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STRIKE OF THE HAWK
•It was coming too fast and vicious,
even for me. I could not imagine an AXE
agent selling out. A double agent. Of all
the organizations in the world, I had
naively believed that AXE was incor-
ruptible. "Who is the agent?" I asked,
controlling my anger. "For all I know, it
could be you," Hawk said without emo-
tion. "Your next job is to find the double
agent and correct him, or her. After that,
you take care of Cronin and make peace
with all the syndicate people. You're
high on their kill list. And so am I."
PLUS A FULL LENGTH
BONUS BOOK:
DOUBLE IDENTITY




****** Result for Image/Page 1 ******
(3 of 292)
Automatic Zoom
STRIKE OF THE HAWK
•It was coming too fast and vicious,
even for me. I could not imagine an AXE
agent selling out. A double agent. Of all
the organizations in the world, I had
naively believed that AXE was incor-
ruptible. "Who is the agent?" I asked,
controlling my anger. "For all I know, it
could be you," Hawk said without emo-
tion. "Your next job is to find the double
agent and correct him, or her. After that,
you take care of Cronin and make peace
with all the syndicate people. You're
high on their kill list. And so am I."
PLUS A FULL LENGTH
BONUS BOOK:
DOUBLE IDENTITY



Chapter One
I had them.
For six weeks, I had chased them from Tripoli, to Tobruk,
to Baghdad, to Amir, to Calcutta, to Kuala Lumpur, to
Sydney, to Honolulu, to San Francisco, to New York, to
Miami, to Caracas, toRio, toLisbon, to London, to Bonn, to
Paris, back again to Tripoli and now to Corsica where it
would all over in a matter of minutes.
Forty-two days and nights, around the world, and at least
one body for each day. That didn't count the two lying behind
me in individual PCX'ls of blood, or the twenty guards outside
the wall. The last two, sprawled on the dark lawn in front of
the syndicate safehouse on the northern shore of the French
island, had died so silently that not even the katydids in
nearby palms stcpped making their harsh lovecalis.
Thte razor-sharp stiletto, which I call Hugo and which is
probably the most famous knife in the world, had slit their
throats with such ease that the killing had done nothing to
psych me up for the final coup.
Now, I at the side of the big mansion, listening to the
low roar of the Mediterranean, My left hand was on the
cooling metal of the main air shaft which sucked air to the
men hiding three levels down. The house itself was empty.
They had all gone below, bolting doors behind them, know-
ing that I was coming.
The two guards had been left on the grounds in a faint hope
that one of them at least would stop me.
1
NICK CARTER




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NICK CARTER
Nobody stops Nick Carter. That's me, top agent for AXE.
If the past forty-two days had not convinced them of the truth
of my brash statement, my next act certainly would.
My fingers slid around the metal pipe, lc»king for the
screws or bolts that held on the protective cover. There were
none; the cover was welded on.
I dropped to my knees and inspected the tiny slots just
beneath the cap's mushroom top. High tensile steel. The
syndicate did things right. The safehouse was impenetrable,
or so its builders thought.
I glanced at my digital watch, a present from my boss
following my last assignment. It was now ten minutes until
midnight. The Polaris submarine, carrying my boss, David
Hawk, would surface at exactly midnight, lie two miles off
the n(Mhern shore of Corsica for precisely ten minutes, then
leave, with or without me.
And it would take ten minutes to reach the rubber liferaft,
yank the small motor into life and chug through the rolling
waves to the sub.
And the gcxidam airpipe had a cap that was welded on.
I had already taken the small gas bomb that I carry just
t*hind my testicles from its pouch and had put it on the grass
beside the pipe. All had todo was pull one tiny pin and drop
the bomb into the pipe. Within seconds, the lethal gas would
be sucked into the safehouse's air-conditioning system.
Seconds after that, the remaining twelve men of the
NOTCH syndicate would choke in agony eliminating the
masterminds of a plot to kill ninety percent of the world's
population with Bubonic plague. The air system of the
safehouse was built to filter out plague germs, but it would
not touch the secret chemical used in my gas bomb. Pierre-—
that was what I fondly called the bomb—-would penetrate any
filtering system. If, that is, I could get the lousy cap off the
pipe so Pierre could do his job.
The seconds were humming away silently.
A hand grenade—it was the only solution. It would make a
hell of a lot of noise and would warn the men below. I would
have to drop Pierre almost immediately after the hand gre-
STRIKE OF THE HAWK
3




3
nade blew off the cap---and this meant that I would have to be
close when the grenade went—-but it was a chance I had to
take. I could be blown to hell, NOTCH would still be in
business and, in another six weeks, most of the world would
dead.
Risk. It's a part of the fabric of my soul. I get triple pay for
taking risks. And, if I didn't take this particular risk, the
twelve men below would have enough time to switch to their
emergency air supply—pure oxygen—and the gas bomb
would go for nothing.
I fished a grenade out of the strap around my shoulder and
taped it to the curving grid pattern of the air-suction pipe
letting the pin and handle hang free. I tied a thin strip of nylon
twine to the pin and backed to the comer of the house.
Thirty away. Too close for safety and tcx» far away
for effectiveness with the gas bomb. The had to be
at almost the same instant the men below became
aware that their air system was endangered.
Sweat began to bead on my forehead. It literally rx)ured
down my sides. I finally lcx)ked at the watch and swore
aloud.
It was three minutes until midnight.
I had to catch that submanne or all kinds of other hell
would break loose on the beautiful island of Corsica.
Sharply at midnight, just when the submarine would
surfacing, a member of the Corse-—the French equivalent of
the Mafia—would call Corsican police and report that an
American espionage agent had been sent to the island to kill
the Corsican governor. The Corse agent would even give the
local police my location.
lhe really funny part, if I felt like laughing, was that the
Corse had helped me corner the NOTCH syndicate chiefs in
the northshore safehouse. Without their firepower, I would
never had killed off the twenty NOTCH guards outside the
wall and driven the dozen top men into the bowels of the
safehouse.
Then, why would a member of the Corse call the police
and feed them such a lie?





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NICK CARTER
Easy. The Corse wanted me out of their territory. They had
helped me only to repay an old favor, one I had done for them
years ago. Once the favor was repaid, they wanted no more
of me, or of AXE, or of anyone in the world—including
(especially) the French government.
I looked at my watch. One minute until midnight!
It was impossible to go through with my plan and save
myself at the same time. It was more than risk now. It was
either give up or commit suicide.
Only then, in the final moment of desperation, did it come
to me.
The pipe was sucking air into the lower levels of the
safehouse, Gas was air. That was it. I ripped the tape from
around the grenade, untied the nylon string and taped the gas
bomb in the grenade's place. I held my hands around the grid
and felt the suction from the air-conditioning pump down
below.
Perfect. It would work. Even if only a fourth of Pierre's
gas was sucked into the pipe, the twelve men would die.
When I was fifty feet away and felt the hot wind from the
ocean on my back, I pulled the string, felt the pin come free
and turned to run toward the life raft on the beach.
Suddenly bright lights snapped on all around the high wall
that the landward sides of the safehouse.
Damn the Corse! They had jumped the gun. They had
made their call too soon.
"Stop right there, American," a voice boomed from a
bullhorn. "We have you covered."
I fired my Luger toward the sound of the bullhorn. A rain
of bullets plowed into the well-tailored lawn around me
punching up divots. I was pinpointed in light, a hundred
yards from the ocean.
1 wanted to shout at them: Don't you know I've just saved
your lives: Don't you know . .
A bullet tore into my left side, just above my belt. My side
and shoulder went numb.
The Luger boomed again and a light went out.
In a hail of bullets I ran toward the The moonlight
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shone on tiny whitecaps in the water. In the distance-—a
ghost on the surface of the water—was the submarine.
Holding my side, I zigzagged through bullets till my feet
hit sand and I was beyond the lights. But I was still a target
for the police guns which barked and chattered in the night.
Bullets were hitting the water with that strange, poik sound.
As I climbed into the boat and felt my shoes sink into the
soft rubtrr and fabric bottom, I heard feet running across the
lawn.
I sprayed four shots from the Luger at the running sounds,
then shoved the pistol into my tklt. My left arm was useless
now, totally paralyzed from the bullet in my side.
The motor caught on the third pull and I was off into the
rolling swells. Bullets kept coming, smacking the water all
around me. And then someone—not me—got lucky: one of
the bullets had put a hole in the air-filled raft.
I aimed the boat toward the silhouette of the big submarine
and followed the sound of the hissing. I found the hole and
poked my middle finger into it. ne hissing stopped, even
though bullets still sizzled around me. And, without a hand
on the tiller, the life raft was drifting to the right, away from
the sub.
With all the effort of my one-hundred and ninety pounds of
bone, muscle and adrenalin, I forced my numb left hand to
the small motor tiller. I pulled the boat around until it was on
a direct course toward the submarine.
The police had lost their bearing on me; their bullets were
spitting up water at least a hundred feet to my right.
I was safe. I was home free.
When I was within a hundred yards of the submarine, the
little outboard motor whimng valiantly against the rolling
the big ghost moved. It was submerging!
I jerked the tiller to the right to avoid being caught in the
suction when the monstrous Polaris went under. In some-
thing around ten seconds, it was gone.
nere I was, putt-putting in a circle, in a life raft with a
leak in it, running out of gas, only two miles off the northern
coast of Corsica where everybody, it seemed, wanted me
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NICK CARTER
dead, and my only means of escape (or rescue) completely
cut off.
Two sets of moving lights appeared off to the west, near
the corner of the island. They were the lights of Corsican
patrol boats. As N3 with AXE, the most secret ot all the
secret organizations in the world, I knew that I could expect
no help from David Hawk, the man who received my reports
and gave me my orders, or from the government I served.
As the patrol boats came nearer, I sighted movement in the
dark water about thirty feet to my right. A bnght yellow nng,
a lifebuoy, bounced to the surface.
I was abreast of it in a few moments, abandoned the
half-dead life raft, and held on to the float for dear life.
It was attached to a strong, insulated line diat disappeared
trneath the «xean's surface, from which, to my amazement,
a tinny voice suddenly emanated.
'*Take a deep breath and hang on," it said from a speaker
in the cork circle. Even with the noise of the
Corsican patrol boats hauling up on my tail, I recognized the
voice as Hawk's.
Now the lifebuoy jerked forward so violently that I thought
it was going to rip me in two. Water splashed against my face
like an unending tidal wave. I turned my head to suck in small
gulps of air. Looking back, I saw the big patrol boats circling
the life raft. I didn't see them for long. Ihe yellow ring and 1
were streaking along at thirty knots.
In two minutes, which seemed like two years, I was well
out of sight of the patrol boats, still being ripped through the
water like bait for a whale. My lungs were bursting for a
good, deep injection of air, and the bullet hole in my side felt
as though it were being torn open by gigantic, fiery hands.
After perhaps another five minutes of absolute agony , the
yellow ring slowed and finally stopped. Exhausted, I clung
tightly, leaving the ring snugly anchored over my shoulder.
The blasted thing could take off like a jet at any minute.
Hawk seemed to read my mind. *'Glad to see that you're
still with us," the tinny voice said. I gnnned in spite of the
pain and fatigue. I bobbed in the water and waited, grinning.



