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invisible with his black clothes and the black greasepaint
on his face,
The man's back was to the house. There was no way
Carter could get around him.
Carter slipped Hugo to his right palm. He held the
blade and flipped the needlelike stiletto on a direct line
with the man's heart. With speed that would challenge
the best sprinter in the world, Carter caught the body
before it hit the ground.
He went through the man's pockets. The most obvious
clue to the man's nationality was a Makarov automatic
pistol. The second clue was the man's suit. The poorly
tailored suit could only have been made in the Soviet
Union. He retrieved the stiletto, wiped it clean, and
slipped it in its chamois sheath.
The discoveries made things easier for him. If the
guard was KGB, this was a KGB hideout all the way.
He opened the door of the farmhouse with caution, his
Luger in his hand, a silencer screwed on its barrel.
A man inside saw the open, saw the silenced
Luger, and drew a gun from his waistband. Carter fired
before the other man could pull the trigger.
On the ground three men sat playing cards in a
back room. They were drinking vodka and shouting out
their play in Russian.
Carter slipped inside the room and leveled his gun at
them. "Your names and rank, please," he said.
They looked at him as if he were mad, then the oldest
of them, the senior man, laughed aloud and went for his
gun in a coat nearby.
Carter shot him through the head, spraying the others
with blood and brain matter. "Your names and rank,
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please," he repeated, waving the Luger at them, insisting
they remain seated.
No one spoke. Carter sat in the chair deserted by the
dead man. He reached into the fold of his fatigues. "The
last time," he said. "Your names and rank."
One man was about to speak, but the other chopped
him across the throat with the back of his hand.
Carter twisted the two halves of the tiny bomb, took a
deep breath, and dropped the lethal orb on the floor.
When the two men slumped where they sat, he went
through their pockets. These were not drones. One was
a captain from the dreaded First Chief Directorate, a
killer. He must have been extremely confident to carry
identification.
The other man carried no identification. He had no
weapons. His hands were soft. He had the smell of fresh
soap and alcohol about him. A doctor perhaps? The fir•st
man he shot also carried no ID.
Carter had no more time to speculate. Five down and
five to go.
He closed the door on the lethal gas and stood in the
hall breathing deeply and listening to the sounds of the
house. It was still. He decided to try the bedrooms. He
snaked up the steps to the second floor. One after the
other he tried the three bedrooms and the bathroom, but
found no one.
A narrow stair led to the top floor. Halfway up it he
heard what sounded like someone snoring. As he drew
nearer, the sound increased and he had no trouble
locating the room. As a precaution, he checked the other
rooms and found them empty. A couple occupied the last
one. That brought the total to seven.
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Carefully, he removed Howard Schmidt's drug case
from a hip pocket. He filled a syringe with a drug that
would knock these two out for an hour or more, and
carefully plunged it into the man's arm. Before he could
react to the slight prick, the big, raw-boned man was in
dreamland once again.
The wife awoke and stared into the barrel of the gun.
"I won't hurt you," Carter said in French.
The woman remained silent. '*Do you work with
them?" he asked.
"We are simple farmers, monsieur. They are worse
than animals. "
"This will not hurt you. Don't worry." Before she
knew what was hapfrning, Carter had injected the
syringe and she was asleep in seconds.
Carter returned to the ground floor and looked for an
entrance to a basement. Suddenly he heard a very faint
voice; it seemed to be coming from a floor below. He
found a basement door and charged down, his gun in
hand. A frightened man was bleating into the mike of a
long-range radio.
I found two of them dead. Something's
Carter put a 9mm slug through his head and turned off
the set. Before he could react to a noise behind him, he
felt something rip through the muscle of his left arm,
then heard the bark of a gun.
The blast turned him to face the snarling features of a
small man holding a gun that seemed like a cannon in his
small hand. Carter fired before the man could, get off
another shot.
That made nine. Carter into a dark corner and
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tied a handkerchief around the wounded ann before he
went on.
The cellar smelled like a cross a locker room
and a barn. He peeked around the corner from his hiding
place. He saw no one but the two dead men.
He crouched down and sat f6r a full five minutes,
listening.
Nothing.
Then, faintly at first, he heard moaning, and a
scraping sound from a room nearby.
Cautiously he crept nearer to the sound. He opened the
door a crack and peered inside. A man lay on a cot.
Carter the door wider and went in, covering the
man with his gun. He must have presented an awesome
sight to the man cringed against the wall for he moaned
louder.
The man, obviously a prisoner, was very slim. His
clothes seemed to hang on him, jutting out at his
shoulders. The man's nose was his strongest feature.
"Mr. Lafontaine. What are you doing here?"
"Who are you?" the gaunt, unshaven face asked.
"Commander Nicholas Carlson. We met at the Amer-
ican embassy a few days ago."
"Impossible. I've here
a long time. I don't know you
I don't know . . .
"You've nothing to fear from me. I'll take you out.
Can you walk?"
"I think so."
Carter helped him up the cellar stairs and led him out
the front door. He left the scaling rope and took the
weakened man through a back gate. He practically had to
carry him the last few hundred yards.
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The helicopter stood ready.
105
"Do you know where the chief of the provincial police
"Of course.
"Good. I want you in his house until this is over. I
don't want anyone to know you're alive. "
"Why, for heaven's sake?"
"It's a long story, Mr. Lafontaine," Carter explained
in French. "Someone is taking your place. Impersonat-
ing you. Someone very dangerous to your country."
"Will you have Jacques Carreau call me?"
"I promise, but it might be a few hours. Will you sit
tight until you hear?"
don't feel up to much else."
"Gocxl. I've got something else to do first."
-"Who are you? Who do you work for?"
"I'm with the prime minister's special staff," Carter
lied. He didn't have time for explanations. Time was
very short.
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NINE
Alone in the chopper, Carter felt he was back on track.
Physically, his arm ached a bit, but otherwise he felt
pretty good. At the moment he had the advantage. He
had the helicopter and they didn't know he was on their
trail. Savarin would have tipped his people off, but they
didn't know he was on the way to Lac Gregory.
With uncanny accuracy, the grid map monitor told him
where the lodge was located. He circled the lodge, -a
rather small log building on the south shore of the lake,
without seeing any sign of life. It was daybreak and the
days were draining away all too fast.
He turned on the heat sensor and scanned the monitor
at an altitude of a hundred feet. The chopper was in silent
mode.
It didn't make sense to him. The sensors picked out
too many heat sources that were human bodies. Some
came in sharply as if in the lodge. Others were less
sharp, as if on another level. Some bodies seemed to
give off faint images as if they were some distance away,
deeper, in some kind of lower basement.
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The most puzzling images were those not located
within the confines of the lodge itself, or below it. Some
seemed to be some distance from the lodge. Perhaps
there was a cayern, Carter figured. They had either
connected the basement to a natural cavern or carved one
out. Whatever it was, it existed and had to be investi-
gated. And was that where they had taken Jean? If the
answer to that was yes, the next question was how to get
her without running into every guard they had. It looked
as if there were at least twenty rEople down there. He
decided to make another swing over the lodge before
going in.
He studied the heat sensor monitor until his eyes were
bleary from the green images. The bodies seemed to be
on three levels. Everyone moved at one time or another
while he watched, except one. It was in a room on the
second level, probably a basement. They seemed to
leave that one alone. Maybe they had too much to do
before the referendum. Maybe it wasn't Jean, just
someone like Serge Savarin who had work to do at a
desk.
Enough speculation. He had to go in.
"You're telling me you had him under control and he's
escaped?"
"I don't know how he did it. Yuri and Gregor are
dead. What the hell will I do now?"
"What indeed? He knows who you are and your
connection to us. "
"But he might not have told anyone."
"Don't be naive. It seems to me that this one is too
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professional not to keep his people informed. Where are
you
"At the lodge."
"Keep everything running smoothly. Don't leave the
lodge. I'll try to get more help there as soon as can."
"I don't like the fact that he knows about me, " Savarin
whined.
"Nor do I, Serge. Nor do I. If we were home, you
would be on a one-way trip to a very cold climate."
'*It's still going to work. Believe me. Two more days
and no one can stop us."
"You'd better keep on thinking that, Serge. You'd
better make it work."
Carter set the chopper down a few hundred yards from
the lodge. He had memorized everything he'd seen on
the monitors and he was as well equipped as the wizardry
of Howard Schmidt could make him. The laser-sensor
goggles were in place. The rucksack full of plastique was
no more than a slight burden. His favorite weapons were
snug in their usual places. In the early mist of morning
he looked like something black and ominous from outer
space.
No one was outdoors. Carter soon learned the reason.
A pattern of laser beams crisscrossed the ground for fifty
feet from the old, moss-covered log building.
It was too light for cover. The beams were t(X) close
for a headlong rush to the house. Some were too high to
climb over. Some were too close together to allow him to
crawl with the rucksack on his back.
At one point he felt like going back to the chopper and
unloading all six missiles on the lodge and then exam-
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ining the remains. But he had two good reasons why that
would be a bad move. One was the probability that Jean
was in the building. The other was a natural curiosity.
This could their headquarters. He had to see what they
were hiding there.
It was dangerous, but he unstrapped the rucksack and
started across the labyrinth of beams. It took him a good
half hour, and when he'd finally made it, he was soaked
with sweat. He had crawled on his belly, slipped bent
half double between some beams, and hurdled others
with inches to spare. It was a miracle that no one had
seen him from the lodge.
He stopped near the front door to collect his thoughts.
No surveillance cameras were in sight. Whoever was
inside must have extreme confidence in the laser beams.
The lone body he had seen in the monitor was at the
back and one level below the ground. Somehow, he'd
have to get there first.
Hundreds of miles away in Ottawa, Robert Boisvert
sat in Prime Minister Carreau's office going through
some papers he had to sign as deputy prime minister.
Carreau's secretary had left them before she'd gone
home late the night before. They had to be ready for the
morning session. Thoughts of Marie Carreau kept inter-
fering with his work. The affair had been exciting at
first—the delicious risk of taking her almost under the
eyes of the SSS, the newness of her as a lover, the
information she had supplied that had moved his plans
ahead much faster.
Unlike Carreau, Boisvert was not an early riser. It was
not unusual to see Carreau arrive to start the business of
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the day at six, but that was not for his deputy. Eight was
a better time for Boisvert, or even nine. The bell to call
members into session never rang before ten and he
always had time, at least an hour, to prepare for what
usually turned out to be a boring day.
But this was different. Carreau was making a swing
through the western provinces to shore up party confi-
dence. Boisvert ought to know: he was with Marie in the
prime minister's bed the night before.
He was thinking about her foolishness, her stubborn
desire for them to divorce their spouses, when he thought
he heard a commotion in the hall. Marie would not
venture out of the Sussex Drive residence for their
dalliance. He'd tried often enough to get her to try a
hotel or even a rented apartment, but they were both so
recognizable, and she had to deal with her SSS guard. It
always seemed strange cuckolding the most powerful
man in the country in his own bedi
The commotion outside grew louder, then suddenly,
the door flew open and two hooded men burst in, each
with an automatic pistol in his hand.
He felt as if a horse had kicked him in the shoulder,
and he went down behind the desk. The firing continued,
spraying the room over his head with what seemed like
hundreds of rounds. He felt a sharp pain in his foot and
pulled it, bleeding, behind the desk with him.
Other shots were fired, not the steady rhythm of the
small-caliber pistols, but the sharp bark of individual
shots from larger guns.
Finally all was still. A security man was crouching
over him.
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"Are you all right, Mr. Boisvert?"
. one of my feet," the deputy
"My shoulder .
prime minister managed before he passed out.
The paramedics and the house doctor were there in
seconds. Boisvert regained consciousness as they placed
him on a stretcher, an intravenous tube in his right arm.
As he was carried from the office, he saw the two
gunmen in their own pools of blood near the door. Down
the hall, blankets covered three bodies that he assumed
to be SSS men assigned to protect him.
"Call my wife," he whispered to the physician, a man
he'd known for years. "And keep Mrs. Carreau away
from the hospital."
The doctor, an old hand at Parliament Hill, understood
and couldn't agree more.
Carter found that few of the lasers had their origin on
the walls of the house. A pathway two feet wide allowed
him to roam. He made his way to the back of the old
structure easily. Against the back wall, a cellar door, the
kind made of wood that folded out and up like two barn
doors, was the only way in. They were covered with wet
leaves that had obviously fallen the winter before.
Hugo slipped between them, giving Carter a purchase
to pull. One rose ponderously, making enough noise to
wake the dead.
Carter slipped inside and was immediately accosted by
a huge guard with a Kalashnikov cocked and ready.
Carter was lucky: the guard was like a robot and had no
orders to fire inside the house. The big man's hesitation
gained him a vicious karate chop to the neck that would
keep him out of action for a few minutes.
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Next to the guard, a door was closed. Carter opened it
and breathed a sigh of relief. Jean was in her bra and
panties, tied to a bed, her feet attached to the foot of the
bed, her wrists tied by short lengths of rope to the bed
posts above her head,
"Are you all right?" he whispered. "Did they drug
"No," said, shaking her head. "I'm stiff, but I'm
okay. "
"I'll cut you loose in a minute."
