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CHAPTER 1
It was a little past ten when I pushed my way into the
crowded Club Salah, a smoke-filled bar in Beirut's na-
There was no room up front, but after glancing
around, I spotted an empty booth in the rear alongside
the dime-sized dance floor. When I eased myself in and
settled back against the stained leather seat, a waiter
scooted my way. He was about as tall as a barstool,
with bright eyes and a matching smile.
He gave me a quick up-and-down look and nodded
approvingly. "Kayf halik," he whispered confidentially.
"Inglizi?"
I shook my head. "Amricanee."
"Aha, Amricanee. You see, I speak the English
good. I have many cousin in America. One is name of
Ahmed. He live Detroit. You know Ahmed, maybe?"
When I told him I wasn't from Detroit, and there
was no way I'd know his cousin, he shrugged it off and
flicked his soggy napkin toward the three girls at the
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NICK CARTER: KILLMASTER
and came after him. Since the train made two stops
during the night, they could've managed to get him off
and then beat it back to their own border."
"Exactly my own thoughts at first," Hawk said. "But
I had to change my mind when I received this last
Sifting through some papers on his cluttered desk, he
came up with a teletype transmitted in AXE's 4-x
code. It bore a Lebanon dispatch point and it was rub-
ber stamped CRITICALLY URGENT. Hawk had al-
ready run it through the decoder, and he filled me in.
The message had been dispatched by Salobin's for-
mer American controller and it was a blunt cry for
help. Through a reliable underground informant, the
American intelligence agent had received a tip that
Salobin's whereabouts might be learned if a person in a
position of authority would contact a man by the name
of Rafai at the Club Salah in Beirut.
"It could be something, or maybe nothing," Hawk
"I've already checked the Interpol file
and they list this Rafai as a lower level international hit
man who deals in drugs, stolen goods, prostitution—
anything that can be turned into a quick buck. But con-
sidering Salobin's importance, Rafai will have to be
Hawk paused to relight his cigar. After blowing out
the match he shook his head wearily. It may not be
fair to criticize some of the other services who share
our kind of work, but you know how it is, Nick. After
they foul things up, they usually come knocking on
AXE's door to bail them out. And when that happens
I generally end up calling on you. Right?"
This was about as far as the old man had ever gone
in paying me a compliment, and there was only one
way to thank him.
"How soon do you want me to leave for Beirut?" I
For a moment I thought he was going to smile, but
he made a point of clearing his throat suddenly and
scowled at his watch. "You're booked to fly out of
Dulles in about two hours. That'll give you just about
enough time to pack a few things."
When I reached the door, he called out. His pale,
blue eyes were deadly serious. "There are people high
up in our government watching this one, Nick. They
want Salobin. They place the highest value on his spe-
cialized knowledge. If Salobin's still among the living
I want you to bring him in alive. I don't care how
you do it, or how many you may have to kill to get the
job done. But just do it. And the faster the better."
The first leg of my flight took me to Rome, and after
an hour layover I continued directly to Lebanon
aboard a Middle East Airline flight. After arriving at
Beirut's International Airport, I had the baggage clerk
send my luggage on to the Hotel Saint Georges and
then I grabbed a cab for the ride into town.
Beirut is a cosmopolitan city, and though Arabic is
the official language French and English are widely
spoken. My cabbie spoke all three. Sometimes almost
simultaneously. By the time he dropped me in front of
the Club Salah I knew he was married, had four kids
and that he moonlighted as a pastry chef when he
wasn't pushing his cab.
And that's how I happened to find myself seated in
the rear booth of a grimy Beirut bar, tired, and in no
way knowing what to expect.
Frankly, I had no game plan in mind. Hawk had
said it right. The Rafai lead could easily turn out to be
nothing, a time-consuming false alarm. Meanwhile, as
the minutes dragged by, the redhead at the bar kept
swiveling around on her barstool to flash me one of her
come-on smiles. I didn't encourage her but a bit later
she got up, walked right past my booth and disap-
peared behind a beaded curtain at the far end of the
room. I snuffed out my cigarette, lit up a fresh one,
and then the beaded curtain parted and three musicians
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14
NICK CARTER: KILLMASTER
filed out, a drummer and two men carrying stringed in-
struments.
They got a mild round of applause from the
crowd as they took their places on the small band-
stand.
They spent a few minutes tuning up, while the cus-
tomers showed signs of growing impatience. The clap-
ping grew louder and some foot stomping joined in.
Moments later the hand drummer started the beat, and
when the strings joined in, the beaded curtain parted a
second time. The applause was deafening when the red-
head glided into view.
Barefoot, she wore a pair of hip-hugging harem
the wispy fabric. A rainbow colored sash covered with
flashing spangles draped her arching breasts, and as
she picked up the throbbing rhythm her rotating stom-
ach became the focal point for every male eye in the
room. As the tempo quickened, so did the redhead's
movements.
Over and over she kept circling the room, and the
hand clapping, cheering customers roared approval.
About the eighth or ninth time around she stopped be-
fore my booth, her hips flashing wildly as the music
soared to crescendo level. Seconds later the music and
the girl came to an explosive halt.
After acknowledging the cheers and applause, she
turned to me and smiled. "You American." she said a
bit breathlessly, "I know just by looking. When I smile,
you do nothing. But when I dance." and her eves
"you watch very careful. So now
maybe you buy Hananna drink-yes?"
Flipping an arm around my neck she squirmed onto
my lap, and that's when the big guy in the booth on
the opposite side of the dance floor let out a howl.
This was one kind of trouble I didn't need. "Look,"
I told her.
"You're getting your boyfriend nervous.
You talk nice to him and I'll have the waiter bring
both of you a drink. Anything you like."
Glaring at the big guy over her shoulder, she stuck
her tongue out at him and then turned back to me.
"He no boyfriend. He fat pig. But I like tall American
like you. You be Hananna's boyfriend, yes?"
Giggling, she leaned closer, pressed her lips to mine
and gave me a quick taste of her tongue.
That did it. Suddenly the big guy was on his feet,
lunging our way. I pushed her off me and managed to
get out of the booth as he closed in, his curved fingers
going for my eyes. I caught his hand and pressed back
on the thumb all the way. There was a dry, snapping
sound and he let out a cry of pain. Tossing his hand
aside, I backhanded him across the mouth and blood
spurted from his torn lip. He let out another howl and
charged. I side-stepped, hit him with the flat edge of my
right hand alongside his neck. He grunted, his head
flopping forward as his eyes glazed over. He hit the
floor, knees first and slid forward on his face.
Some chairs scraped. For a while it looked like the
beginning of a free-for-all, but the whole thing came to
an abrupt halt as three men barged into the crowd,
slapping at anyone who got in their way.
When the big guy on the floor struggled to a sitting
position, one of the newcomers shouted at him in Ara-
bic and then turned to me.
He was medium height, had a pockmarked complex-
ion, and with his dark suit and lemon yellow tie he
looked as if he had stepped straight out of a 1940 "Bo-
gey" movie.
"My name Rafai," he snapped. He nodded toward
the beaded doorway. "You come. We talk,"
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CHAPTER 2
"The eye is bigger than the belly," says an old Arab
proverb, and Rafai's eyes had a very hungry look.
We sat facing each other across a small table in the
rear room, with Rafai's two men posted at
doorway. There was a bottle of scotch and two glasses
on the table, but when he offered to pour me a drink I
shook my head. I wanted to keep it strictly business.
The Lebanese are shrewd traders.
They come by
through centuries of tradition, and I figured Rafai to be
a first class pro.
By way of openers, I bluntly told him that I held a
position of some authority in my government, and that
word had come to us that he may be able to supply us
with information about an individual my people were
interested in locating.
"Am I correct so far?" I asked.
Rafai grinned, showing a lot of gold teeth. Reaching
inside his jacket pocket he took out a small photograph
and placed it in front of me. It looked as if it had been
THE TURNCOAT
17
taken with a Poloroid camero, and the man in the pic-
ture certainly looked like Salobin. When I examined it
close up I was even more positive. There was the same
dip to the right side of the mouth, and there was no
mistaking the false left eye.
I casually tossed the picture back and poker-faced it
"It could be the right man,
mitted, "but a picture is still a picture. It's the man I'm
interested in."
Rafai's grin broadened. "But of course. And the
man, he is close by."
"How close?"
Rafai shrugged. "Later, later. What matter now is if
you have interest."
I was interested of course, but I was tring to pry
loose whatever information I could.
"You say he's
close by," I repeated, "but we know for a fact that he
disappeared in Turkey, and now you're saying he's
here in Lebanon. How do you explain that?"
"I explain nothing," he shot back. "I not have to. So
I repeat. Have you interest?"
It was back to me. "Interested. Now if you have any
information, I'm prepared to-"
"What I have better than information," he interrupt-
ed. "I have man."
The surprise must have shown in my eyes. Grinning
smugly, Rafai leaned forward, picked up the bottle of
scotch and poured himself a drink. He took his time.
After swishing it around, he tossed it down in a single
gulp and then carefully put the empty glass down. The
room had become very silent. I let it stay that way. I
wanted him to come to me. The seconds slipped by.
He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and
leaned back, the chair creaking under his weight.
"So now," he finally smirked. "Like I tell you, I
have man. And you have interest. Good. So now we talk
price, yes?"
"How much?"
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He chuckled and held up one hand. "Five hundred
thousand American dollars.
"You've got to be joking," I chuckled back.
"Rafai no joke," he snapped, and the smile van-
ished. "That is price. If too much, I find others. Maybe
I speak to Russians. Maybe even Chinese."
He unbuttoned his jacket, hooked his thumbs in his
I knew that Rafai was speaking from a position of
strength and I was rather certain that he knew that I
knew it, too. It reasoned out that if he really did have
Salobin-and I was beginning to think he did-then
he'd have no trouble selling him to the Russians who
would be only too glad to have Salobin back.
And he could be right about the Chinese, too. With
Peking straining to develop a missile delivery system
for their growing nuclear arsenal, Salobin's knowledge
could readily provide the know-how they might still
lack. The fact that Salobin might not volunteer the in-
formation wouldn't count for much once Mao's boys
got to work on him. One way or another they'd man-
age to wring what they needed from the kidnapped
While I continued to mull these thoughts around,
Rafai became impatient. "Well?" he demanded. "We
talk price? Yes or no?"
