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  NICK CARTER
  Lydell Harmon wasn't a man who visually inspired
  confidence. He seemed to be constructed of all odds and
  ends of body parts. His chest and torso were broad, almost
  barrel-shaped. His waist was as big as his chest, and his
  hips as big as his waist. There was little grace about him,
  for his arms and legs appeared to move in opposition to
  his body.
  But he was the best bomb man in England, according
  to Dakin, and he had taken over with a vengeance.
  Now he approached Carter with a grim face.
  "We're down to the lid of the box from the top," he
  growled in a no-nonsence voice. "We've also tunneled
  in from the side under the box."
  "And?" Carter said.
  "There's a bomb. all right, a bloody bad one with a
  tricky double detonator."
  "So," Caner said, forcing his voice to remain calm,
  "what do we do?"
  "I gather the target isn't living up to his part of the
  bargain?"
  Carter shook his head. "He won't answer."
  "Then we'll have to do it ourselves. There's a pressure
  pad directly under the woman. She's lifted up at all, takes
  her weight off the pad, and boom. Follow me."
  Carter followed him over to the grave and gazed down.
  About two inches of dirt still covered the lid of the box.
  From a hole near the top at the break between top and
  sides, the pipe extended.
  "She'll probably trust you more qhan anyone else,"
  Harmon said. "You game?"
  "Just tell me what you want me to do," Caner replied.
  "Okay, you're going to be on top. I'll be below. Don't
  let her move as you lift the lid. Get into the box with
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  her. Get your hands under the small of her back. As the
  
  
  