He hoisted the guard and brought him inside. Then
Hugo went to work on Jean's bonds. When she was free,
he slung the guard on the bed while she hunted for the
rest of her clothes.
The red vial was the one he sought. Pentothol. It never
failed. He plunged the needle in the man's arm and
waited for it to take effect.
Jean joined him at the bedside when she was dressed.
"What do you intend to do?" she asked. "The place is
crawling with types like him."
"They must have something immediate planned or
they wouldn't have left you alone. I want to know what
it is."
He the man's face softly from side to side.
"This is Colonel Popolov, KGB. Your rank and name,
quickly," Carter said, using his best Muskovite dialect.
formerly of
corporal
"Boris Spastovski .
Imperial Guard. "
the .
"You must have been a bad boy, Boris, to be sent to
this outpost."
"What are you asking him?" she said, poking his arm.
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He put a hand over her mouth. "I don't want him to
hear another voices" he whispered in her ear.
"Why are the others not in here with the woman?" he
asked, turning back to the guard.
scx)n. They .
"They will be here
stairs
meeting room. "
"And the others?"
in the cavern."
"Guards .
"How many?"
five. Anatole was taken out sick." He
"Six. No .
moaned and thrashed about. Carter held him still.
«)ne more question. Where is the meeting?"
"A colonel
you don't know?"
"I've just arrived to take command. Now tell me or
you're going under the lash. You've been under the lash,
Corporal?"
back of the hall
. turn right."
"Upstairs .
Carter switched to the orange syringe and put the man
out for hours, then he led Jean up the steps. At the top he
turned right and heard the sound of voices, A guard
turned from the door and spotted them, but Hugo was out
and jutting from the man's jugular before he could act.
Blood ran from him, spurting on his chest. Jean moved
past Carter, caught the man, and eased him to the
ground, the blood pouring over her. Carter pulled the
knife from the dead man, wiped it clean, and slipped it
back in place. He drew his gun and whispered for Jean to
stand back.
With the speed of a leopard, Carter opened the door
and stood with the silenced gun covering the group.
They had been speaking in French, but the room was
silent now as every eye was upon him.
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Savarin was at the head ofthe table, his dome-shaped
head shining under the fluorescents above. Carter
handed the gun to Jean and walked calmly to the man.
He jerked him from his seat and hauled him along the
side of the room and tossed him into the hall. Then he
told Jean to back up slowly until she was in the hall,
never letting the Luger waver.
When she was through the doorway, he tossed his
second tiny bomb onto the table in front of the remaining
men and slammed the door shut, holding it against the
pressure of their attempted escape until he felt no more
resistance.
"What did you do to them?" Jean asked.
Carter said nothing, now Ik)inting his gun at Savarin.
"You killed them?"
"As they would have killed us," he growled. "C'mon,
ean, we've got work to do."
Savarin blubbered on the floor at their feet. He was
incoherent, begging for his life. Carter hauled him to his
feet. "How many guards in here?" he asked.
"Six," Savarin rasped through the spittle running from
his mouth.
"That makes five left," Carter said as if to himself.
"Now you are going to show us every part of this place,
very nook and cranny."
"Shouldn't we get out of here?" Jean whispered.
"You've broken their back and there are still four or five
uards. "
"I'd take you back if it were over," he explained. "But
e've just met the drones, the ones that make it work. I
ound the real Guy Lafontaine a prisoner in another of
heir safe houses. So we have an imposter running loose.
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He could be the brains Or he could be a pawn. We still
don't know."
"I'd still like to get out of here."
"Hang in there, Jean. Something tells me we've just
struck gold here. We've got to check it out."
She pulled herself together. "All right. Let's get it
over with. "
"How are you with weapons?"
"I've had all the courses."
"Good. First we go after the guard's automatic rifle,
then we go fishing," Carter said, leading the way down
the stairs, pushing the terrified man in front of him as a
shield.
Jean picked up the Kalashnikov from the floor of the
hall and wiped it clean. She flipped off the safety,
chambered a round, and followed Carter down the stairs.
"Never mind the other rifle, This one will do."
Carter smiled over his shoulder and led her to the
cellar room where he'd found her. A guard was bending
over his fallen comrade. Savarin called out. The man
turned to tE met by a 9mm bullet from Carter's Luger,
and went down across the bed.
Jean took the two AK-47s they had been armed with
and emptied them. She went through the guards' pockets
and came up with a well-used Makarov pistol. She slung
an AK over her shoulder and held the Makarov at her
side confidently. "Lead on, Commander," she said.
"Let's see what this menagerie has to offer."
"What are we going to find here?" Carter asked
Savarin.
The man was beyond coherent speech. His eyes had
glazed over and his breathing was rapid and shallow.
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Carter pulled out the orange syringe and put Savarin out
for the count.
"Looks like it's just you and me, pal," Jean said.
Carter could see that Jean was scared out of her mind,
which was entirely natural for someone not accustomed
to work in the field. He admired her bravery and would
tell her so after they got out of this.
Carter found an earthen stairway to an underground
cavern. It was narrow and steep, shored up with old
timbers.
"Watch your step," he cautioned her.
While Carter had his attention on the uneven stairs, a
guard appeared at the bottom. A shot filled the small area
with sound. The Makarov barked near his ear and the
guard went down.
"I owe you one," Carter said as he raced for the
bottom.
"Call it even," she said, out of breath.
"No surprises now. We've got two or three other
guards down here and they know they have company,"
he said, crouching behind a crate.
One man came running and Carter got him through the
head with one shot from Wilhelmina. A second shot rang
out and Jean shrieked at his side.
Carter looked around but couldn't see where the shot
came from. He swung heavy crates around them and
pulled the woman near him to examine her wound,
At first he couldn't see it and he'd thought he'd looked
everywhere.
She groaned.
"Where are you hit?" he asked, his tone urgent. They
were still in great danger.
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"None of your damned business," she said, wincing.
He turned her over. The slug had creased her along the
cheek of her rump. It had shocked her but she'd be all
right.
"Brother Schmidt will have included some surgical
dressings in the pack." He took the rucksack from his
shoulders and produced a sterile dressing complete with
antibiotic salve. "Put this on while I look for who shot
you. "
Carter crawled from behind the crates and searched
the lodge from top to bottom without finding anyone.
"Any luck?" Jean asked when he returned, looking a
hundred percent better.
"No. Let's look over this place together. They've got
to be hiding something here," he suggested.
They began with the cavern, exploring in the dim light
of a few naked bulbs, "Look at this," Jean said after
they'd been searching for a few minutes.
"Money," Carter said. "A printing press. There's got
to be billions of phony dollars in this pile. What the hell
"Maybe to flood the market? Topple the currency
standard of the country?" she offered.
"Bizarre but possible. Let's see what the hell they've
got here besides funny money. "
In one corner of the huge cavern Carter found a
mountain of publicity designed to foment separation and
revolution. "Come look at this over here," he called to
Jean. "Soviet propaganda, Mountains of it. They've
already got their propaganda machine at work. "
"This will make Cuba and Nicaragua look like child's
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play," Jean said, scanning some of the literature. "Come
look at this chart on this wall."
"My God!" Carter breathed. "It's a plan to ring the
United States with missile bases just hundreds of miles
from the border. "
you'll never be able to show your little find to
anyone,"
a voice from the top of the stairs said.
"Good-bye, Commander Carlson, and you, too, Com-
mander Sprague. It was a pleasure."
The figure of Lafontaine's double stood at the top of
the stairs. Carter reached for Wilhelmina, but the man
suddenly disappeared and a bundle of dynamite sat at the
top of the stairs, it's fuse aglow.
Carter pulled Jean behind a pile of printed matter as
the blast shook the cavern. They were thrown backward
against a mountain of counterfeit money as the lights
went out.
They were separated.
Dust was everywhere.
The explosion had buried them alive.
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TEN
As the silence enfolded them, all Carter could hear
was Jean coughing from the dust that descended every-
where. It was pitch dark.
"What will we do?" Jean asked as she crawled to the
sound of his voice.
g We sit and think. "
"But we've got to do something. "
"We sit and literally let the dust settle," he said,
holding her with one arm. They were resting against
what had been a pile of phony hundred-dollar bills.
"This place is big. We've got enough air for a while."
"But the referendum is just two days away," Jean
reminded him.
"It's okay. We've got enough evidence here to kill the
referendum. "
"It's not going to do us any good if we suffocate."
"Close your eyes and sit back. Let me think for a
minute," he said.
"Have you got a lighter?"
"Yes. Why?"
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"We can start a fire so we can see. We truly have
money to burn. "
"A fire would use up all the oxygen. Just let me think
for a minute. Sit back and get your night vision. If
there's any light in here, let your brain find it."
Carter shut his eyes and let every fiber of his being
relax. It was as if the woman wasn't there and he wasn't
trapped in an underground tomb. He was back up in the
chopper looking at the monitor that outlined the strata of
the cave for him.
He remembered the stairs leading to the lower level
where they were. The Soviet team had to have drilled
some ventilator shafts into the cavern so they could
work. But where?
His mind went over the images as the chopper had
circled the lodge. Two narrow vents showed on the
screen. They were at the far end, the east end.
"There are two vents at the far end of the cavern," he
said. "Can you see any better now?"
"Yes. It's amazing. When they gave us night vision
training at the academy, I thought it was all bull," She
said. "How do you know about the vents?"
"I'll tell you later. Now, let's move it."
He felt his way cautiously past piles of debris to the
back of the cavern. A faint cool breeze greeted them
when they got to the far wall.
"You were right! We can get out of here!" she said
excitedly, grasping his arm.
"Not so fast. These air vents could be too narrow for
us to get through."
Jean scrambled up the sloping side of the cavern to
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meet the breeze head on. She couldn't get more than her
head in the hole.
"Damn! Damn! Damn!" she said, slipping back to the
cavern floor, tears streaming down her cheeks.
"Look around for a long pole," he said softly. "We
need a long pole and some kind of hooks. "'
"What the hell good will that do? We're trapped in
here!" she cried.
"Just do it, okay? Trust me," Carter said, putting his
hands on her shoulders, trying to calm her.
They went their separate ways. Carter could hear her
rummaging through the piles of material that was piled
up everywhere. He found some metal rods and a role of
copper wire.
"Any luck?" he called to her.
"I've got three hooks, but I can't find a pole."
"Never mind. Meet me back at the vent," he called.
When they met at the vent, she looked a mess. Her
blond hair was filthy and hung limply to her shoulders.
Dirt and tears had streaked her lovely face. Sweat had
plastered her blouse to her back. He knew he had to look
at least as bad. The black fatigues were sticking to him
and the dust was making him sneeze.
"What have you got?" he asked.
"Stevedore hooks. I suppose they used them to shift
the bales of paper. "
"Perfect," he said, producing the long rods and the
wire.
"Do you know how to splice these together to make
one long rod?" he asked.
"Sure. But what's it all for?"
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He pulled the rucksack off his back and showed her
the plastique and timers.
"All right! That should do it. Do you always come so
well equipped?"
"Used to a Boy Scout," he told her. "We've got a
whiz of a weapons man. He insists I'm prepared at all
times. "
"When you get back, give him a big hug for me."
She started the awkward job of splicing the into
one long ple. When she was finished, she ran it up the
vent and was able see the tip in the sunlight at the far
end. "Do you think anyone's around outside?" she
asked.
"I doubt it. They think they've got us out of the way,
and the phony Lafontaine's got plenty to do in the next
two days. "
"Do you think he's the head man?"
"It's hard to say. Probably," he said as he finished
work on the last of three timed plastique bombs.
Carter tied a bomb to each of the wooden handles of
the three hooks. He set the first bomb to go off in fifteen
minutes. With a hook made of double strands of copper,
he attached the first bomb and ran the rod up the vent to
within a few feet of the top. He set the other two for ten
minutes and five, then slid the second up to a point
halfway from the top. The third he hooked into the dirt
close to the bottom.
"That's it. We've got about three minutes. Let's get as
far from the vent as we can. "
They lay together, flat against the far wall behind a
pile of crates.
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"Is this going to work?" Jean asked, shivering in his
arms.
"No problem. We've got about a minute before the
lowest one goes. Keep your mouth open a little so the
pressure doesn't hurt your ears, and relax."
The first explosion rocked the cavern. Earth flew in
every direction. When the dust began to settle, Carter
moved quickly to see the damage. "Stay here," he
ordered.
The plastique had blown a huge hole at the base of the
vent as Carter had planned. If he'd planned the operation
in reverse, starting at the top, gravity might have been
his enemy and plugged them in the cavern permanently.
The next two explosions, five minutes apart, shook
the cavern violently. Carter stayed with Jean until the last
of the swirls of dust settled. They like a couple of
moles when it was all over, but the cavern was much
brighter. A hole ten feet wide enabled them to crawl to
the surface.
"We've got a problem," Carter said when they got to
the top.
"What now?" Jean asked, lying in the grass, breathing
deeply and still blinking from the light.
"I've got to go down again."
"Why? What for?"
"I saw a pile of heavy steel cable down there. I need
it. "
"But . . . " was all she got out before he disappeared
down the jagged hole.
Within minutes Carter appeared, dragging the cable.