I refused to be rushed. "Look," I said, "so far all
I've seen is a picture. I'll need more than that to con-
vince my people before they'd pay that kind of
money."
For the first time Rafai's eyes showed some uncer-
"Maybe I make mistake," he rasped. "Maybe
we forget whole thing."
I was sure he was bluffing, so I decided to tough it
through. "If you have the right man, and if he's alive,
there's a good chance the money could be raised. But
that means I'll have to see the man first. It's a condi-
tion I know my people will insist upon. Either we agree
on this, or we're wasting each other's time."
Indicision flickered in his eyes, and swinging to his
feet he went into a close huddle with his two men.
They spoke in low whispers, and it was impossible to
follow them. After a while they began to raise their
Shouting back, Rafai bellowed them into
"Okay," he said, turning back to me. "We take you
to see man. But not now."
"How soon?"
"One day. Maybe two, We see."
I would have liked a definite time, but I didn't press.
Getting out my pocket pad I wrote down the name of
my hotel, and underneath it, Lee Perrin, the cover
name AXE had assigned me before leaving. Tearing
off the sheet, I gave it to Rafai.
When we left the room I spotted Hananna seated at
the end of the bar. She had changed back to her low-
necklined dress.
She saw me,
started forward, but
Rafai let out a growl and she hopped back on the bar-
stool like a circus seal. Rafai offered me a ride, but I
Moments later I pushed my way through the crowd
and out into the humid, noisy street.
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CHAPTER 3
I didn't sleep well that night. For one thing, I dreamed
I was back in Hawk's Washington office and he was
chewing me out for having fouled up the mission.
While this was going on, Hananna suddenly material-
ized in her harem pants costume and when Hawk
spluttered and came close to swallowing his cigar, the
girl broke out in a wild, hip-flinging dance that drove
the old man right up the wall. While he yelled and
threatened to throw us both out, the phone started to
ring. Only this wasn't in the dream.
Forcing myself awake, I slipped the phone off the
cradle. It was the hotel desk clerk calling to tell me
that my baggage had arrived from the airport. Did I
want it sent up right away? I told him yes, and then
had him switch me to room service.
A moment later
the
girl's husky, sensuar voice
hummed in my ear.
"Sahbah khevr."
I returned the greeting and plunged right on. "Aseer
bur tuam, beyd masslook."
20
THE TURNCOAT
21
It was a simple request for orange juice and eggs,
but she spotted my American accent instantly.
"Orange juice and eggs," she repeated in what sound-
ed like British English. "Very good, sir, And how would
you like your eggs?"
"Medium boiled." I felt vaguely disappointed. I
would have liked continuing with Arabic, but decided to
go with the tide. "And I'll want some toast and lots of
coffee. And make sure the coffee's hot. Very hot."
"Of course, sir," she said in what sounded like a
miffed tone, and clicked off.
The baggage came up
while I was brushing my
teeth. The bellhop was bilingual and all smiles. After
he put the luggage on the rack at the foot of the bed,
he immediately told me that he could provide me with
any number of interesting female companions if I were
in the mood. I declined, tipped him and sent him pack-
ing.
Ten minutes later breakfast arrived. The waiter, also
bilingual, briskly transferred the food from his wheeled
cart to the table in front of the large window that faced
the sea. When he finished, he offered the same pitch
the bellhop had given me. I refused, tipped him, but he
hung in there, peddling his wares like a door-to-door
salesman. Taking him firmly by the arm I led him out.
Grinning, I sat down to breakfast. I'm a reasonable
man, but when it comes to clothes and women I do my
own selecting. It's a rule. Another rule is that I don't
pay hard cash for the intimate pleasures of female
companionship. Handing over money would simply
destroy it for me. Maybe that makes me old-fashioned,
but I intend to stay this way until I'm ninety-five. After
that, I'll play it strictly by ear.
The eggs were perfect, the coffee scalding hot. While
I ate I went over my meeting with Rafai, For a while I
thought Id give Hawk a call and fill him in. He had
given me two "clean" phones I could use in Beirut, in-
cluding the one in the U.S. Consulate, but while I
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lingered over my second cup of coffee and a cigarette I
decided to hold off.
At the moment I still had nothing definite to report.
So far I had seen a picture of someone who may have
been Salobin, but was that enough? And there was
Rafai to consider. The man was a known crook, which
made his credibility more than suspect. It was also
possible that Rafai may have simply gotten his hands
on a picture of Salobin and was pushing for all he
could get. Whether he'd still contact me was something
I couldn't be sure of. Accordingly, I decided to play it
like it was, keep my own counsel for the time being
and hopefully wait for Rafai to get in touch as he had
For the rest of the morning, and right through late
afternoon, I remained in my room. If Rafai wanted to
reach me, I didn't want to miss him. To break the mo-
notony I watched TV and had the unsettling experi-
ence of seeing a Bonanza re-run with an Arabic
soundtrack dubbed in. Before dinner, I ducked out for
a newspaper at one of the foreign newstands on Rue
Hamra, the Beirut equivalent of 42nd Street. The side-
walk was jammed with people, the street sharled with
bumper-to-bumper traffic.
A lot of Arab oil money flows into Beirut, and I
guess it's one of the few cities in the world where a
Silver Cloud Rolls and a donkey-drawn cart will stop
side-by-side while waiting for the light to turn green. In
the few minutes it took me to walk to and from my ho-
tel, I saw this happen no less than four times.
When I returned to the hotel I went directly to the
desk, but no one had tried to reach me. I spent the
next ten minutes in the lobby cocktail lounge nursing
an oversized Tom Collins. The waitress, a tall, attrac-
tive girl with sad, thoughtful eyes and a warm smile
came by twice to check my drink. Her smile was open
to any number of interpretations, but that's as far as I
let it go.
THE TURNCOAT
That evening I had dinner in my room, watched
some more TV, and finished things off by browsing
through the Paris edition of the Tribune I had picked
up at the stand. At a little past eleven, with still no
word from Rafai, I set the air conditioner on low,
slipped into a pair of pajama bottoms and got into bed.
I had no trouble falling asleep. I must have dropped off
within seconds after my head hit the feathers.
The following morning was a repeat of the day be-
fore. After some breakfast, I spent a leisurely hour
with Wilhelmina, my 9mm Luger. I took it apart
slowly and methodically, lubricated the various parts
and then carefully wiped off the excess oil before reas-
sembling it. I was simply killing time. When I finally
replaced Wilhelmina in my shoulder holster it was get-
ting on to eleven.
There's a lot of waiting in my kind of work, and
though you get used to it, you never get that used to it,
either. What I didn't like, and it was something I had
to consider, was that Rafai could have decided to talk
with either the Russians or the Chinese after all. And if
he had, and if a bargain had been struck with one or
the other, it could mean that I had already been dealt
The thought of being left swinging in the breeze
depressed me. For a while I was again tempted to get
in touch with Hawk, but I again ruled it out. He was
5,000 miles away, and the moves had to be all mine.
Something's bound to pop, I kept telling myself, and
oddly enough it was just around here when the phone
rang. It was the desk clerk telling me that I had a call-
er waiting in the lobby.
"Shall I tell him you will be down, sir?"
"Right away," I replied, and hung up fast.
After slinging the shoulder holster in place, I slipped
into my jacket. When I checked myself in the dresser
mirror, the Luger's slight bulge scarcely showed. Satis-
fied, I left the room, locked up, and instead of taking
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24
NICK CARTER: KILLMASTER
the elevator I walked down the four flights. When I en-
tered the lobby I spotted Rafai right off. He stood at
the far end of the desk, and when our eyes met he
nodded
briefly,
and made straight for
revolving doors. I followed right behind him.
A black Mercedes was parked at the curb, and as
Rafai approached it the rear door swung open. He held
it open and stepped aside when I came up. One of the
men who had been with Rafai at the Club Salah was
seated in the rear, and the second man was behind the
wheel. After I climbed in, Rafai slid in beside me. I
didn't like being sandwiched between Rafai and his
goon, but it wasn't a matter of choice. Moments after
Rafai pulled the
door shut behind him, the driver
shifted into gear and the Mercedes eased its way into
the stream of traffic.
"You took your time getting back to me." I said
matter-of-factly. "Everything all right?"
Rafai shrugged and remained silent.
I took the cue and buttoned up.
At the corner the driver took a right turn, drove an-
other block and made a left. Two blocks further on he
made another right. After a few more turns I was no
longer sure where we were. At intervals, Rafai twisted
around in his seat and looked out the rear window, ob-
viously checking if Id put a tail on him. I hadn't, of
course,
but there was no point telling him since he
wouldn't believe me anyway. So I sat there silently as
the driver turned and zigzagged through a maze of
twisting, narrow streets.
Finally we were out in the open, moving along a
broad boulevard lined with luxury high-rise apartment
buildings that faced the sparkling blue sea. Suddenly,
we were out of the city, and I figured the heading to be
east since the sea was no longer visible through Rafai's
side window. A few minutes later Rafai muttered some-
thing to the driver and he eased down on the brakes,
coming to a smooth park alongside the shoulder.
THE TURNCOAT
25
Twisting around in his seat, Rafai took another long
look through the rear window. Traffic was light, and
after a few cars swished by he turned back and held
out his hand, palm up. His voice was calm and
businesslike.
"Your gun. I give back later. After we see man."
With Rafai's goon pressing something small, hard
and round against my ribs, there wasn't much point in
arguing. Reaching inside my jacket, I removed Wilhel-
mina and placed the luger in Rafai's open palm. After
he slipped the gun into his jacket pocket, Rafai gave
me a quick frisk, running his hands along my sides and
then down my legs, but he failed to discover Hugo, the
thin stiletto I kept in a special chamois sheath strapped
to my arm. Satisfied, he leaned back and told the
driver to get going.
Pulling out, the driver turned left at the next corner,
then straight on. It was obvious we were heading back
toward the city. Ten minutes later we were back in
Beirut's native quarter, moving at a snail's pace in the
bumper-to-bumper traffic. We kept going down one
street after another, and at one point, after making
endless turns, I couldn't be sure if we had gone around
the same block a half-dozen times. Finally, with unex-
pected suddenness, Rafai ordered the driver to stop in
front of a dirty, narrow alley. Unlocking the Mercedes
door, Rafai got out and motioned me to follow.
