Night of the Warheads

by Nick Carter

  He rang the bell.

  "Oui?" She was a harridan, about sixty, with huge, pendulous breasts, huger hips, and blue hair coiled on top of her head.

  "I would like to see the rooms."

  The woman looked at his clothes, his unshaven face, and started to close the door.

  Carter managed to wedge his body between the door and the jamb. At the same time, he produced a thick wad of bills with the hundred-franc notes in clear sight.

  "Actually, madame, I would like to use the apartment for about a half hour."

  "Monsieur, you are insane."

  Carter peeled off two bills, one hundred francs each, and pressed them into her pudgy hand.

  "An affair of the heart, madame. I have been at sea for nearly a year. I return… my wife… ascoundrel…"

  He accented his words with the French shrug. She hesitated but also shrugged when Carter added a third bill.

  "Two-A, directly above. The door is open. And don't smoke, monsieur. I have just cleaned."

  "Madame, I only want a place to set my eyes."

  It was twenty minutes before tall and athletic came around the comer with a smile on his face and a spring in his step. The limo was nowhere in sight, but Carter knew it soon would be.

  The would-be lover entered Number 8, and one minute later the limo sailed by and parked at the corner. Lily's two watchdogs jumped out and returned to Number 8.

  They were efficient. The poor guy barely got out two words before they were through the door.

  Five minutes later, the short one was out the door and heading for the limo for instructions. They were short, and in no time he was back in the flat.

  Carter smiled to himself. If Pepe was as sharp as he should be, it would not take him longer than five minutes on his car phone to see that the lothario in Number 8 was a far cry from Bluebeard.

  It took three minutes.

  They both came out the door and made for the limo on the dead run.

  Carter waited fifteen more minutes, then headed down the stairs.

  The old lady was standing in the open door of her apartment. "Well?"

  "Well," Carter said and shrugged. "I guess she decided not to visit him today,"

  He cabbed to the Vieux Port and found a phone booth before returning to the hotel.

  The call to Paris went through at once.

  "Pallmar here."

  "This is the man from Washington."

  "Yes."

  "I have a license number of a motor vehicle in Marseille."

  "What is it?"

  "F-S-S-X-four-four-one."

  "And the number of your phone?" Carter read off the number of the pay phone. "Five minutes."

  The connection died, and he lit a cigarette to wait.

  It was a long shot but one worth trying. Carter guessed that whoever Pepe was, he was the go-between for the party buying the hit. If Nels Pomroy was Bluebeard's broker, the chances were pretty good that Pepe did not know Bluebeard's real identity.

  That was why tall and handsome had taken some abuse that afternoon. If Carter could get a name, the cards were in his corner.

  The jangling phone brought him back.

  "Yes."

  "The car is registered to Marc LeClerc. He has a residence in Nice and one in Marseille on the Rue Emile Zola… Number thirty-seven."

  "And what does Monsieur LeClerc do to occupy his time?"

  "On the surface he is a munitions broker."

  "And underneath?"

  "He is the banker for the Basque revolutionary front, Euzkadi Ta Askatasuna."

  * * *

  Lily was pacing the room like a caged animal when Carter made his way down from his own room and deposited food and a bottle of wine on the bed.

  "I saw those men."

  "Did you?" Carter said, biting into a loaf of bread and stuffing bits of cheese and roast beef into his mouth.

  "They looked like killers."

  "Did they?"

  "Damn you. what is this all about?"

  Carter set the food down and pulled the wad of bills from his pocket. He peeled off ten one-thousand-franc notes and placed them on the bed.

  "A bargain is a bargain."

  "Who are you?" she said, standing before him, chewing on her lower lip.

  "I'm a man with a job… a strange job, but just a job."

  He added two more bills to the stack and chewed off another hunk of bread.

  "We'll stay put until tomorrow evening's phone calls. Once that's done, it's back to Avignon with you and a comfortable life for a while."

