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Retreat For Death3333333

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Школа кожевенного мастерства: сумки, ремни своими руками

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NICK CARTER

of the directors. He said it was all right."

I tried to think. "How long were they here?"

"They showed up early, about eight o'clock I

think it was, and they had breakfast with Patricia

before they went into the study."

"Did they say where they were going?"

"Why, yes," thc housekeeper said. "They told

me that they were flying down to Washington to

meet with you and Mr. Atterbury. That's why I

was so surprised to see you here."

They had her. Christ, they had her. I released the

woman. "Can I use a telephone?"

"Yes, sir," she said, and she shov,cd me into the

study.

When she was gone, I telephoned Hawk and ex-

plained what had happened out here, asking him to

check with the airlines at LaGuardia and Kennedy

and call me back here when he found out some-

thing.

Next, I telephoned the Staley Foundation, the

operator answering on the second ring.

"Stewart Atterbury, please,"

I said, "Nick

Carter calling."

"I'm sorry, Mr. Carter. Mr. Atterbury is out of

the office. "

"When do you expect him back?"

"J really couldn't say, sir. He left for Washing-

ton, D.C. about two hours ago."

I stood there a long moment, the telephone to

my ear, unable to say a thing. Atterbury had re-

mained in town overnight, leaving Pat out here

alone. And then this morning he had left. I didn't

want it to make any sense, but I was getting a very

strong gut feeling that Atteroury was something

other than he seemed to be.

RETREAT FOR DEATH

' 'Thanks," I finally mumbled, and I hung up and

sat down on the edge of the desk. I lit myself a

cigarette, inhaling deeply.

It would do absolutely no good for me to run off

half cocked now. They were all gone, and until

Hawk got back to me with some concrete informa-

tion, I'd get no where by leaving here. But I had a

hunch I knew exactly where they had gone.

After awhile I went around behind the desk and

began looking through the drawers. There was lit-

tle other than the usual things found in desk

drawers, except in one which contained a Smith &

Wesson .38 police special, with a box of shells. The

pistol was loaded.

Atterbury's telephone index and appointments

book contained nothing other than Foundation

business as far as I could tell. But if Atterbury was

connected in some fashion with the Church of the

Final Reward, I didn't think he'd leave anything

incriminating lying around.

The telephone rang a few minutes later, and I

picked it up. "Yes?"

"l have some bad news for you, Nick," Hawk

said.

"I can guess:"

' 'Miss Staley, Stewart Atterbury, Robert Barnes

and Howard Stenger left Kennedy at noon for

Bogota, Columbia."

"Damn," I swore. I was afraid of that. "Have we

anyone down there who can intercept them at the

airport? I don't believe that's their final destina-

tion."

"We could get someone there in time," Hawk

said. ' 'But our relations with Columbia are so

strained now, an incident at the airport . . . if one

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came up

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NICK CARTER

. . . would be disastrous."

"Yes, sir," I said. ' 'I'm coming in. I'll leave for

the airport immediately. In the meantime, see if

you can come up with any IDs on Barnes and

Stenger. "

"They're both employees of the church," Hawk

said several hours later. I was seated across from

him in his office.

"That nails it,"

I said. "They'll be taking Pat

down to Brazil. Manaus, first, and then from there

to the church's holding farther up the Amazon. Do

we know its exact location?"

"l did some more checking this afternoon, Nick,

and I'm afraid there's more bad news."

I waited.

"The Brazilian government has withdrawn its

complaint against the church. One of their people

from their embassy stopped by at the State Depart-

ment earlier this morning and told them that it had

all been an unfortunate mistake. "

"Money talks," I said morosely.

"It gets worse,"

Hawk said. "The embassy

spokesman told our people that his government

would look dimly on any efforts by us to in any

way interfere with the lawful business of its citi-

zens. "

"The Reverend Franklin Knox, it seems, has

suddenly become a Brazilian citizen. "

"We can't just let this slide, sir," I said.

"Of course not," Hawk pressed a button on his

desk console.

"Do we know where the church's holding is lo-

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101

"Not exactly," Hawk said. "As far as anyone

knows it's located up the Amazon from Manaus.

Evidently somewhere in the vicinity of a river town

called Coari."

"They're ready for him now, sir," Hawk's secre-

tary said over the intercom.

"He's on his way down," Hawk spoke into his

desk unit. g 'I assumed that you would want to fol-

low this up."

I nodded. "When do I leave?"

"First thing in the morning. An Ozark flight to

Miami, then Pan Am to Caracas. I thought it

would be best to keep you away from Bogota.

From Caracas you're booked on a Varig Airlines

feeder flight directly into Manaus."

' 'If Knox has become a Brazilian citizen, the

church will probably have Manaus pretty well tied

up. I'll need a cover."

"They're waiting for you downstairs. You'll be

Roland Cartier, a French diamond dealer working

out of Amsterdam and New York City. There've

been persistent rumors of large diamond finds

farther up the Amazon and Negro Rivers. You've

come to scout out the territory for your firm."

"Roland Cartier," I said in a French accent, get-

ting to my feet.

"Good luck, Nick," Hawk said. "In the mean-

time we're going to keep a close watch on the peo-

ple from the list, as well as the church headquarters

in Chicago and their offices in New York."

Downstairs in Operations Readiness I was given

a crash course in diamond types and identification,

as well as the clothing and identification (including

a battered French passport) of Roland Cartier.