When I stepped out, the smell of raw sewage,
cooking odors and rotting garbage hit me like a punch
in the gut. Rafai moved ahead of me, slapping away at
the outstretched arms of jabbering peddlers and beg-
gars who suddenly clustered around us. I stayed close,
with Rafai's two goons bringing up the rear.
Pushing
and shoving, Rafai
crowd and led the way to a four-story tenement at the
far end of the alley. The building's windows that faced
the street were boarded up, and it looked as if it had
been abandoned a long time.
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NICK CARTER: KILLMASTER
Rafai pointed to a short flight of stone steps that led
to the basement. "We go here," he said impatiently.
I followed him down, his two goons close behind.
Just beyond the steps we halted before the basement
door. Rafai pounded on it, waited a few seconds and
pounded again.
Footsteps approached. muffled voice called out
from inside,
and Rafai barked back. There was a
pause, followed by the click of a lock being turned.
When the door opened a crack, Rafai pushed against it
and we all followed him into a narrow, long hallway
illuminated by a single, naked overhead bulb. The man
the door relocked it, and he
whispered something to Rafai. Rafai nodded, and again
led the way.
It was a hideous scene. Paint and plaster flaked from
the walls and ceiling and a constant scratching sound
came from inside the walls. The rat population had to
be enormous. Rooms lined each side of the hallway,
and we passed a sagging staircase that vanished into
the darkness above. At the end of the hall Rafai
stopped before a closed door. Turning the knob, he
swung it open. Stepping aside, he waved me in.
The only piece of furniture in the room was a large
brass bed. On it lay a slightly built, elderly man, his
face turned to the wall. When I stood beside the bed,
stared down, he stirred and turned his head in my
direction. The small, overhead bulb threw more
shadows than light, and when I bent over for a better
look his eyelids fluttered open. He mumbled something,
but the incoherent, vowel sounds didn't form words.
Getting out my pencil flashlight, I thumbed the
switch and aimed the narrow beam at his right eye.
Despite the concentrated light, the pupil remained fully
dilated and didn't contract in the least. I switched to
the left eye. There was no response either, but for a
good reason. The eye was false.
"Well," Rafai grunted when I straightened up. "This
is right man.
It was Salobin all right. The plastic left eye had con-
vinced me completely, but his disoriented state had me
"What the hell have you been pumping into him?" I
Rafai shrugged. "Something to help old man sleep.
It go away."
His beady eyes searched mine. "Now that you see
man, we talk business."
He was eager to wrap it up, and the only move I
could make at the moment was to stall for time.
"Of course I'll have to get in touch with my people
first. I'll tell them what you want, and then it's up to
He scowled. It was obvious he didn't like it one
damn bit. "How long this take?"
"Three, maybe four days. But remember, we're talk-
ing about a lot of money."
Still scowling, he walked over to where his two men
stood with their backs against the closed door. After a
brief, whispered huddle, he came back to me.
"We give three days to finish business, make deal.
No more. You agree?"
I had to nod, and the meeting was over.
Turning, Rafai ordered one of his men at the door
to open up. He grabbed the knob and pulled, but it
seemed to be stuck. He gave another pull, a really
hard one, and the door swing open. A split second
later he let out a startled cry. The burst of gunfire
followed instantly. The guy who had opened the door
caught it head on, Slammed off his heels, he rocketed
back into the room, bowling over the man who stood
behind him.
I dove for Salobin and managed to yank him off the
bed. There was a door in the corner, either a closet or
leading into another room. Bullets thudded into the
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NICK CARTER: KILLMASTER
wall and pinged off the brass bedstead as I dragged
Salobin across the floor. I just about made it, reached
for the knob, but that's as far as I got. Suddenly, some-
thing hard slapped me heavily behind my left ear. I
struggled to stay up, but my legs weren't getting the
message.
I went down slowly while the shooting went on and
оп.
Finally, gratefully, the
darkness closed in
blotted out the pais.
and






















CHAPTER 4
I came to hearing the girl's voice. Gradually, I focused
on the blurred but somewhat familiar features. It took
a few more seconds to match the voice with the face.
"Hananna...2"
"Yes, Hananna," she whispered.
She knelt beside me, tuggine at my arm and trying
to get. me to my feet. There was still a lot of pain in my
"Please," she insisted. "Get up. I help. But hurry..."
I managed to hook an arm around her shoulder and
wobbled to my feet. I was wondering how the hell she
had happened to turn up, and then my thoughts leaped
to Salobin. The room was littered with corpses, but
Salobin wasn't one of them.
"The old man," I muttered. "Where is he?"
"Some men take him away," she replied. "But we not
talk now. We hurry. Come with Hananna, please ...
She pulled at my arm, but I still hung back. Gradu-
ally, I took in the scene. It was a blood bath. The guy
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who had caught the first burst lay on his back, his fea-
tures smashed beyond recognition. Alongside him was
his buddy, lying face down, the back of his head
soaked with blood. The man who let us in had taken
numerous bullets in the chest, and Rafai lay at the foot
of the bed, his face obliterated beneath a veil of clotted
It had to be the work of pros. It figured that their
orders not only included the snatching of Salobin, but
the liquidation of Rafai and his men, as well. While I
stared, fighting back the pain inside my head, the inevi-
Why not me
...7 Four men dead, but one is left
alive. There had to be a reason. A good one.
Meanwhile, Hananna kept tugging at my arm. I was
about ready to go, but stopped at the door. I had al-
most forgotten.
"Wait," I told her.
I crossed the room, knelt beside Rafai. Reaching in-
side his jacket pocket, I removed Wilhelmina and re-
placed the luger inside my shoulder holster. Moments
later I rejoined the girl at the door. When we stepped
into the hallway I noticed that the bulb had been
turned off, but the front door was open a bit and a
shaft of pale, yellow light illuminated the gloomy in-
terior. I was still feeling groggy, but Hananna slipped
her arm around my waist and we started forward.
When we reached the door Hananna peeked out.
"It all right," she whispered. "Come."
After we stepped out into the noisy, sunlit street,
Hananna pulled the heavy basement door shut.
face was close to mine and her dark eyes, serious with
concern, searched mine.
"You feel all right? Not hurt too much?"
"All right," I echoed.
She grinned
and kissed me lightly on the cheek.
"Good. I go get cab. We go to my place. But you wait
here, You promise?"
I nodded again and leaned back against the door for
support. She ran up the short flight of stone steps. At
the top she turned. "You wait," she called back.
Seconds later she was lost in the passing crowd.
For a while I didn't know which way to play it. My
legs still felt rubbery, but the pain in my head had
started to ease off. I carefully touched the spot behind
my car with the tips of my fingers and they came away
with a few flakes of dried blood. Whoever had sapped
me knew how to use a blackjack, and I was grateful. If
he had swung a bit harder, or at a slightly different
angle, I could have become a permanent resident of the
basement, along with the rats and the four corpses.
So far I had been lucky. And that brought me back
to Hananna and the fact that she had found me the
way she did. But it was also disturbing. It meant she
had to be involved in some way with what had hap-
pened. But how involved? Was it possible that she
knew who the killers were? Was she a member of their
team? In fact, getting me back to her place might have
been some kind of plot. When I asked her how she
came to be in the building she had put me off. Why?
The nagging questions kept coming, but there was
something else to consider that outweighed everything
else. Salobin had been kidnapped for a second time
and Rafai was dead. With both of them gone, only the
girl remained a possible, connecting link. I knew I
would have to go with her. She was all I had left to
Less than ten minutes later Hananna suddenly reap-
peared from out of the crowd. I managed my way up
the steps and she quickly slipped her arm around my
you no go away,"
she smiled. "You keep
promise. You make Hananna very happy."
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32
NICK CARTER: KILLMASTER
The cab was waiting at the end of the alley, and af-
ter we got in she gave the driver an address. As we
moved into the flow of traffic, she patted my hand.
"It not far," she smiled. "We be there soon."
Hananna's small, top-floor apartment was on the
Rue Ghalgoul, a narrow street along the fringe of the
native quarter. The first thing she did after settling me
in a comfortable chair was clean the gash in my scalp.
She did a good job, using a cloth soaked in alcohol,
and continually stopping to ask if she were hurting me.
When she finished, she brought me a small glass of ar-
rack, a kind of brandy, and then propped a big satin
pillow behind my head and insisted that I relax. She
left me and disappeared into the small bedroom., When
she came out a few minutes later she was wearing a
clinging blue robe and matching mules. There was no
bra under the robe. I could tell that by the way the
cloth outlined the nipples underneath. With her thick,
red hair spilling across her shoulders she looked abso-
lutely smashing.
She refilled my glass and vanished again, this time to
the kitchen. Pots and pans rattled noisily and eventu-
ally she returned with a steaming bowl of kibbeh, a
dish of lamb mixed with rice and wheat kernals. She
apologized for the fact that it was made from leftovers,
but it was absolutely delicious.
Up until now I had held back from questioning her,
but with the meal finished, and facing her across the
small table, I figured the moment of truth had arrived.
Lighting up a cigarette, I leaned back in my chair.
"Hananna," I began, "there are certain things I must
know-questions that need answering. And I think you
can help me."
She squirmed uncomfortably in her chair and
avoided looking at me.
"You want to know how
Hananna come to that house. How she find you on
floor. Is this not so?"
"Is so," I mimicked her.
She hesitated for a moment and her eyes met mine
again. "I come to house because Rafai ask me. He ask
me to do what you call, how you say, favor."
"What kind of favor?"
"To help old man, He sick, and Rafai ask me to
bring food-to care for him. I feel sorry for this old
man. This is truth. You believe Hananna. Yes?"
Her eyes had suddenly become moist and her voice
trembled to the breaking point.
"I want to believe you," I said, "but four men were
killed in that house, and the old man Rafai had asked
you to look after is missing." I snuffed out the cigarette
and put my hand over hers. "Something is frightening
you," I continued,
"and I want to help. But I can't
unless you tell me everything and from the very begin-
For a moment she hesitated, but when I gave her
hand a gentle squeeze she began to talk, slowly at first,
then more rapidly, as if she were eager to unburden
herself of some feeling of guilt.
