Law of the Lion

by Nick Carter

  "One more personnel status check, please," Carter requested. "The individual is James Rogan." Carter told him what he knew, which Hawk took down, still chuckling to himself about the background on Sam Zachary.

  Carter and Zachary had a last cup of coffee in the cafeteria and moved to join a group of students and Jim Rogan in a small but comfortable auditorium.

  They handed their assignments to the chubby director who smiled, scanned them briefly, then looked at the two with admiration. "These guys," he said, "really entered into the spirit of things. They got their assignments done and in the process addressed significant ideas. I'm proud of you. Incidentally, they were the only two to complete their work so far. The rest of you get busy."

  Finding a seat with Zachary, Carter whispered behind the back of his hand. "I hope that little exercise raises our credibility."

  Rogan bounded up on the stage and took his place at a heavy plank table with microphones. Two men and two women sat on either side of Rogan, clearly the members of a panel discussion.

  Zachary groaned, then whispered, "I can't believe we've got to sit through this until tonight."

  They did have to sit through it, and both men plowed in. It was part of their job.

  At the dinner break, Carter did a search on his room and determined to his satisfaction that no one had been inside. Wandering past the cafeteria area, Carter decided to force the issue and see if he could determine if anyone was still watching him.

  He headed to the points where he'd been stopped by the armed guards. They were not on duty. He pushed his incursions well beyond where he'd been told not to go. To double check, he blended into the scenery, doubled back, and waited to see if he were being allowed to go forth while still under surveillance.

  To his satisfaction, the trail was clear.

  He headed toward the building that looked like an athletic facility, entered, and began looking around. After about half an hour of looking, Carter found things as they'd been represented. There were piles of construction-grade lumber, some scaffolding, some bags of plaster. From what Carter could put together, this had once been a luxurious spa. Now it was destined to become a swimming pool and a few basketball and volleyball courts.

  He left the building, deciding Jim Rogan had called off the watchdogs, whoever they were. That meant the stage was set for some reconnaissance.

  He went to his room to shower, change his shirt, and prepare for the night ahead. The Killmaster knew he was coming closer to Lex Talionis all the time. Tonight would be important. At the slightest trace of a solid lead, he'd have to take the risk of blowing cover. He'd have to go in for the kill.

  Zachary knocked, entered his room, and spoke in a guarded professional whisper.

  "It's starting to hit the fan," he said, reaching for his wallet. "I called my contact. Do you use one of these scramblers?" He held up a small plastic card.

  Carter nodded.

  "Remember I told you my people got burned for a million?"

  Carter nodded again.

  "I got my call through and found out that Piet Bezeidenhout burned the South African diamond cartel for something like five million dollars and — get this — the cartel has put a contract out on him. They want him dead. They're willing to pay a million American for his corpse."

  "That settles it," Carter said. "He's made his break and is probably the leader of LT. They want a lot of money for some big operations. The question now is what. What is the LT organization up to? And how much time do we have to stop them?"

  Sixteen

  Carter and Zachary took the available maps of the Center for the Arts and divided them up in a grid system, each choosing a different area for their sweep. They would begin by ignoring more obvious areas located near the front of the campus and focus on the more remote areas on this side of Belmopan. They would use a standard military pattern to make sure they covered the most significant amount of area in the least amount of time.

  Zachary had a liquid Swiss lensatic compass. Carter carried one of the newer Japanese infrareds with rechargeable battery.

  Carter was quite sure that Margo would not come back to his room, but now they were faced with the likelihood that the Englishwoman, Vanessa, would hope to visit Zachary. Their decision was to put signs on their doors: Busy writing. Please do not disturb.

  The lectures and workshops were over by eleven. A nearly full moon was up. The students were fidgety from sitting still all day, stimulated by some of the better speakers, and keyed up by some of the questions Carter and Zachary had asked to stave off their boredom. A number of them had invited Carter and Zachary to impromptu rap sessions, but when the two men spoke of wanting to work on their material, they were excused with admiration.

  The Englishwoman made some broad hints to Zachary, who put her off lightly by telling her he'd come knocking later — if he had any energy left. "You are a very intense woman," he said, satisfying her immensely.

  The light from the moon would cause trouble, but the two had to draw a line and not make it too obvious by the way they dressed that they were on a stealth mission. "I'm not planning on being caught," Carter said, "but if we're seen, I think it important to be able to give a convincing story and say we were out for a walk and lost track of the time."

  "No blackening on the face, in other words," Zachary said.

  "Nor black watch cap or turtleneck."

  Zachary had an extra pair of jeans that Carter had to roll at the cuff. Carter wore black fitness shoes, and Zachary had a pair of dark blue Nikes that, unfortunately, had reflecting surfaces for night running. Zachary found some mud and daubed it in place.

  The men checked weapons, infrared sighting devices, and mosquito repellant. They arranged a time and place where they should meet in their systematic sweep. With that, they taped the notes to their doors.

  Easing open his back window and carefully lowering himself out, Carter checked to make sure he was not seen. The tropical air was balmy and fragrant. The Killmaster felt a surge of energy and excitement.