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NICK CARTER

My hair was cut in the European style, I was giv-

en •hoes with lifts to bring my height up nearly two

inches, padding to add forty pounds to my actual

weight, and a strong dye which changed my com-

plexion to that of a swarthy French Algerian of

about fifty. Thick glasses and a Paris designer suit

completed the transformation.

"Monsieur Cartier," the operations chief said,

stepping away from the floor length mirror.

I bowed slightly from the waist, clicked my heels,

and then went to the mirror. The change was startl-

ing. I didn't think even Pat would recognize me.

Certainly no one from the church would.

"Your only problem is going to be the heat. It's

summer there now, and damned hot. Because of

the padding, you won't be able to go around in

short sleeved shirts without a jacket."

"I'll manage," I said.

I remained at AXE headquarters that night, and

in the morning took a cab out to the airport for my

flight down to Miami with connections to South

America.

Manaus (or Manåos as the Brazilians called it)

was one thousand miles inland from the sea and

was actually on the Negro River, which joined with

the Amazon twelve miles downstream.

With a population pushing two hundred thou-

sand, the city was the capital of the Amazonas

Province and a port for ships of fairly high tonnage

that steamed all the way upriver from the ocean to

pick up rain forest products—mostly rubber.

It was big, dirty, bustling, and only two hundred

miles south of the equator, and therefore un-

believably hot.

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104

I wanted to stick around the airport to ask if

anyone had seen Pat, Atterbury and the other two

men show up here, but it would have been too

much of a risk that someone from the church

would find out that questions were being asked.

Instead, once I had cleared customs, I took a cab

into the city where I checked into a nice hotel

downtown.

I was given a room on the third floor, and from

my balcony I was able to look out over the city to

the docks and warehouses along the river.

The church had no interests in Columbia. It's

holding was here in Brazil, so it was a safe bet that

Pat and the others had already come this way and

were heading upriver by now.

Somewhere up the Amazon the Reverend

Franklin Knox held court. Coari was at least two

hundred miles upriver from here, and there was no

telling how much farther the church's installation

was. Or even where it was. But wherever, Pat and

Atterbury were there, or would be very soon.

I ordered up several bottles of cold beer and a

light supper from room service, and while I was

waiting for it, I stripped and took a long, cool

shower.

Just as I was pulling on my robe, the waiter came

with my order. I paid him, then went out on the

balcony where I sat down to catch what little

breeze there was.

The beer was ice cold and very good. I sipped it

slowly as I ate the sliced cold chicken and boiled

potatoes that had been sprinkled with vinegar and

salt and pepper.

There was no airport at Coari; the town was too

small for it. So Pat and others had to have left from

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NICK CARTER

here either by road or by river. I suspected they

were traveling on the river. The roads back into the

jungle would not be good.

A third possibility, however, was that the church

maintained its own runway at its camp. If that was

the case, they could have flown out of here.

But I didn't want to go back out to the airport.

I didn't want to attract any attention. When I

showed up at the camp, i wanted my presence to

come as a complete surprise.

When i was finished eating, I went back into my

room, retrieved my weapons from the luggage,

then got dressed in a lightweight summer suit.

Donning the glasses, I left my room, went down to

the lobby, and stepped out into the humid tropical

night.

From my room I could see the direction to the

waterfront, and I headed that way now on foot. I

took my time as if I was nothing more than a tour-

ist out for an evening's stroll.

The streets were busy with traffic, and the closer

I got to the river, the poorer the buildings became,

and the rougher the people standing around ap-

peared.

Within a couple of blocks from the river itself, I

could smell a number of rich odors, among them

mud, rotting wood, diesel oil from the ships, and

raw sewage.

Poor people were everywhere; garbage lay rot-

ting in thc streets, and on almost every street cor-

ner prostitutes leaned up against the buildings

scanning the passers-by for possible marks.

About a half a block up from the river, I entered

a bar that obviously catered to seamen. Just inside

the door I stopped a moment, and half the people

RETREAT FOR DEATH

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105

in the crowded room turned to look at me. None of

them were smiling.

At the bar, the burly barkeeper came down to

me, and ordered a cognac plain in passable Portu-

guese with a slight French accent.

"On my mother's grave, the wog wants a cognac.

Plain," the barman bellowed.

Several of his customers laughed.

I smiled and adjusted my thick glasses, then

pulled out a hundred Cruzeiro note and slapped it

down. "Cognac, plain," I said loudly, this time

strengthening my French accent.

The barman, who was a full head taller than me,

scooped up the note, stuffed it in his pocket, and

then glancing at his friends, laughed, "You are in

the wrong place, Frenchman. Now you'd better

leave before you have an accident."

I adjusted my glasses again, pulled out another

hundred Cruzeiro note and laid it on the bar.

' 'Cognac. Plain!" I snapped.

The barman reached for the bill, but I grabbed

his hand, pinning it to the bar.

An instant hush fell over the room.

"With two hundred Cruzeiros, every man in this

bar should have a drink," I said.

The barman tried to struggle out of my grasp,

but I was stronger, and I began to bend his hand

backwards, putting a great deal of pressure on his

wrist. With my left hand I adjusted my glasses

again and smiled.

"It would be a shame if your wrist broke," I

said.

"Carlos," the barman shouted.

There was a sudden movement behind me. Keep-

ing my grip on the barman's hand, I stepped aside

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NICK CARTER

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NICK CARTER

as an eighteen-inch-long billy club intended for my

head, crashed down on the bar.