  
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  her. Get your hands under the small of her back. As the
  lads pull her out, you keep the pad depressed. Got that?"
  "Got it."
  "When she's out, I'll disconnnect the wires to the
  trigger device on the pad. But that's not all."
  "An alternate?"
  Hamon nodded. "Our boy wasn't taking any chances.
  I'm going to rig a cut-around to the alternate with a long
  breaker wire. We can't stop the blow but we can delay
  it for maybe sixty seconds."
  "Long enough for us to get the hell out of here."
  "You got it, laddie," Harmon said. "And one more
  thing .
  "Your boy was lying to you."
  "About what?" Carter asked.
  "The unit on the bomb is not a receive unit. It's for
  send only."
  "That means he couldn't blow the bomb by remote
  control . . ."
  Harmon shook his head. "No way. When the boom
  goes, an impulse goes out, not in. You ready?"
  "Why not," Carter growled, easing himself down in
  to the hole and leaning forward until his face was close
  to the lid.
  . it's me, Nick."
  "Ravelle . .
  "Yes."
  'Can you hear me?"
  'S Yes." She sounded out of it.
  "Ravelle, it won't be long now. You must do exactly
  as I say. You must not move when lift the lid until I
  tell you to move. Do you understand?"
  "What?"
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  Carter heard groans from the men at graveside above
  him, and wiped the sweat from his eyes.
  Again, slowly, he everything. This time he
  got an affirmative answer from her.
  "All right, I'm going to dig the rest of the din from
  the lid and then lift it. Don't move, and keep your eyes
  closed. Are you ready?"
  "Yes . I understand."
  "Good girl."
  Rain shrouded them now as Carter started to dig with
  his hands through the last layer. He tasted dirt and he
  got it in his eyes as he threw it over his shoulder.
  Then, slowly, talking to her all the while, he lifted the
  lid.
  She was on her back, her face turned to the side. The
  end of the pipe was in her mouth, and the water was
  eddying around her ears.
  Good God, Caner thought, another half hour and she
  would have drowned.
  '*Don't mOve, baby. For God's sake, don't move."
  He tugged at the pipe. She grabbed for it, tried to get
  it back into her mouth.
  "No, Ravelle," he yelled, "quit fighting! You don't
  need it now!"
  Miraculously, she did.
  He moved down and slid his hands between her legs,
  then outward.
  "Lift your legs ... not your hips, your legs, hear me?"
  Slowly, the legs came up and Carterslid his hands under
  the small of her back.
  "Harmon?"
  "I'm down here."
  "I've got pressure on the pad."
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  "All right. lads, get her wrists and ankles and ease her
  They did. Carter ducked his head, and Ravelle's body
  isappeared above him.
  "Got her!" a voice called. "She's out!"
  "Good show," Harmon said. "Now get clear your-
  Ives. all of you!"
  There was the slap of feet on soggy grass, and then
  athly silence.
  "You're doin' fine, lad," Harmon said to Carter. "Just
  et ready to dive out and run like hell when I give you
  e word."
  "How do you know,' • Carter asked, "that the impulse
  nder unit isn 't to detonate another bomb in the area?"
  "I don't," Harmon chuckled. "But jt looks to be set
  p on a high frequency. That would normally mean long
  hope you guess right," Carter said, almost blind
  ow with the sweat in his eyes.
  "So do 1. You ready?'
  "Ready."
  "Then go, laddie!"
  Carter took a deep breath, lifted his hands from the
  ad, and leapd from the grave. He scrambled from his
  nees to his feet and, with Harmon right tRside him, ran
  'ke hell.
  They were nearly two hundred yards from the grave
  nd the blast still knocked them off their feet.
  Roeario Duncan barreled out of the small lane onto the
  3072. In an hour he would be at Hartland Point. There
  e would hide until dark. when an obliging fisherman
  ould, for five hundred quid, take him to Ireland.
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  NICK CARTER
  Duncan had friends in Ireland who would hide him
  until all was quiet and another boat could smuggle him
  to France.
  He had done it! He had gotten away with it and he
  was rich!
  He was laughing wildly, rolling the throttle to full,
  when the Colestar AV200 unit on his belt began to heat up.
  Inside it, a tiny wire from a microreceiver unit glowed
  red for only a millisecond, and then ignited the thrce
  ounces of plastique that had been layered into the unit.
  It was not a huge explosion.
  Just enought to cut Rosario Duncan in half.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  FOURTEEN
  At seven o'clock in the morning. the rains had stopped,
  the clouds had drifted away, and sunshine permeated the
  drawn blinds. Carter roused from his sleep and found
  himself in an armchair. He blinked sleep from his eyes
  and it wouldn't go away. Finally he oriented himself,
  and remembered.
  A cleanup crew in the west, a chopper into London,
  Ravelle into the emergency ward, and Carter passing out
  on his feet from fatigue. A driver had brought-him to the
  AXE flat where he had tried to make the bed, but had
  given up in the armchair without even removing his
  clothes.
  His mouth felt like the Russian front and every bone
  in his body ached.
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  Hoisting himself with a graon, he stumbled to the bath-
  room. He gargled with some mouthwash, rinsed, and
  spat. Then he went back to the bedroom, trailing clothes
  behind him, and picked up the phone. The hospital
  number picked up at once.
  "Special Ward, Sayers speaking."
  "Miss Sayers, Nick Carter here. How's our patient?"
  "Resting comfortably, sir."
  "And the final diagnosis?"
  "Shock, of course, and exposure. There were no inter-
  nal injuries and her bruises weren't serious."
  "Good. She isn't raving anymore?"
  "No, sir. The sedative worked fine. She's sleeping
  well."
  "Any prognosis on when we can get a statement?"
  "I believe the doctor is going to let some chaps from
  your office talk to her this afternoon."
  "Thanks." Carter hung up and dialed the hot line at
  Special Branch. "Carter here. Anything new?"
  "The motorcyclist was definitely our man. Got an ID
  on him, one Rosario Duncan, small-time hood, minor
  record."
  "Nothing on the German?"
  'SNO, sir, not yet."
  "Please call me at one o'clock," Carter said. "And let
  the phone ring until I answer."
  "Will do, sir."
  'Thank you."
  He went to the bed, slid into thescool, clean sheets,
  and slept until the ringing Of the phone woke him.
  It was Ernie Nevers from the Home Office. "I'm mak-
  ing your wake-up call myself to apologize."
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  "Yes, for not reading between the lines. I think we've
  had some wires crossed on communications between
  agencies, Nick. But they're uncrossed now. We're finally
  pooling information again, and it's hot. We're all meeting
  with Hart-Davis in Whitehall at three."
  "1'11 be there."
  Carter went over the statement that had been taken an
  hour earlier from Ravelle Dressler:
  And twice I heard him on the phone to someone
  who must have been his superior ... and twice he assured
  the person that the timing would be perfect, the ship
  would be loaded and back at sea before any authorities
  caught on .
  he stressed this .
  Carter set the statement down and picked up the Scot-
  land Yard report on a double homicide. He scanned it,
  set it aside, .and looked up at the men assembled around
  the conference table.
  "What about the woman?" he asked.
  free-lance prostitute. Horst Layman had a back-
  ground of abusing women. He was indicted twice for it
  in Germany, but never convicted. Mrs. Dressler's de-
  scription of the two men fit Layman and Duncan per-
  fectly."
  "Okay," Carter sighed, "that mystery is solved."
  Jonathan Hart-Davis nodded. "And it looks like the
  mystery of why is solved as well, Nick. I'm just sorry
  we didn't put it all together right from the moment the
  woman was kidnapped. Now it all fits."
  Carter grunted his agreement. "El Adwan wanted me
  out of the way, and he wanted to stall all of us until he
  makes a try for this supertanker, the Thor I."
  Avery Hopkins, head of the International Maritime
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  NICK CARTER
  Commission, spoke up. "The problem, as I see it, is
  time. Is this terrorist, El Adwan, and his lot already on
  the ship? And if he is, what will his demands be?"
  Carter thought on this for a moment before he replied.
  "I think it's back to the source. There is little doubt now,
  with the connection of Oliver Estes and Horst Layman
  to both Abu El Adwan and Hannibal St. James, that St.
  James is behind this. My fear is El Adwan. Is he doing
  this just for money? Or does he have a dual purpose?"
  "Such as . . . Hart-Davis asked.
  c 'El Adwan," Carter said, 'Vis a supreme egotist. Scut-
  tling the Thor I for money would be one thing. But scuttling
  the ship for profit while building his owns stock as a man
  who will do anything would be an added plus. I think
  we must go to Hannibal St. James himself and get the
  original plan before we can guess how El Adwan will
  deviate from it."
  There was a general chorus of groans around the table,
  until the Lloyd's representative, Sir Charles Dunwood,
  spoke up.
  "I'm inclined to agree with Mr. Carter."
  "All well and good," said Ernie Nevers, "but every-
  thing we have is circumstantial. It all links to St. James,
  but it may take months to prove it. And months we don't
  have."
  "Then we bluff," Carter said. "Bluff and intimidate. "
  "Nick," Nevers replied, "we can't—
  ' 'You can't," Carter growled, "but I can. Sir
  Charles
  "How good is this Carolyn Reed?"
  "The best. She is a graduate maritime engineer. For
  the past several years her specialty has been these be-
  hemoth tankers."
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  'God. I'll be in touch with her after St. James. Where
  is the Thor now?"
  Sir Charles Dunwood replied. "In the Persian Gulf,
  off Kuwait. She took on provisions and topped her own
  fuel tanks during the night."
  "And the crude?" Carter asked.
  Dunwood looked at his watch. "They should start load-
  ing about five our time."
  "Jonathan," Caner said, turning to Han-Davis, "can
  you get to the Kuwaitis?"
  "I'm sure the P.M. can."
  "Then do it, and very quietly. Instead of crude in those
  tanks when the Thor I sails, J want water in them."
  "I suppose that can be done," Hart-Davis replied. "But
  why don't we just give a stop-sail order?"
  "Because," Carter said, "if El Adwan is already on the
  ship, I don't think he'll hesitate to blow it right there.
  How many officers and crewmen are on board?"
  Sir Charles did a quick shuffle of papers in front of
  him. "One hundred and eighty-six."
  " 'Nuf said," Carter replied. "I assume Horst Layman's
  flat has been searched?"
  "Stripped," Claude Dakin said.
  "All right," Caner said, "I'll need a top-notch stenog-
  rapher and your best forger. Let's get to work!"
  No pier or harbor in the world was large enough to
  handle the Thor I. For this reason, the behemoth tanker
  was anchored a half mile from the main port of A1 Kuwait
  in the Persian Gulf.
  Captain Alonso Wakefield stood at the front of the
  bridge and watched the last of the huge foodstuff contain-
  ers being craned down into the hold. Halfway between
  the ship and land he could see two tugs makingfor the
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  NICK CARTER
  Thor I. Between them they carried the huge tube that
  would soon be pumping a million barrels of crude into
  the tanks of the ship.
  The first officer stepped onto the bridge and smartly
  saluted the skipper. "Foodstuff containers all on board,
  sir, and our tanks are topped off."
  "Good, Mr. Richardson. How soon can we start pump-
  "About an hour, sir."
  "Excellent. Tell the lads to step lively. And for God's
  sake, make sure there are no mistakes on the hookup."
  "Yes, sir."
  Jordon Conover was the head engineer for all pumping
  operations at the huge port of A1 Kuwait. He was British,
  and employed by the Kuwaiti government. This evening
  he would supervise the biggest operation of his life and
  the first of its kind in the world.
  He parked his car and craned his neck to see the huge
  tanker offshore as he walked toward his office.
  "Good aftemoon."
  "Good afternoon, sir," replied his secretary, and
  handed him a stack of messages.
  "Get me Obar on the phone right away."
  "Yes, sir."
  Conover laid the messages on the desk. He removed
  his jacket and hung it on the back of his swivel chair.
  He pulled down his tie, opened his •itt collar, and sat
  down in his swivel chair just as the phone rang.
  "Hello, boss."
  "Obar, how are we doing?"
  "They are sleeving up the cord now. We're running a
  little behind schedule. Should be ready to pump in about
  an hour."
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  *'Good." Conover said, rising and pacing in front of
  the big window that overlooked the enorrnous white tanks
  that swallowed and stored the crude as it poured in from
  the far desert. "Don't move a valve until I get there. I
  want to check everything one time myself."
  "Will do, boss."
  Conover hung up just as a long Mercedes limousine
  pulled up below his office window. The rear door was
  opened and a white-robed figure emerged and hurried
  into the building.
  "My God," Conover said aloud, "what the hell is he
  doing here?"
  He met his visitor at the door and bowed him into the
  office.
  "Your Excellency, I'm surprised, to say the least.
  Please, sir, sit down."
  "There is no time for amenities, Mr. Conover," the
  dark-skinned man replied in precise Cambridge English.
  "I have a request that we must discuss at once."
  For the next ten minutes, Jordan Conover stood, his
  arms at his sides and his jaw agape, as his visitor spoke.
  "Can this be done, Mr. Conover?"
  'S Yes, Your Excellency, it can be done. But may I ask
  Why?"
  "No, not at the present time."
  "Let me understand this completely. You want me to
  fill the Thor I's cargo tanks with seawater?"
  "That is correct, Mr. Conover. And I want the fewest
  possible workmen to know about it."
  "You realize, sir, that the expense will be enormous?"
  The man smiled. s The expense will be far greater if
  anyone on the Thor I discovers what you are doing, Mr.
  Conover. See that they don't."
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  NICK CARTER
  When someone is killed on your very doorstep, the
  best place to be at the time of the murder is somewhere
  else, surrounded by witnesses . . as many as possible.
  This especially holds true if you are responsible for order-
  ing the execution in the first place. Surrounded by witnes-
  ses, and with trusted people carrying out the actual killing,
  you have an established alibi hard to ignore in court.
  It's a matter of common sense, and one that Hannibal
  St. James adhered to in all things.
  That was why, immediately after ordering Horst
  Layman on his errand and being reasonably sure that El
  Adwan was in place for the hijacking of the Thor I,
  Hannibal St. James had departed his immense estate in
  Surrey, He had come by helicopter to his almost equally
  lavish estate on the cliffs above Lyme Regis in the south
  of England.
  In his party were a film director and his wife, an aging
  star, two executives from a French auto company who
  wanted St. James to buy their failing company, and vari-
  ous minor officials of his subsidiary companies and their
  wives.
  In such company he was safe and he had an alibi. That
  was why, on this balmy afternoon, he felt at ease and at
  peace with the world as he stood in his third-floor bedroom
  and watched his guests frolic by the pool below.
  "Mr. St. James? Hannibal St. James?"
  St. James whirled. The man was big, well over six
  feet, with black hair. a granite face, and piercing eyes.
  He was dressed in a pair of blue coveralls, and carried
  what looked like a toolbox in his hand.
  "Who are you? What the hell do you mean—
  "My name is Caner, Mr. St. James, and we're going
  to talk."
  Carter went near, measured, drew a deep breath, and
  struck
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  stmck. It was a clean jolt, with all his weight it,
  straight to the chin. Hannibal St. James went down and
  out and lay breathing stentoriously on his thick-piled car-
  pet.
  First thing, Carter pulled the pants off the resting man.
  Underneath he was wearing shorts, which Caner also
  tugged off. When you're naked you lose your dignity,
  and loss of dignity loosens the tongue. Carter had other
  arrows in his quiver and he intended to use them all.
  He dragged St. James to a massive armchair and set
  him into it. Then he used the friction tape from the
  to tie him into it. Then he tested. He had him good.
  Hannibal St. James was firmly affixed. He was as much
  a part of the armchair as the upholstery.
  Carter a bottle of Chivas Regal. He put ice and
  water into a pitcher. He took the bottle, the pitcher, and
  a glass to an end table beside a chair facing the im-
  mobilized man. He lit a cigarette, sat, drank, smoked,
  and waited. Finally St. James his eyes.
  "Well, hello there," Caner said cheerfully.
  "You bastard, what do you want?"
  "Your cooperation, Mr. St. James. Or your ass."
  "Go to hell."
  "Assuredly I will one day," Carter offered, "but in the
  meantime I might send you ahead of me."
  "Do you know who you are dealing with?"
  "I sure do," Carter replied, his toolbox and
  spreading papers in front of the other man. "The biggest
  fish I've ever hung out to dry."
  '41 ' II hang the American government out to dry for this
  "Ah," Carter said, "I see you are quite aware that I
  am a government agent."
  St. James clamped his jaw shut and glared.
  "Your hired killer is in the Old Bailey right now, St.
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  NICK CARTER
  James. Here is his signed confession, four pages. I think
  you'll notice that he names you, quite specifically."
  Carter slowly flipped the pages. making sure that St.
  James read every word and took in the perfectly forged
  signature.
  "And here is the signed confession of one Rosario
  Duncan, It doesn't implicate you, of course, but it does
  state that he has worked for Layman in the past, on illegal
  deals of which you or one of your companies was the
  prime beneficiary."
  s 'They are lying. The word of two criminals against
  my word?"
  Carter shrugged. "Here is an indictment that will be
  filed against you and your companies at nine tomorrow
  morning by the International Mantime Commission, for
  the instigation of piracy on the high seas. And this indict-
  ment is by Lloyd's of London, for attempted fraud. It,
  too, will be filed tomorrow morning."
  • St. James, cool-eyed but sweating, laughed. "They
  can stand in line. I've had thirty indictments filed against
  me in as many years. None of them ever stuck."
  "True," Carter said, "but when they are filed in con-
  junction with the Thor I's sinking, your stock on the
  London and New York exchanges will plummet. That,
  along with your losses and Lloyd's tying you in knots
  for years, will practically bankrupt you."
  A full minute passed. "What do you want?"
  "The entire setup with El Adwan and what he plans
  to do with the Thor I."
  Time passed. A lot of time passed.
  Carter could sense that Hannibal St. James was begin-
  ning to fly distress signals. He was sweating, twitching,
  involuntarily nodding. His lips were dry and he was swal-
  lowing a lot of air.
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  Carter smoked and sipped his drink.
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  When the answer came, the Killmaster was surprised,
  He actually thought that he had nailed the old thief.
  "Carter. or whoever you are, I don't have the slightest
  idea what you're talking about. I have never heard of
  this El Adwan. Mr. Horst Layman was fired from my
  employ a week ago. My accountants will substantiate
  that. As for this Duncan you speak of
  I've never
  heard of him."
  Carter got tense but held his ground. "And Oliver
  Estes?"
  "A good man, but flawed." St. James replied. "Also
  fired from my employ. I have proof that for years he has
  been embezzling from my companies."
  The guy was no wimps Carter thought as he mashed
  out his cigarette and finished his drink.
  "Mr. St. James, you're a hard and clever man."
  From the small of his back, Caner took a short-barreled
  .22 revolver. Methodically, he removed shells from his
  jacket pocket and slipped them into the gun.
  "What the hell do you think you're doing?"
  "It's small, only a twenty-two, but the shells are hol-
  low-point. One •of them going in your left ear will do
  about the same damage as a forty-five."
  "You're crazy!" St. James said, laughing but without
  any humor. "Even if you do it, you won't get ten feet.
  There are forty people out by that pool!"
  "That there are, Mr. St. James, but the doors are closed
  and the music by the pool is loud and a twenty-two caliber
  revolver doesn't make much of a bang."
  Silence. The squat, heavy body strained against the
  tape. The veins of the neck bulged, jaw muscles
  to tight knots. The eyes were filmy.
  Caner flipped the cylinder closed.
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  NICK CARTER
  "We'll leak everything to the papers tonight. Naturally,
  reporters will be calling you. You will realize that your
  plan has failed. You won't be able to stand the dis-
  grace . .
  "What? Me? Kill myself? Nobody would believe it!"
  "Ohs I think they will." Carter said, taking an official-
  looking document from his pocket and crossing to the
  desk.
  "What is that?"
  Carter floated it in the air for a second and dropped it
  in the top drawer. "It's your permit for this gun, dated
  six months ago. It's very official, Mr. St. James, I assure
  you. The master copy is on file at Scotland Yard."
  "Good Lord, man, this is cold-blooded murder!"
  "That it is, Mr. St. James. that it is." Carter moved
  toward him, idly holding the revolver in his right hand.
  St. James squirmed and lurched against the tape that
  bound him. The sweat ran in rivers on his face and body.
  Carter could smell him.
  "What the hell kind of a man are you?" he said, his
  voice almost a squeak.
  "A bad man, Hannibal, a very bad man."
  Carter freed his left hand. St. James tried to swing on
  him, but before the blow landed, Carter had shoved his
  thumb, hard, into the soft part at the front of his shoulder
  just below the collarbone. The left arm immediately went
  limp.
  "What the . . . ?'
  "Frozen, Hannibal. I bruised the ITerve. Your arm will
  be that way, useless, for about three minutes. There's
  another nerve in your hand, right here between the thumb
  and first finger .
  does the same thing."
  Carter squeezed there. and the fingers that had been
  fluttering immediately went limp. The Killmaster then
  DEATHSTRIKE
  159
  
