by Nick Carter
"Yes, Chairman Zalenkov?"
"I probably won't make tennis on Saturday."
Hatfield nodded. "That's to be expected, Iggy. Perhaps another time."
"Yes, perhaps… let's hope so."
Zalenkov had scribbled on a pad. He passed it to Hatfield.
DAMN THE KGB
Hatfield wielded his own pen.
I QUITE AGREE
Thirty-three men and women of foreign nationalities, all with forged passports, were detained at various border stations.
One of these was Petro Amani, just as he was about to board an Air Maroc flight to Vienna.
He didn't resist, but walked silently between the two uniformed officers. They exited the terminal and entered the parking lot. They were halfway to a police van when a young, attractive blond woman disengaged herself from a clump of people and moved in behind them.
When she was two steps from the prisoner, she pulled a Mouser from beneath the trench coat she wore and held it in front of her face.
"Amani the Pig!" she screamed.
Amani and both officers whirled at the same time.
"Sophia…"
The Mouser held a twelve-round clip. She managed to put eight of the large-caliber slugs into Amani's body before she died herself from the officers' returning fire.
* * *
Jason Henry deftly guided the powerful little launch through the breakwater.
Six miles south of Casablanca, he docked at a private pier. Two long tiers of wooden steps led up the side of a hill to a charming villa.
Henry jumped ashore and held the launch as Carter stepped to the pier.
"My God, it's beautiful."
"You've got it for a full two weeks."
"Where do I send the rent check."
"You don't." Henry said, back in the launch, already revving the engine, "It's called Villa Rombouard!"
Before Carter could reply, Henry was gone, heading out into the bay.
She was waiting in the center of a large living-dining area. Behind her, a table was set with fine china and candles.
"Welcome home."
"For two weeks, I'm told," Carter replied, moving toward her.
"I've already prepared dinner… for later. We will begin with saumon fumé and proceed to truite à la hussarde and délices de sole d'Antin. From there it will be a romp through ris de veau and étuve de boeuf maconnaise, all complete with various side dishes, and served with vintage wines of the Rhine, of Burgundy, and finally, champagne."
"It sounds delicious," Carter said. "And in the meantime?"
He was directly before her, his lips almost touching hers.
"In the meantime, I am bathed, and perfumed, and" — Carlotta shrugged her shoulders, and the wispy robe slithered down her body — "and naked."
