by Nick Carter
"Nein. Herr Frommel ist nicht hier…"
She barely got the last word out before Nick was through the door, kicking it shut behind him. As gently as possible, he pinned her shoulders to the wall and leaned his face close to hers.
"Cooperate, old woman, and you won't be hurt. Where is the man?"
"What man? I don't…" Her face was white with fear, but there was determination in her jaw and flashing eyes.
"You pick up things, like envelopes, old woman, and you take them to the one they are addressed to. The name on the envelope in your pocket is The Caretaker. Where is the Caretaker?"
"I don't know…"
Nick guessed that the old woman was only a housekeeper and knew very little about what was going on. If he, Nick Carter, knew the whole story, he could have afforded to be a little more gentle and take a little more time.
That was impossible.
He flexed his arm, and instantly the point of his stiletto was against the woman's throat.
"Where, old woman!"
She motioned up the stairs just as Omega appeared in the hall. "Is he alone?" Nick barked.
She nodded, and Nick turned to the blonde man. "Tie her up. But that's all, understand?"
He nodded and, Wilhelmina in hand, Nick made for the stairs. Over his shoulder he spotted Omega already tying the woman up with the belt from her own coat.
At the top of the stairs was a long, narrow hall. Light came from under just one of the four doors along it.
"Olga, is that you?"
Nick didn't hesitate. He turned the knob. The door flew open and he darted inside, Wilhelmina ready and cocked.
There was little need for caution. In a rocker beside a low kindled fire sat a very old, white-haired man. Old-fashioned wire-rimmed spectacles perched on the end of his nose, and his lap was encased in a robe. Sitting in the middle of his lap was a thick sheaf of papers between two cheap covers. The whole was tightly bound with string.
"Herr Grubner?"
The old man nodded and tapped the bundle on his lap. There is no need for the gun. This is what you have come for. I have no means of protecting it. Just tell me of my son."
Nick's brows furrowed. "Your son…?"
The man nodded. "I beg of you, whether you come from Stefan or not, just tell me if he is well, if he is alive. When the ad appeared, I hoped…"
"Stefan Borczak is your son?" Nick hissed, pieces falling into place.
"Yes, I…"
It was the last thing the man said. Through the open door beside Nick there was the popping sound made by a silenced revolver. A small, very neat hole appeared in the center of the old man's head. There was only a single drop of blood, and he didn't move.
Nick didn't wait for his turn. He stepped farther to the side and swung the door with all his might. It hit the revolver's long, silenced muzzle first, and then smashed into Omega's face.
The gun flew out of his hand and his body slammed back against the jamb with a crunching sound.
But the big blonde was far from out. His hands flattened before his face, and he came at Nick like a coiled panther. The guy was fast and he knew what he was doing. He also had more guts than brains. Nick could have dropped him with one squeeze of Wilhelmina's trigger, but that didn't deter him.
Nick avoided the first slashing blow by rolling to the wall. The second sheared his ear but left no more damage than the Bells of St. Mary's in his head. The wall beside his head didn't fare as well. Omega's chopping hand went through plaster and lathing like butter.
When Nick saw the damage to the wall and the speed of the recovery after the chop, he knew he couldn't avoid the big blonde killer much longer.
When Omega recoiled and came again, Nick leveled Wilhelmina and squeezed off one shot.
The slug hit him dead center in the right shoulder. It spun his around, and before he could recover, Nick had wrapped his right arm around his neck. He squeezed until the point of Omega's chin was cradled in his elbow. Then, using his own left elbow as a fulcrum off his right hand, he placed his left palm forward at the back of the blonde's head.
"You're the Dealer's man," Nick hissed in his ear. "I knew it almost from the beginning. Too many good men turned down too high-paying a contract, and all of them, to a man, recommended you."
Omega only grunted and struggled to free himself. Nick had to give him credit. The pain had to be excruciating, and he was bleeding like a butchered pig, but he wasn't giving up. Nick tightened his arm and placed a knee in the center of his back.