  
  
  
  159
  placed the gun in St. James's hand and wound the fingers
  carefully around it. He brought hand and gun up before
  St. James's eyes. Carefully, he pulled the hammer back
  until it clicked.
  "You still think it won't look like suicide, Hannibal?
  See, I even know you're left-handed."
  The man's chin sank down as his eyes closed. There
  was froth on his lips.
  Carter brought the hand and gun up. He ground the
  barrel into St. James's left ear.
  "Good-bye, Hannibal."
  "All right .
  . all right, dammit. I'll tell you what I
  Carter removed the gun from his ear and St. James
  leaned forward and vomited.
  "They're probably on board by now."
  "How?" Carter said.
  St. James was still shaking like a leaf and now he
  really stank. "For God's sake, man, untie me and let me
  Clean
  ' 'In the foodstuff containers. They're stored in the aft
  hold near the galley. They went into them last night after
  they were loaded in the warehouse."
  "How many are there?"
  "Thirteen, plus El Adwan himself."
  "All fourteen in the containers?"
  Silence. Carter clicked the hammer on the revolver.
  "No. One was planted before the ship left Japan. He's
  the third assistant cook. "
  "What's his job in the operation?"
  "Food poisoning, the evening meal."
  "That means they hit tonight."
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  160
  + 110%
  NICK CARTER
  "Yes, around midnight."
  "And what's the sailing time?"
  "Five in the morning."
  Carter thought for a moment. They were probably out
  of the containers already and spread through the bowels
  of the giant ship. There was even a good chance that in
  the vastness of the supertanker they had already started
  to plant explosives.
  "What's the plan once they've taken the ship?"
  "They sail through the Strait of Hormuz, around Oman,
  and into the Indian Ocean."
  "You're doing good, Hannibal. Keep doing good."
  "Once they clear the Gulf of Oman, they break radio
  silence . . . make their demands."
  "And those are?"
  "Fifty million American dollars, dropped by helicop-
  ter. "
  "And then?"
  "They set the charges and then transfer to a freighter.
  When the freighter is safely in Aden, they radio back the
  combination to the master circuit to cut off the deto-
  nators. "
  Carter leaned forward and put the gun in St. James's
  crotch. "That's the plan for Lloyd's benefit. Now, what
  really happens, St. James? I know you don't want that
  ship inspected. It has to be sunk."
  The man's jaw was shaking so much he could hardly
  speak.
  it was a trade-off. El Adyan is going to sink
  it in the Strait of Hormuz, crosswise in the channel."
  "Jesus," Carter growled.
  The Strait of Hormuz is the only access to the land-
  locked Persian Gulf. Block it with something the size of
  DEATHSTRIKE
  the Thor and it would be years
  161
  