7
The grin turned into a smile which turned into laughter. I
knew that I was just a bit hysterical, but I was laughing for
good reason.
It was the irony of my thoughts at that moment. At a time
when I should have been thinking of my rescue, and of the
successful completion of a mission which saved ninety per-
cent of the earth's population, my thoughts were on sex.
But the feeling went away when I felt hands reaching for
me. Even so, there was still a grin on my face as I walked
along the big deck of the Polaris sub, heading for the open
hatch, safety and my tweed-jacketed, cigar-smoking, no-
nonsense boss.
For this mission, I should get at least a month off. The grin
was for all the women I would love during that month.










Chapter Two
It was nearly dawn when I came CRIt of the anesthetic. The
bullet in my side had lodged against my kidney. If it had
come from a more powerful weapn and had been a half inch
to the right, I wouldn't "resting comfortably" in the sick
bay of a submarine; I would rotting on the of the
north Corsican
The Navy told rne how lucky I was. I thanked him
and trgan to sit up.
"Better wait until tomorrow."
"Can't," I said, wincing in pain 'Got a report to make."
' 'It can wait," the d(Xtcr said. He raised his left hand and a
corpsman slapped a syringe into it. Deftly, the doctor shut-
tled the syringe into his right hand and gave me a shot of
something I could resist, or even react.
"What the hell was that?" I asked. "l told you .
I told him nothing more for twelve hours. Even then, I had
to argue to get him to let me off the cot. At last I made my way
down the narrow passageway to the captain's office. The
captain, a big, tEefy man, smiled at me when the SP cpened
the door. Hawk was sitting in a chair near the captain's desk.
He looked at me passively. No smile of commendation; no
scowl ofcondemnation. You could never tell what Hawk was
thinking. At least, I couldn't.
The captain happily left us alme. It was indication of
Hawk's great pwer in Washington that the captain left his
own office to us, without complaint; in fact, with some
degree of pleasure.
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'SAI! right," Hawk said without preamble as he snapped
down the button of a small tape recorder on the captain's
desk. "Rep«t."
He had not invited me to sit, but my head was spinning.
What the hell more could anybody do to me? I took a chair
opposite the desk and grinned at my boss, savoring that one
moment when Hawk is at his weakest, that moment when he
actually needs sornething from someone.
' 'Report," he said again, his voice toneless, his face
tightening a bit.
sighed. Six weeks of frenetic activity to rq»rt and all I
wanted to do was sleep, to lie down, to firget. But I began.
After Hawk had sent me to Trirx)li in the middle of May to
check out a report that a newly-created terrcrist group called
NOTCH (for Northern Organ To Create Havoc) had begun
working in laboratories in varia-is parts of the world and was
headquartered in Libya, I had discovered the purpose of the
goup and the reason for the laboratory work. Each lab team
was creating cultures of Bubonic plague. The plan was to
innoculate a number oftheirowm people, and to send them on
phony assignments to virtually every counu•y in the world.
After the six-day incubation }Eriod of the disease germs,
each innoculated agent would be a walking death trap,
spreading Bubonic plague wherever he went.
By the time medical authorities in each nation figured out
what was happening, it would too late. Bubonic plague is
so rare today that most medical people can't diagnose it. And
unless treatment begins during the first twelve days after a
person contracts the plague, no medicine on earth will stop it.
NOTCH had decided to spare the northern part of Africa
and the area around the Mediterranean. The people in those
areas would be provided another serum, to keep them from
getting the disease.
Medical authorities within NOTCH had estimated that the
disease, properly spread, would wipe out about ninety Fr-
cent of the world's ppulation, America's population, for
example, be reduced to about twenty million—from
more than two hundred million!
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10
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NICK CARTER
NOTCH agents, specially trained in political and military
techniques, would move into each country and take control.
The world capital would become Tobruk, although Egyptian
authorities were angling to make it Cairo. The Egyptians also
wanted to save all other Arab countries, but this could not be
accomplished unless Israel was also spared. To kncxk off
Israel, NOTCH leaders were willing to kill more than fifty
million Arabs.
When it was all over, NOTCH would not only have politi-
cal control of the world, it would also be the central agency
dealing with all the world's wealth.
"And all plans have been destroyed?" Hawk interrupted.
nodded. *'Along with the laboratories and all traces of the
cultures," I added.
"And how did you accomplish it?" He glanced at the
recorder, saw that we had plenty of t4E, then lit up an
incredibly foul-smelling cigar. was already feeling a bit
nauseous from the operation. Now, I was ready to vomit. But
went on.
I told him how I had infiltrated NOTCH by pretending to
be a former SS major. I even had my special SS number
tatocrd in my armpit; I have been able to speak fluent
German since I was a child. Once I had learned the overall
plan and had stolen a list of laboratories and NOTCH leaders
and agents, I had started my own reign of terror.
I blew up laboratories, after first determining that the
cultures were not "ripe." I terminated key agents, pursuing
them from to laboratory, whittling them down.
"It was only when I discovered that the highest officials
and a few of their flunkies were retreating to the safehouse on
Corsica that I used my contacts in the Corse," I said.
"That was a tactical error," Hawk said, exhaling a ring of
sickening smoke toward me.
"Perhaps." I said, '*but a necessary one, No foreign agent
d(ES anything in Corsica without the knowledge and the
permission of the Corse."
S 'Tme, but you're not just another foreign agent. You're
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STRIKE OF II-IE HAWK
e They owed me a favor," I said.
11
Hawk waved his cigar and shook his head. Ashes dropped
onto his tweed jacket, but he let them lay. I txgan to search
my pockets for cigarettes, then remembered that the last pack
of my special Turkish brand, with my initials in gold on each
cigarette, had t*en ruined during that ripping ride through
the cream
Without a smile, Hawk a pack from his jacket pocket
and tossed it to me. I ginned, knowing that I was receiving
an extremely favor from the director of AXE. He
knew about my cigarettes; he had gone to a lot of to
get me a pack.
S Thank you," I said, still grinning.
He gumbled: ' 'It won't trcome a habit. Now back to the
Corse. The Corse owes nobody anything. In fact, as far as
they are concerned, now owe them a favor. A very big
fav«."
I knew he was right, but my mind didn't want to accept it.
My mind told me that I should call it square with the Corse,
trat someone with a streak of honor in that organization
would recall the time I had caught two Corse defectors with
four million francs in drug money and had delivered the
defectors, along with the money, to a Corse agent in Mar-
seilles. Again, Hawk was reading me.
s 'The only time the Corse has shown any sign of honor,"
he said, "was when it fought with the French underground
during World War II. Even then, the Corse had its price."
I knew about that. In return for its help to the French, the
Corse had received carte blanche to run the drug market,
gambling, prostitution and even white slavery in southern
France, particularly around Marseilles.
"Well, it's done," I said, savoring my cigarette. "If they
call for a favcr, I'll simply have to tell them the debt was paid
in advance."
Hawk's face tightened and I thought he was going to grin.
He didn't. "Go on," he said. S 'Finish your report."
J finished, bringing him right up to the point three days
earlier when I had contacted him for rescue.
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12
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NICK CARIFR
g 'And how did you dispose of the remnants of NOTOP"
he asked.
When I told him he gunted and turned in his chair.
"So, you can't be certain they're dead."
g 'I'm certain."
He raised an eyebrow. He didn't have to say it: But you
didn't wait to see the bodies.
"l didn't want to see the bodies," I said for him. "As it
was, I barely escaped having the Corsican police inspect my
body."
Worry lines creased his forehead and he punched his cigar
out in the captain' s shiny ashtray, made from the tail fins of a
nuclear torpedo.
"Sir, I don't know what else I could have done."
He remained silent. I started to go over the scene again, but
decided what the hell. I'm human. Nick Carter takes every
conceivable risk, but Nick Caner is no damned Kamikaze.
Finally, Hawk spoke: "Now, are you convinced?"
'Convinced? Convinced of what?"
"That the Corse does not operate on a favor-for-favor
basis. They crossed you, N3. They called the police early
trcause they wanted you dead. They still want you dead."
My nerves came alert. "How do you know that?"
This time, the tight face edged into a grin. It was the
deadliest grin I have ever seen on the face of a human.
"Because they also want me dead."
I gulped and sat up straight in the chair, ignoring the sharp
pain that through my side.
'Would it be presumptuous of me to ask details on that last
little gem of information?"
"It would, but I will provide details. First, tell me about
Diane Northrup."
*'Oh." I hadn't told him about my escapades with women
during the past six weeks. I never told him about the women,
and he never mentioned them. But he knew about them. The
man was a wizard, a walking computer.
Quickly, very quickly, I told him about meeting Diane
Northrup, a big, blonde, on my initial flight from
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ew York to Paris, more than six weeks ago. We had spent a
ouple of days touring the city and sleeping in the cushy trds
t George Cinq Hotel. She had tumed up again in Calcutta,
on her world tour, and we had a few memorable nights
•n that exotic city before I went off to blow up a laboratory
and to deal with a few NOT(M peq)le.
"As far as Diane is concerned," I told the boss, S'my
name is Brad Holland and I'm a public relations man for—
"As far as Diane Northrup is concemed," Hawk said, his
ords battering me like nuclear pellets, "your name is Nick
Carter, N3, Killmaster for AXE."
Everyüling went out of me then. But he had more to say.
e leaned forward in the chair, snapped off the tape recorder
d said in a low, ominous voice: "And, as far as you are
ncerned from here on out, Diane Northrup is really a
woman named Elaine Withers. She is an unwitting agent for
e Mafia, the Corse, and every other syndicate involved in
gs. She not know about NOT(M, or what her real
job is. She was recruited by a man named Robert Cronin.
ave you heard of him?"
"Of course," I said, lighting up another gold-embossed
igarette. "He's president of a major American drug com-
any with international connections. He's solid and
able. Sharp, actually."
The hcrrible grin again, accompanied by a nod.
"He also allowed NOTCH to use his labcratories, al-
though he didn't know what they were up to. His crime has
thing to do with Bubonic plague cultures. His company
es tons of illegal drugs and channels them through the
afia, the Corse, and others involved in bulk sales of narcot-
cs. You blew up Cronin's laboratories and he wants your
ide."
My breath went all the way out. My head spun. I had
completed one mission only to trigger another one even more
dangerous to me personally.
"Cronin knows about us. He told Miss Withers that his
ompany was on the verge of discovering a cure for
glaucoma and thatAXE was to steal the ingredients for
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14
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NICK
another drug company. He put her on your tail , so to speak.'
"But how does he know so much about us?"
Hawk sighed and said, simply, "One of our agents has
sold us out."
It was coming too fast and too vicious, even for me. I could
not imagine an AXE agent selling out. A double agent. Of all
the organizations in the world, I had naively believed that
AXE was incorruptible.
"Who is the agent?" I asked, controlling my anger.
Hawk shot an arrow of smoke through the tail fins of the
captain's ashtray. "For all I know, it could you," he said
without emotion.
"Sir!" I was half out of the chair, full of anger.
He waved me down.
' 'Your next job," he said almost casually, "is to find the
double agent in AXE and correct him—or her. After that,
you take care ofCronin and make peace with all the syndicate
people. So far, Cronin hasn't let the word go public, but it's
only a matter of time before everyone involved with him and
his illegal drugs will know about AXE. And you'll be high on
their kill list."
I sucked smoke into my lungs and felt my anger rise.
"When do I start?"
"You already have. We'll be dumping you at Tangier in a
few hours. Elaine Withers—your precious Diane
Northrup-—is back in Paris. She has made contact with a
number of AXE agents, at Cronin's direction. One of them
obviously has told her too much. She's the best place to start.
We'll see just how much of a charmer you really are." He
almost grinned. "You have to get there on your own, butl do
have some new cover papers for you. Don't blow it, Nick. I
have a personal stake in this next mission."
He a crumpled piece of paper from his side pocket and
gave it to me. I smoothed it out and read the typed message:
"AXE dies, starting with you."
I looked up at Hawk, searching his eyes for a clue. The
eyes were small and blank, revealing nothing.
"Elaine Withers delivered that to me in a sealed envelope
STRIKE OF HAWK
15




