Agent Counter-Agent

by Nick Carter

  "Yes, we've always been frank."

  "Then let's be frank now," Hawk said. "I think something happened when you disappeared, and I don't understand why you're not telling me about it. I know you must have your reasons for holding back, but it would be a hell of lot better for both of us if you spit it out. Does it concern the Hoffmann girl?"

  I shot a look at him. "No, it doesn't have anything to do with the girl. Why the hell should it? I told you she was clear. Do you really believe I'm lying to you? Is my loyalty suddenly in question?" I realized I was shouting, but it was too late.

  "Take it easy, Nick," Vincent said quietly.

  For a minute Hawk didn't say anything. He was staring at me again, piercing me with those hard, cold eyes. The pressure in my head and chest was rising dangerously, and I felt like a bomb getting ready to go off.

  "Nick," Hawk said slowly, "I'm taking you off this case." His face suddenly looked old and tired.

  A cold chill passed through me. I turned to meet his eyes. "You can't do that," I said hollowly. "You need me here."

  "Please believe me when I say I don't want to. You're number one on my list, and you know it. Your record speaks for itself. But something is very wrong here. The feeling I had when I arrived in Caracas — the horrible feeling that something had gone haywire — is still with me. In fact, it's gotten a lot stronger in the past couple of days." He looked at Vincent. "You feel it too, don t you, Clay?"

  "Yes, sir," Vincent said. "I do."

  "You've always placed a lot of value on gut feelings, Nick. You've told me so yourself many times. Well, I do too. And right now I have a very strong feeling that you shouldn't be involved in this assignment any more. For your own good as well as for the good of the conference."

  "Sir, if you'll just give me a chance to show you I'm all right," I said. "Just let me stay through the noon recess."

  His brow furrowed, "Why the noon recess?"

  I couldn't look him in the eye. "That just seems like a particularly dangerous time. Once they're safely back in the conference room, it's not likely that anything will go wrong. I'll leave then if you want me to."

  "I want you to leave now," Hawk said coolly. "Vincent, go get one of the Venezuelan guards. I'm sending one back to the hotel with Nick, just to make sure he gets there all right."

  "That isn't necessary!" I said angrily.

  "Forgive me, Nick, but I think it is," Hawk said. His voice was as hard as his eyes.

  Vincent had started for the door, and I suddenly panicked. I couldn't let these men stop me from carrying out my assignment. Something clicked inside, and my head cleared. I knew what I had to do. I had to kill them. A hard, cold determination came over me.

  I reached quickly into my jacket and pulled out the Luger. I aimed it at Hawk but spoke to Vincent. "Hold it right there," I said sharply.

  They were both staring at me in complete shock.

  "Have you gone mad?" Hawk asked incredulously.

  Vincent had turned back from the door. "Come around here, where I can see you," I said. As soon as he did, I'd kill them both. But I'd have to be quick about it.

  "What is this, Nick?" Vincent asked in a low, strained voice.

  "The name is Rafael Chávez." I said. "I'm a Vigilante. It doesn't matter now if you know. Nick Carter is dead, and I'm impersonating him. Within the hour, I'll have completed my mission, and everyone at the conference will be dead. Nothing is going to stop me, so move around in front of me, like I said."

  Hawk and Vincent exchanged looks. "I saw the secret tattoo on your right arm when you were washing up this morning," Hawk said slowly. "No, you're not an imposter. For God's sake, Nick, put that thing down and talk to us."

  His words infuriated me. I aimed the automatic at his chest. But then I saw Vincent lunging toward me.

  I whirled around to meet him, but I was a split second too late. The next thing I knew, he was on top of me, and we were crashing to the floor.

  When we hit, Vincent's meaty fist smashed into my face. It was a hard blow, and it dazed me. Then I felt the Luger being twisted out of my hand. I held on with all my strength, but Vincent had the advantage. The automatic fell to the floor. I was recovering my strength, though. I got a foot up against Vincent and kicked him hard in the groin.

  He screamed and fell off me onto his back. I spotted the Luger, then started to go for it.

