Circle of Scorpions

by Nick Carter

  "Sophie, that is Monsieur Dobruck."

  "Yes."

  "See that he gets anything he wants… anything."

  "Yes."

  Dobruck caught sight of her before she was halfway across the room headed for his table, and smiled.

  Her generous hips moved like a metronome. Above the waist she wore nothing but a thin — a very thin — silk blouse. It was unbuttoned very low and knotted beneath her ample breasts. She wore no bra, so there was a great deal of creamy flesh exposed almost to the nipples. The nipples themselves, while not exposed, were still visible, twin pink points of firmness pressed against the tight thinness of the blouse.

  Below the waist, she wore a pair of hip pants, cut very low in front and back. They were of black elastic mesh.

  "I am here to serve you. Monsieur Dobruck."

  Her voice was like silk, and the animal heal from her near naked body seemed to flow outward and scorch him.

  "You're new."

  "I started just yesterday."

  "You're not from Brussels."

  "No, I am Spanish." she lied.

  "And your name?"

  "Sophie."

  He nodded. "The bartender knows what I drink."

  Dobruck watched her move away. She was young and she was beautiful, and because he was who he was, she would be available.

  When she returned with his drink, she brushed the mesh covering her hip against his shoulder, again searing his flesh through his jacket.

  He fumbled with his wallet.

  "There is no charge. Monsieur Dobruck."

  "I know," he replied, folding a large note and slipping it into her cleavage. Perhaps later you will join me for the show."

  "I don't know…"

  "I'll arrange it."

  She returned just as the house lights dimmed. In the interim, she had removed the revealing costume and replaced it with a tight sweater and skirt. The street clothes somehow made her look even sexier, and much younger.

  Montchard knew exactly what ferrule Dobruck liked.

  By the end of the show, the girl, Sophie, had made him putty in her hands.

  "My house is only ten minutes away," he croaked hoarsely.

  "My hotel is only two minutes… a short walk."

  "But we can be more comfortable…"

  "No, I'll feel safer in my own room," she replied.

  Dobruck was about to get angry. He was about to let her know who he was and what power he had, when he felt her hands on his thighs beneath the table.

  Five minutes later they were walking arm in arm from the club.

  "This way." she said, turning right. "Who are they?"

  Dobruck shrugged. "They are my associates."

  "Do they follow you everywhere?"

  "Almost everywhere."

  "Not into the bedroom, I trust," she said coyly.

  "No, my little angel, not into the bedroom."

  But almost. One of the bodyguards stayed in the hotel lobby. The other followed them up to her floor and found a chair in the hall.

  "Will he just sit there?" Sophie asked, opening the door.

  "Unless I need him," Dobruck replied with a leer.

  "Let's hope you don't," she laughed, shrugging her jacket off and exiting to the bath. On her way by, she snapped on a radio. "There is brandy on the dresser."

  Dobruck poured two glasses of the amber liquid into a glass with quivering fingers.

  My night, he thought, already imagining the next hour with this young beauty. This will be my night!

  And then she was back, dressed in a filmy gown that left nothing to the imagination. She took one of the glasses and moved into his arms.

  "You are very beautiful, my dear… a young, sensual animal."

  "I have Latin blood," she crooned into his ear.

  She was light in his arms, and her hair was soft against his cheek. He held her close as he maneuvered her to the bed, and she didn't resist.

  She smells of lemons, he thought as the back of her knees hit the bed.

  Beneath the filmy sheerness of her gown, he could feel her breasts moving against his chest. Her hips met his, and he shivered at the liquid movement of her body.

  "I want you," he growled.

  "Are you very rich, Monsieur Dobruck?"

  "Very. Rich enough to give you anything you want."

  She bent the upper half of her body back in the circle of his arms. As she drained the glass and dropped it to the carpet, she gyrated her pelvis and hips against him.

  "Then undress me… here," she said, pointing to the sash at her waist.