  
  
  
  
  161
  the Thor and it would be years before the Gulf was
  usuable again.
  "Let me fill in the blanks," Carter growled. "You re-
  coup the loss of the Thor I from Lloyd's, scrap the Thor
  II, and because of the instant Oil shortage caused by the
  cutoff of the Persian Gulf, your Octagon reserves around
  the world double in price. Right?"
  Carter had risen and moved around behind the man.
  As he spoke, he had withdrawn a hypodermic ampule
  from the toolbox.
  "Well, Hannibal, that's about the way it's supposed
  to go, isn't it?"
  "Yes . . .
  yes," the man gasped.
  "What about the hundred and eighty-odd crewmen?
  Any provision for them?"
  Silence.
  "And the oil? A sea of crude oil in the Indian Ocean.
  Evidently you didn't give a shit about that, did you,
  Hannibal?"
  Silence.
  "Who's their lookout in Kuwait, Hannibal? They have
  to have someone making sure they aren't nailed before
  they get the Thor moving. Who is it?"
  Silence.
  "Who is it!"
  it's my chief dispatcher. He has an office in
  the harbor tower."
  "Thanks, Hannibal. Have a nice sleep, you son of a
  bitch."
  Carter stuck the hypodermic into his neck.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  FIFTEEN
  "Nick, this is Colonel Vernon MacCreedy."
  Carter shook hands with a man that had him by three
  inches in height. He had straw-blond hair and a cheerful
  face with dancing blue eyes. He looked like a young
  lawyer, a businessman, or someone who should be staring
  out of a television set with a beautiful woman on each arm.
  As the Killmaster had observed so often in his long
  and rather eventful career, looks could indeed deceiv-
  ing.
  A year before, MacCreedy had walked up a flight of
  tenement steps in Northern Ireland with only a handgun
  and a shattered left shoulder to take out four terrorist
  gunmen.
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  DEATHSTRIKE
  "Your men on board, Colonel?"
  163
  "An even dozen, sir, combat ready and with all the
  gear you asked for."
  'They're all volunteers, Colonel?" Caner asked.
  MacCreedy smiled. "The whole SAS is volunteers,
  sir. "
  Carter turned to Jonathan Hart-Davis. "How are we
  "Full cooperation of the Kuwaitis. They look the other
  way, we do our own laundry."
  "Landing clearance?"
  Hart-Davis nodded. "We've got it all the way. Here
  comes your final passenger."
  Carter turned just as a four-door Rover pulled up beside
  them. The woman inside didn't wait for the driver to
  come around and open the door for her. She opened the
  door herself and crawled out.
  Carter really hadn't imagined Carolyn Reed, but even
  if he had he wouldn't have imagined this. She was tall,
  quite beautiful, and quite angry.
  "Miss Reed, thank you for coming. I'm Jonathan Han-
  Davis."
  She swung her briefcase to her left hand and shook
  hands with her right. "It's about time someone paid some
  attention to my report."
  "Er ... ah, yes. This is Nick Carter. He'll be in charge
  of the operation."
  "You're the American."
  "That's right."
  "l won't hold it against you."
  "Thank you," Caner said. "Shall we board?"
  She led the way to the gaping open hatch of the big
  cargo jet.
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  + 110%
  NICK CARTER
  When they were leveled off, MacCreedy huddled his
  men around Carter and Carolyn Reed. The woman opened
  her briefcase and passed a blue-jacketed folder to each
  of the men.
  'These are detailed, deck-by-deck plans of every inch
  of the Thor I." When this was done, she turned to Carter.
  "All right, what do you need to know?"
  "One hundred and eighty-some men. Where would the
  terrorists put them to keep them out of their hair? With
  a ship as big as the Thor, there has to be one or more
  blind spots from the decks or superstructure. Where are
  they? In case of high-powered automatic fire, what can't
  we hit? Where are the stress points in the holds that
  explosives would do the worst and quickest damage?
  That'll do for a start."
  Carolyn Reed let a tiny smile curl the comers of her
  lips, took a deep breath, and started to teach.
  Alfredo Dinebar slipped through the opening in the
  deck of the number two engine room and slid down the
  rungs of the ladder.
  He had just finished his watch, but he wouldn't be
  heading for the galley and evening chow just yet. Alfredo
  wanted •a smoke, and the kind of cigarettes he smoked
  didn 't go over too well with some of his fellow crewmen.
  Lighting up and dragging the acrid smoke deep into
  his lungs, he moved aft along the walkway
  between the inner hall and the huge ait storage tank.
  "Ah, man. lotsa crude. If I had just some of that crude,
  I'd never have to ship out on one of these stinkin' wagons
  again."
  Dinebar dropped down to the lower "B" level and
  DEATHSTRIKE
  tumed into the valvewav be
  165
  
  
  
  
  165
  tumed into the valveway between the two aft tanks. Just
  as he made the turn, he slid to a stop.
  One of the big walkway templates had been lifted on
  end, and over the hole two men were feeding wire down
  to a third.
  Jesus, Dinebar thought, a damned repair division crew
  and I walk right into them!
  Quickly, he mashed out his cigarette and fanned the
  air around his head. He was about to step back around
  the corner, when he was spotted.
  "Say, man," Dinebar said with a laugh, "we ain't even
  out of first port and the damn thing 's fallin' apart already.
  How about that, man?"
  The repairman was three feet from Alfredo when his
  hand came up holding a silenced 9mm Beretta.
  He shot Alfredo Dinebar directly between the eyes.
  The light rap on the door awakened Captain Alonso
  Wakefield immediately, He came up to a sitting position
  on his bunk and snapped on the light.
  The brand-new Rolex his wife had given him for his
  new command said eleven o'clock.
  "Yes, yes, come in," he called.
  "Sorry to disturb you, Captain, but we've got a prob-
  lem. "
  "The umbilical cord?"
  "No, sir, the pumping is going fine. We have a tank
  and a half full, fore and aft. They will soon be switching
  to the last two tanks."
  "Well, what is it, Mr. Richardson?"
  "It's the mid-watch, sir. Over half of them have re-
  ported to sick bay with stomach cramps."
  "Half the watch?"
  166
  
  
  
  
  