Quiet, at least for a few seconds, and then groaning with pain.
"It became obvious as well when you shot that Moroccan in Paris. I saw the look on his face just before you blew him away. It didn't hit me until later, but it was a look of recognition."
More struggling, but no words.
"What was the scenario for tonight? Was the old man supposed to die or was that a last-minute ad-lib? Was I supposed to buy it too, or was the old man going to be another accident like the Moroccan?"
"Fuck you," came the half-throttled reply.
"No, you blood thirsty bastard, fuck you."
Nick stiffened the knee in his back, lifted, and twisted the man's head between his two powerful arms.
He heard the snap, felt the body go limp, and dropped it.
Quickly he stepped over Omega to the old man.
Damn, Nick thought, lifting the entwined sheaf of papers from the old man's lap, the one thing I never dreamed of. Stefan sent the Death Dealer's private papers to his own father for safekeeping!
Downstairs, Nick located the old woman in the hall closet. Omega had tied her up, all right. He had also slit her throat.
And it isn't the end yet, Nick thought. But hopefully there will only be one more.
Chapter Eleven
Nick slipped through the back door of the pension. There was a narrow stairway vaguely illuminated by a five-watt bulb. As he climbed, he felt the strain and weariness seep through his bones.
But he couldn't rest — not yet.
His and Hela's rooms were on the fifth floor. Nick stopped at the third. There were only four rooms fore and aft. He tapped on 3-A.
"Yes?"
"It's me, Carter."
The door opened quickly and a young, intense man with bright blue eyes and the body of a fullback stepped aside to let Nick enter.
His name was Eric Hawn. He was attached to Nick on special duty from the German Federal Intelligence Service — the Bundesnachtendienst, or, more simply, the BND. Right now he was in well-worn jeans and a blue work shirt. If anyone looked closely, all they would see was a clean-cut young man who probably worked in a factory or garage somewhere.
In actual fact, Eric was highly trained by the American CIA and more than capable of handling anything Nick had to throw at him. Up until now it hadn't been much more than surveillance.
Nick hoped it would amount to only that, surveillance.
"Got a drink — anything."
Hawn gestured to a bare round table beneath the room's only light. "Just schnapps — sorry."
"S'fine. What've ya got?"
While the man flipped open a small notebook and spoke very efficiently in short, clipped tones, Nick poured a shot of the clear liquid, downed it, and quickly poured a second.
"Just as you said she would, the subject…"
"Woman."
"The woman went through your room right after you left. From the amount of time it took her, I would say she did it very thoroughly."
Nick nodded after the downing of the second drink. It would take her a while to find the file, he thought, pouring yet a third shot of the smooth potion. He had hidden the file well. His guess was that it would take even someone with Hela's experience at least a half hour to find it.
"Go on," he said.
"She walked to the toll booth at the corner and made two calls — neither of them long enough to trace. Approximately an hour later she sent down for the innkeeper's son. Told the old man she want
ed the boy to run an errand for her."
"And…" Nick said, slumping onto one of the table's two chairs.
"She gave the boy ten Deutsche marks to deliver a package to an office suite in the Europa-Center. It was the offices of Komendiest Imports. We know it as a front for East German activities."
Nick nodded. "Figures. Could you trace it from there?"
Hawn nodded. "Luckily we have a man — rather, a woman, actually — on the inside there. It went directly and express to Lufthansa Air Freight at Tegel Airport."
"Destination?"
"Munchen."
Again Nick nodded and ground his thumbs into burning eyes. "Any further activity?"
"Ja… I mean, yes. She has asked at the desk three times for messages."
"She would," Nick growled, thinking of Omega's face grotesquely contorted in death at his feet.
"That's about it," Eric said, snapping the notebook shut.
"Not quite." Nick tossed him the bundle. "Have your boys scrawl a bunch of weird cyphers on about as many pages as this to make a new package almost as thick. Then bind it back up with the same wrappings. Will it take long?"