  He drained his own glass, dropped it, and reached with the same hand for the sash. He tugged it, and gasped.

  Suddenly the filmy gown was in a heap at her feet, and what was beneath it was a study in olive and pink tones.

  A black, lacy bra only just contained the determined thrust of her high-riding breasts, and a black gaiter belt inadequately straddled the rounded curve of her hips.

  She wore no panties, and long, tapering legs supported the breathtaking torso above. Completing the erotic fantasy, and driving everything else from Dobruck's mind, were the sheer black hose attached to the garter belt.

  "You are a vision."

  "Now," she said, dropping to her back on the bed and spreading her thighs, "undress yourself… and take me."

  His fingers flew. His eyes were misty, devouring only her body, so that he didn't see the wide smile that stretched her lips when he dropped the Walther and holster from his shoulder out of reach on the floor.

  When he too was naked, he leaned one knee on the bed and began crawling upward over the luxurious softness of her willing body. So filled were his senses with the sight, the smell, and the touch of her, that he failed to hear the bathroom door open behind him.

  He was about to enter her, when he saw her eyes open wide. They were suddenly glazed over, and the smile on her lips was like a sneer of defiance.

  "Do not be afraid, my dear."

  "I'm not," she murmured. "Believe me, I am not."

  Émile Dobruck felt only a tiny pain at the base of his neck before Pocky drove the spike inward, severing his spine.

  There was no sound, and hardly a drop of blood. Using only the embedded spike for leverage, Pocky lifted the lifeless body off Sophia and let it slither to the floor.

  "Hurry!" he said, cleaning the spike on the bedspread. "Dress! We will use the roof. The car is waiting in an alley a block from here!"

  Sophia didn't answer. When he looked up, her eyes still held that glazed quality and her body was quivering.

  "Sophia, get dressed!"

  "No, not yet."

  "What?"

  She turned to him. "Pocky, take your clothes off."

  She lay back on the bed, assuming the pose that she had just assumed in front of Dobruck.

  And then he understood.

  "Sophia, are you mad…?"

  "Yes. Undress, Pocky… hurry. We have time… hurry!"

  It was insane, and yet it somehow fit. Her eyes drew him like a magnet as he fumbled with his clothes.

  And then it was her body drawing him, engulfing him, swallowing him…

  * * *

  Carter moved his hand through the bars, twisted the key around, and seconds later silently slid the cell door open.

  Everything was going like clockwork.

  Pietro Amani had swallowed it all. Carter knew the whole story, right down to the very time the meeting would be convened.

  The only thing Amani had held back was the place. But Carter knew that if Amani expected to be delivered there, he would soon know that as well.

  Carlotta and her SID people had come through like champions. The gear that he needed had been delivered early that morning, secreted under the flooring of a van delivering new prisoners. Carter had already transferred it to an abandoned tool shed in the most unused section of the courtyard.

  It was three a.m. sharp when he slid on his belly the few remaining feet to Amani's cell
and tapped lightly on the bars.

  Instantly the old man's face and gray mane appeared at the bars. "You are ready?"

  "Yes. Do your people know what to do?"

  "They will perform to the letter," the man replied in a whisper.

  Carter was sure they would. If they didn't, and that was the cause of failure, the old terrorist would have them visited by an iceman.

  "You've put the dummy in the bed?" Carter asked.

  "Yes. I am ready."

  "Then let's go!"

  Using his own key, Amani opened the cell, slipped out, and relocked it behind him.

  Together, the two men walked down the tier.

  Getting off the cellblock and into the yard would be the trickiest part of the plan. It would have been easier if someone in the prison, either a guard or one of the administrative staff, could have been let in on the ruse. But both Carter and the SID people had vetoed such a gamble.

  Graft, bribery, and corruption were too rife. It would have been impossible to be sure that whoever they let in on the plan wouldn't go right to Amani himself and offer to sell the information that he was being broken out by an agent of the United States government.