I kicked out with my right foot, catching the

large, dark man in the groin, and as he started to

double over, I brought my knee up, catching him

full in the face.

He went down like a felled ox, blood spurting

from a broken nose, and I turned back to the bar-

tender, grabbed a handful of his shirt front with my

left hand, and dragged him half over the bar.

' 'A cognac, plain!" I barked. "And set everyone

else up with a drink Including yourself."

I let go of the bartender, shoving him back-

wards, then pulled out my Luger and slammed it

down on the bar.

"l came in here for a drink, and to find a man

with a boat who is willing to make some money. A

lot of money," I rattled in perfect Portuguese. "l

did not come for a fight, although if I am made

mad enough by you motherless whores, a fight is

what you will get."

The bartender, rubbing his wrist, quickly poured

me a large cognac and then set out a bottle of

cheap rum for the others.

I reached down and grabbed Carlos, pulling him

roughly up to the bar where I had to hold on to

him lest he fall. "Someone take care of this one," I

said.

Two men scurried up, grabbed the man, and

hustled him around the bar into a back room.

I drank my cognac down, and the bartender

poured me another. It was almost as if I was in

some kind of a western movie, but these people

were serious about it. What I had doneAvas the

only way to earn their respect.

RETREAT FOR DEATH

107

"You mention a boat, Senhor," the barman said

finally.

I nodded. "I wish to go up the Amazon."

"For what purpose .

. e" the barman asked, but I

slammed my fist on the bar

"Ten thousand for the proper boat and crew," I

said. "No questions asked."

I had everyone's attention.

'61 only meant to ask what kind of a boat would

you need? A speed boat, fast and powerful? A

cargo vessel? A tug?"

"A boat capable of traveling with speed and

comfort to Coari and beyond, returning with a

cargo. A small but very valuable cargo."

"And the nature of your cargo, Senhor?"

"Enough," I said. "No more questions." I

turned around to face the others who were staring

at me. "There may be some danger. But if we find

what surely we will find, I will double the amount

of money agreed upon."

"To Coari?" one of the seamen asked.

"And probably beyond."

He shook his head and slumped back in his seat.

The others did the same.

"Are you all motherless whores? Are you all

"You were right, Senhor, when you said there

would be danger," the bartender said from behind

me.

I turned to him.

"There have been government troops in and out

of that region for the past six months or longer."

"Why?"

"The Indians up there have been going crazy.

There have been deaths, always preceded by lights

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NICK CARTER

in the sky." He shook his head sadly. ' 'It is not a

place to be. Coari, perhaps, but not beyond on the

river."

It was possible the church was up there, I

thought. They might have stirred things up just to

make sure they were not disturbed by their neigh-

bors.

"Then I will have to keep searching," I said,

turning once again. to the others, "until I find a

man. "

The comment stung, but for several seconds no

one made a move. I grabbed my second cognac,

drank it down, then slammed the glass on the bar

and started to walk out.

An older man with white hair and a huge stom-

ach got to his feet and shook his head.

"Do you want to leave this night, or will you

wait until morning?"

"You have a boat?"

He nodded.

"Then you will make her ready while I return to

my hotel for my things. We will leave within the

hour."

The other man turned to the bartender. "Luis,"

he said. "If word of this leaves this despicable es-

tablishment, I will return and slit your ugly throat

from ear to ear."

The bartender nodded solemnly.

"This way, Senhor." the fat man said. "I will

show you my vessel first, and we will have a drink

and talk. I will send someone for your things."

I grabbed my Luger, holstered it, then threw

down two more hundred Cruzeiro notes. "A drink

on me. And if word does leak out and this gen-

tleman doesn't return to slit your throat, I will."

NINE

The fat man's name was Pedro Arimå, and his

boat, the Romäno, was a forty-foot, shallow draft

river tug that was probably old and battered twen-

ty years ago. Now, looking at it, I had to wonder

what kept it afloat.

' 'A humble boat, Senhor, but one that will surely

do the job," Arimå said as we stepped off the

dock onto the deck.

It was quiet here. Warehouses lined the broad

wooden quay, and dozens of boats of every size,

shape and purpose were either tied up, or anchored

out in midstream. There didn't seem to be any ac-

tivity.

"Where is your crew?" I asked.

"Tomorrow is Sunday, of course, and they have

the day off. Only my cabin boy, Domingo, is here.

I will send him for your things."

He turned to go below, but I stopped him. When

he turned back his eyes were wide.

"1 offer you no harm, Captain Arimå, if you do

exactly as I have hired you to do. But if you play

any games with me, it will go very hard."

He nodded slowly.

"The others back there were afraid of the river

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NICK CARTER

above Coari. But not you. Why?"

"Oh, I am afraid, Senhor. Make no mistake of

that. It is just that this ancient vessel is in need of

repair. I am more afraid of losing her than I am of

whatever will occur on the river."

"Good enough," I said. "When we are finished,

I promise you there will be sufficient money to re-

pair your boat."

Arimå smiled and nodded. "I will fetch Domin-

go now to bring your things. When he returns we

will leave. "

I followed the man below, where he rousted a

young boy of ten or twelve. I gave him the name of

my hotel and room number and enough money to

pay my bill, and he hurried off the boat.

In the captain's pigsty of a cabin, Arimå

poured us both cheap rum in dirty glasses, and

when we both had taken a drink, he looked at me

over the rim of his glass.