"Help me to get this around the haystack over there," he
said.
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Jean just looked at him as if he were crazy.
"We can't leave the hole uncovered," Carter ex-
plained. "I've got an idea. Just help, okay?"
They ran the cable through the huge stack of dried hay
until they had it cradled in the heavy cable.
"Wait for me here," he told her, running for the
woods.
Jean Sprague stood, stunned, her mouth (WI, as the
sleek black chopper swung out of the woods over her
head and settled next to the haystack.
"Will this be able to lift the hay?" she asked.
to my resident genius, it won't, but he's
always leaving too much of a margin for error. "
They hooked up the steel cable and Carter took the
ship up a foot at a time. They had to move the hay about
a hundred feet.
The small chopper strained, but the huge pile moved.
It moved slowly, spilling hay as it was dragged along the
ground. With one last effort, it settled into the hole
leaving only a slight indentation in the pile as if it had
been consumed by a herd of cattle.
Jean applauded Carter's ingenuity.
Carter unhooked the cable and dragged it deep into the
woods. When he returned, he slipped into the pilot's seat
and patted the floor behind him.
Jean hopped in and strapped herself in. "Let's get out
of here," she said.
Near the safe house where Carter had met with
Brown, Saunders, and Tanks earlier, the Killmaster
found a small stream, peeled off his fatigues, and dived
into a pool created by logs that had fallen across a
narrows downstream.
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Carter swam lazily in the small pond, feeling the
grime and sweat float from his body. The cold water was
refreshing and cleared his mind for thinking about what
he would have to do next.
He heard his name being called from the water's edge
and saw Jean. "May I join you?" she asked.
"Be my guest," he responded, swimming a few
strokes toward her.
As unselfconsciously as if they were longtime lovers,
she took off her clothes and dived into the water, cutting
the water with smooth, even, effortless strokes. After a
few minutes she turned and swam toward him. Her arm
reached out and her hand brushed his shoulder.
Carter held her hand there, forcing her to stand in the
chest-deep water. Their nude bodies were inches from
each other. Jean stared at the scars on his torso and he
watched her pale blue eyes roam over his body. Then she
looked up at his face. Suddenly the air was electric with
sexual tension. She walked a few steps toward shore,
and the water level was soon below her breasts. Water
dripped from their tips, her nipples puckered with the
cold. She held her arms out to Carter, not saying a word.
He walked to her and she pressed herself to him with
a gasp. Carter put his hand on the back of her head and
brought his mouth to hers. Jean's tongue was alive, and
her fingers pressed into his back. When they broke,
Carter ran his lips across her forehead and down her
cheeks, licking the rivulets of water that dripped from
her blond hair.
Then he picked her up and carried her to the grassy
bank surrounding the pond. He placed her gently on the
ground, then lowered his body to hers. She embraced
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him fiercely, the terror of her abduction and escape
having transmuted itself into a frantic desire.
"Oh, Nick, I was so scared," she whispered into his
hair.
"I know, Jean, I know," he breathed as his mouth
sought hers once more.
She pressed her hips against him, then spread her legs
so that he could get even closer to her. She savored every
second as he eased himself into her. Then she began
moving slowly, sensuously, as if she wanted this to last
for hours.
The feel of her body under him, surrounding him, was
almost more than Carter could take and still maintain
control. Her breasts had their own rhythm, sometimes
touching his chest, sometimes not. Her legs were now
wrapped around his waist, pulling him into her with a
commanding urgency.
Finally, he moved his hands under her, taking her
thrashing hips in his hands and holding her steady for his
final assault. He drove deeper into her until a shrill,
half-muted scream tore from her lips as her body moved
in one long, continuing shudder. Then the fury of his
thrusts brought him to his ultimate destination, and Jean
pressed her legs and hands against the small of his back
as if she could never get enough,
They lay on the grass for a while, Jean resting her
head on Carter's shoulder. Carter dozed off for a few
minutes, and when he woke, he decided they should get
back to the cabin. They left their filthy clothes at the
pond and walked back to the house nude. They found
jeans and flannel shirts in a closet and got dressed.
Carter walked into the main room and sat down at the
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rustic dining table. He tuned the radio to the AXE
channel. "You didn't hear this, okay?" he warned Jean,
looking her straight in the eye.
She nodded.
"This is N3. Give me Hawk, Priority One."
The computer-controlled communications system
worked instantaneously.
"How's it going, Nick? I've been trying to reach
you. "
"I've been tied up," he said, explaining everything
that had happened to them.
"Keep out of sight. I'll have the C-31 flown to
Plattsburg to await your orders. "
"Good. I might still need the chopper. I'm going to get
my friends together again for a briefing. "
"Are you at their safe house?"
"Yes." He gave Hawk a frequency to call.
"If you need anything, call. Day or night."
The statement was superfluous, Carter knew. But he
knew it was hell to be sitting at the other end of an
operation.
"It might be a gocxl idea to get Carreau and Niles in
the picture soon, Time's running out."
"Will do. I've got a few items to handle first." He
signed off and called the number Brown had given him.
"Where the hell have you been?" Brown asked.
"A long story," Carter said brusquely. "I want you to
get Saunders and Tanks up here again. And keep it a
secret. Jean and I are dead as far as anyone knows."
It took them about three hours to appear on the scene.
They hadn't all been available, and they'd stopped to
buy a few supplies and a large bottle of Chivas.
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They shook hands all around, huge smiles of relief on
their faces when they saw Jean.
"We thought you were dead for sure," Saunders said.
Carter filled them in on what had happened at the
lodge. He told them about Savarin and the phony
Lafontaine. "We were lucky to get out," he said at last.
"They're warned now and they'll be doubly danger-
ous," Tanks grumbled.
"I'm not so sure. I've got the real Lafontaine hidden
away. And the phony thinks we're dead."
"Is Carreau still away?" Jean asked.
couldn't cancel the western swing," Saunders
said. "He's leaving it up to us."
"I've got this feeling that something's very wrong,"
Carter said. "l believe Lafontaine's merely a figurehead.
Savarin was a puppet working for him. Someone bigger
is behind this," he went on as if thinking out loud.
"What about Boisvert? If the PM is killed, he's the next
in line, right?"
Saunders, Tanks, and Brown looked at each other,
then turned to Carter.
"Something I should know about?" Carter asked.
"Boisvert's in the hospital. He took a slug in the
shoulder and one in the ankle," Brown told him.
"How? When?" Carter demanded. "Don't leave any-
thing out. "
"Boisvert was working early at Carreau's desk, and—"
Brown began.
"Is that normal?" Carter interrupted.
"No. He's never in until eight or nine. But he was
signing correspondence the PM would normally sign."
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"But why in Carreau's office?" Carter persisted. "And
why earlier than usual?"
"Because the letters were on the PM's desk. And
Boisvert had his own work to do as well. He also had to
act for the PM during the House session."
"Okay," Carter conceded. "How was it done?"
"Two men in ski masks armed with silenced Uzi
automatics. They killed the three SSS men in the hall,
then they burst in and unloaded at least two clips each at
Boisvert, "
"So why isn't he dead?" Carter asked, suspicious.
"The shoulder shot knocked him down and the desk
shielded him. One ankle stuck out. He took one slug
there," Brown explained.
"Any chance this could have been a setup to make
Boisvert look good?" Carter asked.
"Not a chance," Saunders said, shaking his head.
"You should have seen the room, particularly the re-
mains of the desk. "
"All right. I'll take your word for it," Carter said.
"But I want you to give this some thought. Terrorists are
not the brightest people in the world. Their leaders might
be, but the man with the gun is usually a brick or two
short. "
"What are you getting at?" 'Tanks asked.
. "Carreau is at his desk early every day. The hit men
plan on a specific day. They're comic-book types—these
guys don't read the or listen to the news. The fact
that Carreau was out of town could have escaped them. "
"So?" Tanks asked.
"So the hit was set to go and it went. The fact that it
was Boisvert was pure accident. He could still have been
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one of the bad guys and they screwed up," Carter said.
"I've seen it before."
"This is wheel-spinning," Saunders objected. "I've
known Boisvert since his first election. He's about as
clean as they come."
"So squeaky-clean that he sleeps with Carreau's wife
to pump her for everything he can get," Jean said.
"Who told you that?" Saunders demanded.
"Everyone knows except Carreau. I'm surprised we
haven't heard it on the evening news," Jean said dryly.
"l had no idea it was so public. I'll talk to him,"
Saunders said.
"Did you bring what you had on the Hungarian
exodus?" Carter asked.
Saunders a manila envelope and spread a few
pieces of on the table. They all pulled their chairs
closer to get a tEtter look.
Carter picked up a copy of an old snapshot. It was a
photo of the family Howard Schmidt had told him about.
He looked at it for a long time. "Something about this
rings a bell," he said, passing it first to Brown, "Does it
mean anything to you?"-
"Kid of atxyut ten or eleven and two adults," Brown
said slowly, describing the photo as he stared at it.
all look unhappy. The kid's holding a battered old
suitcase and a stuffed animal. The guy's in overalls; his
work boots are old-fashioned and worn. The woman's
old before her time, her hair in a braid around her head.
Typical immigrants. "
"Not so typical," Carter contradicted him. "They
were trained by the KGB. The couple was subsequently
killed by the Soviets because they knew too much. The
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kid was passed off to another couple, Communist party
members, who added to his education. Their deaths were
faked and the kid was formally adopted. "
"How do you know so much?" Saunders asked,
amazed,
"Our people had a defector who dropped this on them
years ago. It was covered with the RCMP at the time and
nothing came of it."
"So we can trace the adoption back," Saunders said
hopefully. "We've got records—"
"Burned in 1960," Carter cut in. "You've got noth-
ing. "
"So this kid grew up in this country and could be a
m)wer right now?" Brown asked.
"You can tEt on it. His adoptive parents were proba-
bly two of the best. They would have brought him along
expertly. No question that the party supplied all the
money they needed. If we didn't know Carreau's back-
ground, the kid could be him," Carter concluded.
"Lafontaine's too old," Jean added.
"Not with makeup," Carter reminded her.
"So what have we got?" Saunders asked.
"The Hungarian Revolution was in 1956. The kid was
ten or eleven. That would make him somewhere in his
mid-forties today," Carter said. "I suggest we concen-
trate on every man with power in this country, particu-
larly in Ottawa and Québec, who could be or could look
like a man of forty-three to forty-six.
"There's something about this picture, " Carter mused ,
again studying the faded photo. answer is in this
picture. Can you make a copy for me, Fred?"
"You can keep that one. Everything here is a copy. "
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"What are you going to do?" Brown asked. "You're
supposed to be dead,
"I don't know yet," Carter said. "But have someone
send me a makeup kit just in case. i might want to
wander around Ottawa. I'd like to get inside the house on
Sussex Drive. I'd like to get inside Boisvert's house
again. Who knows?"
"Anything else?" Brown asked, his tone showing the
respect he was gaining for his new ally.
"A couple of tranquilizer guns, pistols, and several
darts. Better get me a camera with special fast film and
an ultraviolet light.
"How the hell could you let it happen?"
"He had some kind of special helicopter. "
"Where is he now?"
"Buried inside the cavern."
"How much air does he have?"
"Indefinite. We had two vents cut into the cavern."
"Can he possibly get out?"
"No way. I personally exploded the only way out. The
whole stairwell caved in."
"Did anyone go back and check on them?"
"Yes. They're still in there."
"All right," the voice of authority said. "We don't
need the material in the cavern until after the referen-
dum, Keep a guard on the place. What about the ones we
los t ?
"Expendable, " the phony Lafontaine said.
"Good. Then we have no real change of plan."
"Good luck, sir. " Lafontaine said.
"Fool! Luck doesn't have one damned thing to do with
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it. Planfor the future, comrade. I will not always be with
you. Planfor the future and the glory of the state."
"Yes, comrade. Is there anything else?"
"No. I don't want to hear from you until we have
brought the Anglos and the rabble to their knees."
The line went dead. The man who was posing as
Lafontaine sat for a moment wrapped in thought. I will
not always be with you, the leader had said. A cold chill
ran up his spine. It would be impossible to imagine life
without his direction. It had been so long.
The private line on Thomas Niles's desk rang twice
tEfore he picked it up. "Yes?"
"I'm not at all pleased with the progress. The whole
thing blows in two days."
"I know, Mr. President. Commander Carlson has
dropped out of sight. We're not getting reports from
him. "
A silence followed. "All right. I have other ways of
finding out. "
A moment later, the phone rang at Hawk's bedside.
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Jean Sprague was a beautiful woman. Carter watched
her as she stood by the window of the cabin looking out.
Her long blond hair was wet. She had stood under the
ice-cold shower until the tank was empty. Her skin was
covered with goose bumps. She stood, hipshot, shiver-
ing, gripping her elbows to her sides. Suddenly she
headed for the bed, then pulled the down quilt over
them. "Hold me tight," she said, looking up at him, a
question in her expressive blue eyes.
"What happens now?"