She explained how Rafai had gotten her the job at
the Club Salah six months before. Things hadn't been
going well for her at the time and Rafai had been kind.
He had bought her clothes and some small gifts. She
didn't go into their relationship beyond that, and I
didn't ask. Then, about a week earlier, Rafai had come
to her and asked her to look in on the old man.
"When Rafai bring me to house for first time," she
continued, "I can tell old man is sick. He has fever,
and he no eat. But I wash him, and when I feed him
he eat a little. Sometimes he say something, a few
words in English, sometimes in language I do not un-
derstand. But most time he just sleep."
"What about Rafai?" I asked. Didn't he tell you
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something about the old man? Who he was? Why he
was in this empty house?"
Hananna's eyes brightened momentarily.
he tell me. Rafai say old man is friend, but that he hide
from police. When I ask why he hide, he say it big
secret. He tell me not to talk of old man to anybody.
He also promise me money, many more pounds than I
make dancing. So I come each day to house. I feed old
man, wash him. Do little things, and not just for money
but because I am sorry for him."
"And how long did you do this?"
"Three, four days. Maybe five. Rafai tell me brother
of old man' come soon, take him someplace else." She
shrugged, and the fear was back in her eyes.
scared that old man hide from police. Maybe, I think,
this make big trouble for Hananna. But Rafai say I
must do this favor, so I do." She stopped speaking and
looked at me directly. "You know old man?"
asked. "Is what Rafai say about old man so?"
I let her questions slide by, "What about today?" I
"Tell me everything that happened once you
got to the house."
She hesitated and licked her lips. "All right, I tell.
When I come to house today, Hamid—he is one who
stay with old man all time-let me in. Hamid surprised
because I come always with Rafai. But now I alone."
"I worry, that why. Day before, old man not good. I
feel sorry. So I come early. Not wait for Rafai. I bring
dish of kibbeh and some wine. Same like you just eat.
The old man very tired. He hardly talk. But I give him
some kibbeh, a little wine. I think he feel little better.
But, before I go, this knock on front door. It is Rafai. I
afraid Rafai be angry that I come to house alone. So I
ask Hamid he please not tell Rafai. So I go quick into
empty room in hall, close door..."
She paused. It was obviously getting tougher for her
as she came closer to the end.
THE TURNCOAT
35
"What happened next?" I asked gently.
She took a deep breath, exhaled. "When Hamid let
Rafai in, I look through small hole in old door. Then I
see you, too. I much surprised. I do not know why you
there. You cannot be brother of old man. You Amri-
cancel I all mixed up in head. I am also how you
say—scared. So when you, Rafai and others go into
room of old man and close door, I wait very still. I like
very much to go away, but am not able. If I go, I must
open front door, open lock. If I open lock, Rafai find
out and Hananna in big trouble. So I no go. I have need
to wait. I cannot go before Rafai go away first. That is
I nodded. So far her story hung together. "So you
waited," I said. "And then...?"
"I hear sound. First I think maybe it be rats. But I
look through hole in door and it not rats. It men.
Three. They come down stairs. Very slow, careful."
"They were coming down," I interrupted. A sudden
thought hit me. "Do the stairs go to the roof? Is there
"Sure there door," she replied quickly, "That is way
they come. They do not come front door. That is
It was perfectly plausible. Since the house was at-
tached to the other buildings on the block it would
have been a simple matter for the killers to have en-
tered an adjoining building, and then come down by
way of the roof door.
"What about the hall light?" I asked. "One of them
must have turned it off."
"Is so," she replied quickly. "I see one man reach
up, turn light off, It dark now and I very scared. I also
very still. I wait. Not know what to do. Then..."
Her hands flew to her ears.
"The shooting began?"
She nodded quickly.
"Much shooting. Much, much
noise. Then it stop. All very quiet now. I wait. Not
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move. Not even breathe. Soon I hear sound. Men
speaking. Again I look through hole in door. Only now
I no see. It very dark. But soon I hear old man voice.
He holler something. They have old man. I am sure. I
hear front door open. I wait. When no more sound
come, I leave room..."
She stood up and went to the window. I waited.
When she began speaking again her back was to me,
her voice scarcely above a whisper.
"When I go to room where old man was, I see Rafai
... dead. I see others dead, too. I see you. I think you
dead. But you move:
: make sound. So I come by
you. Help best I can...
I went over to where she stood and put my hands
gently on her shoulders. She turned slowly. The tears
in her eyes gave her a childlike, innocent look.
"I believe you, Hananna," I said. "And I owe you so
much. For your honesty. For your help."
I kissed her on the forehead, a purelv reassuring ges-
ture. She smiled, touched her lips lightly to mine. She
did it a second time, only now her soft, moist lips
parted and her tongue glided into my mouth. A spark
was suddenly kindled, and became a fame. -
When we broke for air her deep brown eyes
searched mine. The look of the child was gone, re-
placed by the sensual eloquence of a passionate, mature
Cupping my face in her slender hands, she began
moving her lips back and forth across my mouth, light
brushing strokes that set every nerve in my body tin-
The flame quickly became a roaring blaze. I
found the bowed sash of her robe and gave one of the
ends a gentle tug. It untied instantly and the filmy gar-
ment drifted open. Her pear-shaped breasts sprang into
view, the erect nipples a shade darker than the sur-
I swept the robe aside, and when my hands moved
down over her smooth, rounded buttocks, she gave a
cry of joy and pressed her hot, moist mouth against my
neck. I scooped her up in my arms and carried her into
the bedroom. Gently, I eased her onto the large bed.
The pleasurable things in life pass much too quickly,
and making love is one of them. But I was determined
to play it slowly, to prolong these precious moments
both for myself and her. I kissed her throat, lingered
over her shoulders. As I moved lower, she cupped her
breasts in her hands and gave another littie cry ot
pleasure when I flicked my tongue across one nipple.
Gently, I encircled it with my mouth, drew upon it.
Her body trembled, arched.
"Maluh, maluh," she moaned in Arabic. Beautiful,
I continued to kiss, caress, to probe and explore.
Her passion took wings. I touched her thighs with my
fingertips. It was only a touch, but they parted in-
stantly, making room for my searching hand. I plunged
deeply within her thighs, moving upward along the
satin smooth flesh until her soft mound nestled snug
and moist beneath my palm. She groaned, strained and
cried out as I manipulated the quivering flesh with ev-
ery bit of skill I possessed. Suddenly, a powerful ec-
static ripple raced through her body.
"Now," she pleaded. "Now...
I unzipped, getting out of my pants and shorts in
nothing flat. I had been long ready, but when she slid
under me and grasped my manhood, positioning it to
her liking, it took every bit of restraint I had to keep
from bursting.
"Soon," she whispered close to my ear. "Soon."
Her rhythm began-slow enticing rotations that sent
shock wave after shock wave pounding through me.
It's impossible to know when a sensation ends and an-
other begins, but suddenly she was opening to me.
Flesh yielded to flesh. Gradually, her dancer's legs
moved upward, her heels brushing my calves. Her pel-
vis arched as she drew me in fully and completely. Her
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legs locked and our thrusting began—savage, lightning
strokes that matched the wild beating of our hearts.
We rode the long, sweeping wave in. Sounds filled the
room. Strange sounds. Our sounds. It went on for a
long time, the sounds and the movements conjoining,
becoming one until the wave, finally broke, swept over
us and moved on.
For a few moments we lay there, breathing heavily,
stunned by the incredible intensity of the experience.
Slowly, her legs untwined, released me. Easing up, I
rolled off, drew her close.
She didn't speak.
Dusk showed beyond the window. A single star, like
a chip of polished diamond, glittered in the darkening
skipo not go," she finally whispered. "Stay with
Her hand guided mine beneath the sheet.
"I stay," I whispered back.


















CHAPTER 5
Sunlight flooding the room awakened me. I blinked and
reached out, Hananna was no longer beside me, but I
heard her a moment later, humming in the kitchen. As
I swung my feet over the side of the bed, she entered
the room smiling radiantly and wearing the same robe
she had worn the night before. I vividly recalled the
treasures it hid and felt familiar stirrings when she
brushed her lips lightly across mine.
"I make eggs,
she smiled.
"Big pan full. And
coffee. Like you like, I hope."
She patted my cheek briefly and hurried back to the
I dressed quickly, checked my face in the oval mir-
for above the small vanity. I needed a shave, but it
would have to wait. I joined Hananna in the kitchen
and found the coffee and scrambled eggs waiting. We
ate facing each other, experiencing the magical after-
glow that comes to a man and woman who have shared
each other for the first time.
39
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40
NICK CARTER: KILLMASTER
Suddenly she gave a little giggle. "It is funny thing.
Last night we make beautiful love. We are together
like one. But many things I do not know. Like who
you are? Why you come to house with Rafai? Or why
you have gun?" Her brow puckered. "Is it you hide
from police, too? Like old man?"
she'd be asking
questions like these
sooner or later, and though I felt she could be trusted,
I was careful not to tell her more than was absolutely
necessary. So far, all she knew about me was my cover
name, and I knew I had to keep it that way. I did tell
her, however, that I was not hiding from the police,
and that neither was Salobin.
She seemed to be thinking this over as she refilled
my emptied cup. "But now what happen? What hap-
pen if police find Rafai and others dead? They ask
questions, yes? Maybe they come looking to Hananna
for answer?"
Her hand trembled when she put the coffee pot
Actually, I didn't think this too likely. For one thing,
the building was uninhabited, so it could be weeks be-
fore the bodies would be found. And by that time, con-
sidering the basement's rat population, the chances
were there wouldn't be much to identify.
I put my hand over hers. "Don't worry," I said. "It
will be all right. And please, trust me a little longer."
I got up and slipped my jacket from the back of the
chair. In a moment she stood before me, her eyes
searching mine.
"You go now?"
"But you come back?"
I grinned. "Later this afternoon, Sooner if I can."
Beaming, she slipped her arms around me, pressing
her face close to my chest. "I fix good dinner, and I no
go to Club Salah tonight. Instead we make beautiful
love again. Many times. Many different way. Yes?"
I kissed her at the door and stepped into the hall.
When the door clicked shut behind me I hurried down
the three flights of wooden stairs.
