Шкловский Лев Переводчик
Killing Games 333333

Самиздат: [Регистрация] [Найти] [Рейтинги] [Обсуждения] [Новинки] [Обзоры] [Помощь|Техвопросы]
Ссылки:
Школа кожевенного мастерства: сумки, ремни своими руками Юридические услуги. Круглосуточно
 Ваша оценка:
  140
  + 110%
  NICK CARTER
  stands and made his way up Lower Belgrave. At Eaton
  Place, he flagged a cab.
  "Hotel Bnstols Berkeley Street near the square. You
  know it?"
  "Righto, guv."
  At Hyde Park Corner they drew abreast of a police radio
  car. The officer at the wheel had his uniform cap tipped
  back and he looked bored. Carter wondered if Interpol had
  his picture out. If they did, that meant he had to dodge
  bobbies as well as Longbone's hordes.
  He slouched further down in the seat.
  "'Ere ya are, sir."
  Carter paid and took his time walking across the street
  to the hotel. Through the first set of double doors he waited
  until the cab had driven off. When it was out of sight he
  retumed to the street, zigzagging his way east to Old Bond
  Street where he hailed a second cab.
  "British Museum, please."
  "Ihey moved and Carter scanned other cars. Past the
  Ritz, the cab slowed in the crawling confusion of Picca-
  dilly Circus. The driver was good. He maneuvered through
  the smaller streets and even managed to avoid the conges-
  tion nea.A4aymarket.
  From there it was clear sailing.
  "You can let off here."
  The driver ncxided without turning his head and reached
  back with a gnarled hand. Carter paid and jumFEd from the
  cab, just avoiding a bus on his way to the curb.
  He skirted the museum, and when he wassure there was
  no one behind him, darted into Blcx)tnsbury Way. The
  Avondale was in the middle of the block.
  Carter checked in, using the third set of documents he
  carried, under the name of Field.
  In the room, he dropped the bag and headed for the
  KILLING GAMES
  141
  
  
  
  141
  bath. Striprxd, he took the cold needles of the shower with
  gratitude, rubbing the weariness from his eyes and tem-
  pies. Once he had shaved he felt alive again. Again he
  dressed in the plain brown tweed and rather shabby jacket.
  There were two small airline bottles of Pinch in the bag.
  He popvkd one of these and sat down with the phone direc-
  The closest television repair shop was in Russell
  Square, akx)ut ten blocks away.
  "Universal Telly."
  "Do you make service calls?"
  "Yes, sir, we do. Mileage beyond two miles."
  "Excellent. And how late are you open?"
  "Nine this evening, sir."
  'Wlhank you, I'll ring you back." He flipped the direc-
  tory until he found the number of the Strand Palace. "Miss
  Jova Kalen's room, please. "
  He let it ring ten times and was about to hang up, when
  Jova's breathless voice answered.
  "Jova, this is Nick Carter. "
  "Nick, I'm so glad to hear from you! Are you in Lon-
  "Yes, but I don't want anyone to know it. Do you un-
  derstand?"
  "Of course."
  ' 'How are things?"
  "Fine. Amold and his wife have teen We're al-
  most finished with all the paperwork. Did you know I'm
  "Yes."
  "I'd rather have Lilly back."
  "I know, Jova. Just enjoy the money Lilly would
  have wanted you to. I want you to do me a favor."
  "Anything."
  142
  
  
  
  
  142
  + 110%
  NICK CARTER
  "Jot down this number: 441-579."
  'Got it."
  "I want you to call that number. A woman will answer.
  Identify her as Caroline Minor. When you do, tell her that
  her package at is ready and ask her if she
  would like to have it sent around. Have you got that?"
  "Yes," Jova replied, repeating it.
  "Good. I want you to call me back at 949-771 and tell
  me what she says. Okay?"
  "Will do."
  Carter hung up and picked up his drink. By the time he
  had finished it, the phone rang.
  "It's me, Nick. I just talked to her."
  And
  "She said that that would be fine. She'll in the flat all
  evening."
  "Terrific. See you
  Carter hung up without allowing a reply and left the
  hotel. Staying with his maximum security ritual, he took a
  full twenty minutes to cover the ten blocks to Russell
  Square.
  Numt*r 18 was just off the square in a tiny, alleylike
  street. It was a five-story building with yellow bricks and
  ugly stained glass in the first-floor windows. An old van
  was parked in front. Lettered on its side was UNIVERSAL
  TELEVISION.
  But where was Universal Television?
  Carter mounted the single step and litted the door
  knocker. It at once, as if the woman had been hid-
  ing behind it. She was gray-haired, flat-chested, fifty, and
  she wore a mustard-colored dress three sizes t(X) large for
  her.
  "Yeah, wha' is 't?'
  "Universal Television?"
  KILLING GAMES
  143
  
  
  
  
  143
  "He's me 01' man, got his shop in the basement aroun'
  the side." The door slammed in Caner's face.
  He walked around the side and down into an even nar-
  rower alley. The sign could barely deciphered through
  the dirt on the glass. It said: UNIVERSAL TUEVISION,
  MONTE BABCXEK, EST. 190
  Carter entered. "Anyone here?"
  "In the back!"
  He wound his way through the piles of old TV sets,
  cables, antennas and tutrs to a smaller rcK)rn. He found a
  large round man in blue coveralls sitting at a worktEnch.
  "Mr. Babcock?"
  'Ihe man turned on his stool and stared at Caner with
  eyes that amxa.red abnormally large trhind thick metal-
  framed glasses. "Yeah?"
  There was something about the man and the shop that
  told Carter he need look no further. "What's your normal
  charge for a service call, Mr. Babcock?"
  "Twenty punds plus parts."
  "How would you like to make three hundred punds for
  two hours' work?"
  The moment BabccEk pulled the van into the narrow
  street Carter spotted them. lhere were two of them,
  slouching in the front seat of a Jaguar sedan.
  'SHere," Carter said, and the van halted.
  It was barely stoppd when Carter jogged up the
  and ran his eye down the mailboxes. Caroline Minor was
  in 5B. There was an L. Hastings in 3B. He slouched back
  to the van, his hands shoved carelessly into the long side
  pockets of the blue coveralls. He opened the passenger side
  door and removed a heavy tool box.
  "If they asked, we're answering a call to Three-B, name
  of Hastings."
  "Right you are."
  144
  
  
  
  
  
  144
  + 110%
  NICK CARTER
  "You wouldn't lose your nerve on me, would you, Mr
  Babcock?"
  The man's round face split in a grin. "Laddie, for
  hundred pounds I got nerves of steel."
  Back in the building, Carter raced up the five flights an
  knocked on the door of 5B. •mrough the hall windows
  could see St. James's Park, even make out the ducks on th
  water.
  From the other side of the door he could hear a woman'
  heels clicking on a hardwood floor, and then the door bu
  She was tall, thirtyish, with a face, dark hair, an
  deep blue eyes. She wore a tailored beige dress and sensi
  ble walking shoes. On the floor of the hall behind her we
  four suitcases.
  "Caroline Minor?"
  "Yes, but I didn't order service
  "I've got your package from Carter said
  and stepped inside, kicking the door closed behind him.
  '*Who are you?"
  "My name is Nick Carter. Cory is in Paris, Caroline; h
  couldn't risk coming to London. You can trust me."
  "You have to. Do you know you're being watched?"
  "Yes, I spotted them this morning. Come in."
  Carter followed her past the four packed bags into
  room bright with color. "Why the bags?"
  "My holiday starts in the morning. I'm visiting my au
  in Scotland."
  Her face fell. "I was told this morning that my holida
  had been changed. It started today."
  "And were you told to go to Scotland?"
  "No, but we have to let our know where
  KILLING GAMES
  145
  
  
  
  
  145
  are all the time. It's company policy. How is Coryo•s
  Just from the way she said it. Carter guessed she had
  more than a helping-hand interest in Howard. ne boy was
  a char-men
  "Alive. Both of us are. for now. "
  "Penny Collins and Margery Driver have also had their
  holidays changed. The three of us are the only ones left at
  M16 who worked for Cory."
  "Figures. Are they in this, too?"
  "No, Cory only asked me for help."
  Carter thought for a minute and then said, g *Get on the
  phone and call your hairdresser. Set up an appointment for
  the day after you return."
  "My hairdresser?"
  She grabbed the phone and started to dial. Carter moved
  to the window and delicately parted one comer of the drape
  until he had an unobstructed view of the Jaguar.
  He paid no attention to the woman's words. When he
  heard her hang up he paned the drape a little more. Sec-
  onds later, one of the men leaned forward and took a hand
  microphone from the dash. The man spoke, listened, nod-
  ded, spoke again, and hung the mike back on the dash.
  "What is it?"
  Carter tumed, moving from the window. "Your phone's
  pped. Sit down, Caroline, and let's get to work."
  Her grave, handsome face was expressionless as she
  efted a briefcase from the floor and set it on a table be-
  een them. Silently, she removed reams of computer
  rintouts and carefully laid them out.
  "Oh, God," Carter moaned, "I don't think a service call
  ill take that long."
  "Don't worry, I have most of the material in
  y head. God, I hope Cory appreciates all this. I had a
  146
  
  
  