"What then, are we searching for above Coari?"

"We will know when we get there," I said.

For a moment the man let it ride. ' 'You men-

tioned a cargo?"

"Yes," I said. "But nothing that will strain the

capabilities of this vessel."

"What I mean to ask, Senhor, is shall I call my

crew back? Will we need their muscle?"

I shook my head. 'S They won't be necessary. For

now I merely want to get to Coari, where I will

have to ask a few questions. After that I will tell

you more. "

"Coari is a very difficult town," Arimå said

hesitantly. "There may be trouble if you are not

careful."

"Trouble that you need not become involved

RETREAT FOR DEATH

111

in," I said. "How familiar are you with the river

above there?"

"I've been up it once, years ago, with my

father. "

"But not since then?"

He shook his head. "It is not a pleasant area.

There are Indians there—who do not like out-

siders."

"Then we will have to be careful," I said.

Domingo was back twenty minutes later with my

bags, and within five minutes we had slipped our

lines, and the aging diesel engine was pushing us

slowly downriver.

I sat up on deck cleaning my Luger and smoking

a cigarette, while Arimå was on the bridge above

me.

Away from Manaus, and the city lights, the

jungle closed in around us, although the river was

very wide here.

It was about twelve miles down the Negro River

before we came to its confluence with the Amazon,

and swinging wide, well -around the sand bars,

Arimå took us out into the middle of the Ama-

zon, and we started upriver.

There were a few ocean-going vessels anchored

out here, in the much larger river, for the first cou-

ple of miles, but later we left them behind, and

once again were alone.

The evening was hot and very humid. After I had

cleaned my gun and finished another cigarette, I

went below to my cabin and changed into some

lighter clothing, removing the padding I was wear-

ing as well as the thick glasses.

Apparently I had managed to get into Brazil and

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NICK CARTER

up the river without alerting the church or the au-

thorities. Once i started asking questions up in

Coari, my disguise would no longer matter any-

way.

Back up on deck, I climbed up into the wheel-

house. When I came in, Arimå glanced at me,

then did a double take.

"When this is all over," I said softly, "you will

forget that you have ever seen me."

"What are we after, Senhor, drugs?" he said. "If

that is so, I will turn around right now. I do not

want that kind of trouble."

"Not drugs," I said. "And nothing illegal."

"Then why the disguise," the man said fearfully.

"I will explain it later. For now your job is sim-

ply to get us to Coari."

Arimå was obviously troubled, but he had no

more questions for me. "We will be in Coari by

daybreak," he said. "Perhaps you should get some

rest."

"You'll manage all right up here alone?"

He nodded. ' 'Underway on the river, I never

sleep."

"I am a very light sleeper," I said evenly. "And

I would not take kindly to any kind of dis-

turbance.'.'

"You will not be disturbed, Senhor," Arimå

said. "You have my assurances."

I nodded, then went back down 'belowdecks to

one of the cabins, where I wedged my stiletto in the

door before I lay down.

With my right hand on my Luger, with the safety

catch off and a shell in the chamber, I fell asleep to

the sounds of the laboring diesel engine and the

water slapping against the bow.

RETREAT FOR DEATH

113

What seemed like minutes later, I awoke to the

sound of someone banging on my door. Sun

streamed through the small porthole over my

bunk.

"Senhor. . . Senhor, we are coming into Coari,"

Domingo was shouting.

"I'm up," I said in Portuguese, as I crawled out

of the bunk and holstered my Luger.

I slipped my stiletto out of the door, sheathed it,

and then opened the door. The young cabin boy

stood in the corridor, a steaming cup of coffee in

his right hand. He held it out to me, and I took it.

' 'The captain, he say you come up to the bridge

now. He must talk with you before we dock."

"Right," I said. I took a sip of the strong, black

coffee, then left my room, went up on the deck, and

climbed up to the wheelhouse.

Arimå, his eyes puffy and red rimmed, stood at

the wheel as he piloted the boat across the river

toward a collection of rough wooden docks, be-

yond which was a small, dirty looking town.

"Coari?" I asked.

Arimå seemed very worried. "We will tie up at

the public docks. But first I must know if there will

be trouble here."

There was a great deal of activity on the docks.

Large, flat-bottomed river boats were being loaded

with wood, rubber and other things. Nothing

seemed out of the ordinary. Nothing seemed

threatening.

I said. "I'm

"Stay aboard and get some rest,"

going into the town to ask a couple of questions. "

Arimå looked at me. "Please, now tell me what

we have come for."

"There is an American settlement someplace up-

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NICK CARITR

river from here. It is a religious settlement. A friend

of mine is there. I want to bring my friend back."

"Many North Americans are in Brazil, Senhor.

They run many of our rubber plantations. But a

religious settlement? I have not heard of such a

thing."

"It is here somewhere near. I will find out just

where, and we will go there."

"There will be trouble;" Arimå said. "I can feel

it in my bones. There will be trouble."

"Even more trouble for you if you are not here

when I come back. Do you understand?"

He nodded. "I will not leave you here, Senhor.

Of that you can be sure. But I do not want trouble

to fall on my head."

Domingo was down on the deck. And as we ap-

proached the public docks, I went down on deck

with him, and the two of us leaped up onto the

dock as we came in and tied the fore and aft lines

to the thick wooden bollards.