  "And that is all I am to know?"

  "That's all. Eat, the cheese is good."

  She nibbled and sipped the wine until Carter had eaten his fill.

  She watched him with wide, almost fearful eyes as he stood and stretched.

  "Where are you going?"

  "Back to my room. It's late and there'll be a lot to do before the phone call tomorrow afternoon." He leaned over and lightly brushed his lips over her forehead. "Good night, my little student."

  In his own room, Carter stripped, then slipped Hugo under his pillow and Wilhelmina under the bed.

  Between the sheets, he was asleep in five minutes, only to be awakened by a light tap on the door.

  He slid from the bed and flattened himself against the wall by the door with Wilhelmina in his hand.

  "Yes?"

  "It's me… Lily."

  Carter growled, then slipped the chain and turned the bolt.

  The door was barely ajar before she slipped through it and closed it behind her.

  "Where are you…?"

  "Right behind you," Carter said, lightly touching her shoulder.

  "Oh!… oh."

  "What is it?"

  "I'm afraid."

  "Oh, Christ, this is a fine time to be afraid."

  "I do not mean I am afraid of tomorrow…"

  "What then?"

  "I am afraid of tonight."

  Carter frowned. "Well, what do you want me to do about it?"

  "Let me stay here with you."

  "I thought you said…"

  "That I would not make love to you? I will not. But I did not say I would not sleep with you."

  Wearily, Carter stumbled to the bed and crawled between the sheets. "Suit yourself."

  He heard her undressing in the darkness. Then he felt her weight shift the bed and the tug of the covers.

  He was almost asleep when she slithered across the bed and molded her body to his.

  "I am not afraid now."

  "Good."

  Silence.

  "Do you want to make love to me?"

  "If I say yes, you'll say no," Carter replied. "If I say no, your feelings will be hurt. Right?"

  "I… I guess so."

  "So I won't say anything."

  She wriggled her soft, round bottom into his belly and found his hand. He did not try to stop her when he felt the full, firm mound of one of her breasts fill his palm.

  "What is your name?"

  He thought for a moment and decided it didn't make a hell of a lot of difference. "Nick."

  "Nick?"

  "Yes."

  "I am not afraid now."

  "Good. Good night."

  "Good night."

  She was sound asleep at least two hours before he was.

  Seven

  The bribe is useful all over the world. When one knows how to use it and can find someone susceptible to it, the options are unlimited.

  That was why Lily was needed for Carter's operation to penetrate Pepe. Anyone who was brokering killers in the Bluebeard class could be expected to have someone inside the newspaper offices who would tip him off when a certain ad was placed.

  It would be just as easy for him to obtain the location of a phone number, whether it be private or a phone booth.

  For that reason, Carter stood just inside the high wall on the third tier of the Ganay Stadium. To the east, south, and north were the open areas of the parking lots for
the stadium, Chanot Park, and the Palais des Expositions. To the east were the wide boulevards of the Marguerite district, with their sidewalk cafés, restaurants, bistros, and chic women's wear shops.

  From his perch on the soccer stadium wall, Carter could see nearly a mile in every direction. Right now, through a pair of high-powered binoculars, he could see Lily calmly sipping coffee in a café at the corner of Place Michelet and Boulevard Leon. She wore a bright red skirt and a thin white summer sweater that could be spotted easily from any distance.

  At the edge of the sidewalk, four paces from her table, was a phone booth. The number of the booth was the number Carter had placed in the ad.

  It was five minutes to five, and Pepe's boys were already in place. They sat just across the square from Lily in a dark gray Cortina.

  Carter could see them talking to one another without ever shifting their eyes from Lily. They spoke like a pair of old cons, their lips barely moving.

  Carter guessed that was exactly what they were.

  The black limousine was nowhere in sight, but Carter didn't figure it would be. Pepe or Marc LeClerc would not risk being spotted by Bluebeard twice without knowing what the killer's intentions were.