15
just two days after your little affair in Calcutta. That's why
you go to her. Find out how much she knows, how she got her
information, then dispose of her."
He meant "kill her," but Hawk has never given me, or any
AXE agent an order to kill.
"Sir, would you mind telling me why you didn't inform
me of this note as soon as you received it?"
*'Don't mind at all," he said. "You were on a mission that
required all your attention—and then some. If you had
known about this, you would have been useless against
NOTCH. As it is, we may all wind up being useless anyway.
ny other questions?"
I shook my head and Hawk went on. ' 'Cheer up, Nick,"
he said as he inspected the glowing tip of his cigar. "We've
been in worse fixes."
Suddenly I thought of a question but left without asking it:
When?









Chapter Three
At precisely ten p.m., when the lights of tie colorful old
Moroccan city sparkled in the dark night, the Navy chopper
took off from the of the surfaced Polaris. Hawk had not
come on deck to wish me bon voyage. There isn't a sentimen-
tal bone in his body.
He didn't seem to care that I was still wobbly and in pain
from the bullet wound and ensuing operation. He didn't seem
to care that I was being cut loose in a city known for vicious
drug peddlers. He didn't seem to care that, if I were attacked
after leaving the protection of the Navy, I would be weak and
easy prey to all sorts of enemies.
He wanted results, not excuses. Well, I would give him
results. I was well-prepared. My personal arsenal had been
refurbished and appropriately cached: my stiletto, Hugo, in
its chamois sheath, so-apped to my right forearm; Wilhelmi-
na, my 9mm Luger loaded with a clip of nine cartridges, was
tucked in a shoulder harness; five extra clips, were stashed
flat against my belly. And I had a new gas bomb, smaller and
more lethal than earlier AXE issues. I could hardly feel it in
the tiny pouch between my legs.
The chopper put down on warm sand ten miles south of the
port midway t*tween Tetuån and Rabat. I
watched it disappear to the east, where it would cut its
running lights, then circle out over the Mediterranean and
land God-knew-where.
I was to walk into Tangier and arrange for a flight to Paris.
16
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17
At least that would be the obvious plan. But I rarely did the
obvious. Even though only Hawk knew my mission, any
seaman aboard the submarine could guess that my initial
destination was Tangier—and the chopper pilot would not
even have to guess. He would know.
That's why I headed southwest toward Rabat, Morocco's
capital on the Atlantic Ocean. South of Rabat was Casa-
blancm where I would spend some time with Raina Missou,
hopefully convalescent time. I needed a few days before
taking off for Paris. I needed a few days with Raina, with a
friendly face and a warm body. God, what a body.
Even after I left Raina and Casablanca, I would not go
tly to Paris. I would take a circuitous route, probably
hitting Sicily, Albania, Yugoslavia, Austria, Germany and
uxembourg trfore even txginning to hone in on France-—
and Paris.
The best way to find a beehive, I have leamed, is to follow
the line of the bee after it leaves the flower. There would be
no beeline for anyone to follow, if the syndicate boys were
trying to find out where I was going.
The best laid plans, however. I had gone only a mile over
the sand and rocks of the barren land when I saw the distant
ights of a moving vehicle coming directly at me. I moved
southward and lay on my belly near the top of a high dune,
ooking down at what I could now see was a jeep moving ever
closer.
When it was within a hundred yards, I squinted in the faint
moonlight and made out four passengers. A tall, dignified-
ooking man sat beside the friver. In the rear were two
Idiers with rifles and bayonets projecting toward the starry
night sky. I palmed the Luger and waited while, engines
aboring and tires crunching, the jeep forged its own road
across the dunes. I was on the verge of moving on when, at
the last second, the jeep made a sharp right tum and began to
bear down on me.
I skittered around the dune, avoiding the bright headlights.
e stopped about a hundred feet away and the man in
front, obviously an officer, got out. I held the Luger in both
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hands, aiming directly for the glinting medals on his broad
chest.
"Who ever you are and whatever your game is," the
officer shouted in flawless English, 'you might as well come
down. We have you bottled up."
It was then that I heard other sounds. I whirled around and
saw jeeps moving toward me from the south, the east and the
north.
The officer was not playing any games of bluff tonight.
The big question was, how did they know someone was
out on the dark desert? An even bigger question was, did they
know who I was? I got no answers just that moment, but I did
rememtrr something that chilled me. There was a long-
standing battle between Spain and Morocco because of
Spanish interests in the North African country---especially
the Spanish Sahara—and my passport claimed that I had left
from Madrid only three days ago.
I could easily be shot for a Spanish spy. Right out here in
the middle of nowhere. Even without the passport, there
were my strange artifacts for-the average tourist or
businessman to hauling around.
The other jeeps came to a grinding halt not far from me.
One of them, from the east, held me in its bright headlights.
had no choice but to surrender, lie through my teeth and hope
that I didn't wind up in a Moroccan prison for a couple of
lifetimes.
Just as I was preparing to stand up and place my body and
soul at the mercy of what obviously was the Morcxcan Anny ,
I heard the screaming mar of planes in the distance. They
were not passing jets or even curious pilots trying to inject
some excitement into the boredom of required night flying.
They were fighter planes. Evidently they had spotted the
headlights of the jeeps and were diving for the kill. I never
saw the lights of the six planes because they didn't have them
on. But I saw bright tongues of name from
machine guns in the planes' wings. Then came the large balls
of flame from the nose cannons. I saw these a microsecond
STRIKE OF THE HAWK
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19
before I heard the screams from the jeeps and the spattering
of bullets on metal, sand and rock.
And then came the earth-jarring booms as the shells from
the 20mm cannons exploded in the desert.
'Turn off your lights!" the officer in the first jeep was
shouting over and over. g Turn off your lights and shoot them
down."
The lights went off and I made my move while the six
fighter planes were circling for another run. The pilots didn't
need lights now; they already had a good fix on the four
jeeps.•
I ran down the east side of the dune toward the jeep that had
held me in its lights. Two soldiers were dead from machine-
gun bullets, an officer was wcwnded and the driver was
merely sitting the wheel, stunned into inaction. I
hustled the two survivors out of the jeep and hopped into the
driver's seat.
As made the turn, with engine thundering and wheels
spitting up rocks, I saw the dark shadows of the planes
returning. I floored the gas pedal and shot off westward, my
lights out, but still an easy target from above.
Fortunately the fighter planes were too fast for their own
They were already committed to a run on the same
area. By the time their bullets and shells were tearing up a
hunk of North Africa and killing more soldiers in the remain-
ing three jeeps, I was tooling off in a southwesterly direction,
a good mile from the assault site.
But I knew the planes would come for me.
The jeep was humming along on smooth sand now in the
highest possible gear. I ran it flat out for a couple more miles,
then turned straight south. I never heard the plane coming
behind me; I sensed it. I turned my head just in time to see the
first tongues of flame from the wing.
That's when I started the dangerous zigzagging on the
roadless sand. The jeep was hitting sixty and each time I
jerked on the wheel to avoid bullets from above, the wheels
dug in deeply and the jeep almost turned over.
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But it didn't tum all the way. When the plane was past me
and not one bullet had made its target—me-—I jerked the
wheel to the right and made a beeline toward the Atlantic
coast, heading west again. A straight course would have
brought me to the ocean between Rabat and Casablanca, but I
would still be stranded, with a long walk to face. When the
plane didn't come back, I nudged the jeep southwest and
headed for Casablanca.
It was past midnight when I saw the city's lights and found
a paved road. The road was empty. I put the jeep into the