Arimå cut the engine and joined us on the dock.

Our arrival elicited absolutely no attention from

anyone on the busy dock. Workers, many of them

Indians, scurried back and forth pushing hand-

trucks loaded with bales and boxes.

"Is there no dockmaster here?" I asked.

"He will be around in his own sweet time,"

Arimå said. He reached out and touched my arm.

"Coari is not like Manaus," he said. "The people

here do not like gringos. They want to be left

alone."

"I only have questions," I said. "For which I will

get answers."

Arimå nodded. "And then we will go up the

river."

RETREAT FOR DEATH

115

116

"As I said before, there are Indians up there," he

said, waving his hand in the general direction up-

stream. "Some of them are so deeply back into the

forests, that they have seldom if ever seen a white

man. "

"What are you trying to tell me?"

"There are murderers up there. Cannibals. Even

our own government soldiers do not go back too

far."

"There are other river towns farther up," I said.

S' Yes," Arimå agreed. "Very small, and very

much more dangerous and isolated than even

Coari. For us to go up the river, we will have to be

very careful."

"We will go only as far as necessary, and stay

only so long as it takes me to pick up my friend."

Arimå nodded. "We will wait here then for

you. Be careful."

I said, and I walked down the

"Thanks,"

dock and strode past the warehouses and riverfront

offices, and then headed up into the town itself.

Coari was a town of about five thousand people.

And if Manaus had been poor and dirty, this town

seemed to be on the verge of starvation, with filthy

people everywhere.

Yet there was money here. Beyond the town, in

the low hills, there were some crops; and beyond

that, in the forests, there were great rubber planta-

tions.

Two blocks up from the docks was a village

square. The police station was on the far side, a

military Jeep parked out front with a soldier lean-

ing against it.

On the opposite side was a large Catholic

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NICK CARTER

church, and as I stood in the center of the square

by a fountain and the public well, the church doors

opened and freshly scrubbed peasants began filing

out.

Some of the people headed away from the square

up side streets, while others came across to the var-

ious shops and stores that were just now beginning

to open.

A very old man, wearing a priest's garb, had

stepped out on the front steps of the church and

was saying goodbye to his parishioners as they left.

I waited until everyone had left the church, then

started across.

The priest was turning to go back inside when he

spotted me coming across the square, and he

waited.

"Good morning, Father," I said mounting the

steps.

"Good morning, my son," the pnest said. "You

wish to speak with me?"

"Yes. Could we go inside?"

The priest looked beyond me, and I turned in

time to see two men in civilian suits coming out of

the police station. They got into the Jeep, the sol-

diers jumping in the front seat, and then they were

gone up a side street.

"Of course," the old priest said, and he turned

on his heel and entered the church.

I followed him up the aisle, where at the altar he

genuflected as he crossed himself, and then led me

to a small office to one side.

We sat down across a small table from each oth-

er in the dark, cool room. A young Indian girl

came in a moment later with glasses and a bottle of

wine.

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117

"You will drink with me?" the priest said.

"Perhaps you will have breakfast as well?"

"If it is not too much of a burden, Father," I

said. The church was obviously very poor.

He smiled and said something in a strange lan-

guage to the Indian girl, and she giggled and left.

I took a few hundred Cruzeiros from my pocket

and laid them down on the table. The priest looked

at the money and then started to object, but I held

him off.

"I am not paying for my wine and my meal,

Father," I said. "I do not mean to insult you that

way. But you give your people comfort; allow me

to help."

The priest smiled, then nodded. "As you wish,

Senhor," he said.

A minute or two later, the young Indian girl was

back with two bowls and wooden spoons, a pot of

thin soup, some bread, and several bananas that

had been sliced, fried in butter and then sprinkled

with brown sugar.

When she was gone, the priest poured us both a

glass of the deep red wine, and ladled out some of

the soup.

"You are a North American. Perhaps Boston?"

the priest asked as we ate. The food was rough, but

very good.

"Washington, D.C.," I said.

your nation's capital city," he said.

' 'Ah .

"You are many miles from your home, Senhor."

"l come seeking a friend."

The priest seemed amused. "A friend, you say.

You have no friends at home?"

"It's not like that, Father. My friend has come

down here. Against her will, I fear."

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"Kidnapped?" There was something in the old

man's eyes.

I nodded. "By the Church of.the Final Reward.

They have a camp near here. . . s" I let it trail off.

The priest had gone white. and his hand trembled

so badly he spilled some of his wine.

He put his glass down and got up. "You will

have to leave now," he said.

I got up. ' 'All I want to know, Father, is where

their camp is located."

The priest was shaking his head. "You will leave

now."

"I know it's somewhere upriver from here. But

you must tell me where. Exactly where. I need your

help."

"I cannot help you, Senhor. It is bad. Very bad

here for us."

"Then I will have to ask elsewhere. Someone

here in this town will be able to tell me," I said. I

turned and started to leave the room.

"Wait," the priest cried.

I turned back. "I am afraid for my friend and

others like her."

"I am afraid for my people as well," the priest

said. "If I tell you where . . . will you leave Coari

immediately this morning?"

"Yes," I said. "And no one will ever know where

I got my information."

The priest waved that off. "By now, everyone in

this village knows that you are here and have

spoken with me. When you leave upriver, they all

will know what you have learned here."

"If it would be better for me to obtain the infor-

mationelsewhere .. ."