  "Don't do it, Nick. I'll have to shoot." Hawk was standing over us, holding his Beretta on me. I looked up past the long silencer and into his eyes, and I knew he was dead serious. I stood up slowly.

  "You think you can stop me with that?" I asked in a menacing voice I didn't recognize as my own.

  "I'm quite sure I can," he said calmly. "But don't make me do it."

  "I'm going to take that toy away from you and kill you with it," I growled. I took a step toward him.

  "I'll shoot, Nick," Hawk said. But I could see a hint of fear in his eyes — he was afraid he couldn't kill me.

  I was just about to call his bluff when I saw Vincent staggering back to his feet. As Hawk aimed the gun carefully at my chest, Vincent came at me. I grabbed him and dragged him in front of me to shield myself from Hawk's Beretta. Then I gave Vincent a hard shove, and he fell heavily against Hawk. Both men stumbled backward, and the gun went off, making a soft thumping sound. The slug slammed into the ceiling.

  I moved quickly, smashing the side of my right hand against Vincent's neck, and he fell away from Hawk, clearing my path. As Hawk was bringing the gun down to aim again, I grabbed his gun arm and pulled, twisting hard as I dragged him toward me. He went flying over my hip and crashed to the floor, the Beretta clattering up against the wall behind him. He was out cold.

  I started for the Luger, but just then Vincent tackled me again. I went down but recovered immediately and threw a left hook into Vincent's broad face. His cheekbone snapped, and he crumpled under the blow. He was hurt, but he wasn't finished. I saw his hand go inside his jacket. In a single motion I slipped the stiletto down into my palm and sent it flying just as Vincent was taking aim. The knife sliced in under his ribs, and he gasped, his eyes going wide, and fell over onto his side.

  "Jesus, Nick!" Hawk shouted, staring at Vincent's body in disbelief. Hawk had regained consciousness but was still too weak to move. I grabbed the Luger and aimed it carefully at his head. He'd have to die. There was no other way. I tightened my finger on the trigger, but something stopped me. Hawk was staring up at me, defiant and angry — and hurt.

  Hatred and fury welled up in my chest. This man stood in my way. I had to eliminate him. My finger tightened again on the hard metal of the trigger. I looked into that lined face and froze, stunned by an unexpected surge of emotion. I didn't know why, but I liked and respected the man too much to shoot. Yet I had to pull the trigger. I broke out in a cold sweat as the conflicting emotions tugged at my fevered brain. I licked my dry lips and took aim again. My duty was clear. David Hawk had to die.

  But I couldn't do it. I just couldn't pull the trigger. Maybe I didn't have to kill him, after all. I could tie him up and keep him out of the way till I'd completed my mission.

  Hawk was watching my face. He didn't really seem surprised when I lowered the gun.

  "I knew you wouldn't kill me" he said quietly.

  "Shut up!" I shouted. I was too frustrated and confused to think clearly.

  I bound Hawk's hands and feet with his tie and belt. My mind raced, I'd fought like an AXE agent, not an amateur revolutionary. And I'd bound Hawk like a pro, though I knew I'd never done anything like it before. And there was that strange emotion I'd felt for the old man. It didn't make any more sense than the flashes of unknown memories and the crazy dreams I'd had for the past few days.

  Again I had the feeling that something was drastically wrong with all of this — with the people at the clinic, the mission I was on, and myself. But there wasn't time to figure it out.

  I dragged Hawk to a closet. I hadn't gagged him because I knew the rooms were co
mpletely soundproof. He just kept staring at me.

  "You're drugged or something," he said.

  "Keep quiet and I won't kill you," I said harshly.

  "You don't want to kill me. Do you really believe you're a man named Chávez?"

  "I am Chávez."

  "That's not true," he said emphatically. "You're Nick Carter. Goddamn it, you're Nick Carter!"

  He was making my head spin. The headache was returning — the headache that would go way only after I'd killed my enemies. I glanced at my watch and saw that I only had about half an hour to go. I stuffed Hawk into the closet and slammed and locked the door. I glanced at Vincent as I walked to the door. He looked dead, and for some crazy reason, I was really sorry about it.