  He moved within twenty yards of a group sitting in lawn chairs by the patio. Another few hundred yards along his path, there were the unmistakable sounds of a couple making love.

  Checking his compass, he moved off at a brisk pace in a northeasterly direction, moving in the shadow of buildings whenever possible, switching to gravel or areas that would not show footprints. Gradually, sounds receded. No more portable tape decks or radios, no more ardent voices of arguing students.

  By the time he judged he was a good distance from the main portion of the campus, he saw that the landscaping had been almost completely abandoned. The lawns were shaggy, overgrown. Tropical foliage grew in carefree abandon.

  He reached his designated area and began his sweep, moving through the thick underbrush, hearing nothing now but the sounds of jungle animals, insects, and night birds. Mosquitoes dived at him, backing off when they became aware of his repellant.

  Twice during the next hour Carter risked using his halide flashlight for traces of paths or installations. Increasing his pace, he moved impatiently into his next grid area, covering ground, seeing all he could, finding nothing of significance.

  It was not until just before his scheduled meeting with Zachary at two o'clock that he came across the traces of a small encampment. Circling the area carefully to make sure no one was nearby, he came back and shone his flashlight on the traces of a cooking fire circled with heat-retaining lava rocks.

  Someone had been careful enough — or bored enough — to have done an elaborate job with the rocks. Off to one side, Carter found freshly dug areas, and when he found a sturdy tree limb to poke at them, he found carefully buried cans and garbage. Further down from the cooking fire was a place where at least one person had slept and smoked.

  Carter estimated he had about a mile to cover before his meeting with Zachary. Because of the discovery of the camp, he had to be careful. It could be nothing, perhaps just some adventurous students. Or it could be an ad
vance guard.

  When he reached the rendezvous area, Carter scanned with his infrared scope and would have been content to wait in silence for the CIA man except that his shoes dug into something in the terrain that felt uncharacteristic. Dropping to his haunches, he found several sets of tire tracks. He quickly reached for his sketch pad but realized he wouldn't have to. One was a Crosshatch, the other a bold set of large diamonds. He'd seen them both before.

  In the darkness, Carter cursed himself for not thinking to get a took at the treads of the large diesel bus he'd worked on for Unkefer. Playing his infrared scope over the area, he was surprised to discover several dozen spent.762 NATO rounds. The locals apparently weren't able to work this territory. Too much risk back here.

  Carter gave the signal of a snapping twig, followed by another in quick succession.

  No response.

  He moved cautiously about the area, deciding to give Zachary another ten minutes before signaling again, but off to his left he could hear a steady movement now, something or someone moving through the jungle night.

  Carter took cover behind the trunk of a particularly large tree, leaned on it to steady himself, and turned on his infrared scanning scope.

  Through the lens screen he saw a man perhaps in his early thirties wearing olive drabs and combat boots, and carrying an automatic rifle. Some twenty feet from him was Sam Zachary, poised and waiting with a small, deadly noose.

  Carter watched in silence, knowing the patrol man was not aware of Zachary, that Zachary would neither attack nor kill unless it became necessary to prevent their discovery.

  The patrolling man stopped, lit a cigarette, and propped himself against the side of a tree. From the acrid tang, Carter could tell the tobacco was a Delicado or one of the cheaper Mexican or Guatemalan brands. Carter would want to check it to see if it matched the butts by the camp he'd found earlier.

  Like many cheap brands, the cigarette went fast. The man swigged at a bottle, probably some cactus brandy, shuddered from the enjoyment of it, wiped his mouth, and soon was on his way, moving off at about a forty-five-degree angle from Carter.

  Waiting for his footfalls to vanish in the distance, Zachary stepped forward.

  "Well?" Carter said.

  "That was nothing," Zachary said. "I can show you a large group of them. Wanna see?"

  "Mark the position, and we'll take a look the next time through. Tonight's our getting-oriented venture."

  They walked in silence for nearly two miles on ground that was largely level, rose only slightly toward a forest draw, then abruptly fell away to a steep grade.

  Zachary whispered something about prehistoric volcanic action. "Whatever it was," he said, "look what it set up for us." He and Carter removed their infrared scopes and peered down the draw.

  Below them were three small buildings, made of adobe and the thick Belezian timbers, with thatched roofs. They were small but substantial, with a number of shuttered windows. Several vehicles were parked nearby: at least two Jeeps, a troop transport, and a six-by-four truck. There was a well-made fire pit much like the one Carter had seen earlier. A cheery fire smoldered in the night. The camp security was not great. One man sat sleeping, his head resting on his knees; another man read a comic book by the light of the fire.

  "You've been pretty good with your educated guesses," Zachary said with admiration. "Now I've got a hunch of my own. There are about three guys down there who'd be very happy for some sushi right now — three investment banker types."

  Carter was genuinely growing to enjoy Zachary. "That's no guess, Sam. You had some time and you were down there and you saw them firsthand."

  "You got me," Zachary admitted. "That's just what I did. Those people are so relaxed and sure of themselves that we could go in and take the Japanese out of there right now."

  Noting the time, Carter said, "It's worth the risk. We've got to try for it."

  Carter set up the operation in segments.