He shook his head and motioned me back to the

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119

table. We both sat down, and he poured more

wine.

There was a small window that faced the west, in

the general direction of upriver. He glanced that

way and shuddered.

"Five years ago when they began that abomina-

tion, we all thought it was a fine thing they were

attempting to do," the priest began. He did not

look at me. "It was to be a place, far away from

worldly cares, troubles and temptations."

"A noble idea," I prompted after a silence.

The priest nodded sadly. "I thought as much.

But then the stories began."

"Lights in the sky at night?"

The priest looked sharply at me. "You have

heard some of the stories?"

"Only that, in Manaus," I said. '"And that gov-

emment troops had been sent up here."

"Yes, but only for a few days. It was the poor

Indians in the back country. They were killing set-

tlers and travelers on the river."

"Was that normal?"

"Not for the last hundred years. But within a few

months of the cult establishing its camp up there,

the Indians became frightened of the devil lights, as

they called them, and began hearing voices and

seeing visions, telling them to kill or be killed."

It was neat. The Indians kept everyone away

from the church's facility.

"The government sent troops up here, but they

left without doing a thing."

"Why did they leave so suddenly?" I asked.

The priest looked at me. "I do not know,

Senhor. I only know that this town, and everything

above, all the way to Tefé, is not safe."

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NICK CARTER

"Where is the camp?" I asked leaning forward.

"It is thirty miles from here. Up the Arauå

River, which flows into the Amazon not far away."

"The Arauå," I repeated. "Are there guards

there? Is the place like a military installation?"

The priest was shaking his head. "l do not know,

Senhor. I personally have never been there, nor will

I ever. But they would have no need of guards, in

any event. "

"Why?"

"The Indians control all that territory. No one

from Coari goes up the river nowadays."

I nodded, drank some of the wine, and then got

to my feet. "Thank you, Father, for your help."

"Will you then listen to one piece of advice, my

"Return to Manaus this morning. Leave here

and forget your friend."

I shook my head. "Too much has happened for

me to do that, Father. But thank you for your con-

cern. "

"Then may God go with you, my son the priest

said. He turned and left the room by a back door,

leaving me alone.

I stood there for a long moment before I turned,

went back through the church, and stepped out the

front door.

There were a great many people on the square

now. Many of the shopkeepers had set up tables

and booths outside, making the entire area seem

like a bazaar on a holiday.

No one was paying me the slightest attention,

but as I came down the steps and started across the

square, I got a funny feeling that I was being

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121

watched, and that everyone here knew exactly what

was going to happen.

Across from me, the army Jeep was parked once

again in front of the police station. The two sol-

diers stood there, smoking, watching the crowd.

A half a dozen brown-skinned Indians, razor-

sharp machetes stuck in their waist sashes, were

squatted down near the fountain, and as I passed

they looked up at me.

For an instant it seemed as if everyone on the

square held his or her breath, when suddenly the

Indians leaped to their feet, the machetes raised

over their heads, and they came after me.

I managed to sidestep the first one, slamming my

left foot into his shins, and he went down, but then

the others were nearly on top of me, and there was

no room for me to maneuver.

I took off in a dead run, threading my way

through the crowd, upsetting display tables and

booths as I ran, while behind me, the Indians

screaming wildly, took up the chase.

Circling around the square, I passed the soldiers

in front of the police station, and they were laugh-

ing as théy pointed at something happening on the

opposite side of the square.

A few seconds later I had ducked down the side

street that ran behind the warehouses on the dock.

As I continued to run, I pulled out my Luger.

I came around the last warehouse a minute later,

and the dock which had been busy earlier, was now

deserted, except for Arimå's boat, which was tied

up.

He and the boy, Domingo, were on the deck

looking out toward the river.

"Start the engine!" I shouted, fifty yards away.

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NICK CARTER

They turned around, and for an instant they just

stared at me.

"The engine!" I shouted again.

Then Arimå was scrambling up the ladder to

the wheelhouse as Domingo grabbed up a fireaxe

and hacked through the bow line.

I made it to the boat, and jumped aboard as the

engine came to life, and Domingo began hacking at

the stern line with the big fireaxe.

I spun around as the first of the Indians reached

us. One of them threw his machete, just missing

me, the long blade sticking into the side of the

boat.

Snapping off four quick shots, three of the Indie

ans went down. The fourth leaped off the dock,

slamming into me as we pulled away, the diesels

roaring.

We went down in a heap, my Luger jerking out

of my grasp, and for a few wild seconds I was fight-

ing for my life, the big Indian swinging his machete

wildly around my head.

Then I managed to flip him to the side, and as he

raised the machete overhead, I snapped a right

hook to his jaw. His head snapped back, and he

dropped the machete. I scrambled up, grabbed his

body, and heaved it over the side into the river.

A dozen townspeople had joined the Indians on

the dock, and they all were shouting at us, but we

were too far out into the river now for them to do

anything. It didn't seem as if any of them wanted to

give chase. They had tried to stop us, without suc-

cess, and now they were going to let us continue

upriver—very possibly to our deaths.

TEN

Ihe people still lined the public dock as Arimå

took us well out into the river, and then he began

to swing us in a big arc, bringing us with the cur-

rent so that we were heading downriver.

Domingo had come back to where I stood, and

wide-eyed, he began swabbing the blood off the

deck.

I tried to motion for Arimå to turn us back up-

stream, but he refused to look down at me. Quickly

I scrambled up the ladder to the wheelhouse, but

he had locked the door and would not look at me.