"I warm you up and we—P
"I don't mean that," she said, digging a cold elbow
into Carter's ribs. "I mean with the Soviet thing
with Lafontaine. We can't sit tight here and do nothing. "
"I'm not sitting here much longer. When Brown gets
back
. . . " Suddenly he stopped as something clicked
in his brain. He knew it was bound to happen. Some-
thing had been nagging at him since he'd seen the
photograph. He sat up and turned on the light.
"What is it?" she asked.
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"Look at the picture," he said, excited. "See the teddy
"It's old-fashioned, right?"
"Sure. But the picture was
"I've seen that teddy bear recently. In Ottawa."
"What? Where?"
Carter's face was one huge grin now. "Our mole made
one major error. They all do. He just couldn't let go of
the past. "
"What in God's name are you talking about?"
"The stuffed animal. Older and a little the worse for
wear," Carter said, obviously pleased with himself.
"Will you please tell me exactly what you're talking
about or I'll scream? I swear!"
"When I was at Boisvert's house, he had this very
stuffed animal on his bed. He's probably been hanging
on to it as his last link with the past."
Are you sure?"
"Sure? Damned right I'm sure. He sleeps with Marie
Carreau and we both know he could do better if he
wanted a little extracurricular activity. He's deputy PM.
Jesus! They all take orders from him. Trouble was, he
was Mr. Clean. Everyone looked right past him for the
villain."
"So what will you do? Tell Carreau?"
"The PM's already defended him. He's the fair-haired
boy. "
"Not after sleeping with Marie."
As they talked, a car pulled up in the patch of crushed
stone near the front of the cabin. They both grabbed for
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their clothes and met Brown at the front door. Carter sat
his friend down and told him the new development.
"So what's next? We've got to stop the bastard,"
Brown said.
"Have you had people on him?" Carter asked.
"He's at home, asleep, right now. "
"All right. I'm taking the chopper to his place. Did
you bring what I asked for?"
"It's in my car."
"Get it. I'm going to get a picture of him in his bed
with the stuffed animal, then you can do what you want
with him. "
Carter changed into his soiled black fatigues, which
he'd retrieved along with his shoes before they'd gone to
bed, and blackened his face.
"What should I do?" Jean asked.
"You've got to keep out of sight until we've got him
and his cronies. A day or two."
He kissed her and headed for the door, when a red
light on the radio began flashing.
"Yes?" Carter answered.
"I'm glad I got you. Everyone's pressing for answers.
Are you going to make it?" Hawk asked.
Carter filled him in, including his latest intention.
"Give it a couple of hours and we've got him with at
least twenty-four hours to spare. "
"I hope so. The president is really hot about this one. "
"Tell him it's in the bag. Even if we don't get Boisvert
before the referendum, we've got the evidence in the
cavern. That should do it."
Carter signed off and met Brown at the car. He stuck
the loaded tranquilizer guns in his belt, examined the
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ultraviolet-light camera, and headed into the woods to
the chopper.
The ride to Boisvert's house took less than fifteen
minutes. The area was remote enough that in silent
mode, he was able to put the chopper down in a meadow
nearby and sneak to the house without detection.
This time he didn't wait and listen for the dogs. He
knew what to expect. The first one came at him in a rush,
his mouth looking more like that of a jungle cat than a
dog.
The dart took effect almost immediately but not before
the animal had torn off half his sleeve. It was the same
with the second dog. It came at him in one long leap,
taking the dart in the mouth but still coming on. Carter
caught him by one paw and smashed him against the wall
until he was still.
The Killmaster reloaded the two pistols right away. He
couldn't assume that Boisvert hadn't detected his first
sortie into the grounds and set up a few more surprises.
He was right. A third dog, a Doberman, came at him
without warning. It took him by the arm and one
of the guns free. Carter managed to hold on to the other
gun and fire it at an extreme angle.
He nissed. The dog had transferred his attention to
Carter's throat, but it was to other forms of attack.
As he would have with a man, he kicked the dog in its
testicles. While the dog howled and ran in circles, Caner
retrieved the pistol and put a dart in the dog's hide.
So muchfor stealth, Carter thought. There Was no way
the guards were going to unaware of his presence after
all the racket with the dogs.
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With a dart pistol in one hand and a silenced Wilhel-
mina in the other, Carter moved out of the bushes near
the wall as he approached the house.
A guard's silhouette was near the building, partly
distorted by a heavy growth of ivy on the stone walls.
Carter froze, a dark wraith under a cloudless sky. A gun
hand appeared, then a man. Knowing any of Boisvert's
men would be KGB and some of the best, Carter didn't
hesitate. He took him out with a shot to the head, then
finished him off with a 9mm slug in the heart.
It was quiet all around the house. He knew that one
other guard would be on the lookout for him, so he froze
against a wall and waited.
He waited fifteen minutes. If the man was good, he
was doing the same thing. Another ten minutes passed
and still Carter waited.
His patience paid off. A large black shape loomed out
of the darkness. Carter couldn't see his face. He used the
dart gun and the man crashed to the ground like a
wounded hippo.
Carter went through his pockets. The guard had no
identification, but the Killmaster didn't really expect to
find any.
No lights had gone on in the house, but Carter knew
that didn't mean anything. Carter crept in as cautiously
as if he suspected someone to be waiting. For all he
knew, there could be more guards poised to attack.
Carter checked the camera. He had tested it and was
familiar with it. He knew he could get a picture in the
dark that WOUId have as much detail as a daylight shot.
He snaked up the steps to the master bedroom.
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Boisvert was in the bed, but the stuffed animal was
nowhere in sight.
Carter put down the camera and searched for the toy.
He found it under a robe on a nearby chair and B)sitioned
it in a place of honor beside its master's tranquil face.
The shot was not difficult. Carter turned on the black
light, then adjusted the camera's focus and aperture
setting. He three shots, close up, at three different
settings before he was satisfied.
The rest was no problem. He descended the stairs
slowly, keeping his eyes open for other guards.
He had just reached the and was turning the
handle, when two muzzle flashes partly lit the hall. He
felt a sharp pain in his head and went down. As he hit the
floor he thought of the time. One day to go and he'd
blown it, It was his last thought as he felt himself falling
into a black void.
Brown stood over him in the cabin. He looked
worried. Another black face stood close to him, his
attitude more professional.
"How do you feel?" Brown asked.
"How the hell do you think I feel? My head's going to
crack open, and I blew the assignment," Carter mut-
tered, bringing a hand to his head.
A hand held a cold compress against his head and he
noticed Jean for the first time.
"What day is it?" he asked.
"Still one day before the vote. We should go on the air
tonight," Brown said.
The other man put a to Carter's chest.
"You were lucky, Commander," the man said. "A crease
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on your left temple and a bullet hole through your left
flank. Not bad at all, really."
"We've got to talk alone," Carter told Brown.
Brown nodded to the doctor. Jean stayed.
"Did you take over the lodge and the cavern?" Carter
asked.
"The QPP have it roped off. We're bringing the
evidence out now. "
"So Tim Loomis knows?"
"He's taken over, as you might expect. He's taking all
the credit. "
"Hess welcome to it. What about the camera?"
"Gone. "
"That tears it. Is the teddy bear gone too?"
"You guessed it."
"His wife might testify," Carter suggested.
"She and the kids are gone. It's a dead end."
"No way," Carter said, working his brain until the
jackhammer inside threatened to burst out. "What about
Lafontaine—the phony one, that is."
"I forgot about him. We've got him. "
"Good. So the referendum should be voted down, but
the mole is on the loose to do what he will," Carter said.
"Where is Lafontaine number two?"
"Ottawa. The OPP jail."
"Have him flown here by chopper right now. And ask
your doctor friend to stick around."
"Mike Grange? Sure. "
"Thanks. So get moving, okay?"
Carter was restless until "Lafontaine" was brought to
him. Against Grange's orders and Jean's urging for him
to rest, he got out of bed and tested his legs. After some
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mild yoga exercises, the headache disappeared. "I'm
famished," he announced.
Carter, Grange, and Jean were finishing up a huge
plate of ham and eggs when the man calling himself
Lafontaine was pushed into the room by Brown. He
looked older than when Carter had first seen him. All the
bravado had leaked out of him. He seemed a shell of the
man Carter had met at the Sussex Drive reception.
Carter pulled out his small leather case. "The red one
is Pentothol, Doctor. Don't get it mixed up with the
green vial or we'll lose our patient," he said for the
prisoner's benefit.
"I'm not sure I want to be involved in this," Grange
said.
Caner to Brown.
"Mike, this man is either a Soviet spy trained in the
Soviet Union or someone they recruited here and trained
here. He was going to make the referendum in Québec
work, then he was going to do the same out west,"
Brown explained patiently. "This man might know
something about the most dangerous mole this country
has ever known. Do you need to know more?"
"Who's the mole?"
"The deputy PM."
"Robert Boisvert? Are you sure?"
"We're sure."
Grange thought about it for a few minutes. His face
was grim. "I'll do it," he finally said. "Hold his arm."
Doctor Grange squirted a drop of fluid from the
syringe, then injected a few drops into "Lafontaine."
The tall man squirined as the needle went under his
skin. He lcx)ked like an old actor, his makeup smudged,
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hair askew, as if he'd been through the performance of
his life. After the shot, he was motionless for a long
time. Grange gave him a few more cubic centimeters.
"You work for Boisvert?" Carter asked.
The man didn't answer right away. It was as if he were
undergoing some inner battle. he finally said.
"Boisvert works for the Komitet Gosudarstvennoy
Bezopasnosti?"
Carter had been speaking Russian. He tried the ques-
tion again in French.
"Yes."
"Where is he now?"
g At home."
"He is not at home," Carter said. "He shot me at his
home and took off with his family."
The man seemed genuinely disturbed. Grange gave
him a few more cubic centimeters of the drug.
"Where would he go?" Carter asked.
The man didn't answer, but he was restless and fitful
as if holding something back.
"Did he have an escape route?" Carter asked, leaning
closer to her ear. "Was one of your subs waiting in the
St. Lawrence?"
The man struggled with the question for a long time.
All his training went against giving out anything incrim-
inating. He looked as if he were going through the
tortures of hell. Sweat drenched him. "James Bay," he
finally said, his garbled.
"Say that again. What bay?" Carter had heard well
enough, but he wanted it on the tape that Brown had
running close to the man's head.
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a new base
Eskimos all killed
"James Bay. Power, He has a base .
of operations. "
small Inuit town
off. Town called Nemiscau."
"What's he talking about?" Brown asked.
Carter waved him to silence. "Is it the power supply
Québec is selling to America?" he a4ced.
going to wire all the dams .
"Nemiscau
Boisvert been here long
best man we ever
had
fooled them all. "
"But what about Nemiscau?" Carter prodded.
if they
find out who he
"Last assignment
was. Go out .
a blaze of glory. Blow all the bloody
dams. "
"He's going to blow all the dams?" Carter asked.
"There now
probably started to wire them
already. "
"Jesus!" Brown said. biggest hydroelectric
project in the world! Québec's got enough surplus to
supply half of the United States.
"And this was going to be his last hurrah," Carter said
in disgust,
"It wasn't enough to-split the country and
open it up for Communism, the bastard was going to
destroy one of the best natural resources on the conti-
nent."
"It's like him," Saunders said. "What a hell of an
exit. "
Brown reached for the radio.
"Who are you calling?" Carter asked.
"The armed forces. They'll blast the damned base out
of existence. "
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"Let's think this through," Carter said. "If he's got all
the dams wired, or even some of them, maybe he can fire
them by remote control. "
"So a massive raid would do no good," Jean offered.
"There's something else we've got to think about."
"What's that?" Brown asked.
"I'd bet half I own that he's got one of their nuclear
subs cruising James Bay right now waiting to pick him
up. "
Carter reached for the radio and coded in his identifi-
cation to the AXE computer.
"Get me both Hawk and Schmidt on this line right
away," he said, then put his hand over the mouthpiece.
"You never heard this conversation," he said to the trio
with him. They nodded in unison.
"I've got Howard with me. What's going on up there,
N3?" Hawk asked impatiently.
"Bear with me, sir. We've got the referendum thing
sewn up. You can relay that to the president."
"That was your job. What's so urgent now?"
"The mole—the one you told me about, Howard—
turned out to be Robert Boisvert. "
"The deputy prime minister? Well, I'll be damned,"
Hawk said. It wasn't often that he was taken completely
y surprise.
"He's skipped, but we have information that he's got
ne big bang left in him before he leaves us."
"Where is he?" Hawk asked.
"A place called Nemiscau. It's centrally located some-
where in the middle of all the dams the Québecois have
•uilt up there," Carter said. '"We don't want any big
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NICK CARTER
heroics. No big noises. I've got to go in with Howard's
Bell 680 as silently as I can."
"Or the bastard will blow all the dams," Hawk
finished for him. "What can we do?"
"Two things. Pull all the strings you can and get me
satellite shots of the area around Nemiscau. I've got to
pinpoint the exact location of his camp. I'll need a
refueling tanker on my tail all the way."
"Anything else?" Schmidt asked.