  He went down first, and took out the guard who was reading the comic book. He pushed heavily on the man's carotid artery, and when the guard had passed out, he trussed him with his belts.

  The guard who'd been asleep came awake with the beginnings of a yell, Carter had to put Hugo to work, right through the throat. Bloody, but fast.

  He gave Zachary the signal and the CIA man began taking all the vehicles out of commission except the Jeep that had the fullest tank.

  Carter went through the weapons he'd taken from the guards, settled on two .45s, and put those in the Jeep. They'd be insurance for the investment bankers.

  To Zachary he said, "See if you can do a quick sort and find a map that will get these guys out of here and back to Belize City."

  The CIA man smiled. "Already on the driver's seat. What next?"

  "I'm going to hit the house. Check to see if you can find any phone lines, alarm systems, or radio devices. Take care of them."

  Checking Wilhelmina's action, Carter moved on the house. In the back room, two more guards were playing cards for American dollars, a combination of gin and draw poker.

  They looked up at Carter with bewilderment. "I know it looks tacky, our playing cards, sir," one of them said. "But we've got the place well secured."

  "Really," the other said.

  "How wrong you are!" Carter leveled two blasts at them. Their card-playing days were over.

  A tangy odor reached Carter and he realized what a break he'd had. There was someone else in the house, cooking a meal for the prisoners. Probably someone who knew Japanese cooking. That could have been trouble.

  She was young and small, and looked to be in her early twenties. There were strong traces of the Orient in her delicate cheeks and brow. She was probably a mixture of Filipino and Japanese, with maybe a few other touches. She had the kitchen going with boiling water and things sizzling on a brazier. In a white smock that was a bit too small for her, she was quite an eyeful — enough to make any man stop and turn.

  Carter hit the door fast and advanced on her, Wilhelmina in hand.

  "No!" she cried. "Please! No!" She shook her head, trying to indicate she'd do nothing to raise an alarm.

  She was frightened but made no move to go on the attack. There was a sudden weariness in her face. Men had seen her and wanted things. Her small, sharp breasts. Her tiny waist and graceful hips. A beautiful, poor woman, used to having no control over her one asset. Her almond eyes sought his, pleading for no violence.

  "Take off your stockings," Carter directed.

  She looked at him and began to whimper.

  "It isn't what you think," he said softly. "I have to tie you."

  She sat, removed her shoes, and began to cry. "Ah, God," she said, "it always happens this way."

  Carter noticed that she wore a handwoven Indian sash around her waist. He motioned her to the floor, turned her on her stomach, drew her wrists together, and secured them with one stocking. Then he went to work on her ankles with the other. With the sash, he tied wrists and ankles together.

  "I'm not making the knots tight," Carter said. "I can't take the chance that you'll follow or call out for help. I need time."

  She was not going to be particularly comfortable, but she wasn't going to suffer.

  He shredded a towel to make a gag. She began whimpering.

  Before he could place the gag, Zachary signaled that the outside was secure. "I'm going to circle the place just in case we missed anything," he said.

  Carter nodded and hit the door, both hands on Wilhelmina.

  The Japanese bankers were in a state of lethargy from their ordeal. At first they sprang to attention, caught by the sudden adrenaline, but as Carter went from door to door, room to room, protecting himself, looking for any other guards, they came to regard him as merely another crazy Westerner.

  "Do any of you speak English?" he asked in Japanese.

  They all nodded. They were in their forties, wearing the fine custom-tailored suits they'd had on at the time they'd been taken.
Their experience made them jumpy, resigned.

  "How often do the guards come to check?" Carter asked.

  The only one of the three who did not wear glasses spoke. "The longest they leave us is two hours. They are nearly due. A girl nearby cooks for us."

  Carter went into the next room, hefted the young woman, and brought her back inside. "Is she the one or is she a substitute?"

  All three shook their heads. "She was the only one. She was good to us."

  "Do any of you drive an automobile?"

  One nodded.

  "A Jeep. Four-wheel drive?"

  There was a silence. The bankers looked at one another nervously. "Automatic. Chrysler Imperial."

  Zachary knocked on the outside wall. "All clear at the moment."

  Carter moved to the window. "They say we can expect some inspection at any time now. I think we've got to get them in the Jeep and get them going right now. You and I stick it out for the inspection team. Buy these guys as much time as possible."

  "I'll do one more circle and meet you by the Jeep." Zachary said.

  "There's just one problem," Carter said. "Only one of these guys drives and he can't handle a stick shift much less four-wheel drive."

  "There's a shift diagram right over the lever," Zachary said. "He'll have to learn fast."

  "I can drive four-wheel," the woman said timidly.

  "You're sure?"

  She nodded.

  "That's it. This operation's blessed," Zachary said. He pounded the side of the building and was gone.

  By now it was beginning to dawn on the Japanese that they were being rescued. "You are brave to do this."

  "What did your captors tell you?" Carter said. He quickly began to untie the young woman.

  "After we are brought here, we meet a stocky man…"

  "…with short blond hair…"

  "…yes, and he wears wire glasses. Afrikaner. Man named…"

  "Bezeidenhout?" Carter prompted.

  All three Japanese nodded.