  
  146
  + 110%
  NICK CARTER
  hellish time smuggling all this out."
  With a restless swing of her dark hair she started ver-
  bally leading Carter through the maze.
  At the end of a half hour he went down to the van,
  supposedly to get a replacement part.
  "Which one of these is big and bulky enough to be seen
  by the Jag?"
  "Picture tube, there," Batxock gestured.
  Carter grabbed it. "They ask you?"
  He ncxlded. "Major repair, Hastings in Three-B. They
  seemed satisfied."
  "Good show, Mr. Babcock," Carter said with a grin.
  Carrying the new picture tube, he returned to the flat.
  "Okay, let's finish it off," he said, taking his chair
  again.
  "That's about it, really. The information from 'Klon-
  dike' has been invaluable to tk)th M16 and your CIA."
  "And Klondike has never paid a dime?"
  "No, and his identity is known only to Sir Phillip
  Avery."
  Carter picked up one thick sheaf of printout. "But this
  rundown on Sir Charles's corporate acquisitions matches
  perfectly with M16 incoming intelligence on economic
  conditions, precious metal finds, and so forth."
  "Yes, it's obvious Sir Charles had inside information."
  "Proof enough," Carter said. "But faced with it, Sir
  Charles could claim two dozen sources other than Sir Phil-
  lip for his source. What about Wolf LongN)ne?"
  "His having access is highly irregular, Vf course, but not
  enough to bring more than a reprimand. However, when I
  cross-referenced everything he had access to or had his
  name on, I carne across a strange thing."
  "Yes?"
  "The complete and research development fil
  KILLING GAMES
  147
  
  
  
  147
  on a man named Anthony Hobbs-Nelson is gone. Even his
  security clearance and that of his wife, Nanette, has disap-
  peared from Records. It is as though neither of them ever
  existed. I only discovered it when I came across one of the
  ld sign-out sheets."
  "Wolf Longbone signed it out?"
  "Yes. I did some checking through Scotland Yard.
  hortly after Hobbs-Nelson resigned from M16, he and his
  Te were killed in an auto accident. Their Land-Rover
  ent off a cliff in Wales. They were both drowned."
  "Any sign of foul play?"
  "Not according to Scotland Yard. But it d(ES seem odd,
  oesn't it, that everything about the man should
  Records?"
  "It sure as hell dcrs," Carter said, "What did
  obbs-Nelson do?"
  "He played games."
  "I your pardon?"
  "In a think tank," Caroline explained. "Your rEople
  ave a whole crowd doing exactly the same thing in Wash-
  ngton. You know, 'what if' games. What if there were a
  amine here or there? What if all the oil in the world were
  ontrolled by one company? What if there were a crop
  ailure in the Soviet Union? What if... t?"
  "Okay, okay, I've got it. Just what kind of games was
  obbs-Nelson playing?"
  "That's just it, I don't know. Everything he had or was
  orking on is gone from Records."
  "Shit," Carter hissed. "Sorry."
  "My sentiments exactly," she said, laughing for the first
  me since Carter had entered the flat. The movement made
  lacy shoulder strap slip from under her dress. She pushed
  out of sight with a blush.
  Carter kept staring at where the strap had been on her
  148
  
  
  
  148
  + 110%
  NICK CARTER
  white skin, a long-ago memory tickling his brain.
  First you see it and then you don't.
  An aftemoon in the War Room at the Pentagon. War
  games, the results flashing across computer screens and
  disappearing.
  "Caroline, when our people play these games, no matte
  the outcome, it's automatically transferred in all stages to
  computer storage dem)t in Langley. Do you have the same
  process?"
  Her face was vacant for a moment, and suddenly she
  shuffled through the printouts and selected one. Sh
  flipped through it until she found a number and color
  coded index. She studied it and looked up with a b
  smile on her face.
  "Portsmouth."
  "Do their coding readouts to yours i
  Records?"
  "Yes."
  "So you could dig out Hobbs-Nelson's stuff no matte
  how deep it's buried?"
  "I could, but I couldn't get inside the Portsmouth com
  plex without the very highest authority."
  'SIYI get that. In the meantime, how do you get to Scot
  land in the moming?"
  "BritRail, the ten o'clock train from Paddington."
  "Okay, here's what I want you to do
  For the next fifteen minutes, Caroline Minor listene
  and nodded avidly. By the time Carter left her apartment
  she was glowing with the excitement of being a real spy a
  last.
  "How did it go, laddie?"
  s 'One hundred percent, Mr. Babcock. How would yo
  like to make a few hundred more rx»unds?"
  "Telly repair is slow this time of year. Answer yo
  question?"
  KILLING GAMES
  149
  
  
  
  
  149
  '*I'll need a motorcycle tonight, something fast and
  powerful, like a BMW
  "My nephew has one. Go on!"
  '*Can you get a sign painter?"
  ' 'My brother. Go on!"
  "Can you and your brother make this van look like one
  of those BritRail catering vans that service the trains?"
  Suddenly the old man broke into gales of laughter.
  "Don't need to do that, laddie."
  "Why not?"
  "My brother-in-law is a dispatcher at Waterloo Station.
  We'll ask him for a little loan!"
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  THIRTEEN
  Carter paid off the cab just a few blocks from the
  Thames and walked through the decaying sprawl of South-
  wark. After two wrong turns he finally found Ihlbien
  Street and numtrr 12.
  The garage was in the rear, more a lean-to shanty than a
  solid building. But inside everything was as Batrock said
  it would
  The BMW was a big, black with the key
  in the ignition. Laid out carefully across the tank and seat
  was a set of men's leathers, boots, and a visored helmet.
  He found another set, slightly smaller. in the saddlebags.
  Babcock and family were earning their money.
  Carter stripped, stored his clothes in the empty saddle-
  bag, and put on the leathers. He wheeled the machine from
  the garage and pushed it about a block before firing it up.
  Minutes later he was on Lambeth Road and heading
  south. On the edge of the city he picked yp the Mll and
  wound the BMW up to 110 miles hour. It was a dry,
  star-filled night with little traffic other than slow-moving
  u-ucks.
  It seemed that •no time at all had passed when he
  150
  KILLING GAMES
  151
  
  
  
  
  151
  zoomed through Harlow and crossed the M25 near Epping.
  At Redbridge, where the Mll ended, he for cof-
  fee.
  What he was doing was far from kosher. ne instruc-
  tions were specific: contact no one, wing it, report only to
  Sir Phillip Avery or John Hutchins.
  Well, instructions be damned. They went out the win-
  dow with Sharon Purdue.
  Carter had worked closely with Jonathan Hart-Davis of
  M16 many times in the past. Theirs had been not only a
  good working relationship, but the Killmaster also knew
  that he had the old intelligence warhorse's friendship and
  oust. If anyone could open doors and work a miracle or
  two, it was Jonathan Hart-Davis.
  And, Carter he would do it without asking too
  many questions.
  This was the reason for Carter's late-night ride to Hart-
  Davis's country place outside Epsom. Because the Kill-
  master wanted no one to know of the meeting, he had not
  called M16 in London first. He had just assumed—because
  it was Saturday, a weekend—that the man, like all Lon-
  doners of his class, would be in the counüy.
  Outside of Redbridge he caught the A24. Now it was a
  straight shot south on an excellent, lightly traveled road.
  Carter had the impulse to push the big machine to its
  150mph top, but held it in check. With half the B)lice in
  the world on the lookout for him, it was no time to be
  arrested for speeding.
  Just outside the village of Epsom he had to stop and
  study a map. He had been to Hart-Davis's country place
  once, years t*fore, but the maze of tiny, hedgerow-sided
  lanes in the area could lose a local if he weren't careful.
  At last he found what he hoped was the right lane and
  he was off again. He passed open fields cultivated like
  152
  
  
  
  
  
  152
  + 110%
  NICK CARTER
  children's blocks, farms with the moving shapes of cattle
  and horses.
  fien, about 2 hundred yards ahead. he spotted the two
  stone pillars that marked the drive he remembered. A shin-
  gle on one of the pillars pointed the way,
  Carter cut the engine and rolled txtween them. When he
  had glided as far as he could, he jumped off and pushed.
  Near the house he pushed the BMW into the heavy
  shadows of some trees and checked his position.
  It was a million-to-one chance that they would have
  Hart-Davis staked out, but by this time Carter knew he
  could count on nothing.
  Everything looked normal. ne house was three stories,
  a farmhouse made over into mock Tudor. There were lights
  burning on the first and second
  He emerged from the trees and walked up the wide ave-
  nue toward the house. There were two Carter rang
  them both. The maid or housekeeper who answered was
  narrow-eyed and the door only a few inches. Alarm
  flashed through her eyes when she saw the ominous figure
  in black leather.
  what is it?"
  "I'd like to see Mr. Hart-Davis," Caner said. Past the
  woman, the hall was dark. A suit of armor and helmet
  stood improbable sentry at the foot of a staircase.
  "At this hour?"
  "It's very important. I've just ridden down from Lon-
  don."
  Suddenly a tall, lean man with distinguished gay at
  his temples appeared behind the woman. "What is it,
  Louise..
  Carter sighed with relief. "Jonathan, it's me."
  The door was pushed open so that what light there was
  fell across Carter's face. "Nick, what in God's name .. v"
  KILLING GAMES
  153
  
  
  