The first thing I did was to take a cab back to my
hotel. I checked with the desk but there had been no
messages. On the way up to my room in the elevator
some of the perplexing questions of the day before re-
turned. Uppermost was the fact that I hadn't been
killed along with Rafai and his crew. It still troubled
me while I showered and shaved. No matter how I
turned it around it kept coming back to one thing. Pro-
fessional killers wouldn't have spared me without a
reason. This meant they would've been working under
express orders. If so. from whom?
I wiped a dollop of shaving cream from my chin and
left the bathroom. There was always the possibility that
the killers could have been Russian agents. Perhaps
members of the KGB. After all, it made sense that the
Russians would have been hunting around by this time
for Salobin, and if they had somehow tracked him to
Rafai I could understand the basement slaughter in
those terms. But knowing the way the Russians oper-
ate, my being left alive didn't add up. For one thing,
Russian agents aren't in the habit of leaving loose ends
lying around, especially when it might be a witness
who could blow their cover. Accordingly, if the killers
were Russians, they would've had to have an excellent
reason for bypassing me and I couldn't even come up
with a lousy one.
In fact, considering my on-going war with the Rus-
sians over the years, the liquidation of Nick Carter
would have served their purposes beautifully. By get-
ting rid of me they would be way ahead in the game.
After toweling myself dry, I dressed and took the
elevator down. Minutes later I was in a cab, heading
for the U.S. Consulate and a telephone call I didn't ex-
actly look forward to making. Meanwhile, having tem-
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NICK CARTER: KILEMASTER
porarily shunted the Russians to one side, I faced a
whole new line of inquiry. With the Russians ruled out,
others had to be ruled in. Who? I was still chasing this
one around, trying to find a likely angle that would
throw some light on what might have been an answer,
when the cab pulled up before the Consulate's drive-
Minutes after I entered the building I was eyeball to
eyeball with an attractive but persistant American re-
"It just isn't done," she repeated. "You simply can't
barge in and insist on seeing the attaché without an ap-
I decided Id do it the polite way first, figuring that
honey would get me more. "But I'm not insisting. Im
merely requesting." I got out my wallet and removed
one of AXE's cards with the cover name.
mated Press and Wire Service." "If you'll take this in
to your First Attache, I'm sure it will solve every-
She took the card by one corner as though she were
afraid of catching some disease. She gave it a quick
glance and frowned.
"Amalgamated
Press and Wire
Service? Are you a journalist?"
"A reporter then?"
The sugar-coated treatment wasn't working, so I
switched from Jekyll to Hyde. "Just bring it in now," I
snapped. My smile was pure ice.
It worked. Her stylish glasses slid half-way down her
pretty nose and her mouth popped open with surprise.
For a second or two she seemed on the point of saying
something, but she apparently changed her mind. She
stood up, sniffed indignantly, and trotted off down a
long carpeted hallway.
In a few minutes she was back, but accompanied by
a middle-aged man who, all cordiality and smiles, in-
troduced himself as Anthony J. Baylor, the Consulate's
THE TURNCOAT
43
First Attache. The effect of this greeting on his recep-
tionist was mildly amusing. Her glasses slipped again
and her large brown eyes were a mix of bewilderment
and awe as Baylor, grinning and nodding, led the way
to his office.
Once in Baylor's office, I produced further indentifi-
cation and requested use of the Consulate's scrambler
Taking me into a smaller, adjoining room, he
pointed to the red instrument on a corner desk and
discreetly left. Minutes later, the overseas operator was
routing my call through. Seconds later, I heard the
buzz of the phone on the other end. At the fourth ring
there was a slight click as the phone was lifted from its
cradle. Hawk's
grumpier and raspier
I suddenly realized the time difference. It must have
been three in the morning in D.C. and I cursed under
my breath. Obviously the call had been transferred to
his apartment and had gotten him up.
"N3 here," I said as cheerfully as I could.
There were some spluttering sounds, followed by
some disgruntled throat clearing.
turned. "All right, Nick. What's gone wrong?"
In deference to the old man I must say that he's a
good listener. Patiently, I filled him in on the basement
killings, plus everything else that had happened-ex-
cept the intimate details involving Hananna and myself.
I also aired my theory on possible Russian involvement
and Hawk agreed that if the Russians had been in-
volved I would never have been given the chance of
leaving the basement.
"But expect them to move into the act at any time,"
be added quickly.
"Meanwhile, you're sure about the
old man you saw in the basement. It was Salobin?"
"Absolutely. His Russian was authentic and his plas-
tic left eye clinched it."
"Then there's only the girl left to work with. Right?
This dancer?"
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NICK CARTER: KILLMASTER
"Right."
"And you believe she's telling you the truth?"
"Absolutely."
"Then you're going to have to go to work on her,
Nick. I'm not suggesting she's holding out or anything,
but she says she was at the house several times and she
may have overheard bits of conversation between Rafai
and his men-things she may have forgotten. Maybe
some names were mentioned. An address. You'll have
to get her to scratch her memory and get her to recall
anything she may have noticed or heard during those
visits. It could be nothing, but it could turn up some-
thing damned important, too. You agree?"
"And there's something else," he went on. "The
people who snatched Salobin won't be sitting still.
They'll be making other moves. So you'll have to be
ready for anything."
I agreed again, and Hawk was wrapping things up.
*Then I guess that says about everything for the mo-
ment. Except that I'm sorry."
"About what?"
"About your getting that close to Salobin and having
things misfire. By the way, how's your head feeling?"
"Better." I paused.
"But I feel terrible about
Salobin. I mean if__"
"Forget it, N3," he interrupted. "There's always an-
other bus."
A second later he mumbled goodbye and clicked off.
When
I hung up
the flasher light winked
off,
signaling the end of the call and Baylor reentered the
room almost immediately. I thanked him again, and he
assured me that State was always happy to help out
when they could. He let me out through a side door,
and when I cut across the driveway and turned the
corner onto the street it was a bit after twelve. I was
anxious now to get back to Hananna's place, but there
was something I wanted to do.
THE TURNCOAT
After flagging a cab, I had the driver take me back
to Rue Hamra, Beirut's main shopping street. I got out
on a corner opposite a huge neon sign and casually
strolled along the crowded shop-lined street. The place
is loaded with stalls packed with every kind of mer-
chandise imaginable, but I finally saw what I wanted
hanging in a jeweler's window—a string of handcrafted
misbaha beads. The beads had a copperish tint and I
figured they'd go beautifully with Hananna's red hair. I
paid the shopkeeper exactly what he asked,
though I knew that he expected me to haggle. In a
way, I didn't want to cheapen the gift.
By the time I left the shop and waved down another
cab it was past one. I gave the cabbie Hananna's
address, and as he eased into the heavy traffic my
thoughts went back to the night before. Admittedly,
my interest began to build. Some women merely give.
Others give generously. Hananna definitely belonged to
the second group.
About three blocks from Hananna's place, the traffic
turned bumper-to-bumper and I refused to sweat it. I
had the driver stop, pushed a pound note into his hand
and hopped out.
I covered the remaining distance quickly. I remem-
bered the small instrument shop at the corner of the
Rue Ghaleoul and turned right into the alley-sized
street, Hananna's apartment building was in the middle
of the block and I
couldn't help noticing the crowd
clustered around the front steps. A moment later I
spotted the ambulance parked at the curb, its siren
wailin_ thinly.
I ran forward. Two old women at the edge of the
crowd dabbed at their eyes. I asked in Arabic what
was wrong, and they cried louder. A man alongside be-
gan to explain. He spoke quickly and I caught the
words "knife" and "killers."
All at once a collective
groan went up from the crowd. Two ambulance atten-
dants were bringing a litter out, and that's when my
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heart really began to pound. The body was completely
covered by a sheet, but there was no mistaking the
long red hair that spilled out from underneath. The
crowd fell back, making room for the litter.
"Ilham'dilla." one of the old women sobbed. God be
When the attendants raised the litter and began
rolling it through the open doors of the ambulance,
one of Hananna's lifeless arms slipped out from under
the bloodstained sheet, swinging grotesquely back and
Vaguely, I heard the doors thud shut. The siren's
cry mounted and became a piercing scream.





















CHAPTER 6
Death always takes us by surprise, and Hananna's had
the impact of a bomb. Stunned, I watched the ambu-
lance drive off. I was racked by rage, and felt an ex-
plosive urge to hit out and smash everything in sight.
But gradually, as I walked the dirty, crooked streets,
the rage subsided and gave way to mixed feelings of re-
Hananna was the victim of her own innocence.
Childlike, she had been drawn into a pattern of events
beyond her depth. Like a fragile moth, she had been
sucked into the flickering flame.
I also blamed myself. If I had stayed with her at the
things might have gone differently. Her
killer or killers would have had to deal with me. There
could have been a different ending. She may have not
My mission still remained. It was my job, my work.
Admittedly, as I reviewed the events,
from encouraging. Rafai was dead. Three of his men
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NICK CARTER: KILLMASTER
were dead, Hananna was dead, and Salobin had disap-
peared for a second time. It was one hell of a box
score and though I felt committed to let Hawk know
about Hananna, I decided to hold off for the time
being. I had not only missed the bus once, but twice.
How many chances would the old man give me?
But through it all, the same nagging question kept
coming back. If all the others had been killed-why
There had to be an explanation, and I knew luck
had nothing to do with it. Of this I was convinced.
I must have done a lot of walking, because it was al-
most dusk when I found myself standing in front of my
hotel. When I checked with the desk clerk he had a
message. Someone had been trying to reach me. In
fact, the clerk said, the man had called four times.
"Did he leave his name? A number where he could
be reached?"
The clerk shook his head.
Obviously the pot was bubbling again, coming to a
I thanked the clerk, took my key, and headed for
the bank of elevators.
I was about half-way
when the clerk called out. I turned. He held up the
phone, his palm covering the mouthpiece.
"The same man, sir."
"Give me a minute," I called back. "Til take it in
I made it upstairs quickly and heard the phone ring
as I turned the key in the lock. Moments later
snatched it off the cradle.
"Mr. Carter?"
The deep English-speaking voice had a distinct ac-
cent, but I couldn't place it. But the real surprise was
that he knew my name, Once your cover is blown
there's no point hedging and I didn't even tr*Have we
"You obviously know me," I replied.