  166
  "Yes, sir."
  "All right. Get volunteers for overtime off the eve-
  watch, and have the cook send sandwiches up. Any idea
  what the hell it is?"
  "No, sir. But I've told the infirmary to let us know
  whenever they find out."
  "All right, Mr. Richardson. I'll be up, Can't sleep
  worth a damn anyway."
  The first officer backed out, and Captain Wakefield
  started to pull on his pants.
  Damn: he thought, haven't even taken on payload yet
  and thé malingering has already started!
  Caner looked around at the grim faces in the semicircle,
  nodded his satisfaction, and turned back to Carolyn Reed.
  "Good job. That's the most comprehensive crash
  course on supertankers I've ever heard. "
  "Thank you," she replied, and turned to the men her-
  self. "Any further questions?"
  "Yeah," said a fresh-faced young sergeant. "What's
  yer favorite pub in London?"
  Carolyn smiled. ' 'Why do you ask?"
  "Obvious, ain't it? I want to run into ya!"
  She laughed. "Tell you what. All of you come through
  this without a scratch and I'll throw the party."
  "Attention, attention," the intercom blared. "We're one
  hour from set down. I have received word that your
  ground transportation is ready and waiting."
  Colonel MacCreedy tumed to Carqr. "I've already got
  an idea or two."
  "Me, too." Carter nodded. "Let's hash it over. "
  "Do you need me?" Carolyn asked.
  "It would help," Carter replied.
  ' snen you've got me."
  DEATHSTRIKE
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  (179 of 212)
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  DEATHSTRIKE
  167
  She stood and with the two men moved forward to the
  lighted chart table just aft of the cockpit.
  "Bridge, this is Dobbin."
  "Yes, Chief, this is the Captain."
  "Captain, I'm getting a strange reading in the loaded
  tanks."
  "How so?"
  "I'm showing more intake than capacity. And, also,
  the sway ratio is off. "Ihe damn stuff is splashing around
  in there like beer in a barrel."
  "Are your tanks balanced, Chief?"
  "Aye, sir."
  "Then recalibrate the gauges and give me another read-
  ing."
  "Aye, sir."
  "Captain . . e"
  "Yes, Mr. Richardson?"
  "It's food poisoning, sir."
  ' 'Oh, Christ. How bad?"
  "Minor serious, sir. But it's hit some of the day watch
  now."
  "How many able men do we have?"
  "Thirty-three crew."
  "Any officers?"
  "No, sir. Evidently it didn't hit the wardroom galley."
  "Ail right. Get volunteers for overtime, and log it."
  "Aye, sir."
  "Abu?"
  "Yes. "
  "All of our people are in place. Less than a third of
  the crew are on deck."
  "The time?"
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  (180 of 212)
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  + 110%
  NICK CARTER
  "Eleven-forty."
  "We move now."
  The big jet had scarcely rocked to a halt when men
  poured from the dropped hatch. In minutes the equipment
  was unloaded and reloaded on two personnel carriers.
  Behind the personnel carriers, a gray Mercedes sedan
  was parked with a uniformed officer in the driver's seat.
  "Nick Carter."
  "Major Assad Dalfi, Mr. Carter. Here is the informa-
  tion you requested."
  Carter snatched the sheet from the man. "Clark Magam,
  fluent Arabic .
  thanks."
  born Yorkshire, 1950 .
  He ran to the rearofthe first carrier. 'Colonel ... "
  "Yes, sir?"
  "I know you have six men fluent in Arabic. Do any
  of them speak English with a Yorkshire accent?"
  "l do, sir. Name's Lamb."
  "Come with me, Lamb. Colonel, I'll meet you."
  Carter, with First Sergeant Arnold Lamb at his heels,
  ran back to the Mercedes.
  "Let's go, Major. You know where."
  "Yes, sir!"
  Clark Magam lowered high-powered field glasses and
  rubbed his eyes. It was five minutes until midnight. They
  would be close now, probably on the move.
  He leaned over to a pipe rack, took a pipe, filled it,
  tamped it, lit it, and produced evil.melling fumes. He
  was a little man with a seamed face, a nearly bald head,
  and a sepulchral voice. He was nearsighted and wore
  heavy-rimmed glassed, thick-lenses glasses behind which
  his eyes swam like fish in a bowl.
  DEATHSTRIKE
  But he could see well enough for thi night's w
  169
  
  
  
  
  
  169
  But he could see well enough for this night's work.
  And this night's work would give him more money than
  he ever dreamed of.
  He had always told himself that doing whatever the
  old man asked—and asking no questions about it—would
  pay offl Two days from now he would out of this
  hateful place and back in England.
  He was about to raise the binoculars back to his eyes,
  when the locked door behind him burst from its hinges.
  He got only halfway turned before his eyeglasses were
  knocked from his face and a fist flattened his navel against
  his backbone.
  "Get his glasses!"
  Magam's glasses were reinstated and he saw a gun
  nearly a mile long being waved in front of his eyes.
  Behind the gun was a grinning face and the meanest pair
  of eyes Magam's had ever seen.
  "Know what this is? It's a nine-millimeter Luger with
  a silencer. It comes with hollow-tipped slugs dipped in
  cyanide. Anywhere shoot you, you die. Do you want
  to die?"
  $ Good, Mr. Magam from Yorkshire, because I don•t
  want you to die. But if you don't answer all my questions
  as fast as I ask them, I'm going to shove this silencer
  down your throat and blow the back of your head all over
  that window."
  Mr. Clark Magam couldn't answer fast enough.
  'Captain, Dobbins here . .
  'WYes, Chief?"
  "Sir, I don't know what the hell ... sir, my hatch .. e"
  Suddenly there was a burst of automatic rifle fire on
  170
  
  
  
  
  
  170
  + 110%
  NICK CARTER
  the intercom and the garbled scream of a dying man. The
  scream was still echoing off the three officers on the
  bridge when there was an explosion. The locked hatch
  to the bridge exploded from its bolts and the whole area
  was filled with acrid smoke.
  First Officer Richardson was farther from the hatch
  than the others. When he saw the two men—machine
  pistols at the ready —emerge through the smoke, he dived
  for the weapons on the nearby bulkhead.
  He barely got the case open when a burst from one of
  the machine pistols shattered his chest. He was thrown
  over the main bank of computers and slammed to the
  deck, dead.
  The man who had fired—tall and rangy, with long
  black hair and a heavy, flowing beard —jammed the barrel
  of his pistol into the belly of the Thor I's stunned skipper.
  "Captain Wakefield, my name is Abu El Adwan. I
  am in the process of relieving you of your command."
  "The bloody hell . . g"
  The blow from the steel butt of the machine pistol
  came so swiftly that Wakefield didn't even see the move-
  ment. It struck him in the shoulder, driving him back,
  and before he could regain his balance the barrel sliced
  a deep, three-inch gash in his cheeki
  "You will do as I say, Captain Wakefield, or every
  man under your command will be shot. Do you under-
  stand?"
  Silence.
  The two men stood glaring at one another, neither
  blinking.
  "Do you understand!"
  "I will not give up my ship to bloody terrorists."
  EI Adwan turned to the other officer. He flipped the
  DEATHSTRIKE
  171
  
  
  
  
  
  171
  machine pistol to single shot and killed the officer at
  point-blank range.
  "Do you understand, Captain Wakefield?"
  The captain swallowed, blinked his eyes once, and
  then averted them from the young officer's corpse. "I
  understand. ' '
  El Adwan found the proper switches on the ship's inner
  communication console, and began using them.
  "Radio rcx)m?"
  "This is Antonia, Abu. The radio room is secure."
  "Familiarize yourself with the equipment. I'll be right
  back to you."
  One by one, El Adwan went through the ship's stations,
  and one by one he found them secure.
  "Abu, this is Jadak at the main power plant."
  "Yes, Jadak?"
  "Five hands on duty. We have three. The two others
  are in the heating and air-conditioning plant and refuse
  to budge. "
  "Are you in communication?"
  "We are."
  'Then give the two of them one minute to surrender.
  If they don't, inform them that you will shoot their mates
  one by one until they do."
  "Right away."
  "My God," Wakefield gasped, "you're a barbarian!"
  "Not at all, Captain. I am a businessman, and, at times,
  a patriot. Now, shut up."
  El Adwan made some calculations on a pad of paper.
  He checked them twice, and then turned again to
  Wakefield.
  "By my tally, I am missing eleven men. You will call
  on all stations for any man hiding on the ship to surrender
  172
  
  
  
  
  172
  + 110%
  NICK CARTER
  himself to my people. They will have five minutes. If
  all hands are not accounted for by that time, I will begin
  executing men in the forward crew quarters."
  The captain knew he had no choice. He stepped to the
  console and flipped the all-stations switch.
  "All hands, attention all hands. This is Captain
  Wakefield. We have been taken over by terrorists. They
  are in control of the ship. It is futile, lads. Give yourselves
  up and save your mates."
  "Excellent, Captain. Pour yourself a cup of tea. In
  fact, pour two."
  In ten minutes, El Adwan ran through the stations
  again. All hands were accounted for.
  "Antonia?"
  "Here."
  "Contact Jellyfish!"
  Carter's eyes burned as he stared through the night
  glasses at the bulk of the Thor I. All the floods and
  above-deck lights were on. The only movement was on
  the tugs as the fitters constantly checked the flow and
  the huge clamp that held the pumping tube to the side
  feed of the ship.
  "If they're moving, they sure as hell aren't showing
  themselves," he growled.
  Beside him, SAS Sergeant Lamb merely grunted in
  reply, adjusted his volume and frequency controls, and,
  now and then, glanced over at the trussed-up figure of
  Clark Magam.
  "It's a quarter past twelve. Unless they met resistance,
  they should have touched base by now." Carter moved
  to Magam as he spoke. "You see that commando knife
  on the sergeant's belt?"
  DEATHSTRIKE
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  DEATHSTRIKE
  "Yes ..
  173
  Magram was petrified. Carter was surprised he hadn't
  already peed his pants.
  "Let me tell you, Magam, that the sergeant can
  three quarters of the skin from your body tefore you'll
  die."
  "For God's sake, man, what do you want?" Magam
  cried. "I've told you everything!"
  "Have you, Magarn?" Carter hissed. "Have you given
  us the right frequencies?"
  "I swear.. . "
  Suddenly the two three-inch speakers above the console
  crackled to life.
  "Got something, sir . . ."
  Cafier moved quickly back to Lamb's side as a
  woman's voice came through the speakers.
  "Jellyfish, this is Shark. Shark calling Jellyfish. Come
  ' 'This is Jellyfish, Shark. Over."
  "I read you nine and fine, Jellyfish. Over."
  "You are four and floating, Shark. Can you ease up
  with a test?"
  "Going up . . .
  test . . . test . . . test . . . "
  "There, Shark, lock in. You are eight and steady.
  Over."
  There was silence for a few seconds, and then a man's
  voice, speaking guttural Arabic, came on.
  "What is the first star in the desert night?"
  "The one that shines the brightest," Lamb replied in
  barely accented Arabic, and Carter squeezed his shoulder.
  The woman's voice returned. "We are secure, Jellyfish.
  What is your Over."
  "Port side, bow, to about one hundred yards short of
  174
  NICK CARTER
  