  
  153
  Carter slipped inside, his eyes moving from the man to
  the woman with caution. The M16 man caught Carter's
  meaning.
  "It's all right, Louise."
  The woman looked oddly at Carter but scurried away.
  Both men watched her go, and then Hart-Davis turned to
  the AXE agent.
  "Now, what the hell are you doing down here?"
  "It's a long story. But first, can your housekeeper be
  trusted? don't want anyone to know I'm down here, let
  alone in England."
  "Lord, yes, man, she's tEen with me for twenty years."
  "Your family?"
  "They didn't come down this weekend."
  Carter sagged against the wall. "Jonathan, as we so
  crudely say in the States, I'm in deep shit."
  ne other man chuckled. "Not surprising, for you. Sup-
  we chat over a brandy?"
  The long hall curved left and right, Square in its center,
  a large framed picture of the Queen hung on the wall.
  Carter followed Hart-Davis through an door. It was a
  man's study, with heavy leather furniture, a battered desk
  littered with pipes and tobacco tins, and an OERn
  ban
  Carter fell gratefully into one of the comfortable chairs
  and Hart-Davis moved to the bar.
  There was a small, cheery fire in the fireplace that lifted
  Carter's spirits. Over the mantel were faded pictures of
  husky young men with bony knees. In the front row of
  each, a younger version of Han-Davis crouched with a
  rugby football.
  Han-Davis retumed with the drinks, passed one to
  Caners and took the opposite chair. "Well," he said slowly.
  "you wanted to see me. I'm listening."
  154
  
  
  
  
  154
  + 110%
  NICK CARTER
  It was an hour later. ney had finished a second brandy
  and Carter had just about wrapped it up. When he fell
  silent at last, Jonathan Hart-Davis released a long breath as
  if it were the only one he had taken in the last hour.
  "Anyone but you, Nick, and I would call this whole
  thing prerxhterous."
  Carter n«ided with a wan smile. "I know. But now I'm
  sure Cory Howard is telling the Üuth, and I'm sure Caro-
  line Minor's findings directly to collusion."
  "I've known Sir Charles Martin for twenty-five, thirty
  years. It's hard for me to rationalize that he's tehind the
  whole thing."
  Carter shrugged. "There is a rx)ssibility that he isn't. It
  could that Avery and Hutchins are just using him. That's
  why I need the Hobbs-Nelson material from Portsmouth.
  Will you help?'
  It was an agonizing two minutes txfore the M16 man
  rose and walked to his desk. He a and wrote for
  another two minutes. Then he made a quick series of phone
  calls. Then, taking a ring of keys and a map, he retumed to
  the chair oppsite Carter.
  "Here is written authorization for this Minor woman to
  get into the complex. Once inside, the call I just made will
  give her access to records with her own personal code. You
  know, of course, that if they have anyone down there in
  security, they'll all over you."
  Carter nodded. "That's why need a place close by."
  Hart-Davis spread a map of the south \oast out on the
  table between them. "The Records complex is here, at
  Southsea. My wife owns a little cottage on a small lake,
  here, near Stoke. It's off the beaten path, and there are no
  other houses for miles. Here are the keys. Take the map as
  well."
  KILLING GAMES
  
  
  
  
  
  155
  (167 of 212)
  + 110%
  KILLING GAMES
  "Thank you, Jonathan. And Harold Jansen?"
  155
  just reached him at Oxford. He'll meet you at the
  cottage at nc»n tomorrow with his equipment."
  Caner flopped back in his chair. "Great. And there are a
  few things you can find out for me when you get into your
  office Monday morning. "
  Using a white. red-tipped cane, Carter tap-tapped his
  way down the platform at Paddington Station. nie mus-
  tache, dark raincoat, smoked glasses, and wide-brimmed
  hat had been the best he could do on short notice, but
  any disguise was than none. lhere was no safe
  way he could contact Caroline Minor, so the only way
  to make sure she got safely on the train was an eyeball con-
  tact.
  He found a partially vacant bench across from the train's
  only "A" sleeping car, and sat. In his hand a Stratford
  ticket could be seen by anyone passing.
  It was nine-thirty Beyond (he gates for the northbound
  train, a long line was forming, mostly family groups with
  bawling children. And then, out of the mass. he saw Caro-
  line.
  She was striding down the ramp with her head up,
  checking her ticket against the numbers on the sides of the
  coaches. She wore a blue and white dress, a navy cardigan,
  and carried a single bag.
  As she passed Carter. her eyes moved in brief recogni-
  tion, but her head never turned. A lady going on holiday
  without a care in the world, Carter thought. Good girl.
  He eyeballed her into the coach and watched her
  through the windows into her compartment. She had barely
  disappeared when Caner spotted the tail. He was a stocky
  little guy with a bull neck and wise, cynical eyes. He en-
  red the coach and took a tour through, noting that Caro-
  156
  
  
  
  
  156
  + 110%
  NICK CARTER
  line was in her compartment, At the other end he stepped
  off and spoke to a tall, thin one in a trench coat.
  Carter held his breath until the thin one nodded and
  moved away.
  There would be only one of them staying on the train.
  The stocky one got back on and took a seat in the second
  class coach ahead.
  Carter rose and tapped his way to the very last coach on
  the train, boarded, and took a seat.
  Moments later the train jolted ahead. For the next fif-
  teen minutes it rocked west through London. At the Ealing
  Broadway station, Carter waited until everyone had
  boarded and the doors were about to be closed trfore he
  stepped off.
  Still using the cane and adopting a faltenng step, he
  made his way down the steps and through the parking area.
  Babcock was parked on the street with the motor run-
  ning. Caner dived in and the white van lurched ahead in-
  stantly.
  ney had scarcely hit the highway north before Carter
  was in the back, pulling off the raincoat and dark trousers.
  Beneath them he wore a pair of white pants and a white,
  smocklike shirt with the green insignia of BritRail on the
  left breast
  Back in the front passenger seat, he lit a cigarette.
  "Good show, Mr. Babcock. "
  "lid say that, laddie," the old man chuckled.
  "How's our time?"
  "We should hit the Stratford station five minutes
  before the lady."
  They were waiting on the loading dock, the rear of the
  van facing the trairi as it pulled in. Through the small panes
  in the van's rear doors, Carter could see Caroline Minor
  KILLING GAMES
  157
  
  
  
  
  157
  sitting at a table directly by the kitchen door of the dining
  car.
  'Ihe sight brought a smile to his lips. The timing would
  be perfect. Atx»ut five minutes outside Stratford they
  would clear the first class passengers out of the dining car
  and it to the rest of the train for lunch.
  Horrfully, when the stocky man entered the car he
  would assume that he had missed Caroline in the passage-
  way returning to her compartment. Even if he didn't make
  that assumption, it would another hour or so before an-
  other stop was made and he could check her compartment
  from the outside.
  "Here we go, laddie!" Batw•ock said.
  Carter threw the doors wide as the train ground to a halt.
  Babcock was already out of the van, pounding on the
  train's matching dc»r and shding the walkway out.
  A gigantic man with a florid face dressed in cook's
  whites stood in the opening.
  " 'Ere, what's this?"
  s Off-load, bread and ice cream," Babcock said, mount-
  ing the walkway and waving a piece of paper in the man's
  face.
  "What ya say? We're not due 'til Birmingham."
  "Change," Babcock barked, maneuvering the cook so
  that his back was to the dining car. At the same time, he
  was blocking the view of the salad chef with his own body.
  Carter was already scooting past them all with a tray of
  bread on his shoulder.
  "What change, mate?" the chef insisted. "We got too
  much as it is!"
  Babcock shrugged. "Order out of the bakery, I s'pose,
  too much. Gotta put the bleedin' stuff somewhere."
  lhe argument continued as Carter returned for another
  tray. Short-and-Stocky was on the platfom, smoking. He
  158 -
  
  
  
  158 -
  + 110%
  NICK CARTER
  was turned away from the train. It was obvious that all he
  was concemed with was the people getting off to check the
  Bard on his home turfe
  Fourth tray set. Out of the comer of his eye he saw a
  flash of color as the dining car dcx»r orrned and quickly
  closed. Caroline darted between the tall bakery trays.
  "Next time," Carter hissed. "Ice cream!"
  She r«ided.
  Coming out of the vant Carter Ten one-gallon
  containers of ice cream spewed across the kitchen
  The cook and salad chef went bananas.
  Babcock apologized profusely and Carter Caro-
  line on the shoulder. "Go!"
  She did, into the rear of the van like a streaking hum-
  mingbird.
  Carter came up behind Babcock, slapping him on the
  shoulder. "Better get on with it, mate. We got two more
  pickups, ya know."
  "Righto, lad. Sorry about the mess, IX)YS!"
  While the ccx)k screamed at his subordinate to 'Get this
  bloody mess cleaned up!" Babccxk hit the starter. Carter
  slammed the dcx»rs and the van pulled away.
  Short-and-Suxky was just tossing away his cigarette
  and pulling himself up into his coach. He never once
  looked their way.
  "How'd we do, laddie?"
  "Like a Swiss watch. You should have tren an actor,
  Mr. Babcock. How long?"
  "There's a pullout up here, runs douv by the river.
  About fifteen minutes."
  'Good enough," Carter replied, and tumed to Caroline
  Minor. "How ... ?"
  He didn't have to ask. The lady had already pulled the
  tarp off the BMW and emptied the saddlebags. At the mo-
  KILLING GAMES
  
  
  
