lay down together again. We stayed that way for a long time. Finally, he gently touched her shoulder. "Are you ready?"
  
  
  "Yes."
  
  
  "Then let's go."
  
  
  We drove slowly down the road to the manor gate. Gabrielle was driving, and her lowly son was sitting in the backseat. It was now black in the dim moonlight. As we approached, an olive-brown soldier came out of the small gatehouse, pulled out a submachine gun, and aimed it at Gabrielle's ego.
  
  
  "Keep your cool," Nah whispered behind her. "Drive up to it openly."
  
  
  The car started toward the gate. There was a hiss around the radiator, and when we stopped just a few feet away from the sentry, he got up irritably from under the hood, just as I'd planned.
  
  
  Gabrielle spoke to the man in his native dialect. She gave ego a disarming smile that seemed to take the ego's frowns out of their faces, and I could see him appraising Nah even when he was holding a gun. She mentioned a problem with the car and asked if he could help.
  
  
  He hesitated, then hesitantly answered hey.
  
  
  Gabrielle stepped around the car, and he watched her suspiciously with the big gun. She spoke and gestured, her smile turned to him, her eyes pleading.
  
  
  He smiled at rheumatism and shrugged. He was a lean highlander with a dark beard. He was wearing an old uniform and a cap with a belt of ammunition. When Gabrielle reached the front of the car, he followed her, the gun hanging at his side. She lifted the hood, and he said he was thinking about all the extra steam that was being released.
  
  
  Obviously, he was a simple man who didn't know much about cars, but he didn't want this beautiful woman to know about it.
  
  
  Sentry and Gabrielle peered under the hood. Hers crept quietly up the Citrõen, Hugo in hand, and made a circle around him, and Gabriel on the blind side. I was behind him as he leaned over the car.
  
  
  He was talking to her, pointing at the battery, apparently explaining the problem. Ego's dialect was fast and slurred, and he was glad that Gabrielle spoke so well to him. He couldn't understand anything around what he was saying, but one thing was clear: he was completely engrossed in Gabrielle.
  
  
  Lizzie came over and grabbed ego with his left hand, pulling ego's head back as Gabrielle moved away from us. He tried to use the gun, but couldn't. Hugo ran it through the ego's throat with his right hand. He made a muffled sound and collapsed to the ground.
  
  
  He touched Gabrielle's arm. "Go and open the gate while ego carries her to the bushes."
  
  
  She hesitated only for a moment. "Great."
  
  
  He dragged the soldier away by sight, then stripped him of his clothes. Gabrielle came back and handed it to Ay. She started putting on her uniform over her own short dress.
  
  
  "It's just to reassure whoever is looking at the gate from the house," her husband said. "If the general's car gets back before me, run. Do you understand?"
  
  
  "Yes," she said.
  
  
  "Hide and fire a warning shot." He pointed at the machine gun.
  
  
  She buttoned her shirt up to her full chest and tucked most of her red hair under her cap. He gave her the gun, and she slung it over her shoulder. Otherwise, she would have looked similar enough to a sentry to avoid punishment.
  
  
  We returned to the gate and she took up her position. She got into the car, drove behind a small clump of trees to the left of the guardhouse, and then entered the territory of mimmo Gabrielle. She closed the gate behind me.
  
  
  "Good luck, Nick." she said.
  
  
  Ay winked at her and started down the path to the palace.
  
  
  A few moments later, he crouched behind a clipped square hibiscus bush near the building. In front of the room, under a Moorish arch, there was a small portico, and behind it, large double doors leading into the shining interior. On this warm night, the doors were open, and he saw two soldiers standing in the hall, talking and smoking. There may be others. I looked at the top of the second floor, hers, and saw that there was little light. There probably weren't any guards there.
  
  
  He left the shelter for a moment and crouched down, running to the corner of the building.
  
  
  An arched portico overgrown with bougainvillea ended here. He planned to go around the house, hoping to find a way to the roof.
  
  
  When he turned the corner of the building, he almost walked straight into the security guard who was standing outside smoking. He didn't see or hear me, and when he stopped just inches away from her, his eyes widened at the execution permit flag, then quickly narrowed as he dropped the cigarette and reached for the large military pistol on his belt.
  
  
  Hugo slid into my hand. The man was just pulling out a large pistol to fire when another lick came up and pushed Hugo in the ribs.
  
  
  The gun fell to the ground, and the soldier looked at me incredulously. It was the stiletto that took her out as he clutched at his side. He slid down to the groan of the building, his face contorted with death.
  
  
  Ego uniform cleaned it with a stiletto and returned the blade to its scabbard. Looking in the direction of the building, she saw a small wheelbarrow covered with a tarp. He took the tarp and threw it over the fallen guard. Then he moved to the back of the place.
  
  
  As I suspected,there was a grate on the backstretch. The vine that usually grew on the trellis wasn't thick at this time of year, and that helped. He crept quietly up the grate until he reached the roof of the second floor above the kitchen. From there, I went up the drainpipe to the upper roof.
  
  
  The roof was on several levels, and there were open spaces in the courtyard and between the different levels. I started to make my way to the service hatch, only to find that I was ten feet away from the section where I could reach her.
  
  
  The roof surface was curved with tiles, and it was difficult to perform acrobatic exercises on it. Besides, I didn't want her to hear me downstairs. He stared long and hard at the open space, retreated a few feet, ran, and jumped across the black bay. It landed on the very edge of the other roof. He almost lost his balance and fell backwards, so he leaned forward hard at the small of his back. But because of that, my feet slipped away. After a split second, it slid off.
  
  
  I grabbed desperately as I slid, but my fingers couldn't find anything to hold on to, so I went over to her.
  
  
  Then, just when I was sure I was going down, my hands gripped the gutter that drained rainwater from the roof. He groaned and bent under my weight as my body came to an abrupt stop. My Alyonka released my left hand, but my right hand held it. Chute let go of the bracket next to me and lowered me another foot. But then it held firm.
  
  
  I closed my left arm over the trough, waited half a minute for my strength to return to my arms, then did a slow pull-up. Around this position, her hands caught on the drain and struggled back up to the roof.
  
  
  He crouched down, sweating profusely. Hers, hoping things would go better once I got inside. Slowly, carefully, he moved across the slippery tiles to the closed hatch. He knelt beside her and pulled her by the nah. At first it looked like it was stuck, but then it opened up and he was staring into the darkness.
  
  
  He went down to the dark room below. It was an abandoned place that looked like an attic, with a door leading to a corridor. Her, went out into the corridor, which was also dark, but the saint could see her coming from the bottom of the stairwell. Her, he went down the stairs, which were already dusty and covered in cobwebs. The railing was completely carved from solid wood. When hers came down, hers was standing in the second-floor hallway. It was completely carpeted, and the walls were decorated with mosaics. The corridor was flanked by rooms with heavy wooden doors. The cabriolet Gabrielle had mentioned was on my right, and hers, trying to open the door. It was open. Sergey came in and lit it.
  
  
  He was right. The room was not used as a general's office. No doubt he was doing his work in the library below, where there were guards. But the room was still interesting. The walls were covered with maps of Morocco and neighboring countries, and military installations were marked with pins. One large map showed the pattern of combat operations during a recent military exercise, a war game. Then I saw it. In the corner of the room, taped to the table with buttons, was a small map, hand-drawn but artfully made.
  
  
  Her, went over and took a good look at nah. It was part of southern Morocco, the arid and arid region that Andre Delacroix had mentioned. On the left edge of the map was the village of Mhamid, which Delacroix had named Pierrot, and whose mother worked in a hall not far from the laboratory. There was a road around this village, and at the end of the road was a simple circle with the letter "X". There was no doubt about it: the bookmarks showed the location of Damon Zeno's super-secret lab and the ego of L5 Lee's boss, Yuen.
  
  
  I tore the paper off the wall and stuck it in my pocket. Then Sergey turned it off and went out through the rooms.
  
  
  There might have been other information in the general's office downstairs, but I had as much as I needed. I had the card, and all I had to do was go out with it.
  
  
  A wide, elegant staircase led around the lobby to the hall from the second floor.
  
  
  He was standing at the top, looking down, luger in hand. I didn't see the guards who were standing there earlier. Maybe they were eating in the kitchen.
  
  
  He walked slowly down the stairs, one at a time. It was uncomfortably quiet. As her father came downstairs and stood looking out through the open entrance doors, he heard a double roar in the night. Gabrielle fired at the gun.
  
  
  He was running outside when a voice came from behind. He spoke English.
  
  
  "Stop! Don't move!"
  
  
  There were at least two Ihs. Turning around, her gaze fell on the face of every tribe. He was thin, tall, and stocky - men I'd seen before. When my eyes focused on them, it was automatically what I wanted to do. The thin one is already exhausted. It was a heavy military submachine gun, similar in style to the caliber .45 of the US Army. The big gun went off loudly - and missed, because I ducked low as I turned. His luger pulled the trigger and he shouted angrily. Gawk hit the thin soldier in life, lifting him off the floor and slamming his back against the bottom stair post.
  
  
  A stocky soldier lunged at me. He hadn't gotten to the gun yet. She was turned toward him by the luger, but he hit me before I could shoot her. I fell to the floor under the impact of my body's ego, and felt a big fist slam into my face.
  
  
  The ego's other hand was reaching for Wilhelmina. We rolled toward the open doors and then back to where we'd fallen. He was strong, and ego had a stranglehold on my right wrist. My hand hit the wall and the Luger slid out around my arm.
  
  
  She was hit hard by his ego, hitting her right in the face, and a bone snapped in her nose. He fell heavily off me, blood running around his nose. He muttered something as he reached for the pistol on his belt.
  
  
  In the next split second of hers, I looked back and saw the trash can sitting on the shelf next to me. He grabbed a heavy trash can and hurled it hard at the stocky man as his gun popped out of its holster. It hit the emu in the face and chest, and shattered as it fell under the ego kick. He grunted softly, hit the floor, and lay motionless.
  
  
  At that moment, the second man pointed a gun at me and fired. Gawking at the wall between my right arm and my chest, he would have killed me if he was a few inches to my left.
  
  
  As he dropped the stiletto into his hand, the skinny soldier propped himself up on one elbow to fire another shot. He aimed again as the knife released her. The gun went off, grazing my neck, and the knife hit the emu in the dollar stack. He fell to the floor.
  
  
  When he knelt down to pick up Wilhelmina, he thought it was all over, but he was wrong. Behind me, there was a wild shout from the hallway leading to the kitchen, and when her husband turned around, he saw a large man swinging a meat cleaver at my head.
  
  
  It was obviously the general's cook who had been shot at on the front line. The cleaver came down on me, glinting in the light. I ducked back, and the blade hit the outfit on the ladder rack over my head, completely slicing through my ego.
  
  
  It rolled away from the next blow, and it sliced a small hall chair in half. He was quick with a weapon, and I didn't have time to do anything other than defend. A third blow with a heavy, shiny silver cleaver would have landed squarely in my face. I was at the wall and moved to the left just a split second before the weapon slammed into the wall behind me.
  
  
  Just as the emu needed to try to pull the cleaver away, he pulled his leg up to his chest and kicked his ego hard in the heart.
  
  
  Ego's jaw snapped open as he loosened his grip on the jammed cleaver and fell to the floor, making ugly grunts.
  
  
  The Luger saw her next to him and reached out to raise his ego.
  
  
  "This will be enough!" a loud voice commanded.
  
  
  He turned and saw the tall, burly General Jenin standing in the doorway. I had one of those bulky guns in my hand, and it was aimed at my head. Behind him, Gabrielle walked in the orderly's tight embrace.
  
  
  The seventh chapter.
  
  
  "I'm sorry, Nick," the girl said.
  
  
  Another uniformed man, probably the general's chauffeur, entered the corridor. He put a gun to me, walked over, and knocked the Luger out of my reach, glancing at the people on the floor. He muttered something in Arabic.
  
  
  "They warned me about you," Jenine said, striding toward me. "But it looks like he didn't take you seriously enough." He spoke excellent English. He was a burly man in his fifties, with a square jaw and a scar over his left eye. He was about my height and looked like he was keeping in shape. He had a way of lifting his chin while talking, as if nen's collar was too tight. The ego uniform was covered with braid and ribbons.
  
  
  "I'm glad I didn't fail you for a reason," I said.
  
  
  He stood ominously in front of me with a gun, and for a moment I thought he might pull the trigger. But he put the gun in a large holster on his hip.
  
  
  "Get up," he ordered.
  
  
  I did so and felt a throb on my neck. Blood was caked on my neck and collar. While I was standing under the driver's gun, the general searched me. He found the map in my pocket. He looked at Nah and grinned. Then he turned to the driver.
  
  
  "Put him in handcuffs and take him to my office." He spoke Arabic now. "And take care of these people." He pointed Aryans at the soldiers and was cooking on the floor.
  
  
  A few minutes later, Gabrielle and I were sitting in the big library. He guessed correctly that this was the general's office. Jenine sat at a long, highly polished wooden desk, tapping a pencil on a pad in front of it and looking at us sullenly. He was a fair-skinned Moroccan, probably a Berber or descendant of the brutal Almohads. He was as tall as I was, and probably weighed twenty pounds more than I did.
  
  
  Gabrielle and hers were sitting in straight chairs in front of the table. They didn't bother to handcuff them or tie them up. The soldier who held Gabrielle was standing guard outside the library building. He still had the gun pointed at us.
  
  
  "So you know about You Yuen's little project?" said Jenine, still tapping her pencil.
  
  
  "We know," I said. "You made a serious mistake, General, by joining the Chinese in such a situation. Have you ever received cash for protecting them? "
  
  
  The general seemed concerned about this matter. "Li Yuen keeps his word, my other one. Soon we will have the capital needed to finance a real coup, not a farce like the previous one ."
  
  
  "Which one did you also lead?" I asked her.
  
  
  Ego's eyes narrowed slightly. "I wasn't the driving force behind the failed attempt. I'll do the planning next time."
  
  
  "And maybe someone in your group will attack you at the last minute when everything goes black and shoot you like you shot the first leader."
  
  
  Jenine grinned haughtily. "It's very clever, isn't it, to kill these incompetent scoundrels and save yourself from being shot."
  
  
  "I guess that depends on which end of the gun you were on."
  
  
  Jenine doesn't recognize my sarcasm. "They deserve exactly what they got, Mr. Carter," he told me. "Our weak leadership led us to a situation where we all almost died. It won't happen again."
  
  
  "Do you really think that with the support of the Chicoms, you will stir up another riot?" he asked her.
  
  
  "I'm counting on it," he said coldly, lifting his big chin and thrusting his ego forward, Mussolini-style. He took off his braided cap, revealing thick dark hair graying at the temples.
  
  
  "And you don't care what Li Yuen and Dr. Zeno are concocting back there under your protection?"
  
  
  "But, Mr. Carter," Jenine said with a wicked smile, " they're opening a clinic for the poor, destitute residents of this area."
  
  
  "If the Chinese succeed in implementing their Omega project," she told the general, " no nation or country will be safe. Even in Morocco. You have the proverbial tiger, Jenine. At the moment, the tiger is using you for its own purposes. Later, he may turn away and bite your head off."
  
  
  "Of course, it's always possible," he said softly. "But this country is different from yours. There is no way to get ahead here by hard work. I like my current rank and position because I was born in the upper class and because I was strong enough to take what its worth. You only get what you can get from someone else. I'm not going to be caught off guard when the power grab is over, Mr. Carter, even if I have to deal with the Chinese to get the help I need."
  
  
  I decided that it was pointless to discuss this corkscrew with Jenine any further. He has long established his motives, and now reason cannot be reached.
  
  
  "What are you planning for us?" Her ego asked frankly, her thought I knew of rheumatism, but his hotel ego confirmed before making any plans.
  
  
  "He'll kill us," Gabrielle said. "I know that."
  
  
  She still wore the uniform of a security guard over her clothes. He couldn't help but think about how helpless she looked, sitting there blurting out her fear in math that had so much power over her.
  
  
  "Yes," the general agreed casually, " I might have to kill you. After all, you trespassed on my home, killing several confidants and injuring others. You deserve to be shot immediately. This is required by Moroccan military law."
  
  
  But he hadn't yet said that he was definitely going to shoot us, which surprised me a little. "I didn't know you cared so much about the law," he told her with a sharp edge in his voice.
  
  
  Nen was wearing that damn grin again. The scar that crossed Ego's left eye looked purpler in this light. "I use it when it serves my purpose," he said. "I also break my ego when it serves my purpose. And I'm willing to do it now, Mr. Carter, to save your life. Your life, perhaps hers should I say.
  
  
  "You know, General, I'm not in a position to make deals."
  
  
  "What I had in mind was more complicated than the case."
  
  
  He looked at him blankly.
  
  
  "I respect you for your special personal talents, Mr. Carter," he said, his eyes serious now. "Not many men could have gotten in here like you did and caused damage,
  
  
  which you managed to do with what you had to work with."
  
  
  The compliment surprised me.
  
  
  "Li Yuen mentioned you," the general continued. "It looks like he, or rather L5, has a pretty big case for you."
  
  
  "I'm sure of it," I said.
  
  
  "I'm impressed with what I've been told and what I've seen," Jenine continued. He leaned forward conspiratorially. "The West lost the fight, Carter, with the discovery of Damon Zeno. I have no idea what it is because they don't tell me, but I know it's very effective."
  
  
  "I'm sure it is." Hers, he shrugged.
  
  
  "And where will that leave you, my other? Probably dead, on the losing side.
  
  
  "I'm not going to the cemetery yet," I said.
  
  
  He leaned forward even further. "I will offer you your life, Carter, in many ways. I need someone like you. You can work for me. If she trusts you, Li Yuen will. I can arrange a rank for you and put you on my personal staff. What does Colonel Carter sound like?
  
  
  Hers, I was about to smile at the incongruity of it all, but I changed my mind. Instead of telling emu that I wasn't interested in leftist coups, that L5 in Beijing had a red sticker on my file, and that my photos were posted at the ih training school, and that Li Yuen was obligated to kill me, anywhere, and when he could do it, Hers decided to show interest in the offer Genia's.
  
  
  "Colonel Carter," he repeated slowly. I looked at his impatient face. "You're saying she needs you for a coup?"
  
  
  "With your help, Carter, we can bring Hasan Ego to his ugly knees. I will rule over Morocco, and you will be my Minister of State Security ."
  
  
  He watched my face carefully, waiting for my reaction. Gabrielle looked at me, too, and there was a look of fright on her face. "Nick," she began, " you're not....
  
  
  She has more than one eye on Jenine. "You make a very convincing argument."
  
  
  "Nick!" said Gabrielle loudly.
  
  
  He didn't look at nah. "How much will I be paid as a colonel?"
  
  
  Jenine smiled. "Americans are always very practical when it comes to money." Then he shrugged. "The colonel here probably earns no more than you do now. But I could, and the hotel would, make a special arrangement for you to earn twice as much as usual for special personal duties under my command.
  
  
  He sat in silence for a while, as if taking in all the angles. "And if the coup had been successful, would he definitely have been named head of intelligence and security?"
  
  
  Gabrielle tried to interrupt again, but A wouldn't let her. "Shut up," I said sharply. Then he looked back at Jenine. "All right?"
  
  
  Jenine enjoyed Gabrielle's discomfort. He smiled again when he spoke to me. "I give you my word. I'll put it in writing."
  
  
  He paused. "I need to think about it."
  
  
  The smile faded slightly. "Excellent. You can stay up all night. Tomorrow morning you must give me rheumatism."
  
  
  "And the girl?"
  
  
  "We won't hurt you."
  
  
  Her ego was studying her face, and it was sincere, like an honest bandit. But I hope her time has bought. Until dawn tomorrow." Anything can happen at night.
  
  
  "What will happen to us tomorrow morning if I refuse your offer?" I asked her.
  
  
  The smile widened slightly. "I'm afraid there will be a small firing squad. She's already been sent for a squad of people just in case. Of course, it will be very formal. You will be shot as spies, which you absolutely are. Ego's voice softened. "But I think you won't be such a fool, Carter. I think you'll do what's best for you."
  
  
  "I'll give you my rheumatism test in the morning," emu told her.
  
  
  Good. Ahmed, take ih upstairs. Leave Mr. Carter in handcuffs for a while. You will place the corporal outside the palace on this side and take up a position outside the ih locked rooms. He looked at me to see my reaction to his thoroughness. "Good night to both of you."
  
  
  We're also being led upstairs, and on the way, Gabrielle didn't look at me, let alone talk. I tried to remember the details of the map that Jenina had taken from me so that ih could draw it in case we ever got out of here. Upstairs, we were shown into adjoining rooms, and the doors were tightly locked.
  
  
  My room was large, with a bed, a small sofa, and an easy chair. On the ceiling hung a painting depicting the scene around old Morocco. Next to the room was a bathroom decorated with mosaic tiles.
  
  
  He went to the window and looked out. A jump would give a long fall to the ground. Another soldier was already outside, marching with his post along the side of the building, a submachine gun slung over his shoulder.
  
  
  He sighed heavily. I was wondering what he'd actually done for her. With a guard at the windows and doors and my wrists cuffed, it suddenly seemed unlikely that I would be able to find a way to get Gabrielle and myself around this place alive.
  
  
  I lay on the bed, trying not to notice the cuffs digging into my wrists. Gabrielle was hidden behind a thick wall across the room, but it was impossible to reach her. If time wasn't so important, and if her could be sure that he wouldn't cause a serious injury, her could have given Jenine an affirmative rheumatism immediately and played along,
  
  
  until he was able to get away from it or kill the ego. But I had to get out of here by tomorrow morning so I could get to the lab in time.
  
  
  I lay there thinking. If I could pick the lock on the shackles, I'd have some freedom. But, how do you pick the locks on your own wrists? A good corkscrew.
  
  
  Maybe rheumatism was all about forgetting about the handcuffs. He could do a lot to them if he could just get out of this room. He decided to wait for her until early in the morning, when the guards would be half asleep. Then he would have tried to lead the guard outside into the corridor, so that he could enter here alone without calling the general. Maybe he wouldn't see anything wrong with taking me to Jenine's for another private conversation without a girlfriend. It doesn't hurt to ask.
  
  
  But my plan didn't work out. General Jenin had his own ideas. Around midnight, she heard a knock on her door, muttered a command to the guard, and the door was unlocked. Jenine opened it and stood in the doorway for a moment, then lifted her to the edge of the bed.
  
  
  "She'd like to talk to you again," he said, closing the door behind him.
  
  
  "I've been waiting for you," I said.
  
  
  He strode across the room, hands clasped behind his back, an imposing figure in his uniform with a black belt and shiny high boots over military trousers. He stood at the window, looking out into the darkness.
  
  
  "It was difficult to talk openly with a girl there," he said. He turned to me, his eyes boring into mine. "You have some qualities that I like about an assistant, Carter. And you have the know-how to make a coup d'etat work for us. In addition to the extra payment I mentioned at the bottom, I see that you get a lot of other-extra perks, I think you would call ih gifts from grateful political leaders who are protected by my troops. A beautiful house, Carter, and a beautiful American car at your disposal, with a chauffeur if you like. Women. All the women you'll ever want. And when you become my Minister of State Security, you will have extraordinary power. You will be a force in Moroccan politics and history ."
  
  
  "You present a good argument for your part," I said with a slight grin.
  
  
  "You will have a bigger career than you ever imagined. This is not a pipe dream. With your help, I can bring it all to life.
  
  
  "On the other hand, if you insisted on maintaining your previous questionable loyalty, you would put me in an awkward position. I can't afford an enemy like you, Carter. But with you by my side and the help that I will soon have arriving around Beijing, I can find my destiny in this country and you can be a part of it."
  
  
  He came to stand beside me. "What do you think? Will you take advantage of this opportunity? Only you can put on the mantle of greatness, Carter.
  
  
  He looked at the floor for a moment longer, then rose to meet his eyes. "There doesn't seem to be much choice."
  
  
  An expression of smug satisfaction appeared on his square face. "Then will you come with me?"
  
  
  "Yes," I said. "What about the girl?"
  
  
  The smile faded from his lips, and his eyes met mine, and she knew with terrible certainty how sorry it was to be under the influence and power of this man. "It's a different story with a girl," he said coldly. "The girl must die."
  
  
  Her, turned away. I thought so.
  
  
  "And you have to do it."
  
  
  I looked back at him, and tried to hide my hatred. "You really want to."
  
  
  "Her?" "I don't know," he said flatly. "In exchange for your life? For wealth and power? Is it really asking too much, Carter? No, I don't think so. Because the mysterious murder of a girl will be your act of loyalty to me. This will be your way of showing me that you've really changed your loyalty. Kill a girl who means very little to you, and we'll sail together in the wind.
  
  
  Now that bastard Stahl is poetic. He looked Emu in the eye again, and I think it bothered him a little that I was on his level. He was used to looking down on people.
  
  
  "How?" I asked her.
  
  
  He grinned again. He drew a large pistol from its holster. "Will this work?"
  
  
  He looked down at the gun. Gawking would tear Gabrielle in half. But it was up to her to convince him that I was willing to do it. Either way, it would give both of us a chance to fight back if we were lucky. "I think that should be enough," I said. "When will I do it to her?"
  
  
  "As soon as possible," he said.
  
  
  I thought about it for a minute. Now was the perfect time to take a break. Maybe the darkness will help if I can get out.
  
  
  "I'll do it now," I said, adding tension to my voice.
  
  
  Jenine looked surprised. "Great."
  
  
  "I want to get this over with," I said. "But I want to do it my own way. Leave the cuffs on me, " emu told her. "Bring the two of us together to the far corner of the garden. I want her to think you're executing us both. Remove the cuffs at the last moment and give me the gun while she turns away from me. I don't want her to know I'm doing this."
  
  
  Jenine's face was ugly. "She doesn't think you're squeamish, Carter. Not after the murders you obviously committed.
  
  
  "Let's just say I was close to her too recently," I said.
  
  
  "Ah. I understand your point of view. He seemed to accept the explanation. "I agree that it is difficult to get rid of a mistress. Alright, let's take the girl."
  
  
  We went into the hall, and there the soldier on duty was explained the situation, and he unlocked the door to Gabrielle's room. When they followed her, she was sitting in a chair.
  
  
  "Come with us," the guard commanded.
  
  
  When she came out into the hall, she looked at the handcuffs that were still around my wrists. "What's going on?" she asked.
  
  
  "They're taking us for a walk in the garden," I said.
  
  
  "So you didn't accept ego's offer?"
  
  
  "No," I said honestly.
  
  
  I thought I saw a slight smirk on the soldier's lips.
  
  
  "You two leave me no choice," Jenine told Gabriel. Come with us."
  
  
  "I'm so sorry, Gabrielle. I mean, that's what happened.
  
  
  We went down the stairs and out of the house. Both Jenine and the soldier drew their pistols.
  
  
  At the corner of the house, we were joined by a soldier-driver who was standing guard outside the building. He took off his submachine gun and moved in beside us, pointing the ugly weapon at my chest. We had three guns on us, and all of them are capable of punching holes in our bodies the size of Moroccan saucers.
  
  
  In just a few moments, we found ourselves in a secluded corner of the grounds. There were plenty of shadows and cover if I got the chance. But in the clearing where we were standing, the high moon spilled on all of us, a silvery eerie brylev. Cicadas could be heard in the cut bushes nearby in the dark.
  
  
  "It's far enough away," General Jenina said. He'd just whispered something in the driver's ear, and she hoped he'd told em not to use the machine gun on me while I shot the girl. "Remove Mr. Carter's handcuffs. In mathematics, one should not encounter one's creator bound like an animal "
  
  
  The orderly tucked the automatic pistol into his belt and took out a key around his pocket. Jenine was watching my face closely, and I noticed that the ego gun was pointed at me. He wasn't going to trust me until he killed the girl. Maybe even then. In any case, its still a bit of fun for him. He stole a guilty glance at Gabrielle when she wasn't looking, and sighed heavily.
  
  
  "All right, stick together by this tree," Jenine commanded. We did as he said. Gabrielle's face tightened with fear. She was sure she was going to die. And hers, knowing there was at least a good chance of that.
  
  
  A man with a submachine gun pointed it at us. Jenine and the orderly got up to lick a few times, flanking us.
  
  
  "The girl first," Jenine said. "Turn around, you."
  
  
  Gabrielle glared at him. "I won't. You must face me if you kill me."
  
  
  Jenine saw the irony in her words, since it was her who said I didn't want to meet her. He gave me a small smile, and then the smile faded. "All right, Carter. No more games. Do what you have to do."
  
  
  Gabrielle looked at me questioningly. The orderly came up to me, examined me carefully, as if he didn't trust me, then handed me a submachine gun. Gabrielle looked at me, and I looked into Rheumatism.
  
  
  "What is it, Nick?" she asked.
  
  
  "You don't need to explain, Carter," Jenine said sharply. "Just kill her."
  
  
  Gabrielle's mouth dropped open. "Mon dieu!" she gasped. Then she pulled away and slapped me hard across the face. "Come on, motherfucker. Pull the trigger!" "Stop it!" she hissed.
  
  
  Ee's response to the situation has strengthened confidence in everything. The driver laughed and lowered the pistol slightly.
  
  
  "All right, I'll do it," I said grimly. Hey winked at her. Before she could grasp the meaning of the gesture, he pushed her to the ground.
  
  
  With the same movement, he crouched down, turned to the driver, and pulled the trigger of the big pistol. If the general had just checked on me and the gun was empty, I would have been in big trouble. But the shot rang out in the clearing, roaring in our ears. The driver was shot in the chest. He jumped back, but didn't fall. Ego's hand reflexively gripped the submachine gun, and he began firing into the night, spraying the area with lead.
  
  
  The general, meanwhile, returned fire around his service pistol as soon as he fired at the driver. The gunshot pierced my side, ripping through the flesh under my shirt and knocking me to the ground next to Gabrielle.
  
  
  I guess I was lucky that the general shot me down. In the next split second, a submachine gun sprayed where I was crouching, smashing into the tree trunks behind us. The general and the orderly also hit the ground as the big cannon thundered in a wide circle, the driver's eyes glazed over as a crimson spot lit up ego's shirt. Bullets whizzed and spattered us, but no one was hurt. Then the driver fell on his back and the shooting stopped.
  
  
  "Go behind the tree!" he shouted at her.
  
  
  The general took aim at me again and swore furiously under his breath. It belongs to them that he scolded himself for trusting me. But just as he was about to fire again, the orderly lunged at me from the side and knocked me off my feet.
  
  
  Fortunately, the gun didn't lose it. We rolled and tossed on the ground, and I caught a glimpse of the general moving, trying to shoot me. I slapped the orderly across the face, but he clung to me desperately, grabbing the gun in my hand. He slammed his hand down the barrel , and my grip on the gun weakened, but Ego didn't lose it.
  
  
  Gabrielle followed the order and crawled up the tree. When Jenine saw me in her ego's field of vision again, she quickly stood up and threw a piece of wood at the general. It hit ego on the shoulder, not hard enough to hurt emu in all the houses around, but ego's attention was temporarily distracted.
  
  
  Jenine fired at Gabrielle, and I heard Gawk slam into the wood of the trunk next to her. Then she ducked back into cover.
  
  
  Jenine turned the gun on me again, anger flashing in her eyes. He found me in the crosshairs again as the orderly and I wrestled for possession of another gun. At that moment, he slammed his left fist into the orderly's throat. He gasped and lost his balance. Her ego twisted between her and Jenine as Jenine fired again.
  
  
  The gun roared, and the orderly's eyes lit up. He gasped, and blood spurted around the corner of rta's ego. He fell on top of me, dead.
  
  
  The General swore loudly again and ran for the clipped hedges that surrounded us. He pushed the body of an orderly away from him, took aim at Jenine, and fired. But I missed. Her, heard him break through the thicket, and then shaggy's ego echoed along the gravel path that now led back to the palace.
  
  
  She put her hand on her side and walked away covered in blood. The wound was just a wound on the body, but it burned like hell. I struggled to my feet, and Gabrielle was right next to me.
  
  
  "Go to Citrõen," her father said. "And wait for me there."
  
  
  The general began to pursue her. By the time I reached the wide avenue in front of the palace, Jenine was nowhere to be seen. Then she heard the roar of an engine in a limousine parked nearby. I looked at it and saw the general driving. The big Rolls-Royce suddenly lurched forward and flew straight at me.
  
  
  As the black limousine sped toward me, his driver pointed his gun and fired. The gunshot shattered the windshield, but Jenine missed. I dove to the ground as the car roared past my hip.
  
  
  Jenine continued on the circular road and headed towards the road and gate. He put his hand on his forearm and aimed at the left rear wheel. But only gawk got caught in the gravel nearby.
  
  
  He got up and ran to get the car. He hoped that Genina wouldn't find Gabrielle in the driveway or at the gate. If he did, he would probably kill her.
  
  
  A few moments later, he walked up to the gate, holding his side and wincing in pain. The limo simply disappeared around a bend in the mountain road we'd taken earlier. I could hear the Citroen's engine running, and I could see Gabrielle pulling the car around the bush where we'd parked it. Her, ran up to her side of the car.
  
  
  "Move!" I shouted it out.
  
  
  I got into the driver's seat, buckled my seat belt, and sped off down the dirt road. A few seconds later, hers shifted to maximum gear and the car sped down the bumpy road, throwing us inside. We drove a couple of miles without seeing the limo, but finally saw the red taillights ahead.
  
  
  "It's him," Gabrielle said tensely.
  
  
  "Yes," I said. My hand slid over the steering wheel as it touched the wound. He pressed the gas pedal all the way down, and the car shot forward, madly swerving onto the steep signpost that the general had just passed.
  
  
  A couple of minutes later, we were less than twenty yards away from a limousine that couldn't turn like a Citroen. To our right was the rise of a rocky abutment, and to our left a steep descent to a lower road. We didn't have a railing, we didn't have a sidewalk where the wheels could get caught. We passed another steep signpost, and the limo skidded, rolled, and almost skidded off the road as it clumsily moved at high speed. We followed it a little more successfully, but I felt the wheels slide under us.
  
  
  Hers raised the gun on the console between us and operated with one hand, while hers stuck his left hand out the open window and aimed the gun at the other car. She was shot twice, sending up gravel right behind the limo.
  
  
  "You don't get hit," Gabrielle said.
  
  
  "I want to get in," I said. He hoped that at least one of them would bounce off the gravel like a bullet and get hit by the speeding Rolls. Just one was all I needed.
  
  
  He fired again, sending gravel flying up the rear bumper of the other car, and then there was a blinding, deafening explosion from under the back of the limo. The big car swerved sharply as it was engulfed in flames. It hit the gas tank.
  
  
  Gabrielle gasped as the car ahead of us swerved even harder, followed by a burst of fire. Then the car swerved erratically to the right, hit a rocky ledge, and sped back to the cliff on the other side of the road, a second later it crashed over the edge.
  
  
  We pulled up to where the Rolls had just passed. The big car was still rolling down the mountainside, overturned, completely engulfed in flames. Finally, it shattered on the rocks far below, and there was a crackle of metal as the flames soared even higher. The Rolls lay ablaze in the night. There was no doubt about General Jenin's fate. It was impossible to survive what the limo had gone through.
  
  
  "He's gone?" Gabrielle asked.
  
  
  "No," her father said. Citrõen began to turn her around on the narrow road. "I'll go back for my weapons. I don't want anyone to know I was there. Even if the cook or other soldier survives, we, Odin, around them won't know who she is."
  
  
  Gabrielle asked as he walked back to the general's estate.
  
  
  "Then we'll head south to Mhamid," I said, " to the Damon Zeno and Ego Friends research center. You'll be waiting for me nearby. If I don't succeed, I'll count on you to let my contacts know so they can take care of the lab."
  
  
  The eighth chapter.
  
  
  It was a long drive to Mhamid. At dawn, Gabrielle was very sleepy, and he stopped briefly so that we could sleep for a couple of hours. When we started out again, the sun was high in the sky.
  
  
  The wound that Jenine had inflicted on me had curled up and looked pretty good, but Gabrielle had insisted on stopping by a mountain village around noon to put a proper bandage on it and take medicine. We spent most of the day driving through the mountains, which gradually turned into hills, and finally found ourselves in an arid desert area. We were in the wild, almost uninhabited area around the border, the place where Li Yuen discovered Zeno's lab. Sometimes there were heavy rock outcrops, but in general the area was flat, dotted with gnarled, ugly plants, the whole area of the hotel, a place where mountains and desert meet, and no one cared about life except a few primitive tribes, a dragon and vultures.
  
  
  Towards evening, we reached the tiny village of Mhamid, the only island of civilization in this vast desert. If he remembered the map correctly, we were still a considerable distance away from the remote research center. At first it seemed like there was no place to sleep, but then we arrived at a small white building that pretended to be a hotel. Gabrielle grimaced at the peeling adobe walls.
  
  
  "Do you think we can sleep in a place like this?" she asked.
  
  
  "We don't have much choice. I don't want to go to the lab today, it's almost dusk. And we both need to rest."
  
  
  We parked the Citrõen and a small group of young Bedouins gathered around it curiously. Obviously, they didn't see many cars here. Gabrielle locked the car and we entered the hotel.
  
  
  It was even less attractive inside than on the outside. A walnut-skinned Arab greeted us from behind a small stand that quickly took on the appearance of a desk chair. He had a tarbush on his head and an earring in his ear. There were white lines around his eyes where the sun couldn't reach, and a sparse stubble on his weak chin.
  
  
  "Salam". The man smiled at dn.
  
  
  "Salaam," I said. "Do you speak English?"
  
  
  "Anglish?" "What is it?" he asked.
  
  
  Gabrielle spoke to him in French. "We want a room for two."
  
  
  "Ah," he replied in that language. "Of course. It happens that our best set is available. Please."
  
  
  He lifted us up a rickety wooden ladder that he was sure would collapse under our weight. We walked down a dim, dark corridor to a room. He proudly opened the door and we entered. He saw the disgust on Gabrielle's face as she looked around. It was very Spartan, with one large iron bed sagging in the middle, a window with broken shutters looking out on the dirty street below, and cracked plaster walls.
  
  
  "If you don't want to..."
  
  
  "It's okay," she said, looking for a bath.
  
  
  "Be frank in the hallway," Clare said in French, guessing the corkscrew's ee. "I'll heat some water for Madame."
  
  
  "That would be really nice," she said.
  
  
  He disappeared, and we were alone. He smiled and shook his head. "Just think," I said. "Hot and cold fleas".
  
  
  "We'll be fine," she assured me. "I'm going to take a hot bath, and then we'll try to find some coffee."
  
  
  Good. I saw her, the bar next door, it's an ugly place, but maybe they have whiskey. I need something after this trip. I'll be back by the time you take a bath."
  
  
  "It's a case," she said.
  
  
  He left her, went down the rickety stairs, and went out to the bar next to the hotel. I sat her down for Odin around four old tables and ordered a whisky from a short man in baggy trousers and tarbush, but he told me they didn't serve whisky. Her choice was local wine. At the other table next to me, Arab was sitting alone; he was already a little drunk.
  
  
  "Are you an American? "What is it?" he asked me in my native language.
  
  
  He glanced at it. "Yes, an American."
  
  
  "I speak English," he said smugly.
  
  
  "That's very nice."
  
  
  "I speak good American, don't I?"
  
  
  He sighed. The waiter brought my wine, and I took a sip. It wasn't bad.
  
  
  "Well done=) haircut".
  
  
  He glanced at it. He guessed that he was a short man in his early forties, but his face was very old. Nen wore a dark red fez and a striped djellaba. Both were smeared with dust and sweat
  
  
  "Her haircut of the entire Mhamid village."
  
  
  Emu nodded and sipped his wine.
  
  
  "My father was also a barber."
  
  
  "I'm glad to hear it."
  
  
  He stood up, glass in hand, and joined me at my desk. He leaned toward me conspiratorially.
  
  
  "Her haircut is also for strangers." He said it in a half-whisper, close to my ear, and I felt his foul breath. The waiter in the far corner didn't hear anything.
  
  
  I looked at the Arab next to me. He was grinning, and he didn't have a front tooth. "Strangers?" I asked her.
  
  
  He glanced at the waiter to make sure he wasn't listening twice, then continued in a hoarse whisper, his breath filling my nostrils. "Yes, they're in the clinic. You see, I go there every week. It's all very secret."
  
  
  He could only talk about the lab. Her, turned to him. "Did you cut her hair there?"
  
  
  "Yes, Yes. And the soldiers, too. They depend on me." He grinned toothlessly. "I go every week." The smile faded. "But you don't have to tell anyone anything. It's all very personal, you know.
  
  
  "Were you there today?" I asked.
  
  
  "No, of course not. She wouldn't have gone for two days together. I'll go tomorrow morning and I won't go twice, you know.
  
  
  "Of course," I said. "Will you take the old caravan route east?"
  
  
  He pulled his head away from me. "I can't tell you that! It's very personal ."
  
  
  He raised his voice a little. He finished his drink and stood up. He threw a few dirhams on a chair. "I bought myself another drink," I said.
  
  
  Ego's eyes glittered. "May Allah go with you," he muttered in a slurred voice.
  
  
  "Thank you for going," I said.
  
  
  When I got back to my hotel room, Gabrielle was already bathing; it was getting dark outside. She wasn't dressed yet and was brushing her long red hair, sitting on the edge of the bed with a towel wrapped around her. He lifted her to the chair next to him and glanced at the fifteen-watt light bulb hanging from the ceiling.
  
  
  "He shouldn't have spent all the money," I said.
  
  
  "At least we won't be spending a lot of time here," Gabrielle said. "Did you have any whiskey?"
  
  
  "Nothing so civilized. But she was met by someone who might be able to help us."
  
  
  "What man?"
  
  
  I told her about the Arab barber. "I'll meet him there tomorrow morning," I said. "But he doesn't know that."
  
  
  "For what purpose?"
  
  
  "I'll tell you all about it over dinner." I stood up and took off my jacket; Gabrielle noticed Wilhelmina on my side and Hugo's scabbard on my arm.
  
  
  "I'm afraid for you, Nick," she said. "Why can't I come with you?"
  
  
  "We've been through it all," her father said. "You're going to take me there, then turn around here and wait. If you wait more than a day, you will have to assume that I didn't make it, and you will return to Tangier and tell the whole story to the authorities. You will also contact Colin Pryor and tell em what happened. He'll contact my people."
  
  
  "Your wound hasn't even healed," she retorted. "Look, there's blood coming through the bandage. You need a doctor and rest."
  
  
  Her, chuckled. "Maybe with all this powerful talent, someone will suggest that I change my blindfold."
  
  
  He took off his holster and began to unbutton his shirt, preparing to clean up. When she saw my bare chest, she got out of bed, dropped her comb, and came over to me.
  
  
  "I really like you, you know.
  
  
  She snuggled up to me, and I felt her soft body under the towel. "The feeling is mutual, Gabrielle," I whispered.
  
  
  She reached for my rta with her lips and pressed her open mouth to mine. Her body was warm to me.
  
  
  "Make love to me again," she breathed.
  
  
  He touched his lips to her plump cheek, and then to the softness of her throat and her milky shoulder. "How about our dinner?"
  
  
  "I want you for dinner," she said hoarsely.
  
  
  Her hips pressed insistently against mine, and as I moved my hands to the towel, our lips met again, and my mouth explored hers hungry. When we parted, she was breathing heavily.
  
  
  "I'll just lock the door," I said. He went to the door and turned the key in the lock. When I turned around, she was unwinding a large towel.
  
  
  The towel had fallen to the floor, and Gabrielle was sitting naked in the dim light of a small lamp. Her skin was a soft, holy shade of peach, and a dazzling red mane fell over her bare shoulders. Her long thighs tapered beautifully to the soft curves of her thighs. She walked over to the bed and curled up to wait.
  
  
  He undressed and joined her on the bed. She lashed out with her hip and nuzzled my right arm
  
  
  She leaned down and touched her lips to my chest, then moved to my stomach, gently kissing my entire body.
  
  
  A moment later, hers was burning inside. Ee gently pinned her to the bed and followed her. Suddenly we were one, our bodies connected. She moaned, her legs closing around me, her hands caressing my back.
  
  
  When it was over, I didn't think about Omega for us, or ah, Dr. Z for us, or tomorrow for us. There was only a warm, satisfied gift.
  
  
  The ninth chapter.
  
  
  The complex of buildings behind the barbed wire fence bristled with armed guards and defenses, making General Jenina's citadel look like a resort hotel in comparison. Barbed wire hung from a steel fence about twelve feet high, and evenly spaced insulators along the posts convinced me that it was electrified. Two of Genina's soldiers were on duty at the gate, carrying their usual submachine guns slung over their shoulders. From our vantage point, we could see at least two other human security guards walking around the perimeter of the complex with large dogs on chain leashes.
  
  
  In fact, the complex consisted of three buildings that were connected by covered walkways into a single closed complex. There was a military vehicle at the main entrance, and two large trucks could be seen on one side.
  
  
  "It looks scary," Gabrielle's voice said in my ear.
  
  
  He removed the powerful binoculars from his eyes and turned to her. "We can rest assured that Li Yuen has a few people inside to deal with the uninvited visitors. Remember, this is the most important scientific object that the Chinese have at the moment ."
  
  
  We were sitting behind a rock jutting out about three hundred yards from the lab, Cit-roen parked next to us. The dusty, stony road curved in a wide arch toward the gate. A solitary vulture could be seen flying in a special circle in the high cloudless sky to the east.
  
  
  "Well, let's go back to the tree line, where I'll wait for the barber. If he comes earlier ...
  
  
  A sound behind us stopped me. I turned, and Gabrielle followed my gaze. There, no more than fifty yards away, a three-man patrol was coming down the road toward us. A light breeze rises and makes us hear the sound of ih approaching. It was too late now. The patrol chief noticed us. He spoke in Arabic and pointed at us.
  
  
  Gabrielle panicked moved towards the car, but her strong grip on ee's arm held her in place.
  
  
  "They saw us!" she whispered sharply.
  
  
  "I know. Sit down and behave as calmly as possible." Her, made her go back to the rock. He then casually waved his hand towards a small group of uniformed men, while the leader pulled out a pistol around the holster on his waist and two other long rifles.
  
  
  Then he moved cautiously towards us, laughing as he looked at Citrõen. As they approached, her husband greeted them in Arabic. "Asalam alaikum!"
  
  
  They didn't answer. When they reached the car, he got up. Gabrielle remained seated. She kept her binoculars hidden under her voluminous skirt.
  
  
  "What are you doing here?" the squad leader asked in heavily accented English, his broad face full of hostility.
  
  
  This was a very bad development and a failure. He tried to hide the disappointment on his face. "We were just driving in the country," I said. The other two soldiers were already peering suspiciously at Citrõen. "I hope we're not privately owned."
  
  
  The man with the gun looked at Gabrielle without answering me, while the soldiers with rifles came up to lick, forming a semicircle around us. After a moment, the stocky boss turned to me proudly.
  
  
  "I think you picked a bad place." He waved the gun at the facility. "It's forbidden to be here."
  
  
  He casually glanced at the building. "Really, too? We had no idea. We'll leave immediately. He held out his hand to lift her to her feet, and saw her stick the binoculars into some dry brush.
  
  
  "Give me your ID card," the stocky soldier said to me.
  
  
  I told her. "What the hell? I told you we were just going for a walk." Her stomach tightened. This guy in math was told that he was suspicious of anyone found in ego patrol and looked like he was causing trouble.
  
  
  He raised the gun, little by little, until it pointed to a point candid above my heart. The other two tightened their grip on their rifles. "You're welcome," he said.
  
  
  He reached in a minute and pulled out a wallet with a fake ID. Her wallet was handed to em, and he examined the ego, while the other two men kept their guns trained on us. My mind was working overtime. I just had to worry about Gabrielle. Her would not Stahl lead her even this far, but his hotel so she knew where the lab hall was. Also, if one of those guns had fired, even if we hadn't been killed, everyone in the facility would have been alerted.
  
  
  "Interesting," the broad man was saying now. He looked at me suspiciously, then put his wallet in my pocket. "You're coming with us."
  
  
  I asked her. "Where to?"
  
  
  He pointed to the lab.
  
  
  . "They'll want to ask you questions."
  
  
  Her hotel log in, but not like this. And supposedly not with Gabrielle. He looked down at the gun pointed at my chest. "This is an outrage," I said. "I have friends in Tangier."
  
  
  The smug look was insulting. "Nevertheless," he said. He turned to one of the soldiers and spoke quickly in Arabic. He told the man to go back down the road to see if there was anyone else nearby. The soldier turned and started walking in the opposite direction from the lab. "Now let's go," the stocky man said.
  
  
  Hers, he sighed, and motioned for Gabrielle to follow his orders. It was difficult. If we went more than ten yards down the dusty road to the lab, we would be in full view of the gate, where armed guards were stationed.
  
  
  As Gabrielle started toward the buildings, he stopped her by taking her hand and turned to a stocky soldier with a leathery face.
  
  
  "Do you know General Jenina?" the emu told her, I know that Jenina was an ego commander.
  
  
  "Yes," he said grimly.
  
  
  "The general is a good friend of mine," I lied, watching the third soldier slowly disappear around a bend in the road. "If you insist on bringing us here for questioning, I'll talk to him personally. I assure you, you will not succeed.
  
  
  This ego made me think. Her, saw the soldier next to him looking questioningly into the emu's face. Then the stocky man made a decision.
  
  
  "We are following specific orders from the general," he said. Ego's hand waved in the direction of the institution. "Please."
  
  
  I made a motion as if I was going to pass mimmo into the road. When she was next to him, her ego suddenly slapped her hand with the back of his hand.
  
  
  He screamed at the flag of permission to execute, and the ego gun fell to the sand at our feet. Ego pressed her elbow to his chest, and he gasped aloud. He staggered back and sat down heavily on the ground, his jaw clenched as he struggled to get air into his lungs.
  
  
  Another soldier, a tall, thin young man, raised his rifle so that it almost touched my chest. He was going to put a hole in my stomach. She heard Gabriel sigh softly behind her. He grabbed the muzzle thread of the rifle and, before the young Arab could pull the trigger, pushed down hard on the barrel of the pistol. The soldier flew past me, hit his face on the ground, and lost his rifle. He was just trying to get up when her gun butt hit him in the back of the ego's head. There was a distinct crack of bones as the guy fell flat on the ground.
  
  
  I was about to turn around when a stocky soldier came up to me and punched me in the chest, head down. He was cool. I lost her gun when we fell together. We rolled in the dust and sand, his thick fingers digging into my face and eyes. Her ego hit him in the face with its right fist, and he lost his grip and fell to the ground. I knelt down and looked around for a rifle that could have been used as a club, but it was on me in a second.
  
  
  I struggled with him on my back,and he was tearing at me. He spun around and hurled ego toward a jutting rock next to us. He hit the rock hard,and an involuntary grunt escaped his throat. He loosened his grip on me as emu's fist smashed into my face.
  
  
  He collapsed heavily on the rock, his broad face covered in blood. But he wasn't finished. He slammed his fist into my head, and it slid across my temple. I moved a muscle on my right forearm, and Hugo slid into my hand. When the man hit me again, she was stabbed in the chest with an emu stiletto.
  
  
  He looked at me in surprise, then looked at the handle of the knife. He tried to say something nasty in Arabic, but it didn't work. It was taken out by the stiletto when he fell to the ground - dead.
  
  
  It dragged two Arabs against the rocks, hiding the bodies. "Get in the car, Gabriel. Her, I want you to follow me, " I said. "Wait for ten minutes, then slowly move along the road until you see me. All right?"
  
  
  She nodded.
  
  
  He left her and went after the third soldier. He was running along the road in the bright sun, looking ahead. Just a few minutes later, his ego found him. He had checked the road as far as he thought necessary, and had just turned back in the direction of the lab. Her flattened against a hill to the left of the road, and caught him as he passed. Ego grabbed her from behind and swiped the stiletto across ego's throat in one swift motion. It was all over. By the time I hid her body, Gabrielle was there with Citrõen.
  
  
  "Now go back to the city," her father said. "I'll wait for the barber here. Hers, I hope to get to the lab by late morning. If you don't hear from me by tomorrow, return to Tangier as we planned.
  
  
  "Maybe you shouldn't go there alone," she said.
  
  
  "It's a one-man job," I said. "Don't worry. Just do as we agreed."
  
  
  "All right," she said reluctantly.
  
  
  Good. Now go." See you in Mhamida."
  
  
  She returned my grin weakly. "In Mhamid".
  
  
  Then she left.
  
  
  Its been sitting by the roadside for over an hour, and the traffic isn't toddlers, we're in the same direction.
  
  
  The sun was hot, and as I waited for her, the sand burned through my pants. He was sitting under palm trees, a small oasis in a barren rocky area. In the distance was a line of low hills, mostly sandy, and beyond them the homes of the blue people, the nomadic tribes of Ait - Ussa, Mribet, and Ida - y-Blal. It was a wild, desolate country, and he couldn't help but wonder why anyone would want to live in it. He was just amazed by Li Yuen's decision to open a laboratory there when he heard the gasping and whinnying of a car engine driving down the Mhamida road.
  
  
  A moment later, a van came into view. It was a rusty relic of unreliable construction, and it seemed to despise the desert as much as the grumpy barber who ran it.
  
  
  Then he went out to the road and stopped the ramshackle van. She paused in a whoosh of steam and an unpleasant smell, and the barber angrily stuck his head out of the window. He didn't recognize me,
  
  
  "Get out of the way!" he shouted.
  
  
  As her day approached Ego, she saw a tattered Arabic inscription on the side of her van: HAMMADI. And at the bottom: HAIR TIES.
  
  
  "What are you doing?" he shouted belligerently. Then he glanced at my face. "I think I've seen you before."
  
  
  "Get out of the van, Hammadi," I said.
  
  
  "Why not? I have things to do."
  
  
  "You have business with me." Her, opened the door and pulled ego out, around the car.
  
  
  He looked at me with fear in his eyes. "Are you a bandit?"
  
  
  "In a way," I said. "Go behind the trees and take off your clothes."
  
  
  "I won't!"
  
  
  It was taken out by Wilhelmina to impress him. "You will."
  
  
  He frowned, the gun in his hand.,
  
  
  "Move," I said.
  
  
  He reluctantly obeyed orders, and within minutes he was sitting on the ground in his underwear, bound and gagged around what I had at hand. He watched in awe as ego put on his dirty, smelly clothes and red fez. He tried not to think about the smell. When his was dressed, her threw his shirt and jacket next to him.
  
  
  "This is yours," I said. "And trust me, you get the best out of trading." I put a small stain on her face and hands, and she was ready. He reached into the djellaba area and found the Hammadi passageway. Ego tucked it back into his robe, climbed into the van, and drove off.
  
  
  As he approached the gate, a soldier with a dog joined the two guards on duty. They all looked vicious. One of the guards continued to talk to the soldier, while the other approached the van.
  
  
  "Good morning," emu said to her in his best Arabic. "Beautiful day." Her handing it to him was an oversight.
  
  
  He took it, but didn't look at it. Instead, he narrowed his eyes. "You're no ordinary barber."
  
  
  "It's true," emu told her. "Hammadi fell ill this morning. She's a hairdresser, too, and I was sent in his place. He said they would let me in with an ego pass ."
  
  
  The soldier looked up at the pass, chuckled, and returned the ego to me. "What disease are you talking about?"
  
  
  He smiled at emu and leaned in. "I suspect that last night was because he took too much pita and wine."
  
  
  He hesitated for a moment, then smiled at rheumatism. "Excellent. You can log in.
  
  
  The tension in my chest eased a little. I took the old van and walked slowly toward the gate. He nodded to the men and pulled into the van. I was finally inside the Mhamid facility. It was a disturbing thought.
  
  
  The tenth chapter.
  
  
  An old van rolled her into the parking lot at the main entrance of the complex. A hundred things I didn't know could make me suspicious at any moment. I wondered if I should park the van in front of the house or if Hammadi should enter the lab through some other entrance. There was no way to know these details, so I had to bluff, which wasn't exactly a new experience.
  
  
  She didn't even know what equipment the barber had moved into the building. When the van was parked, he got out around the car, opened the back doors, and saw a large carrying case inside. Nen had barber tools.
  
  
  There were several people in sight. Two uniformed soldiers stood smoking cigarettes and talking to each other on the corner of the building, and a white-clad technician walked quickly past me with a clipboard under his arm.
  
  
  The front door was wide open, but right outside the door, a security guard was sitting at a small table. He was a black African man, dressed in simple khaki trousers and an open-necked shirt. Nen was wearing black horn-rimmed glasses and looked like a professor.
  
  
  "Pass it on, please," he said in perfect Arabic.
  
  
  He handed Em a card. "I'm cutting my hair for Hammadi today," emu told her casually.
  
  
  He took the pass and stared at me. I wondered if he thought I didn't look like an Arab. "I'm sure emu was told that missing out on this facility can't be passed on to others." He glanced at the pass as if he had seen ego many times before. "But this time, you might have permission. Next week, let Hammadi report to me before he goes to the editing room."
  
  
  "Yes sir."
  
  
  He handed the pass back to me.
  
  
  "And you'd better be good, brother. The standards here are high ."
  
  
  "Yes, of course," I said.
  
  
  He pointed to his tablet. "Sign an empty space in the foreground."
  
  
  My written Arabic was lousy. It was signed by Marbrook's father and handed back the notebook. He nodded for her to go inside.
  
  
  Ego thanked her and continued down the hall. Inside, everything was brightly lit and there were no windows. The walls were painted a dazzling white.
  
  
  Her, went through the double doors in the corridor to another part of the building. I had no idea where the assembly room was, and I didn't care. But I couldn't let anyone catch me in the wrong direction. From time to time, an employee in a white coat would appear in the hallway, but people would hurry to mimic me without once looking at us. Some of the doors had glass windows, and she could see employees in the offices doing administrative work. There was a console computer in one room, and several technicians were walking beside it. This expensive mechanism should help Zeno verify his calculations.
  
  
  He passed through another set of doors and found himself in the main part of the complex of buildings. A sign above the doors read in three languages: "Authorized personnel only." This wing undoubtedly housed Zeno's and Li's offices, Yuen's, and possibly the laboratory where Zeno conducted his experiments.
  
  
  I had just passed a door marked "Service" when a man in white with a yellow badge on his chest ran around the room and almost knocked me off my feet. He was a tall guy about my height, but with narrow shoulders. When he saw me, his long face expressed mild surprise.
  
  
  "Who are you?" "What is it?" he asked in Arabic. He looked German, or perhaps French. I was wondering if he was one of the many participants in this project who, like Andre Delacroix, knew nothing about the ego of the true goal.
  
  
  "Her haircut," emu told her.
  
  
  "What do you think you're doing in the foreground section?" he said irritably, interrupting me. "You should know that you don't belong here."
  
  
  "Is this department One, sir?"
  
  
  "You're an idiot!" he replied. He partially turned away from me. "I'm in the hall, in the other wing. You will return through these ... "
  
  
  Her ego quickly hit the back of his head, and he collapsed into my arms. Ego K dragged her to the closet and turned the handle. It was locked. He swore under his breath. At any moment, someone else might appear in this corridor, and I would be stuck with the body. He rummaged in the djellaba he was wearing and found the lock pick that he had removed from my clothes with Wilhelmina and Hugo. A moment later, the door opened. But another door opened twenty feet down the hall, while the analyst was still lying on the floor in the hallway. Another man in white came out, but turned the other way without noticing us, and walked quickly down the corridor. Its exhaled. Her unconscious body grabbed her and dragged her into the study, turning on the holy light inside after closing the door.
  