He chuckled softly. "Not really, Mr. Carter, but I
think it time we did. Perhaps I'd best introduce myself.
My name is Janos Korla, and I must say straight off
that I've heard a great deal about your skills and ac-
complishments. I think them very impressive."
Cheap flattery rubs my fur the wrong way. "Look,
Korla," I said bluntly.
"You haven't been trying to
reach me all afternoon just to tell me you're a fan of
mine. And the fact that you know who I am raises a
hell of a lot of questions. So why not put it on the line.
If you've got something to say to me, let's hear it."
There was a measured pause.
"All right," he said
evenly, but the smile was out of his voice. "Are you
still interested in the Salobin matter?"
I felt my nerves starting to tingle, "Interested," I re-
"Then be at the Casino du Faune tomorrow evening
at nine. A table will be waiting for you, reserved in my
Before I could reply, Janos Korla, whoever he was,
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CHAPTER 7
The Casino du Faune is about twenty miles north of
Beirut, and it was a little past eight the following eve-
ning when I drove out
Mustang. I still hadn't called Hawk to give him the
latest, but that afternoon I had put through a call to an
old friend, Inspector Maurice Duval, an Interpol sec-
tion chief who works out of Marseilles. I was interested
in getting all the information I could on Janos Korla,
and Duval promised to get back to me in an hour. It
was somewhat less than that when he returned my call.
The information he had was illuminating.
Duval described Korla as a "grand poisson"—a big
fish. A Croat by birth, Korla had left his native Yugo-
slavia at the outbreak of World War Il for London, but
by the end of the war, and only thirty at the time,
Korla had already amassed a sizable fortune as a
flourishing penicillin
market. From here, Korla went on to put his money to
work in various illicit channels that ranged all the way
THE TURNCOAT
51
from hard drugs and prostitution, to extortion, black-
mail and high-level political intrigue.
Meanwhile, as his wealth increased, so did his oper-
ations.
But somehow,
even
though he maintained
residences and power bases in London, Geneva and
Rome, he had
managed to keep a low profile that
earned him a sort of "mystery man" image. He also,
according to Duval, was something of a collector, and
here, too, the range was wide.
"He is into paintings and antiques," Duval chuckled,
"but the story goes that he keeps his cellars stocked
with vintage wine, and his bedrooms with beautiful
Duval was discreet enough not to ask why I wanted
the information on Korla, but he did offer some parting
"Korla is in his late fifties now. That makes him an
old lion, mon ami, but they are the most dangerous. Be
careful, and good luck."
When I hung up I was convinced that handling
Korla would be more than just rough. I know the type,
with their vicious appetites and their ugly itch for
wealth and power. I also felt something else, as though
invisible battle lines had been drawn between Korla
and myself, making us adversaries even before we met.
And so, when I finally approached the floodlit casino
glittering high above the curving bay. I found myself
looking forward to this meeting with a man I didn't
know, but already disliked.
Maitre d's are probably the most unflappable people
in the world, and the one at the Casino du Faune ran
true to type-that is until I mentioned Korla's name.
His response bordered on the miraculous. The guy ac-
fedimen iled, dies bed table how to ate cosinly
me to a reserved
sprawline stage. I refused the menu, and when he sug-
gested T leave the choice of wine to him, I agreed, and
off he went.
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52
NICK CARTER: KILLMASTER
The Casino du Faune is probably Lebanon's top
tourist draw, a kind of posh Disneyland and Follies
Bergère rolled into one. The decor is black marble,
chrome trim and dazzling crystal that continues right
on into the washrooms; but, like Vegas, the name of
the game is gambling. The floor show is packaged in
France, but the real action centers around the roulette
wheels and dice tables.
When my champagne arrived, an impressive Cliquot
68, I checked my watch. It was a few minutes past
nine. Korla was already late. Moments later the show
began when a huge transparent ball, to the accompa-
niment of the large band, rose majestically from the
depths below the huge stage. Inside the ball, a little
guy wearing a scarlet suit and a crash helmet drove a
chrome-plated motorcycle around and around the ball
at incredible speed. He got a tremendous round of ap-
plause from the crowd, and as the ball descended be
low the stage, a bevy of eye-stopping showgirls, thei
bodies painted gold and silver, were lowered from the
dorned ceiling in large crystal cages until they dangled
just above the heads of the cheering customers. It
wasn't great theater, but it was one hell of a show-stop-
The next act involved live elephants and what
seemed to be a herd of performing white stallions. The
crowd loved it, and when the curtain lowered, my
watch read nine-thirty.
I swore under my breath and decided to give Korla
just five more minutes. Suddenly, the maitre d'
up and whispered close to my ear.
"Would you please come out front, sir? There is
someone waiting with a message."
"someone" turned out to be a huge man in a
tight-fitting,
black chauffeur's uniform. He stood in a
small room off the main lounge, cap in hand. I'm six-
feet-two, and it's rare when I have to look up into a
man's eyes, but this gorilla must have been six-five. He
began to say something, but I couldn't get his dialect
and the maitre d' took over.
"He says that he has been sent to bring you to Mr.
Korla. There is a car waiting out front."
I didn't like the switch in plans, but I wasn't going
to break the meeting off. At the same time, I decided
to stick with my own car. I told the maitre d' to tell the
big guy that I'd follow him in my car, and after the
maitre d' interpreted, the big guy nodded and left. The
limo, a hearse-sized black Continental Mark IV with
smoke-tinted windows, idled at whisper level alongside
a row of clipped hedges that flanked the broad drive-
way. The huge chauffeur sat behind the wheel, and
when one of the parking attendants drove up with my
car, the big car eased forward. I climbed into the
Mustang and toed the pedal following the limo along
the curving driveway, past the gated entranceway and
The Mark IV speeded up instantly and I had to bear
down hard on the gas to keep up. The night sky was
inky dark, almost starless.
Clumps of
bordered the left side of the highway, and occasionally,
along open stretches. I caught sight of the sea. I rolled
down the driver's window and the scent of blooming
honeysuckle and jasmine wafted in. The fragrance re-
minded me of Hananna, my memory of her tinged with
pain. I forced the thought of her from my mind. I had
to concentrate on what lay ahead.
About ten minutes later the limo made a right, onto
a secondary black-topped road, Some five minutes later
I spotted lights flickering through the dense foliage to
my right. The car ahead started to slow down, and the
brake lights winked red as it began pulling over to the
side of the road. I followed right behind, braking to a
halt a half-car length behind the limo.
I got out, pocketed the keys, and the chauffeur led
the way. The lights I had seen came from a roadside
inn, and the outside area that was set up café-style.
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NICK CARTER: KILLMASTER
The place had a deserted air. A few paper lanterns
were strung over the empty outdoor tables, their suf-
fused light
penetrating the
surrounding
I heard a movement off to the right, the
creak of a chair next to a table set well back under the
branches of a large tree.
I saw his bulk-he was a big, massive man—and he
made no attempt to get up when I approached.
He extended his hand.
"Janos Korla," he announced
His grip was moist and soft, like squeezing a blob of
unbaked dough. The girl seated beside him was young,
with dark hair and the kind of flashy good looks I
never confuse with real beauty. I scraped back the
chair opposite Korla, sat down and had my frst good
look at him.
The large fleshy face was expressionless, a bloated
mask except for the hooded lids that gave his pale blue
eyes a serpentine cast. They stared directly into mine. I
waited and he finally hunched forward, his immense
pudgy hands clasped together. Gradually, his thick wet
lips formed into a loose, rubbery smile,
"My apologies for not meeting you at the Casino,"
he
began in
his British-accented English,
"but I
thought it would be better if we met here. It is far
more private, and what we have to say to each other
can be said in complete confidence."
I glanced at the girl and Korla chuckled.
"I would introduce you, but Karyn doesn't under-
stand a word of English." He jabbed a meaty thumb in
the direction of his chauffeur who was sitting stillly at a
small table near the inn's door.
"And neither does my
driver." His pudgy hands resumed their clasped posi-
tion and the rubbery smile returned. "So you see, Mr.
Carter, there is no reason for concern. Absolutely
I leaned back in my chair. "Good. Then suppose we
take it right from the top. When you called yesterday,
you said the Salobin matter was still negotiable. Does
that mean you're holding Salobin a prisoner?"
"Let's say he's in my protective custody. There is a
difference, you know. But I can assure you he is re-
ceiving much better care than he did when Rafai had
I nodded. "Then it was your people who broke in,
killed Rafai and his men, clubbed me out and then
made off with Salobin."
"Precisely," he replied. "But I was within my rights.
You see, Mr. Carter, Rafai was originally working for
me before he got it into his head to go into business for
himself. It was a mistake, and a fatal one at that."
I didn't have to urge him to continue. Apparently,
he was quite willing to fill me in on some of the details,
at least up to a point. In a casual manner he let me
know that he had known about Salobin's disenchant-
ment with his Russian bosses for some time. The in-
formation, he claimed, had come to him through a
well-placed East German double-agent who had been
amply paid for the valuable data. A watch on Salobin
was then arranged, and when the elderly missile expert
left for the scientific conference to be held in Tiflis,
Korla correctly assumed that Salobin would use this
opportunity to make his defection to the West complete.
"And everything went beautifully at first," Korla
beamed.
"When the Russian boarded the train that
would take him into Turkey, two of my people were al-
ready waiting on the Turkish side. They boarded the
train once it had passed through customs, and the rest
went like a piece of cake. When the train stopped at
Ordu, along the Turkish coast, it was already past nine
and was a very dark night. One of my people then got
into Salobin's compartment by putting on a porter's
white jacket and pretending he had come to make up
the Russian's berth. Salobin, in fact, had let him in
with no questions asked."
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NICK CARTER: KILEMASTER
He unclasped his hands and his smile deepened.
*The rest was easy, A cloth soaked in chloroform was
administered and there was no real struggle. The sec-
ond man now joined the first, and between them they
simply passed Salobin out the compartment window
where others were waiting. One of these happened to be
Rafai. As I said, it was a dark night, and with the small
station practically deserted, it went undetected."
"And that's how Rafai tied in?"
"In a manner of speaking, yes," Korla said and the
rubbery lips tightened up. "Actually, I had used Rafai's
services on previous occasions and found his work
quite satisfactory. Of course, I had paid him well, and
his instructions were to deliver Salobin to a place I
would rather not say at this time. But the fool decided
to bypass me and brought Salobin into Lebanon where
he hoped to set up his own arrangement. As you al-
ready know, he let word out through certain channels
that Salobin was available, which in turn brought you
to this part of the world with remarkable speed."