  159
  ment, she was in lacy bra and panties, pulling on the
  leathers.
  "Scared?" Carter asked, changing his question.
  "Lor', no, I've never had so much bloody fun!" came
  the laughing reply.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  FOURTEEN
  It was just after dusk when Carter roared off the A3023
  at Stoke and barreled down a tiny lane. It was a narrow
  secondary road, black macadam, patched and hump-
  backed. Beside it were hilly fields and gnarled, brown-
  leafed trees.
  "Where are we going?" Caroline asked from her perch
  behind him.
  "It's called Laura's Pond," Carter called back over his
  shoulder. "Belongs to the wife of a friend."
  He had memorized the map, and now he spotted a nar-
  row, rutted dirt lane. A mailtx)x beside it said Laura's
  Pond..
  He turned in. A mile up the road they crested a hill and
  dipped down into a clearing carpeted with pine needles.
  Carter glided to the side of the cottage and parked the
  BMW in a gardening shed.
  Together they walked around to the front dc»r.
  "Isolated enough?" Caroline commented drily.
  "That's the idea," Carter said, unlockfrig the door.
  Inside, it was dark, dank and musty. Caroline immedi
  ately went around windows, while Carter check
  the kitchen. By the time he returned to the living room,
  sweet breeze was wafting through the windows.
  160
  KILLING GAMES
  161
  
  
  
  
  
  161
  "It's lovely, just like a honeymoon cottage," she said
  with a grin.
  Carter ignored that remark and opened the doors to the
  bedrooms. "This one's yours. 'Ihe lady of the bouse is
  about your size, if you want to change. Also, you'll need
  something of hers to enter the complex tomorrow."
  Caroline bathed while Carter whipped up a meal. ney
  ate, and then took their coffee down to the edge of the
  r»nd about fifty yards from the cottage.
  He sat with his back to a tree. She dror:Bi down in the
  pine needles beside him, a pair of black slacks taut over
  her rounded hips.
  Immediately, Caner launched into a detailed, moment-
  by-moment recitation of the next morning's exercise.
  When he was through he went over it all again.
  "Of course. Really, I'm quite bright."
  He grinned. "I know you are."
  "Pretty, isn't it?" She threw a small stone into the pnd,
  making circular, ever-widening ripples in the still water.
  "Don't you think?"
  "Yeah."
  "Not very romantic, are you."
  "Too busy being worried."
  "About what to do with what we find tomorrow if it's
  what I think we'll find?"
  "That's tomorrow."
  Suddenly her hands reached out and drew Carter's head
  ward hers. She kissed him. Her lips were soft and fra-
  ant and clinging.
  When he felt himself sinking. he broke it and stood.
  'It's going to be a long day tomorrow."
  Caroline sighed and felt in step behind him. "Looks like
  t's going to tr a long night tonight."
  In the housé she moved away to her bedroom.
  162
  
  
  
  
  
  162
  (174 of 212)
  + 110%
  NICK CARTER
  162
  'Good night."
  "Good night."
  Carter found the phone and direct-dialed the Pari
  number given him by Cory Howard. He was twenty min-
  utes ahead of the designated time, but Howard was the
  and picked up.
  "It's me. How're we doin'?"
  "I've found him. He's staying in a fleabag over i
  Montmartre, the Verdun. And guess why?"
  "Haven't the foggiest," Carter replied.
  'They tried for him, blew his pretty new Citroen all t
  hell."
  "And he lived through it?"
  "He wasn't in it. His girl friend was taking the car ou
  of the garage to meet him in front of his flat. ne gir
  friend ended up all over the garage and Liard went under
  ground. I had one hell of a time finding him."
  "If he thinks it's his playmates, he might talk easier t
  you."
  "I'm hoping so. I'm going in tonight."
  "Watch your back, Cory," Carter growled. 'They wan
  everypne out of the picture. They'll be looking for him
  well."
  "Don't worry about that. Where are you?"
  Carter gave him an update and the of the cot
  tage.
  "Let you know how I fare this fine night."
  "You do that," Carter said.
  "By the way," Howard added, "anytiing more on ou
  little lass, Sharon Purdue?"
  'Got a man working on it first thing in the morning."
  "Got a feeling, Nick, she's in up to her pretty head
  Later."
  "Soon," Carter replied, and hung up.
  "Was that Cory?"
  KILLING GAMES
  163
  
  
  
  163
  Carter tumed. She was in the doorway. He was sure
  Laura Han-Davis's white Fignoir and negligee never
  looked so good on Laura Hart-Davis.
  "Yeah. He thinks he's on to Henri Liard. Between what
  he can get from Liard and what you get in the morning, we
  should nail it."
  "If your computer man can make sense of it."
  "Harold Jansen is the best in the business."
  "Mind if I use the phone? My aunt in Scotland is going
  to worried sick."
  "Sure."
  Carter moved past her into his bedroom. He to
  the skin and lay on the in the dark without tuming
  down the covers. He lay there for several minutes, but
  sleep wouldn't come.
  He heard the low murmur of her conversation through
  the closed tkdrcx)rn door, and then the receiver hit the cra-
  dle.
  He waited to hear her dcx)r close. It didn't. Instead, his
  orrned softly.
  She stood in the doorway. The peignoir floated from her
  hand. The moonlight was directly behind her, shining
  through the negligee.
  "I don't t*tieve you've got a damned thing on under
  that," he groaned.
  "I don't." A rustling sound and the negligee joined the
  dropped EEignoir.
  "Persistent, aren't you," he said.
  "Is that what you call it?" She moved to the foot of the
  t*d, then
  'C'mere, dammit."
  She floated to the bed and then down to his side. She
  wound her arms around his neck and drew him close. 'Ihe
  eagemess of her lips and fingers lit a blaze inside him. She
  moved one silky-smooth leg close to his, and the familiar
  164
  
  
  
  
  164
  + 110%
  NICK CARTER
  ache began throbbing in his groin.
  "How long have you thought about this?" he asked,
  closing one hand over her breast.
  "Since you came to my flat. You didn't think I was
  going to let something like this pass without getting it all,
  did you, after months in stuffy Records?"
  "Like I told you, it's going to a long day tomorrow."
  In reply, she laughed and rolled upward to straddle his
  body.
  "I don't give a bloody damns as long as you make it a
  long night tonight."
  In the heat of sexual battle Carter thought he heard a
  sound outside the cottage. But the desire steam-
  ing from her body drove the thought from his mind.
  A heavy mist had rolled all the way up to the hills of
  Montmartre from the Seine. A block from the Hotel Ver-
  dun Cory Howard stood in the shadows of a doorway, a
  cigarette in his lips, its glow dimmed by a cupped hand.
  He had been there for a half hour, and for the half hour
  before that he had stood in the alley tEhind the hotel. Both
  spots looked clear.
  He had gotten Liard's room number with a phone call
  during the shift of desk clerks, a lot of gobbledygook about
  one room and then another and then the name that
  Liard was using, Dupré.
  It was a corner room, fourth floor. The lights had gone
  out about twenty minutes earlier.
  At last Howard buttoned the flap of hixtrench coat up to
  his neck and walked slowly down the narrow street. At the
  alley he darted in and picked up his pace. A fire escape ran
  up the side of the hotel. At the first-floor platform he dis-
  covered what he had already guessed.
  The place was a firetrap. The windows were so painted
  shut, they were impossible to open.
  KILLING GAMES
  165
  
  
  
  165
  He moved on up to the top floor and used the iron Iad-
  der bolted to the side of the building to reach the roof.
  Above the street there was a heavy breeze that blew
  yellowed newspaper and other light debris from one end to
  the other. As much by feel as by sight, he moved away
  from the stone paralkt guarding the flat roof. To his right,
  about dead center in the roof, was a chimney stack. Just on
  the other side of it he found the trap leading down.
  A short flight of wooden stairs t'»k him to a storage
  room. Several aprons hung by the door, as well as a white
  cupboard. He pulled the handle. The d'X)rs were locked.
  He put a knee against the wall and heaved. The doors
  swung orrn. lhe tongue of the lock was still out, but ren-
  dered useless by a forgotten bolt. Passkeys, one for each
  floor and a master linen room key, hung on nails inside.
  Howard took the key for the fourth floor and one of the
  masters. The latter opened the door to the room he was in.
  The hall was empty and barely lit by a low-watt bulb.
  He used the stairs, avoiding the center treads that creaked.
  and moved down co the fourth floor. Using the butt of his
  Walther, he popped the bulb, putting the comdor into inky
  darkness.
  At Liard's door he crouched and listened. From the
  other side came a wheezing sound, interrupted now and
  then by a cough. Howard couldn't sure, but the sounds
  were very much like a knocked-out drunk gasping for air in
  his sleep.
  Cautiously, he inserted and turned the key. He lay on his
  belly and opened the door only far enough to see into the
  Henri Liard lay on his back in the middle of a messy
  bed. He was fully clothed. Beside the bed on the floor
  were two brandy tx)ttles, one empty, the other nearly so.
  Howard slithered into the room. closing the door softly
  behind him. As he wriggled across the floor, he took a pair
  166
  
  
  
  166
  + 110%
  NICK CARTER
  of handcuffs from his pxxket and pulled his tie free.
  Liard was sprawled like an X. In seconds one wrist was
  handcuffed to one side of the and his other wrist was
  tied to the headboard. When this was done. Howard
  the contents of a water pitcher into the man's face and sat
  on the rail.
  He came out of it slowly, sputtering, until he saw the
  figure on the t*d.
  "No! Oh, dear God, no! Why? ... I have done every-
  thing you asked .. ."
  'Calm down, Henri." Howard lit a cigarette, holding
  the flame long enough so the other man could see his face.
  Liard stopped struggling to free himself, and
  "Howard, you—
  "Did you think I was dead by now, Henri? No matter. If
  I .can find you, they can. It's only a matter of time."
  "What do you want?"
  "Information. Lots."
  "No! Mon Dieu! They'll kill me!"
  "You damned fool, they'll kill you anyway. They al-
  ready tried once."
  Suddenly Henri Liard could take no more. The good life
  he had envisioned from his treachery had become a night-
  mare. His whole body trembled, and then he began to
  whimper. Seconds later he was weeping openly.
  Howard was unmoved. He sat, quietly smoking his cig-
  arette, until it was a butt that he dropped to the floor and
  ground out with his foot.
  "l can get you out of here, Henri, andYrobably to Por-
  tugal or South America. I'm sure you've got funds stashed
  to live on once you get there."
  ne crying tapered off. "You'd do that?"
  "Yeah. But I won't do it for nothing,"
  Liard's eyes 01xned wide and his mood shifted. "What
  do you want to know?"
  