  
  The office was tiny, barely enough space for two people in the nen. He quickly stripped the barber of his clothes and threw them in a pile in the corner, along with the mops and buckets. Then he went to the small sink behind me, turned on the water, and wiped the washing stain off his face and hands. I dried it with a laundry towel around the stack on a stand next to it. She took off his jacket, shirt, and tie. During the previous exchange, her kept her pants. He put on his new clothes, removing and replacing the holster and stiletto scabbard. A moment later, she was met by a technician in a white lab coat. He tied up his man with kitchen towels, gagged him, left the bathroom, and locked the ego behind him.
  
  
  In her hallway, he looked at his badge. My name was Heinz Krueger, and I'm being assigned to Division F, whatever that means to us. I wondered how close to Dr. Ios and Yuen Li this would get me. He moved down the corridor to the far end, where there were large revolving doors. A young woman with glasses came down a side corridor, looked at me, and spoke in English, which was apparently the second language of the institution.
  
  
  "Good morning," she said as she passed mimmo, giving me a second glance as if wondering why my face wasn't familiar.
  
  
  I glanced at her badge. "Good morning to you, Miss Gomulka."
  
  
  The constellations of her name today seemed to reassure her, and she smiled briefly as she moved on. He wasn't looking after her. He quickly went down both ends of the corridor to the double doors.
  
  
  The long room he entered was a ward, the beds filled with Arabs and a few black Africans. They were like the wreckage of their own world or any other world. And they all looked very ill.
  
  
  He looked down the aisle between the beds and saw a nurse doing something to a patient. The nurse looked at me and nodded, but didn't pay any more attention. Her, nodded at rheumatism and moved down the aisle in a different direction. What I saw made my stomach turn over.
  
  
  In this ward, there was no attempt to keep the bed linen clean or even remove the trash from the floor.
  
  
  And it was clear that the men in these beds were not treated, as many of them apparently had open sores and malnutrition, with which ih was brought here. But there was something much more disturbing about them than these visual signs. These people were terminally ill. Ih eyes were dull, bloodshot, skin was flabby and dry, and many around them were obviously in pain. When I passed it, they constantly moaned and asked for medicine. One bony Black man lay motionless on the bed, his dirty sheets torn off. I walked over and looked at him. Ego's eyes were open and glazed. The ego tongue was half protruding from the ego rta, swollen and dry. Ego's face was marked with traces of excruciating pain, and there was almost no flesh on his body. Ego touched her wrist. The man was dead.
  
  
  So vote on what was happening there. These poor devils were used as guinea pigs. Well, probably picked up on the streets of villages with the promise of clinical treatment, and then brought to the laboratory for experiments. Omega was introduced into them, which was the final proof of Zeno's success.
  
  
  My insides twisted as I thought about what these poor people had been through. When her, stood and looked at the corpse, and her, thought of a big city in the United States, then beats the Omega Mutation. Gray-haired men and women die in the streets, unable to get help, writhing in agony, empty eyes begging for mercy, dry lips muttering about some miracle to end the thread of suffering. Hospitals are packed with groaning victims, and the staff themselves are unable to work due to a bout of illness. Government offices are closed, transport and information services are closed. No trucks or planes to deliver precious medicines to hospitals.
  
  
  "Can I help you?"
  
  
  The voice startled me, as if from over my left shoulder. I tinted it and saw that a nurse was standing there. Ego's voice was high and his manner was sweet.
  
  
  "Oh. Just look at the results, " I said. "How are things this morning?"
  
  
  "Very good," he said in a feminine tone. She tried to remember me as the girl in the hall. "Now we have several third stages, and the symptoms are remarkable. It looks like it only takes four to five days to complete the entire procedure."
  
  
  This man must have known what was going on in the dell itself. He wasn't one of the cheaters, so he was more dangerous to me. "That's good," I said authoritatively. "You have a terminal here." He pointed to the dead man.
  
  
  "Yes, I know him," she said. She gave me a cold look.
  
  
  "Well, good morning," I said cheerfully. Her, turned to leave. Then the ego voice stopped me again.
  
  
  "Why are you wearing a Ringer badge?"
  
  
  My mouth was dry. I was hoping that I could avoid such a confrontation. Hugo let it slide into my hand as he turned to face him. Her, looked at the badge.
  
  
  Her ego borrowed her coat and forgot to take off her badge. Her-I'm glad you saw it.
  
  
  "You're new here, aren't you?" he asked.
  
  
  "That's right. Her name is Derek Beaumont. They were only brought in last week by order of Dr. Zeno.
  
  
  "Yes. Of course."
  
  
  She didn't believe me. Her, felt like she was just waiting for her to leave so she could connect to the intercom. I didn't have a choice. Her approached little licks. Good. See you." He patted ego heartily on the shoulder, and quickly moved his right hand forward to ego's chest. Ego's eyes rolled back as the cold steel entered, then it fell heavily on top of me.
  
  
  Hugo took it out and dragged the limp figure to the nearest empty bed. When ego dropped her on the bed, there were at least a dozen pairs of eyes looking at me, but no one tried to shout or move in my direction. He draped the sheet over her limp form and hurried out of the room.
  
  
  He went down a side corridor to the left. There were several doorways. When it reached both ends, there was a closed door with a simple sign: DIRECTOR. Entry is prohibited.
  
  
  This was supposed to be Li Yuen's office. I hesitated for a moment, just guessing what my next move should be. I could run into so much trouble that I'd never find the lab or Zeno. But I decided to take a chance.
  
  
  He opened the door and went into the waiting room. There was a secretary at the desk, a Chinese woman in her forties, and a big, burly black African man standing guard over her candid eyes for the day. Another door on my right led to Li Yuen's private office.
  
  
  The guard looked at my badge, but said nothing. The woman looked up, smiled uncertainly, and spoke. "Is there anything I can help you with?" Her English was excellent.
  
  
  "I have to see Li Yuen," I said.
  
  
  She studied my face carefully. "I'm not sure I know you."
  
  
  "I just joined a research group. Kruger. Perhaps the director mentioned me to you. She was bluffing again. I had to use Kruger's name because the black man had already seen the badge. He could only hope that this woman didn't really understand who Kruger was.
  
  
  "Oh, yes," she said. "But I'm afraid that Mr. Li is currently talking to Dr. Zeno.
  
  
  Can I ask him what you want the ego to see?
  
  
  Her would be a plausible rheumatism. "The computer detected a slight discrepancy in the data. Li Yuen asked me to come openly to him in this situation." He meant that Zeno should not be scanned.
  
  
  "Yes, I understand her," she said dispassionately. "Well, I think Mr. Li will finish up soon. You can wait if you want."
  
  
  "Yes, thank you."
  
  
  He sat her down on a hard chair, planning his next move. The first issue was removed without any action on my part.
  
  
  "Bomboko," said the Chinese secretary, "could you please refer this matter to Division C?" Mr. Kruger and she will be guarding the inner sanctum during your brief absence. She gave me a small smile.
  
  
  The big black man gave me a sour look and took the Manila folder she handed emu. "Yes, memsahib."
  
  
  As he passed mimmo, he glanced at me again and disappeared through the door. As soon as the door closed behind him, Wilhelmina pulled it out and aimed it at the woman's head.
  
  
  "I'm sorry I took advantage of your misplaced trust," I said. "But let me assure you that if you make the slightest sound or attempt to issue a warning of any kind, I will shoot you."
  
  
  She sat motionless at the table, and hers quickly went around behind her to make sure that nah didn't have a warning signal. A large metal cabinet with full doors caught her eye. I opened it, and there wasn't much in it except a first-aid kit on a high shelf. Ego took it out, put it on a chair, and opened it. Inside was a roll of tape.
  
  
  "Tear off a six-inch piece and apply ego to your mouth," her father said.
  
  
  She followed orders carefully. In a moment of illness, she taped her mouth shut. "Now go to the study."
  
  
  She walked in and he turned his back on me, grabbed her wrists and wrapped a ribbon around her, tying ih together. "Try to eat in silence," I said. Her door closed as she squatted on the floor of the closet.
  
  
  Her, came up to a day in Li Yuen's office. I put it in his ear and quite clearly heard two voices inside. The first voice was American; it obviously belonged to Damon Zeno.
  
  
  "You don't seem to understand, Colonel; my work isn't done yet." There was an obvious twang of annoyance in his voice.
  
  
  "But you have undoubtedly accomplished what we brought you here for," Li Yuen's high - pitched, slightly metallic voice rang out. "You created the Omega mutation."
  
  
  "My experiments have not yet proved that I am satisfied," Zeno argued. "When we send our report to Beijing, her, I want to be sure of what we've done."
  
  
  "You don't agree with the conclusions of your hard work, Doctor," Li Yuen said in a steady, unchanging voice. "You can be too much of a perfectionist"
  
  
  "The Omega mutation will be the most effective biological weapon ever created," Zeno said slowly.
  
  
  "It will make the H-bomb obsolete." There was a brief pause. "But I won't send her unfinished work to Beijing!"
  
  
  "Beijing thinks you're being too careful, Dr. Zeno," Li Yuen said in a harder voice. "There are those who wonder if you want to deliver weapons now that you've created an ego."
  
  
  "That's complete nonsense," Zeno retorted sharply.
  
  
  "In laboratories all over China, we are ready to start working," Li Yuen continued. "They will be able to grow a significant number, within a few weeks, thanks to a change in the genetic structure that allows for rapid generation." There was a crack of paper. "I have a message from my superiors, Doctor, suggesting that you immediately send your results and crops and allow our labs to start breeding, while you continue to work here on the final samples."
  
  
  "But it's not like that!" Zeno protested loudly. "If I find a flaw in the existing mutation, then the work they're doing in the meantime will go to waste."
  
  
  "Beijing is willing to take the risk," Li Yuen's flat voice came through the door. "Oni, please, Doctor, prepare a report to send them within 24 hours. They will ask Chinese biologists to test your discoveries in Beijing." The last remark was sarcastic, and intended as an insult.
  
  
  There was a brief silence in the room. Then Zeno's heavy voice continued, " All right, I'll cook something for them."
  
  
  "Thank you Doctor." Li Yuen's tone was sweet.
  
  
  Its time to move away from the day. Zeno came out, stiff and angry around the inner office. He glanced at me, who was standing in the middle of the waiting room, and then went through the outer door into the hallway. Hers followed him and looked in the ego's direction, presumably to the lab. Her, went back to the waiting room. I had to decide whether to go straight to them or stop at Li Yuen's office. I chose the latter because it belongs to them that at least some of the papers describing Omega's ugly development will belong to Math and L5. Perhaps he even had copies of everything Zeno had written down.
  
  
  She turned back to the half-open door in Li Yuen's office. It was Luger who pulled it out and walked through the door as Li Yuen was opening the wall safe.
  
  
  Emu let her open it, then spoke.:
  
  
  "Your worries about Beijing are over, you know."
  
  
  He turned quickly, a look of surprise on his round face. He was young, maybe thirty, I thought. He focused on the Luger as he pulled the trigger.
  
  
  The gun barked loudly in the room, and Li Yuen spun around to face the open door of the safe, slamming his face against the edge. As he slid down, he grabbed the door with both hands and left a dark red stain on it.
  
  
  I kicked her body and it didn't move. I hoped the sound of the gunshot didn't travel far beyond the room, but I didn't have a choice because of the time. He reached into the safe and pulled out a stack of papers and two black folders with silver stripes on the covers. One was written in Chinese by OMEGA PROJECT. The other, in English, reads simply ZENO's DAEMON.
  
  
  He looked through the file on Zeno and dropped the ego on the floor. When I opened another file, I realized that it was part of what I needed. There were some of Zeno's early notes on the project, messages between Lee and Zeno, and tables of letters and numbers tracking the development of the Omega bug. He closed the folder, turned, and walked out through the rooms.
  
  
  There was a muffled noise in the waiting room, and faint kicks on the door of the cabinet where the Chinese woman advertised him. It didn't matter now. As her husband turned to leave, the outer door opened, and a large black man was standing there.
  
  
  He looked at the empty chair and then at the folder under my arm. It began to pass mimmo him.
  
  
  He asked. "Where is Madame Jing?"
  
  
  He pointed to the inner office where Li Yuen was lying dead. "She's with Li Yuen," I said. There was a sound around the cabinet, and he looked at it.
  
  
  Her gun pulled out again and hit his ego on the base of his skull. He groaned and fell to the floor.
  
  
  "Count your blessings," said her unconscious figure. Then hers, he walked through the doorway and down the hall in the direction Damon Zeno had gone.
  
  
  The eleventh chapter.
  
  
  A tall, burly mountain man named Po Almohadov, wearing a Moroccan army uniform, was blocking the door to the lab. He had a thick black beard and earrings in his ears. Ego's shoulders and chest stretched the shape. Ego's neck was as thick as some men's waists. He looked me in the eye with, say, what could only be described as arrogant hostility. Above the ego, above the head of the closed door, several warning symbols were drawn in English and Arabic. DEPARTMENT" A " OF RESEARCH. Entry is strictly prohibited. Violators will be punished.
  
  
  "What do you want?" A large Moroccan asked in heavily accented English.
  
  
  "Is Dr. Zeno inside?"
  
  
  "He's in there."
  
  
  "I have to deliver this file," I said, showing Emu the file under my arm.
  
  
  "Do you have a first-class security clearance?"
  
  
  "Li Yuen sent me," I explained.
  
  
  "You must have a first-class pass," he insisted. "If you don't, I'll deliver the file."
  
  
  Her, shrugged: "All right." He handed Emu the precious folder. As soon as Ego's hands were on nen, her poi reached for the gun.
  
  
  But he was sharp. He saw the movement, dropped the papers, and grabbed my wrist, which was coming out from under the robe. I tried my best to point the gun at her, but it was too strong for me. He twisted my wrist hard, and the luger fell out around my arms. For a moment, he thought he'd broken a bone. He grabbed me with both hands and pressed me to moan for the day. My teeth were chattering, and he couldn't focus on us for a minute. Big hands closed around my throat. The ego's power was so great that I knew he would crush my windpipe before he strangled me. He pulled his hands free briefly and pressed hard against ih k Ego's forearms, loosening his grip. I kicked her where I thought her left kneecap would be, connected, and heard bones crunch.
  
  
  Almohad let out a muffled cry and fell. Her ego hit him hard in the head with his right hand. He didn't fall. It hit the same spot again, and it fell to the floor.
  
  
  But a second later, he grabbed the gun on his belt and moved very fast for a big man. Hers landed on top of him, just as the gun was coming out of its holster. Hugo slid into my hand as his ego hit it. When he fell on his back and saw the flash of the sword, he raised his hand to block it, but I knocked it back long enough for Ego to make one quick leap, driving the stiletto into the emu's head, just below the left ear. There was a hiss around the ego of the open rta, a strong tremor of the ego of the massive body, and he was dead.
  
  
  He looked up, and the corridor was still deserted. He took a few steps and opened the door to a small office. There was no one there. He went back to the guard, dragged ego into the small room, and closed the door. Then she adjusted her white lab coat, changed weapons, and collected the folder. I pushed open the lab door and walked in as if the place belonged to me.
  
  
  It was a large room filled with tables and equipment. On the tables were rows of small glass tanks that I guessed were used to grow Omega. A large electronic machine sat at one end of the room, and an attendant bent over it. There were three other lab assistants besides Dr. Z. himself, who took notes for the counter.
  
  
  To my left was a tall cabinet made of metal and wood. The walls in this cabinet were reinforced with glass, so that the ego contents could be seen. There were hundreds of glass bottles with labels stuck on them. Inside the containers was a greenish-gray substance that he assumed was a cultured Omega mutation.
  
  
  Dr. N walked over to the counter near the chair and studied the glass over a low flame. As I knew her from the previous brief meeting and around the AX photos, she was a tall man with a chalky face and stooped shoulders. Ego's hair was thick and cerro-steel. The nose was thin but also prominent, and the mouth was wide, with a full lower lip. Unlike most of the other men in the room, Z wasn't wearing glasses, and his dark gray eyes were cold and bright.
  
  
  Hawke's advice came back to her. Verna Zeno, if you can. Kill my ego if I can't do it. The choice was Zeno's.
  
  
  No one in the room saw me, or if they did, they paid no attention. Her quickly walked over to Zeno and, approaching him, placed the Omega file on a chair so that it wouldn't interfere with me. I walked over to him, standing between him and the other men in white coats in the room so they couldn't see what was going on. Then Wilhelmina pulled it out. Zeno raised his head at that moment, looked at the gun dispassionately for a moment, and then looked at me with his hard, bright eyes.
  
  
  "What is it?" he said coldly to me in a strong, resonant voice. "What are you doing here?"
  
  
  "I'll give you a little hint," he told her in a low, hard voice. "Its not from L5".
  
  
  Ego's dark eyes narrowed slightly as he looked at me, and a look of understanding crossed his face. "So that's it." He tried to hide his fear. "You're a fool. You'll never get out of the lab alive.
  
  
  "It's not my job to get out alive," emu told her slowly and unhurriedly. He let it sink in for a moment of sickness. Her, I saw ego's gaze flick to the other men behind me. "Don't do this. Not unless you don't mind gawking and punching a hole in your chest the size of a baseball."
  
  
  He looked down at the gun and then back at my eyes. "What do you want?" he asked.
  
  
  The luger pinned her to the ego's ribs. "Tell the others to leave," I said quietly. "Tell them that Li Yuen wants to meet you here alone. Tell them anything, but get ih out for a while. And make ih believe it."
  
  
  Damon Zeno looked at the gun and then at me. "I can't do that. These people...."
  
  
  "I'll pull the trigger if you don't."
  
  
  Zeno struggled to contain his rising anger. But the ego's fear was stronger. "It's Li Yuen's fault," he muttered bitterly to himself. When he looked me in the eye, he saw that I meant what I said and slowly turned to the other men in the lab.
  
  
  "Gentlemen, please pay attention." He waited until everyone turned to look at him. "The director requested an urgent meeting with me here in ten minutes. I'm afraid I'll have to ask you to take some time off from work. Why don't you all take a coffee break and I'll join you soon? "
  
  
  There was some muttering, but they moved away. Her gun was hidden until they left. Then he turned back to Dr. N.
  
  
  "Where are your recent findings and notes?" he asked her. "They, which they supplement, are in Li Yuen's file."
  
  
  Zeno's gaze darted involuntarily to the locked metal cabinet in the next room. "You must be naive," he said softly. "Do you really think I'll deliver an Omega to you on a silver platter? In any case, these records do not diverge anything for you or anyone else in American intelligence.
  
  
  "I'll bet the records are in this cabinet," I said, watching my ego's reaction. "And that cultural mutation lurks behind the glass he moaned."
  
  
  Zeno's face darkened with frustration and rage. "Get out of here while you can," he said hoarsely. "Or You Yuen will cut you into small pieces."
  
  
  Her, he chuckled. "Li Yuen is dead."
  
  
  Her, saw the expressions of egos flicker across their faces. Disbelief, then shock, anger, and finally a new fear.
  
  
  "So is General Jenin," I said. "You're almost Odin now, Zeno, even if they kill me."
  
  
  Zeno's pale face struggled for control. "If Li Yuen is dead, he is expendable. This is an Omega, not you."
  
  
  "Absolutely fantastic," I said. "That's why he has to leave. And you, too, if you're stubborn. God knows why, but I have orders to bring you back with me if you want to go. My voice showed my disdain. "I'm giving you the choice to be candid now."
  
  
  He looked back at the Luger. "And you will destroy the Omega?"
  
  
  "That's right." Her, went to the cabinet, took a microscope, broke their lock and forced it. He dropped the damaged instrument on the floor, removed the lock, and opened the cabinet door.
  
  
  Inside was a Manila folder, and a few other papers. Ih gathered it up and looked at Zeno. The intense look on their egos told me I'd hit the jackpot. She did everything in a file that Po Li, Yuen, took from the safe and quickly scanned the materials
  
  
  It felt like the right thing to do.
  
  
  "I'll introduce you to the project," Zeno said in a low voice with a hint of desperation. "The Chinese don't have to have it all. Do you know, do you have any idea how powerful an Omega can make a person? "
  
  
  "I had a nightmare," I confessed, closing the file. A luger shoved it in its width, carried the mass of loose papers to the Bunsen burner, and stuck the ih in the fire.
  
  
  "No!" he said loudly.
  
  
  the papers were on fire. He went to the files with them, and Zeno made up his mind. He lunged at me, and I fell under his weight, hitting a long chair with cultures and test tubes, and it all fell to the floor.
  
  
  A flaming stack of papers flew out around my hand and landed on the floor at the same time as the glass and liquid shattered. There must be something flammable in the test tubes, because they burst into roaring flames between us and the long wall cabinet where the cultivated Omega mutation was located. The fire reached the large wooden cabinet in a matter of minutes and ignited instantly.
  
  
  "Oh my God!" Zeno screamed. We struggled to our feet separately, not caring about each other at the moment. He watched for a moment as the fire licked up the wall cabinet and spread to the long tables where crops were being developed. Zeno saved me some work.
  
  
  Zeno shouted through the crackling flames. "Damn you!"
  
  
  Her ignored him. He returned to the table where the files were still lying, picked up ih, and threw it into the growing inferno. Zeno saw what I was doing and took a small step as if to step on me, then hesitated. The next thing he knew, he was running toward the booth on the opposite side of the street.
  
  
  It was pulled out by Wilhelmina and aimed at Dr. Z.'s head when he reached the cares. Then I heard the doors open behind me.
  
  
  Turning away from Zeno, he collided with two guards rushing into the room. One of them had a gun, and he was pointing it at me. Her, crouched down on one of each tribe when it fired, and the shot went mimmo of my head and dropped the culture containers behind me. Another guard was moving in a circle around my flanks, but I ignored him. It returned fire on the first guard and hit the emu in the chest. He collapsed back into the chair and knocked it over. He was dead by the time he hit the floor.
  
  
  When I turned to the other guard, he lunged at me. He knocked me out of the counterweights before the Luger could engage, and we hit the chair, breaking more glass. A fire was booming near us. Somewhere in the back of her head, he could hear the alarm that Zeno had activated in the corridor outside the door.
  
  
  The big guy hit me hard in the face, and he hit the floor on his back. Out of the corner of her eye, he could see Zeno unsuccessfully putting out the flames with his lab coat. The guard hit me again and grabbed the Luger . Her ego began to turn toward him as he strained against me. My hand moved slowly to his face, and I could see the sweat breaking out on his forehead and upper lip as we fought for control of the muzzle. I had leverage. Inch by inch, her gun moved toward him until it reached the point above Ego's left eye. He pulled the trigger and tore the emu's head off.
  
  
  I lay back exhausted, pushing the bloodied body away from me. I strained to see Zeno through the flames and smoke, and then I saw him running toward me. An EMU luger aimed after her and fired, but missed, and he was gone.
  
  
  He struggled to his feet. Her torn lab coat had been torn off to give her more freedom of movement. Somehow its found its way through the fire and reached the day. Zeno was nowhere to be seen in the corridor. He briefly returned to the lab and saw flames destroying the monstrous Zeno beetle and ego records. The fire had already spread through the lab and into the hallway through a door about five feet away, and I suspected it had broken through the walls and into other rooms. It seemed that the entire object would burn up.
  
  
  He ran down the corridor, panting. People and fire-fighting equipment were moving past me toward the lab, but it was too late. The company was in absolute chaos: the corridors were filled with smoke, and employees rushed to the exit. The alarm system was still ringing and there was a lot of hysterical shouting in the building as her husband moved to the back exit behind the two panting people.
  
  
  He was outside in the back parking lot. The fire had already broken through the roof in places and was rising high into the air, black smoke billowing towards the sky. The space outside the building was quickly filling up with people gasping for breath. Some tried to connect fire hoses. He walked around the building and saw a small van squeal wildly as it headed for the main gate. Damon Zeno led the ego. He stopped abruptly at the gate and shouted something to the guards. Then he left.
  
  
  I ran to the nearest land Rover, looked at the dashboard, and found the keys. He jumped in and took the car with him; the wheels spun and the Land Rover rolled forward.
  
  
  Hers was only a few yards away when two guards at the main gate noticed her walking toward them. Zeno must have told them to stop me. They both had guns, and the one around them fired and smashed the windshield near my head. I ducked out of the way of shattering glass as the explosion ripped through a building nearby, and flames erupted behind me. Odin around the guards was injured by flying embers and caught fire with a scream.
  
  
  He hit the scare button, put the car in reverse, turned the car around in a cloud of dust, and roared around the back of the building to try to open the gate on the other side. As I rounded the corner of the building, flames burst out and singed the hair on my left arm. It was felt by the sharp zest of a person. There was a wall of fire in front of me, between the main building and the service building at the back. I didn't even click on bullying because I didn't have a choice. He slammed harder on the accelerator and leaned low against the open car, plunging into the flames.
  
  
  For a moment, everything was bright yellow heat and suffocating smoke, and it was like a blast furnace. Then he broke free and turned another corner again, heading for the main gate.
  
  
  The guard jumped out of the way just in time to avoid Ego being hit. Another guard noticed me and stepped frankly between the land Rover and the gate. He took aim and fired, gawking as his eyes bounced off the metal frame of the windshield, then he dove swiftly into the mud, away from the car. At another point, she drove through the facility's gates and headed down the road to Damon Zeno.
  
  
  As it swung around for signs where the patrol had surprised Gabrielle and me earlier, its speed slowed for a minute and it looked over its shoulder at the lab. The scene was complete chaos. The fire was out of control, and black smoke was billowing above it. No one will follow me. They were too busy rescuing the construction complex.
  
  
  The twelfth chapter.
  
  
  For the first hour, the van Zeno was driving was nowhere to be seen. It only left fresh tire tracks. Zeno was heading southeast from Mhamid, into the desert.
  
  
  During the second hour or so, she caught a glimpse of a van with a huge cloud of dust rising behind it. Then the van lost that look again for more than half an hour, but suddenly it found him sitting in the middle of a wide, parched area of sand and brush, openly next to a head-high ledge of rock. One tire was empty. It was stopped by a Land Hover, a research problem-solving engine, and climbed out around the car. Her eyes flickered to the wagon, wondering where Zeno might be. Holding Wilhelmina, her, walked over to the van and looked inside. Zeno was nowhere to be seen. The keys were still in the ignition. He looked at the ground around the van and saw tracks leading straight ahead in the direction he was going. Zeno had to be very desperate to start walking around this country. She leaned back into the van to remove the keys around the ignition. As he bent down, he heard a sound behind him and felt a blow on the back of his head and neck. Pain exploded in my heads, and then, as it hit the ground, a black coolness swept over me.
  
  
  The sun was shining sharply overhead when my eyelids opened slightly. For a minute of it, I had no idea where I was. Then he looked up with blurry eyes and slowly remembered. He closed his eyes against the glare, turned his head slightly, and felt an excruciating pain at the base of his skull.
  
  
  I lay there with my eyes closed and tried to think. Zeno ambushed me perfectly. He probably thought the blow had killed me. Otherwise, he would have taken my gun and shot me.
  
  
  He opened his eyes again, and the glow of the white-hot orb was painful. There was no land rover for estestvenno. She sat up and grunted loudly as pain shot through my head and neck. The hammer was pounding on my skull. He painfully got to his knees and tried to stand up, but he fell on the side of the van and almost fell again. I've only seen her twice.
  
  
  He hobbled to the back of the van and looked inside. Despite my poor eyesight. I saw Zeno take the keys. The hood of the car was up. He clumsily walked over to it, looked in, and found that the distributor wires were missing. Zeno didn't do anything about it for me, because he thought I was dead. He just didn't want the natives to stumble upon the scene and drive the van to Mhamid, where it would be connected to the lab.
  
  
  He leaned heavily on the fender of the car. For a moment, nausea rose in my stomach and I felt dizzy. I waited for her, panting, hoping it would pass. Those damned tracks leading out of the van. Zeno was smart. He went in a special circle, returned to the ledge of rock and waited for me there with an iron or jack. He was stupid.
  
  
  The dizziness subsided. Her, looked in the direction Zeno had come from, and wondered if I would ever be able to find my way back to the dirt road,
  
  
  even if he found the strength to go this far. But it was worth a try. I couldn't stay here.
  
  
  He got out around the back of the van and walked on. Most of all, I wanted to lie down in the shade, rest, and let the pain in my head and neck subside. It would be even better to spend a week in a hospital bed with a beautiful nurse. Maybe Gabriel.
  
  
  I pushed those thoughts around my head and walked unevenly, pain shooting through me with every step. Sweat dripped from my forehead into my eyes, and my mouth tasted dry and wadded. I wonder how far it is to the road? He tried to reconstruct how much time had passed while he was driving to this remote place, then Zeno, but couldn't really focus his thoughts on anything else.
  
  
  Suddenly the dizziness returned, and blackness filled the edges of my vision. My head and chest hit hard, and I knew I'd fallen. Her groaned in pain and lay there, not trying to get up for even a second. On the ground, there were many better legs than on their feet. I could feel the sun on the back of my neck like a brook iron, and I could smell the potty from my exhausted body. And I felt sorry for myself. I felt very sorry for myself, and he told himself that I was not able to continue, that I deserved to rest here.
  
  
  But another part of me pushed. "Get up, Carter, tailor damn you! Get up and move, or you'll die here."
  
  
  Hers, knew the voice was right. I listened to it, and I knew it was true. If she couldn't get up now, she wouldn't have gotten up at all. This sun at one o'clock will make my brain boil.
  
  
  Somehow, he got to his feet again. He looked down at the ground in the direction of the wheels of the car he was following. There was nothing there. I squinted my eyes and tried to focus, but I couldn't. He moved forward a few yards, then turned slowly. Blurred vision or not, there were no car tracks near me. Ih lost it.
  
  
  He looked up at the sun, and it was like looking through the open door of a blacksmith's furnace. It was in a different direction compared to when she started walking. Or was it? I couldn't think. He closed his eyes and squinted. He should have remembered her. When I started walking, the sun was on my right. Yes, he was sure of it.
  
  
  He moved forward again. He wiped the sweat from his eyes, but it made them burn even more. I had more heads on the inside. He ran his leathery tongue over my parched lips and realized that the desert sun had already dehydrated me more than I liked to think. He saw something moving on the ground and stopped, almost falling again. It was a shadow. I looked up and saw a vulture high above me, circling and circling noiselessly.
  
  
  Hers, grunted, and kept moving. He squinted as he drove across the sandy ground, hoping to see the tire tracks again. I tried to keep the sun to my right for a while, but then I skidded. I thought about Damon Zeno and how she let emu have me. The Omega Mutation had destroyed her, but since Zeno was still at large, he could start over somewhere else. That's why David Hawke said to kill him if he didn't come back as my prisoner.
  
  
  My tongue was getting thick, like I had a wool blanket in my mouth. The sweating wasn't so bad because I was dry inside. Dust caked on my clothes, on top of the dampness, on my face, in my eyes and ears. It stopped my nostrils. And my legs became very elastic. Her mind went back to all those rows of cultures meant for Beijing. And here he was in a terrible ward, walking down the aisle between rows of stricken faces.
  
  
  My side hit the ground again and made me turn around. Her projectile is forward on its feet, but in a daze. Now its down again. For the first time, I felt the back of her head, where Zeno had hit me, and the dried blood had dried there. I looked back and saw that I was on solid ground over salty clay that seemed to stretch endlessly in all directions. It was a bad place. Here, in a moment of illness, a person would be fried like an egg in a frying pan. The entire area was dried to the bone, and the clay was covered with cracks an inch wide. There was no vegetation on the horizon. I had a fleeting memory of seeing the end of this statistic before, but then the memory was gone. Another shadow passed overhead, and he looked up at the serene hell that was the sky, and saw that there were now two vultures in it.
  
  
  He tried to get to his feet, but this time he couldn't get over his knees. That and the vultures really scared me. Her father was on his knees, panting, trying to figure out which way the road might go. The hard fact was that I could wander around here all day, moving in circles like a bug on a string, and end up where I started. If only he could restore his clear vision, it might help.
  
  
  Hers began to move across the hot clay on all fours, the clay scorching my hands as hers moved. Cracks in the clay created an intricate pattern on the surface of the apartments, and at the end of the cracks cut my hands and knees.
  
  
  After a while, the dizziness returned, and the landscape swirled around me in a dizzying circle. He suddenly saw a flash of bright sky where the entire hotel area should have been, and felt the familiar shock of hitting the hard clay, this time on his back.
  
  
  Four vultures. He swallowed, looked around, and counted again. Yes, four, ih wings whisper in the still hot air above. A small shiver passed through me, and slowly understanding came. Hers was stationary for ih purposes, and the vultures discovered it. They, not the sun, were the most immediate threat. He collapsed on his back, too weak to even lift himself up a little. Concussion and interest took their toll.
  
  
  She was seen by vultures in East Africa. They could tear a gazelle to pieces in fifteen minutes and clean the bones in another fifteen, so all that was left was a dark spot on the ground. Large birds were not afraid of a live animal, even a person, if this animal was disabled. And they had lousy table manners. They had no qualms about starting their gruesome meal before the animal died. If he couldn't resist, he was ready to collect. There were stories of vultures from white hunters and African trackers that I would rather not remember. I've heard that it's best to lie on your face after you're immobilized, but even then you were vulnerable because they attacked your kidneys, which was more painful than your eyes.
  
  
  Her weakly shouted at them. "Go away!"
  
  
  They didn't seem to hear. When the sound of my voice faded, the desert seemed even quieter. The silence hummed in my ears, echoing itself. He let his head fall to the hard clay, and the double vision returned. She moaned loudly. It was only the middle of the day, with several hours of scorching heat ahead before dusk set in. I felt like I was going to collapse long before that. And then the birds will catch me. Very fast.
  
  
  He propped himself up on one elbow again. Maybe its shell is pointing in the wrong direction. Perhaps it increased the distance between itself and the road, losing all hope of salvation from the passing mimmo traveler. Perhaps every time he stood up and moved, he was getting closer to death.
  
  
  No, he couldn't think that way. It was too dangerous. I had to believe I was heading for the road. Otherwise, I wouldn't have had the courage, the will, to move at all.
  
  
  I struggled to my knees again, my target feeling twice as big. He gritted his teeth and moved forward across the clay. Hers wouldn't give up. I briefly wondered if Zeno knew I wasn't dead when he left me, but decided to let the desert kill. That would be typical of him. But to hell with Damon Zeno. Her no longer cared about nen. I didn't care about Omega Mutations anymore. Her hotel is only to survive this day, to live.
  
  
  Her footsteps dragged. Hers had no idea where hers was going. But it was important to keep moving, keep trying. Her stumble, the hard clay searing and cutting me as her shell, and he thought of Gabrielle. He thought of her in a dark, cool hotel room in Mhamida, lying on a big bed, naked. And then her, was in the room with her and went to the bed. Her arms wrapped around me, pulling me close, and her flesh was cool and soft and smelled like jasmine.
  
  
  He soon discovered that he had lost consciousness again. He was lying on his back in the hot sun. Six vultures were circling me. He licked her dry, chapped lips and stood up. But I didn't have the strength to move. Odin's lowland Vultures took off and positioned themselves just a few yards away, taking a goose-step on stiff legs at the end of the landing. Then another bird flew down.
  
  
  Her weakly shouted at them, my folding dollar pounding in my chest. The two birds made a couple of leaps, and with a dry, heavy rustle of feathers, they took off again and joined their companions in the air.
  
  
  His bench press is on his back. Her lungs were wheezing, and her pulse was racing. I've run out of energy. He had to admit to himself that he had lost. Damon Zeno caught me. The sun and birds will end before another hour passes. I had no idea where I was, and I couldn't see clearly even for a few yards. She suddenly thought of Wilhelmina for the first time and felt her familiar form in the holster next to me. The ego wasn't there. I had this when Zeno annoyed me. He must have taken this. Even Hugo wasn't there. I didn't have a weapon against the birds.
  
  
  The vultures swam lower and lower, hovering and gliding, their bright, darting eyes eager and hungry. Her life rolled over and crawled. With bloody hands, he crawled like a dragon, expending the last ounce of energy.
  
  
  She regained consciousness due to a sharp tearing painfully explicit under her left eye. He lost consciousness again and was lying on his back. My eyes flew open in horror, my hand automatically raised to defend myself.
  
  
  I had two large vultures on my chest. Long skinny necks, obscene shifty eyes,
  
  
  Sharp sharp beaks filled my field of vision, and the ih smell filled my nostrils. One vulture battered and tore at the leather on my holster belt, and the other landed the first punch in my eyes. The second bird was about to make another attempt when my hand went up. He shouted loudly and grabbed the ugly neck.
  
  
  The big bird screamed hoarsely and tried to leave. Hers clung to the snake's neck, while another vulture flapped its broad wings, scratching at my chest as it pushed off. The one that held it in its hands was frantically struggling to free itself, beating its wings against my face, chest, and arms, and digging its claws into me.
  
  
  But he wouldn't let go of that skinny neck. I imagined that this hideous thing belonged to Zeno, and despite all the shaking and screaming, I managed to slowly raise my other hand and put it on my neck, while the sharp beak kept poking my hand into my arm and spilling blood. Then he rolled onto his side, pinned the bird to the ground, and with a desperate surge of strength bent its long neck in half. Something inside clicked, and he released her. The bird beat its wings on the clay for a few more moments as its pungent smell filled my nostrils, and then it froze.
  
  
  He was ill from exhaustion. For a moment, I thought I might throw up. But gradually the nausea subsided. He looked around and saw the others. They were all on the ground now, some moving in a tight circle around me, moving with tight joints, twitching their necks, and some just standing impatiently and watching.
  
  
  He lay exhausted. The steam around them came up to lick. Her left eye felt numb, and there was a shallow wound. My hand came away covered in blood. But the vulture missed.
  
  
  He looked at the dead bird with a little satisfaction. They could have had their awful round-trip feast, but I didn't make ih work for edu.
  
  
  The other birds were now approaching slowly, their grotesque heads bobbing with rapid, strange movements. They were excited by the smell of blood and very impatient.
  
  
  I felt a sharp stab in my right leg, and I looked at the bird standing next to me. The others were also nearby, examining the body for signs of life. Only one was stolen by the ego of a dead comrade. He was the meat they were waiting for. I swung it weakly at a bird that was pecking at me, sending it flying a couple of feet.
  
  
  Well, it wouldn't be so bad after the first shock, it would hurt. People died even more horribly at the hands of L5 and the KGB. He could handle it, too. But I wouldn't let them have my face. Not the first, anyway. Her body rolled heavily onto her chest and rested her face on her hand.
  
  
  He lay still, thinking about Zeno and his failure, and what that failure would mean. It turned out that I wouldn't be around to see the results. Hers, he could hear the rustle of feet and feathers growing louder as they approached.
  
  
  The thirteenth chapter.
  
  
  There was a strong flutter of wings and another sound. It was a familiar sound - a car engine. And then there was the voice,
  
  
  "Nick! Mon Dieu, Nick! "
  
  
  He removed his hand from his face, and my eyes opened. The sun was setting in the sky, and it wasn't as bright now. He shifted his arm again and rolled onto his side. Then I saw Gabrielle leaning over me, concern and relief in her eyes.
  
  
  "Oh, Nick! I thought you were dead."
  
  
  She was tugging at the tattered fabric of my shirt. "Thank God I found you in time."
  
  
  "How...?" It was hard to speak. I couldn't control my language.
  
  
  She helped me to my feet and leaned my head against her. Then she unscrewed the top of the canteen, and he could almost smell the water when it came off. The wonderful wet liquid washed down my throat, gurgling into my insides, moving to vital places, replenishing my energy and my fibers.
  
  
  "You're only fifty yards from the road," she said. She pointed to Citrus. "Didn't you know?"
  
  
  Its really felt like the energy was returning with the water. Her tongue moved, and now everything will work. "No, I didn't know." I took another sip, then Gabrielle touched my parched face with a damp cloth. "But what are you doing here? You should be in Mhamida."
  
  
  "Someone came to town with the news of the fire. I couldn't just sit in a hotel and think you might have a problem. He was on his way to the lab when he saw two sets of car tracks leading down this road towards Tagunite, the next town from here. Since the lab was razed to the ground, his guess was that you were either caught in a fire or driving one at a time around these tracks. I would have preferred to believe the latter, so I followed the trail. They turned off the frank road ahead, but I was the first one to see the vultures. And they brought me to you."
  
  
  It slowly sat down, and the throbbing in my head subsided somewhat. Her face twisted from being hurt around several springs.
  
  
  "Are you all right, Nick?"
  
  
  "I think so," I said. He noticed for the first time that the double vision was gone. He tried to get up and fell on top of Gabrielle.
  
  
  "Come on, I'll help you get to your car," she said.
  
  
  I found it hard to believe that I was still alive
  
  
  . Her Gabriel let me lead him to the car, and he slumped heavily into the front seat.
  
  
  We rode slowly down the road, passing the place where Zeno had entered the desert, and her behind him. Then, a few hundred yards from that point, he saw footprints. The Land Rover pulls back onto the dirt road. Turning away from Mhamid again, toward the desert and Tagunita.
  
  
  "I thought so," I said. "Okay, we're heading to Tagunite."
  
  
  "Are you quite sure?" she looked worried.
  
  
  I looked at her and grinned, feeling my chapped lips trying to bend. "Zeno took my favorite toys," I said. "I think it's the right thing to do if I force ego to return ih."
  
  
  She smiled at the rheumatism. "Whatever you say, Nick."
  
  
  We arrived in Tagunite just after dark. It was like Mhamid again, but somehow it looked even more dusty and dry. As soon as we entered the city, I sensed that either Zeno was there or had been there recently. No physical evidence, just intuition, which he'd learned to pay attention to in other cases. We came to a small square just outside the entrance to the city, and a gas pump, painted red, was parked near what looked like a hotel. It was one of those Spanish pumps where you put a coin and get your gas, but this one was redesigned to eliminate the automatic exchange of coins and fuel.
  
  
  "Wait a minute," Gabriel told her. "I want to ask some questions here."
  
  
  She stopped the car, and in a flash of illness, Arab got out, a young, thin guy in a desert kaffiyah on the street. He smiled broadly, and we asked ego to fill up the Citrusen tank. While he was doing this, he went out through the cars and went to talk to him.
  
  
  "Did you service a Land Rover today?" he asked in Arabic.
  
  
  "Land Rover?" he said, squinting at me as he pumped on the gas. "There was a car here in the desert an hour or more ago, sir. It had an open top ."
  
  
  "Was there a man driving, a white-haired man, a tall man?"
  
  
  "Well, yes," said arab, studying my face.
  
  
  "Did he talk to you?"
  
  
  Arab looked at me, and a small grin appeared on his face. "I think I remembered something about her..."
  
  
  He took a wad of dirhams out of his pocket and handed them to Em. Ego's smile widened. "It concerns me now, sir. He mentioned that he should have a good rest today.
  
  
  "Did he say where?"
  
  
  "He didn't get hurt."
  
  
  Her ego examined his face and decided that he was telling the truth. Emu paid for it for gas. "Thank you."
  
  
  Back at Citrõen, her Gabriel told her what he had learned.
  
  
  "If Zeno is here now, he will be here tomorrow morning," she said. "If you find ego tonight, Nick, he'll probably kill you. You look awful." You're in no shape to go after him.
  
  
  "Maybe you're right," I said. "Okay, get a hotel room. But I want you to wake me up at dawn tomorrow.
  
  
  "Excellent. But before them ferret you will rest "
  
  
  The hotel room was cleaner than Mhamid's, and the bed was slightly softer. Gabriel was sleeping with me, but I didn't even notice her as she crawled up next to me on a short, thin nightgown. Her fell asleep almost immediately after the bench press on the bed.
  
  
  At midnight, he sat up abruptly, shouting obscenities at the vultures and waving them around. For a moment, it was all very what is p/. He could even feel the hot sand under his thighs and smell the birds.
  
  
  Gabrielle spoke sharply to me. "Nick!"
  
  
  Its then really woke up. "Apologize," I muttered. I leaned against the headboard of the bed and realized that I felt a hundred percent better. The pain is gone, and I have strength.
  
  
  "It's okay," Gabrielle said softly as she lit a cigarette. He inhaled it, and the red coal glowed in the room. "Are you cold?" She moved her body toward me. It was soft and warm, and I couldn't help but respond.
  
  
  "Open now," her father said.
  
  
  She noticed my reaction to her body. "I'd better stay on my side," she said. She started to back away.
  
  
  My hand stopped her. "It's all right."
  
  
  "But Nick, you need to rest."
  
  
  "I won't sleep for a while anyway."
  
  
  She snuggled up to me again. "Excellent. But just relax and let me do my business."
  
  
  She smiled when she kissed me on the lips, all the while cajoling me. She took care of me, and I loved it. Soon after, she kissed me again, and there was real fire in it, and she knew the time was right.
  
  
  Gabrielle loved me dearly, and it was unforgettable. From that moment on, my strength quickly returned. When she later fell asleep next to me, hers drifted off quickly and woke up at dawn feeling refreshed and refreshed.
  
  
  I was still in pain when I moved her. But the wound at the base of my skull was healing, the wound under my left eye had formed a small, thin crust, and Gabrielle had patched up the cuts on my back. She also changed the bandage on my side, where General Jenine had inflicted the wound. While we were getting dressed, coffee was sent to our room, and after I got drunk, I felt like a different person from the one who had stumbled upon this Citrus the day before.
  
  
  That morning, back in the car, as the sun was just rising over the flat white roofs of the village, we set off, passing two other hotels in the city.
  
  
  They wanted a land Rover. Of course, if Zeno really wanted to hide, there were probably private houses where he could rent a room. But he had no reason to think I was still pursuing an ego. Her, thought he'd be in one of the hotels around. And hers, too, because I thought he wouldn't be out until dawn.
  
  
  We scoured the parking lot around the first small hotel, but there was no Land Rover. He could have changed the car, too, but then again, that didn't make much sense.
  
  
  As we approached the second hotel, Gabrielle and I spotted the Land Rover at the same time. It was parked in front of the entrance across the cobbled street, and a tall man was leaning against it through the topless door.
  
  
  "It's Zeno," Gabriel told her. "Stop the car!"
  
  
  She was following orders. "Nick, watch out. You don't even have a gun.
  
  
  Its carefully climbed out by Citrõen. Zeno was still arranging something on the car seat. With any luck, I might be able to approach him from behind. He hasn't noticed our car yet.
  
  
  "Don't turn off the engine," Gabriel said softly to her. "Just sit here. Quietly. And stay away."
  
  
  "Great."
  
  
  I had taken three steps toward the land Rover when Zeno suddenly looked up and saw me. He didn't recognize me at first, but then he looked again. He didn't seem to believe his eyes.
  
  
  He had despised Damon Zeno before he met the man, but after those terrible hours in the desert of hers, he had come to hate him with an overwhelming hatred. I knew that my feelings were dangerous, because emotions almost always interfere with efficiency. But I couldn't help it.
  
  
  "It's a thread, Zeno," emu told her.
  
  
  But he didn't think so. He pulled the Wilhelmina out of his hip pocket, aimed it at me, and fired the cartridge. Her crouch and gawk flew over my head and ricocheted off the paving stones behind me. He ran to the Fiat parked nearby, and the luger roared again, making dents in the roof of the small car. Then Zeno was in the Land Rover, starting the engine.
  
  
  I followed him, but stopped in mid-stride as the car rolled forward and screeched away down the street toward the edge of town. He turned quickly and nodded toward Gabrielle and the Citroen. She cut the gears and the car sped forward, stopping beside me.
  
  
  Gabrielle made room for me and I got behind the wheel. By this time, several Arabs had appeared on the quiet street, excitedly discussing the gunshots. Nu ignored her and turned on the Citroen, the wheels spinning as we started driving.
  
  
  The Land Rover was still visible about three blocks away. He drove all the way down the long street, tires screeching and tires burning on the cobblestones. At the end of the street, Zeno turned a straight corner and skidded as he went. Hers was riding a Citrõen, making signposts on two wheels.
  
  
  Zeno drove around the city on a paved road. A couple of pedestrians stopped early in the morning to watch us pass mimmo, and I found myself hoping that the local police wouldn't be around at this hour. Just a few minutes later we left the village. the highway ended and we were driving on a dirt road, heading out into the desert again. The rising sun was almost open in front of us, looking into our eyes through the windshield.
  
  
  We must have been driving twenty miles. The Citroen came within a short distance, but was unable to overtake the other car. The road almost completely disappeared, becoming a rutted and sand-filled rut that made us bang our heads against the Citrusen ceiling as we kept up with the Land Rover. Then, just like last time, Zeno completely went off the track, trying to get away from us. It was rolled after him by Citrõen through the grass and hard clay, and now Zeno had a clear advantage. A Land Rover with a solid frame and all-wheel drive was created for such trips, and the Citroen is a road car. In five minutes we had lost sight of Zeno, although the dust allowed us to keep in the right direction.
  
  
  When he was sure he was going to lose us completely, we went around a ledge around a jutting rock, and there was a Land Rover sitting at an awkward angle, stuck in a sand embankment. From the looks of it, Zeno's abilities didn't match the machine's. Zeno was just getting out when we stopped abruptly, not more than twenty yards away.
  
  
  "Stay in the car and don't move," Gabriel told her.
  
  
  "Nick, you don't stand a chance without a gun," she warned.
  
  
  "He doesn't know what we don't have."
  
  
  He reached out and touched her arm. Then I got it on Citrõen.
  
  
  Zeno ducked through the open door of the land Rover, holding the luger by the edge, and aimed in my direction. If he knew for sure that I was unarmed, he might make things difficult for us. He could have returned to us with impunity and forced us to seek shelter. But he didn't know.
  
  
  "You're not bringing me back alive!" shouted Zeno, crouching behind the car door. I didn't need him to say that.
  
  
  The corkscrew was how to get to him, because he had Wilhelmina. It was amazing how big and dangerous the gun looked from both ends of the barrel. Her, glanced at the ground around the cars. Next to both cars, there were a few rocks on the right, and a few more on the left. They would provide some sort of cover if he could get to them, and they would confuse Zeno if he didn't know what kind of walls I was hiding behind around them.
  
  
  Zeno himself was distracted before his ego could fool him. He decided it wasn't safe outside the door of the Land Rover, so he turned and crouched down to the front of the car. As soon as ego, her, saw her, he rushed to the rocks on the right and dived for them.
  
  
  When her, went to the edge to look around, his saw that Zeno had lost sight of me and had no idea where her was. Ego's eyes were fixed on Citrõen and the rocks on either side of the cars. A hysterical look crossed his face, and I saw that he had a better grip on the luger's handle, which was slick from the jar.
  
  
  Slowly, I'm on all fours, crawling along the perimeter of the rocks, careful not to move the gravel under my ballet slippers. I wasn't there for us. Inch by inch, foot by foot she skirted the rocks and found herself outright over the Land Rover.
  
  
  Zeno's loud, strained voice carried to the end of the cliff. "I'll kill you."
  
  
  Hers lay soundlessly on the rocks above him. After a moment, it slowly crawled along the ridge of rocks, still out of sight. It was over the front of the land Rover, and about ten feet to the right of it. He slowly got up and stole a glance. I was lucky. Zeno was looking the other way.
  
  
  A fist-sized rock found her. Taking ego in hand, he looked at Zeno once more. He still turned away from me. He pulled away and hurled the rock in a high, looping arc over Ego's head to the other side of the land rover, landing with a crash. Zeno spun around and fired at the luger at that sound, and it leapt onto the emu's back.
  
  
  His jump wasn't calculated well enough. Her ego slammed into his shoulders and back, sending the Luger flying. He landed hard on his left foot and twisted his ankle. We hit the ground together, groaning as we fell. We both struggled to our feet, and he fell on one of every tribe. I sprained her ankle. He glanced at the Luger; the working stream of the barrel was covered with sand. Until the ego is purified, it cannot be used. Zeno noticed it, too, and didn't even try to grab the gun. Instead, a strained smile appeared on his face when he saw my leg.
  
  
  "Isn't that a shame?" he hissed.
  
  
  He struggled to his feet, preferring his ankle. It sent a sharp pain through my leg. Along with the exhaustion from the previous day's trials, this made Zeno, despite his age, a formidable opponent in hand-to-hand combat.
  
  
  But her hated the man; her ignored the ankle and lunged at Zeno, punching ego in the chest. We went down together again. However, I realized that it was advantageous for me to keep the ego off the leg, because my maneuverability in an upright position was zero. We rolled in the sand again and again until her ego punched him in the face. He grabbed me wildly by the throat, clawing, trying to hold me down, trying to choke me. We were right next to the Land Rover. Zeno's hands closed around my throat. Her ego hit him in the face with another punch, and the bone snapped as he fell against the car.
  
  
  Zeno's face was bleeding, but he was still struggling. He was on his feet, grabbing at the shovel attached to the back of the land Rover, one of the small, short-handled ones that had been used to dig the wheels around the sand. Now he was holding the ego in his hand and lifting it to bring it down on my head.
  
  
  I tried to get up, but my ankle stopped me. Now I had to worry about the damn shovel. It landed fiercely on my face, the blade lowered. Hers rolled away from him, a quick movement, and she sank into the sand next to my head.
  
  
  Zeno, a dark-skinned man with rope-like veins in his neck, freed the blade of the shovel for another blow. He raised the weapon above his head. He kicked her violently with his right foot and caught on Zeno's leg, knocking the ego out of the counterweights. He fell to the sand, but didn't lose the shovel. He clumsily got to his feet and started toward Zeno, but Zeno got up too, and he still had the shovel. He waved it wildly, this time in a horizontal arc at my head. Ye Yi stepped back to avoid it and felt his ankle. He awkwardly walked over to Zeno, grabbed him before he could regain his balance, and threw ego over my hip to the ground. This time, he lost both the shovel and some of his strength. It was good, because I was tired very quickly, and my ankle was killing me.
  
  
  He swung his fist at me and missed, and I slapped his ego openly in the face. He staggered back and hit the land Rover hard, his face contorted with pain and covered in blood. Her hobbled after him, caught an ego there and hit his ego in life. Zeno doubled over and was hit in the head by a knee.
  
  
  He grunted loudly and fell into the front seat of the land rover.
  
  
  As her father moved toward him, Zeno tried to grab the edge of the seat, and I saw that he was reaching for something in the car. When he turned to me with the point in his hand, he saw that I was in trouble. He found my other weapon, Hugo's stiletto. He poked his ego at me as he tried to get to his feet, his body filling the open car door.
  
  
  I couldn't let him get to me. Not because of what he's already put me through. Before he could get out a day later, her rushed at nah. He fell. Ego goal was stuck between the edge of the door and the frame when it slammed shut. He heard his skull clearly split open from the impact, and then Zeno's eyes widened as a muffled sound escaped his lips. The door swung open and Zeno sat down on the ground next to the car, his eyes still open, a thin red trickle running down his ego jaw from his hairline. He was dead.
  
  
  He crashed into the Land Rover next to him, knocking Alenka off his ankle. I heard shaggy approaching me, and then Gabrielle's startled voice.
  
  
  "Nick, you...:
  
  
  She stopped beside me and looked at Zeno. Then she looked down at my ankle.
  
  
  "I'm fine," I said heavily.
  
  
  Gabrielle kissed me on the cheek, then handed me Wilhelmina and Hugo. We moved back to Citrõen, her leaning here on my shoulder.
  
  
  "It's becoming a habit," I said.
  
  
  "I love helping you, Nick."
  
  
  He looked into her green eyes. "Like last night?"
  
  
  She actually blushed. “yeah. Just like last night.
  
  
  He chuckled as we got back to the car. I could imagine the look on Hawke's face if he could see the sweet girl who was always so concerned about my well-being. "I do not know how you do it," he would say with a crooked face.
  
  
  We pulled up to the car. "How long does it take to get back to Tangier?" asked Gabriel.
  
  
  She shrugged her shoulders. "We could be there tomorrow."
  
  
  "In the dell itself?" I said, raising my eyebrows. "In that broken old box?"
  
  
  She looked at the dusty Citrusen. "Nick, this is practically a new car."
  
  
  "But tomorrow we'll get to Tangier in a new car," I said. "And then his should contact his superiors immediately, and they might want her to leave on the next plane. On the other hand, if this car is old and decrepit, it will take us two or maybe three nights on the road to get to Tangier."
  
  
  The bewilderment on her face faded, and a smile of selfishness changed. "I see the validity of your judgment," she said slowly. "He's been through a lot lately, and it would be dangerous to use ego recklessly."
  
  
  Her gently patted her ass. Then she was hobbled to the door and got into the car, and Gabriel got in the driver's seat.
  
  
  "Tangier, then, driver," I said. "But please. Not too fast.
  
  
  "Just like you say, Nick." She smiled.
  
  
  Taking one last look at the motionless figure sprawled next to the land Rover, he took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Then he leaned back in the padded seat, closed his eyes, and looked forward to returning to Tangier.
  
  
  I expected it to be memorable.
  
  
  Thread.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Carter Nick
  
  
  Codename: Werewolf
  
  
  
  
  
  Nick Carter
  
  
  
  
  Codename: Werewolf.
  
  
  translated by Lev Shklovsky
  
  
  dedicated to the memory of his son Anton.
  
  
  
  
  The first chapter
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The bulls ran ahead of us across the rolling Andalusian landscape. The sun was warm and gave my skin a beautiful glow. It was my holiday. Nick Carter and AH, were as far out of my thoughts as Washington. Here her name was Jack Finley, a representative of a gun supplier. And Jack Finley had a great time.
  
  
  Beside me rode the Countess Marie de Ronda on her white Arabian stallion. When I met her on the beach of Ibiza, I didn't know anything about her title. For me, at that time, she was nothing less than the most attractive animal-a female from the Mediterranean Sea. Her white bikini barely concealed her voluptuous olive body. Nah had dark Spanish eyes, long black hair, and a bright, disarming smile.
  
  
  The next morning, after discovering the immense passion behind that smile on a passionate night of love, the hotel manager gave us the only transmission on the phone, and I heard him refer to her as the Countess.
  
  
  There was no doubt about it: she's a countess. She changed out of her bikini for shiny rows of Moroccan leather, her hair was pulled back under a wide-brimmed Seville hat, and her disarming smile was replaced with a regal look.
  
  
  By the time she was 20, she owned the largest and most famous fighting bull ranch in Spain.
  
  
  This was the time when two-year-old bulls were first introduced to the arena's atmosphere. The bulls that pass the challenge will stay on the ranch for another two years, until they are fully grown monsters, ripe for fighting. Unlucky bulls were unceremoniously sent to the slaughterhouse.
  
  
  "Do you really like bullfighting?" asked Mary. "I don't want you to not survive this vacation.
  
  
  Her slightly ironic tone didn't miss, and her mocking look made me respond.
  
  
  "It's not my hobby to watch other people play sports," I retorted. "I thought so," she said. 'Let's go. She was spurred on by the horse, and we switched from a short canter to a fast trot to shorten the bulls ' stride.
  
  
  There were twelve of us, all on horseback. There were three matadors around Madrid, two picadors with their long pointed spears, potential buyers, and caballeros. Let's go around in circles.
  
  
  The young steers laughed, growled, and wagged their horns. They were only two years old, but each weighed about eight hundred pounds and had razor-sharp horns six inches long.
  
  
  As we circled, the herd stopped on a hill. This was IH territory, and for the first time in their lives, they were attacked on an IH domain. Ih rolled his eyes in hatred and amazement as the hooves of our horses held ih captive in a ring of dust clouds.
  
  
  Maria stood in her stirrups and shouted to one of them through her men, " Isolate the ego back there, let's check first.
  
  
  The rider shot out of the ring ten feet from the bull. The animal immediately attacked.
  
  
  This person was an expert. The razor-sharp horns dug into the horse's flanks, but the rider kept out of reach, harassing and dragging the bull further and further away from the herd, until the animal and rider were on a level plank facing each other. yards from the herd.
  
  
  "It is said that long ago sailors from Crete brought fighting bulls to Spain." Mary said. Her face lit up with the excitement of a caballero ballet with a bull. "But to win well, you need a Spaniard."
  