four-wheel drive, climbed the embankment and moved along
smoothly toward the famous port city. I was still a half hour
away from the first signs of civilization, so I time to
think.
J knew that Hawk would have fed my report, via the sub's
radio, into a computer bank at AXE's headquarters in
Washington. All agents used the computer banks to learn
what was going on in the world-—through the eyes of AXE. I
had used it years ago to learn a month ahead of time that a
rebel named Fidel Castro was going to launch his final drive
to eliminate President Batista. I had used it to learn what was
going on with Big Daddy Amin in Uganda, and more re-
cently, to learn about the activities of NOTCH.
The computer bank was designed to keep agents abreast of
world developments through reprts from other AXE agents.
The computers could tell us, almost to the minute, where
each agent was located and what his assignment was. Obvi-
ously, the agent who had sold out was checking the computer
on a regular basis, heard my and knew that I was being
dropped off near Tangier. This agent, as well as Hawk, also
knew that would not do the chvious. That is, I would not go
directly into Tangier, as ordered, and arrange a flight to
Paris.
The agent had guessed that I would head for Rabat or
Casablanca, had alerted the Moroccan Army, or possibly
mercenaries who had been in the pay of NOTCH, to have me
picked up and efficiently disposed of, to use Hawk's words.
If my deductions were accurate, it would be a simple
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chore, once I was back in friendly civilization, to find out
which agent was using the AXE computer most often. That
would not prove the man to be a double agent, but it would be
a starting point.
To avoid further chances----especially since my side was
damned near killing me—I left the jeep at a closed gasoline
station on the edge of Casablanca. I pulled it behind the
station, wedging it between a huge, wrecked truck and a line
of junked cars. It might not found for a week.
As I walked along the deserted streets of the suburbs, I
tried to figure out the fighter planes. There was no figuring
them, unless perhaps the agent who had warned the Army
about me had also warned theAir Force that alien forces were
out on the desert south of Tangier. Instead of working two
sides of the street, the agent could be trying to work all sides
of the street, plus the middle, selling information to anybody
who would buy.
By sending in the Air Force to attack the Army sent to
capture me, the agent was hedging his bet. He knew that I
might escape the Army, so he threw in the fighter planes for
gocxi measure.
I was developing a pretty sizable dislike—mingled with
professional respect—for the AXE agent who had sold out.
And, at the moment, I was beginning to think that my
enemies might not have to go to any more trouble to eliminate
me: the bandage around my torso was soaked red and the pain
stabbed like hot needles. The brief scuffle on the desert had
apparently tcrn out stitches and I was bleeding profusely.
And what had the Navy doctor said? No strenuous ac-
tivities for a while, then have the bandage changed jn five
days. Easy for him to say. What doctor anywhere would
change the bandage on an obvious bullet wound and not
report the incident to police? I couldn't afford to get
mixed up with any more local authorities.
There was one hope: Raina Missou. if she were in her
apartment, my immediate problems would be solved. All of
them. Raina was a secretary with a small oil export company,
but she spent most of her time and talents helping the Moroc-
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can rebels who wanted the Spanish out of the country. With
her contacts, Raina Missou could easily find a reliable doctor
who would fix up my wound and keep his big mouth shut.
Raina opened the a crack and I caught a glimpse of
that gorgeous golden—a little sleepy at the moment—face.
Raina was part Spanish, part MorcEcan and part Chinese,
one hell of a delightful combination. She had skin like the
surface of unpolished gold, breasts like ripe melons and a
sexual drive almost equal to mine.
"Nick," she said as she undid the chain hasp and swung
the door all the way open. "Oh, you look like some kind of
hell."
' 'Nice welcome," I replied.
"l mean," she said, stepping back for me to enter the dark
apartment, "you look so pale. Are you sick?"
I looked her over good befcre I strode to a chair and
collapsed into it. She wore a diaphanous nightgown that
seemed as though it would dissipate under a soft breeze.
Outlined against the window, I could see the shape of her
bcxiy•, her high breasts with the dark aureoles of her nipples,
her wide hips narrowing into lxrfectly-shaped legs, her tight
little waist, the wedge of dark hair where her legs began.
Raina fixed me a strong scotch on ice, which I gulped
down, and I explained part of what had happened. I couldn't
wait five days to have the bandage changed. With stitches
torn, I needed more than a mere change.
"No problem with that," she said in her mellow, sing-
song voice. Her big dark eyes studied my face with curiosity
and concern. "Are you certain there are no other problems?' '
"Nothing else that can't be handled later," I said, grin-
ning. 'Can ycml swing a doctor?"
She smiled, knowing what could be handled later. can
swing anything, big man," she said. She went to the tele-
phone, spoke rapidly in Spanish, forgetting that I knew the
STRIKE OF HAWK
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23
language well, and talked to a doctor. She was straight. I
drank two more scotches and chatted easily with Raina,
holding down a rising desire to tumble into her bed with her,
before the d(Xtor
ne dcxtor was small, swarthy and crisp. He had no sense
of humor and didn't think anybody else should have one. He
did, however, admire the work done by the Navy d(Xtor, and
did not appreciate the fact that I had undone much of that
good work.
He hit me with a anesthetic, pulled out all the old
stitches and sewed me up again. He outdid himself with the
bandage, trying to emulate the skill of the Navy doc. He
wound me up so tight that I could hardly breathe.
When he was gone, along with a hundred dollars worth of
my Spanish pesos, I turned to Raina. She had watched
everything with great concern and I knew that she held a
small pistol behind her lovely back. If the dætor had tried
anything treacherous, he would have been one dead, humor-
less doctcr.
I went to the and took off my boots and trousers. The
doctor had already removed my shirt and jacket. I motioned
for Raina. She shook her head.
"Not tonight, my wonderful lover. I don't want to have to
call the doctor back again. Perhaps in a few days."
"l don't have a few days. Come here. I have a plan."
"No plan," she said. "We wait."
I skimmed out of my jockey shorts and watched her dark
eyes as she watched the rising hardness at my middle. I knew
her weaknesses, just as she knew mine.
"You dirty dog," Raina said as she turned out the over-
head light and moved slowly toward the bed. "That's not a
nice thing to do."
"Feels very nice to me," I said. "Make it all feel nicer
before the novcEaine wears off."
She slid into bed beside me and worked the filmy night-
gown over her head. It dropped without a sound on the floor.
My hands moved out to cup her swelling breasts and her head
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went down to kiss me just beneath the bandage. Her head
went lower and I lurched upward at the softness of her lips on
such a sensitive part of me.
"Is this your plan?" she said between small, darting kisses
with her lips and tongue.
'Not quite. Swing over on top. I'll just relax and enjoy it
while you do all the work."
She raised her head and looked at me. Soft hands caressed
my face and I felt the tips of her breasts brush lightly against
my upErr chest.
' 'Just make sure you relax," she ordered.
I didn't. I couldn't. Once her legs were spread across me
and I felt her soft wetness, I began to squirm with impatience
and ecstasy. She lowered her and I felt us joining,
smoothly, easily, beautifully. She moved from side to side
and I began to thrash on the bed. My hands came around her
and my fingers dug into her soft, golden buttocks.
Only because all the gods of sex and love seem to be
looking out for my welfare did I manage to pull off the sweet
interlude of love without doing more damage to my body.
Only Raina's immense struggle to please permitted me to
survive with a clean bandage and intact stitches. Otherwise,
it was an incredible display of lovemaking that left me
satiated, delectably tired and dreamily sleepy.
'That was a good plan," Raina murmured. And then she
was beside me and I felt safe and cool in the North African
night.










