Night of the Warheads

by Nick Carter

  "Gracias," Carter replied. "And you look like an aging Latin roué."

  "Wasn't that the idea?"

  "Right. Let's get to work."

  "I'll change," Louisa said, darting into the alcove.

  From inside the large, fur-trimmed coat he wore, Ramon pulled a series of maps. Then he shed the coat and slid into a chair beside Carter, spreading the maps out on a table.

  "You pick some real tricky ones," he said, smoothing out several Polaroids of the Smythe villa and the countryside surrounding it.

  "I didn't say it would be a piece of cake," Carter replied. "Before we get into that, what about my hunches?"

  "Looks like bull's-eye on every one. Our ferret in the ETA in San Sebastian tells us that the word went out immediately after the news of de Nerro's death hit the streets."

  "It is de Varga."

  "Right," Cubanez said. "Within the ranks, he claims that he has stayed undercover and hid the fact that he was still alive so he would be free to carry out the ultimate attack on the Spanish government that keeps the Basque people in 'imperialist chains. »

  "And," Carter added, "Armanda de Nerro has only been acting in his stead all this time?"

  "Right. Now, because the Spanish government has used the killer, Bluebeard, to assassinate Armanda de Nerro, Lupe de Varga himself has been forced to come into the open to lead the movement."

  "Very neat," Carter muttered. "And I fell for it like a ton of bricks."

  Cubanez shrugged. "It was well planned and you had no way of knowing. The police and news media are buying the love triangle bit, which also plays into de Varga's plan."

  "And the police buying Maria de Nerro's killing as a suicide also plays into his hand."

  Cubanez grinned, his stark white teem gleaming like ivory in his dark face. "But into ours as well. If we pull this off tonight, the whole thing will be dismissed as just another jet-set scandal, and no one will be the wiser that eight nuclear devices have fallen into the hands of fanatic terrorists."

  Carter nodded and rifled quickly through the photos.

  "When did de Varga and his crew move into the villa?"

  "My guess is within minutes after Armanda de Nerro's murder was broadcast. It was probably easy. Her people thought de Varga was dead. When he turned up alive, knowing the whole blackmail scheme, and de Nerro was dead, they just accepted the new leadership."

  "What about Alain Smythe?" Carter asked, selecting a blowup of the villa proper and studying it with rapt concentration.

  "As near as we can tell, it is the same deal as De Palma and Sons Limited in San Sebastian. Smythe came up fast from nowhere. It takes a lot of money to get started in the fashion industry, and even more to branch out into allied businesses like perfume, design endorsements, and the like. Years, usually."

  "And Smythe did it in less than three years," Carter growled.

  "Did it big. We have not been able to confirm this, but when we do I imagine we'll find another Liechtenstein holding company behind Alain Smythe Enterprises. Armanda de Nerro was a very organized woman. My guess is that she owned Smythe. He had to go along with this or she could have — how do you say? — pulled the plug on his little empire."

  "Good enough," Carter said. "Let's get to it."

  Cubanez arranged maps and pictures in front of them, and started to explain.

  The renovations of the villa had been little short of miraculous. To the ordinary eye it appeared that Smythe had faithfully restored a seventeenth-century castle to its former glory.

  And he had.

  But not for aesthetic reasons.

  "The place," Cubanez intoned, "is literally a fortress. The moat is for real. These firing slits — here, here, here, and here — are not empty."

  Carter accepted a magnifying glass and examined the picture where Cubanez had indicated.

  On very close scrutiny, he detected 50mm mounted machine guns on the parapets behind the slits.

  "They have mortars up there, too," Cubanez added. "At first glance they could hold off an army once they gave Madrid their ultimatum: an independent Basque nation, or Toulouse, Barcelona, and Madrid are ashes."

  "So how do you figure on doing it?"

  "A two-pronged assault," Cubanez replied, obviously warming to the task. "Actually, three. We send the jeep up the front road — here — as a diversion. It has a mounted fifty. It will not do any damage, but it will probably draw their attention and their fire. Meanwhile, we ski down the mountain — here — to these rocks."