"We think Boisvert may have a rescue sub in James
Bay. What you can do is get our Joint Chiefs to
coordinate with the Canadian Armed Forces for some
choppers, something like P-3C Orion sub chasers to
comb the area for a possible escape submarine. Saturate
the waters around Charlton Island with sonobuoys. I'd
like to see a buoy dropped every hundred yards to be sure
we pick up any sonar pings. You'd better tell them to
cover the mouth of the Rupert River and blanket it the
same way. Tell them to stay clear of the Nemiscau area
and not to attack until I'm finished with Boisvert. I don't
want Boisvert tipped off. "
The silence on the other end lasted only seconds. "I'll
have to check this one out. I don't think the president
will want to sink a Soviet sub," Hawk said as if to
himself.
"Explain the situation to him, sir. Try to get him to see
it your way."
"Well, however it goes, good luck, Nick," Hawk
said. Caner could hear in his voice that his superior
feared for the life of his best agent.
"You're going in alone again?" Jean asked when he
cut the connection.
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"It's the only way."
149
"You're crazy, you know that? You're always trying
to the damned hero. Why can't you take a force with
you?" she asked, her feelings for Carter obvious.
Brown and Grange tried to look busy and turned away.
Grange packed his bag and Brown took him out to the
car.
Carter went to her and held her close. "It has to be this
way. Anything else could spell disaster." They held each
other in silence for a few moments.
"Will I ever see you again?" Jean whis1Ered.
"I've got to go now, Jean. But I'll probably get a few
days to myself after this job. Can you take a few days off
the n ?
"Sure. "
u I'll call you. One way or the other, I'll call you."
He kissed her on the forehead, looked into those
ice-blue eyes once again, and released her. As he headed
for the door his mind was already on the next phase of
this crucial assignment. The Soviets in Canada.
damned close and too dangerous. Boisvert was probably
one of the best-kept secrets in the Soviet arsenal and
Carter had to get him.
He had to.
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TWELVE
Over Waswanipi, a small town according to the grid
maps that flipped up on his monitor on command, Carter
noted that he was getting low on gas. He called in the
tanker.
"Bell 680 calling Wetnurse. You read?"
"Loud and clear. We've got you on radar two hundred
miles ahead. "
Carter adjusted his radar for a wider scan. He picked
up the big ship at the edge of his range. "I'm ready when
you are."
The big tanker crept forward on his radar and within a
half hour had up the chopper's tanks.
"When do you need a refill?" a voice from the native
of a southern state asked.
"On the way back. Tomorrow or the next day."
"We'll be relieved before that. We have orders to keep
a tanker in the air over this area until further notice, " the
mellow voice said. "You sure got some clout, man."
"I'll call you from the mouth of the Rupert when I'm
leaving. "
"Good hunting. Over and out. "
151
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When they had gone, he felt alone. The smell of
aircraft fuel dissipated in seconds. He settled back for a
long last leg.
While the tulips were blooming in Ottawa, a sight that
had given him much pleasure, he had long since crossed
the snow line. He hadn't planned on this. It would make
the satellite scan almost impossible. If and when he
found Boisvert's base at Nemiscau, he wasn't dressed
for what was to come. He knew he'd have to confront
Boisvert face-to-face.
On the Eastmain River, fifty miles north of Nemiscau,
Robert Boisvert was leading a dozen long-range snow-
mobiles on a roundabout route to the living quarters of
the men who served the huge dam. Moscow had worked
its wonders as usual. Department Five, the Executive
Action Department, apart from being responsible for
political murders around the world, was divided into
nine internal departments, each handling a specific part
of the globe. Department One handled Canada and the
United States. His control was the general in charge of
Department One. Boisvert knew that the Technical
Operations Directorate, an unnumbered and highly se-
cret arm of the KGB's far-flung operations, had played a
large role in what they called Operation Blackout.
Boisvert held up his right hand and the column
followed him behind a snow-covered knoll a few hun-
dred yards from the Quonset hut. Smoke poured from its
single chimney. It was probably occupied.
Leading the party, Boisvert unslung his AK-47, the
Soviet-made Kalashnikov, a submachine gun that was
probably one of the best known in the world. Its
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banana-shaped orange plastic clip held thirty rounds of
7.62mm steel-jacketed slugs. He held it at the ready as
he approached the thick wooden doors.
The men with him •were all in fur-lined coats with
matching parkas. It was at least ten degrees below
freezing, though spring was on the way. The men were
Spetsnaz, the deadliest killers in the world. Boisvert was
not in their class, but he had received a few weeks of
training at their camps while supposedly on vacations in
other parts of the world. He could hold his own in
hand-to-hand combat with most men.
The Quonset hut was quiet. Boisvert pressed his ear to
the door. He heard a Mozart symphony playing faintly.
He quickly flung the door and jumped to one side
as three of his men followed, taking cover behind tables.
The three men inside leaped up, surprised. They were
hosed down by 7.62 bullets and flung against the walls
of the hut, their blood leaving odd patterns on the
corrugated metal walls.
Boisvert and his men figured that the rest of the men
were at the dam. Moscow had reported a crew of eight.
Boisvert destroyed the radio in the shack, then led his
men to the powerhouse, making sure they could not be
seen from the windows. With the same deadly precision,
they entered the cement building and killed the three men
sitting at the huge console of dials. This time they used
knives to silence the workers. They had-been told not to
fire their weapons within the powerhouse. An errant slug
could damage a meter dial and warn of trouble. Again,
the radio was destroyed.
The remaining two men had to be deep in the bowels
of the dam. Boisvert had led his men to two other dam
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sites and the situation was the same. The workers were
like sitting ducks. They were not armed. No one ex-
pected an attack on remote power dams.
The steep steps to the lower reaches of the dam took
the leader five minutes to negotiate, even in his superb
physical condition. At the lower level, he found the last
two workers. He signaled to the men following him. As
if their job were as simple as mailing a letter, they
dispatched the two unarmed men. They ignored the dead
men, pulling off their packs, each knowing the task he
had to perform.
Within fifteen minutes all the plastique explosive was
set at strategic locations. Outside, two snowmobiles
towed huge sleds of TNT to the base of the damn at the
level of the ice. They were covered with snow and left in
place. The whole dam would be fired when ihey were
ready. Boisvert's crew had four dams to work on. Each
dam was similar. Each job had been planned down to the
last detail. Time was essential. This one was finished. It
was getting dark. Tomorrow was another day.
At 24 Sussex Drive, all the lights were on. Men
scurried in and out like ants. Television crews were at the
gates but were not permitted in.
Filbert Hume, the head of the SSS, had taken over.
Despite his reputation, this was his prerogative. Hume
was a small man in stature but not in personal esteem, at
least not in his own opinion. He acted like a dictator,
trying to bar Tanks from the house, but was pushed aside
by the massive physique of the chief.
"I want to see her," Tanks demanded.
"This is my jurisdiction. I will not permit—" Hume
started.
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%isten, you little prick. I've never seen you do one
damned thing to give you the right to command," the big
man fumed, his face beet red. "You're a damned civilian
and you keep the hell out of my way." He waved the
coroner and his forensics team in behind him and started
up the winding stairway at one side of the foyer.
Mar'ie Carreau was lying on her back, a sheet covering
her from head to toe. The coroner took the sheet from the
top of her head and peeled it back to her knees. He
examined her quickly for external wounds, then concen-
trated on her eyes. Her hands had been placed across the
slight bulge of her stomach and her eyes were closed.
The eyes told the story. The medical man carefully
rolled her head to one side and waved Tanks over. "One
shot through the head just above the spine. An execu-
tion. Small-caliber gun. Probably a twenty-two and
probably silenced. "
"Boisvert." Tanks turned to one of his men. "Get the
butler: "
When the quaking man appeared, his face pasty as he
viewed the body, the coroner quickly replaced the sheet.
g Who was here?" Tanks demanded.
"Just Mr. Boisvert."
"He came often?"
"But she told me it was all right."
"Answer the damned question. Did he come here
Often
g Yes."
"While Mr. Carreau was away?"
"Yes."
"Get the hell out of here. "
Brown had managed to gain entrance and was at
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NICK CARTER
"Take it easy, Walt. We all knew it was
going on. We can't play the role of saint now."
"I know. But the bastard! The rotten bastard! He
didn't have to do this. "
Frank Brown was a compassionate man, but he'd seen
this before. "It's never easy , Walt. The guy was a pro.
One of the best. Killing her would be like swatting a
fly. "
"But he had a wife and kids, got married right here in
Ottawa. Wife's the daughter df a former senator. I was at
the christening of one of the kids."
Frank Brown stood stock-still for a moment like a
block of stone.
"What is it?" Tanks said, noting the odd expression on
Brown's face.
"You've gone over the Boisvert house?" Brown
asked.
"I took Loomis on a quick tour. Then I got this call,"
the big man said.
"Let's make another tour. "
Tanks left the coroner and his men in charge, made
sure that Hume restricted his activities to guarding the
grounds, and took off for the Boisvert estate.
It was not at all as Caner had seen it on his two
nocturnal visits. The gates stood open. The kennels were
deserted, as was the rest of the house.
"You take the upper floor and I'll look around down
here," Tanks suggested.
In ten minutes they met at the bottom of the stairs,
puzzled that they had found nothing.
"Have you called Mrs. Boisvert's family?" Brown
asked.
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"From the study," Tanks said. He held out his hands,
shrugged, and shook his head.
"And they haven't heard from them," Brown con-
cluded. "I don't like this, Walt,"
"A guy couldn't just
you know."
"I think this one could. Let's check the basement."
It was a two-story house. From the gates it didn't look
imposing, but it contained more than ten thousand square
feet of living space on each floor, a gray stone Tudor
valued at about three million. The furnishings were ex-
pensive, all bought -from exclusive stores around the
world, the walls hung with valuable paintings and
tapestries.
The basement stairs were constructed below the back
staircase to the second floor. The walls were cement,
mostly unfinished. Boisvert had one of the best wine
cellars Brown had ever seen. He also had a room-size
walk-in freezer of the type used by commercial butchers.
They found them in there. Gretchen Boisvert was laid
out on a shelf much as Marie Carreau had been. She was
clothed. A similar small-caliber bullet hole was barely
visible through her long blond hair.
The children of Robert Boisvert were on the floor at
the back of the freezer. Their heads had been bashed in
by a blunt instrument. They were in pajamas, as if
bludgeoned in their beds.
Tanks stumbled from the room. He sat on an upturned
bucket, his massive flanks protruding on either side. He
held his head in his hands trying not to bring up his last
meal.
"How could a man do that to his own kids?" he
croaked.
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'"He wasn't a man," Brown answered. He was furi-
ous. If Boisvert had been close by he'd have been a dead
man, strangled by the CIA's assistant chief of station.
"He was a monster. A monster!" His voice reverberated
from wall to wall in the cool basement until the minor
echoes died and they were alöne with their own
thoughts.
Finally, after a long hesitation, Brown moved to the
stairs. "I'm going to tell Carter. He's got to know what
he's up against."
In the cockpit of the Bell 680, Carter had begun to feel
the cold. This crate had not been built for subarctic flight
and neither had he. His teeth almost chattered as he
answered his call sign.
"Bell 680."
"Where are you?" Brown asked. He was still shaken
and he was still angry.
"I'm about halfway across Lake Evans. Won't belong
now," Carter reported. "You weren't supposed to call
me. I was going to report in. What's up?"
"The man's a psycho, Nick. You've got to be very
careful. "
"I didn't expect this to be a picnic. What's on your
killed Marie Carreau before he took off."
"Not But I don't suppose she could have
told you much. "
"You sound like one cynical bastard," Brown said.
"Is that all you can say?"
"I'm sorry. But it's not unexpected in my game. He
couldn't risk keeping her alive. He might have let
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something slip and she could identify him," Carter said,
trying to be as sympathetic as he could.
"Okay. Try this on for size. The bastard shot his wife
and laid her out in their basement freezer, and the kids
were bludgeoned to death while they slept and also put
down there."
Carter was silent for a few moments before he
responded. ØYou're right," he said quietly. "A psycho. "
Neither man said anything for several seconds, then
Carter asked, "You hear anything about my satellite
"They don't hold out much You might be able
to pick up some smoke, trace it back to the shack. "
"He's not that stupid."
"Yeah. Insane but sharp."
"Someone had better tell my president. I'd prefer it to
be my boss," Carter said. "I can't call him, but I can
give you the general code for our computer. "
"What do you want me to tell him?"
"Just the facts. Tell him I thought he should know."
"Will do," Brown said into the mike. He sounded
sincere and a little frightened. "Be careful, Nick. The
guy's a maniac and who the hell knows what kind of
organization he might have up there. One guy doesn't
blow up a bunch of dams with a few sticks of dynamite. "
David Hawk sat back in his chair, his feet on the
corner of his badly scarred old desk. The desk had seen
many pairs of shCX2S over the years and as many new
pairs of heels. Ginger Bateman had just left for the day
but not without leaving a fresh pot of coffee and the usual
remonstrations about too many cigars and far too many
cups of coffee.
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He hadn't eaten all day. His favorite maitre d' had not
seen him at lunch. He had growled at everyone who
dared to cross his threshold. The haze of cigar smoke
that circled near the ceiling had rarely been so thick or so
foul.
This Canadian thing was going haywire. He'd told the
president they'd beaten the referendum threat and the
chief executive had been given all the cooperation he
needed for the James Bay encounter.