  
  
  
  174
  + 110%
  NICK CARTER
  stern. Around bow on starboard side almost amidships.
  Over."
  "Thank you, Jellyfish. We will adjust. Fifteen-minute
  checks unless you spot something. Clear? Over. "
  "Clear, Shark. Out."
  The two men sighed in tandem relief.
  "They bought it," Carter said, and returned the glasses
  to his eyes.
  Less than a minute later, he saw men floating out onto
  the upper decks. No firearms were showing, but that
  meant nothing. Each of them moved to man a lookout
  spot beyond Lamb's range of vision.
  All of them were in place when the remainder of the
  starboard spotlights came on, flooding the sea with light
  for nearly a hundred yards.
  "Time to go," Caner said. "You've got the picture?"
  "Yes, sir. One-ten sharp, I spot surface movement off
  the starboard bow."
  "Good man."
  Carter raced to the door and down the stairs to the
  waiting Mercedes.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  SIXTEEN
  Each and every one of the SAS men was a highly
  trained machine. When they moved, they did it with
  stealth and grace. Hardly a sound was made and there
  was no wasted movement,
  Fifteen minutes before the planned diversion, four men
  equipped with finger-gripped suction cups went up the
  seven-story-high hull of the Thor I. Twenty yards apart
  on the starboard side, thirty yards aft the hull, they looked
  like tiny gray crabs moving through a field of rust.
  They covered the height in exactly two minutes and
  seven seconds. Another five seconds to clamp three
  blocks of stronger, clamp-held devices, and four ropes
  spiraled down the side of the ship. The ropes were knotted
  176
  175
  
  
  
  
  
  176
  + 110%
  NICK CARTER
  every thirty inches so the men climbing always had a
  handhold, and were stabilized by the insteps of both feet
  on a knot.
  Two minutes Jellyfish would alert Shark to sur-
  face movement off the stern to starboard, all thirteen men
  hung, swaying gently, seven stories above the sea.
  "Shark, this is Jellyfish. Come in!"
  "Go ahead, Jellyfish."
  have surface movement about two hundred yards
  off your stem, starboard side. Over."
  "Can you identify? Over."
  "Negative, Shark. It would help if you could lift a
  couple of the starboard floods."
  "Will do, Jellyfish. Keep me informed. Out." Antonia
  Perini shook the blond hair from her eyes and flipped the
  console switch marked Bridge.
  "Abu . .
  "Here."
  "Jellyfish has a sighting about two hundred yards off
  the stern, starboard side."
  "A boat?"
  "Surface movement. He wants you to lift one or two
  of the starboard floods."
  "I'll take care of it."
  El Adwan lifted the walkie from his belt and instructed
  the five lookouts. Instantly, two of them were scampering
  up the ladders on the starboard side of the superstnlcture
  toward the floods. The other three hh the rail themselves,
  night glasses to their eyes.
  At MacCreedy's hand signal, the top four men rolled
  over the bow lip and hoisted themselves to the main deck.
  They had barely flattened out—almost invisible in their
  DEATHSTRIKE
  177
  
  
  
  
  
  177
  hooded gray wet suits against the matching deck—when
  four more men followed.
  Once again there was no wasted time or movement.
  The first four men moved thirty yards to the two massive
  screens guarding the air intake for the air-conditioning
  plant far in the bowels of the ship. By the time
  the last man had scrambled over the bow, the screens
  were off and the first four were already descending.
  Again, like crabs, using the sneakers on their feet and
  the fins—worn over their sneakers while swimming—on
  their hands, they made their way down the slick steel
  sides of the vents, seven to a side.
  Neither of the enormous fans were turning. In fact they
  were hardly ever operational in port. Smaller fans,
  generator-powered, saved fuel when the ship wasn't mov-
  ing.
  When the screens were off, each of the men slithered
  between the blades into the lower vent area. This was
  level, and twenty feet into it was the repair trap. Once
  through this, they crawled along a narrow catwalk above
  the huge unit itself. A hatch at the end of the catwalk
  opened into the engineer's ready room.
  It was empty.
  Two by two, they emerged from the catwalk hatchways
  and padded silently to the hatch leading into the forward
  power plant. MacCreedy cautiously rose until he could
  peer through the window.
  It had been three minutes and forty-one seconds since
  the first four men had come over the bow.
  "Jellyfish. this is Shark. We have spotted nothing,"
  "The light helps, Shark. I can't see it now either. Guess
  I'm just jumpy. Over."
  "Better to be safe, Jellyfish. Stay with me. Out."
  178
  
  
  
  
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  + 110%
  NICK CARTER
  Sergeant Lamb lifted the glasses and sighed with relief.
  They were all up, over, and out of sight before the five
  men drifted back to their assigned places.
  MacCreedy turned to Carter. He held up one hand and
  curled all five fingers.
  Five prisoners.
  He held up one finger on his other hand.
  One guard.
  Carter nodded and slipped in beside him, the silenced
  and compact Sten Model IV up and ready.
  MacCreedy spun the revolving lock on the watertight
  hatch. It moved silently. When it stopped, the colonel
  turned to Caner.
  The Killmaster nodded.
  The hatch was yanked open.
  Carter fired a three-shot burst from four feet, tearing
  the side of the man's head off as he was turning.
  In four seconds, all the SAS men were in the forward
  engine ready room and Carter was interrogating the chief
  engineer.
  No, there had been no call down from the bridge since
  the initial takeover. Yes, the five of them had been left
  below to monitor the pressure gauges and keep checking
  the automatic oilers.
  As Carter asked questions and got answers, the two I
  men who would be part of his unit moved in behind him.
  There would be three units, with Carter's designated Unit
  One. Unit Two—with five men commanded by Colonel
  MacCreedy—would move forward to free the crew. Unit
  Three—under Major Culham—would search for and dis-
  mantle the explosives.
  Units Two and Three had already moved out when
  Carter gave his last instructions to the chief engineer.
  DEATHSTRIKE
  179
  
  
  
  
  179
  "If any of them show up down here, use his gun and
  don't be sad about it."
  "It'll be a pleasure, sir."
  Carter, followed by his two men, moved up to "A"
  lower level and aft.
  Fourteen terrorists all told, with one dead and five as
  lookouts on the main deck. Carter guessed that El Adwan
  would be on the bridge with at least one other man.
  That left six they would have to find.
  The Killmaster hoped against hope that the scenario
  that Carolyn Reed had set up for them was at least eighty
  percent accurate.
  "Saed, this is Abu. How is it?"
  "Steady. They are on the last two tanks ... approaching
  half."
  "What do you estimate?"
  s 'A little over an hour."
  "Excellent," El Adwan replied. "Let me know the mo-
  ment they top off."
  Ten feet from the blown hatch of the tank control room,
  Carter heard the man's voice and halted.
  Using sign language, he gestured one of his men for-
  ward. The SAS man dropped to his belly and, like a
  snake, slithered forward until he was flat on the floor
  adjacent to the hatch.
  One quick look and he held up one finger. Carter gave
  him a thumbs-up sign, and backed down the passageway
  with his second man moving in step.
  They went up another deck and then aft again until
  they were directly below the forward section of the
  superstructure. Carter dropped to a hunkering position
  and took the walkie-talkie from his belt. Livingstone, the
  180
  