Chapter Four
Dawn brought rain and a cooling air. I nestled deeper into
the covers and watched while Raina moved about the little
apartnrnt fixing guato, a Jamaican dish of eggs, mangos and
onions—and which tastes like pig brains.
have a gc»d friend who can fix up new papers," she
said in her sing-song voice as she dropped fc»d into the hot
skillet, ' 'but it will take some time. Do you have a name you
want to use, shall pick one fcr you?"
"You pick one, " I said slæpily. s 'I think old Hawk knows
too well how my mind works. He'd spot any name that I
chose."
"How 'John Smith?' "
"How about something a little more imaginative?"
"All right. Starting scon, you will Pierre Cantrell."
"No dice," I said, shaking myself back out of sleep that
wouldn't be denied. 'I have a weapon by the name ofPierre.
Hawk would recognize it in a minute."
It was important that I go undercover with an airtight
identity that would even David Hawk. So far, Rot*rt
Cronin and his cronies had figured out my every move, and it
was a certain tEt that they knew I was heading for Paris. My
assignment had been lcxiged in the computers in Washington.
Someone was tapping infcrmation from those computers.
But there was one thing the computers didn't have: my next
identity.
If I could David Hawk, I could fool anybcxiy.
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They wouldn't have the slightest notion of who to look for
in Paris.
"Alex Carson," Raina said gleefully. S That will be your
new name. You'll a tractor salesman. Okay?"
"Okay," I mumbled and drifted off to sleep. It came
thickly now, erasing the pain in my side and making the rain
on the rcx)f sound far away—and somehow comforting. I
could smell the pungent aroma of guato cooking on the stove,
and then even that was gone.
I dreamed of walking down streets so soft that I could not
feel my feet on the pavement. But the sun felt warm on my
body and the breeze rumpled my hair pleasantly and the
dream went on and on, undulating like ocean waves or
Virginia mountains.
When I awoke again, it was night and I was hungry as hell.
Raina sat in an easy chair trside the trd, watching me. I felt
safe and comfortable and the pain in my side had idled to a
tolerable throb.
"You sleep like the dead."
"I am dead, remember?" I said, rubbing my eyes open.
"But I've forgotten my new name."
"Alex Carson, but it isn't your name yet." She leaned
forward and her breasts shifted inside her lcme blouse. "My
friend says it will take a day or two to cut new identity papers.
You plenty rested by then."
I sat up and dropped my feet over the side of the bed. I was
surprised when I could the cool floor on my feet. In the
dream, I could feel nothing down there.
S 'Yeah, rest," I said, running fingers through my hair to
get it out of my eyes. "Rest, food and you, in that order. I've
had enough rest for now, but I'm hungrier than a wingless
owl. After a quick meal, let's discuss you."
She smiled and got up. In three minutes, she brought in a
tray loaded with albacore stuffed with shrimp, papaya juice
sweetened with honey, a dozen kinds of pasu•ies and a bottle
of wine. I cracked that first and we toasted.
Even as we drank to each other's health, my mind was on
David Hawk. In all the years I had worked for that enigmatic
STRIKE OF HAWK
27




27
and stern boss, I had never seen him quite so tense as he had
been aboard the submarine. He had teen threatened before,
and by formidable forces. But he seemed particularly moved
by the threat from Cronin. Perhaps it was because Cronin
seemed to have a hold over the Mafia and the Corse. The
threat was not just from an American executive gone sour; it
was from quarters so inventive and powerful and merciless
that no man in his right mind could take it lightly. Sooner or
later, unless the threat were removed, it could be made gcx)d.
Hawk was in tremendous danger, no matter how powerful he
might be. He had to strike back—-hard and
Wide awake now, I was anxious to get moving. I had to get
to Paris, find Diane Northrup/Elaine Withers, and pick her
brains for every scrap of information that might lead me to
her boss.
g 'I'm sorry about the delay with your papers," Raina
said as I dived into the delicious stuffed fish. "It can't be
helped."
SSNo problem," said, making my voice light. "If I can't
go tomorrow, I'll go the next day. Or the next."
"But you're angry with me."
' 'I could never angry with you."
"Yes, you are," she said, frowning her face into deep,
bronze wrinkles. "I can tell by the tone of your voice. Why
are you so hell-bent to get to Paris?"
I stcvpd eating and gazed at her lovely face for several
seconds. I put my hand on hers and squeezed lightly.
"You know I can't tell you, Raina," I said. "I'm sorry to
be so preoccupied, but take my word for it—I really have to
get to Paris as soon as possible. It's a matter of life or death to
someone very close to me."
g 'A woman?"
"No," I said. s 'A very special man. There's nobody on
earth like him and this would be a sorry place without him.
That's all I can tell you. He's in danger and I have to head off
that danger trfore it moves in for the kill. Do you understand
that?"
She squeezed my hand. ' 'Go on and eat. I won't
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ask questions. You can u•ust me, as always. Tomorrow, I'll
get your new identity papers and help you out of the country.
Meanwhile, ycn sleep."
The rain was gone with the next dawn. So was my fatigue
and my seemingly insatiable need for sleep. Raina was there
with a fresh dish of guato and I ate it with relish, savoring
every bite.
When I was finished with my bath, Raina .was gone.
Perhaps today, she had said, she would get my papers. But I
couldn't wait for the new papers to get the investigation
started.
It was important that I find out which agents had used the
computer bank immediately following my report to Hawk,
and his subsequent filing of that report with Washington.
There was a simple method for such checking. but a check at
this time was dangerous. It would reveal my whereabouts to
the computer—and to anyone checking it.
But I had no choice.
A dilapidated taxi took me into the center of Casablanca.
At the central telephone exchange there, a man could make
an anonymous telephone call to anyplace in the world and
never be noticed. I put two dirham into the coin slot and got
the central operator. I gave the code number and waited while
the telephone clicked and the voices of colorful Berber
tribesmen. in town to wash off the sheep smell and get drunk
on coconut wine, rattled around me.
After a full minute, the clicking stopped and a cool, almost
mechanical voice said:
' 'Report. "
"No report," I said, feeling foolish because I was actually
talking to a machine. "A check."
The voice cracked: "Check, then."
' 'Require knowledge on who used computer bank on July
22, between hours of 2100 and midnight Moroccan time,
whether use was to report or to check on other agents, and
whether use was normal or extravagant."
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' 'One moment please," the artificial voice crackled over
the telephone.
I waited, watching with some amusement while a big
Berber with a turban argued vocifertxasly with a wiry little
Frenchman. ney were arguing in a mixture of Arabic and
French, so couldn't follow the drift very well. In substance,
the argument was over a woman---what else?
' 'At 2245 July 22, Agent N78 filed remyt. At 2340, Agent
N22 submitted request for check on Agent N3 and one
nameless person. First part of check complied with, second
part denied and agent admonished tEcause use was extrava-
gant. Further check?"
"No," I said, and almost added a thank you. "Signing
off."
"Goodbye."
Outside, I walked slowly and digested the information
gleaned from the computer. Agent N78 was a fairly new man
with AXE, John Crawford, who was in Australia. N22 was a
veteran with AXE, a tough-minded little nam named Dave
Snyder. The nameless mentioned by the computer
was none other than David Hawk. I wasn't surprised that N22
had checked on me, and had tried to check on the chief. It was
certainly extravagant use, checking on Hawk, but Snyder
had been guilty of extravagant use before.
And, it looked as though Snyder was the turncoat agent,
the man providing Robert Cronin and his organization with
information on my whereabouts.
It was not news that they knew I was in Morocco. It was
not really news to me that Snyder was probably the traitor. I
had suspected him for months. What was news, was his
incredible boldness. Snyder, who had just completed an
assignment in South Africa was on a month's leave of ab-
sence. Ihe last time I checked on him, he was touring
diamond mines in the Orange Free State. That was two weeks
ago.
ne question now was: Where was Snyder, Agent N22?
I didn't want to recheck the computer. It would reveal that
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I had made the check on Snyder, directly and implicitly , and I
didn't want to do anything to tip their hand that I was
suspicious of N22.
As I walked back to Raina Missou's apartment, circling
back numerous times to throw off any possible tails, I won-
dered idly just how long it would be before we taught com-
puters how to kill. One thing I had learned in going up against
tremendous odds was that it would be folly to go up against
anything as complex and as heartless as a computer. It would
be the perfect killing machine because it had no conscience.
Night was hot. Ridiculously so. We pulled a small cot out
onto the patio and lay gazing up at the stars and listening to
the sounds of the city. Voices rose shrilly, in Spanish,
Arabic, French and English——plus a few languages with
which I had only a nodding acquaintance. We had made love
(with difficulty) as soon as Raina had come home, then she
had made a dinner of beef and pork shish kebob with brown
rice. Delicious on all counts.
Then the heat wave came in off the North Atlantic and
outdid the afternoon sun.
"What's the big holdup on the papers?" I asked again,
hiding my irritation as well as possible. ' 'Who's cutting them
for me?"
"l can't tell you that, love," she said, tracing a finger
down the cleft in my chin and resting the tip on my Adam's
apple. "You have your secrets and I have mine. Let's not
mingle them, okay?"
"Okay." I knew she wouldn't—and shouldn't—tell me
her source for fake identity papers, but I was so irritated that I
asked anyway. "That still doesn't explain the holdup."
"These things take time."
I sighed and took a deep gulp of hot air. It was quite
unsatisfactory.
'Too much time. A few months ago, you had some cut for
me in about four hours."
"They'!! be ready early tomorrow," Raina said, moving
the finger down my bare chest to my bare belly. "And you
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have an airline ticket under the name of Alex Carson. By
ncx)n, you'll far out over the Mediterranean, safe from the
Moroccan Army and everybody else in North Africa."
"Let's hope so," I said.
When I awoke just after dawn, Raina had left to get my
new papers. I dressed slowly and meticulcmsly, taping
Pierre, the gas bomb, neatly behind my testicles, and Wil-
helmina, the 9mm Luger, under my arm just above the
bandage. Hugo, my stiletto, was strapped tightly to my
forearm.
The suit Raina had obtained for me was checkered and
loud, just the ticket for a tractor salesman. It made a baggy
fit, and that was fine. It covered my weapons well. She
returned at 10 a.m. with the papers.
' 'I would drive you to the airport, my love, but I think it
would be better for you to go by taxi. After all, you are
supposed to be a salesman, not somebody's lover."
1 smiled. "Couldn't 1 be
'Not this trip," she said, sliding easily into my arms for a
farewell kiss. "Perhaps time when the whole Army
isn't for you."
"Plus others," I said.
"Yes." She was silent and we kissed. Then: "When will I
see you again?"
It seemed as though a dark cloud moved across my mind at
that moment. With it came the hcrrible premonition that I
would never see Raina Missou again. Possibly she would
killed, murdered by someone who saw me leaving her flat.
Possibly I would be killed, either at the airport by the Army,
or in Paris by God-knew-who. I shook off the cloud.
"I'll come this way again," I said. "No matter where I am
or what I'm doing, I'll always find the time and the opportun-
ity to come to you, Raina. Didn't you just say that I'm your
lover?"
"Yes. Oh yes. Please be careful and please come back
soon."
I nodded and left the flat with an old suitcase she had given
me. It was a poor item to remember her by.