  Carter saw a flash of red in the corner of the glasses, and he shifted back to Lily. She was on her feet and moving toward the booth.

  Farther down the block, short and pudgy started the Cortina.

  Carter waited until Lily was finished on the phone and was back at her table before sprinting down the three levels of stone stairs to the stadium entrance.

  He was pretty sure the men in the Cortina would eventually make a try for Lily, but not while she was in the crowded café.

  His heels had barely touched the cement of the first level when the phone near the entrance started ringing.

  Carter was in the booth in three strides. He yanked the instrument from its cradle and took a deep breath. Now came the moment of truth. Had Carstocus — as Bluebeard — ever made contact directly with Pepe, or had it always been through Pomroy?

  And if that contact had been made, would Pepe recognize Carstocus's voice?

  "Bluebeard here."

  "This is Pepe. What are you trying to pull?"

  Carter relaxed. "I'm being safe. I don't know you, and Pomroy has disappeared."

  "We think he is dead. Why haven't you delivered on the contract?"

  Again Carter tensed. Now came the second shot in the dark.

  "I never received the vitals."

  "You what?"

  "Just what I said," Carter replied, confidence flowing now like a fast river through his body. "I never got the particulars or the target from Nels."

  "Damnit, you received the money!"

  True, and I'm willing to fulfill the contract. Give me a number where I can reach you. We'll set up a meet."

  "You must be insane! Part of our arrangement was that we never meet… no faces, no names."

  "That was your arrangement with Pomroy. Now it's a new deal."

  "Impossible!"

  "Then no deal."

  There was a long pause on the other end of the line. Carter guessed that a hand was being held over the receiver because he could distinguish muffled voices in the background.

  Then Pepe was back.

  "I take it you still want the contract?"

  "Yes, on my terms."

  "We are not a wealthy organization. We have given you a great deal of money. If we can't come to an agreement, what happens to the half you have already received?"

  "It stays in my Swiss accounts."

  Another pause with more background voices.

  "Very well. Do you have a pencil?"

  "I have a good memory."

  Pepe rattled off a number. "What time will you call?"

  "I don't know. Just stay by the phone."

  Pepe was cursing in a mixture of French and Spanish as Carter broke the connection. He quickly dropped the required coins into the slot and waited for Lily to answer.

  "Yes?"

  "It's me. Everything's right on schedule. Wait ten minutes and then take off. And do exactly as I told you. Okay?"

  "Okay," she replied with only a hint of fear in her voice.

  "Don't worry, luv, it's almost all over."

  He replaced the instrument and jogged back up the stairs.

  There was anger and frustration all over the two faces in the Cortina. Lily was visibly nervous, but she was holding fast at the table, her eyes darting to the watch on her wrist every few seconds.

  "Just do it like I wrote it, honey," Carter whispered, his eyes watering a bit behind the glasses.

  Then she was up and moving across the square, the Cortina crawling along about two blocks back.

  For the next hour Lily wandered along the fringes of the park. She bought a newspaper, sat on a bench and played at reading it, and even fed some ducks in a small pond.

  Then, at precisely 5:50, with the sun starting to dip, she crossed Boulevard Michelct and entered the narrow streets and alleyways that would eventually lead her to the promenade along the docks.

  Short and pudgy left the Cortina to keep track of her on foot, and his buddy slid over into the driver's seat.

  They were good, Carter mused, following them with the glasses until they were out of sight: good but predictable.

  Carter moved down to the street and hailed a cab.

  "Nouvelle Plage."

  "Out, monsieur."

  It would take Lily, walking, about thirty minutes to cover the distance the cab did in five.

  "Stop here," Carter said when they reached the point on the promenade he had already staked earlier that day. "Do you see that alley there that runs alongside the racetrack?"

  "Oui, monsieur."

  "In twenty minutes, a woman will come out of there wearing a white sweater and a red skirt. Pick her up and take her where she wants to go."