It was Marie Carreau•s murder that got to him. It was
going to affect the president profoundly. He and the First
Lady had been fond of the Canadian prime minister's
wife. Hawk knew it was his duty to tell the whole story.
That and the carnage that had taken place at the Boisvert
home.
It sometimes made him wonder if they could have a
mole as close to the top as Boisvert had been in Canada.
Hcx)ver had been paranoid about it, as had McCarthy.
The Hoover files had been notorious for including
everyone in power or who might come to power. He'd
even suspected the Kennedy clan.
Finally Hawk cleared his mind of extraneous thoughts
and picked up the special telephone he kept in a locked
drawer. It was a very private line. The moment he picked
it up it rang at the other end.
"Yes?" an alert voice asked.
"I have to talk to him."
"Your code?"
"Donovan. "
"Just a minute, Mr. Hawk. He's asleep in his chair.
You're sure we have to wake him?"
Hawk didn't answer. The question was rhetorical.
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THIRTEEN
Filbert Hume was still in control at the executive
mansion, but Saunders was in control of the investiga-
tion.
"I haven't been able to muzzle the press, but I've
managed to keep the news from the prime minister," he
said as he paced his offce.
"And how the hell did you manage that?" Tanks
asked.
"He flew all the way to Vancouver to mend some
fences with the local party leaders there. He was on his
way to the Yukon before we learned about Marie. "
"And his aides kept the news from him up there."
"I plan to meet his plane tonight and talk to him in the
VIP lounge," Saunders said. "How the hell do you tell a
man his wife's been murdered? Worse. How do you tell
him the man you trained to replace him was an enemy
agent, a man who seduced his wife?"
"I don't envy you. Christ! You should have seen
Jules's face when I laid the news on him," Tanks said,
shaking his head.
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"Where is he now?"
"With relatives in Hull. Goddamn shame. Marie was
a friend at one time. She was just a down-to-earth kid
when I first knew her. She hated all this VIP shit. "
"I'm beginning to hate it myself. I've decided this is
my last year, Walt. How about you?"
"Yeah. Too many young smart-asses sitting at com-
puters trying to solve crimes without dirtying the soles of
their feet. Time for me to get out of it."
The door opened after a sharp knock. An aide stuck
his head around the door. ØThe PM's plane is a half hour
out."
Saunders's shoulder slumped as he stopped pacing.
"Thanks, Jim. I'll be right with you."
Boisvert sat in the middle of his temporary headquar-
ters acting out the role of a colonel of the Spetsnaz.
Eleven men stood around him. The twelfth was at the
console of a short-range radar installation.
"We play this one no different from the others. Is
everything ready?" Boisvert asked.
"All the snowmobiles are at the front door. The
sleighs are loaded," a young officer replied in their
native tongue.
"A sighting coming in from the south," the radar man
interrupted.
Everyone froze in place. They hadn't seen a living
soul that hadn't been designated as a target since their
arrival.
"What does it ICX)k like?" Boisvert shouted over the
quiet.
"Small aircraft. Two hundred knots. It's not on a
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direct line for us, so it probably won't spot us. I suggest
we let him pass us by."
"To hell with that. He could pick us up on the trail,"
Boisvert said. "What if it's a heavily armed gunboat? We
wouldn't have a chance. "
The men poured from the Quonset hut. Two of them
shouldered SAM rcx•kets that had been dropped off by a
nuclear sub along with most of their equipment.
They could hear the sound of the craft now. The
characteristic throb of rotors became distinct.
"A helicopter," Boisvert said. "Blow it out of the
sky. "
The Bell 680 came in at an angle and was upon them
they expected. It passed to the east while the
SAM rocket experts tracked it in their sights.
"What the hell are you waiting for? Fire!" Boisvert
screamed.
Two missiles cannoned from the shoulders of the
Spetsnaz before they were completely ready. They flew
past the 680 so close that Carter was unable to control the
airflow around him. The chopper bucked right and left as
he fought the controls.
"You missed!" Boisvert accused, facing up to the two
professionals, his face mottled red with rage.
"Colonel!" one of the others shouted. "The aircraft
crashed. Look!"
They all turned to see a ball of flame in the distance,
rising from behind an ice-encrusted knoll. The sound
reached them like a clap of thunder:
They raced for their vehicles.
"Stop!" Boisvert commanded. "We don't have time
for games. No one could have survived that crash."
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Boisvert stood before them, an imposing figure, a man
bent on making his last battle count as much as possible.
The third dam was on their schedule for today. "Mount
up and follow me."
The two men sat alone on two folding chairs in the
middle of a deserted hangar. Clearing the VIP lounge
would have advertised the presence of the prime minister
and the head of the Ontanio Provincial Police in confer-
ence. This way, Saunders's men kept everyone away.
Carreau sat with his head in his hands. He'd been
silent for a full minute. "How did Jules take it?" he
asked.
uHard. I took him to your sister's in Hull."
"Good. She'll comfort him if anyone can."
Saunders sat, one hand on his friend's shoulder, ready
if needed but saying as little as possible.
"She wasn't a bad woman, Fred. I left her alone too
much. "
"I understand.
"I didn't allow myself to get close enough to her in the
end, It was natural she'd turn to Robert." Carreau sat
with tears streaming down his face. "I knew about it,
you know. I let it go on." He sat wrapped in his own
thoughts, speaking as though to himself. "I thought he
was just ambitious," he went on painfully. "Oh, yes. I
knew. "
The OPP chief sat, surprised but determined to be a
listener.
"I -wasn't a good lover. At first I was, but the
pressures, the schedule, the resrx•nsibilities, you know,
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it was just too much. I didn't have the energy for her. So
I let it go on."
He raised his head and wiped his forehead and eyes
dry with a clean white handkerchief. only thing
that hurt was that everyone knew and thought I was a
fool. I didn't think I was a fool: I had more important
things to think about. But now .
Saunders had held back on the other murders. Even
now he wasn't sure he should tell it all at the same time.
"There's something you haven't been telling me.
What is it?" Carreau demanded. "Have you lied to me
about Jules?"
"No. It's something else."
"You might as well tell me. How much worse could it
"Boisvert murdered his own wife and children before
he left."
Carreau sat on the uncomfortable chair in the huge
hangar, alone with this One man. He tried to absorb the
enormity of what he had just heard. He'd survived every
kind of mud that politics could sling at him, He'd seen
his national police force go sour. He'd almost wept when
Hume and his SSS let him down. And he'd lost what was
left of his drive when Gilles Parisant fought him to split
the country.
But this. He'd never experienced anything like this.
"He's been your nemesis from the
Jacques," Saunders said rather formally. "Everything
that happened to damage your career was engineered by
him. He was sent here as a child for that purpose."
"And it ended with him killing his own family? What
kind of a monster could do that?"
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"It isn't over," Saunders said quietly.
"Oh, my God! Save me from anything else! What else
could the madman do?"
Saunders explained the James Bay threat. "Carlson is
on his way up there now. He's requested the U.S. Navy
have sub chasers in the waters to cut off Boisvert's
retreat. "
"You're telling me that this man, this monster, is still
at work? He wasn't satisfied to ruin my life, to destroy
his family, he's about to destroy the James Bay Project?"
"His farewell gesture. There's never been one like
him, and there probably never will be again. Makes
Philby seem like a saint by comparison."
Carreau started to laugh, the hysterical laugh of a man
who has lost control.
Saunders was about to go to him, to hold him, but
Carreau shook his friend off. Typical of his courage over
the years, he gained control of himself. "How much does
the president know?"
%AII of it. He has dealt only with Carlson and the man
who runs Carlson. And the secretary of the U.S. Navy,
of course, although the secretary knows only the military
necessity. "
Carreau thought about the great respect the two
leaders had for each other. He wondered if the American
president would censure him for a fool. But then, he'd
had problems of his own. Men like them were targets.
"Get the president on the line for me."
Saunders waved a hand, and an aide ran across the
expanse of the hangar with a telephone. Saunders pulled
out the antenna and keyed in the numtErs for the White
House. The Oval Office had been told to the call.
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Carreau took the phone, a weary man at the end of a
battle.
"Jacques. What can I say?" the president said. "My
wife sends her deertBt sympathies. It's a very bad time
for you. We can only imagine how you must feel."
"Thank you. It's good to know you're both thinking of
me." Carreau paused for a moment. "They really know
how to go after you, don't they?"
"You know the Soviets made you their target," the
president reminded him.
"I'll never kid you about McCarthyism again. It's a
great temptation now."
"None of us knows who we can trust, really, Jacques.
We've got to live with it every day. Now, what can we
do to help you?"
"I've been told that you have military hardware in my
waters. "
"Your aides authorized it, Jacques. "
"Give them hell! Just give them hell for me!"
"We'll only be able to harass the sub if we find it."
"Let me try to tell you exactly how I feel at this
moment, " Carreau said, getting up, the phone pressed to
his ear, his lips close to the mouthpiece. "I don't give
one good goddamn about diplomacy, Those bastards sat
in Moscow and planned all this before I was through law
school. They planned to split this country and hurt
anyone who got in the way. Now I don't give a shit about
one stinking submarine. All I want to hear is that
Boisvert is dead and that any Soviet rescue sub is at the
bottom of James Bay. "
The president had never heard his friend so angry.
"The secretary of the Navy will be pleased to hear your
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sentiments. I'll have one hell of a time explaining this to
Congress, but maybe you're right. Moscow has to be
taught a lesson. "
"Thanks for your support. I don't want to talk any-
more. You understand. Give my Jove to your wife. Give
her a hug for me. All of this isn't worth two cents
without your woman. "
Carreau sat for a long time after Saunders had taken
the telephone from him. He wasn't conscious of anyone
around him, a man entirely within himself.
Then he shook himself like a dog coming out of the
water and stood. "Let's get out of here, Fred. Thanks to
that Carlson fellow, we've still got a country to run."
The two missiles had been so close they set up shock
waves on either side of the chopper. A more experienced
pilot might have righted the craft right away, but it took
Carter a few miles.
While he was fighting the controls his mind was at
work. He'd stumbled across Boisvert's camp. He'd been
too close for the missiles to zero in on him for some
reason. If they had been heat-seeking missiles, they
hadn't had time to tune him in. If they had been
radar-controlled by the operators, he should have been
dead. Maybe something spooked them and they fired too
soon. Either way, he felt damned lucky.
But now they knew he was there. He thought for a
moment and decided on a ruse that he hoped would
work. When he had control of the chopper once again,
he turned in a wide arc, armed one of his missiles, and
fired it into a knoll a few miles from Boisvert's camp.
The explosion was spectacular. A huge ball of flame
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and smoke curled into the sky, visible for miles around.
Would they go for it? Would they believe he had
crashed? He brought the chopper down not far from the
explosion and crept up the knoll, his binoculars around
his neck.
It was cold. Carter wasn't prepared for the below-
freezing weather in this part of the country and wondered
how they controlled the flow of water for hydroelectric
pwer all year. But that was the least of his worries.
When he reached the crest of the knoll and focused in on
Boisvert's camp„ he saw men mounting their snowmo-
biles.
He was glad he'd brought the M-16 rifle from the
chopper. He'd just decided he'd better fighting them
from the chopper, when he noticed they weren't coming
his way. In a convoy of about a dozen snowmobiles,
some with sleighs attached, they headed away from him.
His 'Vcrash" had obviously fooled them.
Carter went back to the chopper and brought up a
viewing of the locations of all the dams on his console.
Boisvert couldn't have been here more than one day.
They might have planted explosives at one or two at the
most. If they'd blown them, he'd have known about it.
He figured they were going to blow them all at once,
which gave him time. And it gave the U.S. Navy more
time. The gods of war were finally looking on his side
with favor. As he walked back to the chopper he felt
tEtter, stronger, and more confident than he had in a long
time.
His first job was to search Boisvert's camp. The
Killmaster took the M-16 from the rack at the back of the
680 and started the long trudge to the Quonset hut. There
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was no way he could cover his tracks. No way he could
sneak up on them. Not one tree or bush stood between
him and the deserted building.
As he came closer, the safety off his rifle and the
selector set at three-shot burst, he noted that smoke still
curled from the-chimney. It was the smell of a
stove and it had not been fed recently.
All the way to the hut he had kept low to the ground.
Now he crawled from window to window around the
corrugated metal building. No one had been left on
guard. He opened the unlocked door and entered
quickly, his M-16 at the ready.
The hut was a complete surprise. Once a trapper's way
station, it had been set up with a dozen Norwegian camp
cots, each immaculately tended as if this were the base
for an elite group. Not one item was out of place. A
corner had been partitioned off for the leader. It was
Spartan, except for the picture of the head of the KGB,
obviously the man's current god. A metal bucket in one
corner contained a soiled square bandage from a wound,
and a long roll of gauze covered with dried blood.
Boisvert's wounds hadn't slowed him down, but the
evidence of his presence was conclusive.
The man from AXE found one thing that was of use to
him. An extra box of cold-weather gear had been
and stored in a corner.. In minutes he was dressed as
warmly as the enemy. He found a spare Kalashnikov,
loaded it, and tossed the M-16 as far as he could into the
snow.