  "What about the fifties on the roof?"

  "Hang gliders, all black, four of them. There is a lot of area on that roof, with a lot of chimneys, towers, and obstructions. All the fifties are in the rear. If they land in the front, the gunners can be knocked out before they know it."

  "All well and good," Carter said, "but that still leaves us on the outside."

  "Not for long, I hope," Cubanez replied, rubbing his hands together. "When they did the renovation, they also put in an addition here, to modernize and enlarge the kitchen."

  "So?"

  "So, the stone there is only a facade, masking a single brick wall."

  "We could blow it," Carter suggested.

  "Right, and be inside and spread out before they can regroup."

  Carter lit another cigarette and calmly went over the whole thing one more time. He asked about equipment and personnel, and received quick, to-the-point answers from the able Spaniard.

  "Good enough," he said at last. "Let's just hope that the villa is far enough up the mountain that the villagers won't think World War III has started."

  "Thought of that, too," Cubanez replied. "I have a team here at Canillo, and another at Soledad. When the big boom goes, they will add a couple of their own."

  "Dynamiting the snow to avoid avalanches?"

  "Right."

  "Ramon, you should have been a general," Carter said and chuckled.

  "No, thanks. This is more fun," Cubanez replied with a grin.

  "Okay, let's trade faces!"

  They both undressed and traded their clothing. When that was finished, they stood side by side in front of a mirror.

  Cubanez peeled off the close-cropped salt-and-pepper beard and passed it to Carter. It was quickly followed by the shaggy eyebrows, the mustache, and the sideburns. As Ramon washed the gray from his hair at the temples, Carter added some silver to his.

  The fur-collared topcoat completed the ensemble.

  "What do you think?"

  "Perfect," Cubanez replied. "If you are stopped, only someone who had been very close to Nicholas Carstocus could recognize you."

  "Good enough. Where's the car?"

  "I will take you to it."

  Louisa had slipped from the bedroom alcove. She had donned a pair of skintight black jeans, a layer of sweaters, and a heavy leather jacket. Fur-lined boots were on her feet.

  Carter started to speak, but she held up her hand.

  "I'm going. I've been baring my breasts and playing prostitute up here for six months. Now that it's finally happening, I want to be there!"

  Carter looked at Cubanez, who shrugged.

  "Ramon, what's the hardware?" Carter growled.

  "Czech Skorpions for rapid fire," he said, "and our own Astra three-fifty-sevens for sidearms."

  Carter turned to Louisa. "You ever fire an Astra?"

  "No."

  "The recoil can break your wrist."

  "I'll use two hands," she replied.

  "So be it," Carter said. "Let's go."

  "See you on the mountain!" Cubanez said, going through the door.

  Fourteen

  A stiff breeze blew down off the mountains as the little car climbed steadily upward past the tall radio tower. Snow swirled in hazy gusts, forcing Carter to turn on the wipers every couple of minutes.

  Beside him, in the passenger seat, Louisa sat stoically, staring straight ahead.

  "Scared?"

  "Yes."

  "Good. You wouldn't be human if
you weren't."

  "How is Cubanez getting up here?"

  "A jeep," Carter replied, "from the other side of Canillo."

  A last hairpin turn, and the barricades denoting the road's end came up in the headlights' twin beams. Carter nuzzled the front bumper against them and killed the engine.

  "We walk from here."

  From the car's trunk he rescued two pairs of snowshoes and instructed Louisa how to lace them onto her boots.

  "Ready?" he asked at last.

  "I suppose so."

  "Let's go."

  The snow was powder for about eight inches down and packed solid underneath. It made for fast moving. Less than a half hour later, they were high on the mountain and moving across its peak.

  "Much farther?" she asked from behind him in an only slightly breathless voice.

  "Those trees, there. Hold up!"

  Carter took a penlight from his pocket and blinked its beam three quick times toward the trees.