Chapter Five
As the taxi approached the airport, I should have been
warned by the numerous military vehicles parked at intersec-
tions and the flyovers of military aircraft. But I was not
warned. My mind was ahead, on what I would find in Paris,
on Diane Northrup/Elaine Withers, who wittingly or unwit-
tingly was helping to try to destroy me, AXE and David
Hawk.
When the taxi sped along the entry ramp to the terminal,
past guards and even more vehicles, my mind was on evening
when I would with Diane to get the answers to a number of
questions. It was only a two-hour flight to Paris, but I was
going first to Algiers. From there, I wasn't certain where I
would go to shake off any pursuers, but I knew I wouldn't
reach Paris trfore nightfall.
At the terminal, I tiPFd generously, giving the &iver all
my remaining dirham. The driver pocketed the money with-
out acknowledgement and sped away. I saw the source of his
haste when I turned with my suitcase and walked into the
crowded building. The main concourse and waiting room
was filled with soldiers.
They were stcpping virtually everyone, checking papers,
asking questions. I smiled at them and started across the wide
concourse to the El-Moroc flight desk.
"Pardon me, sir," a slim Army captain said as he touched
my arm to stop me. "May we see your papers?"
Flanking him were two burly soldiers, each with a stolen
Israeli M•27 submachine gun.
32




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'Why, sure," I said jovially , letting a Midwest American
twang alter my speech. "What's all the Somebody
try to get the king again?"
In 1972, several high-ranking Air Force fighter
pilots had formed a small coup and tried to murder the king. I
wasn't trying to funny. I knew I was in trouble the moment
the skinny captain stopped me. Even as I reached for my
papers, my hand was itching to get at Wilhelmina, nestled
comfortably under my arm. I could get the papers and the gun
all in one gesture if I wanted, but I decided to wait. Perhaps
the papers would suffice.
The captain studied them for some time. He studied my
photo and my face, then read more. The soldiers shifted
impatiently from to foot and moved nervous, sweaty
hands on their automatic weapons.
The captain smiled.
"Everything is in order, Mr. Carson," he said, handing
back my phony papers. "Please don't leave the terminal
again, though. Stay until your plane leaves."
"Certainly," I replied, remembering to keep the twang.
"Say, what's going on, anyway?"
He responded without his smile. "Your guess was closer
to the tilth than you realize," he said. ' 'We have information
that a lunatic American spy was dropped by helicopter near
Tangier several days ago."
lunatic?"
"Yes," the captain said. ' 'His mission is to murder the
king."
"l hope to hell he fails," I said. "l want to come back and
sell tractors someday."
"I'm certain he will fail, Mr. Carson," the captain said,
smiling again. "And we do need those tractors."
I nodded and moved on toward the desk.
And there stood the biggest obstacle of the day.
Colonel Ahmed Khattabi, one of the men who had put
down the revolt of 1972—and a nun who knew me well
because of my part in that revolt-— was standing with other
officers near the desk. I had been in Morcxco during the 1972




34
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NICK CARTER
attempt to kill the king, but I had nothing to do with the
attempted assassination.
But Colonel Khattabi had been convinced, that I was one
of the ringleaders, on assignment from the American gov-
ernment.
He saw me just as I turned to leave the airport.
"Stop that man," his shrill voice cracked in the crowded
terminal. "Stop him, he's getting away!"
And I was. I reached the dcxyr before anyone could respond
to Colonel Khattabi 's hysterical screaming. The slim captain
was in my path, but bowled him over and, dropping the
suitcase Raina had given me, I plunged through the
doorway.
Outside, soldiers were turning to see what the fuss was all
about. Colonel Khattabi's bellowing came through the door
and seemed to fill the street.
I snaked my Luger out of its pouch beneath my arm and
made for a jeep where two soldiers were idling in the sun. As
I ran across the street, I heard the colonel's bcx)tning voice
t*hind me. I turned and put one bullet between his eyes.
The shot and the sight of Colonel Khattabi's falling body
seemed to galvanize everyone in sight—soldiers and civi-
lians alike.
But the two men t*side the jeep brought up their automatic
weapons as I rushed toward them.
Wilhelmina boomed twice more and the soldiers crumpled
and fell. Just as I swung into the jeep, feeling a stinging pain
in my side from the exertion, bullets whanged off the vehi-
Cle's I started the engine and slammed down the
gear lever. The tires squealed as the jeep bucked forward in a
tight circle. I made a sharp U-turn and dashed out the en-
trance ramp, going the wrong way against traffic.
An entire fusillade crashed behind me and bullets plunked
and whanged and crackled into the seats, metal and
windshield of the speeding jeep. Glass shot into the air
around my face and I felt the wind directly on me. The
windshield was gone.
As I reached the corner of the terminal, a military person-





35
nel carrier roared up the ramp from the highway. It was
loaded with armed soldiers.
Hitting the brakes, I steered the jeep off the road and across
the lawn, heading toward the parking lot. At the same time, I
slid my left hand into my trousers and pulled the tiny gas
bomb from between my legs. Looking back, I saw that the
truck had also left the road and was rumbling after me across
the grass.
To the left of the parking lot was a small service road that
ran along the highway for a mile or so to a couple of remote
hangars. As I headed for that road, I checked the distance
between me and the ü•uckload of soldiers, calculated the time
it wc»ld take them to reach the point where I was at that
moment, and pulled the pin on Pierre. I tossed the little bomb
over my shoulder and jammed down hard on the gas pedal.
I heard the pop of the bomb and looked back to see the
cloud of light blue smoke engulfing the truck.
Perfect timing.
Pierre had gone off ten feet in front of the truck and the
driver had rumbled straight into the rising blue cloud of
highly lethal gas.
I couldn't hear the gasps and screams of the soldiers. The
roar of the jeep's labonng engine was too loud. But the u•uck
never came out of that cloud.
But I was far from safe.
I knew that the word would be out via radio and that
soldiers up ahead would be looking for me. As I steered the
jeep up the bank to the highway, I started looking for a car to
commandeer.
It came before I had gone a mile. It was a black limousine,
an American Lincoln Continental. And an important-looking
man with a briefcase was in the back seat. I caught up with
the limousine, passed it and pulled in fast in front. The driver
cursed but braked hard to avoid hitting the jeep.
When we were dead still, I leaped out and ran to the car.
Holding the Luger tightly, I gave terse commands in French:
need this car. Outside, quickly."
No response. The man and his driver stared at me as




36
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NICK CARTER
though I had dropped from outer space. Traffic whizzed past.
Although I was certain they understcx»d French, I gave them
the benefit of the doubt and repeated my commands in
Arabic, then English, then Spanish.
It all took only a few seconds, but time seemed to be loping
along like a crippled hippopotamus.
When the man and his driver did not respond, I placed the
barrel of the Luger directly behind the left ear of the
important-looking fellow and repeated my request leaving no
doubt about the alternative. The bewildered and frightened
pair hurriedly complied.
As I sped away, I could see a whole convoy of military
vehicles rumbling out of the airport, more than a mile back.
The Lincoln was soon roaring along at a hundred miles an
hour.
I passed four exit ramps and took the fifth. The Lincoln
soared down the ramp and into virtually empty streets. ne
noon rush had not yet started.
After a dozen blocks, I abandoned the Lincoln and ran
down a narrow alley to the city's main thoroughfare, which
was crowded.
It took me two more hours to wend my way through the
heart of the city to Raina Missou's apartment in the south
sector.
I was exhausted, my wound was open and bleeding again
and the pain was intolerable.
When she opened the door, I passed out in her arms.
ne next two days went slowly as hell and I ran up a
monstrous debt to the lovely Raina Missou, part Spanish,
part Moroccan and part Chinese. Raina brought another
doctor to tend to my wound and arranged fcy a fishing boat to
take me out of the country.
And I had to leave. I was out of touch with Hawk, and I
knew that time and our enemies would not stand still. Every
that passed made the danger greater for David Hawk.
Even as waited in Raina's apartment, and soldiers patrolled