  They reached the end of the cellblock without rousing anyone, and Carter halted. Mentally he thanked the energy shortage. The entire block between the cells was lit by only two low-watt yellow bulbs.

  If one of the prisoners had seen them pass, he wouldn't have been able to distinguish between them and guards making rounds.

  Where they now stood, there was complete darkness.

  "There's a narrow corridor this way, between the wall and the last cell. Grab my belt and stay close!"

  Carter moved into the corridor in a half crouch, the Italian on his heels. He made his way about twenty feet by feel alone and halted when his groping hand touched wood.

  "Here."

  "What is it?" Amani whispered.

  "A book of matches. Light one and shield it with your body."

  The scrape of the match was like a shot going off in the deathly stillness. The flickering light revealed a four-foot-high door with an ancient padlock.

  "What is this?"

  Carter spoke as he went to work on the lock. "A few years ago, the powers that be in the prison system decided this whole damned place was a firetrap."

  "Which it is," the Italian said with a chuckle.

  "Agreed," Carter said, snapping the lock open. "They had to install a way for the prisoners to get down from the third tier lo the first, in case the stairs were blocked."

  The light flickered and went out. By the time Amani lit another match, Carter had the door open.

  "A fireman's pole!" Amani gasped.

  "Yeah," Carter said. "It satisfied the safety people, but of coarse no one bothered to tell the prisoners it was here."

  "But when we get down to the first tier, we will still be in the cellblocks."

  "No, we won't, because we're not going down… we're going up. Take your shoes and socks off and tie them around your neck."

  "Why?"

  "Because the pole is slick — easy to shoe down, hard to climb up. You can get more leverage with bare skin."

  They both quickly removed their shoes and socks and tied them around their necks. Then Carter lit the whole book of matches and leaned into the hole, holding the light over his head.

  "Think you can make it?" It was about forty feet to the top and the trapdoor leading onto the roof.

  Amani nodded. "I'll make it. There is still a lot of muscle in this fat."

  "Good enough. If you feel yourself start to slip, grab my leg."

  Carter dried his hands, blew out the matches, and gripped the pole. Monkey like, he got the soles of his feet on it and started up.

  He could hear Amani behind him already puffing, and hoped the man could last until he, Carter, could get me trap open and lean back to help him.

  "You all right?"

  "Yes," came the gasping reply. "How much… much…"

  "Farther?"

  "Yes."

  "I'm there."

  The trap creaked like hell when it was opened, but Carter managed to lower it softly to the roof. He jackknifed out of the hole and instantly whirled to dip one arm back in.

  "Grab my hand!"

  Amani managed to wrap one hand, and then both of them, around Carter's wrist, even as he started slipping back down the pole.

  To the old man's surprise, he felt himself being hoisted upward as if his weight were no more than a mere boy's.

  Once on the roof, with breath back in his lungs, he turned to face Carter.

  "You are very, very strong, Kashmir.

  "I know," Carter said, grinning. "Don't forget it in the days ahead. Come on, this way!"

  As they ran across the roof, Carter unwound a nylon line from beneath his shirt. He secured it to a ventilator pipe, looked over the side, and dropped it with a hissing sound toward the ground.

  "We are over the old part of the yard, where they dump the trash and where the tool sheds for the gardens are located.

  "I know it," Amani replied and smiled. "Very wise. The lights here have been burned out for months.

  "Were burned out. The bastards replaced them the day before yesterday. I spent the whole afternoon today with a slingshot and rocks, breaking them out again."

  "How far down is it?"

  "About a hundred feet. Can you make it?"

  "Going down, Kashmir, even that distance, will be easier than what I just did!"

  "Good. Here, lake one pair of these gloves. The rope is nylon, and even though it's knotted every foot or so, it will burn the hell out of your hands if you slip. And put your shoes back on."

  When they were both ready. Carter slipped over the side and began his descent into the darkness.