  
  
  
  
  
  180
  + 110%
  NICK CARTER
  remaining man with him, checked the passageway to the
  next turn and nodded back.
  Caner depressed the red alert button once and waited.
  A two count later, the red light on his own walkie blinked
  twice. Another two count and it blinked three times.
  Colonel MacCreedy and Major Culham were in areas
  where they could talk.
  "Caner here. 'A' upper-level deck. Ready to go up.
  Valve control is covered. One man. Colonel?"
  "Two of them in the forward crew quarters. Covered.
  J am at the aft crew quarters now. Two here, as well.
  Over."
  "Major?"
  "So far, Miss Reed has been right on the nose. We
  have hit six jackpots, all exactly at the hull stress points
  where she guessed they would be. Over. "
  "Are they neutralized?" Carter said.
  "Yes wait a second .. It was more like ten. "Sir?"
  'Go ahead," Caner said.
  "We just found the first one on the tanks. Sir, it's
  remote-controlled like the ones on the hull, but it's locked
  into a relay. If we crack it, sir, it will automatically pulse.
  Over."
  "That means it can't be cracked? Over."
  "Maybe, sir, but it's going to be tricky. We'll have to
  dismantle in the exact sequence or we'll all go boom,
  sir. Over."
  "Okay, Major, stay with it. Out."
  Carter made a mental note. If radio was manned
  by a woman, and she was alone, and there was one with
  El Adwan on the bridge, they had all fourteen accounted
  for.
  "Jadak
  . Jadak, Abu here! Can you hear me?"
  DEATHSTRIKE
  181
  
  
  
  
  181
  For the third time, the inner-ship line from the engine
  room came alive, but only with buzzing and crackling.
  If there was voice in there, El Adwan couldn't hear it.
  "Dammit, Jadak .
  "We have been having trouble with that line since we
  left Japan," the captain lied, his knowledge telling him
  that, with the ship's sealed communications units, that
  kind of steady interference could never occur.
  El Adwan turned to the dark-haired woman at the door.
  "Pilon, go down to the forward engine room and check,
  just in case."
  "As you wish, Abu," she replied, and left.
  "Antonia?"
  "Yes, Abu."
  "Anything more from Jellyfish?"
  "Nothing beyond the last regular check."
  El Adwan checked with the rest of his people and
  found them all in place and everything quiet.
  He was just turning from the console when Captain
  Wakefield lunged at him. It was an unskilled and stupid
  charge, considering the bigger man's swiftness and dex-
  terity.
  El Adwan countered the blow easily and slammed the
  butt of his machine pistol viciously against the point of the
  older man's jaw. Wakefield dropped like a stone to
  the deck, and the terrorist leader kicked him viciously
  in the side.
  ' 'Stupid old man!"
  The communications center was one deck below the
  bridge and just forward of it. Carter was halfway up the
  last ladder to that deck, with Livingstone right behind
  him, when he heard the sound of footsteps approaching
  on the steel deck of the passageway above.
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  182
  + 110%
  NICK CARTER
  Both men slid back down using the handrail, and darted
  through the nearest hatch, closing it behind them. It was
  the chart room, and through an open hatch Carter could
  see radar equipment. Leaving the other man to guard the
  hatch, the Killmaster did a quick recon. Finding both
  areas empty, he returned.
  "Sir, it's a woman," Livingstone whispered, nodding
  toward the passageway.
  Cautiously Carter eased his head up until he could peer
  through the double glass. A short stocky woman wearing
  fatigues, a handgun holstered at her hip, and with an
  AK-47 slung over her shoulder, was walking forward to
  the next ladder.
  "Well, now," Carter murmured as she disappeared, "I
  wonder if that's our radio operator."
  Major Bryan Culham peered over the shoulders of the
  two crouched men with sweat pouring off his forehead
  into his eyes. He took a deep breath, and then sighed as
  the plastic case came apart and there was no mishap.
  "Six wires," one of the men said, "just like the other
  four. "
  "Are they in the same sequence?"
  "Yeah, but nothing tells me which wire is the relay. "
  "Damn," Culham said. "Let's try the last one."
  At the top of the ladder leading down to the forward
  ready room that controlled one Of the two massive diesels,
  the brunette called Pilon paused.
  "Jadak? .
  Jadak, are you there? Is everything all
  right?"
  There was no answer.
  Pilon unlimbered the automatic rifle from her shoulder
  and moved down the ladder, step by step. At the bottom,
  DEATHSTRIKE
  183
  
  
  
  
  
  183
  she went to her knees and dived, belly-up, through the
  hatch. The moment she hit the deck she covered the room
  with the muzzle of the weapon.
  Nothing. Empty. No sign.
  And then she saw it, a dark stain on the green deck
  padding. Cautiously, she touched it with a finger and
  tasted.
  Blood.
  Alert now, using only seconds, the woman moved in
  a wide arc around the stain until she found a drop of
  blood, and then another, until it became a trail. It led
  her toward the starboard walkway and then down, toward
  the lower decks and aft.
  Colonel MacCreedy left his final two officers to cover
  the two terrorists, and went forward again. Amidships,
  he went down to the lowest deck level and checked his
  position.
  He was two hatches away from the generator room.
  Pilon paused to orient herself. She was on the lowest
  level of the ship now, just about amidships, and moving
  fonvard.
  The trail of blood had petered out twice, but by trial
  and error she had picked it up both times. The last spot
  was a foot in front of the hatch that led into the generator
  room.
  She crouched and cautiously moved forward. The spin
  lock wouldn't rotate. The hatch was locked from the
  inside.
  What would Abu want her to do? Was the blood
  Jadak's? Or had he killed or wounded part of the crew
  and this is where they fled, with Jadak pursuing them?
  The decision was made for her when she peered through
  184
  
  
  
  
  
  184
  + 110%
  NICK CARTER
  the double-thick windows. They were masked. That could
  mean only one thing.
  She set aside her gun and took two blocks of plastique
  from her utility belt. Quickly, she molded the puttylike
  explosive into the cracks around the hatch, liberally at
  the lock and two hinges. A mercury detonator with a
  ten-second fuse was inserted into the mass, and then she
  pushed the small button on the call box the hatch.
  Faintly, she could hear the attention buzzer inside through
  the hatch.
  She put her lips close to the call box. "I know you are
  in there. I don't know what you have done with my
  comrade, but I am giving you ten seconds to open this
  hatch or I will blow it open. Do you hear me?"
  Three seconds passed and then a voice. in Cockney
  English, replied. "We've got yer man in here and we've
  got his gun. If ya blow the door, I'll kill him."
  "Let me speak to him."
  Pause. "No."
  Pilon smiled. "I think Jadak is already dead. I'll give
  you to the count of three. One
  "Don't move, don't even twitch, or I'll cut you exactly
  in half."
  Pilon's whole being, her mind-set, was made up of
  instincts. Instantly, she rolled to the side, grasped her
  gun, and kept rolling. Out of the corner of her eye she
  saw the figure in the gray wet suit.
  She came up on one knee, but her right hand wasn't
  fast enough.
  All six slugs from the Sten's double three-shot burst
  stitched her body from pelvis to breast. She died before
  her body hit the bulkhead.
  The gray wet suit moved to the hatch and gently re-
  moved the mercury detonator from the plastique. He then
  DEATHSTRIKE
  185
  
  
  
  
  185
  tugged the woman's bloody body away from the bulkhead
  so it could be seen from inside the generator room.
  This done, he leaned toward the talk box himself. "This
  is SAS Colonel Vernon MacCreedy. I need to get in
  there. Take the mask off the window and take a look."
  Carter and Livingstone had just hit the passageway
  about thirty feet from the open hatch to the radio room,
  when their question was answered.
  "Shark, this is Jellyfish."
  "Go ahead, Jellyfish."
  "Fifteen-minute check. Nil, all's calm and quiet.
  Over."
  "Check, Jellyfish. I'm told topping off is about ten
  minutes. We should be making way in an hour. Out."
  Caner and Livingstone traded satisfied looks. Obvi-
  ously there were two women. And the one they had
  srx)tted coming down had been descending from the
  bridge. The short brunette had been the "man" with El
  Adwan.
  And then they got another break. Antonia Perini spoke
  again.
  "Bridge, are you there, Abu?"
  "Yes. The fool of a captain tried to take me."
  "Oh, God," said the woman. "Did you have to kill
  A laugh. "No, but he'll be sailing us toward the strait
  with a broken jaw. Anything from Jellyfish?"
  "All clear."
  "Check."
  Now they knew that Abu El Adwan was indeed on the
  bridge.
  Carter motioned Livingstone forward until he was
  positioned outside the radio room, just as the other SAS
  186
  