  
  
  
  167
  (179 of 212)
  + 110%
  KILLING GAMES
  "Everything. You fingered us, didn't you?"
  A hard swallow. "Yes."
  "Who?"
  167
  don•t know, swear it. only spoke to them on the
  telephone. It was always a man or a woman."
  "Accents?"
  "British. The call was always to an exchange in Lon-
  don, a dead number routed through. The man's voice was
  low, raspy, very hard to understand."
  Wolf Longbone, Howard thought. "And the woman?"
  Liard shrugged. "A woman's voice, British. What
  else?"
  "How were you recruited?"
  "A telephone call, years ago, right after I went with
  StarFire. It was the same woman. We met in a Geneva
  hotel I walked in, there was a lamp in my face, she
  was in the darkness. I never saw her, but it was the same
  woman. I recognized the voice."
  'Good, Henri. Now, trsides fingering me and getting
  Longchamp blown to hell, what else have you done for
  Howard lit another cigarette and managed to keep his
  face calm as it out of Liard.
  It was hard.
  Liard had tren privy to almost all of StarFire's dealings:
  ew mineral finds, potential lease purchases, dirt on for-
  •gn leaders in Third-World countries they wanted to Frne-
  te, even industrial espionage StarFire had gleaned from
  eir
  All of this had tEen passed on to London.
  My, my, Howard thought. If they had a man like Liard in
  very major mining and precious metal refinery conglom-
  rate in the world, they could bring the world to its indus-
  ial knees!
  He ground out the second butt. "Why do you think they
  168
  
  
  
  
  
  168
  + 110%
  NICK CARTER
  decided to dump you, Henri?"
  ne man's face paled even more and the twitching in his
  face and txxiy returned. "You'll help me get away?"
  will."
  "StarFire was taken over by a Geneva company, Hol-
  derstraf. I went into the computers and started digging. I
  traced ownership back and found other companies they
  have taken over."
  "Like they did StarFire?" Howard asked.
  Liard ncxided. "For some time, we've had a key man in
  Geneva. He works for the govemment, in the registration
  office for foreign corporations. "
  "He could trace the lineage tEtween companies?"
  "Yes. I have it all. in my briefcase in the closet."
  Howard slid from the bed and got thebriefcase, lifting
  out the contents. It was eighty pages of compute
  printout. He only had to l*ruse a third of it to know that, in
  the hands of a smart intelligence analyst in international
  business, the printouts could tell the whole story and prob-
  ably reveal narnes.
  Howard put the printouts back in the briefcase, lock
  it, and faced Liard. emey caught you snooping?"
  Another long swallow. "Yes."
  "You were going to blackmail them for a bigger slice o
  the pie."
  "No. It was only insurance e"
  "Merde, Henri. But no matter, let's get out of here."
  As he untied the wrist attached to the headboard, How
  ard asked casually, "You said you alwaysscalled London?"
  "Yes, always."
  "What was the nurnl*r?"
  "Four, four, nine, eight, eleven."
  Howard froze,' a chill raising the hair on the back of hi
  head.
  KILLING GAMES
  169
  
  
  
  
  
  KILLING GAMES
  169
  'Ihe nurntrr. A contact numtkr. A number he knew so
  well. Had used so often himself.
  Jn a trance, he moved around the bed toward the hand-
  cuffed wrist.
  He never made it.
  There was the single reverberating thud of bone and
  muscle against wood, and the door shattered inward.
  Three of them, two men in front and a woman backup.
  The men came through first and dropped to their knees. In
  a split second they had positions, and the high-caliber si-
  lenced automatics in their hands started spitting flame.
  One man was firing point-blank at a paralyzed Henri
  Liard on the bed. The second man was leveling at Cory
  Howard.
  They both fired at the same time. Howard felt a burning
  sensation inside his left leg too near his crotch for comfort.
  It spun him around and slammed him against the wall,
  knocking the Walther from his grasp.
  His shot had hit home, dead center chest. The shooter's
  body had fallen backward into the woman's legs, knocking
  her to the floor.
  The second man was jamming a fresh clip into his auto-
  matic.
  Howard had no time to paw for the Walther. He ran
  fonvard and threw himself at the shooter.
  His right hand was taut over his left shoulder. Like a
  snake it moved out, his elbow straightening, the muscles in
  his forearm contracting.
  His target was the promontory of the larynx atx)ve the
  man's Adam's apple.
  The blade of his hand struck with a dull thud. It
  smashed the thyroid cartilage through the wall of the man's
  throat, killing him instantly.
  ne txx:ly went down with Howard on top of it.
  170
  
  
  
  
  
  170
  + 110%
  NICK CARTER
  He sensed, and then saw, that the woman had extracted
  herself from the first shcx.)ter and gotten to her feet. With-
  out pausing in his movement, Howard rolled the dead man
  over him.
  Even as the slugs from the woman's gun slammed into
  the corpse, Howard was painfully pushing his shield to-
  ward her.
  Then he threw the lifeless, blo«xiy body at her and fol-
  lowed.
  She the dead missile, but didn't bring the
  gun up fast enough to stop the live one.
  He came up from his crouch, bringing his fingertips
  together and ramming them swiftly up into her neck. Her
  feet left the floor with the force of the blow that separated
  her skull from her spinal cord.
  Howard didn't even check. He knew all three of them
  were dead.
  lhe slug had riPIEd the hell out of his inside thigh. He
  would make it if he didn't lose t(X) much
  In the bathroom, he stopped the flow with a washcloth
  and two towels. His trench coat would cover the mess until
  the towels were saturated and the started running
  down his leg.
  Back in the bedroom, one glance told him Henri Liard
  would never cry again. The had emptied a whol
  magazine in Liard, starting at his head and ending at hi
  groin.
  Howard grabbed the briefcase, found his Walther, an
  hit the stairs. With his leg, there wouw be no going u
  over the rcx)f. He went down, taking the steps three at
  time, dragging the leg behind him.
  The only real noise had been the shot from his unsi
  lenced Walther. But it was enough. He heard
  ping open and running feet.
  KILLING GAMES
  
  
  
  
  171
  The night clerk in the lobby was frantically dialing the
  phone when Howard hit the bottom step.
  Howard put a slug in the wall a foot from his head. The
  phone went one way, the man the other, out of sight.
  The four blocks to his car seemed to an hour:
  Thankfully, the streets hadn't come alive with the new day
  as yet.
  He knew a safe doctor in Pigalle, less than a mile Nway.
  He would phone from there.
  He managed to get the car started and moving. A film
  was starting to cover his eyes, so the streetlights all came
  together. Out the driver's side window he his
  off the spire of Sacré-Coeur.
  It worked. Minutes later he was passing the gaudy
  neons of Pigalle. Minutes after that he went around the
  Place de la Chapelle and down St.-Denis. At Rue Cail he
  turned left and jolted to a stop in front of number 47 with
  two wheels on the curb.
  He looked down. In the illumination of the streetlight
  through the windshield he could see his lap, all blood down
  to his knees.
  Dragging his leg and clutching the briefcase, he made
  it up the steps. The was answered on the third ring. Dr.
  Valjean Reschard was used to late-night callers.
  "Monsieur le docteur, I h0iE you me
  "Monsieur Howard.. i"
  "A telephone... I need your-—
  It was all he got out. He fainted in the dcrtor's arms.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  FIFTEEN
  The building was unobtrusive, sitting in the center of
  others much like it on Queen Street up against the vastness
  of Her Majesty's vast Portsmouth naval base. One word
  was engraved in the stone above the door: MARITIME.
  What went on in the four floors above ground had noth-
  ing to do with the three floors below ground, where all the
  vast daily input from foreign intelligence, M16, was stored.
  Carter stood at the bar of a small pub, the Port Sea,
  across the street, An hour earlier he had let Caroline Minor
  off at a public restroom in Victoria Park four blocks away.
  Inside, she had changed from the black leathers into a
  green dress and light jacket. The leathers were now in the
  saddlebags of the BMW parked in front of the pub, and
  Caroline was in the building.
  "Another, sir?"
  "Yes, please, and do you have a public phone?"
  "In the rear, right beside the men's 100."
  "Thanks."
  Carter camed his beer to the rear of the pub and fed
  coins into the phone. The phone rang in Jonathan Hart.
  Davis's private office only once.
  "Central
  172
  KILLING GAMES
  173
  
  
  
  
  