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the of Casablanca looking for me, I was fearful that
Cronin and Snyder were putting their plot into motion.
"I'll be back to repay for all this," I told Raina as we
rode toward the harb(Y in the early hours, more than two days
after I had escaped with my life at the airport. The streets
were almost deserted and I thanked God for that.
"You owe me nothing, my love," she said in her delight.
ful, sing-song voice. She cuddled close in the back seat of the
car and I felt her heavy breasts against my arm. "If I had my
way, you would stay here forever."
'That sounds nice. I wish it could be so."
I kept my eyes on the driver, a small, swarthy Arab dressed
in old khaki clothes. He was trustworthy, Raina had said, as
was the captain ofthe little fishing boat, but I trusted no one.
We reached the harbor without incident and the driver
parked in the shadow ofa huge warehouse. We sat for several
minutes gazing (Nit at the huddled mixture of pleasure boats,
freighters, passenger ships, and fishing schooners.
An hour before dawn, a fishing boat chugged into the
harbor, eased along a dark pier and cut its engine. I started to
get out, but the driver grunted and waved me back. In that
moment, he won my ü•ust. Two soldiers, armed with automa-
tic weapons, ran down the dock and streaked out onto the
pier. We couldn't hear their conversation, but the skipper of
the fishing boat apparently was convincing. After a few
minutes, the soldiers went back south along the dock and
disappeared into the darkness.
"Now," the driver said.
I kissed Raina gcxxibye and got out into the shadows.
i'Monsieur, you must go now. The soldiers will return."
I griprrd my Luger tightly under my coat and ran out to the
pier. I swung aboard the boat just as the engines rumbled to
life. Back toward the warehouse I could see the headlights
flicker on the car. ne boat eased out into the harbor, speeded
up and headed for open sea.
We were going to Lisbon, where I could more or less
safely board a plane for Paris.





38
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NICK CARTER
I simply could not afford to let anything else go wrong
now.
During the entire trip to Lisbon, I kept Wilhelmina in my
hand, ready to fire the last four bullets at any obstacle, human
or otherwise, that got in my way.








Chapter Six
The voyage was so uneventful that I could have slept the
whole way. But I stayed awake until I was on the plane to
Paris. Then I awoke only when LeBourget was below, sur-
rounded by the almost iridescent triangles of farmland that
distinguish the European countryside from America's.
My cover as Alex Carson held up thrc»gh customs, thanks
to Raina's foresight in getting me a Spanish passport, and I
was soon in a taxi speeding into the city where Diane North-
rup would staying at the George Cinq Hotel.
Before going to the hotel, I went to a small office on the
Champs Elysee, two blocks from the Arc de Triomphe. On
the front window of the office, facing the famous boulevard,
was the sign:
ALMAGATED PRESS & WIRE sæ€t1CES
Paris Bureau
The man behind the desk in the office barely looked up
when I flashed the solid gold card which I had recently been
issued by Washington. I wrote out a note for the man. He
grunted and nodded toward the back room. I went in and
eased into a chair and lifted the telephone receiver.
"Repcrt," the mechanical voice ordered after I had
dialed.
In a running—and somewhat monotonous—-conversation
with the AXE computer in Washington , I reported that Agent
N3 had arrived in Paris, then learned that N22 (Dave Snyder)
had been checking in regularly, even though he was still on
39




40
+ 110%
NICK CARTER
leave. Snyder was speedily becoming more than a suspicion
in my mind. Even though the word was not official that he
was a counteragent, I knew that I would treat him as one if i
saw him. And there was every likelihocxl that I would see him
as soon as he checked the computer again.
When I returned to the front office, the man behind the
desk nodded toward a small package on the high counter. I
picked it up on my way out, knowing that it would contain
three new gas bombs and a dozen clips for my Luger. It was
what I had requisitioned on my note when I came in, and the
man would have supplied them without question. Standard
operating procedure.
The afternc»n was balmy but breezy on the boulevard and
I couldn't resist the tables and chairs—and bustling, happy
activity—of a sidewalk cafe. I sat, ordered a martini, and let
my mind relax while I watched go past on and in
all manner of vehicles. The Champs Elysee is one of the most
fascinating places in the world, although it is only a few
blocks long. What the avenue lacks in size. it more than
makes up for in intensity and pure excitement.
I finished my drink and walked up to Avenue George V,
then down the crowded street to the baroque old hotel.
George Cinq. Tall, wide, thick and as comfortable as a
ten-year-old bedroom slipper.
I checked in as Alex Carson and the desk clerk gave me the
eyebrow treatment. He knew me under a dozen names and
was surprised that I was signing in with a new one. I usually
rotated the dozen names I use around the world, but danger
was so intense now that I had to break out of the mold. I
couldn't care less if old acquaintances like desk clerks were
surprised.
' 'Welcome back to the George Cinq, Monsieur—ah-—
Carson," the clerk said, smiling and winking. "I hope your
stay this time will be far more enjoyable than the last."
He was referring to a year ago when five thugs hired by a
Marseille drug dealer broke into my room, beat me senseless
and left me fcy dead.
I winked back at the clerk.




41
• 'It will be," I said. e 'Do you have a Diane Northrup
staying here? Or an Elaine Withers?"
He checked, although I was certain that he had the infor-
mation on the tip of his French tongue.
"Oui," he said with another smile and another wink.
"Mademoiselle Northrup is in room 1122. I believe mon-
sieur knows where the elevator is lcxated."
"I do." gave him a ten-franc note and returned his wink,
then found the tiny elevator that resembled a medieval torture
cage.
The elevator clanked and whirred and wheezed, but finally
made it to the tenth floor. Once in my room, I slid a new clip
into Wilhelmina, taped Pierre tehind my balls, stuck two
extra clips in my pcket and stashed the remainder of my
firepower behind a drawer. Now I was ready for Diane
Northrup, or Elaine Withers, and any story she might have
for me.
I the stairs to the next floor and was relieved to find
that my side didn 't hurt dunng the climb. The two days of rest
at Raina's apartment, followed by another two days on the
fishing boat, had allowed me to recover fully.
As I kncxked, I checked my watch. It was 3:22 p. m. Diane
Northrup opened the door after my second kncxk. Her eyes
glowed with what seemed to be genuine happiness to see me.
"Oh Brad," she squealed. And she was in my arms.
Hard to believe that this woman could be so spontaneous ,
or that she could blurt out the cover name I had given her,
since she obviously knew my real name. It was even harder to
believe that, within ten minutes, I might have to beat the truth
out of her. She felt great against my body. Her ample bosom
cTushed against my chest and her wide hips moved hard into
mine.
I savored the delicate perfume I remembered from Cal-
cutta, then held her at arm's length to at her. She had
long golden hair and eyes bluer than Mediterranean water at
ncnnday. Her voice was husky and sensuous, her mouth
wide and brightly with crimson lipstick. Her skin
was aglow and was almost translucent with the joy of life.





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"Oh, darling Brad," she said, kissing me again. "I heard
you were dead."
"Yeah," I said, moving into the rc»m and closing the
door. "We have to talk about that, among other things."
' 'Talk about what?"
"About where you get your information on me and my
activities," I said, my eyes flitting around her suite to make
certain that we were alone. 'SAnd about you passing along
information to certain individuals---one in particular."
"Why, Brad," she said, her blue eyes glowing with inno-
cence, "I haven't the slightest idea of what you're talk—
I her pretty face and almost felt the pain of it on my
own cheek.
'Cut it, Elaine," I said. "You should know enough about
me by now to realize that I'm not buying. I'm taking. Now,
we must have that little talk."
She looked gloomily at me and her eyes seemed to fade
into gray. Her fabulous body slumped and she sank heavily
into a chair.
"So you know my real name," she said, her voice about to
crack. "What else do yc» know?"
"For starters, I know that know my real name as
well."
As I talked, I moved about the rooms, inspecting closets
and the then sat opposite the lovely blonde. She
was wearing a pale yellow knit dress and she looked good
enough to eat. What a damned pity, my mind kept repeating.
Very soon, I may messing up this lovely sight before me,
to get the truth.
And she looked so incredibly innocent and harmless. I lit
up a gold-embossed cigarette.
"l know that our meeting on that plane to Paris about
seven weeks ago was no accident, and that your later appear-
ance in Calcutta was also deliberate. I know that you work for
a man named Robert Cronin and that you have txen feeding
him information on me and several other AXE agents. I know
that at least one agent you met has crossed over to Cronin's
side-—and I have all the I need as to which agent has
STRIKE OF THE





43
become a traitor. I have to kill him. You're going to help
make it easier. You're going to make a lot of things easier."
She kept shaking her head slowly as I talked, as though my
words could not tolerated, cr as though what I said brought
out painful truths and memories that she wanted to forget. I
to let her say her piece, convinced that she would lie
and I would have to commence taking her apart, lovely limb
from lovely limb.
"All right, Nick Carter," she said, spreading her hands
with palms up in a gesture of honesty, a gesture that said she
would reveal everything she knew. I hoped she was being
straight with me. Otherwise, she would wind up mighty
crooked, in body and mind, before I was finished. "What
can I tell you?"
"Start at the trginning," I said, crunching out my
cigarette and taking another from the case. I let the special
cigarette dangle, unlit, while I sniff«i the comfortable Tur-
kish aroma. "Don't leave anything out. You have been on a
recruitment campaign for Robert Cronin and I want to know
who you have contacted among AXE agents and why Cronin
wants to destroy us."
She shook her head violently. "That's a tall order for a girl
who was nothing more than a secretary a few months ago."
' 'You'll have to be a bit more explicit," I snapped, leaning
forward, swallowing hard and preparing myself for getting
the tilth by force if necessary.
Diane/Elaine swallowed hud also, then began her story. It
ad a ring of teuth, several rings of ü-uth. A year ago, she had
gone to work for Cronin's drug company in its headquarters
in New York. She had begun as a secretary to a company vice
president, but was quickly promoted to private secretary for
the big man himself. Three months ago, Cronin had told her
that a number of pharmaceutical salesmen for the company
were siphoning off hard drugs and selling them to syndicates
or illegal street use.
Cronin then offered her a dream job: to travel around the
orld to meet those "salesmen" and to find out as much as
she could about them. All her findings were to channeled