  
  The rider moved away, and one of the Picadors came up to the bull. He aimed his spear at the beast's head and challenged the emu, " Toro! Hey, Toro! "If he growls or scratches the ground, it's a bad sign," Maria pointed out. "Brave bulls don't bluff." It wasn't a bluff. He headed openly for the picador, his horns pointed at the horse's life. But in a flash, the Picador leaned forward and thrust the spear between his shoulder blades. However, the beast seemed to completely ignore the pain and started attacking again.
  
  
  'That's enough! Mary shouted. "Enough, we have Toro!
  
  
  The riders cheered. The Picador yanked his spear free across the flesh and broke into a gallop. Odin po matadors approached the enraged bull, armed only with a red cloth.
  
  
  "To see if the bull is attacking from the front or from the side, everything is recorded," Maria explained. And indeed, hers, I saw one of the other people writing down every detail in a notebook.
  
  
  The matador sidled up to the bull. He was a big man. but the ego's eyes were on a par with the bull's. Maria told me earlier that Andalusia breeds the biggest bulls.
  
  
  The matador pushed back the red cloth. The bull lowered its horns threateningly and suddenly charged in a straight line. Ego blood drenched the shirt of the matador, who had mastered continuous attacks and handled them expertly, spinning the beast in wider circles.
  
  
  "Look, Jack." he plays carefully so that the bull doesn't turn too fast, otherwise he might injure his testicles, " Maria explained. "It's really toro!" the matadora exclaimed at the bull's final charge.
  
  
  Now a different bull was chosen. This one was even bigger than the first one, but when it was hit by Picador's spear, it growled and walked away. "Bad sign," one customer commented.
  
  
  Another matador approached the bull. The animal had hooves and swung its horns. The matador approached the beast at a distance of half a meter and tried to provoke the attack. Bull looked from the cloth to the man. it was as if he couldn't decide where to direct his attack.
  
  
  'Be careful. Jaime. The cowardly bull is the worst." One of the matadors shouted. However, pride is a trait that the Spaniard possesses in abundance, and the matador has come even closer to licking his deadly horns.
  
  
  "In Madrid, they once put a bull and a tiger in the ring," Maria said. "When it was over, they had to bury four people and a tiger."
  
  
  Nothing moves faster than a bull over a short distance, and that distance was only a few inches when the bull attacked. Her sam was standing about fifteen meters away from me, and he could hear his shirt tearing. The front half fell over the matador's belt, showing a purple stripe running through the ego ribs. The red cloth fell, and the man staggered back, completely taken aback. Only the cowardice of the bull saved the ego. This gave me time to maneuver my horse between him and the bull and drag the guy away by the arm. When I let him go, he was out of danger and slapped me on the back with a laugh.
  
  
  "You're a good rider for an American,"he said, wiping blood from his rta.
  
  
  "Buey, buey," shouted the man who was taking notes. "This is for the butcher!"
  
  
  Maria rode up to me: "Your turn, Don Juan. "If you're brave enough to stand still or run," she shouted to me, throwing a red cloth over the tip of my saddle.
  
  
  "Personally, I feel best in a horizontal position."
  
  
  "Tell that to the bull."
  
  
  A black piece of dynamite on his feet sped across the lawn. Wild curly hair fluttered between the crooked horns. The rider who had lured ego around the herd seemed happy to escape.
  
  
  "We saved this especially for you," one of the caballeros shouted at me.
  
  
  "Is this a prank? I asked her, Maria, " or are they trying to make me look bad?"
  
  
  "They know you're sleeping with the Countess." Maria replied in a flat tone. "They're curious as to why she took you. You can still go back if you want. No one can expect a merchant to behave like a bullfighter .
  
  
  The bull attacked Picador's spear. The metal pierced ego's flesh, but he didn't flinch, and with frantic thrusts, he drove the men and horses away, one step at a time. Her slid off her horse and grabbed Holst's arm. "Remember," Maria warned, " you move the canvas, not your feet. When you face these horns, you need to be brave and smart. By standing still and slowly moving the cloth, you will overcome your fear and you will take control of your ego.
  
  
  She had heard such words all too often from the Goshawk, but she had never been related to this monstrous race of beasts that had been bred solely for the purpose of killing for a hundred years. And I definitely never expected such words about the mouth of a girl like Mary.
  
  
  "Tell me one thing, Lady. If your bull runs me down, will you give me a thumbs up?
  
  
  "It depends on where it takes you.
  
  
  Her, went out on the field. The Picador drove off, and the bull glared at me. I didn't feel like doing the classic matador side shaggy, which was unnecessary since the bull was flying openly at me.
  
  
  Then I understood why some experienced matadors sometimes suddenly give up and run away. The entire hotel grounds while rumbling from a heavy attacking colossus. Holst's legs closed around hers and he turned her around. When he lowered his horns, he saw the blood on his back. Holst's jerked it sharply and saw that the horns were pointing almost directly at me. The young monster lunged into my clumsy trap, nearly ripping out the cloth around my arm. Her, returned to the position when he made his attack. This time it was ego who let it pass right through. Of course, he didn't know that this was the most dangerous side. I felt a slap from his shoulders and realized I was bleeding.
  
  
  The strong smell of ego-driven rage seemed to intoxicate all my senses.
  
  
  "That's enough, Jack," Maria heard her shout. But now hers, he was fascinated by this deadly ballet-a man who, with a red rag, dominates and mesmerizes primal power. He stood up again and challenged the bull: "Ha, toro!" The bull also only tasted the thirst for a fight. Hers turned slowly as he followed the curtain, and then, turning abruptly, allowed the emu to break through.
  
  
  "My God, it's a guy!" one of the caballeros shouted.
  
  
  The geometry of this ballet fascinated me. The bull raced in a straight line and then started drawing circles that got narrower and narrower as my turns became smoother and slower. The slower and lickier it is, the more beautiful our ballet is. And all the more dangerous!
  
  
  Then the cloth cloth was torn. Ego held it with both hands, guiding the bull until my shirt was covered in ego's blood. It was just him and her. All the others, the horsemen, Maria, were just a misty retinue. Odin cut the cloth in half around the horns. He was trying to fight what was left of her. At ego's next attack, the tip of the horn slid through my shirt like a razor, knocking me off my feet, next to a passing mimmo bull.
  
  
  Only now did I realize that I was out of luck. The bull was sure. When I tried to get up, he pinned me between his horns. He rolled over ego's back and stood up again, like a drunk. The bull sized me up and prepared for a final attack.
  
  
  'Jack!'
  
  
  Her, I saw Maria's white Arab stallion hurrying. This distraction caused the bull to hesitate. Then he attacked.
  
  
  My hand tightened on Mary's hip; hers, and the bench press pulled up behind nah, flat on the stallion's torso. The bull's horns highlight my boots before its able to climb any further and dodge its attacks. The white side of the stallion facing me was painted red.
  
  
  As soon as we were safe, Maria jumped down from her horse. 'Jaime! New cloth and saber ." Odin around the men brought the requested items. The bull stood alone in the middle of the field, victorious.
  
  
  Mary came over to him. Nah had some experience as a matador, but after a few turns of hers, I realized that she wasn't in a position to give me a demonstration. She would kill him.
  
  
  The bull was tired. The ego horns were pointed downwards, and the ego attacks were losing more and more power. Maria drew her saber to the hilt. The blade was about three feet long and rounded at the end. She brushed the hair out of her eyes and raised the saber above her horns.
  
  
  "Toro, come here." It was an order.
  
  
  The bull came. Ego horns obediently followed the cloth as she lowered it to the ground. Her right hand holding the saber slid into the tired bull's head.
  
  
  The saber quickly found the wound inflicted by Picador.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 2
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  "You have no experience," one of the matadors told me during lunch at Maria de Ronda's house. "No experience, but enough courage and intelligence. You could learn bullfighting."
  
  
  "Not as good as Mary. You forget that she killed him.
  
  
  Maria entered the large living room. She'd changed out of her riding clothes for plain white trousers and a sweater, and now she looked deadly chaste, like a virgin.
  
  
  "But Maria fought the bulls when they could walk," the matador explained.
  
  
  A servant brought fresh Valencian oranges for dessert, and while the brandy was being poured, he asked Maria why she had killed the bull. "Because I was a little mad at him."
  
  
  "Isn't that an expensive joke?"
  
  
  "Dear Jack, I have ih a thousand."
  
  
  "And they weren't the best ee animals," one customer added.
  
  
  "The best ones in the breeding books are marked in a special way," Maria explained.
  
  
  "And at a special price," the customer grumbled.
  
  
  Spanish afternoon, very extensive. It is always followed by a siesta: a civilized custom that, unfortunately, has not yet penetrated New York. Everyone went to their bedrooms. In my case, it was a room the size of a dining room, with tapestries and crossed bears hanging on the walls. but most impressive of all was the huge four-poster bed.
  
  
  He undressed, lit a cigarette, and waited to see what would happen next.
  
  
  Ten minutes later, Maria came in.
  
  
  You're crazy, that's all she said.
  
  
  She was still wearing her slacks and sweater, but when she took off her outer clothing, I saw that there was nothing underneath. Her breasts were incredibly firm, her nipples bright purple and hard. She took off her pants. The light coming through the burgundy curtain bathed her thighs in an olive glow and dissolved into a black triangle.
  
  
  Anyone who fights a bull must be crazy, especially if it's a woman.
  
  
  "Yes."
  
  
  She slipped into the four-poster bed with me. Suddenly I felt her hand between my legs. We kissed, and her hip went up.
  
  
  A voice whispered in her ear. "You're asking for it. Hello there?
  
  
  Her fingers ran through my hair as his entered nah, as smoothly as a saber entered a bull. Maria clung to me as if she was about to die, but I felt that she was only now intensely alive. There was nothing more aristocratic about her. Now she was primitive, feminine, passionate, and intimate. Her lips wanted my tongue, and her thighs held me in a velvety grip. The four-poster bed was raised and lowered. slowly at first, then more and more violently. I hate half the work.
  
  
  Her black hair covered a silk pillow, and her eyes were wet with desire. The bed shook as we exploded together.
  
  
  Some men feel overwhelmed after orgasm. Her never. Scotch, LSD, marijuana, and any medal they would ever give me, nothing around it could compare to that delicious tingle of sweat from the game. I rested Maria's head on my shoulder as her fingers brushed my chest.
  
  
  "You have too many scars for a businessman. "Jack," she said dreamily.
  
  
  "And you have too much sex for a countess. We even look alike.
  
  
  She pressed her lips to my chest and we fell asleep.
  
  
  Half an hour later, it's the only transmission of a knock on the door. It was the one around the servants. "A call for you, Senor Finley."
  
  
  Maria pulled the sheets over her as he put on his clothes and left through the rooms. My anger grew with each step. Only one person would know where she was. He tucked his shirt into his pants and grabbed the phone with his other hand.
  
  
  "I hope I didn't drag you around having an interesting conversation," came a monotonous nasal voice. It was Hawk, of course.
  
  
  "You already wished me a good trip when I left her; you sometimes call to see if you got her safely?
  
  
  "Well, I actually want to talk to you about something else. I know you'll need a vacation after your last job.
  
  
  I usually get a little suspicious when I hear Hawk use the word "vacation." So I started to feel wet.
  
  
  "But something happened."
  
  
  'That's not true.'
  
  
  "Difficulties, N3". Now, there was no longer any cordiality in the ego voice. But especially the fact that he suddenly sent a letter to me indicating my ranks in the organization did not bode well.
  
  
  This is a very delicate matter that I want to entrust only to you. Sorry to bother you, but business is more important than a girl. Be ready to leave in forty minutes."
  
  
  Hawk knew what he was doing. From that moment on, Jack Finley no longer existed. Its the Killmaster stahl again, a change I didn't really like, but it happened right away.
  
  
  I asked her, " What's the case?"
  
  
  "It can get a little complicated, quite explosive. Pure TNT (dynamite).
  
  
  When he returned, Maria was still in the trash. Her long hair covered the pillow, the sheet hugged the curve of her thighs, and I could see from the nipples of her breasts that she was very aroused. Somehow I managed to pack my suitcase. 'You're leaving?'
  
  
  "Not for long, Mary. Small business case ".
  
  
  I went to the bathroom to fasten my shoulder holster under my jacket and the stiletto in my hand under the cuff of my left sleeve.
  
  
  In the hollow of the ankle (this time) I stuck in a compact gas bomb that the special effects department had designed for me. When she came out around the bathroom, she was N3, the top agent of AX,the most secret organization in Washington. But he envied her the gun dealer he'd been a moment ago, when he'd be back in business with Maria.
  
  
  Hawk was efficient. After I kissed the Countess good-bye and went downstairs, the car was waiting for me. We were driving towards the Rhondda, but halfway down the road the driver pulled the car towards the shore. On a rocky plateau with a view of the Mediterranean Sea, there was a helicopter. Her sel, a helicopter took off and moved away from the cliff. Her, I saw fishing boats sailing under us. The pilot was just looking at me now.
  
  
  "I could have sworn you were Henry Kissinger." he told me.
  
  
  I asked her. "Don't you look like him, too?"
  
  
  'Not necessarily. But not many people can borrow an unmarked helicopter from the U.S. Navy, mister.
  
  
  We were flying very low, over white houses and flocks of sheep grazing on the rocky shore. Vacationing villages are just around the corner from the beach. I asked her. "Why should we stay off the Spanish radar? Because that seemed to be the only reason we were flying so low - not because the pilot liked scaring a few sheep or getting a better view of the sun-bathing spots.
  
  
  "She'd like to know that, too, mister. But I have strict orders to fly as low as possible."
  
  
  We were flying west. When we came in sight of the buildings of the city of Algeciras, we suddenly turned south. Now we were flying over the water, and I could see the shadow of our helicopter on the waves less than five meters away. Gulls flew up in terror when we just passed by mimicking them.
  
  
  "Now you can see where we're going," the pilot remarked.
  
  
  That much was clear. Before us loomed the familiar military fortress called Rock of Gibraltar. Now I also understood why we were zigzagging. Rock is not an island, but a peninsula connected to the Spanish coast. The Spanish want the area back, and the British are not going to give it up. From time to time, the Spaniards try to starve the British, and then for a while there is silence again. Spaniards always remain a little hypersensitive to what is happening at the cape.
  
  
  We turned and now saw the shadows of the limestone coves where the anti-aircraft guns are located. To our left lay the coast of Africa: the yellowish-brown streak he had seen was long enough.
  
  
  Legendary monkeys frolic over the Cliff. They say the British will keep the Rock as long as the ferrets are there, as long as the monkeys are there. And while they hold the Rock, the British control access to the Strait, which has already seen more naval battles than anywhere else in the world.
  
  
  "Please introduce yourself," the helicopter's radio system said. &nbs
  
  
  "A sea view tour," the pilot replied, although I thought it was a strange idea that a helicopter carrying tourists and casual travelers would make such maneuvers between the radio masts of a destroyer and a cruiser as we approached the landing site.
  
  
  I jumped around the plane and almost landed on the head of an American naval officer who was greeting me. I have the rank of admiral - which is very useful in an emergency - and I suspect Hawk used it to gain access to British naval bases. I saw that there were British naval officers, as well as British and American Marines with submachine guns. Also here and in several places there were barricades with warning signs: DANGER-RADIOACTIVE ZONE. Hawk said I'd be dealing with " pure TNT." It smelled like a heavier material.
  
  
  It was the atmosphere of this military base that filled her - the creak of chains as menacing warships rocked awkwardly on the embankment, soldiers saluted, gray paint and uniforms.
  
  
  "What a wonderful vacation," I said.
  
  
  The U.S. Navy, introduced by the brilliant commander who received me, raised its eyebrows for a moment. "This way, sir. He took me to a submarine bunker the size of a football field. Inside, the sun saint was replaced by the bright artificial light of arc lamps. There were Marines patrolling with submachine guns. The lieutenant used his usual gesture to print out the metal plaque on my badge. I already had such badges - I saw them once before.
  
  
  If the plastic ball in the center turns red, it means that you have been exposed to radioactive radiation. A comforting device.
  
  
  In the waters of the bunker lay the sinister whales of nuclear war: huge underwater vehicles powered by nuclear reactors, which have enough space for twelve intercontinental missiles with nuclear warheads. They were definitely Poseidons - they're bigger than Polaris and can carry three-megaton warheads. A single bomb in this submarine dock would have been enough to blow Gibraltar to smithereens.
  
  
  "And then you, sir," the commander said, leading me down the ramp to one of the submarines, as if he were leading me to the supermarket checkout line.
  
  
  He stepped onto the low gray superstructure of a nuclear-powered submarine and climbed down through the hatch. Forget about those war movies in which the command post of such a ship looks like a boiler room. Nen was home to one of the most compact computer centers in the world. Tiny lights flickered on several control panels that, even when the boat is in the port lounge, receive data from radar and sonar, around the NATO Naval command center in Rota, from measurement equipment in the ship's hull, and on impacts. add up the cost of a portable reactor and, most importantly, data on the readiness of projectiles.
  
  
  We'll go to the cape, sir. The commander led me through a narrow passageway. The advantage of nuclear submarines is that they are more spacious than conventional submarines, so you don't have to constantly bend over if you want to make a couple of dips.
  
  
  Once again, we came across trays with red letters " RADIOACTIVE ZONE-ONLY FOR AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL. Finally, the commander opened the door and I entered the missile bay alone.
  
  
  Hers wasn't the only one in the compartment, though; a cloud of choking cigar smoke told me who was waiting for me.
  
  
  "I thought there was a smoking ban here." I said. The hawk appeared from behind the forward missile shaft. He is a short, thin man with an indelible sardonic smile, always dressed in Scottish tweed.
  
  
  Only a few people in Washington, London, Paris, Moscow, and Beijing know anything about this man: a man who holds such an important position that he has a nuclear submarine at hand, available for a private conversation with his subordinate.
  
  
  Hawk held his stinking cigar shamelessly.
  
  
  "Don't be so cranky right now," he said. "I'm sorry to interrupt your vacation."
  
  
  "Said the crocodile before devouring its prey."
  
  
  "Haha!" Hawke laughed like an engine that won't start. "And her, I thought you'd be flattered that I came all this way just to see you.
  
  
  He leaned against one of the missile silos and took out a cigarette around his gold cigarette case, mostly to try and neutralize the smell of the cigar's ego. "Well, I'm a little curious as to why this meeting should take place here when the U.S. Navy has its own base in Rota, on the Spanish coast. This means what would happen to us. even if our own safety in the hall is compromised?
  
  
  'Exactly. And if my guess is correct. this thing is more dangerous than the projectile in this tube. Nick. and of course more delicate.
  
  
  Hawk sat down on the chest next to a panel with two keyholes and a sign that said "CLICK HERE." This means that two different officers must simultaneously click two different keys to launch nuclear warheads on the missiles.
  
  
  He took out a waterproof envelope from his waistcoat and handed it to me. He took out a few scraps of paper around the envelope and examined it carefully. It was clear that they had been in & nb for some time, but the lab had recovered most of the missing words.
  
  
  'depends on the elimination of F ... First payment received by Werewolf ... The rest of the payment is then completed ... cooperation... there is no reason to be suspicious ... Werewolf has already successfully conducted other clearing activities ... El. R. in Vemen ... kra. M. in Nicaragua and G. in Malaysia ... the identity must not be disclosed ... even then ... destinations ... It's time to go home ... To the traitor ... F. die. F. betrayed his cause ... Traitor F. I must die
  
  
  In the rest of the text, f. it is mentioned several times, but no further instructions are given.
  
  
  "Looks like someone got a mission." I said, handing the envelope back.
  
  
  'Something else? Hawk asked. Ego eyes glowed, as only happens when an AX is faced with a problem that engages in pushing the organization to the limit. "Probably a professional killer. One that acts like a lone wolf.
  
  
  The letter is written in Spanish, and it refers to the General Staff, which probably means the Spanish General Staff. That explains why we're meeting here instead of in the Company. The only corkscrew is, who is this F.? "
  
  
  "Nice puzzle, don't you think?" Hawk agreed. The British found this in a man who crashed near a Cliff a month ago, as a result of the crash of a small plane. Last month, several Russian naval units entered the Mediterranean, and when the British tried to listen to ih radio messages, they heard another message. I don't have any documents with me, but the translation is short, and the nen says literally: "A werewolf has arrived. The task is expected to be completed by the end of the month. Plans have been developed to absorb LBT, LBZ, LBM, RMB, and PCZ. Soon we will take up arms. F. will die.
  
  
  "They want to get rid of Franco," I heard myself say. "Someone hired a professional assassin to kill Generalissimo Franco."
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 3
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  "Only the head of Spanish intelligence knows about the plot. He tried to talk to Franco about it, but the Generalissimo simply refuses to take any special personal measures." Hawk shook his head doubtfully.
  
  
  I understood why. Francisco Franco, Generalissimo, El Caudillo (War Hero) made Spain an iron fist for almost forty years.
  
  
  The half-dozen Fascist leaders who went down in history with him were all that remained. It rivaled and outlived Hitler, Mussolini, and others, and the ego dictatorship was an indispensable pillar of NATO's defense. He might not have been the most attractive ally we could have imagined - a shaggy old man with a chest full of self - awarded medals and prisons full of Spaniards with a sense of freedom-but he was practically immortal. And how many Fascist leaders would say that about themselves?
  
  
  We know very well that Franco will not last long, and the US is already putting pressure on Madrid to introduce a democratic form of government, then an ego of death, " Hawke continued. "But if Franco gets killed, we can forget about it. Of course, there are a dozen secret societies, some around which are monarchical and some so fascist that Hitler could learn something from them. I would prefer to let the Spaniards figure it out on their own, but do you know what our interests are in this country? »
  
  
  I knew it.
  
  
  "Three hundred million dollars of rent for the land on which these bases are located, four hundred million dollars of construction and landscaping costs. And, of course, planes, ships and communication nodes worth billions of dollars ."
  
  
  At this point, it became clear to me that everything was clear. "These initials, LBT, stand for Torrejon Air Force Base, which is located in Zala, near Madrid." Now my brain was working at full capacity. Zaragoza Air Force Base, Moron Bases, Rota Naval Base. PCZ is a pipeline from Cadiz to Zaragoza.
  
  
  If we lose control of these places, the whole of NATO will explode like a balloon."
  
  
  "Now do you understand why I had to drag you around the Countess's trash?"
  
  
  "Yes, but" - I rolled the cigarette between my fingers - " the whole operation depends on Franco's death. Vote what they claimed. At least a hundred attacks on Franco must have been planned - at least 20 at an advanced stage - and Franco is still alive. The Spanish may not have the best secret service in the world, but they have an insanely strong police force. They have to hold on to power, after all, this is a police state.
  
  
  It's different this time, " Hawk said. "The Spanish Secret Police, Civil Guard and Military Police are trained to block political agents. They massacred dozens of Communist students and royalist conspirators. They are good at this because they know how to infiltrate political organizations. But now they were facing a cold-blooded, paid professional assassin. Anyone who acts outside of political circles cannot be betrayed, and-so far-the true identity of the Werewolf is unknown, but we know what-what we know about the ego's track record. Four years ago, a certain Sheikh El Radma inexplicably fell from a cliff in Yemen. He was not afraid of heights and, allegedly, it was he who did not suffer from a violation of counterweights. As a result of Ego's death, Ego's brother Stahl became the ruler of an emirate with vast oil resources. Two years ago, Colonel Perugina took to the air in Argentina, on his plane. He was implicated in the imprisonment of trade union leaders. Then the ego of death no one dared to cause them again in all the houses around. And Chinese politician Ho Ping disappeared in Malaysia just a year ago, after defrauding Beijing with opium operations. Nothing around these cases was revealed to us, and all the victims were always surrounded by armed guards. Hema if we had this Werewolf, he's the best. Except for you, Nick.
  
  
  "Don't waste your time with these compliments. What are you aiming for?
  
  
  Hawk tapped on the missile silo. "This little thing is equipped with multiple nuclear warheads because it's connected to the radar. A werewolf has an advantage that you can only guess at.
  
  
  The world's radar will eventually spot the ego. There is only one way to stop the ego: we must confront the emu with another lone wolf. Franco is well protected, but there must be a leak somewhere in the defense. The werewolf found this leak, otherwise he would not have promised success in the case. Your task is to find the leak and kill the Werewolf.
  
  
  "Without Franco's help, I guess, or the ego of the bodyguards."
  
  
  'Indeed. Most likely, the conspirators are in the immediate vicinity of the Generalissimo. You don't know anything about them, but they can inform their organization about your activities.
  
  
  It blew out a long cloud of blue smoke. "A needle in a Spanish haystack."
  
  
  "A bomb in a Spanish haystack," Hawk said bitterly. "But I have another clue for you. The dead man in whom we found the envelope was unidentifiable, but it was with him.
  
  
  He looked at the tarnished business card, decorated with what at first glance appeared to be just two lightning bolts, but which she knows as the Old German letters SS: the two letters that between 1929 and 1945 stood for Schützstaffel, Hitler's elite assassins.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 4
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Spain is a paradise for secret societies. Even in Franco's cabinet, there is a powerful Opus Dei, a Catholic association of, let's say, technocrats. Franco is also associated with the Phalanx, the fascist UDE society, and two different royalist groups. Add to that the embittered French SLA soldiers who once nearly succeeded in killing De Gaulle, and don't forget the fanatical band of incorrigible Nazis who managed to escape prosecution for their war crimes and become prominent in the business world of Madrid.
  
  
  What is the place of the Werewolf in this puzzle? I asked myself this on the Iberia Airlines flight to Madrid. I had a sinister suspicion. He knew that after the collapse of the Nazi German empires, the SS split into small groups of cold-blooded murderers, and each member of such a group was called a werewolf.
  
  
  Around the airport, I took a taxi to a dental clinic near the Puerta del Sol squares in central Madrid. The waiting room was full of patients, most of them didn't look too happy around them, and there were a few peas with drooping ornamental rubber trees. In true professionals, Spanish dentists are better at using forceps than drills, but despite the bandage that wrapped her around her face, it didn't come to Vyacheslav's molars.
  
  
  "Dr. Sereno will help you right away," the assistant told me.
  
  
  The other patients looked at me with a relieved smile, the kind you only see on the faces of people who might put off seeing a Spanish dentist for a few minutes.
  
  
  "Buenos dias, sit down," Dr. Sereno said, washing the previous patient's blood from his ego hands. She was sitting in a chair, the back of which slowly moved back until I was in a horizontal position. Dr. Sereno wiped his hands and came over to me with an impatient look.
  
  
  "Your Spanish is amazing, Doc."
  
  
  Dr. Thompson around the AX Special Effects department, aka Dr. Sereno, smiled sourly. I just hope I didn't pull out too many healthy molars today."
  
  
  "I'm sorry, Doc, but this is the only place where no one can see it.
  
  
  Thompson took the cloth off my face and threw it in the trash. He was in his element now. And the ego element wasn't dentistry. He opened a small black case that lay on the tool table. Inside the velvet-lined pockets were fake ears, chin, cheekbones, and nose, created in the special effects lab and specially tailored to match the exact color and makeup of my skin.
  
  
  "This is something new that I designed especially for you, N3," he said with professional pride. "They are no longer on polyvinyl chloride. This material contains siloxane, NASA's latest plastic."
  
  
  NASA? I need to go to the royal palace, not to Mars."
  
  
  "Look, siloxane was designed to protect spacecraft from meteorites. Maybe it also stops bullets."
  
  
  "My God, you really are the kind of doctor who immediately calms his patients down!"
  
  
  
  Hers lay as still as a sphinx while Thompson did his work. In the lamp's reflector, I watched it reshape my face, accentuate my earlobes, sharpen the line of my nose, create subtle creases in each one around my eyelids, and slightly widen my lower jaw. Finally, he inserted contact lenses into my eyes, which gave them a dark glow, giving me a slightly Spanish appearance.
  
  
  The art of disguise is to avoid making too drastic changes. For example, beards and moustaches died out along with Mata Hari. A small transformation is usually the most convincing, and I needed to convince the tough guys of that. Fingers?'
  
  
  I turn her hands around, palm up. Thompson strung thin transparent silicone cordon strips over my fingertips, giving me a new set of fingerprints.
  
  
  "Okay, that's it for today. "Of course, if something really bad happens to you, they can find out your true identity from your teeth," he noted. "But you know I don't know much about teeth.
  
  
  'Thank you.'
  
  
  Her husband left again with a blindfold on his head to hide the work of a good doctor.
  
  
  
  
  There are two palaces in Madrid. One of them is the Palacio Real, an impressive Renaissance building that tourists can visit, near the center of Madrid. The beginning of the second one is outside the city. The style is post-Renaissance - much less impressive - but that's the power. This is El Pardo, the residence of El Caudillo Francisco Franco, and the reason for ego's location outside Madrid was to protect Franco from the residents of ego's own capital. During the civil War in Madrid, Nam was by no means a Franco stronghold.
  
  
  Dressed in the dark uniform of a Spanish Air Force captain, he arrived in a jeep of the same Spanish Air Force at a checkpoint a kilometer from El Pardo. Members of the Civil Guard were standing on the barricade. They checked my documents and let me through. As I was driving, I heard them announce my arrival. As soon as El Pardo could see her clearly, she was confronted by a second roadblock. This time, my documents were carefully examined by military police officers in hard hats. When they announced my arrival over the phone, I glanced at the narrowing ring of barbed-wire fences guarded by soldiers and guard dogs.
  
  
  At the gate of the residence, I had to enter the waiting room, which was originally located in a bunker-like building. They took my finger prints and photographed my new face. Both the printout and the photo were brought to the officer, who, as I said, was waiting for me.
  
  
  Of course, the officer wasn't expecting me. As soon as I enter the palace, he'll see that I'm a con artist. The phone rang.
  
  
  "Has El Capitan arrived?
  
  
  The guard looked at me through the phone.
  
  
  El capitdn dice que usted no está esperado ».
  
  
  «Solo sé que tengo mis ordenes», - ответил я. "Vamos a ver," the man said on the phone. "El computador debe saber". Now he understood the reason for the mess with the photo and fingerprints.
  
  
  There was a computer on the palace grounds that compared my physical characteristics with those of the officer I was impersonating. I perspired for half an hour until Thompson's work was checked and I was told that I could now enter the palace.
  
  
  A carefully tended garden surrounded a three-story palace that was little more than a large country house on the dell itself. The massive facade was supported by a colonnade with French doors. Peacocks proudly skirted the flowerbeds and the guards tried to stay in the shade of the trees as long as possible, so that El Caudillo himself would not have to disturb his eyesight if he accidentally looked out. Halfway there, a rough, muscular veteran of the Spanish Foreign Legion joined me without saying a word. It occurred to me that Franco was the youngest brigadier general in the world when, before the war, he led the Foreign Legion fighting against add-on properties in the Spanish Sahara. This mistletoe veteran had a neat tan, wore a cap, and had beautiful mistletoe scars. He was one of Franco's loyal, personal bodyguards, and anyone who wanted to hurt their boss like this in all the houses around had to walk over that bodyguard's corpse first.
  
  
  As soon as we entered, more people appeared. Her, knew I was going through a mimmo metal detector. It was a good thing I'd taken the precaution of appearing unarmed, because before I knew it, I'd been shoved into a small room and thoroughly searched. "Your boss will come for you in a moment," the scarred bodyguard told me. His hand was on the butt of a Luger pistol that looked a lot like mine.
  
  
  He rubbed his eyes.
  
  
  'What is it?'
  
  
  "Nothing."
  
  
  Over a thick carpet that drowned out our shaggy voices, I entered the great hall. When I walked in, I saw enough of her to know that the mirrors in the room were so-called two-way mirrors, and that every visitor was being watched from the outside and that a small gun was constantly pointed at him. There are no more protected crown jewels than El Caudillo.
  
  
  "You look a little sick," the guard remarked with growing interest.
  
  
  "Oh, nothing special, probably got sick in Angola." He wiped the drops of water from his cheeks. "I saw Portugal bombing African partizan. It'll pass soon enough."
  
  
  'Are you sick?'She almost lifted me off the floor by the collar. "You are sick, and you dare to come to the palace? Idiot! Didn't they ever tell you that no one should ever approach the generalissimo when he was ill?
  
  
  He was able to shoot me on the spot. Instead, he pushed me out. "I have been working in the Generalissimo guard for forty years. She was killed by at least a dozen homeless people who dared to enter, not to mention raise a gun against him. If you don't get in the Jeep right now and drive away, I'll kill you."
  
  
  "But I have my orders."
  
  
  He pulled the pistol from its holster and held it threateningly under my chin. "Even if you had an order from the Pope, senor, if you don't withdraw immediately now, you are dead."
  
  
  Her father tried his best to look very stunned and quickly returned to his Jeep. Indeed, her father knew that there was a great fear that visitors would pass the infection on to the aging Franco. It is not even an exaggeration to say that nothing could have induced me to enter El Pardo if I had not known beforehand that a sudden attack of malaria would be necessary, if necessary, to get me out of there.
  
  
  It was just a field survey. Not when no one was going to kill our dear ally, so in the evening, after removing the Spanish jeep and disguise, he returned to the palace.
  
  
  I had the advantage of one thing: the werewolf worked alone, without help. He could appreciate it. On the dell itself, you can only rely on yourself. But it also meant that I could accurately mimic the ego plan-without worrying about any help the Werewolf might get from one or more of Franco's bodyguards, in which case I would be denied benefits. What he could do, he could do her. At least that's what I should have assumed. As soon as it was dark, hers launched an attack on the fortress called El Pardo. Now her name is no longer Nick Carter, AX-Killmaster. Hers was a werewolf. There was a luger attached to my pullover. The knife and gas bomb were still there. Since I love order and neatness, such little things always cause me a good sense of self-esteem.
  
  
  The palace was surrounded by three separate fences around barbed wire-her knew this from her entire afternoon visit. In movies, you can always see the hero cutting the barbed wire - this is one of the reasons why actors of rare medical institutions become good spies. I did what a Werewolf or any other good professional would have done: I entered through the most heavily guarded entrance, through the checkpoint itself.
  
  
  I waited for her at the first barricade until a jeep pulled up and the soldiers stopped her. The car's headlights, which of course were on, blinded the soldiers ' eyes so much that they couldn't see what was happening in the darkness around them. Mimmo could have passed it if he had to.
  
  
  He slipped into the shadows and passed the second barrier, but the third, near the gate, was harder to pass. Spotlights illuminated every blade of grass. In a bunker-like building, she saw a niche for a heavy machine gun. Hers slid over the wall on her stomach. The grass was cut evenly. There were no dogs, no soldiers. Only the grass between the walls wasn't grass. The entire inner ring around the palace was dotted with antennae resembling blades of grass. But I wasn't surprised. They shivered in the night breeze, constantly sending their signals to Franco's computer. I knew these things all too well, I know that the US Department of Defense developed ih to track Viet Cong soldiers.
  
  
  Through his T-shirt, he could feel the rhythmic purr of the engine. It's definitely not a car. My target flew up and was just caught a glimpse of a Huey Cobra helicopter hovering blatantly over the trees. It was equipped with a silent engine - another one developed in the United States - and if it had been designed for surveillance purposes, there would have been something in the nen that we also developed and loaned to Franco: the ultraviolet thermal sensors that were so obvious to me. it will signal as if it were a full moon. He was also, of course, armed with machine guns and rockets.
  
  
  "Cobra" came up to lick it. The ego radar equipment was probably recording my body temperature by now. On the red lines of the screen it would represent: first a rabbit, then a dog, then a human. He rolled to his life, intending to retreat, but a car was already approaching the gate, and its headlights would make it easier for the Cobra to work. The car was about a hundred yards away, and the Moscow Gate was about thirty. The Cobra was now hovering in the air, pointing at me. The legionnaires at the gate received a brief phone call; a second later, they rushed around the bunker and ran to the side of the road.
  
  
  What would a Werewolf do?
  
  
  He waited until the lights of the approaching car illuminated the Cobra, then fired. The radar antenna exploded. Hers quickly took two leaps forward; the entire hotel area where hers lay was plowed by bullets from an enraged fire-breathing helicopter. He lay there no longer than it took to extinguish the two lanterns at the gate with my bullets, then leaped to his feet and raced openly toward the legionnaires.
  
  
  Ih was ten, but with the floodlights turned off and the headlights of the army vehicles now shining openly in their faces, they were slightly blinded. Ei ran into the first one, kicking ego in the chest with one foot and then in the face with the other, and before he could shoot, he slid to the ground with a gurgle. Another legionnaire was killed by a blow to the neck. Kasia was running around screaming, adding to the general confusion. He felt the drone of the helicopter on his neck again. A new horde of legionnaires surged around the palace entrance, their submachine guns clattering erratically, destroying only a peacock and a few flower beds. He rushed to the colonnade with the French doors. My legionnaire, who was standing guard, was pushed out of the window by the speed. I left her an ego full of broken glass and ran to the ballroom. A slender figure blocked the exit around the hall: a scarred security guard I knew. She was hit by his ego from the left, but the effect was about the same as that of a hot air balloon. He kicked me and grabbed me by the throat. In Spain, the preferred death penalty is a slow, painful strangulation, and he seemed to be asking himself a special attachment to it.
  
  
  Instead of resisting the ego's amazing strength, it dived, causing the gray veteran to lose his balance and fall onto the slippery dance floor. He laughed and jumped up again.
  
  
  "Okay, let's dance a little more, buddy."
  
  
  "I'm sorry, but I personally prefer billiards."
  
  
  I dove into an antique harpsichord and pushed my ego as hard as I could. At full speed, he hit the guard on the waist. He tapped the keyboard, and together they continued rolling down the dance floor to one around the French doors. The guard flew into it and landed in the courtyard. The harpsichord's legs, caught halfway between the jambs, gave way under the impact, and the instrument crashed to the floor in a cacophony of pewter tones.
  
  
  Her husband ran into the hall. Franco wasn't supposed to know I existed - but how could he remain indifferent to shooting candid people under his bedroom window? My only concern now was to see if the Werewolf could successfully carry out his plans in the palace. He took the holster off his shoulder and shoved it under his clothes with the revolver. Then he gently knocked on the large, solid door.
  
  
  'Who's there? The old man's exasperated voice rang out. "What does all this gunfight mean?"
  
  
  "An accident, Generalissimo. Nothing special.'
  
  
  "How can I sleep with all this noise? "All these precautions are beginning to tire me out," said a trembling voice. "Tell them to stop doing this shit.
  
  
  "On your orders, Generalissimo."
  
  
  "Don't tell me! Do something about it!
  
  
  Easier said than done. Twenty soldiers were waiting for me at the main entrance.
  
  
  He threw a gas bomb in the midst of anxious people and made his way through the smoke and struggling legionnaires, managing to put on a cap as mimmo passed. The army car that had followed me to the gate was still there. He jumped behind the wheel and drove off without waiting for the passengers.
  
  
  At the middle checkpoint, I still managed to take advantage of the commotion and continue moving, but by the time I reached the outer barricade, the legionnaires heard the alarm.
  
  
  Guardia Civil motorcycles were parked in the middle of the road. From a distance, they looked like little funny dolls, but when I went to lick her, I saw her and the automatons in ih hands. Her picking up speed and watched as a pair of motorcycles soared into the air as her raced through an unimaginable area of barbed wire.
  
  
  In the foreground of the intersection, I turned it off and drove into the forest. There I put on my Air Force uniform and got into a Jeep, which I hid there after my first visit to the palace.
  
  
  In this disguise, he spent the rest of the night tracking down the mysterious killer, who almost succeeded. After a long, fruitless search for her, he rented a room at the Palacio. Only this "palace" was the most luxurious hotel in Madrid, and nen has such crisp sheets and soft pillows that you won't wake up before noon.
  
  
  There wasn't much that surprised me last night. However, I knew in advance that my advantage is that I don't have to perform a specific action during my action. The security forces always lagged behind my actions, concentrating on what I thought was her plan: Franco's attack. The security of the palace fully corresponded to the latest American developments in this area. But they couldn't know that I knew about it in detail. It was clear that the legionnaires relied immensely on the immaculate efficiency of the security system. The management that continued to support her, always knowing what would happen next, deprived the guards of the opportunity to respond adequately. Almost all of my actions went as planned in advance. So the conclusion was obvious: if the Werewolf had the same knowledge as hers, he could have entered the palace and entered Franco's room.
  
  
  Despite knowing this, he didn't wake up until noon the next morning.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 5
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The witch flew away with her victim to a remote castle. The monstrous creature tore up its offspring, ate its ego with lust. Witches, madmen, and devils meet around a nighttime bonfire that casts eerie shadows in the dark. All these and many other monsters were collected in one room of the famous museum in Madrid, and each of these monsters was the creation of the master painter Goya. Goya died of lead poisoning, the result of an ego of hard work that kept him surrounded by barrels of lead paint at night and day. One of the most common symptoms of this disease is depression, accompanied by terrible nightmares. Now, one hundred years after the ego of death, visitors to the museum can still relive Goya's nightmares. It was a place surrounded by the dreams of the madman Hawk had chosen for our meeting.
  
  
  "You did a good job last night," he said, as if we were discussing the controversial spin of contemporary art. "There are still roadblocks around the capital. I told you to be careful. So what do you do? You are practically making a revolution. Very sloppy!
  
  
  But it was necessary. I needed to know if the Werewolf would be able to enter the palace.
  
  
  He was annoyed, but I was sure he was interested.
  
  
  'And it turned out to be possible?'
  
  
  'Yes.'
  
  
  A group of tourists entered, led by a tweed-clad woman with an overdose of rouge on her cheeks. Her English was very smooth, and she constantly used words like" proximity "and"cosmic significance." I think Goya would have immediately thrown it into one of his paint barrels.
  
  
  "Yes, but a werewolf won't do that," I continued as Hawk and I entered the next room. The first thing I noticed there was Goya's famous "Nude Maya", the luscious dark-haired contessa, Irina stretched out and seemingly seducing the viewer with an alluring smile. This was a work from an earlier period of Goya's life. Suddenly my body thought of Maria de Ronda.
  
  
  "Yes, but you did it," Hawk said, bringing me back to reality.
  
  
  "Okay, but it didn't bother me. He almost didn't make it out alive. No, a professional like a Werewolf needs to know in advance that they have a good escape route. Otherwise, it won't take effect. Also, after my visit, security measures will still be tightened, and last night her, noticed that they won't do half the work."
  
  
  "But won't ego accomplices help emu escape from the attacks?"
  
  
  It would be possible. But since they don't know who a Werewolf is, why didn't they help me escape last night? No, I can't say that they helped me a lot last night. Besides, her hope is that it didn't help anyone in the otherworld, did it?
  
  
  "No, but they have something to do now," Hawk said shortly.
  
  
  He might not approve of my method, but I knew I was getting good results. We could now be sure that Franco's bodyguard was loyal to the emu and that Franco was safe as long as he stayed in El Pardo. But I had to admit that until now, ferret had no idea about the Werewolf's identity. I mean, if there was a werewolf at all. "That's just not right," I grumbled. "That name alone, Werewolf. It's a name that only some fanatics would use. Professional killers aren't fanatics - they can't afford it. Maybe a Werewolf is just as fantastic as all the ones on the Internet. You know that all these secret societies live on illusions. We could work here for months just because some idiot came up with such a fantasy again."
  
  
  "So you could take a vacation instead?" Hawk looked pointedly at the Naked Maya.
  
  
  Not when Hawk returned to Washington and I had to stay behind to pursue ghosts. First of all, of course, she was taken up by Maria de Ronda of the Fazenda . She ended up in Madrid, and when ay called her at a number in Madrid, she said she would cancel all her appointments to meet me. "Introduction" wasn't exactly what she said, and I thought of Maya Goya again .
  
  
  We met in the evening at a restaurant in the Plaza Mayor, one of the most beautiful squares in Europe, and Maria was the most beautiful woman. She was dressed in white again, which accentuated the olive hue of her skin.
  
  
  "How are you?" "What is it?" she asked as we ate a duck cooked with Valencian oranges.
  
  
  "The helicopter deal. Nothing exciting.
  
  
  "What a pity; then of course you haven't heard all these rumours. Last night, a near-successful assassination attempt was made on Caudillo . They don't know who it was, but it looks like emu managed to sneak candid into the palace, and emu also managed to escape. It must have been some kind of superhuman."
  
  
  "God, this is interesting."
  
  
  "Is that all you can say to that?"
  
  
  "Well, to be honest, Maria, she's not really a hero. If you had told me the details, she would probably have fainted."
  
  
  She raised the glass to her lips. "I know you too well, Jack. To be honest, I'd swear you're the only one capable of such a thing. You couldn't get all those scars on your body just by selling weapons. I bet you use ego from time to time, too."
  
  
  "Maria, will you believe that I'm terrified when I see a razor blade?"
  
  
  "And she told you I was still a virgin?"
  
  
  We both laughed.
  
  
  After lunch, we strolled hand in hand through the narrow streets around the square. In the nineteenth century, this part of Madrid had a dubious reputation for mistletoe. It was a place of the underworld, and an honorary citizen with something to lose wouldn't dare venture into it after sunset. Now we live in a more modern time, but this city block is one of those places where the changes did not happen so quickly.
  
  
  But here you will find cafes where they sing real flamenco, and I don't mean places that have already been corrupted by tourism, but real, authentic ones. Like bullfighting, flamenco is one of those things that you can only appreciate by seeing it in person. I was introduced to flamenco when I had to go to Cuba on a case of espionage, just before Castro came to power. We went to a few cafes until we finally found the right place - a bar with a beautiful copper-red barrel filled with whiskey-soaked sangria, a clientele mostly made up of workmen, and a singer who made squealing, plaintive guttural noises leading up to us. through the bone marrow and bones. Of course, the singer and the guitarists were Gitanos, Spanish gypsies with dark skin and raven-black eyes. While they sang, everyone sat at heavy wooden tables with clay crucibles on them.
  
  
  "You're very musical for an American," Maria said.
  
  
  "Let's go to my hotel and I'll show you how good my sense of rhythm is."
  
  
  I found the offer tempting, and when ee put his arm around her waist, the so-called Werewolf was the last thing on her mind. We went out for coffee and entered an unlit alley, still feeling a little dizzy from the sangria. Suddenly she saw the gleam of two knives in front of her. Two gitanos stepped around the doorway . They wore neckerchiefs, and their disheveled hair had a dark blue sheen. There was a look of disdain on their defiant faces.
  
  
  The Gitanos have a reputation for being quite good with knives, not to mention that they enjoy more than teasing an innocent passerby by by twisting an emu's arm, smashing an emu's jaw, and then breaking a few more bones.
  
  
  "It's dangerous to leave the house so late, Mr. Tourist. You must need protection, " the one closest to us said, fiddling with his knife. He smiled broadly, his mouth full of golden teeth. His friend's ego didn't seem to have much gold in his head, but a pair of ornate gold earrings made him look more presentable. I wasn't in the mood for trouble, and I could have easily scared off the ihs with my revolver, but the last thing I needed was trouble with the police.
  
  
  "Would you like to provide me with protection?" I asked curtly. "This area is very dangerous right now," the gypsy in the earrings told me. "I'm not even comfortable with the police here, so they usually just stay away. I think you'd better hire us, senor.
  
  
  It's not expensive here. The money you and the senora have will be enough.
  
  
  "Don't you accept traveler's checks?"
  
  
  They laughed, but I didn't think they had a good sense of humor.
  
  
  "We want everything, senor."
  
  
  They made us stand up and moan. No one came out for coffee, but I saw her in a Cadillac at one end of the street. However, whoever was driving didn't seem to be in a hurry to help us. Odin around the gypsies reached for Mary's diamond earrings, but I brushed her ego hand aside.
  
  
  "Don't try to be brave now," he teased me with his knife under my chin. "Be a good tourist, otherwise I'll make you a new mouth at throat level."
  
  
  "Jack, do as he says. They're murderers." I knew about it. Gypsies in all parts of the world look up to the Spanish Gitano in awe. They looked as if they would sell you to your grandmothers piecemeal if necessary.
  
  
  All right, take my money and kick it back, " he hissed at her through gritted teeth.
  
  
  At that moment, the guy with the gold teeth put his hand on Mary's chest, and Stahl groped. Her, thought the joke had lasted long enough. The Gitano with the earrings brought his knife down on me, but his ego-hungry eyes were now focused on Maria's breasts. Her ego raised its arm and threw a karate kick to her chest. Ego's sternum creaked like dry wood, and he rolled into the gutter.
  
  
  An ego colleague with a twenty-four-carat smile suddenly realized that ego moans more than it hurts. Quick as a cat, he lunged, the ego stiletto pointed at my eyes. He ducked under the blade, grabbed ego in his fist, and used ego's own momentum to lift ego off the ground and throw it headfirst against a stone wall. But he must have had an oaken aim; he leaped back and wrenched his arm around my ruse. The blade flashed like quicksilver, sliced through my jacket, and tore through the holster on my shoulder. If he hadn't put it on, he probably would have been in the gutter next to the first gitano . We carefully avoided another one in a narrow alley. Ego blade made a figure-eight movement in the air as he waited for his chance.
  
  
  "It's your money and your life now, tourist," he hissed. "We'll talk to your lady later."
  
  
  He wanted to say more, but at my level it took off and hit ego in the jaw. With both hands, he hit the emu in the kidneys with the force of a sledgehammer. It bounced back before he could get up to use his knife.
  
  
  Gitano laughed, grinned, and spat blood. Dios, you can fight too, tourist. So now it's not about the money - it's about the general. That's why I have to kill you."
  
  
  Now, Spanish pride has surfaced. He feinted at my groin, and when I jumped out of the way, he turned the blade and hit me on the knee. It hit me in the bone for a few cm.
  
  
  "You're not bad yourself," he admitted, and took a few steps back.
  
  
  Now he began to juggle the knife, and she watched him twist six inches of razor-sharp steel in the air; she couldn't help but feel a sense of admiration. But I knew the trick. He wants her to try to knock the knife out over Ruk's ego, and once my beginnings pick up, he'll put a thread in my love life. I pretended to kick her, but restrained myself. When gitano jabbed the knife into my crotch, it deflected, and my fist shot out in the direction of egoism. I heard her cheekbones crack. He was unbalanced, but still clutching the knife, he staggered toward Maria. Ego grabbed her by the collar and belt and lifted her high above his head. The knife fell aimlessly down Ego's arm as it was thrown by ego towards the nearest car. He slipped. It was again raised by ego above himself, this time with a better aim and made explicit in the windshield of the car. He was not a pleasant sight, lying crumpled in the car, his legs dangling over the broken window. Whatever it is, we're done with it. Another Gypsy, seeing what had happened to his colleague's ego, climbed out of the gutter and started running.
  
  
  Maria whispered in my ear.
  
  
  Now that the action was over, the Cadillac was out in the shadows. The driver jumped out around the car, clearly worried. He was a tall, flabby man with pale eyes and a thick red beard. Shvedov's ego, which fitted snugly to his stomach, obviously came from the most expensive tailor in Madeira, and his plump fingers glittered with gold rings and lapis lazuli. Ego he almost made me yearn for Hawke's smelly cigars, and he was quite surprised to find that he was very familiar with Maria.
  
  
  "I just saw you fight that gypsy," he said. If only he'd come earlier.
  
  
  "Yes, if I knew her, I would have saved another one for you," I agreed.
  
  
  Maria put forward this bearded ape to me as Andres Barbarossa, adding that he was a big industrialist. He grinned rather oddly at the introduction.
  
  
  He asked. "Could this superhuman be hema?" I didn't know anyone could beat up a gypsy with a knife. But you're bleeding,my dear. How can I ask such questions at this time? Come with me.
  
  
  As if we were old friends, he helped me into the Cadillac. Barbarossa knew Madrid well. In less than a minute, we were parked in front of a fancy restaurant. One of Spain's good tailors is that restaurants are usually open all night. Barbarossa led us to his private table. He called the waiter over and ordered a brandy, while Maria washed my small wound with water from a crystal glass.
  
  
  "How do you feel now?" The businessman asked.
  
  
  "Napoleon brandy heals all wounds.
  
  
  "Right in the dell," Barbarossa agreed, refilling my glass. "Now tell me who you are.
  
  
  "Jack is a representative of the gun company," Maria answered for me.
  
  
  Barbarossa looked very interested now. "What company, if I may ask?"
  
  
  "Swiss Universal". Our head office is in a hall in Zurich, and many of our clients have placed their capital in Switzerland."
  
  
  Sometimes we buy guns for some around our companies, but I don't think I've ever heard of Swiss Universal."
  
  
  "We haven't been working for long."
  
  
  "Light weapons?" Barbarossa was more interested than usual.
  
  
  "Light weapons," I said, " jeeps, field guns, tanks. Just as the embassy and the planes reported. We also have consultants who can give instructions if necessary ."
  
  
  'Charming!'
  
  
  Barbarossa dropped the subject and started the usual conversation about my impressions of Madrid and the quality of the food. All I got from him was that ego enterprise has something remotely to do with development projects.
  
  
  La cuenta, por Favor. The waiter brought the bill. When I was about to pay him, he just waved my money away and signed the bill. Barbarossa offered to take me to a hotel, but he knew enough about Spanish customs to decline the offer, so he took a taxi. So Maria was able to come and spend the night with me.
  
  
  "I think Andres is jealous of you," she said, folding up the dress and placing ego on a chair. "He's very smart, but unfortunately, he doesn't have such an attractive figure. Besides, he always reminds me of a big red boar."
  
  
  Let's forget about Andres Barbarossa for now ."
  
  
  She slid under the sheets, hers, felt her soft skin, then pressed her so hard that I could feel the breath of every cell of her skin. Our tongues met as my hand felt her thighs.
  
  
  "Oh my God, Jack!"
  
  
  Her, entered nah. Naked Maya flashed through my mind for a moment. It was Maria's smile. Her legs were wrapped around me, pulling me in. I could feel her nails on my back as we came together. It was perfect.
  
  
  I didn't want to worry about Barbarossa, but I couldn't completely get my ego out of my head. When he signed the bill at the restaurant, he noticed something strange.
  
  
  He wrote the double letter " ss ""Barbarossa" in the old German SS style.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 6
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I was having a late breakfast in the Palacio dining room when they brought the phone to my desk. Just as I couldn't get Barbarossa out of my head, he couldn't forget me.
  
  
  Ego's voice is absurdly concerned. "How are you feeling this morning?"
  
  
  "Thank you. Just a little cramp in my leg."
  
  
  "That's good. The way you defended our friend Maria really makes a deep impression on me. She is also asked to tell you that I am interested in light weapons. Do you want to fly on a plane?
  
  
  Where to?'
  
  
  Just up and down in Morocco. It will take at most a few days, no more. At least if you really want to sell something ...
  
  
  My cover as an arms dealer would have been pretty damn incredible if I hadn't gotten involved. I think that because of Franco's work schedule, he will probably stay in El Pardo for a week. At that time, he will be safe. And in case Barbarossa really wanted to buy a gun, I had nothing to worry about: there really was a company in Zurich called Swiss Universal. No doubt Barbarossa has already checked it out. AX does not like half-hearted work, and in such cases, nothing is left to chance.
  
  
  "I don't mind that," I said. "What kind of weapons are you interested in? I can show you some samples."
  
  
  "Automatic rifles. My driver will pick you up at 3:00 today. He will take you to the airport, and from there we will leave on my plane."
  
  
  "Great, I'm really looking forward to it."
  
  
  I don't want to claim that Stahl was clairvoyant during my time as an agent, but I have some sort of built-in radar for detecting danger. And that radar now told me that I was being watched. Barbarossa wanted to know if I was worth contacting, and if it wasn't Swiss Universal, the fat businessman would know that I wasn't just an ordinary salesperson.
  
  
  My problem was figuring out if Barbarossa was just a fan of Maria's, or if he might have led me on the Werewolf's trail. And I wasn't so sure. Indeed, it may seem suspicious that he didn't raise his hand to protect me when he saw me being chased by two gypsies. But on the other hand, it could indicate about seven million people in New York who would behave exactly the same, in this case. And even if he had written his name with these ss letters, it could also be a pure coincidence. In this case, he would have made a great impression if he had gone through the countries where he worked, on a "business trip" to Morocco.
  
  
  I called her in Zurich. The AX agent who answered the call identified himself as an office clerk talking to a salesperson. He hung up again, drank more coffee, and smoked his first cigarette.
  
  
  The sun shone brightly on my face as I walked around the hotel. At the same time, a bellboy, two priests, and a group of businessmen left the lobby. To my right was a wide street. He turned into a narrow street on the left and saw no more priests. There were many small perfume shops and art galleries that mostly sell souvenirs to tourists. A messenger entered one of them, probably on behalf of a hotel guest. Her crossed the street, walking between Vespa scooters and Fiat cars made in Spain. As I walked away from the Plaza del Sol, I noticed that one of the businessmen was crossing the street behind me. At the next corner, he made a quick turn, then immediately stopped, pretending to be very interested in the store with the underwear bag. The one behind me also quickly turned the corner and almost ran into me.
  
  
  I'm sorry, " he told her gently.
  
  
  "Forgive me," he replied in the same tone. Ostensibly walking on, he was now standing and looking at the underwear. When he looked up again, I was gone. From the porch on which her, dove, her ego heard approaching shaggy. He grabbed him as he passed quickly and dragged him inside. Simple, " I apologized again, pressing the tip of the stiletto against ego's back.
  
  
  He was bluffing. "What does that mean? ""It must be a mistake." He reached into Ego's shoulder holster and drew his weapon.
  
  
  "No, other, it's not a mistake. Who sent you?" I pressed ee against the mailboxes. He shook his head and began to sweat a little.
  
  
  'Who? I do not know what you mean.
  
  
  "I really won't kill you. She's not around them. I'll just push this knife down a little bit until your spine splits in two and you're paralyzed for the rest of your life.
  
  
  "Wait, I'll tell you everything!"
  
  
  This meant that he needed time to come up with a good excuse.
  
  
  "I belong to politicians."
  
  
  "Not a good enough excuse.'She pressed even harder on the knife.
  
  
  "Wait, I'll tell you the truth.
  
  
  But he didn't. He turned and hit the knife with his elbow. It wouldn't be a bad move against someone with one hand.
  
  
  My left hand hit his head against the mailboxes and sent him crashing to the marble floor. When hers leaned over him, he was no longer breathing. Her ego parted her jaws and smelled the strong smell of almonds: cyanide. He kept the capsule in his mouth the whole time, and my punch did the rest.
  
  
  That's one of the reasons I hate her fanatics. It's so hard to get information from them! He moved away from the porch.
  
  
  Pawnshops are watched everywhere in the world. The one I went to, in San Martin Square, mistletoe the usual collection of watch cases, guitars, and clarinets.
  
  
  "I lost my ticket, but I remember dropping my ego somewhere."
  
  
  The salesman was completely bald, and he was making up for lost time by growing a large mustache, on which he spun dagger-like points.
  
  
  "I don't remember you taking anything," he lisped in a Castilian accent.
  
  
  Sewing machine N3. It belonged to my ex-wife Jean."
  
  
  "Ah, your ex's sewing trimmer." He fingered his mustache. "Yes, it's true, I remember it now. I have her voice. As usual, the AX network worked perfectly. As soon as our Swiss Universal employee hung up after my call, he contacted our" branch " in Madrid and told me what I needed. When I got rid of my stalker, the need was for philosophy.
  
  
  If you're wondering how to get such a good phone service in Spain, you won't be able to. Illegal connecting lines CAN scan all incompetent European telephone systems.
  
  
  "I assume it's all right?"
  
  
  He opened her briefcase, which he placed on the counter. It wasn't a sewing trimmer, but it really was what I needed.
  
  
  "There's another package I want her to pick up in a few days," I said. "Information about Andres Barbarossa".
  
  
  He said, " What if you don't come for him?"
  
  
  Then this person must be eliminated.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 7
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  "Something strange happened to me today," I commented as Barbarossa's jet plane sped over the Mediterranean and we drank whiskey together by the window. "Someone was following me around the hotel. I don't understand it at all."
  