  I went out into the corridor and was surprised to find it almost deserted. A Venezuelan policeman was going into a security room at the other end of the hall. He hadn't seen me. Obviously, nobody had heard us. But I didn't want to run into anyone. The security people might wonder where I was coming from, or somebody who'd seen me go down the hall with Hawk and Vincent might start putting two and two together. I decided to leave the palace through a side entrance. I could walk through the garden and come back in through the main entrance. Hopefully, the crowds would have dispersed during the noon recess. And anyone who saw me coming in would just assume I'd gone out for an early lunch. I looked around quickly, walked calmly down the hall, and went out through the side door.

  Nine

  I put Hawk and Vincent out of my mind. My watch read twelve thirty-five — just twenty-five minutes till I had to meet my contact outside the conference room.

  I walked briskly through the garden to the front of the palace. Even during this relatively quiet time, there were people everywhere. Cars jammed the streets approaching the palace grounds. The drives were closed off, but guards were letting top-security cars through.

  As I rounded the building, I saw hundreds of people milling around outside on the grounds, waiting for the dignitaries to reappear.

  I'd just started down toward the crowd when a man walked up to me from a side path, blocking my route. I looked at him and realized it was the CIA man I'd had the run-in with earlier. I couldn't ignore him. That would have further aroused his suspicions.

  "Say, Carter, can I speak to you?"

  I turned to him casually, trying to ignore the mounting pressure in my chest. My head was throbbing with pain. "Yes?"

  "I just wanted to say that I'm sorry about that remark I made. I don't blame you for getting mad."

  "Oh, that's all right," I said. "I overreacted. I'm just a little jumpy. My fault." I started to walk away from him.

  "No hard feelings, then?" he asked.

  I turned back. "No, no hard feelings. Don't worry about it."

  "Good." He stuck out his hand. I took it and gripped it for a minute.

  He was smiling broadly, relieved. "You know, I can see how this kind of duty can really get to you. It's the waiting and watching, I think. I don't know how the Secret Service people do it day after day, month after month."

  I glanced at my watch. It was twenty to one. I tried not to show my emotion. "Yes, they have a rough job. I sure wouldn't want it Well, I have to meet a colleague. See you later."

  "Sure, okay," he said. "Take it easy, Carter."

  I turned and walked on down the long path. The sense of mission was so strong inside me now that I couldn't think of anything else. I wasn't aware of anything around me but my path through the thickening crowd. A cluster of aides blocked the sidewalk as I got to the entrance. I shouldered my way through them, and they looked at me as if I were crazy. But there was no time now for amenities. I made my way around a knot of reporters near the main steps and brushed past them. The crowd was getting thicker.

  When I reached the stairs and started up them, I was blocked by the hordes. I pushed and elbowed my way through them. I shoved one man up against another, and he yelled something obscene at me. I banged into a woman, almost knocking her down. But I didn't even bother to look back.

  I had to get to the corridor in time.

  "Hey, watch it, fellow!" someone shouted after me.

  I pushed my way slowly up the steps. "Let me through," I demanded. "Let me through, damn it." At that rate I was never going to get there on time.

  I was driven by the urgency of my mission, oblivious to everything but the compulsion to get where I was going. At the top of the stairs the crowd was even denser, and the security people were holding everyone up.

  I stumbled and pushed into them. A Venezuelan security man gave me a hard look as I brushed past him. But I had to get into the palace. My contact would be expecting me there at one o'clock sharp. And he couldn't wait. The timing had to be perfect.

  "Excuse me," I said, moving into them. "Please let me through!" But nobody moved. Everyone was too busy talking about the conference and world affairs to even notice my presence. I shoved into them, squeezing through the mass of bodies.

  "Hey, take it easy!" one man yelled.

  I moved past him without answering. I was almost through the congested area just in front of the doors. I looked at my watch and saw I had only seventeen minutes to go. I fought my way through to the door, where several Security Police stood guard.

  "Yes?" the Venezuelan in uniform said. Neither he nor the plainclothes man with him recognized me.