  Ten

  Carlotta Polti took one last look at the apartment before dousing the light. A lot had been accomplished out of these rooms in the past few days. A sudden clutch in her belly made her wish, strangely enough, that she could linger.

  But that was impossible. Everything had been set in motion now, and nothing could stop it.

  As she closed and locked the door, she hoped that she would be alive to see the place again twelve hours hence.

  "A franc for your thoughts," Jason Henry said, smiling up at her from the landing.

  Carlotta returned his grin. She had grown to like the big American. He made her laugh. "All my thoughts are of lost innocence."

  "I wouldn't know about that," he replied. "I never had any. Come along, they'll have our bird ready by now."

  On the street, the bright lights of the cafes streamed out to their left at the foot of Montmartre. The sound of laughter mixed with sad, almost bluesy music reached their ears as they walked to the car. A light snow was beginning to fall.

  Carlotta had an impulse to grab the big American's arm and steer him down the hill. It would be nice to sit in one of the cafes, drink some wine, and forget, even for an hour.

  But they didn't have an hour. Carlotta couldn't remember the last time she had thrown away an hour.

  She shrugged off her maudlin thoughts and threw her bag in the back of a little Fiat sedan.

  "I would have thought you'd have chosen something faster… a Jaguar or a Mercedes," she commented, sliding into the passenger seat.

  "Not for a deal like this," Henry said. "This little bucket of bolts is less conspicuous, and besides, if anyone has sported us, speed won't do much good."

  Carlotta was thrown into the seat with the Gs of his takeoff, and then they were swerving and speeding through the narrow streets toward the outer belt of boulevards that would take them around Paris, past the Bois de Boulogne, to the A10. They would take the major artery south to Orleans.

  As they passed the Bois, Henry chuckled. "Met my first wife there… on a Sunday afternoon. Laid her that night and we got married the following Wednesday."

  Carlotta laughed aloud. "She must have been good."

  "Oh, she
was good."

  "Why didn't it last?"

  "The poor woman was foolish enough to want me all to herself. I wasn't capable of staying that way. Never have been, probably never will."

  "It sounds like you're a sucker for women."

  "Absolutely clay in their hands. Gets me into a pot of trouble every time."

  "You wouldn't also be referring to the trouble this woman is about to get you in?"

  He laughed. "I might."

  She flashed him a smile in the dashboard lights. "I'll try to get you a bonus. Turn on the heater, will you? It's getting a little chilly."

  He reached down and pushed the temperature lever to let hot water into the healer coils, then opened the floor vents slightly. Carlotta unfolded her legs and moved forward to the edge of rite seal to let the hot air blow on her legs.

  "Better?"

  "Yes. thanks."

  "Enjoy it while you can," he said, his face suddenly grim. "It's going to get a lot colder."

  * * *

  "What in hell is all of this?" Amani asked as Carter threw the gear from the shed and began breaking it down.

  "These are helium tanks, this is a balloon, this is a nylon and plastic reel, and these are converted body harnesses. Here, climb into this jacket!"

  It was heavy and fur lined. "I take it we're going to get a little chilly."

  "We're going to go over the mountains into France. If this reel doesn't work, we'll be going overexposed and get very chilly."

  Amani shrugged into the jacket and lifted his arms at Carter's command. Very carefully. Carter buckled him into the harness, then checked the attachments to the second harness that he would soon climb into himself.

  Then he stretched the balloon flat on the ground and attached the helium tanks to its intake valves. "Here, take this… but don't pull on it."

  "What is it?"

  "A simple little light cord. When the balloon fills and we go up, you pull the cord… but not until I tell you. There are two red beacons attached to a large round eye on the top of the balloon. When the beacons go on. they will allow the copter pilot to get his grappling hook into the eye."

  "My God, at first I thought we were just going to float over the wall."

  "We could, but they would have us in a half hour. In time with the copter, we'll be over the frontier into France and gone."