  
  He smiled, and his ego red beard stood on end. "I always thought selling guns was a pretty risky profession."
  
  
  "Oh, no," ego assured her. "It's no different from insurance."
  
  
  He laughed almost hoarsely.
  
  
  "I'm sure you underestimate yourself, Mr. Finley. Maria told me about your fight with that bull. You see, I've met a lot of cool guys who are ready to do anything if the prize is good. Her, I believe that you are such a person ."
  
  
  "No, they have a ferret with them, as I have a solid bill."
  
  
  "My precious one! I don't think I've ever met anyone with a better sense of humor. I am sure that we will have a good business.
  
  
  We were now flying over the African coast without losing altitude.
  
  
  "You see, it is headed by a consortium that is engaged in the development of minerals. Our area of activity is Spanish Sugar. This mainly applies to tungsten and potassium. Surely you know how they are used?
  
  
  "Tungsten by tungsten ore and potassium by calcium carbonate. Lamps, drills, ammunition, paint, and potassium cyanide. You can just name a few...'
  
  
  "You are very knowledgeable. In any case, this is a valuable raw material. Since there are some African countries that do not value our activities very much, we must always be on the lookout for attacks by so-called guerrilla saboteurs. I have a significant group of security personnel, and in order to properly protect this investment, we must have enough weapons. Especially now that we've started to expand our operations ."
  
  
  'Expand?'
  
  
  "As you know, we are puffiness in Morocco. We are looking for Kalia there, but since it will be some time before the research starts, I will use our base as a camp for our security personnel."
  
  
  A camp? Then a lot of guards.
  
  
  We passed Tangier, and the Atlas Mountains loomed before us.
  
  
  "There's an American proverb that I've always liked to repeat," Barbarossa said, as if trusting me with secretions. "Think big."
  
  
  "You agree with that statement, don't you?"
  
  
  'Of course. For me, it just means I buy more."
  
  
  Potassium. Nonsense! They'll never find potash near the runway we landed on. It was a valley in the mountains, a hundred kilometers from the Atlantic coast, in the middle of the desert, between the Moroccan cities of Rabat and Fez. Although she might not have been picked up on the Werewolf trail yet, at least something was waiting for me. When we landed, it was a military camp large enough to train at least ten thousand people. The Jeep sped toward us, leaving huge clouds of dust in its wake; I swore the captain at the wheel was going to salute until he saw me.
  
  
  "Mr. Finley is here on business. But that can wait until tomorrow.
  
  
  We were taken to a guest house near the camp. He was the guest of honor at a dinner attended by senior officers of Barbarossa's private army. Veiled women came and went with silver bowls filled with couscous, partridges, and cinnamon-marinated mutton. "Doesn't it surprise you that we live here in the Arab style?" asked Barbarossa, now dressed in a djellaba.
  
  
  "I really like this," I said, rolling a delicious ball of couscous between my fingers.
  
  
  "You must not forget that, according to many, Africa only ends up in the Pyrenees," Barbarossa said. This was obviously a topic that was close to ego's heart, and she didn't think it wise to interrupt it. "The Arabs have been doing Spain for seven hundred years. Every city in Spain has a castle, but what do they call it? Alcazar is an Arabic word. Where did generalisimus get his reputation? In the Sahara with the Spanish Foreign Legion. And what ultimately decided the Spanish Civil War? Franco's offensive with the Moors. Spain and North Africa are indivisible ."
  
  
  Barbarossa's officer corps was a reflection of that. There were a few Nazis and a few Frenchmen, but most of the officers were Spanish or Arab, and in both these groups she saw the fire of fanaticism. The Odin around them, an Arab with a long and sharp face, enthusiastically continued. "Imagine what kind of power Spain and North Africa would form if they were reunited. They would have all of Europe and Africa under their control! "
  
  
  "It's a great idea," Barbarossa added, " but very unlikely. Besides, our guest is not interested in politics."
  
  
  The tables were cleared and almost everyone lit up. The sweet air told me that the tobacco was mixed with hashish, which is not uncommon in these parts.
  
  
  The veiled women who served were replaced by head-to-toe dancers wrapped in silk robes, in which they performed exciting movements that closely resembled love poses. Only the Swedes remained. But that was enough to make me have very sultry dreams about it.
  
  
  It was time to get up at seven o'clock. A beep and the clatter of boots. One of the girls who had danced yesterday came into the room and opened the door of the veranda. She brought me chilled orange juice and boiled eggs. It occurred to me that the soldiers were probably eating pancakes at the same time. He was willing to trade with them.
  
  
  Before her breakfast was finished, Barbarossa came into my room. "I'm sorry I couldn't have breakfast with you, but I have a habit of eating with my officers. I think it's better for morale."
  
  
  The industrialist really tried to be a general. This morning's masquerade party consisted not of a suit or jell-o, but of a khaki suit and army boots. He tried not to show any interest in the uniform's ego insignia on the shoulder: gold embroidery around two SS zippers.
  
  
  He personally showed me around the camp. Earthworks were underway, and an unusually large number of heavy crates were placed at the entrance of the mine.
  
  
  "Rakes and other digging tools," Barbarossa explained.
  
  
  Afterwards, her mistletoe tour had the honor of dining with him and the ego officers. We were sitting in a huge assembly hall, and for the first time I had time to get a good look at Barbarossa's soldiers.
  
  
  Now her ego understood the comment he'd made on the way to Morocco about cold-blooded guys willing to do anything for money. It seemed that all the veterans of the Bay of Pigs, Katanga, Malaysia and Yemen were there. It was a gathering of professional assassins for hire. Maybe not in the Shape-Shifter class, but good enough to adequately defend the realm of Barbarossa from any possible invader.
  
  
  In which campaigns do you think you are working with them in a special operation?
  
  
  A German major asked me, passing me a decanter of wine.
  
  
  "I didn't mention it at all."
  
  
  "Go, go, Jack. "You know, there must be someone here who knows you," Barbarossa insisted. "Probably an old acquaintance."
  
  
  Her first tactic: they wanted to find out if her entrepreneur was really the one they pretended to be, and now they were playing a game with me to see if they could catch me in a lie. If he was selling weapons, it must mean that his ego was using them. I knew that now all eyes were watching my reactions and movements intently. He poured himself a glass of wine without spilling a drop.
  
  
  "Only if you have someone around New York here, too," he wrote in a draw. "I was working with the police, not a soldier."
  
  
  The Major laughed. He had a big pig nose and small blue eyes. Ego tattoos crinkled on his thick arms as he slammed his fists on the table.
  
  
  'Police officer! Is a regular police dog supposed to sell us guns? She'd never met a cop who wasn't made on a rabbit scale! "Barbarossa did not intervene after this gross insult. Instead, he urged the major, " So you don't think about our arms dealer, Erich?"
  
  
  "I like a man who knows what he's talking about. All a police officer can do is chase prostitutes off the street and swing a rubber baton. What does he know about guns?
  
  
  The entire dining room now turned its attention to the officers ' table.
  
  
  Barbarossa asked me, " Well, Jack?" " Major Gruen doesn't seem to have much faith in you. Are you not offended?
  
  
  Hers, he shrugged. "The customer is always right."
  
  
  But so soon Barbarossa was not satisfied. "Jack, it's not just your frequency. He says you don't know anything about guns. If its going to do business with you, its got to feel like you know what you're selling.
  
  
  "Demonstrations," Grune bellowed. "Let him show it to the shooting range."
  
  
  The entire cafeteria emptied out as the men supported the Major's suggestion. Barbarossa's script was well prepared. My suitcase was sitting on a table in the middle of a dusty area. Gruen watched me open the suitcase, a sarcastic grin on his ugly face. The whole regiment was sitting around him, as if they had come to a cockfight.
  
  
  It was held high by a machine gun for everyone to see.
  
  
  "This is our standard weapon, the G3. It is loaded with NATO standard 7.62 mm rounds. Therefore, there will never be a problem with ammunition."
  
  
  The G3 is a really good weapon. It is heavier than the American one .M16, but more reliable. Undoubtedly, most men have used the ego at one time or another.
  
  
  "How does it work?" asked Barbarossa, like a good student. "When you pull the trigger, the trigger releases a bullet.
  
  
  But in addition to the bullet firing from the explosion, the air sampling pressure simultaneously pulls the cartridge and bolt back, moving the new cartridge into place and cocking the trigger again. The G3 can be configured to take turns and fire in series."
  
  
  "Bravo, Bravo, you remember that well," the German exclaimed. "Now show us."
  
  
  He pulled out a handful of rounds, circled the ammo box and advertised ih in the cartridge magazine. Then he shoved the machine gun back into my hand and pointed to one side of the range, where a pair of mannequin dolls used for bayoneting hung from a rack. "There are three dolls. I'll give you four shots to shoot down ih. If you can't, then you're a liar and a lousy shot.
  
  
  "And if I hit it, what do you say?" Blood flooded Major Gruen's face. Ego's hand rubbed the hip holster of Ego's Grosser luger. The Grosser is one of the heaviest pistols ever produced; most can only handle it with a shoulder-mounted tripod.
  
  
  "It's getting more and more fun," Barbarossa smirked. "Shoot!" Groon snapped.
  
  
  The soldiers standing between me and the dolls moved away, leaving two rows of spectators on either side of the hundred-foot-long line of fire from me to the banner.
  
  
  It was held by G3 in his hands to get used to the ego weight. It was dead quiet. He slung the weapon over his shoulder and aimed at the rightmost of the three dummies. My first shot tore through the silence. The doll swayed gently from side to side and hung there.
  
  
  "Not even close to the rope," Grune laughed. "He never held a submachine gun in his hands."
  
  
  "It's weird, he usually knows what he's doing." Barbarossa looked disappointed that my shot never hit the target. However, this did not happen. He aimed for the death spot on the doll's stomach. The hole in the upper left corner, the place that always kills, was now clearly visible. I like to play a little before I get serious.
  
  
  The soldiers applauded enthusiastically, and here and there she saw mocking glances in the direction of the major. Barbarossa took a deep breath and lit a Cuban cigar. Gruen patted me on the back and bellowed, " Shoot me again, merchant, and if you shoot ih down, I'll be the first to tell her I'm an idiot."
  
  
  "Is that accurate?"
  
  
  "I promise, merchant."
  
  
  Her gun was pressed to her shoulder, and before Gruen could exhale, the sound of three shots faded. There were two dolls on the floor. Then the third rope snapped in two, and the third doll also lay sprawled in the dust.
  
  
  He paid no further attention to the German, and placed the weapon in Barbarossa's hands.
  
  
  "How many of these machines do you want?"
  
  
  But the Spaniard's eyes were still fixed on the Major.
  
  
  "I promise to keep my promise forever, Major Gruen. Our merchant fooled you. So, you'll find out now. That's what we want to hear from you."
  
  
  "Okay, he can shoot all over the guns. Any earthquake can shoot the dolls." Gruen muttered furiously. All the egoistic German instincts rebelled against this humiliation. Not only in front of his superior, but also in front of his subordinates, emu would have to admit that he had disgraced himself.
  
  
  "Let me really take care of nen, and he'll call his mother in two seconds if he has one."
  
  
  Unfortunately, it's now grazed one of my sore spots. Major Gruen was enough for me.
  
  
  "Okay, you violent Nazi pig. You get what you ask for. Make room, Senor Barbarossa. Now I will arrange a real demonstration at the special request of the major."
  
  
  I put my own conditions on it. Both Gruen and her chose our weapons, he the Grosser and hers the G3. Who will be the first to collect the disassembled weapons. And kill the other one.
  
  
  "But the G3 is a much more sophisticated weapon," Barbarossa said. "It's not fair."
  
  
  "Leave it to me, senor."
  
  
  Gruen grinned at my confidence. We retreated thirty meters until several officers understood our weapons. The atmosphere at the rig was almost festive. The soldiers could hardly have hoped for such entertainment, and they certainly loved it.
  
  
  The Major bent down, his big hands ready to assemble the ten simple parts of his luger.
  
  
  Next to me was a pile of springs, a gun tray, a bolt, a cartridge, a handle, a barrel, a trigger mechanism, a scope, a firing pin, a trigger, and thirty screws holding the G3 together.
  
  
  Off to the side, the soldiers placed their bets. It was about ten to one against me, which means that every eleventh soldier was smart enough.
  
  
  'Ready? Barbarossa asked.
  
  
  Gruen nodded impatiently. He nodded, too.
  
  
  'Get started! Barbarossa exclaimed.
  
  
  Cool, calm, and experienced, Gruen set about assembling the Luger. His hands didn't shake, he worked like a computer. Finally, every detail fell into place. He stood up and took aim.
  
  
  G3's heavy gawk pierced the center of ego's chest and knocked him to the ground. He lay with his legs apart, knees up, like a woman waiting for her lover. But Gruen wasn't expecting anyone else.
  
  
  In his hand, he held only the barrel, the bolt and the free spring, which he used to replace the trigger. The rest of the weapons were still lying on the floor next to me. After he fired at the dolls, the automatic mechanism inserted a new bullet into the breech, so I didn't have to use the cartridge in the magazine.
  
  
  "When her said it wasn't fair, her probably thought of the wrong person," Barbarossa remarked. "Too bad he was a good officer."
  
  
  "He was a fool."
  
  
  "No, he underestimated you, Mr. Finley. And I won't do it alone again."
  
  
  This incident shortened our time in the camp. Barbarossa was afraid that someone around Gruen's friends would try to get revenge, and informed me that he didn't want any more dead officers.
  
  
  I also had a good reason to leave soon. He'd heard two soldiers discussing the news that Franco had suddenly come up with the idea of making one of his rare trips to Spain, probably to dispel rumors that the attempt on his life had been successful. That would mean a unique opportunity for the Werewolf.
  
  
  Barbarossa and I left before lunch. He was deep in thought until he suddenly grabbed my arm.
  
  
  "How much do you earn as a salesperson? I'll double it if you take Gruen's place. I need someone with your abilities.
  
  
  'No, thank you. I don't feel like a soldier in the middle of a desert."
  
  
  "Trust me, Jack. This stage will not last long. You will see a lot of action, and the reward will be more than you dare to dream of."
  
  
  "I am very flattered, but you must understand. It is not around those who go to the service, because someone says that I will see the whole world."
  
  
  "See anything in this world? You'll shake the world to its foundations, Jack. We are currently on the verge of taking action. I can't tell you any more.
  
  
  "Okay, I'll think about it."
  
  
  It was bad to think about it.
  
  
  As soon as he told me that he was going to carry out his plans, I suddenly understood why he had this base in the middle of the mountains. Just fifteen kilometers from the so-called potash mine, there was a secret American communications center in Sidi Yahya. Ego people can suddenly attack ego, and if they succeed, Washington's communications channels with the Sixth Fleet patrolling the Mediterranean would be cut off.
  
  
  He set his sights not only on Spain, but also on Morocco, and control of the Mediterranean. The werewolf was only a harbinger of an explosion that would transform the territory of Barbarossa into a new world power, and might even lead to a world war that America and Russia did not want.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 8
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Franco's first visit was to Seville. The Seville Extravaganza - the spring festival - is the most important event in the Spanish calendar, and all hotel rooms in the city are booked months in advance.
  
  
  Not when Arab horses pull carriages through streets strewn with seignorites in traditional costumes. People crowd into the tents to watch the flamenco dance, and everyone drinks sangria or sherry.
  
  
  "Even the Generalissimo can't afford to miss this feast," Maria boasted. Rhonda is in the hall, not far from Seville, and she was obviously very proud of the extravaganza.
  
  
  And I can't afford not to see you for too long. The voice of why she came. You are much more attractive than your friend Barbarossa."
  
  
  "Ah."
  
  
  We were in a tent that provided some shelter from the scorching Andalusian sun. Maria took two glasses of sherry from the waiter's tray and handed me one. the high heels of flamenco shoes clattered on the dance floor.
  
  
  "What do you think of Andres?" she asked.
  
  
  "I do not know what to think. He offered me a job, but he doesn't know anything about it. Besides, I'd rather be my own boss. Do you have any idea what he's up to?"
  
  
  'She? Her fingers brushed the unbridgeable area between her breasts. "I only talk to brave bulls and brave people. But I also don't know what Andres is up to."
  
  
  I was glad of that. Before arriving in Seville, she received a report about Barbarossa at the pawnshop in Madrid. Until the age of thirty, nothing was known about nen, except that he was the youngest member of an aristocratic but poor family. He then had the opportunity to establish a mining industry, in the Congo, at a time when Tshombe firmly controlled the sl. When Tshombe's rule was overthrown, he was forced to leave the country. All he could take with him were worthless shares of ego companies. However, through a shady deal in Switzerland, emu managed to sell ih for millions. Then he wrote to the real estate industry and became interested in politics.
  
  
  He also acquired the property of Spanish mining companies in the Spanish Sahara after blackmailing the previous owner for so long that he eventually committed suicide. The moment I met him, he was already one of the most powerful people in Spain and had ego plans for the future ...?
  
  
  Andres Barbarossa has undoubtedly worked hard on this.
  
  
  Maria threw back her head in exasperation.
  
  
  "Are you sure you're on vacation again, Jack?" You always seem to be thinking of other things. Now focus on me. You must not forget that the Countess can have any man she wants ."
  
  
  "Consider me your slave."
  
  
  "Now I have it," she laughed.
  
  
  At dusk, the main event of the festival began: a procession of hundreds of religious associations throughout the city. All participants were dressed in long and high capes. cone-shaped masks, like the Ku Klux Klan. By burning candles, they turned the city into a strange fairyland. They, who did not hold candles, carried giant plateaus on which stood religious statues, figures of Christ, the Virgin Mary and other saints. Franco himself watched the procession from the steps of Seville Cathedral. For those who watched, the procession was like a candlelit river floating in a sea of these fantastic idols. When the fireworks finally go off, it's probably the most inspiring and exciting sight in the world. It would have taken my breath away. A werewolf could easily blend in with thousands of marchers, all unrecognizable by their crying and masks. With difficulty, he saw the Generalissimo: a frail figure at the top of the Cathedral stairs. He weakly waved his hand in rheumatism to the crowd's applause.
  
  
  "Have you ever seen anything like this?" Maria asked as we were pushed back and forth in the crowd.
  
  
  'Never.'
  
  
  Fireworks exploded over the church, first a green saint, then red and yellow. Every second she was expecting a different kind of explosion near the stairs.
  
  
  With a nervous gesture, she opened the cigarette case and let the contents fall to the floor. I need to go get a new package."
  
  
  "Wait, Jack. The plateaus are just coming."
  
  
  'I'll be right back.'
  
  
  She protested, but I needed an excuse to leave. Her way through the crowd was asking for a better position.
  
  
  Before the steps of the cathedral, the plateau with the black Madonna stopped. Someone around the crowd began a hymn - an emotional, melancholy serenade that quickly drew cheers from the audience. Even Franco applauded.
  
  
  He did his best to catch a glimpse of the Werewolf, but there were dozens of plateaus, and of course there was no point in checking ih all.
  
  
  "I wonder what church this plateau is about," the woman next to me whispered to her neighbor. "His ego has never seen him," she replied.
  
  
  The dish that appeared didn't look new, just a little more valuable than the others, and there was a huge statue of St. Christopher carrying the Baby Christ across the river. A human machine formed around the men in red yamal was carrying the colossus in the direction of the Cathedral.
  
  
  "I thought these performances were always traditional?" the woman asked him.
  
  
  She aimed the camera. "I have to take a picture of this."
  
  
  I didn't have time to take any more pictures. He pushed his way through the crowd to the back of St. Christopher's Plateau. The serenade on the plateau was coming to an end, and now Nikita had to see the "new" plateau.
  
  
  The serenade ended, and the red cloaks waited for the signal to carry the huge colossus to Franco. He slid under the platform from behind and crawled forward. The statue was hollow inside, and at the very top of it was a Werewolf. He held the submachine gun next to him, his eyes peering through the crack in the statue's chest. At the right moment, the statue's chest will open, and Sevillans will see fireworks that they will never forget for the rest of their lives. The procession started off again. When I peeked out from under the plateau and saw that the crowd's feet were already a long distance away, I realized that we had now reached the center of the square, directly opposite the Cathedral. Her, saw that the Werewolf was ready to use the weapon. Somewhere in the crowd, the sound of a serenade to Saint Christopher rang out, and Mary's eyes searched for the missing businessman.
  
  
  He pulled himself up to the statue and grabbed the Werewolf's legs. Surprised, he tried to push me away, but this time he was pulled even harder. He tried to hold on and tried to shoot, but I pulled myself even further into the statue's recess, pushing the muzzles of the weapon down.
  
  
  "Dirty bastard," he growled. 'Who are you ?'
  
  
  'Give up!'
  
  
  It was like a coffin fight. We didn't move, but the em managed to grab me by the neck. In rheumatism, her ego hit his kidneys with outstretched fingers. Suddenly, the hollow statue smelled the sour smell of fear.
  
  
  Ego thumbs bumped into my eyes. I turned my head from side to side, but ego's fingers dug into my eye sockets. I didn't have enough room for my hands to shake the stiletto out of my cuffs or reach for my revolver. All I could do was headbutt the ego, which knocked it out for a moment. When he tried to focus his eyes again, Em managed to get a long razor out of somewhere. He saw the blade flash, and he ducked as far as he could into the narrow confines of the statue. He was aiming at me, and I could see chunks of wood flying where the knife had landed. I couldn't raise my hands to defend myself, and the knife stabbed me in the throat several more times. Then he grabbed me by the neck with one hand and stabbed me. When hers, I felt the blade touch my throat, her ego let go and fell back under the plateau. The werewolf won.
  
  
  The barrel of the machine gun was pointed down, openly over my face. Around the last of her strength, he raised his weapon. The werewolf had already pulled the trigger when Brain turned to face ego. Of course, the weapon was set to fire automatically. I rolled over as a rain of blood and splinters fell on me. He saw her arm and leg dangling limply. The machine gun was stuck between the inside of the statue and the lifeless werewolf.
  
  
  There was almost nothing left of his chest, and his face no longer looked human.
  
  
  I was waiting for the rushing police and suspected that the city of bullets would soon end the thread of my life. However, nothing happened. Only then did she hear the cannonade of fireworks, which completely drowned out the deadly shots.
  
  
  "Run!" "I heard someone shouting when the fireworks stopped.
  
  
  Rather confused, the red capes began to move. As soon as the plateau was back in the noisy crowd, hers slid out from under it. Her, knew that one of the men in red I was paying for would now crawl under the plateau to find out why the killer missed.
  
  
  He will find that he has lost much more.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 9
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Most Americans think sherry is the worst kind of liquid you put in lentil soup, or the kind of filth you refuse to drink when you visit your grandmother. It's a really sweet, cowardly tension that goes with this look. But in Spain, you can find a bunch of guys ready to fight you if you dare utter insults related to ih manzanilla: dry, spicy sherry poured around barrels in nearby cafes. In the harshest parts of Spanish cities, you can find cafes that serve only sherry and fire water flavored with licorice, which they call anise. And the combination of these two drinks can be compared to the combination of a burning match and gasoline.
  
  
  She had been informed of these facts by Colonel de Lorca, the head of Spanish intelligence. Only an hour had passed since the Werewolf's death, and the aetheria was still in full swing. De Lorca was a lean, dark man about my age, with an aquiline nose that contrasted oddly with the almost comical fu Manchu mustache. He was in plain clothes.
  
  
  "They ran off their plateau like there was a bomb on nen - very un-stylish." He took a bite of a salted olive.
  
  
  "In short, we immediately surrounded ih and found the killer. To be honest, I was very surprised."
  
  
  'Why?'
  
  
  "Yes, I really expected something different. Just a shell of out-of-control radicals. But it should be given to them by a well-developed plan. They could have passed without you."
  
  
  'Perhaps? What would have stopped her then?
  
  
  'Her.'
  
  
  De Lorca looked surprised that emu had to explain. "If you ever see the official report, you will read that although you were instrumental in uncovering the killer's strategy, it was her, Colonel De Lorca, who took the physical risk. Don't look so offended. Hawk is a little more knowledgeable. My intention is not to do justice, but rather to save my own skin. Even though the Werewolf let the Caudillo get to Paris, if he had the chance to shoot, they could dig another hole in my family grave tomorrow. It's a big deal for me ." Perhaps this fact was explained by ego, cynicism, and that's why he drank so much sherry and anise.
  
  
  "You are known as a very good cop, De Lorca. You're not going to tell me they're going to get you out of the way just because that killer got too close, are you?"
  
  
  "And then your trick at the palace?" For two generations, Spanish society has been built on one pillar - Generalizimo Franco. When he falls, everything collapses with him.
  
  
  "When he sneezes, senor, the whole hotel is rattling. He simply said to her, " If you ever read the official report ... because the report is top secret. No one will ever know. We cadre officers will stand both ways, like priests of a dying god, because we know that our peace is with our own. Well, Killmaster vs Werewolf! It must have been a good fight .
  
  
  We raised our glasses and drank. De Lorca sighed and stood up. "I still need to fill out some reports. You don't have to come; your task is done here."
  
  
  
  
  When she returned on vacation, she found Maria in the most exclusive nightclub in Seville.
  
  
  'Where you've been. she pouted. "What was your secret message again?"
  
  
  "I thought I was dating an old acquaintance, but I was wrong."
  
  
  "You missed Andres. He asked you to.
  
  
  "I don't want to meet him now, let's go somewhere."
  
  
  Maria offered to accept an invitation to a party-a feria from one of the oldest families in Seville. With a group of Italian princes and Romanian duchesses, we played a game of rolls and drove off in the dark. The Romanian duchess who is studying practically sat on my lap. I denied the reports that appeared in the media: blown up Zsa Zsa Gabor. With every bump in the road, he could feel her ample breasts against his face. "Kuda, take the tailor, shall we go?" She was called out to Maria, who was already sitting in the front.
  
  
  "In Jerez."
  
  
  sherry? It was an hour's drive from Seville. I couldn't believe that I would have to sit in the fragrant arms of a swollen countess for so long. By the time we arrived, he was ready to trade this incarnate Romanian compact for another round with the Werewolf.
  
  
  "Look, Maria, it was actually something more intimate that Delle imagined."
  
  
  "Come on, Jack, you'll never see anything like this again." She was probably right. The house was an impressive villa built in the Gothic style, surrounded by vineyards on a plot of thousands of hectares. The driveway was packed with limos belonging to nobles from all over Europe. "It must have been like this in Russia before the revolution," I thought bitterly.
  
  
  Despite the lateness of the hour, the ladies and gentlemen were determined to make the occasion as bright as possible. Under the watchful eye of proud-looking conquistadors and scowling admirals on huge family portraits on the walls, a massive orgy began.
  
  
  "I've heard it said that there was a lot of incest among the European nobility, but I didn't know what they meant."
  
  
  "Don't be so squeamish, Jack."
  
  
  "Ah, I have the same tendencies. Only I probably have a stronger sense of security."
  
  
  Our host appeared. It was a certain Marquis with a double name, dressed in a purple velvet jacket.
  
  
  "Jack is a little bored," Maria said.
  
  
  "Why don't you show Emu the wine barrel?"
  
  
  I thought she was joking, but the Marquis reacted very enthusiastically.
  
  
  'With pleasure. It's such a rare treat that I have some guests who prefer to keep their clothes on." He glanced sideways at the rest of the crowd.
  
  
  "Then why do you need them?"
  
  
  "See that big idiot dancing on the table there? This is my son.
  
  
  We walked through several dining areas until we came to a massive wooden door in ston, which had several metal armors standing by it. The Marquis took an antique iron key.
  
  
  "There is another entrance from the vineyard, but I always use this one. Since Jerez has made this house what it is, I think this is the most suitable option ." He led us up a narrow flight of stairs. When we got to the stone floor, he turned on the brylev. The wine barrel was not suitable for marking the place under the house. Row after row of huge wooden barrels filled this huge cavern. "Sherry" is a poor English pronunciation for Sherry, the city around which the wine originates, and the Marquis was one of the most important sherry producers in Spain.
  
  
  "How much wine do you actually have on the dell?"
  
  
  "There are fifty small barrels in each barrel. In total, I suspect that we have about two thousand such barrels. Half of it is exported, mostly oloroso, a very sweet variety, and what is called cream in England and America is also sweet. The rest is fine, refined sherry, amontillado or manzanilla. Here."We stopped at a barrel the size of an elephant. The Marquis held a glass to the tap and let the yellow liquid drain into it.
  
  
  "All the success of a sherry house depends on one successful year. Then each subsequent crop is mixed with it. How did you find the ego?
  
  
  I sipped it. The wine was strong and had a musky taste.
  
  
  "Very tasty."
  
  
  "I'm sure. My family has been collecting ih for about minu years."
  
  
  It was more than just trying out what we did. It was a vision of heaven that an alcoholic should see. There were barrels everywhere-the type and age of the wine was engraved on the wood.
  
  
  Then the servant came down to tell the Marquis that Ego's son wanted to see ego.
  
  
  "Stay here if you want," the Marquis suggested. "I usually like it a lot better here than in that hell up there."
  
  
  Maria and I had a few cups that we didn't try, and we tried to make the most of the ih while sitting on the steps leading up to the day from the vineyard side.
  
  
  "Aren't you glad we came?"
  
  
  "It's certainly very informative," I agreed. Suddenly he heard the door to the house slam. I thought the Marquis was back, but in the end, it wasn't the old man.
  
  
  Two muscular, unfriendly types came down the stairs. They were holding the broadswords he'd seen her use on the armor in the corridor.
  
  
  "Mary, I hope I didn't say anything unkind about one of your acquaintances?
  
  
  "No, Jack. I have no idea what these steam engines want."
  
  
  Now he recognized them as the two drivers who had driven their cars from Seville to Jerez.
  
  
  They recognized me too, because as soon as they saw us, they ran towards us.
  
  
  'Wait! I exclaimed, reaching for my luger. I shouldn't have reached out. This Romanian girl! She stole the ego during bumps and bumps along the way. The drivers knew I didn't have an ego anymore, because they kept running, holding their five-foot broadswords threateningly over their heads.
  
  
  "Mary, the old man said there was another way out. Get out of here."
  
  
  'And you?'
  
  
  "I'll try to stop ih."
  
  
  When Mary ran up the stairs to the vineyard day, his prepared to fend off these strange revelers. I still had the stiletto, and shook out her ego, by the cuff. The difficulty, of course, was that I would never be able to get close enough to ih swords to use a stiletto.
  
  
  When the front one was ten feet away from me, my hand flew out and the knife hit Frank in the ego of folding a dollar. But it didn't work. Bulletproof vests - they took every precaution. Instead of wasting time trying new tactics and risking a severed head, he dove between two barrels and crawled to the next path.
  
  
  "Lock the door to the vineyard, Carlos," whispered one around them. "Then we'll stab that American in this bury."
  
  
  Her sock lowered and pulled out the gas bomb that was already attached to my ankle. I had a feeling that no one would leave that orgy upstairs to come to my rescue.
  
  
  "And the voice is him."
  
  
  A broadsword whizzed past my shoulder. I threw myself to the side, but the flat side of the sword still hit my hand. She hung limp and numb. The gas bomb rolled across the floor out of my reach.
  
  
  The sword now turned towards my waist, as if cutting me in half. He dived, and the sherry spilled around the barrel and onto the floor. The killer hit me in the leg-hers, jumped on the damaged brain. As soon as the top of the sword flew up again, it jumped to the next level.
  
  
  "He's not dangerous, he looks more like a ballerina to me," the driver laughed.
  
  
  Her, I thought I was on vacation. Why the hell were those two men trying to kill me?
  
  
  Now one on each side of the barrel. Ih bear collided as they both aimed at me at the same time, and I jumped into another barrel.
  
  
  "You can't keep dancing, ballerina. You can go down immediately.
  
  
  The broadsword is a primitive tool, but it is effective in the hands of a strong person. Richard the Lion add up the dollar once defeated an Arab army by simply cutting in half any warrior sent against him by the barbarians.
  
  
  The men shoved the barrel, and it rolled off and now hung like a doll between two barrels. My legs dangled reluctantly, and the half-ton of weight threatened to crush my chest.
  
  
  "We caught the ego! '
  
  
  He pulled it out. The sword slammed into the tree where my hand was. On the other hand, another-sword slashed outright near my thigh. It's up to this point in a fair fight - but being punched, being crushed like a sparrow under a skating rink, I don't even know why ...
  
  
  Once I lifted my feet and pushed the barrels. Every muscle in my legs and arms tightened as she pushed the giant vessels back one by one. The one in my back was moving with difficulty. It wasn't full, but I could hear the sloshing of wine. It gave me my confidence back.
  
  
  "Ha!" He let out a shout, a karate kick that loosened his muscles, and the tables flew apart. I scrambled back up before my listeners realized what was happening and they could chop off one of my legs.
  
  
  "I'd swear that only a werewolf can do that," said one of the others around them.
  
  
  Her, jumped over ego's head. in the side aisle, he grabbed my stiletto and ran.
  
  
  She was heard shouting by one of my pursuers. "Drive the ego away for a day in the vineyard."
  
  
  My legs were shaking from the effort it took to push the vessels apart. Instinctively, I leaned forward and heard the broadsword whiz into the wall next to me. This miss gave me a bit more of a head start. The constant assaults with heavy weapons were now beginning to tire these men out.
  
  
  They slowed down.
  
  
  Half running, half crawling, I reached the stairs leading to the vineyard doors, the very spot where they had tried to trap me. She was stabbed in the lock with a knife. He didn't budge.
  
  
  "Will you come down yourself, or should we come get you?" A scoundrel at the bottom of the stairs shouted. "Come and get me," I breathed, thinking that maybe this way I could hold her back one by one.
  
  
  "We don't care."
  
  
  They came up one by one. I turned and yanked on the rope that was already hanging next to me.
  
  
  They were holding back and probably thought I was crazy with fear. Then they saw a rope hanging from a pulley and tied to the trunk. Ih's eyes popped out when they saw him cut the rope and release the barrel around the block.
  
  
  Let's run!'
  
  
  With broadswords in their hands, they tried to run down. If they threw heavy weapons, they would still have a chance, but the barrel of a thousand liters of wine is gaining momentum very quickly. The entire basement shook with the fury of the rolling colossus. My enemies disappeared beneath it, and my broadswords flew into the air like toothpicks. The huge barrel drowned out ih's screams, crushed nu like a skating rink, and finally crashed into the first row of barrels. There was a crack of wood, and wine drenched the two lifeless bodies.
  
  
  If only they weren't so afraid of making too much noise. they would have used their guns and he would have been dead. If they weren't afraid of damaging too many barrels, they wouldn't have driven me to the road leading to the vineyard and he would have been dead.
  
  
  This is two more errors than allowed.
  
  
  He dipped his finger in the sherry that had spread across the floor and tasted it.
  
  
  Amontillado. Harvest of 1968. Good year.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 10
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  But why would they kill you? Mary asked.
  
  
  A good corkscrew.
  
  
  We returned to the safe confines of our hotel room in Seville. And I didn't drink sherry anymore, but switched to scotch.
  
  
  Maybe a competitor in the arms trade? "
  
  
  I don't think so. Maybe they mistook me for someone else."
  
  
  "But for whom? Jack?'
  
  
  "You ask a lot of good questions."
  
  
  It would be better if nah had more answers. For example, why no one came to help, after she escaped through the basement. I know I might be a little naive, but I still think that killing someone will ruin even an orgy a little. "Do you really think that Franco will be replaced by a monarchy made up of such clowns?" asked Mary.
  
  
  "The first strong man with a bit of guts could wipe ih with a handkerchief.
  
  
  "Maybe that's why they play like this - they know there's not much time left. Maybe that's why I'm playing with you too - I know we don't have much time either."
  
  
  He unzipped her dress. Her black hair fell to her waist. He pushed her away and kissed her neck. My hands found her breasts, and her nipples hardened. She leaned against me, and a deep sigh of pleasure escaped her lips.
  
  
  "Your vacation is also coming to an end. Then I'll go back to the ranch or Madrid, and in a few years I'll probably marry some idiot duke. Or a rich old man."
  
  
  "How's Barbarossa?"
  
  
  "He asked me to."
  
  
  "Don't you want to?"
  
  
  She turned to face me, her lips parted.
  
  
  "You know what I want."
  
  
  She was pulled down by ee on the bed. When I took her dress off, she undid my belt.
  
  
  We had loved each other before, but never as much as we did that night.
  
  
  Her lithe body turned into a machine of endless pleasure; She entered nah harder and deeper than ever, her cleavage straining to take me in. When I finished it, she turned me on again with her fingers and lips, and when it was finally over, we fell asleep in each other's arms.
  
  
  The next morning I contacted Colonel de Lorca. We met in the center of Seville, on the banks of the Guadalquivir. A Spanish armada once sailed on this river, but now it is almost empty.
  
  
  
  
  I asked her. "Where is Franco going now?"
  
  
  "We swelled up in La Manchuria so he could go pheasant hunting there. He is an avid hunter. Why do you ask that?"
  
  
  "Two men tried to kill me last night."
  
  
  "Obviously, they didn't do it.
  
  
  Thank you for your congratulations. Unfortunately, they were dead, so I couldn't ask nu what they had against me.
  
  
  "Her check it out."
  
  
  It doesn't bother me, Colonel. What matters is that I believe the Werewolf is still alive.
  
  
  De Lorca shook his head. He's dead, Killmaster, and not just a little.
  
  
  You mean that this person around the statue in the procession is dead. What chance would you have of emu escaping after he killed Franco?
  
  
  "Of course, this is not a chance. It was a suicidal locality in Russia ."
  
  
  "Come on, do you know a professional who goes on a suicide mission? Not her. You can't do much with your money if you're underground."
  
  
  "This is an argument. Do you have any other reasons to believe that the Werewolf is still alive?
  
  
  Her stiff legs were stretched out. "During the fight last night, he was caught between two barrels of wine."
  
  
  "I'm sorry about you."
  
  
  "And very uncomfortable, especially when there are two other guys who want to stab you with their swords. But the thing is, when it was released, Odin around these guys said that he thinks only a Werewolf is capable of such a thing. I'm not saying it will lead us to a Werewolf trail, but I suspect they saw a Werewolf and he must have impressed them with great physical strength.
  
  
  That person in this image: did you know how tall he was, for example?
  
  
  "No more than five feet. Quite wiry.
  
  
  "But not Hercules?"
  
  
  De Lorca thought for a moment, then nodded. "In the dell itself, there are two reasons why you think you've caught that killer, and that the main danger still exists. Then let me reassure you. I don't see her either. You went to a party with Maria de Ronda, didn't you? You are, let's just say, very close to her. Your rival, Don Barbarossa, is a jealous man. He is also very rich and, among other things, owns the organization where these drivers worked. Now use your common sense. It would have been a small ploy on Barbarossa's part to have Veaceslav you, just to banish you forever from the memory of Maria de Ronda. Such things are not uncommon here. Spaniards are simply more intolerant than you Americans. As for the Werewolf. Could he have escaped between those barrels of wine? Maybe not in your opinion - brute force - but why not using speed? You said yourself that you found a difficult opponent in the statue. Could he have escaped after Franco's murder? I tell her no, because I'm sure I would have caught him. Unfortunately, I can't fully vouch for the loyalty of all the security personnel, and perhaps the police present would have protected him instead of killing him. The voice of why she kept AX's help a secret. No, you did your job. Be reasonable, relax, and try to stay away from Barbarossa."
  
  
  Barbarossa. If De Lorca didn't believe in my ideas about the werewolf, what would he think of my suspicions about the industrialist's private army? "Tell me, Colonel, what is really behind the idea that Spain and North Africa have more in common than Spain and Europe - that Spain and North Africa have any special personal connections?"
  
  
  "Do you know what this river was originally called, Killmaster? Wadi al-Kibir. The name was recently changed to Guadalquivir. Our churches used to be mosques. You don't have to dig deep in Spain to find Africa."
  
  
  The seagull found something on the other side of the river. Immediately, Nah was attacked by other gulls, who tried to take away their prey. Wouldn't that have happened in Spain, after the old dictator died? "Did Franco really notice the attempt?"
  
  
  'Impossible. He's pretty hard of hearing, and with all the fireworks on top of it... No, you did great." He looked at his watch. "By the way, these cars are leaving soon, so I need to be sure that I will arrive on time. When I get her back to Madrid, I will send her to check this case with these drivers."
  
  
  I couldn't say anything more to change ego's mind. Ego's argument that the Werewolf was dead was convincing enough for him. And I only had a half-formed theory about Andres Barbarossa's plans.
  
  
  When her, went up the stairs to the port bar. I saw the figure waving at me. It was Mary.
  
  
  "Did you talk to Hema? Another businessman? " she asked as we greeted each other. "Yes," I lied with a straight face. "He's in the underwear business. Her hotel, order you something nice."
  
  
  'Hmm. It looks like you're going to take another of these trips that you never tell me about. Just when the bullfighting season has started and you can see the best colors of Madrid. You're coming, aren't you?" You can't just leave me every two minutes and pick me up like it's the most natural thing in the world."
  
  
  "I'd like a hotel."
  
  
  She glared at me, her eyes blazing. The fury of the wronged woman was in her eyes, the fury of the wronged countess.
  
  
  "If you leave now, you won't have to come back!"
  
  
  "See you in Madrid."
  
  
  She stamped her foot furiously. "And you won't even tell me where you're going?" she pouted.
  
  
  "Study birds".
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 11
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I ate a cold omelette and rustic bread, drank some wine, and watched the clouds float by. A fresh wind was blowing across the vast plain of La Mancha. From time to time, his stomach churned and he aimed the binoculars at the road.
  
  
  An hour later, we arrived as the embassy reported. They flew at an altitude of kilometers above the terrain in search of uninvited guests. He dived into the thicket and waited for them to disappear. When they were a little further away, her father looked at them through binoculars. They were Huey Cobras, part of Franco's defense.
  
  
  I could hear the sound of car tires. Three land Rovers appeared on the road, followed by a truck with farmers. The convoy stopped not far from me. As the land Rovers gathered around the coffee shop, the villagers scattered across the plain. In a trap-like formation, they began beating sticks against the undergrowth on both sides of the plain, driving the birds and Zaitsev to the center. And now Generalissimo Franco was in the middle, waiting for his victim to appear.
  
  
  Armed with the Guard's machine guns, Sybil followed the villagers, fearing strangers who might elude the Cobras. Franco and Ego sat down and sipped their coffee patiently. Although the werewolf might still be alive, at least he hadn't seen it, egoist. He felt more like he was invading a nineteenth-century painting of a hunting party than defending a modern dictator. Farmers with sticks, Civil Guards with their triangular bayonets, Franco dressed in a hunting suit of English tweed: it all seemed like something out of another time.
  
  
  The thundering cannons broke the rural silence. Odin around the hunters fired the first shot, but to no avail. Next to Franco was an adjutant with a collection of small-caliber rifles and shotguns.
  
  
  A hare leaped past me; behind it, I heard the sound of a club hitting the bushes. He dived deeper into the undergrowth. Fortunately, the farmer's attention was completely focused on the hare, which passed only three feet away from me. He took a deep breath and continued hunting through the binoculars.
  
  
  The Werewolf's chances were getting smaller and smaller. It should strike soon.
  
  
  As Hawk had advised me, he'd put himself in the killer's shoes. An analysis of Franco's previous travels in Spain showed that he always started with a grand route through major cities, but usually the journey was interrupted halfway through. This was because Franco was not welcomed in Barcelona, Bilbao, Santander and other major cities due to growing complaints from ethnic minorities. Catalans rebelled because of discrimination against the ih language, and under the leadership of the Basque Bilbao, a partizan revolt was brewing. Another reason for the shrinking ego of touring was that he no longer had as much energy.
  
  
  Franco almost always ended his tour right after-the hunt - if the Werewolf hadn't struck today, he wouldn't have had another chance. On the other hand, what could be better than hunting? The shot won't be seen until the dictator collapses.
  
  
  The ring of peasants narrowed. Most of the fighters were now standing and firing. Next to the" Land Rovers " there was a slaughter of Zaitsev and pheasants. Franco remained seated, looking bored. After that, the farmers began to relax, which meant a lot of fun.
  
  
  Hunters and farmers again played such a game of land rovers and a truck and left. And hers was lying on his stomach in the undergrowth.
  
  
  When they were out of sight, he got up and walked down the road. The village where Franco and Egor were staying was at least ten kilometers away. I walked towards the city and felt like an idiot.
  
  
  Ahead of me was a farmer with a donkey. In his boots and black hat, he looked like all the farmers in La Mancha. When he turned at the sound of my footsteps, he saw that her ego's face was bronzed and unshaven. Ego's gray eyes were searching and intelligent.
  
  
  He stopped and waited for his ego to catch up.
  
  
  "Hi, where are you going?" "What is it?" he asked in the rough local dialect.
  
  
  For the occasion, he donned baggy city clothes and a neckerchief and answered emu in the Seville dialect. "To San Victoria. Its going in the right direction? '
  
  
  "You are Sevillano. No wonder you're lost. Come with me, my donkey, and I will also go there."
  
  
  It wasn't easy to strike up a conversation like a stranger in La Mancha, and we walked side by side in silence for a while. Finally, curiosity got the better of him, and he asked: "Do you even know that we had a special guest today? Have you seen anything unusual?
  
  
  'By helicopter. You can see the parts here by helicopter ."
  
  
  "And what did you do when you saw that?"
  
  
  "I hid."
  
  
  The old man laughed and fell to his knees in delight. "Sevillano, who speaks the truth. Today is an unusual day. Well, brother, it was very wise of you to hide. These were as reported by the El Caudillo Embassy. He was here to hunt today.
  
  
  "You're kidding! '
  
  
  'I swear. My brother helped with the hunt, as did my cousin. It's an honor, of course, but on the other hand, it ruins hunting for the people here, who end up having to live off it. Not that I'm criticizing the Generalissimo. I've never had a bad word about nen."
  
  
  
  
  Probably not, I thought. A fat pheasant was slung across the donkey's back.
  
  
  "Otherwise, I say you'll have something to eat."
  
  
  "Ah, that pheasant. She was trapped by her ego. I don't think the generals shot that well. Maybe I'll give her an ego for our leader when we get to San Victoria."
  
  
  Stahl wouldn't have put her up to it. The old man was, like all farmers, even more cunning than a Wall Street broker.
  
  
  We had a thirst for conversation. We stopped and drank two goatskin egos of wine. Drinking on such a thing is quite tedious, as you have to direct the jet, which is engaged in beats frank to you in the mouth.
  
  
  He chuckled. "Have you ever seen a tourist drink wine like this before?" "They usually pour their ego first in their eyes and then on their clothes." We finally arrived at San Victoria, and the old man said good-bye.
  
  
  "Let me give you another piece of advice, another one. There's a lot of police here. And you know, Guardia Civil-first they shoot, and then they ask questions. The further away you are from the Generalissimo, the better. Maybe, as the embassy said, they didn't see you the first time, but they will see you the second time."
  
  
  "I get it, thank you."
  
  
  He wiped the sweat from his face with his sleeve. "By the way, what are you doing in La Mancha anyway?"
  
  
  "Her, looking for a job."
  
  
  He raised his eyebrows and patted his forehead. "Then you can pray that God will help you. You will definitely need some ego help."
  
  
  No doubt he now thought it was all for nothing. But what he said about the police was all too true. Wherever you went, you stepped on the boots of the Civil Guard, and he could feel dozens of eyes on his back as he walked down the main street. Even on the roof of the church, the largest building in the village, a soldier could see her. I left the main street and found a small cafe somewhere. There were many people who helped Franco hunt this game, and they had a good business home. He lifted her to a chair and ordered a glass of wine. Everyone was busy talking about the hunt, and I heard on her phone that the Generalissimo had had a stomach ache that morning. That was the reason why he didn't fire. But now the emu is better, and will readily resume in the early afternoon. Many farmers were dissatisfied with this.
  
  
  "I have to go back to the farm."
  
  
  'Her too. Today it's my turn to get water for watering. And you know what happens when you don't have water." Another fat man, dressed slightly better than the others, joined in the conversation. "It's a great honor. You can't leave now! '
  
  
  "Should my family starve?"
  
  
  "We are talking about frequent villages."
  
  
  "You'll keep your honor in mind. You're the mayor, " one of the farmers said. "They don't even think about our interests. Just find some street urchins to chase pheasants."
  
  
  However, the mayor was enraged, half of the farmers refused to participate in the corral for the second time.
  
  
  "I won't forget this," he threatened. 'You're there!'
  
  
  I looked around to see who he was talking to.
  
  
  "You, stranger."
  
  
  'She? I pointed to myself.
  
  
  "Yeah, you're stupid. You can certainly help with the hunt, can't you?
  
  
  "I think it'll be fine."
  
  
  "Sevillano," he scoffed. - And you also sometimes expect to be paid?
  
  
  Hers, knew it was a common occurrence.
  
  
  "A little, yes," I said meekly.
  
  
  "Fifty Pesetas and a free eda".
  
  
  He glanced at the farmers and saw that one of them was shaking his head in disapproval.
  
  
  'I do not know.'
  
  
  'Then it's fine. Eighty pesetas. Or you'd rather be arrested by the Guard." We can't use tramps here."
  
  
  This is how the Spanish municipal council works, I thought.
  
  
  The mayor recruits some more street urchins, and then siestas to the generals we all play this truck game.
  
  
  Now we went to another part of the plain. It was littered with huge boulders and snakes. The hunters were not bothered by this, because they stayed in the area that was cut down specifically for them. As reported by the embassy, Franco buzzed like giant insects.
  
  
  The group he was in stretched out to the left. Every three meters, a hare would leap out of the undergrowth, or a pheasant would run headlong to its doom. When we had gone about fifty yards of ground, he stopped and knelt down.
  
  
  "Go, I'll catch up with you again. I have a pebble in my shoe."
  
  
  I was wearing my usual low ballet slippers.
  
  
  "This is where you need shoes," was ih's comment.
  
  
  They moved on as her shoes began to come off. After a minute, they were clearly visible.
  
  
  'What's your emergency? A voice that seemed vaguely familiar rang out.
  
  
  "A pebble in my shoe."
  
  
  "Get up when I talk to you."
  
  
  Its got up. Someone from the Spanish Foreign Legion looked at me suspiciously.
  
  
  It was the Gorilla, the bodyguard she had met twice before in the palace. Once when I was in disguise, and once when I was in my real form, during our battle in the ballroom. It was very dark last time, and I'll bet he didn't recognize me.
  
  
  "Do you help hunt game for the Generalissimo?" "What is it?" he asked skeptically.
  
  
  "Yes, senor."
  
  
  In his desert khaki uniform, he paced around me, the butt of his rifle tapping restlessly on his hip. "Don't I know you from somewhere? Were you in the legion?"
  
  
  "No, senor."
  
  
  "Otherwise, you look strong enough." You don't strike me as someone who hunts wild animals with farmers.
  
  
  I never forget her face, " are you sure we haven't met before?"
  
  
  "Maybe in Seville. It's from Seville, maybe you saw me there.
  
  
  He rubbed his scarred face. "No, somewhere else. Well, it doesn't matter. Hurry up with these shoes and make sure you catch up with the others."
  
  
  "Yes, senor."
  
  
  At this moment, ego fat face froze. Ego confusion was replaced by an eerie certainty.
  
  
  Her, looked at the ground. I turned around as I spoke, and when he saw my face in the shadows, he recognized the face he had seen in the ballroom.
  
  
  Now all the ego, all the doubts are gone. "Yes, her, I believe that we know another other. I even wanted you because I still need to poke around with you. And then I'll do to you what we in the Legion always do to traitors - I'll cut your head off from your torso and put it on display!"
  
  
  "I don't know what you're talking about, senor."
  
  
  Before he could speak again, he knocked the rifle out of his hands, but they didn't relax for a second. The gorilla stabbed me in the neck. Ego grabbed her arm, spun her around, and threw her over his shoulder. He leapt to his feet, knife still in hand.
  
  
  Ah, you know what I'm telling her, you dirty killer. I will destroy you.'
  
  
  He swung the knife, and Ego grabbed her arm again. But now he moved his alenka and threw me to the ground four meters away from me.
  
  
  I killed my first opponent when I was fourteen, " he boasted. "At the age of seventeen, he was the strongest in the entire Legion. And there's no piano to hide behind, so you don't stand a chance."
  
  
  "I was Akela with the Boy Scouts."
  
  
  Em had to think about this comment for a while, and it gave me the opportunity to jump up and hit ego in the forehead with both heels. Such a blow would have reared the horse, but the veteran grabbed me by the waist and threw me back to the ground. With both hands, he brought the blade of the knife to my throat.
  
  
  "If you stop breathing, you won't feel it, boy," he whispered.
  
  
  The muscles in my ego's shoulders tensed as he pressed my hands together. The blade was already making a cutting motion. At this point, I managed to hold the ego of the wrist. At first, he couldn't believe that ego's wrists were locked, that my hands were stronger than ego's.
  
  
  "You're not a farmer," he breathed.
  
  
  Schrammel's ego was white and the veins in his neck were swollen from exertion, but he couldn't break my strength. Her hands were pulled aside by Ego, and the knife fell to the floor. Then, abruptly, he let go of him, throwing ego to the ground with all his weight. Ego rolled her onto her back and grabbed the knife. Now the roles are reversed. Slowly, but really with her, he put the knife to the legionnaire's throat. It took all of my alenka to overcome the ego resistance. The tip of the knife grazed Ego's Adam's apple.
  
  
  Suddenly, there was sand in my eyes. The gorilla realized that he was defeated, and all he could do to avoid death was throw a handful of dust in my face.
  
  
  He had to cough and couldn't see much. The knife fell aimlessly to the ground. I heard the legionnaire get up and walk around me.
  
  
  A second later, he wrapped a rope around my neck. He pulled it tight , and I gasped. It was a Spanish strangulation. Prisons use tension rods and screws, but the Legion still does it the old-fashioned way, with rope. Very effective. My dollar stack started to beat faster, and the lack of oxygen caused black dots to appear in front of my eyes. She made a sickening, gasping sound as he pulled harder on the rope.
  
  
  With a concentrated effort, he grabbed the rope with both hands and dived forward with all his strength. The gorilla flew over my head and landed on the ground. Panting, he leaped to his feet again. Still blinded by the sand, she hit his ego with all her might, on the most vulnerable spot.
  
  
  The spot that was the gorilla flickered. The ego of the wide-open rta was filled with indistinct screams of pain, and he clutched his crotch with both hands and fell to his knees. He took the rope from her neck. A ring of raw red meat remained. It was hard to resist the temptation to strangle their gorilla.
  
  
  "At least you don't have to think about your friends for months," I said.
  
  
  He began to moan even louder. He picked up the rifle and slammed it into the ego's skull like a golf club. The gorilla was now lying on the ground, unconscious.
  
  
  He let the tears wash the dirt from his eyes and put on his legionnaire's clothes. There was no better disguise in which to move freely around the hunting grounds.
  
  
  Now willingly was in full swing. The circle that the farmers had surrounded the panicked animals was narrowing. And the shots rang out at shorter intervals.
  
  
  It was found by a large boulder suitable for observation. Through the binoculars, I saw someone helping Franco out of the chair. I knew I could be seen on the land rovers, but thanks to the gorilla's uniform and cap, no one paid much attention to me. A hare jumped into the fire field.
  
  
  Franco picked out the light rifle with the same confidence as when choosing a new tie, and fired. The hare rolled over and fell dead on its back.
  
  
  Not bad for a man in his eighties.
  
  
  The other fighters applauded.
  
  
  Franco waved them to silence and picked up a few more rounds. He was known to be a good hunter, and I suspected he wanted other ammo. It's easy to imagine an ego guard loading their guns with buckshot to increase the chance of being hit. Just like the Eisenhower security guards who regularly kicked ego golf balls over rough terrain back onto the course. It drove Eisenhower crazy, but they didn't stop.
  
  
  She looked as sleepy as she had that morning.
  
  
  A pheasant flew out of the undergrowth.
  
  
  Franco calmly followed him through the scope of his weapon. He fired, and the pheasant fell. More applause.
  
  
  Most farmers now watched as the ih task was completed. From time to time, "Olé!"was heard around the ihc. if the generalissimo fired successfully.
  
  
  The horizon scanned her. There was nothing to be seen but rocks and bushes. And in the distance, a windmill. Just as she was about to be lowered by the spectator, she saw movement somewhere that I didn't expect. Almost revealing across from me, on the other side of the hunting grounds, was a row of cobblestones. And something is wrong with one around these rocks. It seemed to have curved ears that moved with each of Franco's shots. He peered into the undergrowth with binoculars as best he could, and finally saw the figure of a man. It was the old farmer she'd been brought up with, before San Victoria. Her, breathed a sigh of relief. For estestvenno, curiosity about the generalissimo caused ego to hide there. And he'll probably see Franco's hotel too.
  
  
  A pheasant flew up from the undergrowth where he was sitting, hunched over. The bird rose and flew towards the hunting grounds. Perhaps the old farmer had given Caudillo something after all.
  
  
  One of them pointed to the bird through Franco's assistants.
  
  
  Franco picked up the loaded double-barrelled shotgun and took aim. The pheasant flew about five meters high and went frank Franco. One barrel went off, then another. The bird flew away unharmed. He made signs and, oddly enough, flew back to the fighters. When they saw the returning beast, excited screams were heard. Franco grabbed a new rifle.
  
  
  The pheasant flew rather stiffly, almost unnaturally. As he approached the Generalissimo, Ego was examining her with binoculars. The target was featureless, the eyes were blind. This bird was alive, like a stuffed turtle.
  
  
  It turned the viewer back to the old farmer. Now he was completely focused on the pheasant's movements, I stand almost sincerely. In his hands, he held a radio transmitter, with which he controlled the movements of a mechanical bird. He had to be a Werewolf! I've been in his presence all morning and now I'm going to witness Franco's ego murder!
  
  
  The fragile dictator followed the bird through the scope. The beast flew straight at him, forming an irreplaceable target. However, with a bullet, this is not so easy, because something flying over you has a smaller silhouette. Franco fired. The bird briefly took off, but this was due to the air sampling pressure that caused the shot. Now, the second shot rang out on the double-barreled barrel. It seemed impossible, but the bird continued to fly openly. Annoyed, Franco grabbed another rifle. It wouldn't be a shotgun anymore. The hunters shouted encouragement as the bird turned back.
  
  
  They must have thought it was a hunter's luck.
  
  
  She turned the binoculars back to the Werewolf. Without moving, he sent the creature back for its third attack. The mechanical bird was radio-controlled, but the bomb probably wasn't. I suspected what it would contain: gelatin dynamite - the most powerful dynamite imaginable. A single metal particle from a shotgun would be enough to cause an explosion. They'll probably only find Franco's ballet slippers later. The flying bomb delivered the final blow. It would fly directly over my head. He aimed the legionnaire's rifle at his right wing.
  
  
  The werewolf must have noticed me, because the fake pheasant suddenly dived, and my shot went mimmo. The bird now fluttered almost openly before me and took off in the direction of the hunters. If my next shot misses again, gawking might hit one of the other fighters.
  
  
  Now he aimed at the thick chest of the bird in front of me and gently pulled the trigger.
  
  
  It was as if the sun had exploded over the plain. The shotgun was ripped out around my hands from the pressure of air sampling. As in some dream of hers, I felt myself going up and then down again. But when my shoulder and shin hit the ground, it hurt. Her glide was about ten meters on her hands and face. He tried to control his arms and legs, but was already unconscious before he hit the cobblestones.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 12
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  A narrow, tired face at the foot of the bed. Faded mustache, liver spots. A respectful conversation.
  
  
  Someone stood up. There were other people.
  
  
  The session ended.
  