Pulling out my Luger, I stepped back, and hold-

ing on to the handhold, I fired one shot down at

the latch.

Arimå jumped away from the wheel as I

slammed the door open and stepped inside.

"Upriver, Captain," I shouted.

"No, no, Senhor, please. We will all be killed!"

' 'Then get off the boat here," I snapped, stuffing

the Luger back in its holster. I grabbed the wheel

and spun it hard to starboard, the boat sluggishly

responding.

Two small powerboats had pulled away from the

public docks and were starting across to us. By the

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123

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NICK CARTER

time I had our boat headed back upstream, they

had come within a couple of hundred yards.

Arimå saw them the same firne I did, and he

came across to the wheel.

"I'll take it," he snapped. "There is a rifle behind

us in the locker!"

"Upriver," I said.

Si," Arimå said, angling away from the

two boats.

On the back wall of the wheelhouse was a large,

wooden cabinet, the open padlock dangling from

the hasp. I yanked it open. Inside was iHwelve-

gauge scatter gun and a very old Winchester 30-30.

There were a couple of boxes of shells in the bot-

tom of the cabinet.

I grabbed the double barrel shotgun and the box

of shells and hurried out of the wheelhouse, down

to the deck.

Domingo was standing at the rail staring at the

rapidly approaching boats. Each contained half a

dozen armed men.

"Go below!" I shouted.

Domingo looked at me with fearful eyes.

"Below!" I shouted, and the boy finally started

to move. "And stay there no matter what hap-

pens," I said.

I cracked the shotgun open, shoved two shells

into the barrels and snapped it shut.

The boats were less than fifty yards away when I

brought the shotgun up. One of them swerved aft,

so I leveled the barrels at the other boat and fired,

spraying the entire boat with buckshot.

Quickly I reloaded the shotgun, but the boat had

swung around and was heading back to shore. I

raced around to the port side of the wheelhouse

RETREAT FOR DEATH

125

just as the second boat was coming up to us.

When they saw me, three of the men started to

raise their rifles. Shooting from the hip, I fired both

barrels at less than ten yards.

Two of the men were knocked backwards out of

the boat; the third was driven backwards over one

of the seats, and the boat peeled off, accelerating

aft.

I watched them go, the two men in the water

sinking out of sight, a wide trail of red mingling

with the current.

They had meant to kill us, and I had acted in self

defense. But there would be no Brazilian court of

law that would agree with that. I was a foreigner,

and I had killed several Brazilian citizens, includ-

ing four Indians on the docks.

Getting up to the church's encampment was

turning out to be no picnic. But getting out of Bra-

Zil was going to be even tougher.

Around the other side of the wheelhouse Do-

mingo was standing in the doorway that led below,

a wide grin on his face.

The two boats were pulling up at the docks far

behind us now as we continued upriver.

"You take plenty good care of those sonsa-

the young boy said in En-

bitches all right,"

glish.

I stared open-mouthed at him for a long mo-

ment, and then had to laugh out loud.

"Domingo!" Arimå shouted from the open

door of the wheelhouse above.

"Si?" the boy said, stepping out on the deck and

looking up.

"Make us coffee and breakfast, you little

bastard," Arimå shouted.

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NICK CARTER*

the boy said happily. He winked at me,

then turned and disappeared below.

I went back up to the wheelhouse where I put the

shotgun and shells away. "J don't think they'll

bother us anymore."

"Did you find out what you wanted to know?"

Arimå asked.

I joined him at the helm. About a mile ahead the

river branched left and right. "Yes," I said. "The

church's camp is about thirty miles away, up one of

the branch streams.'

Arimå looked at me. His complexion was wan.

"The Arauå," I said and he nodded.

"It's the left channel. Very bad."

"Why is that particular channel very bad?"

"It is not merely that one, Senhor. It is all of the

back channels. There is no one up them except for

the Indians." He shook his head. "Very bad. Very

bad. I will not go there."

"Yes you will," I said. "It will be daylight when

we go in there, and still daylight when we come

out."

"Are you so sure you will be able to convince

your friend to return with us?"

I grabbed his arm just above his elbow. "What

do you know about the church?"

"Nothing, nothing, I swear it."

I looked into his eyes. He was frightened, but I

didn't think he was lying. I let go of his arm and

looked at my watch. It was a few minutes after nine

A.M. We would probably make it up to the church's

camp around noon, if the old priest's directions

were correct and Captain Arimå didn't do any-

thing foolish.

After everything that had happened in Chicago

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127

and Washington, and now in Coari, there was no

doubt that the church was expecting me to show up

at their camp. But they also were aware, I was rea-

sonably certain, that I did not work for Amalga-

mated Press, and that I was a man not easily dis-

couraged.

I sat up on one of the tall pilot stools in front of

the forward windows as Arimå guided the boat

into the mile wide left channel, his knuckles white

where he gripped the wheel.

Whatever the church was expecting from me

now, I didn't think they expected me to show up on

their doorstep in the middle of the day, demanding

an interview with the Reverend Franklin Knox

himself. But that's exactly what I was going to do.

With any luck, my appearance with Arimå and

the boy would throw them off momentarily—at

least long enough for me to cee Pat, then get her

aboard the boat and get out of there.

After that would come the difficult part: getting

out of Brazil in one piece. I was sure there would be

a reception committee waiting for us near Coari.