  The answer came back at once.

  "C'mon!"

  They trudged the remaining forty yards and found themselves in a makeshift camp.

  "You made good time," Cubanez said. "Your equipment is there."

  Carter checked the load in a UZ61 Skorpion, loosened the lanyard, and wriggled it across his back. He then hooked two spare magazines to his pockets and adjusted a pair of goggles around his head.

  He noticed, out of the corner of his eye as he stepped into his skis, that Louisa was duplicating his every move.

  The last thing he did was to buckle on the holster. Western-style, that held the heavy Astra.357. He still had Wilhelmina under his left armpit, but for that night's work the Astra would better serve the purpose.

  One slug in a crowd from the powerful handgun could go right through one body and fell a second.

  "Ready?" Cubanez asked, joining them.

  "Got it, "Carter replied, looking to Louisa, who nodded.

  "Let's go. The others are down below on the ridge, ready to move out."

  The skis made a faint hissing sound as they zigzagged down the short slope and came out on a narrow plateau high above the valley.

  Directly below them was the radio tower, and far below it were the lights of Andorra-la-Vella and Les Escaldes.

  Somewhere in between was the villa.

  Six men stood on the edge of the precipice on skis. All of them were armed and ready.

  Four others in black suits, looking like dark moths with the large black wings of their hang gliders poised above them, stood to the rear. All of them were poised in a crouch, ready to run off the top of the mountain.

  The top man in command under Cubanez was introduced as Alfredo. He was a hulking bear of a man, made bigger by the harness draped around his body. He had shaggy black hair, dead eyes, and deep scars on both sides of his face.

  Carter did not offer his own name, and no one asked.

  Carter cased the others and found them to be stamped from the same mold as Alfredo. Cubanez had already told him that they were a crack antiterrorist team, and that was good enough for him.

  There were no handshakes and only a bare vocal greeting before they got down to business.

  "There is an American in there. His name is Lorenzo Montegra. If possible, I want him kept alive. He is an engineer and will know how to dismantle the missiles. That will make the cleanup later quicker and easier."

  "Señor?" It was Alfredo.

  "Si?"

  This man Montegra… has he already armed the missiles?"

  "We don't know," Carter replied, pausing to let his words sink in. "It's possible. That's why, as soon as you knock out the guns on the roof, you must move down to the tower doors as soon as possible to stop anyone from entering."

  "I have briefed them all," Cubanez added, "on the villa floor plan from the master in the city files."

  Carter nodded. "That floor plan should be exact, except for the alterations inside the towers."

  Again Carter paused, looking at each man in turn before speaking again.

  "This must be done as quickly and cleanly as possible. Also, these men are fanatics. I have no doubts that they are prepared to die to the last man."

  "Then, señor," Alfredo growled, "that is what they shall do."

  "All right," Cubanez said, "everybody stay in radio contact. Alfredo…"

  The big man growled something to his three comrades, and, as one, they sprinted toward the edge of the cliff.

  As silent as death they sailed out into the night sky, and within seconds they were lost in the inky blackness.

  "Our turn," Cubanez said. "Single file… I will lead."

  Carter turned to Louisa. "Stay close to me."

  "Don't worry, I will!"

  One by one, over they went.

  Cubanez had the difficult job leading the way. The others, crouched low, had only to follow his track.

  On purpose, Cubanez swung the column in wide arcs. Because of this it was almost a half hour before they broke through the trees and found themselves in a wide field to the rear of the villa.

  "Skis off!" Cubanez hissed. "We walk in from here!"

  The villa squatted like a huge mound of dark stone about two hundred yards in front of them.

  The field itself was used as a pasture in the summertime. It was dotted with great, high boulders and groups of pine and scrub trees.

  They moved forward, again in single file. Halfway across, the trees thinned out and Cubanez picked up the pace.

  Now and then Carter glanced up, his eyes scanning the night sky for the men riding the gliders.

  He could see nothing. It was pitch-black, so black that the outline of the villa itself against the sky could barely be discerned.