  
  Then the doctors. bandages. Bottles with rubber hoses, next to the bed. Rubber hoses in your hand. The leaves rustled like the feathers of a mechanical bird.
  
  
  She woke up and sat in the trash. In the mirror over the dressing table, she saw a tall, dark - haired man in a pajama coat-Nick Carter-and he didn't look very fit. De Lorca, sit on the chair next to the bed. "Welcome home," he said.
  
  
  "Where have you been?" I asked dully.
  
  
  "You were in a coma."
  
  
  'How much?'
  
  
  "Three days, but don't worry. All the fingers and toes are still in place. It was because of the shock. No permanent damage, just a minor concussion and a few first-degree burns, although at first they thought your retina was damaged. By the way, you didn't look so pretty when we found you
  
  
  There was blood around your eyes, your ears, and your rta. An unpleasant sight.
  
  
  "Thank you for the compliment, but I have a job to do."
  
  
  He pushed me back down on the bed. "In the meantime, you should rest. The doctors don't care if you're still alive."
  
  
  "Spanish doctors?"
  
  
  'More precisely; Doctors of the Spanish Army. Most people would be torn apart by the air sampling pressure you were exposed to. They say you're a fine specimen ."
  
  
  "Alive or dead?"
  
  
  'Between. I mean it when I tell you to rest. He picked up a map that was already hanging at the foot of the bed. "Fever, abnormal blood pressure, risk of blood clots, minor internal bleeding."
  
  
  "In other words, it's nothing special if you get candid under a bomb. That's why you shouldn't treat me like a complete invalid."
  
  
  "Please," he made a pleading gesture with his hands. "Hawkeye will send me a bomb if I let you go out through the hospitals the day you regain consciousness. Besides, you have to explain something to me first.
  
  
  De Lorca told her about the Werewolf and Ego the radio-controlled bird. Colonel De Lorca was one of their security officers, who can process information without recording everything. He listened without interrupting me.
  
  
  "He's very good, this Werewolf," he said at last. "Her ego doesn't know her at all, the ego of disguise. And it will certainly strike again. You should have seen the ego with this radio station. I've never seen one like this. She was only hindered by the emu, but not by her ego.
  
  
  "Do you think he'll recognize you?"
  
  
  'I'm afraid so. In his eyes, my cover is blown. Speaking of nuts, how is this legionnaire?
  
  
  "The one you almost castrated?" De Lorca chuckled. "He's in the next room. I don't think we should tell emu where you are. He twitched his mustache for a moment. "You will see that this is the first time someone has knocked out ego in a melee fight. You may be right that the Werewolf is good, but you've done even better.
  
  
  Her father struggled to keep his eyes open, and suddenly felt sluggish. "Did they add a sedative to the glucose?"
  
  
  "The more you rest, the less likely you are to get a shock. Don't worry, the Generalissimo will be staying at the palace today. We'll puffiness there tomorrow. He still wants to talk to you.
  
  
  'Was ... he was ...'
  
  
  "Yes, Franco was here when you were still in a coma."
  
  
  The De Lorcas no doubt said more flattering things, but my goal was lying on a thick pillow, and hers was a deep sleep.
  
  
  I woke up in the evening. He looked at the clock on the dressing table. Ten o'clock. My stomach rumbled with hunger, no doubt a sign of recovery. Her, pressed the bell next to my bed.
  
  
  
  A few moments later, the doctor came in.
  
  
  I asked her. "There are no nurses here?"
  
  
  "This department is for people who need a good rest."
  
  
  He read my chart and put a thermometer in my mouth.
  
  
  Ego pulled her out.
  
  
  "Why are you wearing a face mask? Its infected?
  
  
  "Please faithful this thermometer, you are not contagious, but I have a cold."
  
  
  He checked the glucose bottle hanging over the bed. It was deserted. He replaced the ego with a full bottle. The iso rta thermometer took it out again.
  
  
  "I called because I was hungry. I want to eat something, and I don't mean the liquid you pass through the tube. "I want to chew something."
  
  
  He put the thermometer back down.
  
  
  "Solid food is never used in anti-shock treatment. Don't you see that you should have died after what you went through?
  
  
  He connected the tank to a rubber hose. A clear liquid trickled down the hose to my hand. The doctor had a Madrid accent, but there was a familiar edge to his ego.
  
  
  I asked her, " What does the official website actually say?" "This is your idea!"
  
  
  Her, jumped up.
  
  
  "You meddled in this? What the hell does that mean?'
  
  
  Now, for the first time, the doctor looked me straight in the face. He had gray, intelligent eyes. The eyes of an old farmer on La Mancha.
  
  
  'It's you. A werewolf!
  
  
  "And you're Carter. I knew they'd send the best agent for me. I thought it would be you, but I wasn't sure until tonight. My compliments on success with my pheasant. You're very lucky, but I'm afraid that's not going to happen right now.
  
  
  "Thread to my happiness! And you think you can leave here safely? You're trapped in this hospital, you... I felt my tongue grow thick. His eyes blinked and he tried to concentrate. "It's you ..."
  
  
  I no longer had any power over my lips. In the fog, I saw the label on the new bottle.
  
  
  'Sodium ... pent...
  
  
  'Exactly. Sodium pentothal, " the Werewolf nodded. "Not very suitable as a truth serum, but a very effective drug. I thought oni egos would be easier to get at."
  
  
  I tried to free my hand from the syringe, but my brain lost control of my limbs. The werewolf pulled off his mask. He was shaved now, his face younger and more angular.
  
  
  "When this courier died in the plane crash, I probably knew someone would show up. Her suspicion was that it would be an English agent or someone around Washington. When that dead man was found in the statue of the procession, I thought, " Nick Carter." I knew that this could only be your job."
  
  
  He briefly pressed the bell button three times. "You tricked me in La Mancha, too. You're just as good at speaking all the dialects as her. I'm sorry I had to get you out of the way. If the Russians really value your head as much as they say, at least you're a good bonus."
  
  
  Nice bonus: I heard it, but I couldn't understand both ends of my words due to the growing buzz in my heads. Her vague awareness was that a white sheet was being pulled over my head. Someone entered the room, she was put on a moving stretcher and taken away.
  
  
  It was thwarted by an attempt on Franco's life, but there was nothing I could do to stop the Werewolf from grabbing me.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 13
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The first sign that I was alive was the smell of animals. It wasn't just the smell of a dog, it was a sharp, acrid stench. He couldn't see anything because he was under the tarp, but the buzzing in my head was gone, and he could move his fingers freely. I was wearing a simple shirt and trousers.
  
  
  It was wrong. I don't believe in an afterlife, and it wasn't very much like death. Did the Werewolf change his mind, too, or did something make the ego leave me alive somewhere? And where in the name of Jesus did this strong animal smell come from?
  
  
  A tarp lifted her up. The werewolf wasn't wrong!
  
  
  It was in the middle of a paddock surrounded by a wooden fence, with six fighting bulls. And they weren't calves. They weren't even half the caliber that Rancho Maria was fighting her with. They were real adult killers, twice the size of calves, with horns half a meter long. One was right next to me.
  
  
  He slowly turned his head and looked at where the gate was. It was on the other side of the fence, between me and six huge bulls. Furthermore, it was undoubtedly locked from the outside. I couldn't get out.
  
  
  The wooden fences of the paddock were about five meters high, with no ledges on which to put your hands or feet. There was no way out. The Werewolf's plan was perfect.
  
  
  Undoubtedly, the bulls were not fed enough. For fighting bulls, they always enter the ring hungry. In such a group, they seemed peaceful. Shortly before the start of the season, the ih bulls were placed in separate pens. All I could do was keep quiet and wait for the caretakers to do their job. But that didn't help me either. Because bulls may have poor eyesight, but ih sense of smell is fine.
  
  
  The reddish-gray monster stuck an edu in its mouth. The black bull spread its hind legs and released a stream of urine. Another poignancy is the horns at the corral fence. In the end, all those incredible fighting machines would have been dead, but now they were kings.
  
  
  One stepped over the tarp and rubbed his muscular body against the fence. Red-gray chewed, his long tongue licking his pink lips.
  
  
  It was hard not to swear out loud. On the calculations of one of the animals, I saw the label - SS. The werewolf had a sinister sense of humor.
  
  
  However, that wasn't my main concern anymore. The red-and-gray bull came up to lick. On the way thoughtlessly el seine like a vacuum cleaner. Through the crack, he could see ego's eyes wandering over the tarp.
  
  
  What would the two bulls think if they found my body? Avid amateur bullfighters often tried their hand at real bulls and made their way to the paddock. The risk of dying in such a trick is one hundred percent. So I'd be the one around these dead idiots.
  
  
  Red bull was going to stick his nose under the tarp right now. Ego's tongue slid under her and touched my arm. He snorted and took a step back. The other bulls turned to look at the tarp. The two who were lying on the floor got up.
  
  
  Red came back and stuffed the horns into the tarp. He poked me gently in the ribs. The tip of the ego horn was like a stiletto. Then the monster howled and pulled the tarp off me. The effect on other bulls was electrifying: for this ih brought out a ring-to kill a person.
  
  
  I took off my shirt to use it as a rag. I knew how ridiculous and hopeless it was, but a dirty white shirt was all I needed to protect myself. I still had sodium pentothal in my blood, but it was quickly neutralized by the adrenaline rush.
  
  
  The red bull, a monster weighing at least five hundred kilograms, charged. I swung my shirt at emu's eyes and lured ego to the side, but ego's shoulder hit me and I slammed into the wall. When it bounced back, the second one, a black one with a single curved horn, had already launched an attack. Ego straight horn hit me in the head. He ducked and trudged toward the center of the area.
  
  
  The third bull was now attacking me from behind. He jumped out of the way and fell to his knees. A fourth man came up to me. He went to get a shirt, but hit me with his back foot in the face. Its cringed than hurt.
  
  
  No one around them lowed, and they didn't hit the ground with their hooves. They weren't wearing underpants. These were the best. He jumped to his feet and managed to dodge the fifth one. He sped past me and rammed his horns deep into another bull.
  
  
  Now the herd's unity was broken. The bull, which had been hit in the chest with its horns, fell down and screamed. He waved his head wildly, but the red color clouded his eyes. The entire area of the hotel became wet and warm from the blood gushing over the bull.
  
  
  Red-gray attacked me and pinned me to the wooden wall to moan. Ego held her head while he tried to lift me up onto his horns. When he took a step back to better attack her, he allowed himself to roll to the side.
  
  
  The smell of blood now filled the paddock and drove the oxen, one after another. It was a chaotic series of murders. They didn't just attack me anymore, but another one as well. There was also a second bull on the ground covered in blood. He defended himself and waved his horns back and forth. He will continue to fight until he dies. The chaos is unlikely to give them relief. He was locked up in a pen with five raging bulls, and that's not exactly a continuing concern for saving lives.
  
  
  One bull hit him in the head from behind and threw me to the ground. He turned and saw a pink nose, blood-red eyes, and two huge horns above him. One ego-driven leg pinned me to the ground, so I couldn't move. Suddenly, a red and gray bull rolled on the ground with a cry. A black bull stood over him, pulling out the entrails of his ego with its horns. The corral smelled nauseating now. Black bull finished off red-gray and turned to me.
  
  
  He attacked with his head down. He threw my shirt in front of his eyes and jumped. It wasn't a classic Greek move, but it landed with one foot between the horns of a bull. I put my other foot on his bony shoulder and jumped up the fence. The height of the bull at the withers was one hundred and eighty. The top edge of the wall was still about ten feet higher. He reached out and grabbed the edge with both hands. As I pulled myself up, the black bull shook the shirt off my head and bumped into my dangling legs.
  
  
  But he was too late. Her, pulled up and held on tight. The bull now turned to the other two. One of them was bleeding iso rta. The other one attacked him. Blacknail was now also on the bleeding beast, and together they chased ego to the fence. Like one tangled mass of flesh, they slammed into the fence, which shook and shook under the weight.
  
  
  The impact caused me to fall, landing on a black ball, but I still managed to get up.
  
  
  The black bull was lying down. Now there are two left. They stared at each other in the middle of the paddock. Ih tongues were coming out of the rta from fatigue.
  
  
  As if on an inaudible command, they attacked. Clash of ih attack skill value sounded like a cannon shot. They backed up and attacked again. Ih horns intertwined. With bleeding wounds and reddened skin, they fought with all their might to win. Finally, one gave up. It fell on one of every tribe, and then completely collapsed. The victor stuck his horns into the victim's soft lifeblood and tore it open. He tore out the contents, which smeared across the landing like dirty, wet confetti. Then he staggered to the center of the corral and stood triumphant, master of everything he saw around him: the five dead bulls and the four picket fences. He took it, climbed over the fence, and jumped down from the other side.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 14
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Then a double whisky and a lobster soaked in sherry made her feel human again. I waited until the evening for her to pay a courtesy call to Andres Barbarossa at his villa in Madrid.
  
  
  Of course, hers might have been trapped in a trap as deadly as the corral around which hers had just escaped, but I had a number of reasons to believe that I had a good chance of survival. The werewolf didn't mention my cover as an arms dealer while he was bragging at the hospital. Obviously, he didn't know anything about Jack Finley. Of course, it could be that Barbarossa was aware of everything, that he just ordered the Werewolf to get rid of me without giving em any details. But it was all guesswork, and I needed to find out if Barbarossa was the mastermind behind the plot or not.
  
  
  Ego Villa, a marble Renaissance mansion on Avenida Generalizimo, was a symbol of the ego state. There were security guards in the yard, and the driveway was packed with limos. Obviously, he was throwing a party.
  
  
  The butler caused some difficulties because my name wasn't on the guest list, but finally Barbarossa himself appeared and ushered me inside. He seemed very pleased with himself and paced up and down like a proud rooster. In the ballroom, she saw several well-known industrial magnates with their wives and a large number of senior army officers.
  
  
  "What a happy coincidence that you're passing mimmo tonight," admitted Barbarossa. "The development of events is approaching a climax. Have you already decided to join our ranks?
  
  
  "I don't know her yet.'
  
  
  "Maybe I can convince you tonight."
  
  
  He showed me to the playroom. A quartet of violinists was playing, and everyone was drinking champagne.
  
  
  "This is the nobility of Madrid," the industrialist whispered proudly to me. We were greeted by a fat, handsome man in a tuxedo. "Senor Rojas, this is our new convert. The man I talked to you about when I told you what happened to Gruen.
  
  
  Very nice to meet you, " Rojas cooed in Spanish, which was absurdly as Spanish as apple strudel. He was either a former Wehrmacht officer or a South African. There were more Nazi officers who noticed Hitler's approach to death in time, moved their money to Switzerland and moved to live in Spain.
  
  
  "So you're going to take Gruen's place?"
  
  
  He's twice as good as Gruen, " Barbarossa said, complimenting me as if he were my impresario. "I know that Gruen was your assistant during the war, and I wouldn't have said it if I hadn't been convinced."
  
  
  "Let's forget all the old wars," Herr Rojas replied. "We have to focus on the future."
  
  
  As we walked on, Barbarossa introduced me to a Spaniard who wore dark glasses. It was General Vasquez, a falangist from the beginning, in the fascist army and a member of Franco's cabinet. It could give respectability to any coup. On the other hand, he would also have lost the most if he had participated in a failed coup.
  
  
  "Andres talks a lot about you," he said. "Sometimes I wonder how much he actually tells you."
  
  
  'Very little.'
  
  
  'Happy. Sometimes I fear that discretion is not my strong suit."
  
  
  Her, understood what he meant. Because of Maria, Barbarossa may have told me more than would have been possible. Perhaps at the hotel to impress me, to subdue me, if possible, to emu, by hiring me to make her fall for Mary's prestige. The General looked openly at me. "In a real estate transaction of this magnitude, we cannot allow every random passerby to look at these maps. We are not the only businessmen who are interested in Morocco. Our success requires absolute secrecy ."
  
  
  "Absolutely fantastic," Barbarossa agreed.
  
  
  "I'll talk to the other guests now, we don't have to talk about business all the time," Vazquez said. It looked like he was going to balance between different forces.
  
  
  She was met by other officers and some industrialists of different nationalities. The nobility was also richly represented. The members of this sect mostly gathered around the free buffet table.
  
  
  Real estate transactions? If he was to understand Vasquez seriously, he really was mistaken. After the General's hints, Barbarossa launched into a long speech about the growth opportunities of the North African tourism market. Besides, I couldn't imagine most of the guests were conspirators against Franco. Most of the people around them were ordinary aristocrats or rich people that you will find in every European capital. They were fashionably dressed and well-mannered. The conversation mostly revolved around the mysterious death of six bulls who were supposed to fight in the Plaza de Toros."
  
  
  
  'Are you bored?' -
  
  
  It was Mary, walking arm-in-arm with a not very intelligent-looking nobleman.
  
  
  It wouldn't be very polite to say that."
  
  
  Juan, can you get me a cup of champagne, please?
  
  
  Her escort obeyed like a well-trained dog.
  
  
  "I can see you're bored, Jack. You definitely wouldn't be bored if you called me."
  
  
  He offered her a cigarette.
  
  
  "Why didn't you call me?"
  
  
  "I thought you were mad at me!"
  
  
  "If you'd come to the funeral with me, she would have been able to forgive you. Where were you just now?
  
  
  "I was trying to get orders. You know how it is - the job of an arms dealer never ends."
  
  
  "Liar. This is your sadistic trait. Go, go get out of here before Juan gets back.
  
  
  She knew the way to Barbarossa's house. We ducked behind the tapestry, then climbed the stairs that led to the second-floor hallway.
  
  
  "Are you still on a business trip - or do you have some free time?"
  
  
  My hand slid down her back to the curve of her buttocks. According to the protocol, now it should chat with the guests below, but the man should know when to break the rules.
  
  
  "You are very dangerous to me, Maria."
  
  
  She leaned against me and kissed my neck. 'What do you mean?'
  
  
  "I might die right now."
  
  
  "Always working and never playing, poor boy. .
  
  
  We tried all day in the lobby until we found one unlocked. Luckily, it was a guest room with a made-up bed.
  
  
  "Hurry up, Jack."
  
  
  Brylev turned it off. Maria slipped around the dress, her bra gone. He took off her underwear and simultaneously kissed the hard nipples of her full breasts.
  
  
  "Quickly."
  
  
  It was as if she thought the world was coming to an end. Our lovemaking was animalistic and aggressive.
  
  
  Her legs were parted so I could push her as deep as I could, then she locked her thighs tightly together, as if she was trying to hold on to me. I pressed my nails to her buttocks, and she pulled my head up to her chest. She shook her head wildly. This was the real Maria de Ronda. Refuse the title and money, drag her to bed, and the proud, elegant countess will turn into an excited wild beast.
  
  
  After an orgasm, she hugged me. "That was great, Jack. You were fantastic ."
  
  
  "Don't say it's like last time."
  
  
  Her hand slid over the muscles of my back.
  
  
  "War bull," she whispered. "You're a first-class bull, Jack." She kissed me deeply and released me.
  
  
  "I'm afraid they won't let us through there."
  
  
  We got dressed and made sure that we looked presentable, if not decent. Then we went down. Although I suspected that no one noticed our absence, I saw that Barbarossa was looking at us with dark eyes. "Are you having a good time?" He exclaimed cheerfully as he approached us.
  
  
  "Excellent," Maria replied.
  
  
  He asked me. 'And you?'
  
  
  "If Maria is satisfied, it automatically makes me feel satisfied," seemed to me the most gallant response.
  
  
  "I just need to fix my makeup." Maria disappeared, and Barbarossa looked at me with clenched fists. "She's a difficult woman," he said at last.
  
  
  I found it hard not to contradict him. But in the end, she was simply forced to take advantage of ego jealousy. There's no point in causing an explosion.
  
  
  "I think she's very pretty," he told her casually. "Initially, my hotel manager sent me to London, but I think I'll stay in Madrid."
  
  
  "Does Mary know about this?" "What is it?" he asked with almost schoolboy horror.
  
  
  "She even asked me to stay."
  
  
  Barbarossa lit a cigar, probably to calm his thoughts. As soon as Maria arrived, all ego dreams of power faded into the background.
  
  
  "What can convince you to leave Spain?" He wouldn't have asked if he hadn't realized how unreliable it was to hire a bunch of gypsies to get me out of the way.
  
  
  "You mean money?" Aryantsev asked her.
  
  
  He looked cautiously at his guests.
  
  
  "It's possible," he whispered.
  
  
  'No. I shook my head. "I have more than enough to support myself. I see it more in some kind of action. At first, I thought you might offer it to me, but I don't feel like a security guard for potash mines and real estate transactions."
  
  
  My rheumatism convinced Barbarossa.
  
  
  "Come with me."
  
  
  He made sure that Vazquez and Rojas didn't see us leave the ballroom. We walked through the mimmo violinists on stage, through the hall where the Rubens Internet was hung, and finally found ourselves in a large office with mahogany walls around it. The bookcases were filled with books bound in Moroccan leather and engraved with the Barbarossa monogram. There was a small bar, and a collection of antique weapons hung in an open doorway. A huge, classic desk chair took up almost the entire wall. All of this breathed money and status, but she didn't expect anything else.
  
  
  'Very good.'
  
  
  'Just wait and see. So, you asked for action. I can offer you more than you could ever dream of. By the way, I've already told you this before. I'll prove it to her now ."
  
  
  He pressed a button and the wall behind the desk slid up and disappeared into the ceiling. A huge illuminated map of Spain and Morocco appeared. Red circles indicate Rota, Torrejon, and all other American bases in Spain. A double red circle was set up around Sidi Yahya in the Atlas Mountains, where a secret American communications center was located. Blue circles indicate Spanish and Moroccan bases. Next to each circle was an SS sign. Barbarossa pointed this out with his finger. "Our troops. Squads of well-trained men are ready to take power in two countries. We call ourselves Sangre Sagrada and you can join us ."
  
  
  Saint's sangre. "Holy Blood." The mere sound of those words seemed to have an almost religious effect on Barbarossa. There was a strange, almost hysterical look in Ego's eyes, and he seemed to have completely forgotten I was there.
  
  
  "For seven hundred years, Spain and North Africa were one people, one nation. We were the most powerful country in the world. When we split up, we became weak. We've been weak for long enough.
  
  
  Now we-the oldest families-are ready to make history again. The Holy Blood of Spain will make our country great again. Nothing and no one can stop us now ."
  
  
  "Except for Franco."
  
  
  "Franco." Barbarossa frowned. "We were disappointed in nen. When he arrived, around Africa with his Moorish troops during the war, my poor father thought that de Caudillo would use his victory to reunite the two coasts of the Mediterranean under one leader. But he can't even drive the British out of Gibraltar. There's a Morocco hall with an ego of huge mineral wealth, and a weak king. And the voice of Spain, practically occupied by the Americans with ih bases, sold by a weak generalissimo. One push in the right direction and all power will fall into our hands. And you will have a lot of strength to share with you, Senor Finley.
  
  
  Her, went to the map. There was some crazy logic to the plan. If they succeed, the Sangre Saint will control the strait to the Mediterranean Sea. If they take over American bases, the consequences will be even more severe. In one fell swoop, they will become a world power that can be equated with the territory of China, the territory. Logical - but at the same time crazy.
  
  
  "So you have men,"I said. "What about financial resources?"
  
  
  Barbarossa chuckled. "You know, we're not the only ones who want to be reunited with North Africa."
  
  
  'The French. SLA ".
  
  
  'Exactly. All of them, thousands of officers who resisted de Gaulle.
  
  
  It was against de Gaulle's policy and tried to eliminate the ego. They are also behind us, not only with their personnel, but also with money. And the Germans-the Germans who couldn't get back to Germany-like Rojas. They still haven't lost their desire to win and are sharing their experience with us."
  
  
  "And millions in gold."
  
  
  'Actually. In return, we have included ih in our organization. These former SS officers have experience that we can put to good use, and so we also allowed them to hire certain professional experts for us."
  
  
  A werewolf would fit that category. No wonder he worked under such a sinister pseudonym.
  
  
  "Why does your organization still have a ferret Spanish name if most of the members aren't Spanish?"
  
  
  "It's a Spanish organization," Barbarossa said irritably. "The Phalanx generals have been unhappy with Franco for some time. De Caudillo betrayed the principles of the Phalanx to enter Egypt with Opus Dei, and the Vatican, with NATO and the Americans. Sangre Sagrada will not bend our knees to hema. We will capture American bases. And believe me, they will be completely powerless ."
  
  
  "That seems unlikely to me."
  
  
  "What can they do?" Barbarossa held up his hands. "If we have ih bases, we will have more aircraft than them. And I'm not even talking about equipping her with all these nuclear weapons. Will they start a war? No, they will be forced to negotiate. They will definitely have to submit to our conditions."
  
  
  "It's a funny theory, I admit."
  
  
  "This is not a theory. We've hired someone. He's already attacked Franco once. It failed because a foreign agent intervened, but that agent was eliminated ." He put his fingers to his lips and grinned. "I have to tell you one thing - it will make you laugh. We thought for a while that you were this foreign agent. Anyway, I had my suspicions in that direction. Her, I see you can't help laughing?
  
  
  'My stack dollar is broken. But you didn't manage to kill Franco."
  
  
  "We failed once. It was Operation Olive Branch. Operations Orel and Strela will be successful. We will rise up to give the Spanish people a new power. In addition, I need one more good person to ensure the success of our troops in Morocco. You can go to Morocco tonight and lead a company of paratroopers. Name your price ."
  
  
  He took his time to inspect the ego troop concentrations marked on the map. He asked. 'Good?'
  
  
  "Don Barbarossa, go to bed early, prima, two aspirin pills, and if the fever doesn't go away by tomorrow, call me. This is the craziest plan I've ever heard, and I'd never dream of getting involved in this nonsense. Good evening.'
  
  
  I went out through the office before he recovered a little. When she was at the end of the hall, her ego heard the call. - '"Stop! I can't let you go." He was brandishing a revolver. It was quietly opened by the day of the ballroom and mingled with the guests.
  
  
  Barbarossa's face turned bright red, and he quickly stuffed the revolver into his tuxedo jacket. Hatching secret plans in a locked room while the party passes within a few yards of you is one thing. Shooting a man in front of a hundred guys is another matter entirely. A werewolf would no doubt have had the guts, but Barbarossa didn't.
  
  
  Maria greeted me in the center of the ballroom. "Jack, I thought you were already gone for my life!"
  
  
  "No, but it won't be for long."
  
  
  Barbarossa pushed through the crowd and joined us. Drops of water formed on his greasy neck, and he clumsily tried to push the bulge of the revolver under his jacket out of his face.
  
  
  "You can't leave now," he grumbled.
  
  
  "I'm sorry, but after another fairy tale like this, I definitely wouldn't fall asleep."
  
  
  "What happened, Andres? You're so upset."
  
  
  "I asked your friend Finley to join me. He refused even after " explaining to emu how attractive the earnings are."
  
  
  Maria raised her eyebrows in disdain. "You may have overestimated your charm, Andres. Jack is free to do whatever the emu wants. This is really the most annoying party you'll ever have. Its going home. Jack, will you take me with you?"
  
  
  "Con mucho gusto". (With pleasure. ims.)
  
  
  As we walked through the ballroom with her on hand, her gaze fell on the faces of Barbarossa, Rojas, and Vasquez. The last two didn't look very upset, but Barbarossa had fallen victim to furious impotence.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 15
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  As a couple in love, we walked through the dark streets of Madrid.
  
  
  "Did you have a fight? I've never seen Andres so excited ."
  
  
  "Ah, he shared his idea with me, and he told em it was bullshit. Even repeating it is ridiculous."
  
  
  'Interesting! Tell me?'
  
  
  It was getting late, even for Madrid. Only night watchmen and lovers still went out on the streets.
  
  
  "He thinks he's capable of seizing power in parts of Europe or something with a bunch of idiots. It looks like he's mixed up with all the froth in Europe: the Nazis, former French colonizers, and a few Spaniards who want to join the crowd. They call themselves the Saint's Sangre . "A complete idiot.
  
  
  We walked down the corridor to the large Plaza Mayor. There were only two cars at the big fountain, and what-where were the latecomers on the terraces? The windows in the hallway were unlit.
  
  
  Suddenly hers, felt Mary stiffen.
  
  
  "So you don't think much of these conspirators," she commented.
  
  
  "Do you want her to take them seriously? There is no chance that they will be able to raid US bases. Oh, maybe they had that chance yesterday. Back then, the base guards were little more than a barbed-wire fence and a few soldiers. But today is not when it sent a warning. He looked at his watch. "The enemy is most likely landing at the bases-for example, at this time."
  
  
  "I thought Andres didn't tell you about his plans until tonight," Maria replied as we stopped at the fountain.
  
  
  'Actually. But you didn't think I'd risk being killed tonight without warning, did you? I bet he was right-Andres was an idiot, but he wasn't.
  
  
  She didn't ask me how an arms dealer could send troops there. I didn't expect that either, so we continued walking through the square. Several pigeons were picking up breadcrumbs in the gaslight. We came to the shadow of the corridor.
  
  
  "If Andres is such an idiot, how could he plan such a big plot?" asked Mary.
  
  
  "He couldn't either. This requires a person with intelligence, composure and perseverance. Someone from an important family, no less noble than Barbarossa.
  
  
  Someone who likes danger."
  
  
  He stopped to light a cigarette. The fire was reflected in her dark eyes.
  
  
  "The werewolf failed, Maria. You were right. Her Killmaster. I know who you are, too. I've seen posters of her in the arena. These six SS-branded bulls came from your ranch. You never showed me ih. As for Andres, his stupid behavior cannot be explained solely by jealousy. He wasn't just trying to impress you because you're a woman - you snapped at him too hard. He also did it because you are an ego boss. The goddess and the boss are united in one person, it's you."
  
  
  A few drunken screams rang out over the coffee on the other side of the hall. At the end of the corridor was a steep flight of stairs leading down. And there was also a cafe nearby where we saw flamenco.
  
  
  "I really don't know what you're talking about, Jack," she said honestly. It was too good to be true. She was hurt, surprised, almost furious, but not afraid - and if someone accuses you of murder when you're innocent, you should be.
  
  
  "I mean, they wouldn't let me walk down Barbarosa's driveway if they didn't know you were going to take me out tonight, Lady." How many times have you tried to arrange my funeral? Gypsies, men in wine bury and tonight. Is three your lucky number?
  
  
  There were no gates between us and the coffee shop along the entire length of the passageway. She put her hand on Maria's waist and pulled her lick towards me as we walked on. She tried to pull away, but I held her down. There was probably a gun barrel pointed at me at that moment. If they wanted to hit me, they should have shot through Maria. "After all, Maria, I saw you kill the bull. But you suddenly became helpless and supposedly scared when we were ambushed. What a fool he could have been for so long.
  
  
  "Oh, Jack, please don't say such terrible things..." she began, wrapping her arms around my neck. Ee grabbed her by the wrist and shook her. The metal pin dropped from her fingers to the floor. Every bullfighter knows the death point on his neck.
  
  
  "Can we go further?" I asked, hugging her even tighter.
  
  
  I could see her through the barred gate, the occasional flash of light. The ambush had to be arranged hastily, and her men were certainly looking forward to her breaking free. Or by her sign.
  
  
  "I should have let you think that, I know it's your first day at the ranch," she smiled. . "I like you too, Maria. Something exists between us. Who knows. In another world, we could have been lovers, innocent and simple. But you are not innocent, and I am not a simpleton. This is exactly how it is." He pulled out his gun.
  
  
  "You can't stop us, Killmaster. I'm telling you the truth. It's impossible. We prepared too thoroughly. The entire coup will only last a few minutes. All we need is one missile and we can destroy Gibraltar.
  
  
  Join us, join me. Together, we can take control of everything."
  
  
  Impossible - this cabal of yours is like the bull ring I escaped from, thank God. As soon as it starts smelling like blood, you'll tear each other's clothes to shreds. You are dragging all these people and many others into one big bloodbath. Franco's dictatorship is worthless over your megalomania. Money, property, power. These are your keywords. Franco is dying, but we will have to continue to fight with people, with your mentality."
  
  
  Mary stopped walking. She passively lowered her hands and looked at me.
  
  
  At least give me one last kiss, " she said.
  
  
  It wasn't hard for me. Her body clung to me. Enemy and master, she was both. I don't think she ever cried in the trash. But I also knew that she could kill anyone who got in her way without hesitation. Her lips were as soft as ever.
  
  
  I heard a car coming down the hall. As Maria continued to kiss me, I looked over her shoulder.
  
  
  A gleaming Mercedes Roadster was approaching us at an ever-increasing speed. Suddenly Maria pushed me away. The kiss was ih familiar. I didn't have enough time to get to the open space of the square. The distance between the Mercedes and the gorge walls was no more than a few decimeters.
  
  
  He no longer paid any attention to Maria, but fell on one of each tribe and took careful aim. My first shot shattered the windshield. She was shot thirty centimeters above the broken window. The car was a convertible, and the passenger was standing when she was shot. After the second shot, I saw him fall out around the car, but another man got in the front seat and took the ego seat. The car was still coming at me. Hers was aimed at the driver again, but Maria held up my hand.
  
  
  Her, screamed. "Get out of the way!"
  
  
  She continued to hold my hand. Then, with a burst of automatic fire, Po lit up the passageway like lightning. Terrified screams echoed through the coffee. In front of my feet, the pavement was split open with lead.
  
  
  Mary groaned and recoiled. Like a slow-motion movie, I watched her as she tried to hold on to the pole until she collapsed. At least six bullets tore this once-beautiful body to pieces.
  
  
  Her, turned and ran. The engine of the car is absurdly licking and licking. At the end of the corridor were two coffees and a steep staircase. The ladder - my salvation-was still seven meters away. I would never do that. Another burst of automatic fire shattered several display cases. In desperation, he fired another shot at the driver, dived through the glass door of the cafe, and landed in the sawdust in front of the bar.
  
  
  My last shot hit home. The Mercedes was traveling at a speed of at least ninety when the mimmo flew by. He flew down the stairs over the heads of two policemen who had come to the sound of gunfire, and dived at least ten meters down.
  
  
  Even where hers was, on the coffee floor, her reflex shrank from the force of the explosion. The Mercedes ' gas tanks exploded after the car landed. A few moments later, the engine of the small car that he crashed into also exploded. A column of fire rose from the roofs of houses on both sides of the street, setting fire to the curtains behind the open windows. As I descended the stairs, I saw her in the killers ' Mercedes, looking like blackened dolls.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 16
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  "The eagle and Arrows are symbols of the Phalanx," de Lorca explained. "This should mean that the werewolf plans to strike again when Generalisimo addresses members of the phalanx in the ih house for two days. It will be difficult for us to protect the former ones there. That Vasquez guy will be standing next to him, by the way.
  
  
  "Who needs enemies with such friends?"
  
  
  "I'm afraid you're right. Franco was once an idol of the Phalanx, but their days are over."
  
  
  We were at the Spanish Secret Service communications center in Madrid. The building was built around solid Victorian stone, but the interior was ultra-modern. The electronic brain recorded a constant stream of coded messages from agents from all corners of the globe.
  
  
  The Colonel pointed to a glass map in the center of the room.
  
  
  King Hassan moved a military unit from Rabat to Sidi Yahya. We have a cruiser fifty kilometers from our territories in the Sahara to prevent SS maneuvers there. Here, "he sighed bitterly," things are not so simple. We've been briefed on Vasquez, but who knows how many other officers are involved? I can easily send secret traitors to protect our bases. The main thing is that we can stop the Werewolf. You don't have to worry anymore; you've done your job here."
  
  
  I'd heard him say that before, but I didn't want to contradict him, and when I said goodbye to him, I thought it was the last time, too.
  
  
  The streets were filled with Madrid residents rushing home after a hard day's work. Her shell is aimlessly, physically and mentally exhausted. Maria tried to kill me, but at the same time saved my life. She was a cold-blooded conspirator, but in the end, she was a warm, charming woman. There were too many contradictions in all these Spaniards.
  
  
  After all , what would have happened if the Werewolf had succeeded in the assassination attempt and Sangre Sagrada had come to power? After all, Franco also spent a lot of time trying to reach the top. Why should he risk his life so that this old fascist could live another year? Good. It was ultimately my web-based job to ensure the security of the United States, because the security of my country at this time was in living Franco. And no one said I liked it. My walk ended in the arena. The guard let me in for a few pesetas. The stands were empty. Bits of paper fluttered across the sand in a ring. Until the bullfight on Sunday, the arena will remain empty.
  
  
  I still needed a vacation. My head ached, my body ached, and the names Maria, Werewolf, Sangre Sagrada, Eagle, and Arrow kept running through my head.
  
  
  The newspaper flew off the podium and landed at my feet. Ego picked her up. Franco's program was listed in the corner of the first page. The next day, he will make his annual visit to the Valley of the Fallen, a huge monument to the victims of the Spanish Civil War, between Madrid and Segovia. De Lorca assured me that no one would lick within forty meters of the Generalissimo during this ceremony. The Ego speech to the Phalanx will never take place later.
  
  
  Good luck, Colonel, I thought.
  
  
  He crumpled up the newspaper and threw it into the arena.
  
  
  
  
  A good night's sleep brought me back to my senses. The first thing I did was call the Spanish secret service. It was about ten seconds before I was connected to Colonel de Lorca.
  
  
  "The attack," I said, " will not take place in the Falangist building. The werewolf will strike today.
  
  
  'Why do you think that?'
  
  
  "Come here immediately and get some coffee. I'll explain that to you when we're on our way.
  
  
  Ten minutes later, Ego's car was at the hotel entrance.
  
  
  "Buenos dias," he said to me as he opened the door for me.
  
  
  'You too. When does the ceremony start in the Valley?
  
  
  "In three hours. With our siren, we'll be there in an hour."
  
  
  The driver was maneuvering in a traffic jam on Avenida Generalisimo. Seats and motorcycles swung out of the way at the sound of sirens.
  
  
  "Now tell me; why is there such a sudden rush? De Lorca asked.
  
  
  "Look, if a Werewolf wants to hit the Phalanx building tomorrow, what's his chance of getting out alive?"
  
  
  "Hmm, not very big. There will be massive panic, but you know Franco's bodyguards. It will probably be full of people, so the Werewolf can't be very far away. There will also be a chance that Vazquez would be under attack instead of Franco if Franco arrives unexpectedly. I'd say it was a shot from no more than seven yards away.
  
  
  "Good conditions for a fanatic, but not very good conditions for a professional killer who wants to move on with his life."
  
  
  "What about the name of Operation Eagle and Arrow?" They mean the Phalanx, don't they?
  
  
  A fast car sped down the boulevard. On the left we pass mimmo of the Ministry of Aviation.
  
  
  "I don't think so. This is the name of operations that keep me up all night. And when I woke up, I had rheumatism. Do you remember this name from the last operation? olive branch. This name refers to the attack technique, not the location.
  
  
  The olive branch was the item that the bird was supposed to deliver to Franco. The bird was the dove of peace that was supposed to bring peace to Franco's dead body ."
  
  
  "How do you explain the Eagle and Arrow?"
  
  
  "It's very simple. Put yourself in the Werewolf's shoes, and remember that escape is just as important to them as success. The arrow represents the Werewolf himself, the Eagle - the ego of salvation-by plane or helicopter. Well, it's hard to imagine a helicopter in a phalanx building, but it's not a problem in the Valley."
  
  
  De Lorca thought for a moment. Finally, he tapped the driver on the shoulder. "Hurry up, Guillermo."
  
  
  The Valley of the Fallen can be an impressive monument to any war. Next to the low plain in the hall is a saddle-shaped mountain range, where thousands of nameless Spaniards who died in the Civil War are buried. Crowds of veterans arrived by early buses and trains. Old comrades greeted each other everywhere.
  
  
  De Lorca and his men pushed through the crowd. We went up a huge open staircase that led directly to a large terrace surrounded by solid black marble. Here Franco will deliver his speech.
  
  
  "I do not know, Nick. Even with a telescopic sight, the distance for a fatal shot should not exceed two thousand meters. Look at this crowd of veterans. They will fill almost the entire valley. A werewolf doesn't need a plane to escape, but a miracle.
  
  
  It really was an argument. In a crowd of civilians, the Werewolf could expect a lot of confusion and then a shot. But these veterans knew what to do when they heard the shot.
  
  
  He could use a large-caliber weapon, say, a missile fired through a valley. But the cardinal of Madrid will also be on the platform next to Franco. And then the assassination of Cardinal Sangre Saint may well forget any claim to legitimacy.
  
  
  No, it must be a relatively small caliber weapon; a weapon with a maximum of three shots. But where should the shot come from? Indeed, it seemed impossible.
  
  
  Behind us was an incredibly large building made of the same marble as the platform we were standing on.
  
  
  'What is it?'
  
  
  You don't know? I thought you'd appreciate the irony. De Lorca grinned. "This is Franco's mausoleum. He has already built an ego for himself. A simple mound for the common man. What do you think of this Della?"
  
  
  The security officer was referring to the huge black cross that rose around the ground at the top of the valley and was at least three hundred meters high. I'd already noticed that when we were nearing the valley.
  
  
  "Let's see if Franco's grave gets picked up too soon," I suggested.
  
  
  We entered the mausoleum. Nen had the mysterious, oppressive atmosphere of a tomb.
  
  
  The noise, the crowd suddenly subsided, and our shaggy voices echoed across the coal-black marble. For a lover of black marble busts, it was definitely a place to spend the whole day. Personally, I was happy to leave the tomb again, with or without the Werewolf.
  
  
  "No sign of grandiosity," he observed with a chuckle.
  
  
  "No sign of the killer, amigo. I think you can put your suspicions to rest."
  
  
  'I'm sorry.'
  
  
  'Yes. You can stay here openly now to attend the ceremony. Then you can come with me to Madrid later."
  
  
  'OK'
  
  
  Lorca was supposed to be near the platform to monitor security measures. I went back to my car to watch the ceremony.
  
  
  A sea of veterans filled the valley. Many around them were in their old uniforms, and the smell of mothballs matched the sweet smell coming from passing wine skins to another friend. A stage and microphone are now installed on the platform. The legionnaires visited the mausoleum. Franco's arrival was inevitable. The tension in the crowd was palpable.
  
  
  Dictator or not, this was a man who had symbolized ih country for three generations. The valley was a monument not only to Emu himself, but to all those who had died in the brutal war. Excitement swept through the audience as word spread of Franco and the Cardinal's approach.
  
  
  Guillermo, the colonel's driver, aimed the camera at the platform and nervously turned the lens.
  
  
  It was borrowed by my ego to get a good shot, and now it doesn't work, I can't focus."
  
  
  It was a nice Nikon with a telephoto lens. Her ego aimed at the stage and focused.
  
  
  He'll do it, " I said. "You can focus using the ring that controls the aperture."
  
  
  Her head was clearly visible to Franco as he climbed the stairs to the platform.
  
  
  "Oh, quickly, give the device here," the driver asked.
  
  
  "Just a little more."
  
  
  It was made by a camera for a lot of veterans. Then it was held by ego mimmo in a queue of official limousines. The cross saw her. I slowly moved the lens from the base of the cross to the top. Suddenly my fingers tightened.
  
  
  On the top of the cross, on the side, I saw a metallic sheen that would probably have been barely noticeable to an untrained eye. Only now did he realize that this was also a place where the killer might have been. There, he could calmly wait for his chance, and shoot without paying attention to the crowd.
  
  
  If the shot had been fired, no one would have been able to harm him. Because somewhere nearby, a helicopter flew by with a rope ladder, ready to lift the Werewolf from the cross. I calculated its firing range based on the lens data - about 1,600 yards. Easy shot for the pro. I didn't have enough time to get to the platform.
  
  
  Besides, if the Werewolf had noticed me, it would have fired immediately.
  
  
  "Soldados y cristianos, estamos aqui por ...!" the cardinal's voice boomed over the loudspeakers. Franco was standing to the cardinal's right. As soon as he got close to the microphone, the killer could shoot.
  
  
  He walked quickly to the foot of the cross. Of course, the doorman refused to let me in.
  
  
  "The elevator is blocked. When the general makes a speech, he is always closed. No one can go up there."
  
  
  "There's someone up there right now."
  
  
  'Impossible. The elevator had been off all day.
  
  
  "He must have gone upstairs last night." I don't have time to explain it."
  
  
  He was a righteous old man in a tarnished suit who must have been at least twenty years old. There was a web medal on the lapel of his ego lapel. "Go away," he croaked, " or I'll call the Civil Guard. No one should have a problem when the Caudillo is here.
  
  
  He was against it. Ego grabbed her by the lapel and pressed his thumb and forefinger to her throat. He was still standing when he lost consciousness. It was returned by ego on the spot and apologized.
  
  
  Her husband came in. The elevator passed under the side pillars of the cross. It was indeed locked.
  
  
  ... porque la historyia de un pais es mas que memoria ... The cardinal's voice rang out, but for how long?
  
  
  He opened the elevator door for her with the doorman's key. Her, jumped up and pressed the ARRIBA button. The engine revved up, and the elevator took off with a jolt.
  
  
  The werewolf must have heard the elevator. When he was lying on the side of the cross, he definitely felt the vibrations. It might have sped up the ego shot, but then again, he was a professional. He certainly wasn't panicking. He might have suspected that the police were in the elevator, but he had no reason to believe that anyone knew that he was there, in the hall. He could afford to ignore the ih visit; at least, I hoped so.
  
  
  It seemed as if it had taken a century to get the lift up. Through its small windows I could sometimes see how high I was, but I couldn't hear if the cardinal's speech was finished.
  
  
  The elevator reached a small viewing platform near the side arms of the cross. I heard that the cardinal was still speaking, and also that he was finishing his speech. Then Franco spoke to him.
  
  
  She was found by a chair that was probably meant for visitors who were afraid of heights. It was pulled out by ego under a panel in the low ceiling. I took her key ring from the doorman, and then after three attempts I found the right one. The panel tilted up.
  
  
  "...Ahora, con la Gracia de Dios y la destiny of Spain, El Caudillo".
  
  
  The Cardinal was probably retreating now, and now Franco would put both hands on the balustrade of the dais to greet his old comrades. The effect of the bullet would be overwhelming.
  
  
  Him, climbed out through the hole. He found himself in a barren, empty space with no light. I felt the walls with my hands until I found the stairs.
  
  
  The werewolf must be aiming for the ear. Next to the eardrum there is a four-centimeter area, which almost certainly leads to death.
  
  
  Its got to the vertical panel to the left of my head. Sergei was seeping through the gathering.
  
  
  Franco's voice heard her.
  
  
  With her gun, he opened the panel and screamed. At a distance of sixteen hundred yards, a heavy gawk-eyed 7.62 caliber shot past the mimmo of the back of Franco's head and crashed into a marble patio. He paused in his speech, looked around, and saw after the bullet in the marble. The legionnaires ran up the stairs, forming a protective cordon around him. The crowd turned into a cauldron.
  
  
  The shape-shifter, who was lying on the surprisingly large horizontal panel at the top of the cross, pushed the panel away with his foot, grabbing my arm. He waved her away. Two bullets penetrated the panel and passed mimmo me. With his free hand, he slammed the panel shut. The werewolf slid lightly across the marble platform. There was a three-hundred-meter chasm below.
  
  
  He clambered up onto the platform and aimed his luger at ego's belt buckle. A brain ego shotgun was pointed at me to stack a dollar.
  
  
  "So you rose through the dead, Killmaster. It's not hard to kill you. I should have just shot you then."
  
  
  The rifle seemed to weigh nothing in his hands. How could he mistake this man for an old farmer? He was dressed like a CEO on vacation: a blazer, perfectly tailored trousers, and expensive Zhirinovsky Wellington boots. Ego's hair was silver at the temples, and his eyes were like impenetrable metal shields. He denied the reports about me that appeared in the media. It was an eerie feeling.
  
  
  "You've lost, Werewolf. Or will you finally tell me your real name?"
  
  
  'Go to hell.'
  
  
  "Today is the last day of one around us. I believe it's you. You only have three rounds in your gun. You ih used everything. You're done. On the terrace, the legionnaires found the source of the shot. Now they saw the two figures on the side of the marble cross. A jeep with a heavy machine gun pulled up at the foot of the cross.
  
  
  Weapons were found, and a volley was fired. Her ducked as mimmo bullets flew by. The werewolf grabbed his shotgun like a golf club and knocked the Luger out of my hands. The second blow hit me in the chest. As a result, she slid to the edge of the platform. I couldn't get a good grip on the smooth marble - all I could do was try to deflect the blows as best I could. The butt hit me in the ribs, and then in my life. He covered his head with his hands and pressed the toes of his boots to the narrow ledge between two marble slabs.
  
  
  He glanced over my shoulder, and suddenly the sound of a helicopter hit him. The Eagle raised the Arrow as planned. I felt the pressure of air sampling from the blades. Through her hands, he saw a rope ladder approaching. "You don't stand a chance, Killmaster."
  
  
  The werewolf slammed the rifle into my hands before grabbing the rope ladder. The helicopter began to rise smoothly, its feet now hovering over the roof. He got down on his knees and wrapped his arms around the Werewolf's legs. The rope ladder hung down tight because of our combined weight. Maybe the pilot panicked, maybe he wanted to help the Werewolf, but he jerked the plane a little. I gripped her Shapeshifter ankles now, my feet brushing the platform.
  
  
  At that moment, the ladder rope that the Werewolf was holding on to snapped. He released it immediately, turning it a quarter turn, trying to land on the platform as flat as possible, arms and legs spread. My eardrums felt like they were bursting; his felt like all my ribs were broken. But he slid down to the edge of the platform and looked down.
  
  
  The werewolf was still falling. The crowd gathered at the foot of the cross dispersed. After the Werewolf fell to the ground, there was almost nothing left of him but his code name ego.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 17
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The warm Ibiza sun tanned my skin, and the rum cocktail warmed me from the inside out. Hers was stretched out and relaxed on a chaise longue.
  
  
  The werewolf and Maria were both dead. Barbarossa fled to Switzerland, and Vazquez shot himself in the head. Sangre Sagrada burst like a balloon.
  
  
  Hawk swore on top of a stack of confidential reports that this time, she would actually be able to enjoy her vacation in peace. He said that only a thread of peace could disturb my peace. And sometimes I had to trust the emu.
  
  
  The beach ball bounced off the sand and landed on my sunglasses. Her reflex caught both her points and the ball.
  
  
  "Can I have my ball back, please?"
  
  
  Her sel.
  
  
  The owner of the ball was in a white bathing suit. In other words, the small white triangles did not cover most of the fantastic object. Nah had long black hair and wide-set dark eyes. I felt like I had experienced all of this before.
  
  
  "He seems like a very valuable ball to me. Can you prove that this is yours?
  
  
  "My name isn't there, if that's what you mean," she replied.
  
  
  "Then it gets harder. First tell me if you're Spanish."
  
  
  "No," she smiled. "I'm American."
  
  
  "And you're not even a countess?"
  
  
  She shook her head. The top of her bikini was shaking seductively, but I'd learned to be careful.
  
  
  "And you're not breeding bulls and trying to overthrow the government?"
  
  
  'No, it's not like that. His dental assistant is in Chicago, and I just want my ball back.
  
  
  "Ah," I sighed reassuringly, pulling up another chair. "My name is Jack Finley."
  
  
  When she sat down, she addressed the letter to the bar once more.
  
  
  What a terrible life I have.
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  About the book:
  
  
  
  
  
  It's 1975. A piece of paper has been found among the wreckage of a plane that crashed off the coast of Spain. It turns out that this is part of a shocking document: someone is going to kill Franco.
  
  
  But Franco is coming to the end of his life. So, the murder has certain intentions. Extreme right-wing intentions. Voice of why calling Nick Carter. Because the killer is a professional killer. Ego codename: Werewolf.
  
  
  Nick doesn't have much time. He must act immediately, and-as impossible as it may seem to us-always be one step ahead of the unknown killer. As the nervous climax nears, Nick knows he can't fail! ...
  
  
  
  
  
  Carter Nick
  
  
  Turkish Final
  
  
  
  
  
  Nick Carter
  
  
  Turkish final.
  
  
  
  translated by Lev Shklovsky
  
  
  Original Title: Strike Force Terror
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 1
  
  
  
  
  
  
  -
  
  
  First on AX's list of international criminals wanted was the Fat Man. At least that's what we used to call the ego in AX. Ego's real name is Maurice Defarge. AX has already sent me to Istanbul once with an urgent order to eliminate ego. But before his ego could punch a bullet hole through his flabby head, he had a heart attack that made my work unnecessary. At least, that's what he thought. But, as it turned out later, the Fat Man did not die at all. It kept popping up in the reports I received from time to time, which always left me with an extremely unpleasant feeling.
  
  
  Every AX agent was ordered to eliminate him as soon as he appeared. And this is despite the fact that he was surprisingly quiet for quite a long time. So it was a big surprise for us that he contacted AX on his own initiative.
  
  
  He said he wanted to negotiate. And he hinted that he had some interesting information for us. At this point, he suggested that the ego be excluded from our blacklist. He asked for a personal meeting with an AX agent. And he asked for me to be sent. This last condition made Hawke suspicious of the Fat Man's intentions.
  
  
  But when it was approved, he agreed. No one would have given her this assignment. After all, it's my fault that he's still alive. So, although it turned out to be a trap, I couldn't wait to use microphones and speakers on this score. And this prospect raised my spirits.
  
  
  The fat man was still working around Istanbul, so that was my destination. Hawk will also arrive in Istanbul to learn about the outcome of the meeting. Me if the address is somewhere in the old city center, just off Yako Pasha Street. At ten o'clock in the evening, and unarmed. I should have ignored the last request. Wilhelmina, my Luger, and Hugo, my trusty stiletto, which I would desperately need if the Fat Man's intentions were less beautiful than he pretended. At five minutes to ten, he was standing in front of a dilapidated wooden building. I was the only pedestrian on the dark street, but I couldn't shake the feeling that I was being watched. The building's wooden facade looked weathered. Heavy grating in front of the windows is so characteristic of all buildings in the old part of Istanbul. A thin beam of light shone through the crack between the shutters. A five-step spring led me to the entrance day. As agreed, there was a knock on the door. Three times, with interruptions. However, without success. He waited five seconds before pressing the heavy iron latch. The door opened effortlessly. Hers softly closed and let her eyes wander down the hall. Huge chunks of rock fell from the walls. The only light source was a dim bulb hanging over my head. The floor was dusty and littered with trash. The first floor was apparently no longer used. There was a steep staircase leading up to the top of the second floor, which now looked rather rotten.
  
  
  He went up the stairs. A slightly larger light bulb illuminated the first-floor hallway. At the end of the corridor is a half-open door to a brightly lit room. According to our agreement, there was supposed to be a Fat Man in this room.
  
  
  It was carefully passed by mimmo of a pair of closed doors. The circumstances were the same as when we first met, except that I let myself fall through the ceiling window of the Divan Hotel disguised as a Chinaman. And this time the Fat Man knew I was coming. Now I was only allowed to kill the ego when my own life was in danger.
  
  
  He was still about five meters away from the room when he heard a commotion behind him. Her reflex snatched up her luger and spun around with lightning speed. He was confronted by two Turks with large black moustaches, each holding a large-caliber revolver around them.
  
  
  Her finger was on the trigger, but he hadn't pulled it yet. The Turks were also standing still. I heard the sound again. A quick glance over my shoulder showed me that my company had expanded to include a third person. And Odin Poe is the most wonderful thing I've ever seen. A stocky, broad-shouldered man with a crippled right leg that engages the ego and makes you move like a crabbe. He tilted his too-large, almost bald head to one side. Ego's face was further marred by an extremely large lower lip and a pair of bright glittering eyes that would have been out of place for a rat. In his left hand, he held a .25-caliber Beretta pointed at my head.
  
  
  "There was a condition: no weapons," the strange creature said hoarsely. "Drop the gun." He had a French accent.
  
  
  Wilhelmina was still focused on the two Turks on the other side of me. "Thank you," I said, " but I'd rather leave it at that." If he was going to shoot her, at least two of them might have killed him. And with any luck, all three of them.
  
  
  "If you don't lower your weapon, mister, you won't get out of here alive," the monster said again.
  
  
  "I'll take my chances," I said. I've already determined what I need to do to get out of here alive. Her, shot first and killed the biggest Turk. Then it fell and killed the second Turk and monster, rolling away. If this was a trap for me, they'd be pretty good at it themselves.
  
  
  Her finger tightened on the trigger of her luger, and she was about to shoot when she heard a hoarse voice around the room at the end of the hall.
  
  
  "Crabbe, what the hell is going on out there?" a voice said loudly. "Put your guns away !!"
  
  
  Her, turned half a turn, and saw the silhouette of a Fat Man. It filled the doorway. He looked even more disgusting than when we last met a few years ago. He was hiding behind a mantle that looked like a huge, bright tent. Despite this shell, the Fat Man looked like a walking pudding. A sharp, curved nose and a small, angry mouth were the only prominent features of the football head's ego.
  
  
  "He's armed," the ego-disfigured assistant countered.
  
  
  "Electronic alarm system at the bottom ..."
  
  
  'Shut up! The Fat Man bellowed. The three of them hesitantly put away their weapons. The fat man stared at me with his bright eyes. "Don't blame the Crab and the ego of your coworkers," he said firmly in his frustrated voice. "Sometimes they show too much enthusiasm in their efforts to protect me. I hope you still want to come in, Mr. Carter?"
  
  
  The two Turks turned and walked toward the stairs. Crabbe, who had such a suitable nickname, struggled to approach his boss to whisper something in the emu's ear. The sight of those two grotesque silhouettes in the doorway made my blood run faster.
  
  
  "Clean, Crab, I don't need you inside. Mr. Carter and I are confiding in each other tonight. We've come to a sort of truce, haven't we, Mr. Carter?"
  
  
  She took her lugger and walked over to them. It was a strange feeling to see this disfigured fat bastard standing so casually in the doorway. Many years ago, he was at the ego of an obvious death, and now he was standing there and talking in a light tone. We were stunned to learn that he wasn't dead, but seeing ego alive again was a real challenge.
  
  
  "What happens is up to you, Defarge," I said dryly.
  
  
  "All right, all right," he snapped. "But come in, Mr. Carter."
  
  
  I followed him into the room and closed the door behind us. The crab was standing guard outside. The fat man staggered to the bed, which was propped up against the groan of the room, and flopped down on the ragged mattress. The short walk took his breath away.
  
  
  "I'm sorry to be rude, Carter, but my health has been getting worse lately."
  
  
  Her eyes darted around the room. Obviously, this wasn't the Fat Man's permanent residence, and was only used for this meeting. The only furniture was two bare wooden chairs and a crooked chair. There were several bottles of medicine and a pitcher of water on the table by the bed. The room smelled of medicine, despite the large open window that let in the cool evening air and showed the silhouettes of the city's many domes and minarets.
  
  
  "Sit down, Carter." The fat man pointed to the chair closest to the bed.
  
  
  Her sell, but was not at ease. This whole situation seemed too much like a nightmare.
  
  
  "It looks better," the Fat Man sighed as he reached for the medicine. He poured some into a spoon and took it.
  
  
  'Why add up a dollar? I asked with interest as he put the bottle and spoon back on the chair.
  
  
  He nodded and took a deep breath. "A severe stroke a few years ago was left after my already weak dollar stack."
  
  
  "I know he was there. Her, thought it was deadly dangerous."
  
  
  A faint smirk slid across ego's hard, thin lips, and for a moment ego's eyes glared contentedly at the surrounding walls of fat. "Yes, I suspected it was you at the time. Despite your disguise. That's why I asked her if they wanted to send you. Her hotel is sure of our previous meeting. You've come to kill me, haven't you, Mr. Carter?"
  
  
  'Actually.'
  
  
  "And when you saw I was having a stroke, you threw my nitroglycerin pills out the window, didn't you?"
  
  
  "It seemed like the value of the legs was better than a hole in the wall."
  