"Shouldn't. They're downstairs in the truck."
"Good," Nick said. "And on your way back, check with your office medical team and see if the hypo arrived from London."
"Don't have to," Hawn replied, producing a small leather case from his bag. "It's already here."
Nick flipped the lid on the case to reveal a hypodermic needle, syringe, and two ampules of what he hoped was a surefire antidote to plague.
New bundle in hand, Nick paused before her door and listened. He could hear faint movement, like pacing, beyond the door.
He rapped twice with a single knuckle, paused, and rapped again. He knew it was only his imagination, but he was sure he heard a gasp of surprise seep through the thin wood panel.
"Nick…?"
"You expecting someone else?"
There was a moment's pause. Just long enough, Nick thought, for her to compose herself.
The chain rattled, the lock turned, and the door opened wide.
She stood calm, cool and composed in a traveling suit of some tweedy material. Beneath the jacket, a flouncy white silk blouse went all the way to her neck and disguised the marvelous contours of her breasts.
At the moment, Hela was far from on the make.
"Nick — thank God."
She came into his arms, throwing her own around his neck. Her scent filled his nostrils and her body felt soft and warm. Over her shoulder he saw her two bags sitting neatly in the center of the room.
"You're efficient."
"What?" No alarm in her voice, and only a slight tic at the corner of one eye when she backed off to face him.
Nick nodded his head toward the luggage. "You're packed, you're dressed, you're ready to roll."
"Oh, yes." She didn't stumble, but the pause said a lot. "I know we weren't scheduled to leave for Bern until morning, but I thought I'd be ready tonight just in case your plans changed."
"My plans?"
She shrugged as he moved by her into the room. "I thought if everything went all right, you might want to leave early."
"Yeah, you're right — I might have." He slumped wearily into an overstuffed chair and made a point of dropping the twine-covered sheaf of papers on the coffee table beside him. "But as beat as I am now, all I can think of is sleep."
It took all the willpower she could muster not to glue her eyes to the papers. As it was, she let them stray twice, and Nick could sense how hard it was for her to return her gaze to his.
"Is that…?"
Nick nodded. "The very same; the Dealer's famous diaries, and they're bloody as hell."
"What?"
The old man who had them, his housekeeper, and the guy I hired to set up the hit — all dead."
"You…?"
"Just one of them. The guy I hired. He turned out to be a double, the Dealer's man. I shot him and then broke his neck»
"He's dead?" she said.
"Very." Her reaction had been tense to that point. Now, even though it was barely perceptible, Nick could see her calm. "Got anything to drink in your bag?"
"No."
Nick tossed her his room key. "There's a pint of Scotch in a leather case on the bureau in my room — mind?"
"Of course not."
She moved through the door. Nick traced her movements by sound as he lit the last cigarette in his pack. The smoke burned deeply in his lungs, the pain of it momentarily jolting away the weariness in his body.
Hela returned with the flask and two glasses already poured. Their hands touched briefly when she handed him one of the tumblers. Lightly, Nick ran one of his fingers down one of hers to the nail. He noted the clear polish and felt the almost honed edge with his fingertip.
"How do you manage to play with nails so long?" he asked idly.
She laughed low in her throat. "I told you, I rarely play anymore."
"Yeah, you did. I forgot."
She sat down opposite him, and Nick sipped his Scotch. Over the rim of his glass he studied her, as she had once studied him.
"I guess it's over now," she said, "except for Bern."
"Yeah, I've pretty well figured it all out now. Whoever the Dealer is, we should be able to nip his empire-building in the bud."
"Empire-building?"
Nick leaned back in the chair. Massaging his temples with his free hand, he slitted his eyes and let his voice fade into a somnambulist monotone.
"The Dealer is a futuristic thinking man. My guess is that every plot he made, every life he took, every idea he conceived from the beginning of his career, had one solitary purpose."
"Which was?"
"He wanted a way to control the governments of both super powers."