44
+ 110%
NICK CARTER
back to Cronin. She was to be extra nice to the so-called
salesmen , even to the point ofconvincing them that she loved
them and then sleeping with them.
• 'l know nothing about AXE, or whatever you call it, and I
know nothing about agents," she concluded. '61 only know
that all of the men J met were like you, involved in some kind
of secret activities. But I supposed that the secrecy was
because of the danger of the job. I mean, stealing drugs and
selling them to syndicate people is hardly the safest thing in
the world to do."
' 'Tell me about the note you delivered to Amalgamated
Press and Wire Sen,'ices in Washington not long after we had
been together in Calcutta."
She sat up straight, her pretty mouth open in surprise. She
tried to speak, but only her lips and jaw worked. No sounds
came out.
"Come on, sweetheart," I said, flexing my right hand in
anticipation of a slap of encouragement. "You'll have to do
better than that."
"My God, Nick," she said, "that had nothing to do with
you---or with whatever it is you do for a living. I had returned
to New York to give Mr. Cronin a personal report on our
meetings in Paris and Calcutta. When I was finished, he told
me to go to Stockholm to meet a salesman named James
Lobell. Before I left, he gave me a press release to deliver to
Amalgamated in Washington.
"A courier service:" I asked, arching both eyebrows.
"Why didn't he just mail it?"
She shrugged her round, supple shoulders and her breasts
jiggled in the tight knit dress. "He said it was too important
to trust to the mails, and wanted me to deliver it to the head of
Amalgamated, personally."
"So you thought you were taking a press release to
Washington?"
s 'Of course. Wasn't it a press release?"
I sat looking at the beautiful woman for a very long time. I
have listened to liars and I have listened to innocent
Generally, I could tell the difference. But not with this girl.





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She exuded pure innocence and I was tempted to tmome a
believer. But I had been had that way before. I decided to
wait a bit trfore Imcxking her lovely body around the room.
"l want the names of all the so-called salesmen you wined
and dined and bedded down with, under Cronin's orders."
She blushed. "Nick, did sleep with several of them, but
you know that I love you."
"Sure."
really do." She stared at me and tears bubbled into her
eyes, threatening to leak down her cheeks.
I waited, suppressing an urge to take her into my arms to
comfort her, to tell her that everything was going to be all
right. Because everything just might not be all right. She
regained her composure, with the help of a handkerchief, and
told me the names of the men she had contacted under
Cronin's insuuctions. nie list was formidable, headed by
Dave Snyder, N22. In fact, she had been with N22 in Cannes
only two weeks ago, and had seen him seven different times
since beginning her snoop job for Cronin.
forgot to tell one more üiing," she said. don't
know if it's important."
"Let's try it out and see if it's important."
She shifted in her chair and crossed her legs, inadvertently
(or perhaps purposely) giving me a tremendous view of her
chalk-white thighs. I lit up another cigarette and pretended
great calm.
"I was to offer them a chance to get in on a profitable but
illegal operation involving drugs," she said. 'To find out
just how currupt they really were."
"You never offered me any such deal," I said, reviving
my suspicions that she was lying through her teeth.
"I know. I intended to, but I decided against it the first
time we met."
"Why did you decide against it?"
' 'l don't really know," she said, shaking her head and
gazing directly into my eyes. "There's something about you,
Nick, something incorruptible. I knew it would be useless to
even üy."





46
+ 110%
NICK CARTER
"And you reported this back to Cronin?"
"Yes." She lowered her head, as though in shame.
'What about the others? How corruptible did they seem to
you?"
*'Dave Snyder jumped at the chance. I think he has met
with Mr. Cronin, but I don't know for certain. I know that I
put him in touch with Mr. Cronin in the New York office.' '
"And the others?"
She shcx)k her head. 'They pretended to be interested, but
I suppose they were only trying to find out what my game
was. That's my guess. They all seemed straight except Dave
Snyder. He seemed downright eager to learn all he could
about the deal, and about Mr. Cronin."
"Okay. One more thing." I sat baek and smoked while
she waited for me to go on. I tried to read her expression, to
detect some sign that she was lying. But she sat calmly
waiting, her hands folded in her lap. And the hands weren't
even perspiring. ' 'That so-called press release you tcx)k to
Amalgamated in Washington. Do you know that it was a
death threat?"
Her eyes widened and her pretty mouth dropped orrn. She
stared at me and made the noiseless, voiceless motions again
with her mouth. Then:
"Oh, Nick, you have to be mistaken. Mr. Cronin certainly
wouldn't go so far as to kill anyone. Besides, who was he
going to kill?"
"Is going to kill, " corrected. '6The deal is still on. I can't
give you details, but it involves an entire organization, start-
ing with the top man. It is a good organization and Cronin has
threatened to wipe out every member."
"Is it this AXE you talked about?"
I nodded and watched her face. She seemed genuinely
disturbed, genuinely concerned.
'Nick, I don't know anything about AXE or a death threat
or agents. What I told you is the truth. If you don't believe
me, I suggest you call on Mr. Cronin yourself."
I grinned. "Yeah, he'd like that, wouldn't he? No, baby,
I'm not calling on your Mr. Cronin, not in person and not just




47
yet. First, I have to find out if you're telling the tnlth and if
you're willing to work with me."
She nodded and spread her hands in a gesture of (Finess.
"I'll do anything you tell me, Nick. And I am telling the
truth. Do you tElieve me?"
"We'll soon find out. " I tc»k the telephone from the table
beside and handed it to her. "Call your boss in New
York," I said. "Tell him that you met with me and that I'm
interested in his deal. Tell him I want to arrange a meeting. ' '
We both knew that it would be folly to meet with RotEt•t
Cronin. He knew me by reputation, and he knew that I would
not become a traitor. Dave Snyder knew it also. All I wanted
to do was tip him that I was in Paris, then wait for develop-
ments. But I didn't want him to know that I was using myself
as bait to draw him, or his asscxiates, into the open.
"Be careful what you say, Diane, or Elaine, whichever
name you prefer. You've got to convince him that you
believe I'm ready to play tumcoat. Okay?"
She and picked up the telephone. After she talked
with her tk)ss in New York, I knew that she had been telling
me the truth. She did a splendid job. All I had to do was sit
back and relax. Results would come before nightfall.
But 1 did let down.
'Now do you tklieve me?" Elaine said as we walked arm
in arm into the bedroom. She preferred the name Elaine to
Diane, because Cronin had chosen the phony name for her.
His rationale was that someone might trace Elaine Withers
back to him. Now, she didn't ü•ust Cronin or his company,
and she u•uly believed that he was trying to destroy an
organization in the American government, that he
was the traitor. She wanted to shed any and all connections
with Cronin.
believe you," I said as I unzipped the back of her dress
and peeled it around her shoulders. The white skin reminded
me of balmy Calcutta nights as I stood there holding her soft
shoulders and gazing down at the full mounds of her breasts
under the pale yellow brassiere.
I slid my hands down her arms and around to cup her
48



48
+ 110%
NICK CARTER
breasts. At the same time. I pressed my groin into her firm
butt(Xks. Her delicate perfume seemed to surround us and
the thought of having this trautiful and living woman again
filled my head with dreamy thoughts. All danger and pain
and fear seemed far away, far, far away.
In that moment, when I was at my weakest and most
vulnerable, the door crashed open, spilling splinters and
pieces of metal across the floor of the sitting room. Two men
came in with drawn guns. A third in the doorway with
an evil grin on his face.
As one man raised his automatic weapon to fire, I pushed
Elaine away from me and went for my Luger, at the same
time leaping back out of the line of fire.
My hand was on Wilhelmina's sturdy butt, my finger on
the trigger. I saw the spits of flame from the muzzle of the
automatic weapon, then heard the chattering. Above this
came the throaty boom of the Luger and the man went down,
firing into the nc»r.
I caught the second man in my sights just as he was
squeezing the trigger. The Luger and the automatic pistol
went off at the same time, and the man in the doorway made a
flying leap headlong toward the flcx)r.
The bullet from Wilhelmina plunked into his forehead and
he did a slow turn as he went down. I leaped to the bedroom
door and saw the åird man scrambling behind a couch,
trying to get his gun out of his holster under his left arm.
waited for him to get his pistol , then Wilhelmina boomed
twice. He was quiet, but I went into the sitting room to make
sure he was dead. He was.
"It's okay now," I shouted to Elaine Withers. ' 'Y ma can
come up for air. They're all dead."
heard footsteps in the comdor and knew that I had to get
Elaine Withers and clear out of the hotel. The French police
wouldn't be happy to see either one of us; we would give
them one hell of a puzzle to solve. I really didn't have time to
wonder why men had shown up so quickly after Elaine had
called Cronin in New York. Had they tailed me to the hotel,
or was there a connection between their assault and her
STRIKE CF HAWK
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