  
  173
  (185 of 212)
  + 110%
  KILLING GAMES
  "Hart-Davis, please."
  173
  "One moment." She was gone two. "Who's calling,
  'Carter."
  "Oh, yes, Mr. Caner. There are two messages' here for
  you. One, Purdue clean, have contacted. Will cooperate.
  Subject is under constant surveillance."
  "And the second?"
  "Not much, I'm afraid. In checking other items of our
  conversation I ran across odd obstacles. Will call back if
  you call first."
  "Your boss didn't say what the 'odd obstacles' were, did
  "No, sir. He's still down in the Records computer room.
  Do you have a number?"
  Carter gave her the pay phone number. 'Tell him to ask
  for Smiley, but I I won't be here very much longer."
  He hung up and went back to the bar.
  Fifteen minutes later he saw a flash of green at the
  and then she was on the street.
  Carter waved the bartender over. "Do me a favor, mate.
  Name's Smiley. If I get a can on your pay phone, tell my
  friend that I've gone back to the rx}nd."
  do it."
  By the time Carter reached the BMW, Caroline Minor
  was just turning into Victoria Park. He cranked up and
  followed.
  She was waiting at the 100. Carter pulled up, let the
  machine idle, and handed her the leathers.
  "Nick..."
  He followed her stare over his shoulder. Two men in a
  small sedan had pulled into the street from the side of the
  maritime buildings. One of them pinted at Carter and the
  woman and trgan frantically waving.
  174
  
  
  
  
  
  174
  + 110%
  NICK CARTER
  "Get on!" Carter hissed.
  Caroline drew her skirt to her hips and swung one leg
  over the seat. The instant Carter felt her arms slide around
  his middle he released the clutch and the B)werful machine
  lurched forward.
  'Vlhey're coming after us!" Caroline said when they hit
  the street. "Fast!"
  Carter checked the sideview mirror. Ihe sedan was
  gaining rapidly.
  '*That won't last," he growled.
  He leaned the machine over until their knees were prac-
  tically on the ground. Behind him he heard the scream of
  tires. When he righted, he saw the sedan backing up franti-
  cally to make the turn.
  It was the last he saw of them. Four turns later he
  headed back to the harbor and the A3.
  Dr. Harold Jansen was definitely a lower-case-thk per-
  son, the kind who becomes invisible when not speaking.
  Behind inch-thick glasses he had the washed-out look of an
  underdeveloped photograph.
  But he was a genius.
  He'had been waiting in the cottage when they arrived,
  his equipment all set up.
  During his tenure at M16, Anthony Hobbs-Nelson ha
  worked on six "games." Caroline had brought the discs fo
  all six. All but one of the "games" had tEen completed.
  "It has to be this unfinished one," Caroline said.
  "Figures," Carter agreed. "Precious meals."
  Jansen went to work, with Caroline over his shoulder
  Every few minutes she would nervously ask, "Can yo
  finish it?"
  'Ihe answer was always the same. "I'm sure of it. Com
  puter science has come a long way since this young m
  devised it."
  
  
  
  
  175
  lhe phone rang. Caroline dived for it, but Carter beat
  her to it.
  "Yeah, Carter here." In the comer of his eye he saw her
  move into the
  ' 'Nick, it's me ... " Carter could hear the strain in How-
  ard's voice.
  "What Cory?"
  "They got Liard and put a slug in me. I screwed up,
  must have led them right to him. But I got the Nick.
  And that's not all."
  "Yeah?"
  "Liard's contacts were a man and woman in London.
  NO doubt the man was Longt»ne
  "We knew that already," Carter said.
  "Yeah. But the woman, Nick ... recognized the con-
  tact numlxr. Nick, it's Caroline, Caroline Minor..
  Ihe Killmaster felt the hard muzzle just tæhind his right
  ear, and then heard the low whiqrr. "Turn around,
  slowly."
  He did. She had an earplug in one ear with a tiny an-
  tenna sprouting from it. In her left hand was a powerful
  walkie-talkie. And in her right hand was a Webley .45 au-
  tomatic. Ihe hand holding it was steady, r»inted right at
  Carter's gut.
  "Nick? Nick, are you still there?"
  "Yeah, Cory, I'm still here."
  "It's Caroline, Nick. She must have just been careless
  and given me the same contact number to use that she gave
  Liard and God knows how many others."
  "Ask him where he is," she hissed.
  Calmly, Carter hung up the phone.
  "That's too bad," she sighed, bnnging up the walkie.
  "Wolf, are you there?"
  "Yes. We'll have to move at once, just in case. I'm
  coming in."
  176
  NICK CARTER
  
  
  
  
  176
  + 110%
  NICK CARTER
  "There were two men in a dark sedan following us o
  the motorcycle."
  "I know," said the raspy voice over the walkie. "W
  intercepted them on the road. They are now in the pond."
  "Ihe walkie clicked off and Carter's hands balled in
  fists. He tensed, ready to spring.
  "I wouldn't," Caroline said icily. "From this distance
  could empty the clip before you get to me."
  She was right and the Killmaster knew it. He forced th
  added adrenaline from his body.
  "Miss, just what in God's name is going on?" It w
  Jansen, still sitting at his computer.
  "Shut up, old man, and start breaking down your equip
  ment. You're going to finish the game somewhere else."
  "I don't suppose you have an aunt in Scotland," Carte
  said drily.
  "No."
  "And you're not on holiday."
  am on a long leave of absence. So long that I doub
  that I'll ever return to musty Records. You were a wonder
  ful coincidence, Carter. Without Cory making his silly ex
  tortion demand on Sir Charles, and you tring brought in
  we might never have gotten the rest of Hobbs-Nelson'
  little game."
  The rear door (pled behind Carter. The woman nod
  ded, and hands bent his arms up his back
  Then a damp cloth was pressed to his face and he fel
  his knees turn to water
  The room was stark, with paint-rreling walls, d
  high beams, and a rugless floor. Blankets were piled neatl
  on the foot of the cot where he lay, and there was a s
  table and two chairs.
  All this came to Carter as he slowly came awake.
  There were two doors. One was ajar. Through it h
  KILLING G
  
  
  
  177
  could see a bathroom. Something he desirrately needed.
  He half walked, half crawled until he reached the tx)wl.
  Nothing came up, no matter how hard he tried. But the
  pit of his stomach still felt as though it held seven helpings
  of very hot and very bad Mexican chili.
  He turned on the faucet, got it ice cold, and drank and
  drank from his hands.
  That worked. The water came right back up, and along
  with it the feeling that he was dying. More cold water, this
  time over his head, and he was able to walk back into the
  room and check the rest of it out.
  There was a tall arrnoire with drawers. Empty.
  He up at the single window. It was glass, iron
  bars, and then shutters, The heavy grillwork made the
  room as secure as a cell.
  He checked the door. It was cut in lateral planks, inches
  thick and joined on the outside. Short of battering down
  two or three hundred pounds of solid walnut, there was no
  way out of the room through the door.
  Carter was about to upend the cot and check out the
  exterior, when a key hit the lock. The opened and
  Caroline Minor came in can-ying a tray of food. Right be-
  hind her was 250 pounds of bull mastiff sporting a machine
  pistol. Carter guessed that was Wolf Lnngt»ne. He was
  sure when the man spoke.
  "Food, wine, eat. It will keep you alive a little longer."
  e laugh that followed the words sounded like the wheeze
  f a ruptured
  "Where are we?" Carter asked, holding his seething
  ger and showing far more calm than he felt.
  "Scotland," the woman replied. "Dr. Jansen is coming
  ong quite nicely. By tomorrow we should have it
  l."
  "Wonderful, I'm glad for you. Could I have a ciga-
  tte?"
  178
  
  
  
  
  178
  + 110%
  NICK CARTER
  "Of course, but you'll have to smoke it while we are i
  the rcx)tn."
  Carter smiled, accepting the cigarette and pouring som
  wine. It was all his stomach could handle.
  "Just what will you have 'all' of?'
  The two of them exchanged looks. The mastif
  shrugged. The woman lit a cigarette for herself and too
  one of the chairs.
  "I'm surprised you haven't figured it out for yourself.
  few years ago, Anthony Hobbs-Nelson came up with
  game to first subvert and then control the governments o
  ninety percent Of the Third-World countries' economie
  through minerals and precious metals. Oil, gold, uraniu
  are all valuable, but without the precious metals for in
  dustry, worldwide business would grind to a halt."
  Carter nodded. "I've already figured that much out."
  "Wolf was doing research for Hobbs-Nelson. He ale
  me to the game. I began lifting his research and prognosti
  cations and sending them to my surkriors."
  Carter's head came up alertly. "Your superiors?"
  Her laugh was jamng. *'Ah, I see you höe realize
  very little. have been a rising star in the KGB since I w
  seventeen years old, Carter, and saw my father die of blac
  lung and my mother scrub the homes that I could ne
  enter."
  Carter shook his head. "I've heard all that crap befo
  What about you, Wolfie? Your old man have black lung?"
  The woman answered for him. "No, Wolf is only
  product of our Western society. His drivbis greed."
  lhe mastiff nodded and showed a gold tooth in a smile
  "My superiors saw potential in Hobbs-Nelson's gam
  but for obvious reasons it could not Soviet-impl
  mented."
  "So you had Sir Charies Martin implement it."
  KILLING GAMES
  179
  
  
  
  
  