  
  
  
  186
  + 110%
  NICK CARTER
  officer was positioned outside the valve control room.
  Then Carter slithered back forward and moved around
  the enormous superstructure until he was at the ladder
  leading up to the bridge.
  The red light on his walkie-talkie was blinking.
  "Carter here," he
  ' 'MacCreedy. I've killed one of them, a woman."
  "Short, built wide, dark hair?" Carter asked.
  S' You've got it. I'm in the generator room. I'm leaving
  my walkie with the chief engineer, name's Harris. You
  can give him the word on cutoff."
  "And?" Carter said.
  "We have two AKs. I'm taking two of the crew with
  me topside. We can cover the five lookouts."
  "Good thinking," Carter said. "That makes it com-
  plete."
  Yeah, he added to himself, complete if Major Culham
  and Unit Three don't blow us to hell!
  He lifted the walkie-talkie back to his lips.
  "Jadak . . . Pilon . .. dammit, somebody down there
  answer me"'
  El Adwan slammed his palm against the console and
  cursed again.
  His senses, tuned over years of living on the edge,
  were telling him something was not right. First Jadak,
  and now Pilon.
  What the hell was going on?
  "Kroil .
  Kroll, where are you?"
  am on the fantail, main deck. What is it?"
  "Get down to the forward engine room. Jadak and
  Pilon should be down there, but I can't get an answer
  out of them."
  "What's wrong?"
  DEATHSTRIKE
  187
  
  
  
  
  187
  "Dammit, if I knew I wouldn't be sending you down
  there. Move!"
  El Adwan slumped into the captain's swing chair, and
  for the tenth time checked the loads in his AK-47 and
  pistol.
  Then he fingered the battery-B)wered pulse-sender on
  his belt, the unit that, with one twist of a dial and one
  push of a button, would send them all to hell.
  "Major . . . Carter here."
  "Yes, sir," Culham said, making a conscious effort to
  keep his voice level.
  "How is it?"
  "The search is complete, sir. Six jackpots on the hull,
  all neutralized. We have found eight more on the tanks.
  We are opening the last one now."
  "And . . s?"
  "Nothing to report further until we get it open, sir."
  "Are you sure you've got them all?"
  "Yes, sir. We've done two complete sweeps and that's
  it, unless they've placed some above decks. And, accord-
  ing to the Reed woman, that would be highly unlikely."
  'SAnd you agree?"
  "l do, sir."
  "All right," Carter said. "We've got two dead and all
  the rest are covered. Our main honcho is on the bridge,
  alone. I'm going up now."
  "Good luck, sir."
  "Good luck to you, Major. And for God's sake, if you
  find the relay key. let me know right away."
  "Will do, sir."
  Major Culham returned the walkie to his trlt and again
  dropped to his knees beside the two men working over
  the small plastic box.
  188
  
  
  
  
  
  188
  (200 of 212)
  + 110%
  NICK CARTER
  188
  "Anything?"
  "Maybe, just maybe," one of them replied. "See the
  fresh solder on the blue and white wires?"
  "I see it."
  "It's the same on the rest of them. They've changed
  the order from the way the wires were originally set up. "
  Culham ran a finger along his forehead and flicked
  away the sweat. "That probably means either the blue or
  the white is the relay."
  "Yes, sir, it does."
  "Question is, which one?"
  "Yes, sir, that sure as hell is the question."
  Carter heaved himself up over the top of the last over-
  hang and crawled forward through the maze of radio
  antennae and radar scoops until he was just at the edge.
  From here he had a clear view directly down into the
  bridge.
  The forward, port, and starboard sides of the main
  bridge were all glass. He could see Captain Wakefield
  sitting in a swivel chair holding his head in his hands.
  The only other occupant was Abu El Adwan . . . tall,
  bearded, long black hair—obviously a wig—to his shoul-
  ders.
  Catter sighted the Sten.
  There was only a fifty-fifty chance that a burst would
  get him before he could hit the pulser at his belt. The
  thick glass would deflect the slugs.
  One large pane of the window was open. Each time
  El Adwan spoke into the control console, Carter could
  hear every word.
  Now, if the man would only walk in front of the open
  window. .
  DEATHSTRIKE
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  (201 of 212)
  + 110%
  DEATHSTRIKE
  "Yes."
  "We're topped. The tugs are leaving now."
  189
  "Good," El Adwan replied. "We'll get under way at
  once. Kroll, where are you?"
  "Engine room. No sign Of Pilon or Jadak."
  "Keep looking. We're about ready to go."
  "Major," Carter whispered into his walkie-talkie,
  "what's our status?"
  "We might have it. We've got it down to two wires ...
  one blue, one white. We're testing."
  "How long, man?"
  "Sir, it's impossible to tell."
  Carter thought. ney didn't have time. El Adwan was
  getting nervous.
  "Major, if the tanks blow, how long do we have
  the ship goes down?"
  "Probably a good twenty minutes, sir."
  Time enough to get the crew out, Carter thought.
  "Major, run a bypass and pick a wire. Is everyone else
  on?" There was a series of affinnative answers. "All
  right, everyone with your night glasses on. Chief Hanis?"
  "Here, sir."
  "Get ready to cut the generators."
  "Ready, sir."
  The wait went on for minutes. Caner could see that
  El Adwan was beginning to sniff the wind.
  Then the word came.
  'Culham here, sir. We've run a bypass. I'm guessing
  blue. When we cut, it's twenty seconds."
  "Go, Major," Carter growled, in his mind seeing
  everyone ready to take out their targets.
  "It's a cut," Culham hissed.
  Carter—and, he was sure, all the SAS men—were
  190
  
  
  
  
  190
  + 110%
  NICK CARTER
  sweating out a pound a second. He forced himself not to
  blink as he watched the sweep-second hand of his watch.
  twenty . . . twenty-one.... Good
  . nineteen
  guess, Major. Chief Hams?"
  "Yes, sir?"
  "Kill the lights. Everybody .
  The instant the lights went dead, Carter opened up
  with the Sten on full automatic. Carefully, he kept his
  fire away from the captain.
  It had the desired result.
  El Adwan fired a burst in reply, and reached for the
  pulser. When nothing happened, and Carter's slug from
  a new magazine started finding his range, he leaped from
  the hatch.
  The Killmaster dropped to the next deck and gave
  chase.
  El Adwan fired until his magazine was empty. then
  he discarded the AK-47. Now he was on the main deck
  and running aft, with Carter still firing.
  MacCreedy appeared before him and El Adwan veered
  left into the officers' quarters. Just as he did, one of
  Carter's slugs caught him in the thigh.
  Carter dived through the hatch into the officers' mess.
  El Adwan was against the far bulkhead, a pistol held in
  both hands.
  "Give it up, Adwan," the Killmaster hissed. "By now
  all your people are dead or captured. " Carter could see
  El Adwan's face in the moonlight through the big port-
  holes.
  "I know that voice . . .
  you're Carter. "
  "That's right."
  The man laughed. 'God, you don't give up, do you!"
  "Never. Hang it up."
  The face changed. The gun lowered and hit the deck.
  DEATHSTRIKE
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  191
  (203 of 212)
  •
  — + 110%
  DEATHSTRIKE 191
  "Sure, why not?" Carter wasn't surprised. He had almost expected it Calmly, the man pulled out a cigarette case. He lit a long brown cigarette and smiled. "They'll try me and probably get a conviction. But do you know what, Carter? They'll give me five years . M the most. Any more than that and you'll have hijackings all over the world to get me out. And 1 won't even do the five years. Some government will want to make a deal with another government, and part of it will be my
  Carter watched the smirking face and listened to the glib talk. And as he listened, he knew the man was right. The trial would take two years, a couple of million dollars, and he would be convicted. And two years later. Abu El Adwan would be nut. Caner pressed the trigger on the Sten and kept pressing until the magazine was empty. Then he walked back out on deck. Colonel MacCreedy was waiting. No casualties on our side, sir. And the officers and are safe." And theirs" Carter asked. viten accounted for—eleven men, two women—
  o," the Killmaster said "Fourteen . . . all dead."
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
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