Out back, a small shed contained spare parts for the
snowmobiles. Two spare machines were gassed and
ready to replace any that broke down. Carter started one
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of them and tested it by obliterating his tracks halfway
back to the knoll. He retraced his path and started to
follow the tracks of the enemy.
Jean Sprague was bored and worried. She was stuck in
this damned cabin and he was out there looking for
Boisvert. It was so unfair. She didn't know anything
beyond what was on the radio news. She didn't even
know what Frank Brown was doing. He had promised to
keep in touch, but it had been forty-eight hours and he
hadn't called.
Frustrated, she flipped on the radio and scanned the
dial until she picked up a news broadcast from Ottawa.
"We have no further information on the bizarre
killings of Marie Carreau and the three members of the
Boisvert family. Yesterday we reported that the deaths of
the children had been particularly brutal. We do know
that all four were killed by Deputy Prime Minister
Robert Boisvert.
"There is no additional news out of Sussex Drive.
Prime Minister Carreau is now home, but he will not talk
to anyone. Jules Carreau, formerly accused of Gilles
Parisant's murder, has been released. His whereabouts
are unknown.
"Last in this brief update, voters flocked to the polls in
Québec to block the referendum. Reporters on the street
have concluded that the revelations that a foreign IN)wer
was trying to manipulate the referendum brought all the
undecided voters out of the closet.
"We will have a full news report at ten tonight."
Jean turned off the radio and just sat, staring out the
window. She'd been in G-2 for almost ten years and
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thought she'd heard almost everything—everything bu
a foreign agent killing his family to cover his tracks.
She walked to the front door to get some fresh air.
When it was open, she leaned against the doorframe, he
mind picturing the family of Robert Boisvert.
Jean closed her eyes and whispered to the emptiness o
the woods:
"Oh, Nick .
you !
where are you? I'm so frightened fo
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FOURTEEN
Nick Carter was seated on the fastest snowmobile that
Bombardier of Montreal could produce. It was the
commercial model of the machine professional racers
souped up for the sport that was sweeping snow country.
Without apparent difficulty, he was following the tracks
of a dozen other machines.
It was an overcast day but the white blanket covering
the landscape was enough to make snow goggles
a must. Through their lenses, everything looked vaguely
yellow.
The ride was as bumpy as it was fast. At times the
machine took off from a ledge to sail ten to twenty feet
through the air to land with most of its weight on the
front skis. The back would follow with a bone-jarring
thud as the spinning rubber track hit the snow and
churned ahead. When he was airborne, the sound of the
motor reminded Carter of a boat slipping off a wave and
its propeller running free for a few seconds. He had to
remind himself that this was a deadly serious business
and not a joyride.
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Suddenly the tracks of his quarry split up into two
groups. Carter followed the group heading to the left and
soon saw the massive dam looming up in front of him.
He wasn't prepared for the size of the structure. It
seemed to stretch from horizon to horizon, a monolith
that made the work of the ancients in Egypt pale into
insignificance. It was incredible to conceive that the
Québec government had built six this size.
He followed the group that headed for the control
building at the top of the dam to the left. He was on a
frozen lake with hundreds of millions of gallons under
his track. The dam operated all year round, taking in the
water from beneath the ice and directing it through its
huge tunnels to flow out in a fairyland of ice on the other
side.
Carter made a wide sweep of the control tower,
coming around at a high point where he could see all the
action. Boisvert's men were spread out. Some were in
the control house. Others were at the base of the dam on
the side where the water flowed from two of the tunnels.
One snowmobile stood off by itself, a small sleigh
attached.
The Killmaster managed to bring his machine within a
couple of hundred yards of the isolated snowmobile
without being seen or heard. He walked down the path
made by the machine's tracks to the sleigh, keeping his
eye on the action around him. He had his coat zipped low
enough to grab for Wilhelmina. The AK-47 was slung
over his shoulder.
The sleigh was covered with a tarpaulin that was laced
down. He slid to his out of sight of the others and
unlaced part of one side. A rectangular piece of elec-
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tronic gear sat in the middle of the sleigh, a device Ca.rter
had never seen before.
It was definitely a radio transmitter, but very unusual.
Why so many terminals and switches? he wondered.
Someone was walking toward him. This was no time
for a confrontation. He slid the open tarpaulin,
eased out his Luger, and slipped into a slow yoga
breathing rhythm.
The footsteps stopped at the other side of the machine.
The man bent and unlaced the tarpaulin on part of the
other side. A hand slid in and set a frequency on one of
the many dials. Suddenly Carter understood: this was a
whole series of frequencies that could be controlled at
once. But why?
The man's hand was white and soft. The glove he
replaced after lacing up the tarpaulin was expensive,
definitely not KGB issue. Carter guessed he was looking
at the hand of Robert Boisvert.
It tCX)k all his willpower to remain where he was. Until
he knew how the transmitter box worked, a confronta-
tion could jeopardize the entire James Bay Project. The
Soviet crew could have started its work before Boisvert
showed up. Most of the dams could already be wired.
While he was considering his action, Boisvert turned
and started toward the dam. Carter could hear automatic
weapons chattering in the control building. Good men
were dying in there, but he could do nothing,
He 01Ened the flap and looked at the huge transmitter
again. The casing was secured on the outside by a series
of slot screws. He had to have a look inside the console.
Hugo slipped into his palm. Slowly, his fingers stiff
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from the cold, he loosened the screws and pulled off one
side.
The only thing he could see at his side was a circuit
board. At one point all the circuits came together in a
short row of minute gold filaments. They crossed over
two plastic frame supports at that point. The two
supports were only about a sixteenth of an inch apart.
Carter made sure the battery supply. was turned off,
then drew the razor-sharp point of his stiletto through the
filaments. At that point, the break was almost impossible
to detect.
His hands were almost totally numb with the cold. He
fumbled with the screws, making sure that no scratches
were discernible in the plastic around the screw settings.
This had to be the master control box. Satisfied, he laced
the tarpaulin as he'd found it and retreated to his own
machine.
At the crest he'd chosen for his work, he could see a
group of men heading into the bowels of the dam. More
defenseless Canadians would die down there, but he
couldn't act while the whole Soviet crew was spread out.
If he failed now, they would scatter or succeed. He
wanted to be sure they had no escape route. That would
be his next chore.
The day had passed much more quickly than he
expected. The only good thing about that was the
progress of the enemy. They could only work on one
dam at a time, He felt secure now. There was no way
they could blow the dams without their master control
box, and they'd never find his little job of sabotage.
Carter headed back to Boisvert's base camp. He had to
take the chance of another search and he was going to
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return the snowmobile, The hut was deserted and the fire
had gone out. He searched thoroughly for a backup
master control box but found none. He was in the clear.
He parked the machine he'd borrowed and headed back
to the chopper.
Carter started the helicopter and let it warm up. The
uneven rhythm of the motor bothered him. There was no
way he wanted to be stuck here. He checked his fuel. It
was low; he'd have to call up the tanker soon. He just
hoped he had enough fuel to do what he had to do.
Slowly, in silent mode, he circled to the west and the
huge body of water that was James Bay. When he was
thirty miles out, he activated an automatic scanner to
pick up the transmissions from the P-3Cs that were
working the bay near the mouth of the Rupert River.
When he picked up their chatter, he joined in.
"Bell 680 calling Orions. Commander Carlson head-
ing due west into your space."
"Commander Wright of the frigate Samuel Morris," a
voice of authority came on. "We have you on our scope,
Commander. You came within an ace of a missile up
your tail. "
g I have you on radar. Estimate I'm ten miles your
psition. Permission to land. "
"If you didn't, we'd be downright insulted," Wright
said.
Carter knew the object of the exercise was more to get
him in their guns and verify his identification than social.
"We were told to expect you, Commander," the
frigate captain added. "We were also told you're not a
professional chopper pilot. Do you think you can get
down here without sinking us?"
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Carter was within sight of the frigate. It was like
nothing he'd ever seen before. He'd seen four or five
hunting as a pack on exercises, each with its own P-3C,
but this one had four pads aft. It also bristled
with missiles from every angle.
"What kind of freak boat are you commanding,
Commander? I've never seen anything like it.
"Experimental. You think you can get down here
without putting this baby on the bottom?"
It wasn't the best landing Carter had ever made, but he
survived. The swells were four to five feet ten miles out
in the bay. He had to hover for a full minute before he got
the hang of it.
In the wardroom, Carter sat with Wright, the two men
alone. He had a cup of hot black coffee in front of him
laced with an ounce of brandy. He hadn't felt this warm
for many hours,
what the hell's going on, Commander?" Wright
asked.
"Nick would be easier. "
"Josh," Wright said, holding out a callused hand. It
had strength behind it.
Carter told him the almost unbelievable tale of the
men who were dying at the power stations and who was
behind it.
"I suspect he's got a dozen SÆEtsnaya
Naznacheniya behind him."
"What the hell's that?" Wright acked in his Texas
drawl. He was as tall as Carter, bald except for a ribbon
of black that he appeared to shave every few days. His
eyes were the bluest Carter had ever seen and he had a
jaw that looked as if it has been carved from granite.
"Crack Soviet troops. They've got thousands of them
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like our Delta Force people. You've heard of them as
Spetsnaz. "
"Your Russian pronunciation is perfect, Nick. You
some kind of spook?"
"Just a good ole boy like you doing the job Uncle Sam
gave me."
Wright's brow furrowed. Carter knew the other man
had him He sure as hell wasn't an ace chopper
pilot. He glanced at his Rolex. It was time he was
leaving. "I need some help," he said, draining his
coffee.
"Another cup first?"
"No. I have enough trouble staying airborne as it is."
"What can we do?"
"I need fuel."
"That's automatic, You'll be refueled already. We
don't have your brand of hardware, though. "
"I've got enough ammunition for what I want to do.
How are your people coming with their hunt?"
"We know he's down there. And he's not going away.
We've had some soundings, but he's a crafty son of a
bitchi "
"But you'll get him."
ØAbsolutely guaranteed," Wright replied. "When are
you coming back?"
"Two, maybe three hours if there's still daylight."
"We'll have him by then."
"I think it's time to call in the reserves. What have the
Canadians got up here?" Carter asked.
"Couple of chopper squadrons at Kapuskasing. "
"How far?"
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Wright consulted a chart. "Five hundred miles.
Maybe three hours to target."
"Call them and get them up here. Have them check
out every one of the dams. The ones still in radio contact
will still be manned. The others .
"These Spetsnaz going to blow them?"
"They think so, but I've got them sabotaged. Now
I've got to clean them out. If I miss any, tell our friends
from Kapuskasing to look for stray snowmobiles heading
out."
"Good luck, Nick. When you're finished, come back
and see our show."
"Will do. Hey, Josh, a question: What are you doing
up here in James Bay anyway?"
"Shakedown. Just lucky, I guess."
"And what is this can you're sailing?"
"Make a bargain with you. It's as classified as hell.
But if you tell me who you are and who you really work
for, I'll personally show you all the specs."
Carter smiled and picked up his coat and gloves. "I'll
be back when you've got your sea monster. Don't run
out of those things you're dropping in the water. What is
each one worth?"
"The sonobuoys? You don't want to know. "
When he was on his way to the camp to see if the
Soviets had called it quits for the day, it was almost six
in the evening and the sun was starting to get close to the
horizon. He'd have to make it quick, whatever he was
going to do. And he didn't know what that was yet.
When the sun went down at this latitude, it dropped like
a stone and the nights were black as a miser's heart.
Unless the clouds cleared
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Carter widened the scope of his radar and saw the
beginning of a cold front coming in front from the west.
It was very close. The sky behind it was clear.
Good. All the better to see you by, as the wolf said.
And he felt like a wolf right now. The interlude with
Commander Wright had not changed the fire that burned
in his gut. Boisvert was the worst kind of cold-blooded
killer, a robot of a man who executed every order from
Moscow as if programmed. The men he led were not
much trtter. They had trained on live men and women
from the gulags of SitEria. Their cold steel had not
tested on straw dummies.
It was time they felt the cutting edge of that steel.
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FIFTEEN
The Bell 680 Carter was flying was sleek and fast.
Even as an inexperienced chopper pilot, he recognized
its B)tential. He'd had his hands on chopper controls for
a few hundred hours, but that didn't qualify him for star
status.
All the weaponry was concealed. A bank of toggle
switches at his right hand brought them into play when
needed. In the meantime, his airspeed wasn't slowed by
the multiple racks of Penguin antiship missiles and the
rotary-type cannon.
In less time than he imagined, Boisvert's camp came
at him out of the diminishing light. The cold front had
come and gone. Stars had just started to peek from the
darkening blue.
Carter circled the camp in silent mode. All the time
Spetsnaz were inside. Smoke poured from the chimney.
It was probably dinnertime. He armed himself with the
thought that they would be gloating about shooting down
hydro workers.
He counted the machines parked outside. They made
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it easy for him. In usual Spetsnaya Naznacheniya preci-
sion, the machines were lined up in two rows of six with
the leader's out in front, the small sleigh still attached.
The circle complete, he moved off for a missile run,
wishing he'd had more experience with this kind of
weaponry.