  179
  "Sir Charles was intrigued with the plan. Once again,
  greed. •mat same greed had already pushed him into our
  tent."
  Caner pured more wine. "Are you telling me you con-
  Sir Charles's wealth?"
  "From the beginning," she admitted with a smug smile.
  "However, Hobbs-Nelson never got over his anger at M16
  turning down his brainchild. He was going to take the final
  game to the Americans."
  "so Wolfie killed him." ne mastiff grinned even more.
  He had skin like an elephant. "How did Howard and I get
  into all this?"
  S Coincidence, pure coincidence. We had given up any
  chance of getting our hands on the final two phases of the
  game, because the variables and Hobbs-Nelson's conclu-
  sions were in Portsmouth where we couldn't get at them.
  We had gone as far as we could go. But then Cory Howard
  sent his extortion demand and contacted me. It was all
  made to order if I could get Cory or the agent sent after
  him to get me into Portsmouth Records."
  Carter sat back with a sigh and mashed out the tasteless
  cigarette. "Which I so conveniently did."
  "To my undying gratitude," Caroline said with a smile,
  standing and moving to the door.
  "One big flaw," Carter said. "I've told Jonathan Hart-
  Davis everything. My guess is he found out something
  about you. Those two men were chasing you in Ports-
  mouth."
  "Perhaps," she said. "But by tomorrow night it will
  make no difference. I have already sent two coded mes-
  sages to Sir Phillip Avery and your CIA man, John Hut-
  hins, in your name. Tomorrow night you will meet with
  em and all three of you will die. Proof will be found that
  t was Sir Phillip and Hutchins who planned all this to
  180
  
  
  
  
  180
  + 110%
  NICK CARTER
  further their careers. You, Carter, will die a hero for uncov
  ering their plot. Hart-Davis may rant all he wants. No on
  will believe him in the light of what will be found, and
  will be his word against a powerful and wealthy patriot,
  Charles Martin."
  Carter pured the last of the wine. "And I suprx)se yo
  go to Moscow?"
  "At last."
  She said it with her head high, her lips parted, and
  odd, gleaming light in her eyes.
  Carter felt sick to his stomach again.
  "What about Cory Howard?"
  "He's nmning, but he'll caught. With you go
  Carter, he has no one left to call." She moved to the d
  and paused. "By the way, there is no way you could get
  of this room. But even if you could, there are two ve
  nasty Dotrrmans prowling the grounds."
  The two of them left and Carter threw up again in th
  bathroom.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  SIXTEEN
  Carter ate only because he knew he had to keep his
  mental and phystcal strength as close to as B'ssible.
  But it was a strain. Whatever they had knocked him out
  with had also created a longer term debilitating effect than
  just sleep.
  He surveyed his situation. He was in Scotland and, ten
  to one, he was probably in a desolate area of Scotland.
  They had brought Harold Jansen along and were at that
  moment forcing him to fill in the gaps of Anthony Hobbs-
  Nelson's deadly ecM10mic game.
  nat was the key
  Once the old man did his job and gave them the final
  guidelines they needed, the waiting would be over. Caner
  guessed that Jansen would meet with an "auto accident" to
  further confuse Jonathan Hart-Davis and the M16 boys.
  It was neat. Too neat,
  The fact that the KGB was involved in the mess through
  Caroline Minor was a monkey wrench the Killmaster had
  not counted on, had not even taken into consideration. He
  cursed himself for that, but there was a bit of consolation
  in the fact that much of what had occurred was, as Minor
  herself had said, pure coincidence.
  181
  
  
  
  
  182
  + 110%
  NICK CARTER
  But it was coincidence that had worked in the woman's
  —and her Moscow superiors'—favor.
  Now he knew what he had to do. The question was,
  could he do it... and do it in time.
  They had emptied his ixxkets, even taken his shoes. He
  hadn't so much as a nail file to use as a lever or digging
  tool. Though, God knew, it would take a jackhammer to
  dig through concrete and stone a foot thick.
  Upending the cot, he crawled atop it to the window.
  Once there, he the two sides of the window inward
  and reached through the iron grillwork. The latch on the
  shutters was tricky, but he managed to get it The
  shutters swung wide and he pushed his face against the
  grill to recon the exterior.
  Directly beneath him, a stone B)rtico over a court-
  yard. ne courtyard spread left and right, and led to a
  graveled drive that ended in two huge wrought-iron gates.
  Spreading each way from the gates as far as he could see
  was a thick stone wall. Carter guessed it went all around
  the estate.
  If he could get out, how many were in the house tBide
  Caroline Minor and Wolf Longbone? And were the
  armed guards patrolling inside the walls along with th
  dogs?
  From the slanted across the courtyard and th
  wall, it looked as though every light in the mansion spill
  from windows. There were no searchlights outside, bu
  light spilling through those windows from the inside woul
  serve to illuminate any runner.
  He checked the casement around the grillwork: wrough
  inn, embedded deep in the stone enclosure.
  Dropping from the cot, he got the fork they had left hi
  to eat with. Back on top of the cot, he scratched at
  cement around the bars with the prongs of the fork. I
  
  
  
  
  
  183
  cmmbled. Ihe cement was old, very old, and had become
  brittle.
  But, nevertheless, it would take hours with only the
  fork, and that tool wouldn't last.
  Again he checked the door. Not a hinge was visible. All
  were set on the inside of the jamb. The lcrk itself had been
  inset inside the dcxyr. There were no screws to work on.
  For several seconds he stood in the center of the room,
  willing his mind to evaluate any possible weakness in his
  prison.
  There was only one.
  But how?
  Getting through the the flCK)r, or the ceiling was a
  job for a man doing life plus twenty
  The window was his only chance.
  Quickly, a plan formulated in his mind. It would make
  noise. but if it worked, he would through the window
  before they could move against him.
  He went to work on the cot after pulling the mattress
  from it. Canvas-covered wooden mattress supports.
  Quickly, he riPIEd it off. The sides were sturdy, inch-thick
  planks, sending his spirits soaring. The ends were mitered
  and secured with screws.
  He tore a strip from his shirttail and wraprrd it around
  the fork until it became a handle. Then he went to work on
  the screws.
  It was a slow, agonizing process, but one by one he got
  them out. He broke the glue on the comer wedges and
  extracted the two side planks.
  Bound together, they would make one hell of a lever.
  Sweating, he tore the blankets into strips. These he used
  to tightly bind the two side planks together so the stress
  would always be on both of them together.
  nen he set to work on the fork, honing it against the
  184
  
  
  
  
  184
  + 110%
  NICK CARTER
  stone base of the wall. This, too, was slow, but patience
  and bleeding hands soon paid off
  Finally the handle edge of the fork was sharp enough to
  cut the canvas into strips. From these he made a sling that
  went around his butt and his shoulders across the upper,
  stronger part of his back. When the sling was tied together
  in front of him, there was still a long tail to tie to the grill.
  Then he began to whittle on the ends of the planks,
  sharrpning them. This, too, took an eternity. The wood
  was stubbornly hard and he had to stop every few minutes
  to rehone his fork/knife. All of this broken by trips to the
  door to make sure there were no footsteps in the corridor.
  It was the first faint gray light of dawn and his knuckle
  were bleeding and skinless when he finally had a point h
  was satisfied with.
  He dragged the table over to the window and, standin
  on top of it, went to work with the sharp end of the fork.
  Surprisingly, it was only minutes until he had enough o
  the cement away so he could get the sharp end o
  the plank in the crevice.
  Using it carefully, he IX)ked, probed, and chipped awa
  until the plank passed easily between the grill and the case
  ment.
  Ignoring the pain in his bleeding hands, he strung th
  canvas tail of the sling through the bars, back and forth
  until the pull would equally distributed.
  Despite the need for haste. he his time choosing
  point for leverage with the bound planks. With the noise h
  would make, he would have time for luck
  three—strong wrenches at the most.
  He made a final check.
  The planks were in place and they hardly bent fro
  pressure.
  Using all the strength in his body, he tested the sling
  KILLING GAMES
  185
  
  
  
  
  
  185
  •me grill actually gave a little from just that amount of
  pressure.
  The fork, now razor sharp, was in his back pocket.
  "Okay, genius," he said aloud, "let's see how much
  physics you remembered."
  He a deep breath and wrenched, twice. He levered
  with his arms and pulled with all his might until every
  muscle ached with the strain.
  In the quiet dawn, the noise of the grill pulling from the
  stone was sudden and loud.
  He paused, getting his wind and renewing the strength
  in his aching muscles.
  ne grill was a third free. It had bit deeply into the
  planks, but the wood was holding.
  He wrenched again,
  Over the clatter as he heaved, he heard running feet
  outside the door.
  The grill sagged, the two horizontal bars its only sup-
  ports. Jerking out the planks, he battered the grill with the
  butte
  "C'mon, dammit!"
  It worked.
  The grill fell to the floor. He cut himself free of the
  sling and, carrying the planks, hoisted himself to the sill.
  He crouched there on his heels, framed in the window.
  Behind him he heard a key in the door. Below him, the
  barking of the two Dobermans and running feet accompa-
  nied by shouts.
  The portico roof was six feet below. Carter dropped
  lightly, hoping he wouldn't break an ankle.
  He didn't, and he was off and running toward the front
  of the house.
  "He's out! There he is!"
  lhe chatter of a machine pistol was simultaneous with
  186
  
  
  
  
  