He paused, shifting his bulk to a more comfortable
*I should say here, however, that your arrival
was duly observed. In fact, so was your artival at the
Club Salah, and most of your movements thereafter.
Naturally, I could have dealt with Rafai any time Id
choose. I had already learned through sources where
he was keeping Salobin, but I preferred to wait. I knew
you would insist on having visible proof of Salobin's
presence before entering any arrangements, so I simply
held off in settling matters with Rafai until vou had this
"And now?"
"Well, now that you are convinced that we are
dealing with the real Salobin, I am sure that it will be
much easier for us to talk business. After all, Mr. Car-
ter, the fact that you weren't killed along with Rafai
had nothing to do with compassion. It was important
that you remain alive, so that we could have this little
chat and hopefully come to an understanding."
I made no attempt to hedge or circle the issue.
"How much are you asking for the Russian?"
His pale blue eyes flickered with sudden interest. I
had taken him a bit by surprise, but he recovered
"I like the way you do business," he chuckled.
"Frankly, Ive always found the French too rounda-
bout, the English boring and the Russians impossible.
But Americans are different. So refreshingly frank. So
"How much?" I repeated.
The hooded lids narrowed and his eyes seemed to
lose what little color they had.
"The price for Salobin is five million." He held up
one plump hand. the fingers outstretched. "Five million
dollars, Carter," he repeated crisply. "It is my one
offer. My only offer."
I tried laughing it off. "You're asking ten times
Rafai's price. You've got to be kidding. We're poles
apart, Korla."
He shook his head. "Not really, and you know it. He
pressed his bulk forward and tapped the table thought-
fully. "Consider, if you will, the hard facts. For years
your government and the Russians have been sitting
down to your SALT talks, discussing arms limitations
and détente. But it has been little more than a lot of
bluffing on both sides, a kind of floating poker game
that has been going on endlessly. While your people
have been trying to second guess the Russians, the
Russians have been doing the same thing.
Salobin were made available to your government, the
situation could change dramatically.
"Salobin could be the key, the bargaining chip your
people need so desperately. Imagine, Carter, what it
would mean to your Pentagon chiefs if they knew right
this minute precisely where the Russians stand when it
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NICK CARTER: KILLMASTER
comes to, say, multiple warheads. Oh, they know the
Russians are into MIRVs, of course, only they don't
really know how far. But Salobin knows. He knows
that and much more. And I needn't remind you what
such hard, factual knowledge would mean; the differ-
ence it would make in your government's bargaining
He leaned back in his chair and grinned confidently.
"In fact, with Salobin on your side, your government
would no longer have to play cat-and-mouse with the
They would be in the enviable position of
shaping whatever foreign policy they saw fit. And the
Russians would have no choice but to tag along, like a
puppy at the end of a leash."
Korla's pitch was definitely hard sell, but there was a
core of truth in what he said. I had to give him points
on that, only I wouldn't admit it. "But there's still no
way of knowing what information
Salobin really
possesses," I countered, "and five million's a lot of
"So it is," he shrugged, "but again it is a matter of
viewing it in its proper perspective. I recall reading in
one of your respected magazines that the cost of run-
ning your government comes to one hundred thousand
dollars a second in round figures. This means five
million dollars would come to about fifty seconds-less
one minute of your government's operating
costs." He gave another shrug.
"Considering what
Salobin has to offer, I'd say your people would be get-
ting a huge bargain."
"Maybe so," I replied matter-of-factly. Frankly, I
was ready to start backing off, to stall for time, so I fed
him the same story I had given Rafai. "TIl get word
back to my people," I went on. "I'll tell them your
price and they'll take it from there. That's about all I
can do at the moment."
He pumped his head in agreement, then took a
THE TURNCOAT
59
quick glance at his watch. "Are there any further ques-
There was only one further question, "The girl," I
said evenly. "Why did you have her killed?"
For a moment or two he looked genuinely puzzled,
but suddenly the pale blue eyes flickered. "Of course.
The redhead. The belly dancer who worked at the
Club Salah."
"Her name was Hananna," I said very slowly.
was a lovely girl, and not really mixed up in any of
this. But you knew that, Korla, and yet you sent your
men in and had her butchered. Why?"
He shrugged his shoulders impatiently. "Of course I
had her killed, but you should know why better than
most. After all, she was Rafai's girl and she had been
looking after Salobin. There were things she could have
overheard, Things about me. Perhaps she would have
kept them to herself, but then she may not. As a pro-
fessional, Carter, you'll agree that risks aren't allowable
in this business. And the girl was a risk." He casually
brushed some lint from his sleeve.
"I was merely pro-
tecting my investment. It was a business decision, pure
and simple."
My chair scraped as I jumped.to my feet. I grabbed
Korla by the lapels, and Karyn let out a little cry of
fright. I seldom lose control, but rage swept over me
like a tide. I yanked him out of his chair and backhand-
ed him twice across the mouth. Blood spurted from
his torn lip. I went for three, and then something solid
and heavy punched me between the shoulder blades. I
gasped, suddenly remembering the chauffeur.
I dropped Korla and spun around in a low crouch.
The big guy's fist lashed out. I ducked and it shot by
over my shoulder. I moved inside him, and jabbed a
short right into his ribs. He grunted and I hit him
again. He gave another grunt, but he managed to bring
both fists up and grabbed me at the base of the neck. I
reeled as steel bands seemed to close around my
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NICK CARTER: KILLMASTER
throat. I hooked my fingers, jabbing at his eyes, but he
had me at arms length and all I clawed was air.
Specks of colored light danced before me. I could
barely make out his eyes, which were calm, steady and
totally devoid of any emotion. His hands were merely
instruments checking the fading strength that ebbed
from my body. I tried bunching my neck muscles
against the throttling pressure but I was getting
nowhere fast.
I tried another tack. I went limp all over, giving him
all of my weight to hold. I let my knees buckle, rolled
my eyeballs back as far as they could go. The grip
around my throat slackened slightly. The message was
getting through. I went looser still. I felt his thumbs
back off some from my Adam's apple. At the most, I
had two or three seconds. I sucked in some air,
straightened suddenly and rammed my right knee into
He let out a bowl and his hands flew from my
throat. He was in a crouch, clutching his gut, when I
chopped the edge of my hand at his throat. He
dropped to one knee, but suddenly his hand dipped in-
side his tunic and a switchblade sprang into view. I
kicked out and the tip of my shoe caught him along the
underside of his jaw. He dropped like a stone.
silence was monumental when
I slowly turned and
faced Korla. He sat there calmly, a bloodstained hand-
kerchief pressed to his torn lip.
His tone was mocking.
"And now that you've dis-
posed of my chauffeur, Carter, am I next?"
The fight had drained off the rage. I felt emptied,
but better for it. "It's your move, Korla. Do we go on
from here?*
Slowly, he stuffed the handkerchief into his breast
pocket. He managed a cold smile.
"Every dog is al-
lowed one bite." Straining, he cased his bulk out of the
chair and straightened
up. "But remember, Carter,
you've already had yours."
THE TURNCOAT
61
I watched while he waddled toward the inn with
Karyn tagging behind. At the dimly lit door he turned.
"Be prepared to leave Lebanon. The Salobin affair will
be concluded elsewhere."
It took me by surprise. "Where?"
"You will be notified."
"At the proper time."
A moment later he disappeared inside, the girl at his
The chauffeur was struggling to his knees when I
climbed into the Mustang. I hit the ignition, waved and
took off. The curving road was dark and deserted, but
about ten minutes into the ride, the moon appeared
from behind the clouds. I settled back against the seat
and relaxed. Hawk would have been furious at my out-
burst, and he'd have been right. It was inexcusable
considering the stakes. It could have caused irreparable
damage. What if Korla had broken things off? But he
I couldn't help smiling. Like the monkey with his
hand in the cookie jar, Korla wouldn't let go to save
his hide. He needed me, and his greed was the best in-
surance I had. But I wasn't conning mvself either.
Greedy doesn't mean stupid. Far from it. And so far
Korla had played a shrewd
game. He had not only
dealt effectively with Rafai by recovering Salobin, but
he had also managed to blow my cover from the very
beginning. This had to mean excellent contacts in the
right places. The best. No matter how I added it up,
the total kept coming out one way. Korla was one
smart-ass sonofabitch.
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CHAPTER 8
Korla kept his word, or whoever it was speaking for
him kept it. The call came through to my room early
the following morning and the message was brief. I was
to grab a flight the following day for Dubrovnik, a
seaport on Yugoslavia's Adriatic coast. When I arrived,
I was to register at the Marjoro Hotel where a room
would be waiting for me in Korla's name. Additional
instructions would follow once I got there.
I tried to spin out the conversation, pick up some-
thing, but the guy wasn't buying. He played it like a
real dummy, He repeated the name of the hotel, the
departure time and hung up. When I replaced the
phone, two thoughts spun in my head. One, Salobin
had been moved out of Lebanon and was either al-
ready in Yugoslavia or was on the way. Two, why Yu-
goslavia? This was
Tito
country, a closed society
despite its few links with the West, and the last place
Id expect Korla to close his deal. But then I remem-
bered. Yugoslavia was where Korla had been born.
62
Still, considering his background, I figured hed be
a sure bet for Tito's drop-dead list; but then I'd been
around long enough not to expect the expected. I de-
cided this called for two heads, and my call to Hawk
was long overdue.
I showered, shaved, dressed and grabbed a quick
breakfast in the hotel's coffee shop, then flagged down
a cab that took me to the U.S. Consulate's office. This
time I had no trouble with the attractive receptionist.
Smiling prettily, she got right through to Mr. Baylor.
He turned up quickly, led me back down the red-
carpeted hallway and, after activating the scrambler
phone, courteously disappeared.
The overseas operator had a little trouble, but after
a bit I heard the familiar ring of AXE's Washington
phone. Della answered, and we said "Hi" and "Good-
bye" and she put me through to the old man. By his
slurred hello I knew he was chewing the end of one of
his foul cigars, and without wasting a second of his
valuable time I brought him up to date.