  "I'm with AXE," I said. "Carter."

  "Your identification, please."

  I wanted to knock the man down and run past him. The throbbing in my head was almost unbearable. I fumbled in my pocket and came up with Nick Carter's wallet. I opened it and found the I.D. and the special pass for the palace. I showed it to the man on duty.

  "Hmm," he said. He looked at the photograph on the cards and then scrutinized my face closely. If Hawk and Vincent hadn't been able to tell I wasn't Nick Carter, this man couldn't possibly see through my disguise.

  "Would you hurry, please?" I said impatiently.

  If anything, the request seemed to slow him down. He studied the card as if it held some flaw that was just waiting for him to detect it. Obviously I'd offended him with my impatience, and he was going to teach me a lesson.

  "Where are you billeted, Mr. Carter?"

  I had an almost uncontrollable impulse to ram my fist into his smug face. But I knew that would quickly put an end to the mission.

  "Does it matter?" I said, clenching my fists as I tried to control myself.

  "Por favor" he said sourly.

  "Hotel El Conde," I said.

  "Gracias, muchas gracias," he said sarcastically.

  I wanted to speak to him in my native tongue, to tell him he was an idiot, the unwitting tool of a malicious tyrant. But I kept quiet.

  "Your cards, Mr. Carter." He handed them back to me. "You may enter the palace."

  "Thanks a lot," I said nastily. I took the wallet back and hurried past the guards into the interior.

  It was much quieter inside. There were a few people in the entrance hall, but they were scattered, and I didn't have any trouble getting past them. I started toward the Grand Reception Room, which was being used for the conference.

  There was another security check when I entered that part of the palace, but one of the guards knew me, so it was quick. I moved down the hall to the conference room. I was almost there.

  Just then the chief of the Venezuelan Security Police came out of a doorway just a few yards from the conference room. I felt the revulsion churning in my gut, and the pressure was rising in my head and chest. As head of the brutal secret police, he was almost as detestable as the President himself.

  "Ah, Mr. Carter!" he said when he saw me.

  "Señor Santiago," I responded, fighting to keep my cool.

  "Everything is going well, isn't it? It seems that our precautions were unnecessary, after all."

  "It does seem that way, sir," I said tightly. A clock ticked in my head. It must have been about eight minutes to one. I had to get away from him.
>
  "I am certain everything will be all right," he said. "I have a good feeling about it. Have you seen señor Hawk?"

  "Not since early this morning," I lied, wondering if my face gave me away.

  "Well, I am sure I will find him. And I will see you both later to congratulate you on such a successful day." He smiled and clapped me on the shoulder.

  "Very good, sir," I said.

  He went back into the office room, which seemed to be some sort of annex to the security headquarters. I breathed a sigh of relief and walked on down the corridor to the conference room. I checked my watch, and it said five to one.

  I stood across from the open doors, as I'd been instructed to do. Across the hall there were four guards on duty, the same ones who'd been there that morning. They knew me, so I wouldn't have any difficulty getting past them. Just two more minutes to go. An aide came down the corridor and showed his credentials. The guards let him into the room. There were security people all over the place, moving around in the corridor and standing inside the conference room.

  I looked up and down the corridor. I was in a lot of pain. The tension and the pressure in my head were mounting rapidly as the minutes passed. I knew the pain wouldn't go away till I'd destroyed my enemies. Yet I had an awful feeling that somehow this was all wrong. It was a gut feeling, a vague, nagging sensation that seemed to come from a hidden corner of my brain. It didn't make sense — any more than anything else that had happened in the past few days. But whatever the feeling was, it was beginning to tug at my conscience even as the urgency of my mission was overwhelming me. I felt as if there were a terrible struggle going on inside my head, and it just might drive me crazy if it didn't stop soon.

  I was beginning to wonder if my contact had been detained. But then I saw him — a dark-haired Venezuelan in a conservative navy-blue suit and red tie, coming down the corridor toward me. He looked like an ordinary member of the palace staff, but he was wearing the white carnation in his lapel and carrying the carafe.