Her laugh was guttural. "That's impossible. Such a thing is inconceivable!"
"To the normal mind, perhaps. But the Dealer's mind isn't normal, and his ambitions are astronomical."
Nick continued to speak in a low, even voice, telling her what he suspected she already knew.
He told her of the mole, Jacek, working for Ganicek, but not knowing that Ganicek himself was a mole working for the Dealer, planted years before to become, one day, the President of the United States.
There was an appropriate wide-eyed gasp from Hela, and she quickly refilled their glasses.
"Jacek's sole purpose was to kill the Speaker of the House and elevate Ganicek to that position. One thing went awry in the Dealer's plan. Jacek got a conscience. He was going to be killed anyway, but the timetable had to be stepped up. But the Dealer even used that to his advantage. He killed Jacek and then planted the evidence of Russian malfeasance in a suitcase in the man's car."
"But why would the Dealer — a Russian — give away Soviet secrets?"
"Because at the Bern conference he wanted a stalemate between the two countries, an equal power in each fist. You see, Hela, the Dealer is going to kill the President and the Vice President at Bern. Normally that would have many complications. But not if they were killed by a strange untraceable disease that had already killed several people."
"Our people…"
"That's right. The Dealer's man, Ganicek, steps into the Presidency. One super power controlled!"
"And the other?"
Nick rested his hand on the bound papers. "The Dealer would control the Premier with these. This could blow the lid off Soviet crimes, going all the way back to Stalin. Published, the whole world would revolt against Mother Russia."
"But what would be the use of such power? What would the Dealer hope to gain?"
Nick shrugged. "More power. As silly as it sounds, I think the Dealer's ego is such that his only aspiration is to be the most powerful man on earth. It's not so rare — Hitler, Charlemagne, Napoleon — they all had the same ego."
"That's amazing."
"Yeah, it is," Nick said, heaving himself to his feet. "But now that we know who Ganicek really is,
and the fact that we have the diaries, it shouldn't be too difficult to stop him at Bern.
"No," Hela said, her eyes flickering over the tied bundle as Nick picked it up, "it shouldn't."
"I'm going to grab a shower and get some rest. We'll leave in the morning. There's no rush now."
Nick left her, glass in hand, staring at the coffee table, at the spot where the papers had been sitting.
For almost a half hour, Nick stood beneath the steaming spray of the shower head, relaxing, soaping himself. When he finally emerged, drying himself with a large, fluffy European towel, she was lying across the bed.
"Since we're not leaving until morning," she said, tossing her hair away from her forehead, "I thought we might as well make use of the night."
She looked up. She was cool, every inch the voluptuous siren as her dark eyes locked onto his gaze, issuing their own kind of challenge.
Nick smiled, and she smiled in return. "I don't know if I'm up to it," he said.
"All men, Nick, are up to it with the right provocation." She only moved slightly, but it was enough to make her bare breasts dance, to make her hips and thighs evoke desire.
Nick dropped the towel and eased himself onto the bed. She moved against him, all warmth, all steaming woman, all Cheshire cat with the smile on her sensual lips.
"You are a marvelous lover, Nick. Make me a woman who can accept love. I told you it would be better in Berlin."
"Yes, you did."
He kissed her, letting his tongue run along her lips and then delve into her waiting, warm mouth. Her breast was warm in his hand, firm yet soft at the same time. Her thighs captured one of his legs and she began to move against him.
His lips moved over her ear and down her throat to her shoulder. He felt her hand slide up his side, her nails tickling his flesh.
"Love me, Nick, hurt me! Not too much, just a little — like this."
He felt the nails start to bite into his buttocks. As casually as he could, Nick captured the hand before its deadly talons could break the flesh.
He knew he wouldn't be able to take this all the way, to actually make love to her. But he had managed enough foreplay to make it convincing.
"It's going to be quite an ego trip for me," he growled, bringing her hand up to his lips. "Beating the Dealer, watching him die."