  
  "Yes," he agreed with a small, coughing laugh. 'Of course. Tsenymnogie more civilized. And if you had used your gun, he wouldn't be talking to you right now."
  
  
  Her ignored it. "I took your pulse and felt nothing. How did you do that, Defarge?" A yoga trick or something? A drug that slows down your body? We thought about it. Besides, I haven't finished it yet, you know?
  
  
  The fat man liked that. He laughed merrily. Which, of course, turned into a coughing fit. I waited patiently for him to calm down again. Finally, he began to speak, looking at me with bloodshot eyes. "It wasn't a trick, Carter. The thing is, not only do I have heart problems, but ... .. Surely you've heard of catalepsy, Mr. Carter?"
  
  
  I told her. "So you're also a patient with catalepsy."
  
  
  "I'm afraid so, Mr. Carter. Like my late roach, God rest her soul. According to my doctor, this is a hereditary condition. When you came to see me that night, I had just experienced it. So it doesn't really fit my heart. My heart attack had caused catalepsy, and so the attack, which wasn't really that serious, seemed fatal. Under such circumstances, the body almost stops functioning, which, for estestvenno, benefits the heart. I still had my heart beating, but so slow that you couldn't feel the ego on my wrist. It saved my life."
  
  
  "What a nice side effect," I said.
  
  
  "I knew you'd see this irony, Mr. Carter. Who could appreciate it more than you? Let's be honest.'
  
  
  Her face twisted into a grin. 'Good. But we didn't organize this meeting to remember that, did we? You said, AX, that you have information for us ."
  
  
  Her beady eyes narrowed to slits. "Of course, of course," he said soothingly, " in my ... er ... in the transactions of its part, I come across information that is not of great importance for my own business, but also in the field of international politics, it is of great, if not comprehensive, importance. . I accidentally received this information recently. Hers, of course, I won't tell you how. But I think, Mr. Carter, that information is of the utmost importance to your government, and to the Government of England.
  
  
  'And this is ...?'
  
  
  That nasty grin again. "This concerns a British national named Sir Albert Fitzhugh."
  
  
  I knew her name. Sir Albert was a doctor of biochemistry and a Nobel Prize winner. He was recently arrested on the orders of the Turkish government. Ego was accused of trying to take the artifact out of the whole country. This artifact was recently stolen around a Turkish museum. After a short trial, he was found guilty and sentenced to prison in eastern Turkey. The important thing about Sir Albert Fitzhugh was that he was the head of the joint research program of the Americas and England. The goal of this program was to find antibodies against deadly toxic gases used in chemical warfare. And it shed a very different light on his arrest. The big question mark was the Turkish government's motive, since the Turkish government was openly friendly with Western allies, apart from some grumbling from leftist circles.
  
  
  "What do you know about Fitzhugh?"
  
  
  "I know why ego was arrested and why ego is being held there. And it has nothing to do with art smuggling."
  
  
  "That's what we thought."
  
  
  The fat man grunted with satisfaction. "They've trapped Sir Albert. All this is in the context of the Russian plan of kidnapping people."
  
  
  "So Sir Albert is not in the hall at all in a Turkish prison."
  
  
  "Of course he's there."
  
  
  "You don't sound very clear, Defarge."
  
  
  "I understand her pretty damn well, Mr. Carter. If you can promise me that AX will leave me alone from now on in exchange for what I can tell you about Fitzhugh."
  
  
  Her gaze was fixed on him. There was no doubt about it, the Fat Man knew something. Something important. He looked like a chicken desperate to get rid of an egg. 'Good. I have permission to keep the AXE out of your body in exchange for vital intelligence.
  
  
  The fat man grinned. "This makes me happy. I dare say that my information is "irreplaceable". He said nothing, took a pill and washed it down with water. "We are talking about a man named Sezak, Celik Sezak," he said at the time. "He is the commissioner of the Turkish State Police. He also works for the KGB and sells drugs, of course, without the knowledge of his superiors."
  
  
  "Sounds like a good host."
  
  
  The Fat Man's face became almost serious. "At least he had enough time to arrest, convict and put Sir Albert in jail. Under the watchful eye of the Russians ."
  
  
  "But why do the Russians want Sir Albert to be in prison?"
  
  
  "Because they knew ego was going to Tarabya Prison. And Tarabya is in a hall in the east of the country, near the border with Russia. The Russians plan to kidnap the ego around the prison, transport it across the border, and send it to Siberia. Then he can continue to work for them there, and not in the West ."
  
  
  The fat man looked at me expectantly. He knew I didn't expect him to know so much about Sir Albert and Ego works.
  
  
  "How did you get all this information, Defarge?"
  
  
  "Like I said, I can't reveal my sources."
  
  
  "You'd better announce something. At least if you convince me that it's important enough that we grant you an amnesty. I said dryly.
  
  
  Ego's fleshy face darkened considerably. "That's all I can tell you: Sezak is my biggest competitor in the drug trade. Someone previously hired by Sezak accidentally overheard a conversation between Sezak and a KGB agent. He works for me now, and he would like to gain my trust with this piece of information. Sezak made an attempt on my life immediately after this man came to my office. I had a lot of disagreements with Sezak, but it's getting too much for me."
  
  
  "And now you're hoping that the two who meet your big enemies will calm down, AX will be bought with this information, and then we can neutralize Sezak before he catches you, really?"
  
  
  The fat man shrugged. "AH, there is no need to eliminate Sezak. You just need to bribe the right people. Everything else will be done by the ego's own colleagues ."
  
  
  "All this sounds very profitable to you."
  
  
  The fat man glared at me. "Sezak is even more dangerous for you. My informant told me that he had successfully abducted people before. You can't guarantee that it won't happen again. And you definitely want to spare Sir Albert that while you still can. Maybe I know her a lot through diplomatic channels. Otherwise, a few months in a Turkish prison will not pass: you will never see the ego again."
  
  
  "All right," I said. "If your information is correct, you are away from AX. Otherwise, our truce will end."
  
  
  "As far as she's concerned, it's all right," he croaked.
  
  
  "Besides," I said, " your amnesty applies only to the past. If you have any problems again, we'll be happy to take your case out of the closet again."
  
  
  He choked again from one ego-driven fit of coughing laughter. "So, Mr. Carter," a glistening saliva clung to the corner of the rta's ego, " Well, I can assure you that I won't bother you again. I've worked hard all my life. All I wish her is a peaceful old age. Prize for ...
  
  
  The fat man stopped in mid-sentence when her head turned to face Day. She heard a familiar sound down the hall. The muffled report of a silenced pistol. He got up, pulled Wilhelmina out of her holster, and ran to the door.
  
  
  'What was that? The Fat Man asked hoarsely.
  
  
  Her ignored him. He listened for a moment, holding the doorknob. Then the door swung open, and the Luger was ready to fire. There was a Crabbe in front of the door, a neat hole in his forehead and a large gap where the back of his head had once been. The two Turks who had threatened me earlier were now lying lifeless in the corridor. Blood splatters everywhere. Mimmo carefully passed her up the stairs. The outer door was open. He looked down the street in both directions.
  
  
  No one in sight.
  
  
  Then he turned and ran up the stairs again. The blood pulsed in my temples. It flew down the corridor to the room where the Crab's body lay; the door of the room through which it had just exited. I knew I'd find her there. Stretched out on the bed, the infamous Maurice Defarge, alias the Fat Man, lay in a half-open dressing gown, his hands digging into the sheets like claws. One ego-bound leg hung limply over the edge. He slowly shook his head. The long hilt of the dagger, protruding from the thick mass of ego's chest, finally convinced me that the Fat Man was dead. It won't come alive again this time.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 2
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Early the next morning, he took a taxi from his small hotel in the Fatih district, across the great Ataturk Bridge, to the elegant, modern Hilton Hotel. The luxury hotel was located on a hill overlooking the Bosphorus. I ordered a light breakfast of toast and Turkish coffee at the Bosphorus Irish Race Coffee Shop and watched the boats sail through this famous strait. A little later, at five minutes to nine, he left the restaurant and walked through the main lobby to the driveway. It formed a semicircle around the hotel, and at the end of the ego, a blue Turkish Express bus was parked, surrounded by many tourists. Her, walked to the front of the bus. It was the eighth line, the bus to Topkapi Palace. I took a ticket and sell, Rivne in the sixth row at the back, on the right. Then I waited for her.
  
  
  Gradually, other passengers came in. A large German asked me if the seat next to me was taken. I answered her in the affirmative. Shortly before the bus finally left, a man in a tweed jacket and steel-gray hair climbed in. He looked around the bus and came over to me. It was David Hawke, AX's head of operations.
  
  
  He sat next to me in silence. The driver closed the day and drove down the driveway to the street. Hawk pulled out a cigar, bit off the end, and lit it. Once we were in heavy city traffic and the other passengers were engaged in a tense conversation, there was an opportunity to talk to Hawk.
  
  
  "Were you with him?"
  
  
  He didn't look at me. Hawk puffed on his cigar, blew a smoke ring into the air, and continued to stare straight ahead.
  
  
  "I was with him," I said.
  
  
  "Are we doing this case?"
  
  
  'Yes.'
  
  
  The bus crossed a busy square and turned straight toward the harbor. Deep down, at the end of the street, there were already blue spots of water. It was the most I try part of the city. All around me, I saw the domed domes and pointed minarets of mosques.
  
  
  "What did he have to offer?"
  
  
  Her brief exposed the Fat Man's story. Hawk listened intently. When he was almost done, he suddenly pointed at me and spoke loudly. "See this big building! Do you know what this is?"
  
  
  "This is the Suleiman Mosque," I said.
  
  
  'Of course; for estestvenno. I might know that."
  
  
  We crossed the Bosphorus on the Kopra Bridge and drove along Divanyolu Street to Topkapi. Here, the streets were filled with a chaotic mess of carts, carts, animals, and thousands of pedestrians. Plus regular prayers. Loud and clear, the smooth recitation of the Qur'an surpassed all other sounds.
  
  
  "Defarge said that Sezak had been involved in kidnappings before," he concluded.
  
  
  "It's very possible," Hawk said softly, chewing on his cigar. "Three other scientists and technicians have already disappeared around the area in recent years. There is a case of an American physicist who took a boat trip through the Strait and never returned. And a British cryptographer named Simmons disappeared in broad daylight in the middle of Ankara. Later, a ransom note was sent, which raised suspicions about Turkish left-wing radicals. But further instructions for paying the ransom were never sent again. And with them ferrets, we haven't heard anything about Simmons either. D15 is still working on this case. Then there's the beginning of a second American, a mathematician by Dubuque. He has done important work for the Atomic Energy Commission."
  
  
  "It looks like the Russians have a contract with Sezak," I said.
  
  
  'Yes. To steal our best heads. Ego's face was tense and determined. Slave labor is not new to Russians. But they've never carried out such a brutal chain of kidnappings before."
  
  
  "It looks like we need to do something about Celik Sezak," I said as the bus approached Topkapi Palace.
  
  
  "Sir Albert is more important now. Because now that his name has temporarily disappeared from the front pages, the Russians are undoubtedly preparing an ego of delight."
  
  
  "Can ih still be stopped?"
  
  
  "Anything is possible," Hawke said with a thin smile.
  
  
  "As you've proven so many times, Nick. Do you have any other information from the Fat Man that we might be able to get?
  
  
  "I think so. When he left, there was a knife sticking out of his chest."
  
  
  Hawk frowned. 'What is it? What are you telling me now?
  
  
  "Calm down, it wasn't my knife," ego assured him. "But the person who did it is a professional. Our Fat Man case can be closed."
  
  
  There was a long silence. The bus stopped at the Topkapi parking lot. The passengers scattered across the sunlit square.
  
  
  "Are you sure he's dead this time?" "What is it?" he finally asked. There was no trace of sarcasm in his voice. He nodded to her.
  
  
  "All right," he said as the bus continued to empty. "I need to contact England. Special Operations Division, the people who helped you in our previous campaign against the Fat Man. Now we will work with them again. D15 must also be notified. It means working for you. I'll see you tomorrow, not when."
  
  
  "Excellent, sir," I said.
  
  
  He grabbed the railing to get up. "Anyway, how did they track down the Fat Man?"
  
  
  The ego of cold gray eyes avoided her. "An old trick, sir. They made me go to ego for math."
  
  
  "Did they recognize you?"
  
  
  'I do not know.'
  
  
  - Do you think this is the work of Sezak?
  
  
  Hers, he shrugged. "According to the Fat Man, he recently tried to kill ego. But of course, someone like Fatty has countless enemies.
  
  
  Hawk stood up. "I'm leaving now. Wait thirty seconds until I leave, then you can go too. Tomorrow, not when, at two o'clock, I'll be at the Köskur restaurant, number 42 on Istiklal Street, near Taksim Square. Hers will be sitting on the terrace. Make sure that you are not being followed.
  
  
  Hawk walked through the bus and got off. Next to the bus, the guide was already busy with his story.
  
  
  "The great door here in front of us is called the Gate of the Middle. There is another gate to the palace. Known as the Bab b-Selam Gate, it dates back to the time of Fatih the Conqueror. The towers you will see were built during the reign of Suleiman the Magnificent ... "
  
  
  He walked through the nearly empty bus, nodded to the driver, and got out too. The goshawk was gone. I joined a group of tourists and listened to the monotonous voice of a tour guide telling the story of Topkapi. But my thoughts were of the Fat Man, his thick fists scratching at the sheets, his eyes wide open in agony.
  
  
  On the way back to the hotel, he thought of Sir Albert. He was an important figure for the West. A few years ago, he and his compatriot received the Nobel Prize. For the past two years, he has been involved in a British-American study of toxic gas repellents. This investigation was highly classified, and Sir Albert was put in charge of ego at an early stage. His arrest and conviction not only caused great confusion in Western circles, but also immediately halted this important investigation.
  
  
  The British government was laconically baffled when it became aware of Ego's arrest, but Turkey stood its ground. A crime is a crime, no matter who committed it. And Turkey's radical leftists would have been ready to revolt if this foreigner had been treated more leniently than their compatriots. For example, public opinion pressure forced a Turkish court to sentence Fitzhugh to prison, despite a rather minor change. It was rumored that ego had been unofficially assured that he would be released on parole in a few weeks. That was ninety days ago.
  
  
  Back at the hotel, he decided to take a shower to relax. Each room had a toilet and sink, but for showering, guests had to go to a separate bathroom in the hallway. There was only one Rivnenskaya shower in the company of three more sinks. He undressed, carefully put away his weapons, and went into the shower with a towel tied around his waist. The water was no warmer than lukewarm, and the soap split in two when used foreground.
  
  
  He was already washing his face when the curtain was pulled back. The two Neanderthals looked at me grimly. Around them, Odin held a Turkish-made revolver aimed at my life.
  
  
  "Turn off the tap," the man with the revolver said. He spoke English with a strong Turkish accent.
  
  
  I listened to her. "You're sure of it," I said. "I'm sorry if you used too much hot water."
  
  
  They didn't move. The man with the revolver spoke to his companion in rapid Turkish. "Is that him?"
  
  
  The other man looked at me carefully. "It fits the description."
  
  
  The man with the revolver tightened his grip on the weapon.
  
  
  I asked her, " What's all this?" This assumption was extremely improbable.
  
  
  "Were you at DeFarge yesterday?" The man with the revolver asked in a threatening tone.
  
  
  Vote and that's it. Defarge knew which hotel she was staying at and told his hirelings in case AH broke the rules. These people mistook me for the Fat Man's killer and, according to the ih code, were forced to level the score again.
  
  
  "I think you know that," I said. "But I didn't kill her ego."
  
  
  "So," the man with the revolver said skeptically.
  
  
  'It's true. She wouldn't have been able to pick a spot if three guns had been fired at me." He grabbed her towel with an unobtrusive gesture. "I had a meeting with Defarge. And I intended to stick to it."
  
  
  I wiped my hands on my forearms as they continued to stare at me suspiciously. A moment later, the man without the revolver nodded to the other. Her, knew what that meant.
  
  
  In the blink of an eye, he slapped the towel down on the revolver. He left the moment the towel hit him. Brain was pushed to the right, and Gawk slammed into the wall. He grabbed the gunman by the shoulder and yanked on his ego. He hit the wall. Her ego hit him on the wrist, and the revolver clattered to the tile floor.
  
  
  The other man reached into his jacket. Her pulled the shower curtain over him to suffocate him, and hit his ego where her suspected ego face was. Struggling with the curtain, he fell to the ground.
  
  
  The first man threw himself on my back. He was trying to grab my head with one hand, and with the other he stopped at my kidneys. It was thrown by ego into one of the sinks. He was breathing heavily and groaning. Its hit his ego elbow in life. Only now did he let go of me and slowly slid down.
  
  
  Meanwhile, the other made another desperate attempt to pull the revolver out of his doublet. Her ego kicked him in the face. His nose broke. He fell back awkwardly. He felt the impact on the target, and staggered into the shower tray. The man with the revolver went into action again.
  
  
  A man with a broken nose tried to crawl towards the door. He'd had enough. The man with the revolver, who still had no ego, kicked me violently in the side while I was trying to stay upright. He muttered something else, then limped off after his companion.
  
  
  I picked up my revolver and thought about going after them. Until I saw myself in the mirror. A naked man running down a hotel corridor is not such an everyday sight.
  
  
  He looked down at himself and saw that red spots were appearing everywhere. It would be a pretty good graze. Whatever it was, it was always less bad than the hole a .38 caliber would have made.
  
  
  The next day, after lunch, she took a taxi to the city center. We pulled up to a place where she could catch a city bus
  
  
  I paid for a taxi and jumped on the bus, which was leaving immediately. Three blocks to the Köskur restaurant, she got off again, around the bus and went walking. I wasn't being followed, so I could easily come to the meeting.
  
  
  Hawk was sitting at a table outside in the warm sun, reading a Turkish newspaper. I went to Ego's table, sat down next to him, and he told me what a wonderful trip to Top Capi was. The waiter came over and we ordered two martinis. The porter followed us across the rough stone pavement. He balanced the heavy suitcase on his back with a leather strap around his forehead. A donkey cart rumbled past in the opposite direction, and the call for afternoon prayers came from a side alley. The waiter came to bring our order, on a small brass tray.
  
  
  I asked her when the waiter left. - Have you already talked to ASO?
  
  
  "Yes, we had a nice chat in coda. Your old friend Brutus and her. He said that you can still contact him if you want to leave us."
  
  
  Her, chuckled. - "Brut-well done".
  
  
  Hawk nodded in agreement. "Brutus and I came up with a good plan," he continued. "We call it Operation Lightning Strike." Cerro's ego-steely eyes stared into mine, and his friendly, disheveled face was stern. "We'll go after Sir Albert," he said.
  
  
  I asked her. "You mean ... to Tarabya Prison?" 'Exactly. That's the goal ."
  
  
  He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. How the hell are we going to get into a Turkish prison? How do we get Sir Albert out from under the guards ' noses, and how do we go unnoticed? It wasn't something that could be called a click.
  
  
  "It seems impossible to me," I said.
  
  
  "The Russians intend to do this. Couldn't we do that too? Hawk asked.
  
  
  He took a sip of his martini and shook his head. "They probably get help from within. We know that they have Sezak in Ankara. He's an important figure in the police force. The prison director could also have been a party to the plot."
  
  
  Hawk smiled. "If Sezak wanted to see Sir Albert in person, it seems pretty simple, doesn't it?"
  
  
  "I am convinced of this. But Sezak would never have attracted attention by doing something like that."
  
  
  Hawke's mouth twisted into a wide grin. 'Exactly. But if he does, and emu is allowed to transport Sir Albert around the prison to the nearest hospital, because Sir Albert is seriously ill? And if Sir Albert disappears next time, Celik Sezak will be at a loss, don't you think?
  
  
  She was beginning to see where Hawk was going. Of course, it wasn't the real Sesak who came to see Sir Albert.
  
  
  'Exactly. It will be you disguised as Sezak."
  
  
  "You and Sezak are roughly the same build. Only Sezak has a beer bar, but we'll figure something out. Everything else we do with makeup and fakes ."
  
  
  I asked her. - "How can I imitate a math major I've never seen?"
  
  
  "Yes, but you'll see the ego. In Ankara, you will approach him together with the agent ASO sends here in London. You have to pass for two British criminologists who have come to study the work of the Turkish police. During these meetings, you take photos and save your ego voice to a tape recorder. You should also carefully observe the Sezak: remember the ego's gait, the gestures that he makes. Then you will become Celik Sezak for a few days ."
  
  
  "A police officer around London will make a disguise to meet him. It consists only around the mustache and wig, of course you have to do something about your accent. When this part of the operation is finished, a team of AX technicians will be waiting for you here in Istanbul to make a disguise for visiting the prison.
  
  
  "That sounds like an expensive joke," I said.
  
  
  "We have to get Sir Albert back, Nick. The ego value is too high for the West. If the Russians steal the ego now ...
  
  
  "Maybe they already have it."
  
  
  'No. The CIA found out that he was still in the hall in Tarabya. They also found a small military base in Batumi, just across the border from Russia. They suspect that this base serves as a reception center for abductees awaiting further transportation to the interior of Russia. Sir Albert will probably go there too, if the ih attempt succeeds.
  
  
  I asked her. "What about that ASO agent I'm supposed to work with?" My mind went back to the past. Tasks in England, where I strongly recommend a pleasant help from a female ASO agent. Blonde and very attractive Heather York.
  
  
  "Absolutely fantastic, Nick," Hawk chuckled. 'This policeman will tell you to accompany Celik Sezak as secretary and mistress.'
  
  
  
  
  "You mean that cop. .
  
  
  'A girl. Absolutely not, Nick. Plus the woman you thought of with them ferret like her thrown words ASO. I mean, Agent York, Nick. Let's just say, as compensation for hard work.
  
  
  Suddenly, Operation Lightning Flash was less grim. "That was a good idea, sir," I said.
  
  
  "It wasn't my idea," Hawke admitted with a grin. "Thank Brutus for this if you get the chance. He said you worked so well together in England. Hmm, women in espionage work, I have my own thoughts on this. We just hope that you will have some time to complete the tasks."
  
  
  "As always, business comes first," I said.
  
  
  He made a serious face again. "Agent York arrives in Istanbul this evening on flight 307. You're not going to take the sl. She'll contact you as soon as she's in town. Hawke frowned, and there was concern in his voice. "Be damned careful this time, Nick. We have many potential enemies in this operation, including the Turkish police. If they find out that you're trying to pass yourself off as Sezak, it will be very difficult for you to help. Remember, our evidence against Sezak is very vague, and he has an important position and powerful friends."
  
  
  "I know what you mean by potential enemies. I've met some of them before: the DeFarge boys. What happens next when I get to Sir Albert?
  
  
  "You will ask for a private conversation with him. Only your secretary can attend. You must assume that there is new evidence in ego-dell-that you want to talk to him about. Once alone, inject the emu with a fluid that does not cause the external symptoms of jaundice. Jaundice is contagious, and there are no hospitals in prisons. A seriously ill or injured person is taken to a hospital in Hopa."
  
  
  "How far is it from Tarabia?"
  
  
  "Twenty-four miles. So it's not far. You must insist that the prisoner be brought to Hopa immediately. The director can give you security. You should obviously get rid of it. Once you meet the exit to the south, on your way to Hopa, take ego and continue driving towards the coast. I'll provide you with a clear meeting point. An American submarine will be waiting to take you to London."
  
  
  "It sounds very simple, as you put it," I said.
  
  
  Hawk smiled broadly. "You can express yourself well, my boy. We are well aware that there are all sorts of obstacles in the implementation of our plans. But, as usual, its totally confident in meeting your strengths."
  
  
  "Thank you," I said. 'I think so for her too.'
  
  
  Hawk laughed merrily, finished his drink, and snapped his fingers to get the waiter's attention. The conversation was over. But one of the most challenging assignments of my career was just beginning.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 3
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  It was late when he returned to his hotel. The sun was sinking behind the mosques that dotted the hills of Istanbul. The Bosphorus turned to flaming copper, and long shadows fell across the narrow streets.
  
  
  Before leaving, she had closed the joints on the windows, so when she returned, it was quite dark. He closed the door and instead of turning on the saints, went to the windows to open the joints. See it in the hotel adv = β. When he was halfway across the room, he suddenly heard a clicking sound coming from the side of the bed. Wilhelmina pulled her and turned around in a flash, thinking that the Fat Man's friends had returned.
  
  
  Brylev next to the bed was turned on. A large man was sitting on my bed, his back against the wall. He held the Mauser closed with a raised 7.65 mm parabellum pointed at me.
  
  
  "Oleg Borisov," I muttered. Ego's gaze swept over her as he put the gun down again and swung his legs over the side of the bed. He laughed loudly.
  
  
  "You must never guess again, other one," he said cheerfully. He was a tall, thick-set man with stocky shoulders and a broad head with sandy hair hanging over his shoulder. He was a KGB officer. A rough, almost pleasant man, but one of the most dangerous men she'd ever met. He was the main killer of the Wet Del department, in short, my rival. And he'd killed more British and American agents than he could remember. "I'm making you cold, Carter, right?"
  
  
  I didn't see any humor in it, unless it was ego-curious broken English. He never laughed at guns. "It was pretty damn close, like being hit by a goggle-eyed Borisov," I said, grumbling. "What are you even doing here?"
  
  
  "Don't worry, comrade. Borisov is coming to kill you? Then you're dead. He let out another high-pitched laugh. Then he shook his head. As if he didn't know what good it was.
  
  
  Her luger had put it away again, but he was watching Borisov closely. He got up, went to the window, and threw open the knuckles. He breathed in the cool, salty air. "Nice city, Istanbul," he sighed. "I wish he could come here more often. Don't you think so?
  
  
  "Istanbul is a great city".
  
  
  He was still looking out the window. "This city is quiet for us, Comrade Carter. Everything's going smoothly, you know? But then someone sees a dangerous person walking down the STREET, and suddenly it's not very calm, is it? He turned, and I saw the coldness in his eyes.
  
  
  "Go ahead, Borisov. If it was her who came here to eliminate one of your people, he would also be dead."
  
  
  He looked at me hesitantly for a moment. Then he burst into roaring laughter. "Of course, Carter, of course. That's what I said. But they keep whining. I think you have something to do with Defarge. You know, the man with the knife in his body. Bangg-in the chest! '
  
  
  I said all this very casually, but I saw my reaction through the eyes of a pro.
  
  
  It didn't move a muscle for us. "Defarge?" The guy in the papers?
  
  
  "Same thing," he said slowly.
  
  
  I slowly shook my head and allowed a smile to form on my face. "You are very much mistaken, Borisov. Its just going through here mimmo. I don't think we're bothering each other this time."
  
  
  "That's all right, Carter," Borisov replied. "Because I wouldn't want to kill you." He said the last sentence very slowly, and all the joy disappeared from his ego. He was a real showman, but underneath that thin layer of acting talent was an arrogant psychotic killer. Her suspicion was that the Russians wouldn't use ego for too long. Ego and selfish trips made ego too dangerous to trust emu with.
  
  
  Borisov went to the door and opened it. He half turned and said, " Do Borisov a favor, Carter. If you're just passing through here, travel fast again ."
  
  
  "I'll see what I can do for you," I said coldly. He was about to disappear, but she stopped him. "By the way, Borisov."
  
  
  "Yes, Carter?"
  
  
  "The next time you bow a gun at me, keep in mind that you'll have to use your ego."
  
  
  He laughed and looked at me, but suddenly he had a flash of uncontrollable glee. "You don't joke with Borisov from such an imperialist position, Carter," he said. "I know you're a good boy." He slammed the door behind him, and heard her ego-driven laughter echoing down the hall.
  
  
  Before I even took off my coat, I searched her room asking for the small handy microphones that Russians usually hide everywhere. I didn't find anything.
  
  
  As I washed her face a little later - this time I would have preferred the small sink in my shower room-I thought of the KGB chief of operations in Istanbul. Ego's name was Kopanev Vasily Kopanev. He was Borisov's immediate superior while Borisov was active in the area. Kopanev was the opposite of Borisov. A calm, balanced person, a good chess player and a brilliant strategist. The fact that he was in charge of Russian kidnap operations was sufficient explanation for ih's success to date. It was a typical Kopanev idea to send Alain to me without letting him shoot. In the hope that I will betray myself with words or gestures. The visit of the "tough guy" with the "Mauser" was undoubtedly Borisov's contribution to this plan.
  
  
  I was just drying myself when there was a knock on my room door. He wrapped a towel around her waist, grabbed Wilhelmina from the chair, and went to the door.
  
  
  He paused to listen. Maybe if he came back for some reason.
  
  
  Then he asked her. 'Who's there?'
  
  
  "A maid, sir," a female voice said in heavily accented English.
  
  
  He swore under his breath, unlocked the door, and opened it carefully. My anger vanished like snow in the sun.
  
  
  I said, " Heather!"
  
  
  "Nikki!" she said with mock indignation in her sexy voice and immediately glanced at the towel around my waist.
  
  
  For a while, sl continued to receive her impatiently. She was as stunningly beautiful as ever. She'd grown her blond hair out, and it shone shoulder-length. Her bright blue eyes shone above a small upturned nose and a full, wide mouth. She was wearing a skirt that barely covered her thighs and showed off her long, slender legs. She was wearing a long unbuttoned coat. Her full breasts hugged the silk blouse, and her dark nipples were clearly visible under the thin fabric.
  
  
  "When I tell her it's good to see you again, I don't express myself very well," I said, pulling on her hand and closing the door behind her.
  
  
  She tossed her small briefcase to the floor. "The feeling is mutual, Nikki," she said hoarsely, turning to me, her lips close to mine.
  
  
  The luger carefully placed her on a chair and pulled Heather toward him. Her full pink lips merged with mine, and time passed. We returned to England, to a house in the woods of Sussex. There, our bodies indulged in a wild burst of pleasure.
  
  
  Out of breath, she pulled away. "Oh my God, Nicky. It's like you never left."
  
  
  'Hmm. I know that.'
  
  
  Heather released me with one hand and pulled on the towel. The towel slipped off my thighs and fell to the floor. She ran her slender hands down my thighs and grabbed my glowing manhood.
  
  
  "Mmm, yes. Still the same.'
  
  
  "You're a cheeky girl," I said, biting her ear.
  
  
  "I know," she said. "But I like it."
  
  
  "How long have you been here?'
  
  
  "My journey arrived earlier than usual. We had a fair wind, " she said, kissing my breasts and licking my nipples. "Wasn't it good for us?"
  
  
  'Very nice to meet you.'
  
  
  He took her coat off her shoulders and pulled the silk blouse over her head. Her blonde hair fell smoothly to her milky shoulders. Her full breasts bulged out defiantly.
  
  
  "You're pretty cheeky yourself, Mr. Carter," she said, running my hand over the soft, warm slopes.
  
  
  "I've heard it before." I unbuttoned her skirt. The skirt fell smoothly to the floor. She was now wearing only a pair of thin nylon stockings. My chest rubbed against her soft curves as we hugged again. We were completely out of breath when we finally let go of the other's lips. "She's been waiting for this since the moment I heard I was going to work with you," she said.
  
  
  Ee picked her up and watched her gently lift her chest, while nessus went to the bed and gently laid her down. She was turned off by saint and bench press next to her.
  
  
  We lie opposite each other, and sparks of longing hit our bodies. Heather's hands caressed my body gently and discreetly as we kissed again. Our tongues danced with each other like small bright flames. I gently explored her body with my hand until she moaned and rubbed against me. Then ee rolled her onto her back and moved with her.
  
  
  And it happened as it was before. It was as if time was running out. We became new lovers again, while simultaneously greedily and tenderly exploring each other's bodies.
  
  
  Later, as I lay on my desk and stared out the window, Heather relaxed into a smile and blew smoke around her long filtered cigarette.
  
  
  "Do you really think we should get out of here?" I said, running my finger down her thigh.
  
  
  "They'll find us sooner or later," Heather replied.
  
  
  "Yes, Nicky, we wouldn't be bored if they let us sit here."
  
  
  "What if I send her a polite letter to the Kremlin?"
  
  
  "I'm afraid the Kremlin isn't interested in the problems of two lovers," Heather said with a smile. "By the way, I was not sent here for any purpose. I vaguely recall something similar ."
  
  
  He grinned at her. "It won't remain uncertain for long."
  
  
  "It's too fantastic. Brutha lives up to her name these days." She slid off the bed and went naked to the window. "Mmm, smell the city, Nick. A delicious fragrance ."
  
  
  Her stood up and closed her joints. "I wouldn't want anyone around our KGB friends to be nervous about your appearance," I said, switching on brylev again.
  
  
  "So they're there?" she asked casually, turning around.
  
  
  "Find out," I said. "Maybe the KGB is outside, maybe the Fat Man's friends, maybe someone else. What do you want. I don't think she's the most popular figure in Istanbul."
  
  
  "Any problems, Nick?"
  
  
  "Something like that, yes. Her specifically didn't delve into the city because she wanted to play with the Fat Man out in the open. So everyone came to me quickly and uninvited ."
  
  
  She was laughing. When we were dressed again, she said: "I brought toys from ASO. In the first half of our assignment. Get in that suitcase over there.
  
  
  He put the suitcase on the bed and opened it. Two disguise bags were hidden under a pile of airy underwear. One for me and one for Heather. Heather consisted around a short red wig and a little makeup. My disguise was a blond wig, matching moustache, and horn-rimmed glasses.
  
  
  "As Hawk told you, this is all for our visit to Sezak," Heather said. "I have my passports and other documents with me to complete our disguise. You are the president of the Royal Society for the Study of Crime and Prisons. I just need to touch up your accent a little. I play her as your secretary ."
  
  
  "Let's see the passports," he asked her.
  
  
  She dived into the closet and pulled it out. Ih examined it carefully. I saw myself in her passport, but in the photo I had blonde hair and a mustache.
  
  
  "Dr. Eric Walters," I said slowly.
  
  
  "The people we call real. Walters has a huge reputation in England, and it's possible that Sezak knows his name. Walters is a quiet, serious intellectual who went to Eton and studied at Oxford. Ego is a family of noble origin. He has worked with Scotland Yard and made countless working visits to English prisons to assist serious criminals in their rehabilitation. It has familiar gestures. I'll show you this in a minute, Nick. But we are sure that Sezak has never met him, so everything will work out."
  
  
  "And you're Nell Truitt."
  
  
  "Quite a young woman with fifteen years of social work behind her. An essential support for Dr. Walters. She graduated from Cambridge University as a sociologist and is currently working on her PhD in her spare time. Make-up for her disguise includes a large mole to the right of the rta. Do you still love me, Nicky?"
  
  
  "In moderation," I chuckled.
  
  
  "Even if I have to narrow my chest for my role?" She looked at me half innocently, half defiantly, and my blood started to sizzle again.
  
  
  "You know where to hit a person, dear Heather."
  
  
  "Oh, it's temporary, Nikki," she smiled.
  
  
  "I'll abstain," I said, glancing at the papers. "Do you think that's enough to get to Sezak?"
  
  
  "A letter was sent around London saying that we are puffiness to Ankara and puffiness to see Sezak in the ego office at the police headquarters. We would also like to meet Sezak in person, as Walters is known as a fan of Sezak. Several times Sezak came across the front pages of newspapers with the denouement of an important case. He is almost a national figure in his country."
  
  
  "I know that. That's what the Fat Man tried to explain to me before Sezak got to him. If the Fat Man's information is correct, then Sezak is an extremely dangerous guy, Heather.
  
  
  Heather reached into her handmade Moroccan leather shoulder bag and pulled out a Sterling .380 public Procurement Law automatic pistol. A pocket-sized pistol, but with decent firepower. She dropped her bag on the floor. And with one foot on the bed, her shoulder hair like a blond fan, she pulled out the empty magazine of each gun and inserted the full one with the usual click. She looked up and smiled at me. "I'm not worried about Sezak. I have you.'
  
  
  He looked at her and shook his head. She looked like a model, not a secret agent. Most of the female officers tried to look as inconspicuous as possible. Become one with the background to avoid suspicion. But ASO decided to let Heather play it herself. What logical person would suspect a spy in this beautiful woman? Maybe a movie star, but an agent with a gun in his bag? Rubbish.
  
  
  I asked her. "When will we leave for Ankara?"
  
  
  "We will go to Marmara Express, at the time you specify. But we are expected in Ankara the day after tomorrow ."
  
  
  "Alright, then we'd better leave as soon as possible. The KGB is very nervous about my presence here. They won't bother us in Ankara yet."
  
  
  "I like a man who makes his friends nervous," she said in her sexy voice.
  
  
  "They weren't supposed to know I was here at all," I said. "Brutha would be deeply disappointed in me if he knew that."
  
  
  "To Brutus, you're one of the most fascinating things in our profession," Heather smiled. "And not just for him, by the way."
  
  
  He picked up her blond mustache and held the ih between her nose and upper lip. And in his perfect English, he said:: "I would say, my dear. Let's go have a bite to eat in one of these picturesque Turkish places. Then we will go to Cirkeci station to buy train tickets ."
  
  
  Heather giggled. "Oh, great, Doctor. Walters. I'll have it ready as soon as possible."
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 4
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The trip to Ankara with Heather was short and uneventful. There were no signs of KGB activity on the train. Apparently, these disguises were successful. We rode together in a second-class carriage and talked about criminology and important police cases. Once in Ankara, we booked two rooms in a nondescript hotel and arranged to meet Celik Sezak the next day.
  
  
  Ankara was a modern city. Built on the site of a once large swamp. The boulevards were spacious, and the buildings of the entire twentieth century completely contrasted with Istanbul. Ankara has been the capital of Turkey since 1923.
  
  
  The next morning, Heather and I had to wait almost an hour to see Sezak. But suddenly, he was there. The door to Ego's office swung open, and he came up to us with his hands outstretched. He greets us loudly with his booming voice. Ego's hand closed around mine like a vise.
  
  
  He was a tall, dark man with black hair, a black mustache, and dark eyebrows. He looked muscular, even though emu was in his late forties. He had significantly more fat around his waist than I did, but even he looked solid. Ego's eyes were large and gave an intelligent impression.
  
  
  Dr. Walters! He shook my hand fiercely. "It's a great honor to welcome you here." Now he turned to Heather. "And you must be Mrs. Truitt." You look beautiful.'
  
  
  Heather held out her hand. She was wearing a red wig and a pair of glasses with small lenses. Fresh wrinkles on her face made her about the same age as Sezak. And the loose brown maxi dress she wore matched the massive, old-fashioned heels of her shoes. She looked like an old maid. Only a clairvoyant could know that there was a beautiful woman behind the mask.
  
  
  "Come on in," Sezak invited us. "Welcome to my humble workplace.
  
  
  We entered the main room, and I must admit I was impressed. The walls were cream-colored, and the lower half was paneled around a beautiful dark wood. Modern French Impressionist paintings hung on all the walls, and Sezac's beautiful desk chair was made of walnut wood. There were five spacious chairs around it. Sezak sat us down, then sat down in the swivel chair behind his desk.
  
  
  "Do you mind if my secretary joins us?" "What is it?" he asked in perfect English.
  
  
  We've already met the stenographer in the waiting room. He was sure that she wasn't Sezak's secretary; nah had no views on that. Sezak was known as a womanizer, and the ego secretary was an ego lover. Everyone knew that, even Mrs. Sezak. And if Sezak's taste for women was as developed as it is for egoist design, we might expect a lot. I wasn't disappointed.
  
  
  Sezak called Katerina Gulersoy through the intercom. A moment later, she was sitting in front of us, smiling and speaking in broken English.
  
  
  "Ah, Dr. Walters. So nice to meet you. And you, too, Miss Truitt.
  
  
  It was really fantastic. Nah had long, glossy, shoulder-length black hair and the longest and darkest eyelashes she'd ever seen. At first glance, her eyes were large and innocent. But if you look closely, you can see something else behind that innocent gaze. Heather looked up at Nah with hawk-like eyes, her eyes settling on the woman's defiant chest. Now she was sure that she would no longer hide her breasts under old-fashioned underwear for the next assignment.
  
  
  "Nice to meet you, Miss Gulersoy," Heather said, perhaps a little too coldly.
  
  
  "Well, now let's see what we can do for both of you-during your visit to Ankara," Sezak said cheerfully.
  
  
  He wondered why we had been in contact for so long. Sezak wasn't just a corrupt official. He rose high in the police force. And the ego's secondary activity was not what could be called spotless purity. He learned to support himself. This may mean that he first made contact with the Royal Society in London before he wanted to see us. The Association was warned about this situation.
  
  
  "I can hardly describe in words what it means for me and my assistant to be able to meet one of the most famous police officers in the world in person," I said.
  
  
  "Ah, too great an honor, Dr. Walters," Sezak replied. The Emu was obviously flattered, but he didn't let his guard down.
  
  
  "Of course, it was revealed by several interesting people. Some of the things around them are really too rough for a lady like Miss Truitt to hear. Ms. Gulersoy sees most of my reports, but even she doesn't see all of them."
  
  
  "I think I might pass out." Miss Gulersoy smiled and explained in broken English what her work for Sezak entailed. Heather had ears, and she didn't miss one of her gestures.
  
  
  During our first visit, we didn't bring any hidden cameras or recording devices. We were looking forward to a second, more informal meeting to thoroughly study this pair.
  
  
  "As you can see, Ms. Gulersa and I work closely together," Sezak said.
  
  
  It's hard for her to believe that. The CIA and the British D15 reported that Ms. Sezak was disabled and almost never saw her husband with Ms. Gulersoy.
  
  
  "If I remember correctly," Sezaku told her, " you were in charge of the Topkapi investigation a few years ago. I must say, excellent police work.
  
  
  "Thank you, thank you," Sezak purred almost contentedly. "Yes, I told her all this. From beginnings in both directions. By the way, a criminal masterpiece. This also makes solving such a case challenging."
  
  
  "I seem to recall that the plan was drawn up by a certain Seraglio," I said.
  
  
  Sezak showed some hesitation. "Seraglio was one of the main characters, actually. But the ideological mastermind of this enterprise was Shremin. He is now " locked up in a prison in the south."
  
  
  "Does he have a chance at probation, Mr. Sesak?" Heather asked in her Truitt voice.
  
  
  Sezak gave a short laugh. "Forgive me, Miss Truitt. I'm afraid the probation service in Turkey doesn't occupy the same place as you're used to in England. No, he has little chance of ever getting out of jail again.
  
  
  "My God, it's awful," Heather said.
  
  
  "Well, maybe that's better, Miss Truitt," Sezak said. "As soon as we release him, he will come up with a plan for a new crime. And this, unfortunately, contradicts the interests of the state ."
  
  
  "Yes, but..." Heather says, insistently playing her part.
  
  
  "You must forgive Miss Truitt for her missionary efforts," he interrupted. "But she's a social worker first, and then a criminologist."
  
  
  "This is her feminine intuition," Katerina Gulersoy came to Heather's aid.
  
  
  "Actually," I said. "You noticed that right away, Miss Gulersoy."
  
  
  She smiled sweetly and exchanged a quick glance with Sezak. Katerina sat down cross-legged and started waving her leg as soon as she spoke. When she stopped taking part in the conversation, she didn't move her leg anymore. Sezak himself was constantly poking his index finger in the air when he wanted to emphasize something, and this happened quite often. He also kept squeezing and squeezing his right hand. I took a closer look at these details as Sezak continued to explain how people think about probation in Turkey.
  
  
  "It's all very interesting, Mr. Sezak," I said when he was done.
  
  
  "I am glad to be of service to you. I think you would like to see our headquarters. Then I can arrange a guided tour for you. Or maybe you also want to visit the Ankara prison? »
  
  
  "We would really appreciate it. Moreover, we would like to meet you again under less formal circumstances under different circumstances. Perhaps I can invite you and Miss Gulersoy to dinner at one of the famous restaurants.
  
  
  He pursed his lips for a moment, thinking. Her, seen him do it before. "I think I know her better than that, Doctor. Walters. Tomorrow night I'm throwing a party for my friends and acquaintances at my home. Miss Gulersoy is coming, too. Can I invite her to that?" Then we will have enough time to exchange information about our work in a pleasant environment ."
  
  
  "I love it," Heather said.
  
  
  "This would really be the crowning achievement of our visit to Ankara," I added.
  
  
  'Good. Dinner starts at eight o'clock. You don't have to wear special evening clothes." Sezak stood up. "We will look forward to seeing you, Doctor. Walters, Miss Truitt.
  
  
  He held out his hand. He shook emu's hand and said: "That's fine. It was a great experience for us, Mr. Sezak."
  
  
  "I'll make sure you have a good tour," he replied.
  
  
  After exchanging the usual goodbyes, we left. When we got back to the street, I looked around cautiously, but I didn't see anyone following us. We decided to walk to the hotel on foot.
  
  
  "Well, what do you think?" Heather asked her as we walked along a wide boulevard lined with shady trees and large modern buildings on either side.
  
  
  "I think he called London. But he's still not quite sure if it's really us, " she said. "A person in an ego position should be very careful about strangers. No matter how reliable they seem to us ."
  
  
  "He's very smart," I said. "And a wonderful person. This makes the ego very dangerous. I'm beginning to understand how Emu manages to lead a successful double life."
  
  
  "I'm sorry we came to ruin everything," Heather said.
  
  
  Her, looked at nah. She smiled. "Let's take our time, dear Heather. Maybe he just invited us to get to know each other better. You'll have to show yourself a little. And that's with all the equipment we have to carry around."
  
  
  "You technicians will need these photos and films if we want to emulate two Turks in our own country," Heather said.
  
  
  'I know her. But I still don't really like it. It's not my style ."
  
  
  Heather laughed.
  
  
  "What's so fun about it?"
  
  
  'You're cute. As soon as you have to do some routine work, which we, ordinary policemen, always do, you start complaining."
  
  
  Her, grimaced. "I admit, I'm not the best photographer."
  
  
  "Oh, Nicky, it's not that bad. Or maybe Miss Gulersoy will do a striptease on one of the tables."
  
  
  "It could have a positive impact on my work."
  
  
  'Hmm. You make me jealous, Nicky.
  
  
  'Oh, right? She grinned. "I thought you knew I liked women."
  
  
  'Yes, dear. But I thought you had good taste, " she said. "And Gulersoy, after all, is very ordinary."
  
  
  I looked at her and saw that she was waiting for my answer. Hey smiled at her affectionately.
  
  
  "Oh, Nick," she sighed. "Sometimes you're really insufferable.
  
  
  
  
  The next day we were given a tour of the main office. Ego was shown to us by a verbose police officer who was very pleased with his knowledge of English. Unfortunately wrong. It would be better for everyone if he spoke his native language. Heather and I both spoke good Turkish.
  
  
  Around five o'clock, we returned to the hotel to change for dinner at Sezak's. Heather appeared in an elegant plaid tweed suit and wide-brimmed brown shoes. Miss Truitt doesn't go around wearing bold evening dresses. And she wouldn't buy one for the occasion.
  
  
  I myself was wearing a dark blue suit with narrow lapels and a rather short jacket. Ten years before that, it was all the rage. I also had the Royal Society badge on my tie. That's what a man like Walters would do.
  
  
  "You look awful," Heather said, studying me.
  
  
  "You won't win any prizes in this costume either, dear."
  
  
  'Good. I think then we will be ready to attack.
  
  
  'Wow!'- total-I added.
  
  
  
  
  Shortly before eight o'clock, we arrived at Sezak's house. It was again what you would call spectacular, say, ten minutes from Ankara, in the middle of a forest. The long road ended in front of a colonnade.
  
  
  The servant let us in and took us to the library, where there were other guests. We were introduced to a dozen people from all over the top of the state apparatus. Mrs. Sezak was there, too, in a wheelchair. She didn't greet us very well, but otherwise she didn't seem to pay much attention to the party and its guests. She seemed to take Katerina Gulersoy's presence rather philosophically.
  
  
  Every time I shook her hand, I was afraid that the miniature camera on the back of my badge would fly out and rattle on the floor. Or that someone might see the bulge in the pocket of my doublet where the tape recorder was. Heather had the same equipment. We left our guns at home.
  
  
  Dinner went smoothly. Heather and I played this game next to Sezak at the head of the chair, where he, as the host, could sometimes make polite comments to us. Mrs. Sezak sat at the other end of the chair, occasionally giving her husband a dark look. I didn't see her looking at Katerina, and Katerina was looking at nah.
  
  
  After dinner, which included serving a Turkish kebab with fist-sized chunks of meat, the group moved to the large living room at the front of the house. Cocktails were served here.
  
  
  At first, I found it difficult to recall Sezak because of the other guests. But in the end it worked, and he was asked by ego ear about ego work. After a few cocktails, he was much less reserved than in his office, and talked a lot.
  
  
  By this time, Heather had caught Gulersoy, and they were having a lively conversation across the room. After a while, they came to us. Just when Sezak was finishing a rather boring story.
  
  
  "And you won't believe where I finally found this man," he told me. The ladies came up to us, and he nodded to them. She was photographed by her ego profile. I already had six plots, and the voice recorder also worked fine. "Ha, you're coming to us."
  
  
  He hugged ih. Katherine happily agreed, but Heather looked puzzled.
  
  
  Well, I hope you don't blame this unsightly ego bear for being rude, " Sezak said to Heather.
  
  
  No, no. It's okay, " Heather said timidly. She played her part admirably.
  
  
  Sezak released her and openly embraced Katerina. Mrs. Sezak had already left yahoo shortly after lunch, and Celik apologized for nah. As I watched Mrs. Sesak being wheeled to the back of the house in her wheelchair, it dawned on me what kind of person Celik Sesak really was. Behind the charming appearance and friendly smile, there was a man who was slowly killing his wife. With ego cold behavior and ego open parade with mistress in front of ih friends and acquaintances. A man who didn't even think for a moment about the terrible suffering a woman's ego must be going through. No, Celik Sezak was an unpleasant person. Even if you want to forget the ego of drug smuggling and human trafficking for a moment. If my assignment causes the ego, the world, to collapse, I'll be happy to do it.
  
  
  Sezak involved two women in the denouement of his story. He spoke loudly in the booze. He listened carefully to the intonation and nuances, and hoped that the tape recorder would catch everything. She had already taped a few sentences in Turkish when he said something to the other guy.
  
  
  This man was hiding in the Roman catacombs, " Sezak continued. "It's an incredible place. It's wet, cold, and dark. A breeding ground for rats and insects. And there this man was hiding for several days. When we discovered the ego ...
  
  
  I had just taken another picture of the ego faces when a hand grabbed my shoulder.
  
  
  Startled by her, I turned around and think my shock was noticeable. Heather turned, too.
  
  
  "So you're getting all the information you need from Celik?"
  
  
  I was approached by a large man, a Turkish official, with whom I had recently been chatting. Sezak was very vague when he asked her-ego, in which department or agency this person works. Now, by the penetrating look of ego's eyes, and the hand gripped like a vise on my shoulder, hers, I felt that I had stumbled upon someone through my craft. He was introduced to me and Heather as Basimevi.
  
  
  "Mr. Sezak has a very interesting story," I said, looking at him to see if he noticed the slight bulge under my tie. "He had an exciting life."
  
  
  "Yes, very interesting," Heather said.
  
  
  Basimevi stared at nah in silence. Finally, he let go of my shoulder. "I didn't know you had English friends, Celik."
  
  
  Sezak looked somewhat sober. "Ah, you think too highly of me, Basimevi. These are colleagues in my humble profession. I really want them to be my friends."
  
  
  "It's mutual," I said.
  
  
  Doctor Walters and Miss Truitt are British forensic scientists, " Katerina said in her bad English.
  
  
  "Interesting," Basimevi commented. He looked at me more closely than I would have liked. If he really was from the Turkish secret service, he would have seen our disguise before anyone else, even Sezak.
  
  
  "Can I refill my glass, Doctor?" Walters? I can see it, it's almost empty.
  
  
  "Ah, I didn't notice that." It was the truth. He was too busy working on the mini-camera. I had to push a button in my jacket pocket. There was a wire attached to the button, which, after a long, winding road, ended at the camera behind my tie.
  
  
  Before she could say anything, Basimevi pulled out a glass, wrapped it around my arm, and walked to the bar. He picked up a bottle of whiskey. I followed him, and this momentarily set us apart from the others. Sezak was already engrossed in his story to the two ladies.
  
  
  When I finally got to the bar, he saw Basimevi place my glass on top of a row of bottles with one hand and fill another glass with the other.
  
  
  
  Please, " he said with a smile and handed me a full glass. "Celica whiskey is excellent."
  
  
  "Indeed," I said, and smiled back. 'Thank you."Her took a sip.
  
  
  "You went to Oxford, didn't you?"
  
  
  'Actually.'
  
  
  "May I ask him what college?"
  
  
  Corkscrew's ego answered, and he raised his eyebrows.
  
  
  "I think I know that. Isn't it right next to the Magdalene Bell Tower?
  
  
  He was ready for this. 'Yes, in the dell itself. I still don't remember that I was sometimes woken up by the monks singing. I'm afraid it's not around those who get up early. Did you go to Oxford, too?"
  
  
  "No, not him." Basimevi smiled broadly. He had cropped hair and a fat football coach's shirt. Fleshy, with a strong chin. He wasn't a field agent; he was obviously too old for that. He was probably higher up in the division, maybe even in charge of the secret service. The smile faded. "I didn't stay there long. Study the history of the English people. Fascinating topic. He spent his days at the Bodleian Library, working on his Radcliffe digital camera exams.
  
  
  "I must say," I said, " you bring back some pleasant memories."
  
  
  "What prisons in your country did you work in?
  
  
  He had been cross-examined, there was no doubt about that. Of course, it is possible that Basimevi worked with Sezak, but it is unlikely. It would be too risky for Sezak to involve other police officers in his side activities. He probably had his own department for this kind of work. Besides, Basimevi and Sezak didn't look very fond of each other. Basimevi was probably here for the same reason as the other guests. To maintain Sezak's reputation in the highest circles of Ankara. So Basimevi was supposed to be in the secret service.
  
  
  He gave the investigator the names of several English prisons at his own discretion, and he listened intently. He asked about the conditions in a particular prison. I made some general comments and expressed the hope that my answers would be sufficient. He tried to make light conversation. Heather glanced at us, a flicker of concern in her eyes.
  
  
  "Well, it was nice meeting you, Doctor. Walters, " Basimevi finally concluded. "Maybe I'll see you in Ankara before we leave."
  
  
  A smile appeared on his fleshy face, and he wondered if that was a threat. "Let's hope so," I said with feigned enthusiasm.
  
  
  He returned to the trio he had left behind, and Basimevi also joined another group. Sezak was still thinking about his past victories. Later that night, just before Heather and I said our goodbyes, I saw Basimevi come over to the bar and wrap my glass in a handkerchief. Everything disappeared into an inside pocket.
  
  
  "Don't forget a tour of the prison tomorrow," Sezak remarked when we were feeling sorry for Emu ruku.
  
  
  A few moments later, he was driving the old Turkish car he'd rented for the occasion. The car had a model that was produced only in America before the war. Heather turned to face me and was about to say something, but I pressed a finger to her lips. As we drove down the driveway, a hidden microphone groped under the dashboard, but found nothing. Heather finished her examination.
  
  
  "Nothing," she said at last.
  
  
  I turned her onto the road to the city. "All right," I said.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 5
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  "Who was that braggart who could pull you aside if necessary?" asked Heather as we approached the outskirts of Ankara.
  
  
  "Basimevi?" Other than that, I can't tell you much about nen. I'm thinking of the Turkish secret service. He gave me a real cross-examination. He also took the glass with my fingerprints on it.
  
  
  Heather looked at me questioningly.
  
  
  "He pushed away the glass that used it."
  
  
  She looked back at the road. 'Actually.'
  
  
  "It is very likely that he is in the secret service. The CIA and Dl5 have been giving the Turks a lot of trouble lately. Rather more than the Russians. It seems that we no longer trust the Turks completely. Ih the love for us is not so strong anymore. So when we did such an amazing performance in Ankara, Basimevi decided to test us. I doubt that Sezak has anything to do with it." Hers, chuckled, for a moment. "I think this is one of the 'unexpected events' that we are always warned about."
  
  
  Heather grimaced. "What were you talking about?
  
  
  "Among other things, about Oxford."
  
  
  "Was he there?"
  
  
  "That's what he said, anyway." It is necessary to repeat this conversation. When I got to the Baudelaire Library section, Heather interrupted me.
  
  
  Did he say he studied for Radcliffe digital cameras years ago?
  
  
  'Yes.'
  
  
  "And you didn't fix your ego?"
  
  
  Her said - " Should her have done it then?". "I was told that Radcliffe's cell is used as a sort of study in the library."
  
  
  'It's all real. But you know that only recently they used the camera as part of the library. Until a few years ago, students were not allowed there ."
  
  
  He swore under his breath. "And Basimevi knew it."
  
  
  I'm absolutely sure of it, " she said. "Don't blame yourself, Nick. This is something you couldn't possibly know. Someone in the ASO did their job incorrectly. But we knew that Sezak had never been to Oxford. Basimevi is one of these unpredictable factors that, as you said, always come up at the wrong time ."
  
  
  I agree, " I said, thinking how this changed our entire position in the city. He turned the corner and drove back to the hotel in town.
  
  
  In any case, I doubt Basimevi has anything to do with my fingerprints. Maybe the KGB has them, but we don't have anyone else. Allegedly, it is not in the possession of the Turkish special service or the Turkish police."
  
  
  "In that case, we'd better implement our plan sooner," Heather said.
  
  
  He stopped in a dark alley near the inn. He stared at the street for a moment in the rearview mirror. No one seemed to be following us.
  
  
  He looked at Heather. "Remember when we were sitting in Sezak's office sorting out ego's past cases?"
  
  
  'Of course; for estestvenno.'
  
  
  "I was talking about Della Topkapi. She was told that Seraglio was the mastermind behind the operation because it was in the ASO file. And then Sezak corrected me."
  
  
  "Yes, he was talking about Shremin."
  
  
  'Exactly. I checked it when they showed us the files today, not when, Sezak was right, the ASO file was wrong. And I saw that Sezak was surprised that I didn't know the basic facts of the case, pretending that I was so interested."
  
  
  "Someone in my department did a bad job of it. I'm sorry. Do you think Sezak is also watching us?
  
  
  "We can only hope not. We can also only hope that Basimewi doesn't pass on his suspicions to Sezak too soon. We are at least here in Ankara for a few more days with the AX team, which is engaged in disguise. But I have a vague feeling that Basimevi will probably grab us before he says anything to Sezak. I hope, ego, the search remains harmless. Anyway, let's try to get some sleep now. We will need it very much ."
  
  
  We checked our rooms for listening devices. We didn't find anything. Once in the trash, he stared at the dark ceiling for a long time before falling asleep.
  
  
  A tour of the prison was scheduled for the same day. But in the morning, I took a bus through the center of Ankara, changed my clothes several times, and went to a rather deserted area of the city, where several blocks of houses stood empty, ready for demolition. He let her in through the broken window and went down two flights of stairs to the basement. To what was once the boiler room of the central preheated. There have been some interesting changes here.
  
  
  AX's technical department sent a team of around two people to Ankara to create temporary housing for this operation. They turned this space into something like an apartment. One half was like a sculptor's studio, and the other half was like a small sound studio packed with equipment. Two techs ' bunks lined the wall. They were John Thompson and Hank Dudley. When it came in, they were testing the sound equipment. I'd worked with Thompson before, but Dudley was new to me.
  
  
  "Your first session is scheduled for tonight," Thompson said as he handled the cassettes and tapes her emu gave her. "By then, we'll be ready to transform you." Thompson was an expert in AX makeup and disguise. So the best was there.
  
  
  "Okay, we'll be there if everything goes well," he told her with a smirk.
  
  
  "Dudley is a sound engineer," Thompson said. "He will teach you the voices of Sezak and Gulersoy. I'll have to learn from memory ih postures and gestures."
  