  Even as chill as it was, perspiration gleamed on Carter's face. It came from anticipation as well as the exertion of the march.

  "Hold it!" Cubanez whispered.

  The column stopped and fanned out behind him and Carter.

  They were forty yards short of the moat and the high, stone walls of the villa. Directly in front of them was a long, seemingly unending line of huge rocks.

  "Is there a path between or over those boulders?" Carter asked.

  "Yes," Cubanez replied. "I spotted it with binoculars this afternoon."

  "It will be as slick as glass with this new snow."

  "I know," Cubanez nodded and motioned up two men from the column.

  One of them carried a canvas pack, the other something that looked like two aluminum poles.

  "It's a lightweight loading chute," Cubanez explained. "It extends in width and length, and weighs next to nothing."

  "To walk the moat?" Carter ventured.

  "Exactly. Here's your pack. You are the bomber expert. I will position the men."

  Carter grinned and accepted the pack as Cubanez slipped away. From it he took a hot-shot battery, two coils of wire, and a bundle tightly wrapped in oilskin.

  "What's that?" Louisa asked, peering over Carter's shoulder.

  "Good old-fashioned dynamite," he replied. "It makes the kind of boom everyone around here is used to hearing."

  "My God, you'll blow up the whole villa!"

  "Would that I could," Carter said as he broke the ties on the wire and started wrapping the two coils together with a loose twist.

  Then he opened the end of the bundle and carefully inserted a fuse into the center stick of dynamite. This done, he tied the end of the wires to the coil he had already scraped clean. Then he uncrossed the opposite ends of the coil wires and handed them to Louisa.

  "Hold these… and keep your hands clear of that battery. Ramon?"

  "Here," came the reply out of the darkness, and then the man himself materialized.

  "How close are we?"

  "The jeep just checked in. They are in place. All we need now is the word from Alfredo."

  It came five minutes later when the little light on top of the two-way in Cubanez's hand glowed red. He opened the channel and spoke.

&nb
sp; "Go ahead."

  "Alfredo here. The roof is secure. Six dead, no alert. We're moving down to the tower doors now."

  "Good enough." He closed the channel and glanced up at Carter. "Ready?"

  "Follow me over," Carter replied. "You carry the battery. Louisa, the wires!"

  In a half crouch, with his feet widely spaced and the dynamite pack in one hand, he scaled the boulder and slid down the other side on his butt.

  It was about twenty yards to the moat, and by the time he got there two me" were already extending the aluminum chute. One end of it fell silently in the snow on the other side, and Carter barely missed a beat as his feet hit the chute.

  It took him a full two minutes to find a depression between the phony stone and the concrete foundation. When he did, he securely lodged the lethal pouch and retreated back across the moat, playing the wire out behind him.

  The two men pulled the ladder a safe distance, then slid in between the rocks.

  When Carter was again squatting between Louisa and Cubanez, he took the battery.

  "I'll need a little light for safety's sake, but shield it."

  Cubanez cupped a penlight between his hands and pointed the beam down at the battery.

  Carter attached one of the two coils to the battery terminal. Carefully he kinked the second loose wire away from the terminal and looked up.

  "Ramon…"

  "Si?"

  "Your men know enough to keep their heads down?"

  "Oh, yes. And they know the groups they split into when they get inside. I've rehearsed it all, over and over again, with each one of them."

  "Good. Louisa?"

  "Si?"

  "Lie flat and cover your head with your rifle and your arms. When this goes, there's going to be rock and concrete flying all over hell around here. Here we go!"

  Carter pressed the wire to the second terminal, and the night was filled with sound.

  The explosion was deafening. Rocks, dirt, and hunks of concrete filled the air. The wall of boulders blocked most of the debris, but a few fragments must have gotten through.

  As Carter lifted his head from his arms, he heard moaning just behind him.

  One of the men was cursing and trying to apply a makeshift tourniquet to his arm. He saw Carter's questioning glance and flashed him a thumbs-up sign.