  "Twenty minutes it is."

  Carter fluttered the torn half of a five-hundred-franc note in the driver's face. "She will have the other half of this."

  Carter looked over his shoulder and saw a beaming smile on the cab driver's face.

  As he jogged across the promenade, he entered the maze of alleys that adjoined the racetrack, passed the paddocks, and broke into a run across the wide walkway to Baraly Park.

  He could see Lily just entering the park on the opposite side. Short and pudgy was about a block behind her, and the Cortina was about twenty yards behind him. Both of them were closing fast.

  Carter had guessed right.

  They knew the city and had picked the best spot to take her: a narrow lane between two hedgerows about halfway through the park.

  Carter made the lane first and moved into one of the many alcoves in the hedge that housed benches and statuary. A few hours from now, under cover of complete darkness, the alcove would become a meeting place for a pair of young lovers.

  Right now Carter had a very different use for it.

  He could hear Lily's heels clicking on the narrow walk. getting louder and louder, until she flashed past. She did not glance into the alcove, but then she would not know which one he had chosen, and in the pea jacket and dark sweater he was almost invisible.

  Close on her heels, his pace increasing with every step, came her pursuer.

  Carter rolled his weight to the balls of his feet and tensed to spring.

  He saw a coat sleeve and then a short, stocky body.

  "Monsieur…"

  "Oui?… Que…?"

  Carter's clenched hands, forming one powerful fist, came down smack in the center of the man's face. He felt and heard the nose go, and just as a cry of pain rolled from the man's smashed lips, Carter grasped him by the lapels.

  In one swift, deft movement he whirled, ramming the small of the man's back against the edge of the fountain. A second howl of pain was cut off as the side of Carter's hand came down across the back of his neck.

  Like wet laundry, the body folded to the brick floor of the a
lcove, but Carter was already in the lane walking toward the headlights of the Cortina. A cigarette was in his mouth, and his hands cupped the flame of a match.

  About ten yards from the crawling car, Carter squinted through the smoke streaming from his nostrils. The driver's dark, deep-set eyes were darting everywhere looking for his mate.

  By the time Carter was directly alongside the car's open window, he had sucked the cigarette between his lips into a glowing ember.

  "Hey, you…!"

  The pockmarked face turned directly toward him just as Carter flipped the cigarette. The ash hit the bridge of the guy's nose and spread. Some of it must have caught one or both eyes, because the howl from his throat was blood-curdling.

  But he was game.

  He must have been rolling along in neutral, because when his foot hit the accelerator nothing happened but a lot of rpm's and no movement.

  Before he could find the gear shift, Carter had the door open and had grabbed a handful of his hair. As Carter yanked, the guy tried to claw a PPK from beneath his jacket.

  It was a mistake for two reasons.

  One, the pistol had a long, cumbersome silencer screwed into its snout. The end of the silencer caught on his jacket and wouldn't let go.

  Two, he had thumbed the safety off when he tried to pull it.

  Carter heard the phfft sound, and the guy was dead weight in his hands. He flipped him over, and when he saw the dark stain clear across his chest, Carter did not even bother to check for a pulse.

  He hit the dash button to release the trunk lid and dragged the body to the rear of the car. When he had it stuffed as far inside as it would go, he lifted the guy's wallet.

  As he jogged back to the alcove, he emptied the wallet into the pea jacket — ID and miscellaneous cards in the left pocket, cash in the right.

  When short and pudgy was stuffed in with his buddy. Carter did the same with his wallet, then threw the two pieces of leather in with the bodies and slammed the trunk lid.

  Lily was waiting under a streetlight at the foot of the Musee Baraly steps.

  "Get in!"

  She did, and sat, white-faced and rigid, as Carter pulled into traffic on the boulevard and headed for the train station.

  "Where are they?" she asked at last in a surprisingly calm voice.

  "In the trunk."

  "Are they… are they… dead?"