  
  Her gaze swept across the room. "How the hell did you get all this stuff here, tailor?"
  
  
  Thompson smiled. "We have already made a test installation at home. Hawk said it should be done carefully."
  
  
  "I'm very impressed," I admitted. "Okay, I'll see you tonight, Thompson."
  
  
  "All the best, Nick," he said as he walked her out of the underground lab.
  
  
  Her, turned around. "There's something else. Is there any way we can finish this in less time? Three days is a long time for us ."
  
  
  "It can probably be done in two days. If you can stay here longer."
  
  
  "We'll see what we can do," I said.
  
  
  I went back to the hotel, picked up Heather, and had lunch with her at a nearby restaurant. We agreed to meet at the prison at two o'clock in the afternoon. One of Sezak's employees was waiting for us there. At the end of lunch, Heather took out a mirror around her bag and checked her makeup. She looked somewhat comical in her red wig and small glasses.
  
  
  "That's great, Nell. Absolutely gorgeous ."
  
  
  She saw the saint in my eyes. "Don't worry, Nicky. In two days, I will transform her into a breathtaking Katerina Gulersoy, with a bust and everything. This must be an exciting prospect for you."
  
  
  "Why do beautiful women always envy other beautiful women?"
  
  
  "Because of the way you men look at them," she replied.
  
  
  He grinned and walked with Heather out into the drizzling rain.
  
  
  "Go back to the hotel," I said. "A person like Walters probably takes notes during a similar eagle. I'm going to find a bookstore where I can buy a shorthand notebook. I'll see you at the hotel at a quarter to two." Get the car ready.
  
  
  "Of course, Doctor. Walters. Some other software will meet your services, doctor. Walters?
  
  
  "I think everything is so well organized," he told her with a chuckle. "See you soon, Nell."
  
  
  She nodded and left. He continued down the street, and after two blocks turned into an alley and entered a bookstore. I bought her a notebook that would fit in my jacket pocket and walked back to the hotel.
  
  
  Since the narrow alleys offered better protection from the rain than the open boulevard, I turned it into a narrow street on the right at the end of the block. The rain kept people inside. So the street was given to me. Fortunately, the disguise was made of good material, otherwise he would now be walking around with stripes of flowers all over his face, or with a crooked mustache.
  
  
  Mimmo a black car passed me. I didn't pay any attention to it. It stopped about thirty yards away, and two young Turks in yabalas got out. The car started moving again. One man circled two men into the building, and the other came toward me. My interest was aroused enough to keep a close eye on him. He walked past me mimmo and spoke to me from behind. 'I'm sorry. Kribitimiz varmi? He held a crumpled cigarette between his fingers and asked for a light.
  
  
  "I'm sorry," he told her in Turkish. "But I don't smoke."
  
  
  He looked at me sharply. "Ah, this is also valuable, many people are more useful. I'm sorry to have bothered you.
  
  
  'At your service.'
  
  
  The man turned and walked on. Her children started moving again. When he reached the place where the other man had disappeared, she was discovered by a narrow alley. Her cautiously walked on. The voice stopped me.
  
  
  "Just a moment, please."
  
  
  He turned around and saw another Turk standing in the alley. He was holding a Belgian-made revolver pointed at me. "Could you come in here for a moment?" He spoke English, but with a strong accent.
  
  
  He looked down at the revolver, and into the man's eyes. He wasn't armed. He didn't look like he was going to shoot, but I couldn't afford to risk it openly right now. A second later, shaggy heard it from behind him.
  
  
  "You'd better do as he says," the first Turk, now standing behind me, said in English.
  
  
  Her glanced in ego's direction and saw that he stuck his hand in the minute pays. Her, stepped into the alley. The Turk with the Belgian revolver was taller and noticeably older than the man who had approached me in the street.
  
  
  "Tell me, who are you?" he began in his best Oxford English. "It really goes beyond all the restrictions. Are you after my wallet? Then you're out of luck, because I don't have much money with me."
  
  
  "That's him," the younger Turk said to the other, pushing me into an alley.
  
  
  "Give me your purse," the old man said to me.
  
  
  I realized that he was an ego hotel for identification, and this was my chance to play an ordinary tourist. During the conversation, he lowered the revolver low enough to give me a chance.
  
  
  "You won't get my papers," I shouted indignantly, and reached for my revolver.
  
  
  He noticed my movement, but it was too late. He lost his balance when he was yanked with both hands on the arm that held his revolver. He let go of the gun and slammed into the other man, who was still half-way behind me. In order not to fall immediately, the emu had to pull its hand out around the pocket. They hit the wall with a thud. When the tall man reached for his revolver, the other lunged at me. He was strong, and the force of his ego attacks pinned me down to moan. Ego's thumbs squeezed my throat like a clamp. I felt stifled. He let his forearms touch the ego for a moment of sickness. It broke the ego's grip on my throat. Her clasped hands and plunged a double fist into the outspoken emu of a lifetime. He crawled with a groan. He placed her hand on Emu's neck in a measured gesture. It was veneered. He tripped on the wet sidewalk. It was a strange fight. He had no idea who sent these people. If they belonged to Sezak, which was unlikely, it would be best to keep quiet. Then he could have personally complained to Sezak, having the opportunity to bluff. But if ih had sent Basimevi, she wouldn't have been treated kindly. Then it was worth showing some fighting techniques that Dr. Walters knew. Although he definitely didn't want to get into trouble by killing one around them.
  
  
  The tall man finally saw where Ego's revolver was. But just before he could catch it, her ego kicked him hard in the side, just below the ego's ribs. Roaring in pain, he rolled over to moan. This was my chance. If I could leave now, all I would have to do later is complain loudly about "thieves and scum" if I was asked difficult questions.
  
  
  Her, turned and ran.
  
  
  But candid in front of the exit through the alley was a black car. The driver got out. He pointed his revolver at me, unmistakably.
  
  
  He just ordered it. - 'Stop!'
  
  
  He stared at the cut-off gun barrel and held back. The man didn't look like he would dare use his weapon.
  
  
  The other two got to their feet again. Odin around them roughly grabbed me from behind and handcuffed my wrists. He closed the ih too tightly and they cut into my flesh. A tall man came and stood in front of me, and the look in his ego eyes made it clear that he would have prepared "nice" things for me if he had the opportunity to do so. He looked at him coldly. "I do not know who you are, but you'd better contact Mr. Sezak before you're done with this."
  
  
  "Sezak has nothing to do with this," the tall one growled. 'Hurry up! Get in the car.'
  
  
  This rheumatism showed two things. This operation was Basimewi's job, and he wasn't going to tell Sezak anything until he'd questioned me. Involuntarily, my thoughts turned to Heather at the hotel, and I wondered if she was safe there.
  
  
  "If you are not thieves, and you were not sent by Sezak
  
  
  "Who are you, then?" he asked the tall man.
  
  
  "Get in the car."
  
  
  She got into the car with a belligerent face, because that's what Walters would have done. He will continue to protest. "The British Consulate will hear about this, I assure you." Her grim face climbed into the backseat, and they played such a game next to me on either side.
  
  
  Slowly, the car pulled away. Thanks to the rhythmic movements, the windshield wipers kept the windshield clean, and she could see that we were puffing out into the city center.
  
  
  Ten minutes later, we were standing in front of the back exit of a large gray concrete building. It looked like a government building. I had to go out into a small courtyard. I was carried into the building, led down a corridor, and shoved into an elevator. We went up to the fifth floor. Down the other corridor. Several Turks who passed mimmo us cast knowing glances in my direction. We turned the corner and he was face to face with Heather. She sat frozen, staring ahead on the wooden bench next to the closed door. She wasn't handcuffed, but a Turk in a dark suit was standing next to her.
  
  
  Dr. Walters! She exclaimed in surprise, standing up to greet me. "I was forced to come here with me. What's going on here?'
  
  
  Hers stopped in front of her. "I have no idea, Miss Truitt. But I will require that the consulate and Mr. Sezak be notified immediately as soon as I find anyone around the leaders here."
  
  
  It's really awful, " Heather said. She played her part admirably. "Very terrible."
  
  
  "Don't worry, Miss Truitt," I said. "I'll deal with it as soon as possible."
  
  
  "Come on," the tall Turk said, pushing me toward the closed door. He opened the door. Following Heather and her escort, we entered a sort of waiting room where a girl sat at a table. At a sign from the tall Turk, she pressed a button and put the receiver to her ear. She mumbled something into the phone and listened. She hung up the phone again and said something to the tall man in Turkish.
  
  
  "Let him wait there. The woman, too.
  
  
  She pointed to a door on our left. At the groans of her desk was a carved door. It probably gave her access to her boss's office.
  
  
  The tall man opened another door and motioned us inside. We entered a brightly lit, sparsely furnished room. Two straight chairs and a recliner. Nothing else, just two moaning mirrors. The mirrors, at least one around them, were transparent. Someone was watching us now, and we were probably being overheard, too.
  
  
  'Wait here. You'll be called in soon. The tall Turk gave me another grim look and closed the door behind him. Heather glanced around the room, and he just stared at Nah. She saw the mirrors and whirled to face me. "What is happening to us, Dr. Walters? Who are these people?'
  
  
  I knew she understood. It took the pressure off me. "I do not know, Nell. I don't understand anything about it. I am convinced that this is a terrible mistake."
  
  
  It was clear that they were hoping that the comment would give us away, or even reveal our true identity by openly discussing egos. But we've both seen this trick before. "They even handcuffed you!" exclaimed Heather in horror. 'Oh my God! What uncivilized people! »
  
  
  It was a great mistake. I decided to go further.
  
  
  "Don't forget, Nell, that in a sense we're here among the pagans. In fact, these people have barely been introduced to Western civilization." For this, he could get an extra hit on the target, but it was good fun.
  
  
  "Do you think this has something to do with our visit to Mr. Sezak?" asked Heather.
  
  
  "I think these people are around the special police department. I don't believe Mr. Sezak knows anything about this. They probably wanted people like us. Smugglers or something. Everything will be fine, don't worry.
  
  
  "I really hope it's not for long."
  
  
  I was wondering how thoroughly they would search our hotel rooms. It was hidden by our weapons and a briefcase for disguises on the air conditioner tube. If they were good, they would have found it. But maybe that hasn't happened yet.
  
  
  The door opened. A man we hadn't seen before came in. He was a short, distinguished Turk in a dark blue pinstripe suit. He looked at us intently. "The lady is coming with me," he said in neat English. As if something had suddenly occurred to him, he came back into the room and released me from the handcuffs. My wrists were swollen from the pressure of the metal.
  
  
  "Thank you," I said.
  
  
  He disappeared with Heather, and he was left alone with terrible suspicions about what might happen to her. He got up and started pacing the room. Just when it was hers, I thought Dr. Walters would have done just that. Fifteen minutes later, the door opened again, and once again the stranger stood in front of me. A short, plump man. Thin hair and bags under the eyes.
  
  
  "Your colleague has told us everything," he said sharply and wryly, in English. "She knew everything. For nah, the problems are over. We hope that you will also want to cooperate. There's no point in pretending to be innocent anymore.
  
  
  I looked at him in disbelief. "Where the hell do you get this nonsense from, tailor?" Confess? Pretend to be in St. Petersburg? Of course, its in St. Petersburg, you know what! Her British subject, and I demand that my consul be notified immediately."
  
  
  The British Consul in Ankara was aware of our presence and mistletoe was ordered to assist us if necessary. The stocky Turk was looking at me intently. "Too bad you're stubborn." He turned and walked out through the rooms.
  
  
  He started walking again, pinching his mustache furiously, hoping it would be taken as a nervous habit. Five minutes later, the man Heather had taken was standing in front of me.
  
  
  "Go," he said.
  
  
  I followed him into the waiting room. We went openly to the carved day. The Turk knocked and entered. We found ourselves in a rather large room. Four chairs were arranged in a semicircle in front of the desk. There was another stranger at the table. A stocky Turk was standing next to him. Heather was sitting on one of the chairs in front of the desk.
  
  
  Dr. Walters! They said you knew something or were guilty of something! How is this possible?
  
  
  "Calm down, Miss Truitt," I said. "I think they're playing a game."
  
  
  Sit down, Dr. Walters, or whatever you are, " the man behind the desk said in an exceptionally soft voice.
  
  
  I'd rather stand there until I know exactly what all this nonsense is for."
  
  
  'As you wish.'The person who brought me went out through the rooms and closed the door behind him. "You entered the country a few days ago. In Istanbul, you might say. But we couldn't find anyone who could confirm your story."
  
  
  Of course, this was to be expected. But another agent put together a passenger list to make our story true. "If you don't believe us, I suggest you check the passenger list for last Tuesday's 307 TWA race."
  
  
  "We're done," the man at the table said. "This is also correct. But isn't it strange that no one around the staff can remember seeing you both on the plane or when you got off?
  
  
  "It seems quite normal to me," I said. "These people will see hundreds of passengers every day. Is that the reason you keep us?
  
  
  "What is your real name, Doctor? Walters?
  
  
  'Oh, please! Stop this comedy!
  
  
  "And the lady's name?"
  
  
  "I've already told you my real name!" Heather exclaimed. "Let's go! Then we can leave this terrible country! »
  
  
  "Calm down, Miss Truitt," he warned her. "Not all people here are like that. In fact, until now the ferrets had treated us very well here. Have you already contacted Celik Sezak? He can vouch for us."
  
  
  The Turk who had been standing by the chair leaned over to the other and whispered something in the emu's ear.
  
  
  "Are you a British spy?" The man behind the desk asked softly but firmly. He was tall and broad-shouldered, with a thin black mustache that ran down his upper lip like a pencil line.
  
  
  'Oh my God! Heather sighed.
  
  
  "A spy?" - repeat it incredulously. "But, my dear fellow, how can you say such a thing to a famous scientist? Obviously, I'm not a spy, and neither is this lady.
  
  
  "Many American and British spies have entered our country illegally, as our relations with the West have deteriorated," a Turk at the table responded. "We can't let that happen."
  
  
  "But this has nothing to do with Miss Truitt and me!" I exclaimed indignantly. "If innocent British tourists are being treated like this in Turkey, then I believe, my dear Sir, that it is time to inform Her Majesty's government of this matter. The word "government" caused dissatisfaction on the other side of the chair. They certainly didn't want to cause an international scandal if they didn't have absolute confidence in our identity. And although I was sure that we owed all this to Basimevi, he was absent. He clearly wasn't going to burn his fingers. The man at the desk, probably a subordinate, wisely didn't mention my mistake about Oxford.
  
  
  The little Turk came around the chair and pointed a meaty finger at Heather. "What's the address of the Royal Society?"
  
  
  She gave em the address.
  
  
  And Dr. Walters ' personal phone number?"
  
  
  She named it.
  
  
  He looked puzzled. Then he tried it on me. "How many members are there in the Association?"
  
  
  "Well, it depends on whether you mean physiologically the participants or the total number," I said. "Rivne region has 2164 physiological members. More than 400 of them live in London. Hers, I think the exact number is 437."
  
  
  The little Turk pulled out a piece of paper and quickly examined it. He looked up, surprised and disappointed. Apparently, I was doing better now than I had the night before at Sezak's.
  
  
  "What day did you register at Eton?"
  
  
  I had to stifle a grin. Obviously, they didn't dare bring up the Oxford corkscrew anymore. Also, the ASO file was accurate. She wasn't asked to answer right away. A little hesitation was better.
  
  
  "Well, let's see. It was supposed to be 1935. In autumn. September, I think, is about the middle of September. It must have been the fourteenth. I remember it , but of course you don't really try to remember something like that."
  
  
  By the look of disappointment on his face, he knew he'd called the right date. They did their homework carefully.
  
  
  "How do you usually eat breakfast, Doctor? Walters? The person at the table asked. It was a very clever corkscrew. And we didn't have the answer in one file. He quickly checked his memory as he continued to stare at him. There was something special about Walters ' eating habits.
  
  
  "But what now!" I started it. "I really don't see..."
  
  
  "Could you please answer corkscrew?"
  
  
  He took a deep breath. 'Okay. I don't eat much of it in the morning. A glass of juice. Some toast with butter. Sometimes I add it to marmalade on toast. And a cup of hot coffee.
  
  
  "What kind of juice do you always drink, Doctor? Walters?
  
  
  "Plum juice, if you really want to know." And her, knew that they really wanted to know. Walters liked plum juice.
  
  
  There was a long silence. The man at the desk straightened his papers and stood up. He forced a smile. "How long do you plan to stay in Ankara, Doctor? Walters?
  
  
  "I'm not staying here for a minute," Heather said, also standing up.
  
  
  "It's all right, Miss Truitt," her father said.
  
  
  Turku answered her. "A day or two, I think."
  
  
  'Actually. Then I just ask you not to change calve during this period.
  
  
  He relaxed a little. He let us go. "All right," I said.
  
  
  "But the consul will know if I tell her emu."
  
  
  I will immediately inform your consulate of what has happened. This is a common occurrence. Annoying, but necessary to protect our country. In addition, I will inform Celik Sezak that you were here for questioning. But first of all, her hotel would like to apologize for any inconvenience we may have caused you."
  
  
  'Discomfort! Heather said belligerently.
  
  
  Its got up. The apology was formal. In case we want to make trouble. But I could tell in ego's look that he still thought we were suspicious.
  
  
  "I accept your apology," I said icily. "Can we finally leave now?"
  
  
  Of course, " the Turk said, smiling exquisitely. "Did you expect anything else?"
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 6
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The basement of the temporary AX lab looked different. It's like it's been used for a while. Dudley found an alarm system in the building so that no one would surprise us with a visit. He processed the recordings with the voices of Sezak and Gulersa and made a new film for everyone around us. Now Heather and I could study ih at the same time. In the makeup department, Thompson had just finished a rough sculpture of Sezak's head. The walls around it were covered with huge enlarged photos of Sezak and Gulersoy, which we took. 'Wonderful!'Heather said, approaching the bust of Sezac.
  
  
  Thompson chuckled. "You see, we techs aren't exactly superfluous." He pressed his thumb to the clay. "I'm not going to put my ego in plastic today. I'll make a test print of that rubber mask you're supposed to wear, Nick. Then came the moustache and hair. This is a difficult job, everything has to match exactly. Because otherwise... he grinned at me.
  
  
  "I know," I said.
  
  
  "Where is Miss Gulersoy's target? Heather asked. Thompson pointed to an object in the corner of the room. There was a cloth over it. "It's drying up." Heather walked over and lifted a corner of the cloth. 'Magnificent! As far as Miss Gulersoy, of course, can be beautiful.
  
  
  "I don't think the plastic casts will be ready today," Thompson said. "So we can try on the last masks tomorrow night, if you want."
  
  
  "I'd love to, take the tailor," I said. "We were interrogated by the Turkish special services, and Sezak knows this. And that would also make him suspicious. The sooner we get out of Ankara, the better ."
  
  
  "All right," Thompson said. "I understand that you can't stay here all the time with all these suspicious Turks. I suggest you start working with Dudley now, while I finish making the masks." And while Basimevi's people were probably thinking about how they'd lost us at the hotel, Heather and I continued to listen to the tapes. Again and again. Dudley paused between each sentence so that we could repeat the ego until the next sentence. And as he sat there, with his headphones on and Sezak's voice in them, he wondered if it would work.
  
  
  "A man hid in the Roman catacombs",
  
  
  Around the speakers, Sezak's deep, smooth bass voice could be clearly heard.
  
  
  This man was hiding in the Roman catacombs, " he repeated with his usual accent. Her hands moved as Sezak spoke.
  
  
  "It's an incredible place. It's wet, cold, and dark.
  
  
  A breeding ground for rats and insects ".
  
  
  Her repeat the phrase, trying to make the same sound with her lips as Sezak. At the end of the tape, the sentences and fragments of the conversation were in Turkish. These were by far the most important ones, because we hardly needed to speak English while working.
  
  
  After a while, Heather came over and sat down next to me. She crossed her legs under Nell Truitt's hideous dress. As she began to speak, one of the nachals swayed rhythmically.
  
  
  "Cok aciktigun oil proof, bir lokantaya girdim".
  
  
  She said something in Turkish about being hungry and going to a restaurant. It was a phrase she'd heard Katerina say to another woman at a party when she was talking about going to town. Her accent was perfect. When I closed my eyes, I could have sworn that Katerina was sitting next to me.
  
  
  "All right," I said.
  
  
  "Would you rather be a Gawler today than me, Nicky?" she asked. Even in this spinster's outfit, she didn't stop being sexy.
  
  
  "Don't talk nonsense," I said.
  
  
  "Will you make love to me if I look like Katerina?"
  
  
  "I haven't thought about it yet. But if you insist.
  
  
  "I'm sure you'll think. But you won't know what Catherines are. Because I'm under a mask ."
  
  
  "Then I'll have to use my imagination," I said.
  
  
  "Oh, Nick!" she said, pouting a little.
  
  
  "Imagine that you are behind a mask."
  
  
  A slow smile spread across her beautiful face. "Oh, that's what you mean."
  
  
  Ee hugged her. "Thompson and Dudley are out for lunch," I said. "Well, it won't be for at least an hour. And when they return, the red saint of the emergency alarm will light up."
  
  
  Heather looked at Brylev. "Yes, it can happen."
  
  
  Ee kissed her gently on the neck, and she shivered slightly. "As long as the one around us is looking at the red saint, no one can surprise us."
  
  
  "You noticed that very sharply," she replied.
  
  
  Ee took her by the hand and led her to one of the cots. "This isn't the Ritz suite,"I said," but it's all I can offer you at the moment." He kissed her full lips.
  
  
  "The environment doesn't matter, honey," Heather said, wrapping her arms around my neck. "But what a company we have."
  
  
  She kissed me and began to undress quickly and sensuously. She knew I had a friendly audience in me. "She was a young lady with a bad temper," I thought, looking at me, " but not worse than me." Ee hugged her and gave her a big kiss. My lips explored her face, neck, chest, arms, and thighs. He heard her moan and looked up. Her face glowed with excitement. Kissing her, he returned to her lips. She pulled me into bed and began to cover my body with greedy kisses. When her hands and mouth brought me to the peak of tension, she was placed on her back by ee. She wrapped her legs around me as hers went deep into nah and returned her strong movements in small jerks. A shock that took me to new heights of pleasure. When I thought I'd reached the limit of my self-control, Heather signaled that she was ready. And in the final, full-on rush of movement, we reached a climax together that almost left us gasping for breath and completely drained.
  
  
  We were still dozing in each other's arms, enjoying the other's presence, when the red saint started blinking blindly.
  
  
  "We have companies," I said.
  
  
  "Maybe it's just a short circuit?" Heather offered hopefully, pressing her lips against mine. "I seriously doubt it."
  
  
  "Neither do I, to be honest," she replied laconically, getting up to dress again.
  
  
  I don't know if Dudley and Thompson suspected what we were using the break for. If so, then ih's suspicions were never confirmed. Because when they entered the basement again, the only clue to what had happened at ihc was the pleased expressions on Heather's and my faces.
  
  
  
  When we returned to the hotel in the early evening, a Turk in a dark suit was waiting impatiently for us. He looked at us sullenly, then looked back at the newspaper he was reading. I knew he was wondering how we'd escaped his notice, and what we'd been doing in the meantime. But since it was hard for emu to admit that he was following us, he could only try to hide his anger and frustration.
  
  
  When we went to dinner later in the evening, he followed us to the restaurant. Another Turk followed us in and continued to watch us as we ate.
  
  
  "I suspect it's going to get harder and harder to avoid our friends," Heather told her at the end of dinner. "I'm glad it's over tomorrow night. It's time to leave this city."
  
  
  A doctor, of course. Walters, " Heather said. "When do you think we'll be leaving?"
  
  
  Right after we visit Dudley and Thompson. Our train leaves tomorrow night at 11 o'clock. This is the eastbound express. He leads us frankly into Gibberish. We just need to change in Erzurum. I hope no one sees us at the station." If Basimevi hears that Sezak and his secretary have left by train, and then notices that Sezak is in the hall, in the city, anything can happen ."
  
  
  That would be very difficult, " Heather commented. "Okay, our friend is out of luck if he hasn't finished eating yet. Are you ready, Nicky?"
  
  
  Dr. Walters, you mean, "Sl corrected her," I'll see you tomorrow morning."
  
  
  "Yes, Doctor. Walters.
  
  
  We went out, around the restaurant, and the Turk followed us back to the hotel. Everyone around us went to their room and had a great night's sleep.
  
  
  The next morning, with another Turk on our heels, we headed to the airline's office, where we booked a trip to London the next day. We were still sort of tourists, walking from one store to another, and around eleven o'clock we stopped at Sezak's office to tell Em we were leaving the next day. We told emu that it is no longer the criminal ego of fellow countrymen in abusing us. And that our visit was otherwise very instructive. In particular, our meetings with him in person. And that we were hoping he would come to London soon. Then we could respond to his cordiality and hospitality. Sezak was very nice and I think he was relieved that we were leaving. Basimevi was probably bothering ego because of us.
  
  
  After lunch, we were followed by another Turk on our Ankara city tour. We had to get rid of him because we didn't return to the hotel and were no longer operating in our current disguise.
  
  
  Around five o'clock, it was already getting dark, and we entered the store we had visited earlier. The store had a rear exit that could also be used by customers, which opened into an alley leading to the next street.
  
  
  As always, our Turkish shadow was waiting outside, watching the main entrance of the store. Heather bought a small piece of brass jewelry. When she paid, she asked the owner if we could use the back exit to avoid walking too much. A minute later we were on the next street, and we called a taxi. The taxi sped off in the direction of the lab, and no one was following us.
  
  
  We had a taxi stop three blocks from the lab, and we walked the rest of the way. We were still alone. A moment later we were in the basement, and Dudley and Thompson greeted us warmly.
  
  
  "Well," said Dudley with a thin smile, " the voice is just as they say."
  
  
  "That's the right word, Yankee," Heather said.
  
  
  "If you remove that disguise, we'll start openly now," Thompson said.
  
  
  I had just unbuttoned my wig and moustache when I happened to glance at the wall. Everyone froze. The red light was blinking.
  
  
  "We have companies," I said.
  
  
  Thompson's gun snatched her from the chair. He doubted that Thompson had ever used ego outside of the AX range in Washington.
  
  
  "Stay here," I said.
  
  
  "I'll come with you," Heather said.
  
  
  "You were dreaming," I said. Her, looked at nah, and she made a worried face.
  
  
  "All right, Nick. Be careful.'
  
  
  He crept out of the lab and headed for the stairs. He stopped at the corner. Hers, I could hear the glass splintering. Someone had entered through the broken window we'd used and was now heading for the stairs.
  
  
  He crept to the back of the stairs and hid there. He held his breath and waited for the next sound. It was a step at the top of the stairs. Shaggy man who had soft-soled shoes. Ego didn't hear it again until he bumped into a piece of iron on the fifth step from the bottom. Her could tell it was a man by the strength with which the ego's beginnings trod. Waiting for her. Groaning, a shadow appeared. The unmistakable silhouette of a man with a gun. I wonder what kind of hema it could be. If you didn't miss something, only the Basimevi people were watching us. "Keep it up," I said.
  
  
  The next thing I knew, I wasn't dealing with a cop. He was a secret agent, and a damn good one at that. When he heard my voice, he ducked, spun around, and took quick aim. He was shot, and the muffled thud of a silencer echoed through the room. Gawking eyes singed ego's hair. Ego's gun went off loudly, and em managed to shoot a hole in my sleeve.
  
  
  As hers dived to the floor, hers suddenly realized that they had probably unleashed an extra person on us to distract our attention from this. It worked, and he felt really bad. I did something that a good agent shouldn't do. Basimevi underestimated her.
  
  
  My opponent's weapon was making a huge noise in the low space, gawking as it slammed into the concrete next to me as it rolled to the side with the gun at the ready. Em won't have to leave this room alive. We both knew I had to kill ego if he didn't kill me first. A third gunshot thundered in my ears, sending shards of concrete flying around me. Her father pulled the trigger a second time with a soft thud. Gawk hit the emu in the chest. He ducked to the left as hers fired again. She was hit in the side by an emu. He lost his balance and slammed into the wall. He pointed the gun at my head, but she didn't let the emu decide to pull the trigger. My fourth gawk hit him, and he collapsed against the wall: dead.
  
  
  Hers was still standing over him when Heather approached. With Thompson and Dudley sincerely talking about her. Showed them her ego ID card. "Odin is around the Basimevi people," I said.
  
  
  Heather went upstairs to check in and came back saying that the man was alone.
  
  
  "Let's hope so," I said. "We'll have the whole city on our necks if he warned Basimevi before he came here."
  
  
  'What do we do now? Dudley asked. He looked very pale.
  
  
  'Do? Thompson said. "We will remove the body and continue our work."
  
  
  Thompson and I dragged the body to a fairly remote location before rejoining Heather and Dudley in the lab. We continued working as if nothing had happened. Thompson dostal, a Sezak-style suit with a padded waist. Heather was wearing a short beige dress and matching ballet slippers. When Thompson handed her a lightly padded bra, she looked at me knowingly. We got dressed, and Thompson sat us down in two straight chairs, side by side. We threw a sheet over ourselves like we were in a barber shop. Thompson started with Heather, and Dudley, still shaking from the gunfire, started with me. He strapped a thick, flesh-colored hood to my skull. Then Thompson and Dudley took the masks off their stands and started putting ih on our faces. Thompson took care of Heather first, and then came to me to finish the job.
  
  
  The first few minutes of her very strongly felt the presence of witnesses. But as soon as Thompson put the ego back in place, hers felt great. The rubber used to make the masks was porous so that the skin could continue to breathe. We had to do this because we would have to maintain our disguise for several days.
  
  
  "All right," I heard Thompson say in my ear. He was busy buttoning up the back of his wig. "That's right, Nick."
  
  
  Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Dudley brushing Heather's black hair. It was like there was another woman sitting next to me. After a few minutes, Dudley finished too, and Heather turned around.
  
  
  'What a tailor!'she said softly.
  
  
  He let his gaze roam over her figure. Katerina Gulersoy, not Heather, was sitting next to me.
  
  
  "You're an asshole," she said.
  
  
  "Of course, Miss Gulersoy," her father said. Dudley handed us a large mirror. My mouth dropped open almost at the execution flag. Thompson was a genius. He turned his head and looked at his profile. No sign of disguise. Great.
  
  
  "Do you like it?" Thompson asked, still standing next to me.
  
  
  I told her. - 'This is art, fiction! "Congratulations, Thompson.
  
  
  "Don't you want to work at ASO?" she asked Thompson with a smile.
  
  
  "Gentlemen, don't let this Turkish beauty turn your head," I said. "The British pay is even worse than we do, and the pound is not what it used to be."
  
  
  Heather changes her voice to Katherine's. "But you have to think about other benefits, right?"
  
  
  She swung her foot slowly and sensuously.
  
  
  "Ah, it's just for Celik, honey," Sezaka said in her voice.
  
  
  "Great," Thompson said. "Tone, pronunciation, gestures. Perfect. Sezak and Gulersoy would have a stroke if they saw you."
  
  
  "I'm sure of it," Dudley said.
  
  
  "Then I think we're done," he commented.
  
  
  "Almost," Thompson said, handing me a plastic ampoule and injecting it in a sterilized package. "This is the liquid you should give Sir Albert."
  
  
  "And this is a new type of gas pistol," he said, showing me a pistol with a large muzzle . "You treat it like any other weapon. It sprays gas in your opponent's face, and hopefully it will blow in the ego. It is deadly to the human body and leaves no trace."
  
  
  "Put it in your bag," Heather told her.
  
  
  And then I've got these ballet slippers for you, " Thompson said. "The heel of the left shoe contains a new type of key that can open almost any lock. On the heel of the other shoe there is a nylon lace.
  
  
  "Sounds around the distant past," I said.
  
  
  You open the heels, removing the bottom layer of skin. Very simple.'
  
  
  "Nothing here seems easy," Heather sighed.
  
  
  I put on my ballet slippers. They were new.
  
  
  "Voice and all," Thompson said.
  
  
  "Then let's go to the station now. He wrote to Thompson and then to Dudley. "See you in Washington."
  
  
  "Good luck," they said.
  
  
  Heather and I looked at each other. Happiness was something we could use. Operation Lightning has begun.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 7
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  It was a quarter to eleven, and the train was due to leave Rivne at eleven. We bought our tickets at the only open counter. Heather did it because we didn't think Katherine would be recognized. We stood in the shadow of the station building, waiting to board the train.
  
  
  The stationmaster, Schell, was just coming to meet us when a Turk in a dark suit entered the platform. He didn't see us, and would have stayed there if the stationmaster hadn't called us.
  
  
  "You can enter now," he said in Turkish.
  
  
  Her, emu nodded as a Turk in a dark suit scanned us, his eyes searching. If he was a cop, he probably cared about Dr. Walters and Nell Truitt. But it's possible that he knew Sezak by sight.
  
  
  Heather grabbed her by the arm and led her to the train. I tried to keep my face in shadow. After about ten steps, I suddenly heard my name called.
  
  
  "Is that you, Mr. Sezak?"
  
  
  I looked back and saw the Turk rushing toward us.
  
  
  "Give me the gas pistol," I said.
  
  
  Heather was lightning fast. The gun was tucked into her waistband, under her jacket. Then he turned to the Turk, who was now standing in front of us.
  
  
  'Yes?'Its said. Her, spoke Turkish and will continue to speak until we reach Sir Albert. If we've come this far. "Good evening, Mr. Sezak. She knows you. Are you leaving by Ankara? He shot a wary glance at Heather.
  
  
  "Yes," I said. "I took a few days off. Emu winked at her.
  
  
  "Oh, of course," he laughed knowingly. "I'm asking you because I heard Basimevi say he wants to see you tomorrow."
  
  
  "Ah," I said. I put my hand on Emu's shoulder. "Can you excuse us, Katherine?" he said at his own discretion to the fake secretary. "I'll explain it to you," said her, Turku, leading ego into the shadows.
  
  
  I knew I had to kill ego from the moment he recognized us. The only consolation was that these disguises completely deceived the ego. He stopped in the shadow of the station toilet. The stationmaster was gone, and the only person on the platform besides Heather was the conductor in the last car. "I'll contact Basimevi as soon as I get back," I said. "But I'll probably give you a number where I can be contacted for the time being."
  
  
  He put her in his jacket and pulled out a gas pistol. It was better than Hugo, because when they found him, there was no sign of murder. It'll take them long enough to give us a head start.
  
  
  He held the gun up to Ego's nose and saw the puzzled look in ego's eyes. I shot her. A thick cloud of gas obscured his view. Its quickly retreated. I could hear him coughing and choking. He slowly fell to his knees and fell to the ground. I could hear him coughing again. Then it was quiet. The whole thing took less than five seconds.
  
  
  He shoved the gun back into his belt and looked around. The men's room was too well lit. But there was a luggage cart a few meters away. Her ego got her there. He tried to shove the ego away, then quickly came back. Her sel is on the train with Heather.
  
  
  'Is this settled...?'
  
  
  He nodded to her.
  
  
  The train left on time, in ten minutes. I thought that Sezak would have separate sleeping compartments, which I did. And he insisted that Heather use it in her own compartment. It took me a long time to fall asleep.
  
  
  
  
  When I woke up, the sun was shining and we were already driving between the foothills of the eastern Turkish high mountains. The view was spectacular. Rugged cliffs interspersed with high, sharp peaks. What-where is a small meadow inhabited by sheep and goats. The shepherds looked as stark and harsh as the landscape. They were Kurds known for their resilience. In ancient times, ih's main occupation was robbing travelers. Compared to the ih feud, mafia wars were harmless entertainment for boys.
  
  
  At mid-morning, we changed trains to Erzurum. To the east of Erzurum, Turkey was almost exclusively a military zone, a buffer state against Russia. Although relations between Russia and Turkey have recently become significantly less tense, the border was still formed by a fence around the barbed wire from the Black Sea to Ararat. Filled with minefields and guarded by thousands of soldiers. Tarabya was in this war zone.
  
  
  The new train consisted only around second-class cars. Shortly after we entered, an army police officer visited us. When they asked for our documents, we showed them fake identity certificates obtained from AX. None of the men recognized me, although they were otherwise very polite and wished us a safe journey when they saw that her high-ranking police officer.
  
  
  Tarabaya was a small town, and the prison was located a few miles east of the city's border. We took a taxi and arrived at the prison gates at three o'clock in the afternoon. We were presented with a depressing sight: gray walls, ugly towers and clumsy buildings. I showed our documents to the security guard, and we were invited in. I took one last look at the green meadows outside the prison, and really hoped that we would see ih again.
  
  
  The prison warden, whose name was Bekir Yenilik, couldn't keep his flag of execution on our unexpected visit. Fortunately, he only knew Sezak from the newspaper photos.
  
  
  "Why didn't you tell us you were coming, Sezak?" "What is it?" he chided. "Then we could give you a proper reception."
  
  
  "Nonsense," I said, firmly dismissing the ego's objections, as Sezak would have done. "I had a meeting in Erzurum, so it was logical to come here right away. This saves you a trip. This concerns one of the foreign prisoners, Bekir. It's up to the ego to question her. There is new evidence in the ego case. My secretary will write down the ego's responses for a report."
  
  
  "But of course," Enlik said with a smile, and ego's eyes scanned Heather's long legs and full breasts. "It's not often that ladies come to visit us. We are very happy to welcome you.
  
  
  "That's very kind of you," Heather said in her Katherine voice, blinking her long dark lashes at the Rabbit.
  
  
  Enelik smiled at rheumatism. He was fascinated by her beauty. At this point, Heather was breaking the ice for us and doing a great job. Enelik seemed to be trying to look away from Nah.
  
  
  "As for the prisoner, do you go for hem?"
  
  
  I tried to put it as simply as possible. "Ah, a certain Sir Albert Fitzhugh. Sentenced a few months ago for stealing artifacts.
  
  
  "Ah, the Englishman." Ego's face was serious again.
  
  
  'Actually. We have evidence that there is more to it than that. The interrogation, if properly conducted, may provide us with the data necessary for a new trial."
  
  
  "Great," he said. "These foreigners need to understand what it means to break our laws." He looked thoughtful. "If you want to use guards ..."
  
  
  "Oh no, thank you for the suggestion, but first I want to try the gentle way. Just her and my secretary, I think that's enough. If it doesn't work out, I'll always accept your offer."
  
  
  'Excellent. Do you want to visit the prisoner now?
  
  
  "Please, if you can. We have to make the most of our time here ."
  
  
  'Good. Then I'll personally take you to him." A guard came to see him, and the four of us went deeper into the prison. It was what you call an experience. Its seen prisons all over the outdoor pool, even rat holes in Mexico and East Africa. But nowhere was it as bad as here.
  
  
  The sticky, steamy atmosphere hit her throat. And then the stink. Wherever you went, you were haunted by a terrible smell of sewage. We walked through narrow, cold corridors. He wondered how a person could survive here for years.
  
  
  Sir Albert was in solitary confinement in a cell no bigger than a normal toilet, and he was looking at it through a sliding window on a metal day. He sat down on a cement bench and stared at the floor.
  
  
  The guard opened the cell door, and Enlik said to me, " There's an interrogation room at the end of the corridor. There is an armchair with several chairs.
  
  
  'Good. Then we'll go there."
  
  
  The guard led Sir Albert out. The Englishman barely looked at the Rabbit, but he looked openly at Heather and me. He knew Sezak's face from the trial. Sir Albert was a tall, slender man. Ego's eyes looked slightly hazy, like someone who had lost consciousness. Ego's face was pale and haggard. He had thick bags under his eyes. It was seen by the ego of the photograph in London. This was a completely different person. And he was only there for a few months.
  
  
  'What's going on?'he muttered.
  
  
  "We need to ask you a few questions, Mr. Fitzhugh," I said coldly.
  
  
  The guard pushed Sir Albert down the corridor. Enilik, Heather, and hers followed him into the interview room. Chairs and stools were all around rough wood. The bare lamp should have illuminated everything.
  
  
  "Leave the rest to us," her Rabbit said.
  
  
  I'll put her on guard at the gate, " Enelik replied.
  
  
  'Excellent.'
  
  
  Enilik and the guard disappeared. He walked over to the door and looked at the sliding window. It was closed. Heather handed me a piece of plastic from her bag, and it was glued to the inside of the window by Ego while Sir Albert watched. When her finished, her, looked at him.
  
  
  "Sit down, Sir Albert," I said.
  
  
  He slowly sat down on Odin around the chairs, still eyeing me suspiciously. Heather held out a flat box of writing materials on a chair in front of him. Everything we needed was in her bag. She walked over to Day and listened intently as he circled her around the chair.
  
  
  "New evidence has been found in your case, Sir Albert," I said, checking all the protrusions and depressions in the listening equipment. "We want to discuss this in detail with you."
  
  
  "A certificate?" Sir Albert said dully. "What evidence?"
  
  
  I finished my detour: the room was clean. Heather nodded in agreement and returned to the table. She sat down and picked up a pen and notepad.
  
  
  She was sitting at the table next to Sir Albert. "From now on, you must turn off your voice so that the guard outside can't hear you. Do you understand that?
  
  
  It was Sezak's voice that changed it to his own. Sir Albert noticed the change and looked at me in surprise. "Yes, I understand her," he said. "But aren't you a Sesak?"
  
  
  "No, of course not. And this is also not Sezak's secretary." He pointed at the dark-haired Heather.
  
  
  "Ah, you belong to the Russians. But you still won't come both ways on Sundays.
  
  
  Heather and I looked at each other. "I asked. - Did you have any contacts with the Russians?"
  
  
  'Yes. Why do you ask that? Don't you work for the Russians?
  
  
  Sell took a deep breath, too. It was on the edge. We had almost no contact with the KGB. "No, we don't work for the Russians," I said. "Are you saying that they came to you and openly said that they came to pick you up?"
  
  
  Ego's eyes were suspicious. "Who are you then?"
  
  
  "We've come to save you, Sir Albert," Heather said in her own voice.
  
  
  He turned to her. "You're English."
  
  
  'Yes.'
  
  
  He looked at me again. "And you're an American."
  
  
  'Actually.'
  
  
  "Oh my God," he said, staring blankly into the room.
  
  
  "Were you planning to go with the Russians?" I asked her. "Did they promise to take you home soon after a hot bath and a good shave?" Is that why you didn't notify the prison administration?
  
  
  He studied me slowly, and she saw the suspicious look in his eyes. He didn't tell us anything, but I could feel it. Something was wrong with this case.
  
  
  "You can't put it that way," he said reluctantly. He looked at Heather. "Listen, how did they send you here in the first place? It must be terribly dangerous and pointless.
  
  
  "Not for nothing," I said calmly. "The Russians have big plans for you, Sir Albert. If you go with them, you will no longer see the free world. I can give you a note of this. Heather nodded. "That's right, Sir Albert."
  
  
  He was silent.
  
  
  "Our plan, Alexander," he continued. She will inject you with a fluid that will immediately cause false jaundice symptoms. Then we tell the warden that you have jaundice. The prison doctor will examine you and confirm our diagnosis. And since the prison has no hospital facilities, I will insist that you be taken to a hospital in Hopa. And since you are an important prisoner of Celik Sezak, I will personally manage the transport. When we get out of the prison, we run away to the south. Whoever they send with us must die."
  
  
  He listened in silence, but as the story continued
  
  
  emotions began to form the person's ego. He was scared, very scared. Fear bordering on panic. I didn't understand why.
  
  
  "Is something wrong, Sir Albert?" Heather asked.
  
  
  He looked at us quizzically. 'Is something wrong? Yes, there is definitely something! he said loudly. Then he remembered what we'd said and lowered his voice. "This is a crazy plan! A stupid and dangerous plan. Either way it has to go wrong. You'd better forget about it and leave while you still can.
  
  
  Heather and I looked at each other. Slowly and patiently, he spoke again. "Sir Albert, I don't think you understand. This is your only chance to see England and your family again." Ego's face tightened at the word "family." "The Russians are planning to send you to a concentration camp in Siberia. Oni people are going to come after him and develop chemical weapons for the Soviet Union. A weapon to be used against England and the rest of the free world ."
  
  
  "Our plan has the best chance of success, Sir Albert," Heather added, studying the expression on his face. "The Americans organized a first-class escape across the south coast. You're in a bit of danger."
  
  
  He was getting increasingly tense. "Look, I really appreciate what you all want to do for me and all that. But I can't go with you and part with it." He avoided my gaze.
  
  
  Heather was gradually getting angry. "But Sir Albert, you must come with me. Our orders are clear. Our government feels it's its duty to get you out of here.
  
  
  It is your duty to cooperate with this."
  
  
  He stood up nervously and looked in the other direction. "But you don't understand," he said, trembling. "This is about my family, about the people who are dear to me. What would you guys be so worried about if I ever saw her again? My security guard is a KGB agent, and he assured me that my wife and daughter would be killed if I didn't cooperate with them."
  
  
  Now everything was clear. Heather grimaced as Sir Albert turned to me. "Now you know why I can't go with you. If I'm not here next week when the Russians arrive, my family will be killed. And that shouldn't be the case."
  
  
  My eyes met his, and he saw the madness reflected in them. The madness of fear. He must protect his family at all costs. It was as touching as it was embarrassing. He cleared his throat and began. "I've seen similar threats before, Sir Albert. The Russians almost never carry out their threats. If you were a Russian who applied for asylum, or an agent who defected, they could easily retaliate. But in your case, it will only bring them difficulties, great difficulties. No, Sir Albert, ih threats are empty. Just trust me now.
  
  
  He looked at me, and his eyes lit up with anger. 'Believe you? Both of you are complete strangers to me! You have your orders, but I have my own interests. I'm not going to go with you!'
  
  
  Her gaze was fixed on him. "I'm very sorry, Sir Albert. But we can't leave without you. You're still coming with us." She wasn't threatened by an emu, but my voice is absurdly determined.
  
  
  He looked at Heather, then back at me. The sticks ' egos blushed. "Then we'll see," he said tensely. He filled his lungs with air.
  
  
  "Security guard!" he shouted loudly, veins popping out on his forehead. "Watch, come quickly!
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 8
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  "Sir Albert!" said Heather angrily.
  
  
  "God's owl, man!"
  
  
  The door opened and a guard entered.
  
  
  'What's going on here?'he asked me. He looked at Sir Albert, who was crouched in the corner in front of us.
  
  
  "It's all right," I said. "The prisoner suffers from mental depression."
  
  
  "That's a lie," Sir Albert said fiercely. "These two are intruders. Spies of the West ".
  
  
  He was speaking in English, and the guard didn't understand it.
  
  
  'What's wrong with him? The guard asked in Turkish.
  
  
  "It doesn't matter," Emu replied in Turkish. "If he resorts to violence, we'll call you."
  
  
  "Yes, it will work," Heather said cheerfully, and smiled at the security guard.
  
  
  The guard hesitated, feeling unsure. He saw the plastic on the window. When his ego was done, I didn't care what the guard thought. Sezak would have done just that. But in these new and different circumstances, it increased the ego of doubt.
  
  
  Sir Albert tasted Turkish. "This man is not a Fisherman, not a secretary."
  
  
  He smiled pleasantly at her. "You see, he's having a seizure."
  
  
  The guard looked at me questioningly, then at Heather. "He's hoping we'll stop the interrogation with all this noise," Heather said.
  
  
  The guard approached Sir Albert. "Are you feeling well?" he asked slowly in English.
  
  
  "I'm telling you the truth!" said Sir Albert loudly. "The director's berry, man! Let him ask these two a few questions. Then you will discover that they are not they, hema pretend."
  
  
  The guard's expression gave away that he didn't quite understand. He looked down at the plastic again. He went to the door and took it off.
  
  
  "It was for a quiet interrogation," Emu told her casually and tucked Ego into his coat - width. "You can leave him and me alone again. Then further interrogation ."
  
  
  "All right," he said slowly. "If you need help with a prisoner, just call."
  
  
  "Of course," I said. "By the way, this man needs a medical examination. Ego breathing is irregular, the rods turn red. This may indicate coals. Perhaps the ego's resistance has been weakened by the disease."
  
  
  Sir Albert suddenly jumped between the door and the guard. "You donkey!" he shouted loudly. "Go immediately warned Enik! They're spies! They want to give me painkillers and kidnap me around the prison! »
  
  
  Her silently swore. With each word, Sir Albert increased our difficulties. "The poor guy is really very upset," he said neutrally to her security guard. "Maybe you should use some handcuffs."
  
  
  The guard looked at Sir Albert searchingly. Then he made a decision. 'Move.'he spoke in Turkish.
  
  
  "No, I won't! Not until you promise to get a response.
  
  
  The guard tried to get around him, but Sir Albert was hanging on to his sleeve. "They're wearing masks, they're wearing some kind of disguise! Then take a closer look at them! That's all I ask of him, man!
  
  
  The guard tried to free ego. Sir Albert leaped at me with a quick movement and grabbed my face. I raised my hand to ward off ego, but ego's clawed fingers were already grabbing me. And the emu was lucky. He grabbed the spot where the mask blended in with the makeup on my neck. And he tore off the corner of my jaw.
  
  
  The guard stared in amazement at the scuffs hanging from my face. Celik Sezak's exterior was badly damaged.
  
  
  "You stupid idiot," Heather snapped at Sir Albert.
  
  
  And even Sir Albert was surprised by the torn mask. My face hung completely loose, as if the flesh had been ripped from my bones. I saw the guard reach for his holstered pistol. Her ego hesitated to kill her, and this hesitation was fatal. She was trying to get to Wilhelmina, but he was already aiming his weapon at my chest.
  
  
  Heather didn't have a chance at all. Her bag was lying on the table. She looked at the guard's gun and shrugged with a sigh. The guard slowly walked over to me, felt for my jacket, took out the luger ,and stuffed the ego into one of the pockets.
  
  
  "What's that in your face?" "Stop it!" he snapped.
  
  
  He took the mask between his fingers and slowly pulled it over his head, wig and all.The guard and Sir Albert were stunned when my own face appeared.
  
  
  "Very interesting," the guard finally said. He took the mask around my arms, still pointing the gun at my chest, and examined the mask carefully. Then he looked at me intently. 'Who are you?'
  
  
  Hers, he shrugged. "The one who plays for Sezak."
  
  
  He looked at Heather. "And you have a different face there, too?"
  
  
  She nodded. "There are people who obviously appreciate it more. She glanced at Sir Albert, who had regained his composure.
  
  
  "I'm so sorry," he told Heather. "If it matters, I'm sorry."
  
  
  Heather shrugged. "Ah, a man doesn't always win," she said with typical British phlegm.
  
  
  It would be a way to distract the guard. If ego could have got it, there was always very little chance that we'd end up here with Sir Albert.
  
  
  'Good. You're coming. All oni's. the guard said, brandishing his gun.
  
  
  Its passed mimmo it to the open day. Walking up to him, her, turned and pointed to a chair and asked. "Shouldn't you bring your bag with you?"
  
  
  He glanced across the chair for a moment. She was hit by his ego in the hand with a karate move. The gun clattered to the ground.
  
  
  The guard screamed. It was hit by his ego fist in life, and he doubled over with a strangled cry. He brought it to every tribe's face. There was a dull crack as his back hit the floor.
  
  
  Heather flew to the door to close it, but Sir Albert held on nah. "Guardians!" he shouted loudly. It was ego who pulled her off Heather and punched his ego in the jaw. He flew into the chair and trapped the ego. She was searched by the floor for the guard's gun, who was slowly and clumsily trying to get up.
  
  
  As soon as the gun saw her again, I heard her rapid shaggy in the hallway. He reached frantically for his gun, but couldn't grab it before the guards appeared in the doorway. Two oversized Turks with guns drawn. He took a deep breath and dropped the gun again. Dark eyes stared back at me.
  
  
  'What happened?'What is it?' the one around them asked.
  
  
  Heather looked at me and shook her head.
  
  
  "Something very unusual," she said.
  
  
  The two guards wasted no time in thinking further. The three of us were marched to Enlik's office. Sir Albert didn't tell us any more. He didn't apologize again. He probably realized that we don't appreciate it. Enik's surprise soon turned to rage. He barked at the guard that the emu needed to remove Heather's mask, and did so with a rough gesture.
  
  
  "Unbelievable," Enlik said, frowning at Heather. He turned to me and looked at me intently. "You really tricked me. I won't soon forget it, I assure you. He spoke pure English and had a lot of ego, but his voice didn't bode well.
  
  
  'Really, too. "It wasn't worth it, my dear," Heather said gently. "You're so easily fooled." Enlik slapped her hard across the face. She staggered back and fell on her left leg. Hers reached for the Video Clip, but the three guards standing behind Ego's desk raised their guns threateningly.
  
  
  "A little more gentle with the lady, Mr. Enelik. You are welcome. Sir Albert said softly.
  
  
  'Shut up! Enelik yelled. He turned to me.
  
  
  "Was the prisoner involved in a conspiracy?"
  
  
  "I didn't know anything about it," said Sir Albert.
  
  
  He was very excited to attract ego head over heels. "He's telling the truth. He didn't know we were coming.
  
  
  Its already made up its mind. If she hadn't been able to get out of here with Sir Albert before the Russians came for him, she would have been informed by Enlik of ih's plan to kidnap Sir Albert. Her ego would have preferred Tarabye to Siberia. Here, in any case, the ego will be released if he has served his sentence.
  
  
  Enelik ordered the guards to search me. They took off my stuffed Sezak jacket and found Hugo on my arm. They unfastened the stiletto and placed Ego on the chair next to the Luger . Heather's bag was also examined. Ee Sterling. 380 PP1, gas gun, squirts and ampoule of liquid dropped on a chair.
  
  
  "What was that for?" Enelik asked.
  
  
  He stared at it in silence.
  
  
  "Oni could have given me an injection of this substance and he would have looked sick," Sir Albert said. "And then they decided to take me to the hospital in Hopa."
  
  
  Enilik's dark eyes darted between the objects on the table and my face. 'Very smart. You knew we didn't have a hospital room here. You probably also know a lot about Sezak and the equipment I need. Who are you?'
  
  
  "It's a secret."
  
  
  Ego's eyes narrowed to tiny slits. "You're American, and she's English. Very interesting. I even think about your profession. Couldn't your governments have kept Sir Albert in a Turkish prison until the end of his sentence? Are you ordered to take out the whole country's ego?
  
  
  Her father just stared at him. It was pretty clear what we were doing. But I didn't like the thin man and his ego-driven manner. If he wants to find out something, fine, but without me.
  
  
  "Why don't you call the Prime Minister in London?" Heather asked, standing up again, obviously recovering from the blow. "Maybe he can tell you the details."
  
  
  She challenged Enlik again. It was clear that Ay must have liked him as little as she did. He went back to her, but again Sir Albert intervened.
  
  
  "I believe that was ih's intention," he said. "To smuggle me around the country."
  
  
  However, I believe that he really did everything possible to protect Enik from violence. Sir Albert wasn't such a supposedly bad person.
  
  
  He was a person who was under tremendous pressure. The pressure that tore the ego apart inside. Under these different circumstances, he was no longer himself. But at the time, it was a small consolation for us.
  
  
  Enlik looked at Sir Albert. "Maybe then you can explain something to me," he said. "Then why did you deliberately let down ih's plan?"
  
  
  I was curious to see what Sir Albert would say to that. Hers, of course, could have said it himself, but if Enlik had told her about the KGB plan, Sir Albert would undoubtedly have been given additional security measures. And it would also be difficult for us to be egoistic. Its been a long time since I lost hope.
  
  
  "I'm not much of a hero," Sir Albert said nervously. "I might have been injured or even killed if I went with them. No, such Indian games are not for me. I'd rather stay here. My sentence won't last that long." Enlik looked at Sir Albert long and searchingly. "I believe you. You did a good job of exposing these invaders. Your help may have a beneficial effect on the length of your sentence."
  
  
  "Thank you," Sir Albert said almost inaudibly.
  
  
  "Take the prisoner back to his cell," Enelik told one of the three guards.
  
  
  The man grabbed Sir Albert's arm and led him away. Sir Albert turned to us and looked at us hesitantly, as if to apologize again. But he didn't say anything. Then he left.
  
  
  Enilik came up to me. Ego anger at our ploy gradually turned into a kind of complacency. In the end, he captured two Western spies. I hoped that Sezak and the diplomatic circles of Ankara would be very happy with him. Maybe he will get an award or a higher position, maybe even a position in Ankara.
  
  
  "She'd like to know who you are and who you work for," he said casually, as if asking for a light.
  
  
  "I'm not talking about that," I said.
  
  
  He pointed to one of the guards around him. He pressed the gun to my face. It hit me on the jaw and he fell. Leaning his knee on the ground, he felt a trickle of blood trickle down his cheek. Her clenched teeth hurt.
  
  
  "You poor barbarian!" Heather said angrily.
  
  
  He looked up and saw that the other guard was holding her with one hand. With his other hand, he held a pistol to her head.
  
  
  "Isn't this the work of other people?" Her Rabbit said calmly. Her ego immediately understood the purpose. The more information he gets from us before the secret Service comes for us, the more impressive he will be in Ankara.
  
  
  "Don't worry about other people," Enelik said. "You will stay here until the trial in Ankara. And it seems fair to me that here, in the place where you were caught, you will reveal your true identity."
  
  
  "We won't make you any wiser," Heather said coldly. Enilik laughed and looked at nah. "Take her to the interrogation room," he told the guard holding the phone.
  
  
  She struggled to her feet as Heather was pushed through the office. She gave me a quick, determined look before the door closed behind her. He hoped they would spare her. The remaining guard roughly turned me around and cuffed my hands behind my back. Something they hadn't bothered about before.
  
  
  Enilik came and stood in front of me. The guard handed emu what looked like a hard rubber rod. The rod was about a foot long and lay heavily in Ego's hand.
  
  
  "Now we can start," he said dryly.
  
  
  Her, looked at the rod. "Celik Sezak".
  
  
  He lets the rubber fall hard on my head. It smashed into my ear and neck. He saw flaming stars in front of his eyes and landed heavily on the floor. An explosion of pain shot through my head.
  
  
  "You work for the CIA, don't you?" a voice said from afar.
  
  
  But I stopped listening. He flexed all his muscles and waited for it to be over.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 9
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Suddenly he woke up. My first thought was that the beating had stopped. A little later, I remembered that I was thrown into a smelly cell, and that a metal door slammed behind me.
  
  
  Hers was lying there with her eyes closed. Pain rippled through my body. Slowly, the memories returned. Enlik kept hitting, again and again. There were other pleasures, too.
  
  
  I opened my eyes, but it was dark. Frowning, he tried to see something. Gradually, my eyes adjusted to the darkness, and he could make out the floor and walls. Hers was in solitary confinement, as was Sir Albert. She was lying on her left shoulder, her back to the wall. A thin ray of light shone through the day window. There were no openings in the digital cameras other than a drain hole to the sewer in one corner of the camera. The whole cage smelled of urine.
  
  
  I tried to move, and a thousand needles stabbed painfully into my back and side. When I twisted her face, I thought it might fall off like a Sesak mask. He touched her wand. It was like an inflated tennis ball that was wearing out. There were big scabs of blood on my face.
  
  
  I muttered, feeling a little sorry. Then I thought of Heather, and my folding dollar fell into my ballet slippers. My God, if only they'd done the same to her. That would mean her death. "Bastards!" he muttered after her.
  
  
  It took courage to sit up straight. Her, leaned against the back moan. I had to think about it. If I had given them time to be picked up by the people around Ankara, all this wouldn't have happened. Maybe it's already happened. How the hell am I supposed to get around a maximum security prison? By the way, how was she supposed to survive the next hour? The pain was almost unbearable.
  