He activated all weapons systems and felt the drag on
his speed. Then he flipped the front faceplate of his
helmet down and adjusted the electronic viewer that
showed up as a green set of rings:
The hut was dead center in the rings. The range was
five hundred yards. He pressed the triggers on missiles
one and six felt the shudder.
"I am proud of you, " Boisvert said. The man who had
been deputy prime minister of Canada was a colonel in
the Spetsnaz. He sat at the head of the makeshift table,
a cup of coffee in his hand.
The most senior of his men was a lieutenant, The
others were all noncommissioned officers chosen for the
job. It was felt that the would make them
better leaders.
Every man at the table was' a dedicated machine,
capable of killing in a hundred ways, with weapons or
without. They_ were silent under their commander's
praise. They were not expected to respond. Praise was a
rare commodity. They cleaned their plates and kept their
thoughts to themselves.
The two missiles struck the hut at both ends of the roof
and blew out th)th sides of the building. No one inside
moved from the hut as Carter brought the
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around for a better look. Debris flew in all directions. At
first it appeared that he had killed them all in the first
run.
Then a few began to stagger outside. They were dazed
as they weaved in and out of the machines, each man
intent on finding his own. He counted a half dozen. They
mounted their snowmobiles and prepared to take off.
Carter banked to the right and lined up the row of
machines in his sights. He squeezed the twin triggers of
his cannon mounts. They started to rotate, spitting out
60mm shells at the rate of more than three hundred a
minute.
Two rows of explosions, each about a foot apart,
headed for the snowmobiles. Five of them had pulled
away and missed the rain of steel. The other seven were
demolished.
Carter tcx)k off after one of the escaping soldiers. At
first his aim was off, and the shell exploded in front of
the machine. He corrected and was too short. Finally, as
he corrected again, he saw the gas tank explode on the
machine as the soldier fell off and rolled in the snow
leaving a trail of red.
He was going to break off and let the incoming
Canadian squadrons take care of them, but his blood was
up. The Killmaster went after the next machine now
hundreds of yards away and ran a string of cannon shells
along its path on the first pass.
He hated this kind of fighting. He'd prefer to be up
close, facing the enemy, steel against steel, than see
them go down as if by remote control, tin soldiers
bowled over by a strong wind.
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The last of the strays were destroyed and Carter
returned to the hut. Men staggered near the gutted
building as if they were too shocked by the first blast to
try for their machines. The ones that came close to
succeeding found their machines to be piles of twisted
metal.
Boisvert's machine was missing. Carter scanned the
surrounding blue-white landscaÆE for it, but it was
nowhere in sight. It was getting dark. The stars were out,
but the moon was in the first quarter and no help as a
beacon.
He turned away and came back to loose one of the two
remaining Penguin missiles. It hit the center of the hut,
blowing out the remaining walls. The men who had been
standing were nowhere to be seen, either dead or covered
with debris or snow.
Boisvert. He was the only one Carter wasn't sure of.
Where the hell could he have gone in such a short time?
The Killmaster took the chopper in a half-mile circle and
didn't see Boisvert's machine. He saw plenty of tracks
but couldn't tell which one was Boisvert's.
Carter tried a circle search a mile from the ruined hut,
then a mile and a half, but he had no luck.
He decided to start from scratch and returned to the
hut. He hovered over the destroyed building for a
minute, keeping high enough so as not to disturb the
snow, and scanned the surrounding area.
One track led off where Boisvert's machine had been
parked. Carter took his craft up to a half mile and traced
the track. It led off as far as Carter could see.
Slowly, like a giant bird stalking its prey, he used the
machine's silent mode and a slow rate of speed to follow
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the trail. It led toward the dam he'd visited earlier in the
day.
Boisvert's snowmobile was a speck on the horizon
ahead, slowly growing in size as Carter gained on it. The
sheer face of a cement wall loomed up in front of them.
It was time for the showdown.
Carter brought the chopper in close. Boisvert couldn't
hear the aircraft for the noise of his own machine. He
was being given a rough ride by the ice that had churned
upward around the lake as it froze and compressed. The
sleigh pulled by the Bombardier machine sped along
on its flexible umbilical.
Carter brought the around to one side to
attract Boisvert's attention. He could barely see the
man's eyes through the yellow protection of snow
goggles.
The Killmaster circled in front of Boisvert and
blocked his path, the multiple pods of cannon facing the
Soviet agent. They were empty, but Boisvert had no way
of knowing that.
Both men were desperate to win.
Boisvert stopped. He sat for a moment trying to think
of something to do. He climbed from his machine,
unslung his AK-47, clicked off the safety, turned it to
full auto, and aimed at the Plexiglas bubble, all that was
between him and his tormentor.
Carter started to react, but the hail of 7.62mm steel-
capped slugs was already leaving the muzzle. He lost his
grip on the control bar and the chopper bounced on her
skids.
The rain of steel hit the plastic faster than Carter could
protect himself. The bullets rained against the chopper's
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bubble at the rate of seven hundred a minute. In less than
five seconds Boisvert stood with an empty clip. All thirty
rounds had hit the bubble.
Carter put his hands back on the control bar. He was
as stunned as Boisvert. Lexan. That was the only answer
he could think of. Lexan, the material that like
Plexiglas which had been developed for the space
program. It had been used in many countries to build
"popemobiles" after the attempt on John Paul II's life in
St. Peter's Square. It was being used in diplomatic
limousines. Why wouldn't they use it in a prototype
helicopter that had so many other revolutionary features?
Carter started to laugh. By rights he should be dead
because he'd been too arrogant. The laugh was more
mild hysteria than humor. But nothing was funny in this.
He faced a master spy, a merciless, brutal killer, a man
who had fooled the world's most astute politicians.
Boisvert had slapped another orange-colored banana
clip in the Kalashnikov and was moving off to port where
he could get a shot at the motor.
Carter lifted the Bell 680 a foot off the ground and
turned to face him. This time as the bullets came at him,
he watched them bounce off the Lexan like pebbles off a
stone wall.
Boisvert screamed out his frustration and threw the
automatic weapon far from him. He ran back to his
snowmobile and started to unlace the tarpaulin from the
sleigh as fast as he could. His gloves impeded him. He
threw them from him in disgust and went at the
again.
Carter set down on the snow, opened the door of the
chopper, and walked across the snow to his enemy. The
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snow was crisp under his boots. He'd removed his
gloves. Wilhelmina was in his right hand.
Boisvert was working on the switches. and dials
furiously.
"The stupid thing! Made by peasants!" he screamed in
Russian, unaware of the gun on him.
He worked furiously, then kicked at the black box in
his fury.
"It won't help to curse or kick, Robert Boisvert, or
whoever the hell you are. I got to your black box earlier
t(xiay," Carter said in perfect Russian. "A few small
problems with the circuits. "
Boisvert didn't turn, although Carter could see every
muscle tense. He screamed an oath, kicked again at the
box, and on the reverse thrust of his leg, lashed out at
Carter with a karate kick, sending the Killmaster's Luger
flying.
Boisvert then turned to face him, his face grim. "So
you sabotaged the transmitter. So be it. When I have
killed you I will rig another method." As he spoke, he
drew the commando knife all Spetsnaz carried.
"You're all alone, Boisvert," Carter said, his eyes
never leaving the eyes of the killer. "All your men are
dead. The United States Navy is taking care of your
escape route." He stood leaning slightly forward, feet
apart, waiting for an attack. "It's all over for you."
"But now I have your magnificent aircraft," Boisvert
said smiling. "Did you think I couldn't fly it? Do you
think I have only one escape route?"
Carter maintained eye contact. He could tell better
from the man's eyes what he was going to do. The knife
was an incidental.
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Boisvert rushed but slipped slightly. Caner was able to
duck but not before the double-edged knife had slashed
through his left sleeve and drawn blood. It from
his fingers, spotting the pristine snow where he stood.
"It's just a matter of time, American. Die like a man.
No man kills and lives to brag about it."
"I've killed Spetsnaz before and haven't bragged, and
I won't start now," Carter said, his voice calm.
With a wild war cry, Boisvert came at him, feinting to
the left but swinging the knife to the right. Again he
sliced through Carter's sleeve and the blood came in a
steady stream; turning his left hand crimson.
The next charge caught Carter going the wrong way.
The knife missed him, but Boisvert's knee caught him in
the crotch.
The Killmaster went to his knees in the snow, the pain
radiating from his groin. He couldn't see where Boisvert
was. Was he behind him? He tried to swivel his head, but
the pain jumped up and grabbed him, causing red flashes
to explode before his eyes.
The snow had hardened when the cold front came
through. Carter's hands were numb with cold. His blood
crystallized as it hit the ground. He tried to rise but
slipped and slid sideways, ending up on his back.
Boisvert stood at Carter's feet, looking down on him
with hatred shining from his eyes.
"I'll show you a
maneuver we practiced at the gulags, American. It
would amuse you, but unfortunately you will be dead,"
the Soviet-trained mole said as he raised himself up on
his toes.
Again he screamed a kind of war cry as he launched
himself at Carter. As he flew through the air, the wicked
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knife in his right hand, he blocked out the last of the
light.
At the last second, Carter managed to slide enough to
miss the full weight of the madman as he came straight
down, parallel to the ground.
The Spetsnaz blade slashed through Carter's jacket, a
quarter inch of skin at his flank, and the ice below.
The two men were nose to nose, brown eyes looking
into dark blue. Boisvert's face registered surprise. A
trickle of blood ran from the side of his mouth. Carter
had plunged Hugo's blade through Boisvert's parka into
the man's back.
"And that was a new trick for you," Carter said, his
voice ' adopting the tone the other man had used a
moment before. "Compliments of all those poor souls
you practiced on in the gulags."
He rolled the dead man over, pulled Hugo from its
resting place, and cleaned the long blade and the hilt.
With pain still pulsing from his groin, he walked slowly
to retrieve his Luger. In the cockpit of the chopper he
a moment to apply a pressure bandage to his arm
before he revved up the engine.
He took one more ICX)k at the body spread-eagled in
the snow, then pulled at the control and took off.
It was dark as he headed to the mouth of the Rupert
River. He turned the rheostat for the monitors as low as
they would go. The cabin glowed a dark green.
Far off in the distance he could see a bright glow. As
he came closer, he could see the outline of the sub. The
lights were from the frigate. She had the crippled nuclear
sub in the beam of a half-dozen halogen lamps.
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Nothing moved on the sub. She listed to one side a
few degrees.
"Bell 680 calling the Samuel Morris,"
In a moment a familiar voice hailed him. "Frigate
Samuel Morris, Nick. We've got the bastard! Blew him
out of the water!"
Josh Wright sounded excited and he had every right to
be. He was the first skipper of his generation to hunt and
kill a Soviet sub.
"We've been waiting for you. You finished up
"All finished.
"We've been saving her for you. Their crew is all on
board our ship. Got any heavy weapons left?"
"One Penguin and a cluster bomb. I'm no-: sure they'll
make any difference to the sub."
"Why don't we find out, Nick? We'll keep clear."
"Where are your Orions?"
"All tucked in and tied down. The Canadian squad-
rons are over the mess you left at Boisvert's camp.
You're free and clear to take your best shot."
"Over and out," Carter said, taking the 680 a couple
of miles to the north out of range of the lights. He had
some second thoughts. Shooting at sitting targets wasn't
his style. But the president had ordered the sinking as a
lesson.
The conning tower of the Soviet sub was in his sights.
He pressed the release for his last Penguin just as a gust
of wind hit the chopper. His shot was wild. It veered off
to the bow of the sub and hit at the waterline.
The huge sub went up as if it had been hit by an atomic
bomb. The hull split, and a huge blast of orange and red
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flame lifted Carter and his craft in an He lost
control for a moment, then brought her around for a
second look.
The water was churned up for a half mile around. The
Samuel Morris was bobbing up and down like a cork, her
powerful halogen lights shifting alternately from the
heavens to the black water.
"Jesus! What the hell halwled? There's no way a
Penguin missile could do that!" Commander Wright
exclaimed.
"You tell me. You're the sailor."
"She must have had a crack in her hull and you hit it.
They carry some conventional warheads. The Penguin
set them off. "
The great hull of the craft was beginning to settle.
"Take her up about a mile and let your cluster bomb
go. Give me ten minutes to get out of the way." The
voice of Josh Wright came through loud and clear. "Just
let her go. She'll set her own altitude and disburse the
cluster, It's probably a hundred-and-thirty-pound CD, so
she'll have fifty individual bombs in her."
"How far will they disburse?" Carter asked.
"Maybe you'd better let her go from about half a mile.
She'll disburse for about five hundred yards.
Carter took the Bell 680 to a half mile off the broken
sub and activated the last of his weapons. He could see
the big white bomb coast toward the sub, its nose angled
slightly downward. Then she opened and burst, throwing
fifty small bombs in a wide circle.
They all explcxled on contact. Carter had never seen
anything like it. Water churned up to a height of fifty feet
in a circle of at least five hundred yards.
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Then all was stilt. Nothing showed on the water that
the lights could pick up.
"You got enough gas to make it home?" Wright
asked.
a mother hen meeting. me, code name Wet-
nurse.
"Pleasure doing business with you, Nick. Let's get the
hell home."
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