  
  186
  + 110%
  NICK CARTER
  the chipping away at the stone of a chimney just to his left.
  Carter ignored it leaped up to the main roofl Every
  thing now was mass confusion, noise, and chaos A
  the front edge of the main roof, shielded from view of th
  courtyard, he swung the planks as hard as he could over hi
  head and heaved.
  They lit on top of the outer wall, tx)unced, and wen
  over.
  "He's over the wall!"
  ' 'Get the gates, bring the dogs!"
  Carter crouched down long enough to see two men a
  the gates. Both had Mauser machine pistols slung to thei
  sides with leather straps. One held the leashes of two hug
  Dobermans.
  From the direction of the window he had just exited h
  could hear Longbone's raspy voice directing the search.
  Toward the center of the roof, he saw a small woode
  enclosure and ran for it. There was a wooden hatch inside
  He reached for the steel ring and tugged. If there was a bol
  or padlock on the other side, he was finished.
  It gave.
  Pushing the heel of his hand under the hatch cover, h
  shoved. It moved, noisily, but moved. Only its weight hel
  it down.
  In front of the house they still ran around, shouting en
  couragement to one another. Carter crawled to the blin
  side of the hatch. He turned on his back and used bo
  hands to heave up the cover. nen he propped it and pee
  cautiously into the hole. The corridor yas a dozen fee
  below. He could see the caqrting in the dim light from th
  open door of his own room. He took the weight of th
  hatch on his shoulder and swung his legs over the hole. F
  a second he hung by one hand, using head and free arm
  prop the cover again. Then he dropped to the floor.
  KILLING GAMES
  
  
  
  
  187
  He inched along to the head of the staircase. In front of
  the open door, lights burned in the hall. Shouts and the
  noise of running men came from all around the house now.
  Past the white glare of the hall, the shadows of the.passage
  were a refuge. With luck, all of them would in the
  grounds. It was a chance he had to take.
  He went down one flight. Nothing. Another. Still noth-
  ing.
  Then he was on the ground floor in a long, brightly lit
  hallway loaded with doors. One was open.
  Cautiously, he peered in. It was a massive library with a
  huge stone fireplace, Atk)ve the mantel were two shotguns
  in a rack.
  Caner fairly dived for them. Neither was loaded.
  "Shit, shit, shit," he hissed, and charged to the end of
  the room where a trhemoth desk squatted in front of a pair
  of French dcors.
  One by one, he yanked open the drawers. In the very
  last one he found a yellow and red box of ammunition.
  There were two shells inside. Better than nothing, he
  decided, and loaded one of the shotguns.
  Outside the French doors, a stone r»rch ran around to
  another room much like the one he was in. Ihrough the
  French doors of the other room, Carter saw Harold Jansen
  sitting at a desk with his equipment trfore him. He was
  sweating like a pig and glancing back and forth from his
  computer screen to a guard who over him with a
  machine pistol.
  Carter wanted that machine pistol.
  He glided out to the balcony on stocking feet and made
  his way around.
  Just as he was reaching for the knob, Jansen looked up.
  He saw Caner and his eyes went wide.
  lhe guard saw the change in the old man's face and
  188
  
  
  
  
  188
  + 110%
  NICK CARTER
  whirled, bringing the machine pistol up.
  lhe Killmaster fired the shotgun, both barrels.
  Glass, fragments, and steel Fllets burst into th
  room. most of the stuff ending up in the guard's body.
  Carter was on him in a second. He slung the machin
  pistol's leather strap over his shoulder and turned to Jan
  sen.
  "HOW
  "He's d-dead," the old man stuttered.
  "Besides him, dammit!"
  '*The woman and three others."
  "You're sure?"
  "Y-y-yes. Ihey've all been in and out of here all night.
  "Come on!"
  Carter hustled him across the room and shoved him int
  a closet.
  "Stay there, don't move, and don't make a sound."
  "You'll come back for me, won't you?"
  "God willing and the creek don't rise."
  He slammed the door and headed for the one leading t
  the hall. There were stairs front and back. He headed up.
  It was a sure thing the sound of the shotgun would brin
  them back inside.
  He sprinted the length of the house to the front stair
  case. Just as he hit it, he heard the front door open and the
  the sound of quietly padding feet on the carpet.
  He waited until they were some distance down the hall
  and then padded down the stairs himself.
  They were moving toward the room had just left, on
  on each side of the hall, their backs to him.
  "Here!" Carter shouted.
  ney whirled to face him, making themselves a
  target.
  Caner sprayed back and forth, cutting both of the
  practically in half.
  KILLING GAMES
  189
  
  
  
  189
  The machine pistol clicked on empty. He threw it away
  and staned forward to get one of theirs, when he sensed
  movement on the stairs to his right.
  He droprrd to his belly and rolled just as Longbone's
  rifle fired. The slug hit the carpet inches from Carter's face
  and he came up with a shoulder in the man's gut.
  There was a raspy grunt and the rifle hit the floor.
  Carter made the mistake of going for the rifle instead of
  Longbone.
  Like a human battering ram, the big man shot his head
  into Carter's midriff, putting all the strength of his back
  and legs into the suicidal plunge. Its full force struck with
  deadly power, and Carter went back against the wall with
  the crashing and breaking of a table, his head smashing
  against the wall so hard that his mind went dead and his
  vision shorted out.
  He rolled just in time to avoid the big fist that came out
  of the air aimed at his face, and gathered his legs to lash
  out at LorÜ)ne's knees. He caught the man too low to
  cripple him, but felt his feet grate across a kneecap, know-
  ing it would cause pain sufficient to cramp the other man's
  style for a moment.
  Carter remained on the floor. From there he could roll
  from any blow with more facility than if he were standing
  up, and cxldly, Longbone was more vulnerable than he, if
  he attacked.
  He tightened his muscles for a roll that would allow him
  to get up trfore came to grips with him.
  He made the roll, but not quite in time. The big man
  was in midair, hands out like claws to gouge for Carter's
  eyes, but he adjusted as he fell, throwing one long leg out
  to entrap the smaller man. Lightning reflexes, Carter rec-
  ognized, and he lifted his own foot to catch Longbone's
  belly or crotch.
  There was a numbing weight on his leg, and a painful
  190
  
  
  
  
   190 (202 of 212) — + 110%
  
  190 NICK CARTER wrench at his knee, but Longhorn's breath came out in a groaning mar. and he fell like a sack of sand. Carter was on him in an instant. All in one movement he pulled the honed fork from his back pocket and plunged it through the big man's right eye into the brain. Caroline Minor. He saw her in the doorway at the other end of the hall. The Webley in her hand exploded. but the slug went wild. Even a marksman couldn't hit a moving target at that dis-tance. She disappeared. Carter ran, picking up a machine pistol on the way. At the end of the hall he heard a roaring engine. and reversed. Out the front door, he took all six steps in one leap and ran for the gate. He slammed it closed just in time to stop the rush of the two dogs toward him from the woods out-side the wall. Then he ruined just as a big Mercedes lurched around the comer from the courtyard. The twin headlights hit Carter and the machine pistol. He could barely see her eyes behind the windshield. But he could see enough. She was going through him. Or she was going to try. He was thankful that the shanered windshield of the Mercedes obscured his view, so that he never saw the sl from his machine pistol take off her head.
  T
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  SEVENTEEN
  Greed. Carter sat in Sir Charles Martin's massive great room listening to it chapter and verse. Caroline Minor had come to him when she was Sir Phil. lip Avery's assistant. She had offered him tidbits that would expand his empire. When he was well hooked. she had put him together with Army in person. Through her, Sir Charles was able to pass selective Soviet secrets that took Avery and, in tom, Hutchins, in. By then Sir Charles knew about Caroline Minor's Mos-cow ties. But it was too late. Army and Hutchins didn't know, but their greed for power in their own agencies made them do whatever Sir Charles asked. And by that time Caroline Minor controlled Sir Charles completely. Even to far as to getting her transferred to Records, when her ac-cess to material would be ten times greater. When the Hobbs-Nelson game came along. it was her Chance for the grand coup. As the broken old man droned on, Carter looked around the room. A stenographer was taking it all down. Beside her was Jonathan Han-Davis, his face a mask.
  191
  192 NICK CARTER
  
  
  
  192 1 (204 01212) — + 110%
  192 NICK CARTER In a chair behind him, Sharon Purdue sat, her eyes va-cant. Now and then she glanced up at Carter. But when he would meet her gaze she would look away It wasn't really her (auk. She just blindly did what she was told. Caroline Minor wanted a progress report on Carter and Howard, and Sharon gave it through Avery, and, in tum, Sir Charles. Tough, Carter thought. An agent must have logic and common sense, not blind faith. In a comer, near the bar where he could keep refilling his glass, Cory Howard steed on crutches. Caner could are the hatred in his eyes as he listened to Sir Charles. Now and then he would shift his crutches, but his eyes never left the old man's face. The Killmaster wondered. Some day, when it had all blown over, when her Majesty's government had quietly transferred Sir Charles Martin's wealth and power to the crown, would Cory Howard come back and exact his re-venge on the old man? Perhaps. But even if he did, it would matter little. He would be killing a corpse. Caster didn't want to hear any more. He knew how it would all end. Avery and Hutchins had already been fired. Sharon Pur-due had handed in her resignation. Sir Charles Martin would continue to be a puppet, with another master pulling his strings. Hobbs-Nelson's deadly little game would be put back in the vault. The Don Quixotes who made up the govern-ments of the West were too humane to bring down a super-power by crippling a lot of little powers. Quietly, Carter slipped from the room. In an adjoining foyer he found a Phone and called the Strand Palace Hotel. lova was in her room.
  VII I TV, C.I.A., 101
  T
  
  
  " V 193 (205 of 212) — + 110%
  KILLING GAMES 193 She would be ready in an hour. Where? Why, as far as her v., wealth would take thorn. That is until Carter's hands healed and another call I came from Washington.
  T
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
 Ваша оценка:
Связаться с программистом сайта.

Новые книги авторов СИ, вышедшие из печати:
О.Болдырева "Крадуш. Чужие души" М.Николаев "Вторжение на Землю"

Как попасть в этoт список

Кожевенное мастерство | Сайт "Художники" | Доска об'явлений "Книги"