  
  He examined himself. Hers was still in her clothes. My shirt was torn and staggering with blood. They took my belt and the contents of my pockets. But I still have my ballet slippers. Since our stay here was so short, it was unlikely that Heather and I would wear the gray uniforms and sandals of prisoners. Someone from Ankara may be here tomorrow. Someone from Sezak, or an agent from Basimevi. Maybe Odin through them alone. Suddenly, something occurred to me about the shoes. On one heel is a special key, and on the other - a choker. It was a stroke of luck. Damn good luck. More than she really deserved after letting Sir Albert mess up our operation so stupidly. But more important than weapons was information. I needed to know where he was and what had happened to Heather. You have to be patient.
  
  
  Her fell asleep. It seemed like hours later that he was woken up by a security guard opening the door. He was carrying a pewter plate of foul-smelling food, my dinner. Her eyes mimed him, trying to figure out where I was. The corridor looked like the same corridor that led to Sir Albert's digital camera.
  
  
  "Wait," I said as the guard was about to leave.
  
  
  He turned around.
  
  
  "A woman ... all right?"
  
  
  He laughed harshly. "Oh, they bruised their ears a bit. But she still looks very sexy. By the way, you will learn more about this.
  
  
  "Go to hell," I swore.
  
  
  He grinned broadly. "We're going to put it to the test soon. I'm already looking forward to it. You know, prison is terribly boring. This is fantastic entertainment for us. She's in the hallway. You may soon be able to hear her screams of pleasure."
  
  
  "Dirty dog! Leave her alone. ' Her tried to get up, but fell down.
  
  
  The guard disappeared, laughing loudly, and the door slammed shut behind him. He lay there, holding his breath, listening to the footsteps receding down the hall. Maybe he was openly bringing Heather an edu right now. He looked at the tin plate and grimaced.
  
  
  "In the near future," he said. Maybe they were helping some of her cellmates just for fun. This shouldn't happen. But I wouldn't have been able to help you if I hadn't rested. So I made myself comfortable on the cement floor and forced myself to sleep.
  
  
  But when I finally fell asleep, it took me many hours to wake up. He could measure the duration of his vaults by the sensations in his body. Most of the pain is gone, the cue is no longer so swollen. Only hers was unnecessarily harsh. He clumsily got to his feet and trudged toward the door. I listened to her through the window, but I didn't hear our voices. There was no sign of a group of men being occupied there. Maybe she was transferred to another ward, or it was all over. Katerina! I shouted down the hatch.
  
  
  After a short silence, I heard a questioning voice: "Celik?" And I was glad that she understood that we should use these pseudonyms. But at least it's just as relieving to hear her voice. So, sort of a few cells to my left.
  
  
  I asked her. 'Is everything okay?"I was just hoping that there wouldn't be a security guard listening in the hallway.
  
  
  "Yes," she said. "Except for a few bruises."
  
  
  He took a deep breath. She didn't look like the woman who had just been attacked. The guard's threat was only meant to intimidate me, or he didn't have the time to do it yet.
  
  
  'That sounds good.'
  
  
  'And you?'
  
  
  "Oh, I'm fine," I said. I heard a door slam somewhere. 'Wait a second.'
  
  
  Shaggy was approaching. A few moments later, a guard's face appeared at my window. Her ego hadn't seen her before. "You called?" "What is it?" he asked hoarsely.
  
  
  "Yes," I said. "Can I have a pillow under my head?" Its trying to feel if you are ready for a fight. My body said no.
  
  
  "No pillows. Go to bed. The guard said curtly. He turned and walked away. I heard him stop in front of Heather's cell and walk on.
  
  
  When I tried to sleep again, I couldn't. Her, thinking of escape plans. A brown rat had crawled out of the sewer pipe and was sitting quietly on its hind legs, looking at me. She sniffed my eda. It smelled awful, but I needed to eat to stay strong. He slid the plate toward me before she could be so cheeky as to start eating it. He took a spoonful of it, grimaced, and chewed it. It was really exciting. Most of all, it looked like a month-old stew. The rat sniffed the floor, hoping I'd dropped something. When he finished, he handed her a plate. Hey, the sour gravy was more than enough.
  
  
  Soon after, he fell asleep. She was woken up when another guard walked over to a dirty plate and set down a plate of oatmeal porridge. He touched it with his finger. It looked like rubber and was very cold. "You can starve to death in Tarabay," I said.
  
  
  The swelling on my face was almost gone, but it took a while for the bruises and scratches to heal. Enelik did his best. I would have liked to get even with him, but my personal feelings didn't matter at the time.
  
  
  More importantly, he was supposed to get us out of jail that day. Government officials from Ankara could now arrive in Tarabiya at any time. It meant breaking out in broad daylight.
  
  
  Sunrise. It was a meaningless word in this cave where the sun never penetrated. My cell was still shrouded in the same semi-darkness as when I was brought there. I probably only knew it was morning because of my sense of time and the fact that the guard had brought porridge.
  
  
  He pulled his left foot up to him and twisted the top layer of the sole. And there was a key in nen, just like Thompson said. The key consisted of several parts connected by a ring. You can make a short narrow key or a long and thick one. Its made a big key and went to the door. There was no keyhole on the inside of the car, so I couldn't try it. But at least it looked like a key that would fit into the camera system. He slipped the key into his jacket and unfastened the other heel. The nen had half a meter of piano string with a ring at both ends.
  
  
  You had to make a loop, throw it at the back of someone's head, cross the wires, and then pull hard and fast. This weapon has been tested in many wars and guerrilla activities. It was possible to decapitate someone almost silently for a second with almost no sound.
  
  
  He tucked it into his shirt. A moment later, after putting her heels back on, she heard a commotion in the hallway. A key rattled in the lock, and a guard came in to take my plate and spoon. He saw that I hadn't touched the substances. "The Turkish eda is not good enough for an American spy, yes."
  
  
  I told her. "It doesn't look like an education?" I thought about risking it, but there were a lot of noises coming from the hallway. So I decided to postpone the attempt.
  
  
  The guard picked up his plate and gave me a hostile look. "They'll be coming for you soon. I hope they hang you for it."
  
  
  So, if we were going to leave with Sir Albert, we should have tried this morning. Today is not when it would be too late. The people who were before us apparently flew to Erzurum by plane and in any case had to arrive in Tarabia after lunch. We didn't have much time left to complete the seemingly impossible task.
  
  
  You must choose your working hours carefully. And so far, he could only guess what time it was.
  
  
  I expected that by mid-morning there would be the least activity in our prison digital cells. He was right. When he was almost certain that there were no more guards around, his father went to the window and started shouting.
  
  
  No response. Excellent. So they were busy elsewhere. He screamed again, louder this time. Heather's voice answered.
  
  
  'Is everything okay?'
  
  
  "All right," I said. "Just wait and see." Her voice was shouted again at full volume in the thread hall. The door opened, and shaggy footsteps sounded in the hallway. I had a noose cord ready in my hand. The guard's face appeared in the window. It was the same person who had commented on Heather last night. A stocky, ugly man with a pockmarked face and a big nose.
  
  
  "So, what do you need? Do you want to see your girlfriend? He took off his shirt and lifted it in the corner of the cell. "There's something I want to show you."
  
  
  He growled. "That's what your girlfriend said. I didn't have time last night. But I'll go to her as soon as you're called to the headmaster's office. Then you'll have something to think about while you're there."
  
  
  "Will I be called to see the director?" I said, ignoring the rest. 'Why?'
  
  
  "You know why. You know damn well.
  
  
  Obviously, they knew something and she didn't. "Will you come every year?" I asked impatiently. "An animal crawled out of the sewer. It wasn't a rat. This is a very strange animal. It's there, under my shirt ."
  
  
  'A beast? What is this nonsense again? He tried to watch mimmo me. Ego curiosity was aroused. "I think an animal killed her," I said. "Can you take this away? I'm sick of this air sampling thing."
  
  
  The key rang in the lock. He knew he didn't care that I stank, but emu was curious about what method would kill me. The door opened and he stepped inside. He looked at the bundle, and then at me.
  
  
  "Sit on the couch," he said.
  
  
  He walked over to the cement bench and sold it, still holding the death grip on his arm. He cautiously approached the bundle and kicked ego.
  
  
  He threw himself at him from behind, threw the noose over his head in one swift motion, and pulled. He tensed, and ego's hands went to his throat as he was pulled harder. The umbilical cord cuts through skin, tendons, and muscle tissue. Blood splattered my hands. For a few seconds, he frantically grabbed and kicked. Then, it didn't make any sound to us. Ego's neck was cut to the bone. He slid to the floor, the shoelace still embedded in the calf's ego.
  
  
  He closed the door. Her ego quickly stripped off and dressed in an ego dark blue uniform. He wore a uniform cap. He put it on and shoved it as far as he could into his eyes. He fastened her wide belt with a gun holster and pulled out a wrench from the discarded pants. The revolver checked her for ammo. It was full. As casually as possible, he opened the door and stepped out into the hallway. No one in sight. He walked over to Heather's digital camera and looked out the window. She just sat there with her eyes closed.
  
  
  "It's hers," I said.
  
  
  She looked at me in surprise. 'Nick! she whispered.
  
  
  The guard's key ring brought it in. I took a closer look and saw that I had about twenty identical keys to choose from. I couldn't tell which one would fit around Heather's camera. This will take too long. He fished out a makeshift key all over his pocket and stuck it in the metal lock. Ego turned it, and something moved in the lock. After two attempts, it worked. He opened the door for her.
  
  
  "Oh, Nick," Heather whispered, snuggling up to me.
  
  
  "Go," I said. "We must go after Sir Albert."
  
  
  "But he doesn't want to leave."
  
  
  "He has no choice."
  
  
  We went out into the corridor. He looked at Heather's face. The smudges were still visible. Not as bad as mine, but they hit her hard. On the other hand, they stayed away from nah.
  
  
  Sir Albert's cell was now empty. We searched the entire corridor, but couldn't find Sir Albert in any of our rooms. I expected the guard to hear her every second.
  
  
  Her voice hissed through her teeth. "Damn it!"
  
  
  "Maybe they don't want him too close to us," Heather said.
  
  
  "All right, let's continue the search."
  
  
  We quickly arrived at both ends of the corridor. There we came across a door made of metal. It was the door through which my guard had entered. So it wasn't locked. I pushed it open, and we cautiously entered the next section.
  
  
  We were in a sort of connecting room between different hallways. A security guard sat with his back to us, reading a newspaper. He heard the door open, but didn't turn around.
  
  
  "So what was that?" "What is it?" he asked without looking up.
  
  
  He remembered that the other guard had a low scratchy voice and tried to imitate emu. "Nothing," I grumbled. She motioned for Heather to stop. He walked up to the guard with a revolver in his hand and leaned the ego against his head.
  
  
  'What do you want ...?'
  
  
  "Just sit down," I said. Ego pulled the revolver from its holster and put it in his holster. Slowly, ego stepped around her and stood in front of him.
  
  
  She motioned for Heather to step forward as well.
  
  
  'You! the guard shouted. He looked from me to Heather.
  
  
  I asked her. "Where is Sir Albert?"
  
  
  He looked at me in surprise. "You're joking."
  
  
  "Do I look like I'm joking?"
  
  
  "But he's gone!" the guard said, confused. 'Escaped. Wasn't that your intention? Enelik is very concerned."
  
  
  Heather and I looked at each other. So here's what my security guard hinted at. They thought that Heather and I, along with the others, were plotting to kidnap Sir Albert while we were distracting Enelik's attention. Only the two of us knew what had happened on the dell itself. Sir Albert warned the KGB guards whether the Russians had decided on their own initiative to postpone the date of the abduction. "That was the only thing we were missing," I said.
  
  
  "This is really too bad," Heather moaned.
  
  
  I asked her. 'When did this happen? And how?'
  
  
  "I don't know," the guard replied, looking anxiously at the revolver that held her under his nose.
  
  
  Her father pulled out a revolver and passed it to Heather. "Tuck it under your shirt," I said. He looked back at the guard. "Come on, you. You can take us to Enilik. If we don't get there safely, you'll have a big hole in your head."
  
  
  He led us down the next corridor. He pushed her cap even deeper over her eyes and took Heather's hand as if to pull her along. At the end of the corridor, we met another guard.
  
  
  "We are taking the prisoner to Enilik," our guard said. The other man barely looked at me, his attention still focused on Heather. There weren't many women who came to Tarabia, let alone a woman like Heather. He chuckled silently. The guard nodded, and we continued on our way. We soon found ourselves in front of Enilik's office, which was not far from the main entrance to the prison. The hall in front of the ego office was a kind of reception area. There was an unarmed guard at each station, and a woman sat at the counter. We went through one of the main doors and entered the reception area of Enelik's personal office. The receptionist was sitting at a desk in the center of the room. Hers, Heather nodded.
  
  
  Heather came to the table as the woman spoke to us. "Do you want a gentleman Rabbit ...?" She looked at us questioningly. Heather grabbed Gillette's back and quickly and deftly covered her mouth with it. Then she tied the woman's hands with a belt. She secured the woman's legs with her own belt. The woman was still sitting on the chair, but there was nothing she could do. It was only a matter of seconds.
  
  
  "If you want to live,"Heather said in Turkish to the woman who was now staring at Nah with wide eyes," keep quiet until this is over."
  
  
  She locked the hall door.
  
  
  He motioned for the guard to open the door to Enlik's office. Heather pulled out her revolver.
  
  
  Enilik sat down in his chair. He looked hunted. Frantically, he flipped through what looked like a telephone directory. When he looked up, blood flowed from his egoism.
  
  
  "It's so nice to see you again," he told her in English.
  
  
  "I'm sorry," the guard said. "But he has a gun." Enlik slowly got to his feet. He stepped out from behind the chair. There was hatred in his eyes. "You will be interrogated, interrogated ..." he said. "And all this time ..."
  
  
  He closed the distance between us at a brisk pace, drawing the muzzle of the gun across Ego's face. He cried out in pain and fell back in his chair. The guard moved toward me, but Heather had her ego perfectly covered.
  
  
  "That was before," I said, poking my cheek with my free hand. "Now let her ask you a few questions and want to get some good answers."
  
  
  He looked at me, leaning heavily on his chair. Blood trickled down ego's cheek. He took a deep breath. 'Ask away?'
  
  
  "When did you find out that Sir Albert left, and how do you think it happened?"
  
  
  He stared at me in disbelief. "Is that what you're asking ?"
  
  
  "Can't you listen? I won't ask again."
  
  
  "But you know everything!"
  
  
  "Answer my questions," I said.
  
  
  He shrugged and wiped the sweat from his brow. "This morning we learned that the ego is no more. About seven o'clock. And we missed the guard. The guard at the gate said he saw the same guard with another guard. They left through the prisons by car at five o'clock in the morning. Supposedly on vacation. The "other guard" was asleep in the backseat of the car, his face covered with a cap. The guard recognized nen as a security guard named Keskur ." It doesn't make much sense to have a plausible one. The security guard behind the wheel was a KGB agent, and the "other" was Sir Albert. It was an extremely simple but effective plan. This gave me an idea.
  
  
  I asked her. "Do you have any handcuffs here?"
  
  
  'Yes.'
  
  
  "Come on ih. And while you're doing that, hand over our weapons, too."
  
  
  He rummaged in his desk, holding a handkerchief to his cheek. Hers closely followed ego's movements as Heather watched the guard. Moments later, Wilhelmina, Hugo, Sterling and Heather .380 and two pairs of handcuffs were lying on the table in front of us. Her buttoned up my holster and put my weapon back in its usual place. Heather's bag also appeared and she placed Sterling in it. She was holding another gun for immediate use. He put the revolver in the drawer of his chair and locked it. At the same time, Wilhelmina's luger continued to hold her, ready to fire.
  
  
  "Come here," he told her guard.
  
  
  He hesitantly walked over to Lick. He motioned for Ego to lie down next to the table and told Heather to strap ego to the chair legs with all her hands and feet. When that was done, we washed Enilik's face and were ready to leave.
  
  
  "All right, listen carefully," her Rabbit said. "Are there any cars inside the prison walls?"
  
  
  "Yes," was the egoism of rheumatism.
  
  
  'Good. You'll let us out. Through the main gate. I'll sit in the back and point the gun at your target. You tell the security guard that they want to question the woman separately in Ankara. And that you will personally take her to Erzurum together with a security guard. Her security guard. Is that clear?"
  
  
  "I can't do this," he muttered in frustration.
  
  
  He held the gun up to ego's face and pressed it to ego's cheek. 'I don't think so.'
  
  
  Ego's eyes looked distraught to avoid our gaze. He sighed. "All right," he said, almost inaudibly.
  
  
  We left the security guard chained to the desk with a handkerchief in his mouth, and walked through the office. Enilik glowered at his muzzled, bound secretary. But in the waiting room, he nodded affectionately to the people we met. The guards ' attention was drawn to Heather and Enilik. Just as I'd hoped.
  
  
  If you even try to do anything other than what I told her, I'll rip your head off, " I said when we were playing this game in the car.
  
  
  Enelik took his bike and we rode to the gate. The guard was reading a newspaper. As soon as he saw the Rabbit, he hurriedly attracted attention.
  
  
  "Good afternoon," he said.
  
  
  Enilik nodded. "She was sent to Erzurum to transfer the prisoner to the Ankara authorities. I'll be back in a few hours.
  
  
  The guard looked into the car. 'Very good, sir. I'll write it down. He looked inside again to identify me. He kept his head down, and the cap covered most of his face.
  
  
  "Emin is coming with you," Enelik said.
  
  
  'Oh, actually. Very good, sir.
  
  
  The next thing we knew, we were outside the prison. Only now did he notice that it was a sunny day.
  
  
  "The first road is straight," Eniliku told her.
  
  
  But Erzurum goes the other way, " he commented. I know that. I took off my hat and looked at the road.
  
  
  When we got to the exit, a Luger was holding her in the neck of a Rabbit. 'Here.'
  
  
  We turned onto a dirt road. Enelik was driving. He felt what was going to happen to him. I made this decision as soon as I realized that I wanted to use my ego for our escape. If Enilik were still alive, our chances of getting out of the control of the Turkish police were almost zero. If he was dead, there would be great confusion. And that will give us time to find Sir Albert." It was all so simple.
  
  
  He said, " What are you going to do with me?"
  
  
  'Take a ride in your car.'
  
  
  "Let me get off here. You can go without me."
  
  
  I felt the pain in my heart and all over my body again, then the ego of the interrogation. He thought of the satanic pleasure of the human ego. Her death was the fate of all the others who were outside the walls of the ego's dark prison.
  
  
  Suddenly Enilik panicked. He turned the steering wheel hard to the right, hard to the left, and hard to the right again. We went off the road and into a ditch. Heather and I were thrown against the side of the car. Before the car came to a stop, Enilik threw open the door and jumped out. He sprawled in the undergrowth, jumped to his feet, and ran through the tall grass.
  
  
  Her climbed over Heather and jumped out around the car. As soon as she stood up again, he spread her legs to make her stand as steady as possible. He held out his hands and aimed the Luger. The gun rose in my hands, and Enik's head hit the ground.
  
  
  Her, went up to him. Gawk got an emu in the spine. He was dead before he hit the ground.
  
  
  When he got back to the car, he nodded to Heather that Enilik was dead.
  
  
  "Okay, then let's go," I said.
  
  
  "In Batumi?"
  
  
  Where else would the Russians have taken Sir Albert?
  
  
  "Do you really want to cross the border with Russia?"
  
  
  He looked into her serre-blue eyes. "Do you know of any other way to reach Sir Albert?"
  
  
  It was a rhetorical spin. She turned and walked back to the car. We went in. I took the car and we drove off, heading for the border.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 10
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  We spent most of the day trying to get to the border without being arrested. Soldiers patrolled the entire war zone. We passed through two Turkish villages that we couldn't avoid without encountering police officers. I knew we didn't have much time left before the prison authorities found a security guard in Enilik's office. Or the ego of a secretary, or the body of a security guard in my digital cameras. Soon, all police posts throughout the area will be on alert. Maybe it was already so far away. The only thing that was in our favor was that they got the impression that we were swollen towards Erzurum. It was a normal escape route through Tarabia. And since they didn't know that Sir Albert had been abducted by the Russians, they had no reason to believe that we were going to Russia.
  
  
  By the way, these problems were considerable. First we had to get to Russia in the border town of Batumi. Then we had to find out the location of the camp where political prisoners, defectors, and abductees like Sir Albert were being held, and keep our fingers crossed that he was there. Then we had to take ego against ego's will, somehow get it across the border, and then get to the southern coast through eastern Turkey.
  
  
  Moving to the other side of the border was our biggest stumbling block at the time. On both sides of the border, there were kilometers of open ground guarded by soldiers, dogs, and mines. On the border itself, there were tall watchtowers with machine-gun nests that covered large areas of land. On the Russian side of the border, there was also a strip of arable land that was regularly plowed. Nothing was sown, but to make the tracks stand out clearly.
  
  
  In the evening we bought new clothes in a remote village, came across a railway line in the middle of a barren plain. She was stopped by a car.
  
  
  "I think this railway leads to the border," I said. Heather looked in the direction of the tracks.
  
  
  'Yes. I think it's the Erzurum-Tiflis line."
  
  
  "Tiflis?"
  
  
  "The Russians call it Tbilisi."
  
  
  "So the train is crossing the border."
  
  
  "According to our people, to. But this is a strange train, Nick. Train without passengers".
  
  
  "So, a freight train."
  
  
  "No, it's a passenger train. When the border was closed, the two countries agreed that the train would continue to run on the old schedule. Only passengers are not allowed to enter Russia or leave via nah. It is intended as a symbolic link between the two countries ."
  
  
  "You mean that no one will go with them, except for the crew, to Russia."
  
  
  "A Turkish army officer and a policeman are driving to the border. They show the crew's passport. The train then enters Russia with Russian police on board. Egos are always checked for stowaways.
  
  
  Her eyes looked thoughtfully at the railway that slowly wound through the barren landscape, and disappeared into the distance. "And when does this train go, and where does it stop?"
  
  
  "He is driving through the area northwest of Kars, an old fortified city. In Russia, he goes to Leninakan. He can no longer go to Tiflis. I don't know. Hers, I think he skates two or three times a week. But Nick, how the hell are you going to handle this?
  
  
  Her said.- ' What do you prefer?'"This risk or dogs and minefields? Even if we go through with it, we'll still go on walking. The train will take us to Batumi without any problems ."
  
  
  "It's a fact," she admits.
  
  
  "Let's go by rail until we reach the village. Then we ask how you're doing. I was curious.
  
  
  She smiled. "And who is she to stop you? Just go."
  
  
  In the nearest village, we were told that the train would stop there at seven o'clock in the morning. Then they loaded several boxes of vegetables intended for the Leninakan stationmaster. It was the only cargo that crossed the entire Turkish-Russian border.
  
  
  The train consisted of a steam locomotive with a coal bunker, a baggage car and a passenger car. Crates of vegetables entered the baggage car, and an officer and a policeman rode in the car with a customs officer.
  
  
  At dusk, I went to a small convenience store without Heather. Hers came back with meat, cheese, bread, and a bottle of wine. We rode out of the village and stopped at the seraglio, which was quite far away. The barn was dark and empty, except for a few cows tied to a moaning rope.
  
  
  "Do cows snore?" Heather asked.
  
  
  "I've never slept with a cow."
  
  
  She laughed softly, cupping her hand to her mouth. The bruises on her face were gone. And with a kerchief wrapped around her long blond hair, she looked particularly attractive as a Russian peasant.
  
  
  We played this game against a pile of hay and ate the food I bought. For the first time with them ferret, as we got off the train in Tarabye, we again tasted delicious edu. We drank the wine around the bottle, wiped our mouths on our shirt sleeves, and felt very full and satisfied.
  
  
  "Nikki?" Heather said, handing me the bottle.
  
  
  'Yes?'
  
  
  "Are you trying to get me drunk?"
  
  
  Her, chuckled. Moonlight drifted through the cracks in the old boards and fell softly on Heather's face. "Did you notice it just now?"
  
  
  "I think you want to seduce me," she said. "I think you're planning very bad things." She leaned back in the hay and stretched like a languid panther.
  
  
  "Are you sure it's her trying to seduce someone?"
  
  
  She giggled. She was beginning to feel the effects of the wine.
  
  
  "I can't help it if you're around, Nick."
  
  
  He took a sip of wine and set the bottle down next to me. It was very pleasant here. He inhaled the warm, dry smell of hay and leaned back, putting his hands on the back of his head. He looked at Heather. She moved her right leg back and forth so that her knees kept touching each other. As her tribe's right hand sank into the hay, the soft, creamy inner side of her thighs and the incipient curve of her buttocks were obvious.
  
  
  "What exactly is a sexy woman like you doing in a Turkish barn?"
  
  
  "I hope she's tempting."
  
  
  "Has anyone ever told you that you're a sex addict?"
  
  
  "Just you, honey."
  
  
  He leaned down and leaned on her shoulder, feeling her warm lips. The smell of wine wafted around her. Her mouth sucked hungrily on mine, seeking and thrusting. My hand found one all over her soft white thighs and slid across the silky warm surface. "You're on the right track," she whispered in my ear.
  
  
  "That's good news," I said.
  
  
  We didn't say anything else. There was only the sound of the wind pounding softly on the seraglio door, and the soft sounds coming from Heather's parted lips. What followed was a scorching heat that dispelled all of Tarabia's memories and pain and made the ego forget about the tension surrounding Sir Albert and Batumi. Then we fell into a deep, serene sleep.
  
  
  We were at the station when the train arrived early in the morning. It was a cool sunny day, and it was more than an hour after sunrise. There was no one on the platform, just the stationmaster and a man loading crates of vegetables. He placed the ih on the side of the car so that the Russians would immediately see the boxes when examining the luggage car. The officer and the driver remained in the car.
  
  
  Heather and I hid in the bathroom opposite the baggage car. We calmly waited for the crates to load. Just before the stationmaster closed the car, there was no one on the platform. We quickly and almost noiselessly crossed the road and started playing in the baggage car. He went to the drawers and saw that they were pressed tightly against the side wall. Ih moved it a little forward so that we could sit between the boxes and the wall.
  
  
  Do you think this will work? Heather asked as we rode out of the village.
  
  
  "We'll know soon enough," I said.
  
  
  It was further to the border than we expected. He opened the door a few inches to let in some light and fresh air sampling. We drove through a fantastic landscape. Smooth green hills with trees and grass here and there. Then we entered a more rocky area. The train crossed a deep, dry riverbed over a primitive wooden bridge and slowed down. I looked out and found a sentry. We were at the border. The straight bridge was the dividing line between Turkey and Russia.
  
  
  "We're abroad," I said.
  
  
  A moment later, we were back in our hiding place. The fresh beans and vegetables smelled great.
  
  
  Suddenly, with a loud roar, the door swung open and Brylev poured in.
  
  
  "Six boxes?" the voice said.
  
  
  "Yes, six."
  
  
  'Good.'
  
  
  The door slammed shut again. We sighed again. The train jerked off, and I felt like we were crossing a bridge. We stopped about halfway across the bridge.
  
  
  Her whispered. " 'What now?'
  
  
  I think they're doing their ritual here, " Heather said. "Two Russian officers and two civil servants approach the train. In the middle of the bridge they meet the Turks. Anyway, you know: the salute, the handshake, the whole mess.
  
  
  We listened, and indeed, outside the car, we spoke in Russian. Heather was right. There was laughter, and someone shouted something in Turkish. A few moments later, we heard the sound of metal on metal and the scrape of rails. It came from the side of the locomotive, is there a fence in the middle of the bridge? Heather asked her.
  
  
  "If I remember it correctly, there's a steel beam through the rails. I think they're taking him now.
  
  
  She was right again. A moment later, the train started moving again. By the dull sound of the wheels, we could tell that puffiness is back on solid ground. A few minutes later, the train stopped again. We were in Russia.
  
  
  "This is a Russian border post," Heather whispered. "There's only a crew on the train right now. Stoker, engineer and conductor. Russian soldiers. .
  
  
  The door slammed open. The young man's voice shouted in Russian, " Six boxes of vegetables."
  
  
  We're freezing. If a soldier comes to check, he will immediately see us.
  
  
  The door remained open. A voice came from afar, " Is there a radish?"
  
  
  There was a moment of silence. Then a voice at the door shouted, " No, no radishes this time. Just carrots and beans. Would you like some carrots? Heather squeezed my thigh. We held our breath.
  
  
  "No, I don't like carrots."
  
  
  A moment later, the door slammed shut again.
  
  
  'Jesus Christ! I whispered in the dark.
  
  
  "I've stopped adding up a dollar," Heather said breathlessly.
  
  
  The train jolted back into Russia. Gradually, he picked up speed and drove along the tracks. Finally, we were able to breathe more deeply. We stepped out from behind the crates, and he opened the door again. The landscape was much the same, but now we were driving across Russia. We were passing an intersection, and in the distance I saw two people walking along a gravel road, presumably a peasant couple. They looked almost exactly like the Turks on the other side of the border.
  
  
  "We'll be in the village in twenty miles," Heather said. "If the train slows down, we have to jump off. Then we will be quite close to Batumi ." I was glad that Heather was with me, because I never really worried about the Turkish-Russian border. Her knowledge was enough to build a plan that could be carried out.
  
  
  At least a plan that we could try to implement.
  
  
  Fifteen minutes later, the train slowed down. We came to the village. It was time for us to jump off. Heather jumped first. She fell into the long grass of the railway embankment and rolled until she fell. Her and jumped after her and landed on my feet, but my speed was turning me headfirst into the dusty undergrowth. No bruises, just a victim of my dignity. We lay there until the train was out of sight. Then Heather got up and walked across the grass toward me, brushing the dust off her skirt and blouse. "All right," she said cheerfully. "We are in Russia, Mr. Carter. Do you think we'll get out of here, too?
  
  
  "You'll never be satisfied either," I chuckled.
  
  
  She pointed to the grounds. "Batumi is located in a hall in the north. If we go around the village, we'll probably find a road leading there."
  
  
  'Excellent. The only problem is that we don't have transport."
  
  
  "We can still try hitchhiking," she said.
  
  
  I thought about it for a while. Heather's Russian was perfect, but mine was acceptable. "You're right," I said. 'We can do it. And we will do it"
  
  
  "But, Nick ..."
  
  
  "Are you saying it's too risky?"
  
  
  "Well, actually, yes."
  
  
  "Do you have a better idea?"
  
  
  She grimaced. "All right, then, let's go."
  
  
  It took us half an hour to find our way north. We felt like we'd been waiting forever for a car to pass. Heather was sullen and a little scared. Hey, I didn't like the idea of hitchhiking around southern Russia on a spy mission. Hers, too, by the way. But sometimes you have to take a lot of risks for the operation to be successful.
  
  
  Finally, a car pulled up. A ten-year-old Russian-made car that looks like a pre-war American car. I waved at the driver, and he stopped in a big cloud of dust.
  
  
  Ego asked her. - "Are you going to Batumi?" He peered through the open window. The driver was a short, burly man with a ruddy round face. Two bright blue eyes stared at me intently.
  
  
  "Yes, her education is in Batumi," he said, trying to catch a glimpse of Heather. 'Get in.'
  
  
  He shoved two battered leather briefcases out of the way and put her in the backseat. Heather sat in the front seat, next to the Russian.
  
  
  "We were unlucky with our bike," she explained as we continued on. "Do you live in Batumi?"
  
  
  "No, no," he said with a laugh. "I'm far from home. I live in Rostov. I drive all over the area to see the communes."
  
  
  "Oh, I see," Heather said. "You have a special job."
  
  
  He was flattered. "No, it's fine. After all, every job is special in its own way. Isn't that right?'
  
  
  "Of course, comrade, it's true," Heather replied.
  
  
  He looked over his shoulder at me. "Why are you going to Batumi?"
  
  
  Hers, he hoped emu wasn't curious. If he asked for too much, emu would have to die in vain. "My sister and I are going to visit our uncle." It seemed to her that our journey would be a little easier if he could flirt with Heather.
  
  
  He gave Nah another long, admiring look. "Ah, your sister! I thought of her ...'
  
  
  "I told her.
  
  
  Heather glanced at me.
  
  
  "It's great to have a sister like that," he said. "But you have a different accent."
  
  
  Her body tensed involuntarily.
  
  
  "I think your sister is around here." But you have a very clear accent: I would say you are from the north."
  
  
  "Yes," I said quickly. "We grew up in Kirov. Tanya went to school in Moscow and then moved here ."
  
  
  For the next 45 minutes, we continued to bluff, and he continued to ask questions. But he never became suspicious. He asked for my address in Kirov, and I had to come up with an ego. He asked how Heather had ended up in southern Russia, and she told Em a beautiful story. He listened, and enjoyed our responses. In one word, he had a great time. He kept his hand close to Hugo's all the time, ready to use it, but it wasn't necessary.
  
  
  We arrived in Batumi at half past two in the afternoon and left ego with a huge thank you and a promise to pay emu a visit. We were hungry, but we didn't have us, the Russian money, our identity cards needed to buy food in Russia. Heather entered a hardware store on the narrow main street. She told the saleswoman that Nah had a brother in a military camp outside the city, and that she wanted to visit Ego. The woman behind the counter said, hey, this isn't an ordinary military camp and visitors aren't allowed in. But after some persistence, she was ready to tell Heather how to get there. If she was stupid enough to get herself into all sorts of trouble, she had to find out for herself.
  
  
  "Do you think she didn't believe it?" Heather asked her.
  
  
  "I don't think so. She did more to keep me out of trouble than wonder why she insisted on knowing how to get there. When are we going?'
  
  
  "Not before dark," I said. "We have to wait until tonight."
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 11
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Heather and I hid in the undergrowth by a high barbed-wire fence. There was a sign with a clear inscription:
  
  
  
  
  ENTRY IS PROHIBITED
  
  
  Batumi repatriation camp.
  
  
  GUARDED BY DOGS.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  We hadn't seen the dogs yet, but that didn't mean ih wasn't there, of course. It was a fairly small camp. Six oblong wooden buildings and a large square log cabin. The rain flowed around two small buildings and around a log cabin.
  
  
  She surveyed the barren, dark-shrouded area as the two men exited, circled the main building and headed for one around the lighted buildings. One in a soldier's uniform, the other in plain clothes. The soldier had a rifle, and he followed the plainclothes man. They disappeared into the barracks.
  
  
  "Sir Albert isn't the only prisoner here," I whispered.
  
  
  "I find it intimidating," Heather said.
  
  
  "It must be a nightmare to suddenly find out that you will spend the rest of your life in a concentration camp somewhere in Siberia, surrounded by people who don't even speak your native language. I mean, it seems bad enough for a Russian. But an Englishman or an American, he will never get over the shock."
  
  
  "This is wrong of the Russians," Heather said grimly.
  
  
  "I think it's a great idea to work together," I said with a wry smile. "IH philosophy has no place ..."
  
  
  He was silent when the door of the log cabin opened again and two more men came out. Another prisoner with his guards. Heather whistled through her teeth. He recognized her as a prisoner, too. It was Sir Albert ... It made a very different impression than in Tarabia. You could see it even in the dark. There, he was probably still asking himself the illusion that there was something to talk about with the Russians, that he could buy off his freedom. Now all of hope's egos have gone up in smoke. Ego's shoulders slumped, and he almost stumbled across the grounds. The future loomed before him like an impending cold shadow. And this ego was considered to resist a deep blow. The two men entered another slum where the holy light was still burning. The door closed behind them.
  
  
  Heather turned to me. "Oh my God, have you seen the ego attitude towards your position?"
  
  
  "Yes," I said. "But at least we know he's here now. I think this soldier is an ego, a personal guard and is with him all the time."
  
  
  "Do you think there's no one else in the room?"
  
  
  'Probably not. Look!'
  
  
  From the inside of the fence, a security guard with a large dog on his back came towards us. We held our breath as the dog started sniffing next to us. He had deliberately snuck into the camp against the wind to prevent such surprises. A few moments later, the guard and the dog passed by. The guard carried a large-caliber rifle on his shoulder.
  
  
  "We've been here for over an hour, and this is the first time it's been held," I said. "If we finish here in an hour, he won't bother us."
  
  
  "Maybe this is my first detour," Heather said. "Maybe they won't start before eight, for example. Then he can come again in half an hour."
  
  
  'It's true. But we have to take that risk.
  
  
  Hers slid on its belly to the fence. Heather came right after me. When we reached the fence, I lifted her head and looked around. Nothing or no one moved. He turned to Heather.
  
  
  "Stay here to keep an eye on that damned sentry," I said. "When he comes, transmit this signal." The soft cry of a bird mimicked it. She confirmed it flawlessly.
  
  
  'Excellent. If I'm not back in three-quarters of an hour, leave without me. Move openly south to the border. If you reach Turkey, head for the coast six kilometers east of Adana. The submarine is waiting there for the next five nights. Between midnight and two in the morning. You must signal with a flashlight. Three times short, once long ."
  
  
  "Three short ones, one long one," she confirmed. There was a brief silence between us. "I'd rather go with you, Nick."
  
  
  "I'm sorry, but you're much more important in this place. Okay, lie down and don't worry.
  
  
  He looked around again and stood up. He threw his coat over the barbed wire and quickly climbed the fence. After jumping it, he landed on the other side.
  
  
  He started to walk towards Sir Albert's hut when the door of the main house opened again, admitting the guard and the prisoner once more. He threw himself on the ground and Stahl waited for them to disappear into a hut on the road.
  
  
  He jumped to his feet and ran to the nearest hut. He stood for a day in the shade for a few seconds. Then he opened it, grabbed the handle, and pushed the door open.
  
  
  Sir Albert was lying on one of the two folding beds, his face buried in his hand. The soldier was reading a passage on Lenin in a loud voice. Ego holsters were lying on the table, gun and all. While he continued reading, he crept into the hut and carefully closed the door. But the guard heard the click that slammed the door back into the lock and looked up.
  
  
  He roared. 'Who's coming!' 'What is it'
  
  
  Hugo let her slide around the scabbard and prepared to drop the stiletto. Meanwhile, the Russian reached for his pistol on the table. The stiletto whizzed through the air, and the Russian scratched my chest. He was shot in the forearm, not in the chest as he had planned. With a cry of pain, he dropped the gun. He pulled the knife out around his arm as hers rolled over the chair. She was hit by his ego with both feet at once, and we continued rolling on the floor together.
  
  
  'You!' It was Sir Albert's call that heard her.
  
  
  We wrestled on the floor between two beds. Suddenly a soldier was yelling at me, trying to reach my throat with a stiletto. Ego tugged at her arm, and Hugo passed less than an inch from my head. The soldier was strong and in a better position. Our hands were shaking from the tremendous strain, and once again Hugo was eerily close. With a sudden jerk, he twisted her emu arm, and the knife clattered to the floor. Her other hand came free and slammed a frank fist into the ego-squared face. He rolled off me and onto the floor.
  
  
  'Drop it!'Sir Albert was standing over us. "Leave me alone, you idiot!"
  
  
  Her ignored him. The soldier and I wanted to see a stiletto lying somewhere on the floor. He found ego first, and he was about to spring at him again, but I had Sir Albert on my shoulders. Its hit his ego elbow in life. He fell back on his bunk, gasping for breath. He took a big step toward the soldier and kicked his ego in the head. Her ego slapped him across the cheek and knocked him back with its fist. She was pulled out by a knife on ego rook. Just as he was about to stand up, she was stabbed in the chest by an emu stiletto. Ego's jaw dropped and his torso slowly slid to the side. Hugo pulled her out of it. It die.
  
  
  "You killed the ego," Sir Albert said accusingly.
  
  
  "I've had enough of you," I said, untying a pair of handcuffs from the dead Russian's belt. Sir Albert's hands were shackled and a towel was placed over his mouth before he could call for help. He watched me as I undressed her and tried on her uniform. Wearing someone else's clothes has become routine.
  
  
  "All right, let's go," he said to the prisoner as he put on the ammunition belt.
  
  
  And with Sir Albert in front of me, I walked her around the hut. No one can see it. She would have had a security guard with an ego dog, but they didn't show up. He was about to approach the fence when he found a Jeep-like car behind the main building.
  
  
  He didn't think much about it, but he did. We didn't have transportation, and I couldn't pass up this opportunity. Sir Albert took her with him to where Heather was lying.
  
  
  "Go to the gate and keep talking on the clock," her father said. "Tell them you're in Batumi and want to visit one of the guards. Just come up with a name. I'll be with you in a few minutes."
  
  
  "All right, Nick."
  
  
  She was dragged by Sir Albert back to the main building and had ego in the back of the Jeep. No key in the ignition. He found two ignition wires under the dashboard and connected the ih together. The engine started. We drove around the log cabin to the gate.
  
  
  Heather sat in the brightly lit brig, having a tense conversation with the guard. When he heard her stop at the gate, he went out. He looked at Sir Albert and then at me.
  
  
  'Who are you?'What is it?' he asked suspiciously.
  
  
  "I was sent to Batumi to pick up this prisoner. When she came today, not when, someone else was already waiting for me."
  
  
  "Can I see the papers that release the ego?"
  
  
  'Of course; for estestvenno. I won't get it." He got out around the Jeep and reached into his uniform. Meanwhile, Heather sat behind the guard, holding her .380 caliber pistol ready for use.
  
  
  While he was rummaging through the stolen paper tunic, Heather raised the revolver and slammed it hard into Ego's skull. The guard fell with a groan. Hugo let her slip into my hand.
  
  
  "Wait," she said. 'This is not necessary. He stays unconscious long enough.
  
  
  She was right. Hugo put it back in its scabbard and left the guard alive. I wondered if he'd given me that chance, too. Heather entered and was dragged away by a security guard by sight. He jumped back into the car and stepped on the gas pedal. With a growl, the Jeep sped off into the night.
  
  
  We were the only ones on the road, and we drove fast for a few kilometers. She was asked by Heather to remove the cloth from Sir Albert's rta so as not to interfere with the ego's breathing. He immediately started accusing us. I was just about to let Em know that he had to be pretty damn calm when a Jeep like the one we were driving approached us from the other side.
  
  
  I told her. "Damn it!"
  
  
  The other Jeep slowed down. Like a hotel to stay in. Her, knew we'd be in big trouble if we stopped. Her, waved to them, passing well, he's the same speed. In the other Jeep were two soldiers and an officer.
  
  
  Sir Albert turned and shouted to them. I'm being kidnapped!
  
  
  The other Jeep began to turn. The accelerator pressed her down.
  
  
  "If you weren't so damn important to our damn government..." Heather said furiously.
  
  
  I looked in the rearview mirror and saw the ih headlights looming. "They'll have to do everything they can to do that."
  
  
  We passed Batumi at full speed and turned onto the road to the border. Just under two hours away. He was already driving along the cobblestone road for about five kilometers when he found a gravel road on the left. He turned it sharply, then stepped on the gas again. We thundered down the dark road. The sides of the jeep were overgrown, and gravel rattled against the underside. The headlights behind us also made signs and chased after us. I took another turn at the signposts and saw dense undergrowth in the path of my headlights. The saint turned it off and drove through a shallow ditch into the bushes. As soon as we stopped, Sir Albert grabbed her and put his hand over his mouth. A moment later, another Jeep roared past mimmo and continued down the road without slowing down.
  
  
  I waited until I could no longer hear the sound of another engine, then turned the Jeep back onto the road in the direction we were coming from and we shot forward. To the border.
  
  
  Sir Albert began to shout. - 'Loyal to me!'
  
  
  I'm tired of Sir Albert. After making sure that we had lost our pursuers forever, I parked the car on the side of the road and held Wilhelmina in front of my face.
  
  
  "Now listen carefully," he said, his voice dangerously calm. "I'm sick of all this nagging about my back. We can be at the border any minute. You will either join us or not.
  
  
  "You can choose for yourself. If you don't want to leave, I'll make a big hole for you openly here and now."
  
  
  Hers, saw Heather studying my face. I didn't mean anything around what I said, I just hated it. But it is difficult for her to understand the seriousness of the situation. Emu had to cooperate.
  
  
  Sir Albert looked sadly at the pistol, but it was not enough.
  
  
  He said. "What difference does it make if you kill me?" "They will still kill my wife and daughter."
  
  
  "That's exactly what they say," I said. "And she's telling you again that she's not. Who are you going to believe? The luger held it up to ego's eyes.
  
  
  He looked at me. "Are you telling me the truth?"
  
  
  'Oh, my God! Heather moaned.
  
  
  "Yes, hers, I'm telling you the truth," I said patiently.
  
  
  He took a deep breath. "Okay, then I'm in the dell."
  
  
  "Very sensible," I said coldly.
  
  
  Fifteen minutes later, the border appeared. To begin with, there was a fence around the barbed wire on both sides. Like Heather's liquid and blood, there was a strip of plowed earth on it. Then a minefield, and the next hull along a three-coil thick barbed wire fence. Next to the road was a tower about twenty feet high with a machine gun. A sentry stood at the foot of the tower. Hundreds of meters before and after the sentry were illuminated by floodlights.
  
  
  As we were driving slowly towards it, a security guard came out. He had an automatic rifle.
  
  
  "He won't believe us, no matter what the emus tell us," I said. "He wants to see the papers. The more, the better. So we have to fight it."
  
  
  "But don't you see this machine gun?" Sir Albert said. "They'll just blow us up!"
  
  
  "If you cooperate, we'll have a chance," emu Heather said.
  
  
  "Take on the sentry," Heather told her. "I'll take the man in the tower."
  
  
  We were now only ten meters away from the pole. 'Stop! the sentry shouted. He pointed to a spot about halfway between him and us.
  
  
  I turned on bullying again. The security guard in the tower turned the machine gun so that it was now covering us. Heather tucked her Sterling under her purse. I got out around the Jeep and walked forward to where the Russian was waiting for me. He was happy to use his uniform and military vehicle.
  
  
  "I will take this man to the Turkish border," I said. "An order from the commander of Batumi."
  
  
  He looked at me intently, probably thinking I had a strange accent. 'Loyal. He looked at Heather and Sir Albert. He was a young man with bright blue eyes and a sharp chin. He held his rifle ready and nodded to Sir Albert. "Citizen?" He asked if Sir Albert was a native of Russia.
  
  
  'Voting papers. Its back up again in a minute. It was a sign for Heather. A luger pulled her out and aimed a mimmo of the sentry's head at the man in the tower.
  
  
  He looked at me incredulously. Then he raised the rifle. A split second later, the jeep's windshield shattered. Heather put a bullet in him. The guard was hit in the chest and staggered back.
  
  
  Ego's gun went off three times. The bullets hit the ground at my feet, but I ignored them. He gently pulled the trigger of the luger as the man in the tower moved for a moment.
  
  
  The sound of the luger rang through the night, along with the sound of other guns. The man on the tower screamed and fell backwards, but I felt that his ego wasn't enough.
  
  
  Heather called out to her. "Get behind the wheel and drive!" As he backed away cautiously, looking up at the tower, Heather jumped behind the wheel and accelerated. The man in the turret floated up, put the machine gun back in place, and fired a volley at us. Bullets shattered the road surface and bounced off the metal of the hood. One smashed through the windshield and hit Sir Albert in the arm. He took careful aim with the Luger.
  
  
  Wilhelmina crashed in my arms, and this time hers hit what I was aiming for. The soldier clutched his chest with both hands, fell backward, and disappeared from sight.
  
  
  The Jeep was already on its way when hers jumped into the back of the truck. Heather swerved around the body of the dead sentry, gave full throttle, and drove straight through the barrier. As we headed for the Turkish border, we were not followed by any volleys. The man in the tower was also irretrievably destroyed.
  
  
  There was only one soldier at the Turkish border post. And it didn't take any effort to turn off the ego. As he stood dazed listening to Heather explain, she was hit hard by his ego on the back of the head with the hilt of a Wilhelmina. We were in Turkey. And now for the rest.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 12
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  At three o'clock in the morning, we passed a small village that was completely silent. There we exchanged our Russian car for a big old Chevrolet. While we were driving, her uniform and cap were thrown out of the window.
  
  
  We didn't run into the police last night. I was sure the Turks were still looking for us. But apparently they weren't going to sacrifice their night's sleep to Kostya. So much the better that we can cross the border without hindrance. Not when it would have been so much harder. In addition, it was necessary to take into account the presence of Sezak and Basimevi in the coastal area. They were professional enough to understand how we could escape. After all, we couldn't show up at train stations or airports.
  
  
  Celik would be very angry. If Basimevi or anyone around Ego co-workers discovers us before he does, he'll be in big trouble. By now, he knew the purpose of our operation and should have come to the conclusion that we knew a lot about nen. Very much. Probably, he had already warned Kopanev and Ego comrades.
  
  
  As soon as it became lighter, her staff avoided villages and towns. Sir Albert was in a rather serious condition. Fortunately, the wound on his arm was nothing more than a deep gash in his flesh, but his ego had been severely damaged by the events of the past few months. He lost a lot of blood. Heather regularly had to bandage Emu's arm. He confusedly mumbled about the fate that emu should never have gone to Turkey. And that it is the ego's fault that the ego's wife and daughter will be killed. It was hard not to feel sorry for Ego.
  
  
  We lost a good part of the day driving around villages and main roads. I'll bet there's a patrol out there. Just licking our lips, we reached Giazantep on the Syrian border in the evening. There we turned west, towards Adana and the coast.
  
  
  Sir Albert's condition continued to deteriorate, and eventually we were forced to stop in a small village near Adana to buy emu aspirin.
  
  
  We decided that Heather was best suited for shopping at the pharmacy, as well as at the grocery store. While Sir Albert and I were waiting for her in the car, a black Mercedes passed by our car. Two men sat in the front, their faces hard and cold. There were three familiar figures in the backseat.
  
  
  To the left of the window was Celik Sezak. In the center is my colleague Oleg Borisov, and on the right is the head of the KGB department Vasily Kopanev.
  
  
  He quickly turned away, hoping they wouldn't see Sir Albert in the backseat. After a few anxious seconds, the Mercedes disappeared out of sight, and he was able to breathe again. When Heather returned with the aspirin, he told her the story.
  
  
  "They're fast," Heather said, frowning.
  
  
  "Kopanev is no fool," he said, and took his bicycle with him. "Of course, he understood that we would move to the south-east coast. I think he knows every landing spot on the coast by heart. You'll have to be damn careful.
  
  
  "May I ask him what you're all talking about?" Sir Albert asked as we drove slowly around the village.
  
  
  "The person who organized your rapture just passed through here," I said. "He's looking for us. Maybe he'll find us, too." I tried to keep my voice absurdly casual.
  
  
  "Oh," said Sir Albert dully.
  
  
  We left the village behind and drove slowly and cautiously towards Adana. It was dark again, and in the distance we could see the taillights of other cars. The only traffic that came up to us was two trucks. We stopped once on the way to give Heather a chance to look at Sir Albert's hand. Ego's thin, pale face was serious.
  
  
  "You were right," he said. "From the very beginning, I acted like a fool."
  
  
  "Forget it," I said.
  
  
  "No, you shouldn't have brought her here. But my family ...
  
  
  Heather gave him a friendly look. "We understand," she said softly.
  
  
  He looked at nah questioningly. "Do you think we have a chance? I mean, to get out of here alive?
  
  
  "If you're lucky," Heather said. "So, your hand will have to deal with that for now. You will receive medical assistance on board ."
  
  
  He looked at both of us. "Thank you," he said. 'For everything.'
  
  
  After a long search, we found a rocky point six kilometers from Adana. He drove the Chevy out onto the narrow beach and parked it behind a large boulder at the bottom of the cliff. He was out of sight there. We went out and stared at the dark water. Small waves froze on the beach.
  
  
  "Well, here we are," I said.
  
  
  Heather scanned the dark horizon.
  
  
  "Do you also think that, like in the fairy tale, at midnight in Rivne, an American submarine will come at us through the sea and take us to safer places?"
  
  
  "I've found the right place," I said. "So they'll be there at the appointed time." I just put my hand over the little flashlight I found in the Chevy and tried again. It still worked. Sir Albert sat down and rolled over. He raised his injured arm as much as possible and stared at the sand. Her, leaned against a boulder and Stahl looked for cars on the road above us. Heather came over to me.
  
  
  "I can't believe you're going to get us out of Russia alive, Nikki," she said softly, pressing her long blond hair against me. "And now we are here, on the Turkish coast, exactly where we are expected. It's unbelievable.'
  
  
  I smiled at her. "Take your time. We're not on the sub yet.
  
  
  "That doesn't stop me from getting used to you, Yankee."
  
  
  Her voice was soft, almost gentle. "I think I'll miss you."
  
  
  He touched her lips with his own. "Maybe we can take a long day off when we're in London. If our superiors don't mind, of course.
  
  
  "That would be great, Nikki," she said. "You could take me to ..."
  
  
  He silenced her with a gesture of his hand. A car was coming down the road above us.
  
  
  Her pleaded. "Sir Albert!"'Get down!"'
  
  
  She was dragged against a cliff by Heather, and we looked at the car, which had already pulled up in a place that had a good view of the beach. Sir Albert was lying on the snags and was practically invisible. A man in a police uniform came out around the car and surveyed the beach. I could feel Heather's dollar stack beating as she snuggled up to me. The cop turned, sel, and drove away.
  
  
  Sir Albert struggled to his feet.
  
  
  'Is everything okay? Heather's ego asked.
  
  
  "Yes, good." there was an ego of rheumatism.
  
  
  "It was on the edge," I said, glancing at my watch. It's almost midnight.
  
  
  We looked out over the dark water again, but there was nothing in sight that looked like a submarine. It is unlikely that the captain will surface with his ship before the agreed time. He walked along the beach, sometimes checking his watch. The coastal road above us was quiet. I wonder where Sezak will be right now. Presumably, he and his KGB friends searched all the caves and beaches on the coast. Either they hadn't thought of this place, or they hadn't reached it yet.
  
  
  At three minutes to twelve, there was a sudden rush of water. A long black shadow rose up in front of us about a mile from the shore. It was a fantastic sight. Seawater pouring around the hull and dark, glittering metal against the moonlit sky.
  
  
  "He's there!" Heather greeted softly. "It's hard to believe."
  
  
  "My God," said Sir Albert, looking in utter amazement at the pride of the United States Navy.
  
  
  The conning tower hatch opened, and a moment later two dark-clad sailors stepped out. The former continued on to the machine gun in the bow, while the latter held a large lantern ready for use. Two more men came on deck.
  
  
  "You've got a flashlight, haven't you, Nick?"
  
  
  "Yes, but they have to give the signal first."
  
  
  We were looking forward to it. Then Seaman Stahl pointed with a lantern. Three times short, once long. A flashlight picked it up and answered the signals. A sailor waved at us, and two others had already dropped the boat to pick us up.
  
  
  "Let's take off our shoes and go meet them," I said. "We need to make the transition as short as possible." He was just bending down to untie his shoelaces when he heard the sound of a car.
  
  
  He turned quickly. My first thought was that the police had returned. She was wrong. Sezak's long black Mercedes stopped at the top of the cliffs. People ran out on the nah.
  
  
  Her voice was loud. "Take cover!"
  
  
  As soon as she was warned, the revolvers on top of the rocks began to spew fire. They were about sixty meters away. Bullets slammed into the sand between Heather and me. Sezak saw her, silhouetted against the evening sky, shouting orders in Turkish. Next to him sat the huge figure of Borisov. On the other side of the Mercedes was Kopanev with two bandits. Sesak and ego mercenaries are responsible for the city of bullets. Kopanev stood and looked at the submarine, and then disappeared behind the boulders near the car. Clearly with the intention of occupying the cliff above us.
  
  
  Sir Albert fell back on the big beam. Heather ran to the special boulder for cover. It stayed where it was and fell on one of every tribe. He carefully aimed at Sezak's silhouette and fired. He clutched his chest and fell backward like a log. He was sure that he would no longer organize kidnappings.
  
  
  The gangsters stopped firing for a moment, then returned even more ferocious than before. Meanwhile, they walked cautiously away from the car and up the slope toward us. Kopanev sat down next to the Mercedes and also started shooting.
  
  
  Heather continuously returned fire, forcing ih to take cover. I used her firepower to get away from the mound of sand to my left. Two bullets hit me in the legs as her father ducked into his meager hiding place.
  
  
  'Don't come down! I shouted it to Sir Albert.
  
  
  "All right," ego heard her shout from behind the log.
  
  
  These attackers still haven't caught Sir Albert in the fire. Perhaps the Russians haven't given up hope of getting it back. But I knew that they would immediately rush to him if our resistance was too strong.
  
  
  We were under fire from three revolvers. Shards of rock were constantly flying around Heather's ears. The two bandits approached Licks again. I came out of my hiding place a little higher than I should have to to shoot one around them, and they immediately opened fire on me. One shot missed, but the second hit me in the left shoulder and knocked me to the ground.
  
  
  Cursing, he crawled back to his hiding place. Another bullet sent the sand whirling around me. He scanned the rocks above Heather, looking for any sign of Borisov's presence. As soon as he got there, we were locked up. And hopelessly in trouble. But then the navy came to our rescue. A loud salvo rang out from the U-boat's bow, and bullets whizzed over us. Odin around the bandits threw his hands up and was thrown back to the stone moan. The ego weapon fell with a crash. The ego coworker thought it was time to find a better hiding place. He carefully shot at it, but it was no longer necessary. The fierce machine-gun fire hit ego. Spinning on its axis, it crashed down.
  
  
  At the top of the cliff Kopanev fired a desperate shot at Sir Albert, who was crouched against a log. Huge splinters of wood flew and sand gushed around him, but Sir Albert was unharmed.
  
  
  Kopanev gave up when his gun was empty and jumped into the Mercedes. Obviously, he was going to escape Odin. Heather did her Sterling in the windshield of the car.
  
  
  At the same time, she caught a glimpse of Borisov's formidable figure. He was standing on the rocks above Heather. He kept us all in the line of fire. Looks like we're going to kill Heather first, and then Sir Albert. Heather fired three shots into the Mercedes ' windshield. On the third frame, I saw her as Kopanev fell sharply on the steering wheel. A second later, he heard the monotonous sound of a horn banging his head against it.
  
  
  By this time, he had turned and was supporting Wilhelmina with his forearm to take careful aim. Borisov did the same in Heather's direction. That's why I couldn't wait any longer. If Heather was going to save her, I needed to act fast. He pulled the trigger. Borisov jerked back, as if his ego had been pulled by a rope onto a rock. Ego's revolver fired twice more. The first shot hit the boulder next to Heather's head. The first two ended up in a stone moan a few meters higher. He was out of sight, but there was silence on the cliff top.
  
  
  "Like I said, the Borisovs," he muttered through gritted teeth. "If you point the gun at me again, use ego." She heard a muffled cry from the deck of the submarine. Heather waved the empty Sterling at them. Sir Albert appeared from behind a piece of wood, clearly shaken.
  
  
  Ego asked her. 'How are you?'
  
  
  He looked down at my bloody shoulder. "I don't think my legs are any worse than yours." He tried to smile. Heather came over and examined my wound. "No knocks to the bone. You're lucky again, Nikki.
  
  
  "I know," I said, looking toward the boat, which was already moving slowly. "Shall we go greet our rescuers?"
  
  
  We went to the boat, and the sailor who steered the boat helped us on board. "The ship's doctor is ready, and there is fresh coffee for everyone, "he said." Excellent medical care for Sir Albert and a nice hot black coffee for me, " I said.
  
  
  "Yes, sir," said the sailor.
  
  
  Heather had draped a rag over my shoulder and was now turning toward the dark coastline. "Sezak should have continued his work in the police," she said. "With my wife."
  
  
  "To hell with Sezak," I said. "But I do think Operation Lightning will make the Russians think."
  
  
  "Let your words be true," Sir Albert said softly and solemnly.
  
  
  I had nothing to add to that.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
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Новые книги авторов СИ, вышедшие из печати:
О.Болдырева "Крадуш. Чужие души" М.Николаев "Вторжение на Землю"

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