Hawk's impatience can be hair-triggered, provided
you're boring him with trivia. But if it's important, he's
the most patient listener imaginable. I ran through what
had happened, told him about Hananna, my being con-
tacted by Korla, our meeting and the price he had put
on turning over Salobin. I also gave him the latest
about Yugoslavia. I deliberately left out the part about
my belting Korla and my fight with his goon.
"You're lucky," he grunted when I was through.
"How's that?"
"That it's Yugoslavia."
"But don't you find it kind of strange that he should
have picked Yugoslavia?"
"Maybe so, but you're still lucky."
Riddles are part of Hawk's style, and I knew better
than to interrupt the process. I figured he'd get on with
it, and he did.
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"Have I ever mentioned Steve Biro, Nick? The part-
ner I worked with back in my OSS days?"
T remembered. Biro and Hawk had worked together
with "Wild Bill" Donovan, the head of the Office of
Strategic Services, in Switzerland during the final
months of World War II, and in a rare reminiscent
mood he had once spoken to me about Biro and their
Some of the conversation started
"Do I recall your saying, sir, that Biro is directing
movies these days?"
"Always has," Hawk snapped back.
the war. And that's where the luck fits in. He's in Yu-
goslavia right now shooting one of those grade B war
flicks, and not far from where you'll be. In fact, Biro
does an occasional favor for me just to keep his hand
in, and he might be able to help in your dealings with
Korla. Biro knows a lot of the local people--World
War Il partisans who worked with him on some be-
hind-the-line missions during the German occupation.
Id think he and his friends could be of some help. You
"Very much, sir."
"Good, then take down this number."
I got out my pocket pad and ballpoint pen, and as I
jotted down the number where Biro could be reached,
Hawk was already moving ahead.
"Now about the ransom, N3, and let's get this
straight. You'll stall Korla anyway you see fit, but
AXE's policy, as you well know, doesn't include pay-
offs. The day we start doing that is the day our effec-
tiveness as an organization is over and done with.
What I'm saying, Carter, is that we're not bag men. If
it were simply a matter of paying off a blackmailer or a
kidnapper, AXE wouldn't have been called in. So you
know your mission, and it still holds. Use any trick, in
or out of the book, but get Salobin out. And I want it
THE TURNCOAT
65
done fast. Sooner, if possible. Are we in agreement on
this?"
I gave him a respectful "Yessir," and he came back
with one of his usual grunts, then paused thoughtfully.
"About that girl, Carter.
Hananna, I'm sorry about
her. Damn sorrv."
*I know, sir," I replied. "And thanks for saying so."
He didn't say goodbye, just a brisk "See you." A
moment later the scrambler's amber light came on. We
were no longer connected. I hung up just a moment
before Baylor reentered the room. He flashed his diplo-
matic smile.
"Everything satisfactory?"
"Just fine."
Still smiling, he showed me out.
I had another phone call to make, an important one,
but it had to be made from a public booth. I turned
left a block beyond the Consulate building and crossed
the wide boulevard lined with recently constructed
high-rise apartment buildings. About three blocks fur-
ther on, I spotted a telephone kiosk alongside a busy
newsstand. I entered and pulled the glass hinged door
shut behind me. I fed a coin into the slot and dialed
the number of the Middle-East Trading Company. At
the third ring the phone was picked up.
"Hello?" The man's voice was distinctly American.
"Hello," I replied.
"Is this the stationery depart-
ment?"
"Yes it is. Who's calling please?"
"Section fifty. I've run out of order blanks and I'll
need about five thousand more in a hurry, plus a new
set of folders. Delivery has to be some time this eve-
ning."
I heard him swallow.
"The order blanks are no
problem, but I can't promise on the folders.
It's just
that we're a bit short-handed these days."
What the AXE field representative was saying was
that the five thousand dollars posed no difficulties, but
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NICK CARTER: KILLMASTER
that the same didn't hold true for a new passport with
a fresh cover. But the fact that Korla had blown my
present cover made it essential that I have a new set of
before departing for Yugoslavia.
AXE, like any other world-wide organization, isn't free
of personnel or logistic problems, but I wasn't going to
take no for an answer—not even a maybe.
"Delivery has to be this evening," I repeated, "and T
damn well mean a complete delivery. So get the lead
The snarl in my voice got him moving.
"Can do," he said briskly. "I'll just have to reshuffic
some of the priorities."
I gave him the name of my hotel and my present
cover name. "This evening," I repeated.
When he reaffirmed it, I gave him a firm thank you
and hung up.
When I left the phone booth I spotted a movie
house across the street that was playing "The Godfa-
ther." Since I had a few hours to kill before getting
back to the hotel, I bought a ticket and went in. There
was a dubbed sound track and listening to Brando
mumbling away in Arabic kept me chuckling most of
the way. When the film ended and the lights came on, I
got a few rough stares from the people around me. I
ducked out while the crowd showed its appreciation by
applauding the blank screen—a custom throughout the
By my watch it was a little past four and as my eyes
swept the flow of traffic, looking for a cab, some in-
stinct pulled my head around. The man was off to my
left. He stood close to the edge of the curb, a newspa-
per rolled up and tucked under his right arm. He was
on the tall side, slim, his eyes masked by a pair of
green-tinted, metal-rimmed shades. He seemed to give
me a quick glance, then let his gaze drift over the pass-
ing traffic. Like myself, he could have been looking
for a cab, but my radar was flashing signals. I turned,
pushing my way through the crowd that was emptying
from the theater.
At the corner a bus waited for the light to change,
its door open. I had no idea where the bus was going,
but at the moment this was small potatoes. I dropped
some coins into the fare box, and just as the doors
started to close, the guy with the shades barged in. I
dropped into a seat near the center doors, and when he
came down the aisle the bus started up and he grabbed
the overhead handrail. Gradually, he worked his way
back, clutching the rail, and ignoring a couple of empty
seats. He showed me his back and unrolled his paper.
The next stop was a busy one.
A steady stream
came aboard and, as they shuffled to the rear, my view
of him was temporarily blocked. A moment later a
large woman, her flabby arms loaded with packages,
stepped down and the center doors popped open. I
followed right out behind her, heard the doors snap
shut. Black smoke belched from the exhaust as the bus
I flagged down a passing cab, hopped in and gave
the driver the name of my hotel. My feelings were
mixed. He could've been a tail, but I couldn't be sure.
When I arrived at the hotel I checked with the desk
before going to my room. Before leaving to call Hawk,
I had told the clerk to book me on the morning flight
to Dubrovnik, and he told me that everything was in
order. I thanked him, told him to have my bill ready in
the morning and to be on the lookout for a package ar-
riving in my name.
"Shall I send it up, sir?"
I told him to do that, and headed for the elevators.
About an hour later-much earlier than I had antic-
ipated-the uniformed messenger arrived with AXE's
package. I signed the slip, tipped him and reclosed the
door. I thumbed the brown wrapper open and dumped
the contents on the bed. AXE's money is almost al-
ways new. The crisp fifties were in packets of twenty,
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NICK CARTER: KILLMASTER
five in all. I checked the new passport. It carried the
official Lebanon visa stamp and it was made out in the
name of Howard Kierzek. Since my destination was
Yugoslavia, whoever came up with the new cover name
probably figured that Kierzek had a good ethnic ring.
Getting out my old passport, I removed the photograph
of myself and pasted it into the new one. I then trans-
ferred the money into another envelope, signed and
sealed it. Shortly afterward I took the elevator down.
On the way out I stopped at the desk, handed the
envelope to the clerk and told him to put it in the safe.
When I had pushed my way through the revolving
doors, a cabbie spotted me and eased over to the curb.
I climbed in, pulling the door shut behind me. His
head swiveled in my direction.
"The Emporium. Rue Galland."
He pumped his head, let the clutch fly.
The Emporium is probably one of the best restau-
rants in Beirut, a reminder of the old days when the
French administered Lebanon. The service is still first
class, white-gloved in fact, but I was in a self-indulgent
mood. I ached every time I thought of Hananna. She
would have loved the place.
I ordered sweetbreads, the house salad, a fillet of
sole veronique and a half-bottle of vintage Chablis. It
was perfection throughout, including the basket of
warm rolls. I ate leisurely, dawdled in fact. By the time
the demitasse arrived, two hours had slipped by. The
tab, plus the service charge, came to a little more than
twelve pounds, about thirty American taxpayers' dol-
lars. I had indulged all right, but there wasn't the
slightest twinge of guilt.
When I left the restaurant I decided to walk back to
my hotel. The night was humid, full of pungent odors
that drifted out of dark, narrow streets and even darker
alleys. I stopped at the corner, waited for a break in
the traffic, and then I spotted him again-the guy with
the shades. He stood by a newsstand, clutching an
THE TURNCOAT
opened magazine, but enough of his profile showed for
I don't place too much faith in the long arm of coin-
cidence. When I can spot the same face within hours in
a city of more than half-a-million, I start playing it
close to the chest.
When the traffic broke I stepped right out. I crossed
with the crowd, but through the corner of my eye I
saw him move. He fell in behind, but maintained a
cautious distance. Someone had assigned me a baby-
sitter, no doubt about it. It hit me that he could be one
of Korla's men, but for the moment that wasn't im-
portant. Right now I had to shake him.
When I reached the other side of the street, I delib-
erately slowed down. It's an old trick when dealing
with a tail, but an effective one. What it does is force
the tail's hand. Rather than slow down with you, which
could be a give away, they'll generally pass you and
then double back to your rear. Anyway, the ploy
worked. While I continued to slow down, he suddenly
picked up speed and swept right past me, eyes straight
ahead. Moments later I spotted the dark, narrow alley
to my right. It was tailor-made. I ducked in, felt rough
cobblestones underfoot. Faint light showed at the far
end. I made my way carefully, staying close to the
shadowy walls of the dark, silent buildings.
About half way through I stepped up my pace. By
now, I thought I had definitely pried him loose, when I
suddenly heard the rapid footsteps, They came from
ahead and to the left. A second later I spotted the alley
that fed directly into the one I was in. The approaching
footsteps picked up speed. Obviously, he had noted my
disappearance and had taken the next alley and was
now backtracking in my direction. I flattened against
the wall as he burst into view.
He glanced both ways, hesitated. I stepped back, to
make better use of the shadows and my heel struck a
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