"There are three channels leading back from this

one," Arimå said breaking into my thoughts.

W 'The Coari to the south, the Urucu in the middle,

and the Arauå to the north."

"We go north."

The river was still very wide here, but in the dis-

tance I could see where it narrowed dramatically,

swamp lands near the northern shores giving way

in the distance to forests.

"Is there no other way, Senhor?"

"No," 1 said.

A few minutes later Domingo came up to the

wheelhouse with a pot of coffee and a couple of

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NICK CARTER

mugs. Ile set the things down, went below, and

when he came back, he brought with him our

breakfast of eggs, small strips of beef and a flat,

tasty bread.

He took the wheel, and as Arimå and I ate, he

guided the boat toward the outfall of the Arauå,

still miles to the north, as the sun continued to rise

in the equatorial sky.

The Arauå was a narrow channel, barely a hun-

dred yards wide at most spots. But it was deep.

Domingo stood on the bow deck taking soundings

with a lead line, and calling up the depths to

Arimå, who guided the boat with one hand while

he hung out an open window.

I had cleaned and reloaded my Luger, loaded the

30-30 and the scattergun, and I sat now on the

samson post just forward of the wheelhouse.

"That's wrong," Arimå shouted down. Domin-

go turned around to look up at him.

"It is the reading, Captain," the boy said.

"Get up here and take the wheel."

Domingo shrugged, laid the lead line down, and

climbed up to the wheelhouse. A moment later

Arimå came down, grabbed the lead line and

heaved the sinker overboard.

The channel here was at least fifteen feet deep.

"What is it?" I asked.

Arimå turned to look at me, then glanced back

upstream. "I didn't think we would get this far," he

said. "This stream should not be this deep. Maybe

five or six feet, not fifteen."

I got up and joined him at the bow. "Could you

be mistaken?"

He shook his head. "No, Senhor, I am not mis-

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129

taken." Again he looked upriver. "This stream has

been dredged. It's been deepened to take large

boats."

"The church," I said half to myself.

"Must be a very rich, very powerful church,"

Arimå said. "A church that is doing some kind of

a business up here that requires a deep water ac-

cess. "

"How far yet?" I asked.

He shrugged. "We have come twenty-five miles

now. So if you were correct, and the church camp

was thirty miles from Coari, then we are close."

He coiled up the lead line, and as he was bending

over to drop it into a deck box, an arrow passed

over his head.

"Down!" I shouted. I dove aft, below the level of

the scuppers, a dozen arrows silently passing over-

head, two of them smacking into the side of the

pilot house with low twangs.

I grabbed the 30-30 and slid it up the deck to

where Arimå was lying on his belly, then grabbed

the scattergun.

Domingo had ducked down below the level of

the windows, and every now and then he peeked up

over the sill in order to steer the boat.

Another volley of arrows came in, this time sev-

eral of them crashing through the windows of the

wheelhouse, and the others smacking into the hull

of the boat.

As fast as the attack had begun, however, it

stopped. Except for the sound of the diesel engine,

there was silence.

I chanced a quick peek over the rail, but there

was nothing in sight other than the jungle that

closely lined both banks.

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NICK CARTER

Arimå still lay on his stomach, one hand clutch-

ing the rifle, his face buried in his other.

As I sat up, I looked up at the wheelhouse. Dom-

ingo stood there grinning.

"Did you see anything?" I called up to him.

"Nothing, Senhor," he said from the open win-

dow.

Arimå rolled over. He was shaking. "We will

turn around now and go back."

"No," I said, getting to my feet and scanning the

river banks on both sides. I had a fair idea why the

attack had come, but I couldn't understand why

they had given it up so fast.

"We go back now!" Arimå roared, getting to

his feet. "This is my boat, and I say where she

goes."

Ignoring him for the moment, I went aft and

looked downriver from where we had come. There

was nothing back there except the silent jungle.

Nothing. Why had they stopped so suddenly?

When I turned and went forward, Arimå was

climbing up to the wheelhouse, the 30-30 still

clutched in his left hand.

"If you try to turn back, I will shoot you," I said

evenly.

Arimå stopped and looked at me. I held the

shotgun loosely under my right arm, and I could

see that he was trying to judge whether or not I

really would carry out my threat.

His fear of the Indians won out.

"We will both do what we must," he said, and he

took the next step up.

' 'Goddammit," I swore, reaching out for the lad-

der when an arrow smacked into Arimå's left

shoulder.

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131

He cried out in pain, lost his footing on the lad-

der and half fell and half stumbled down on top of

me, both of us hitting the deck.

I scrambled out from under him, popped up over

the rail, and fired both barrels of the scattergun

into the forest, then ducked back down.

Arimå was screaming and crying in pain and

rage where he lay. The arrow had gone almost

completely through his shoulder, missing the

bones. He had to be in extreme pain, but he was in

no immediate danger of dying.

"Listen to me," I said to him. "You're going to

be all right. We'll get you some help."

"Poison," he cried, his eyes wild, spittle drooling

from his open mouth. "The arrows are poison."

"Senhor! Senhor!" Domingo called from the

wheelhouse.

I looked up. He was gesturing to something up-

river. Quickly I scrambled forward to where I had

left the shotgun shells on the deck near the samson

post, reloaded the gun, and popped up over the

rail, ready to fire. But I suddenly stopped, my

breath catching in my throat.

We had come around a gentle curve in the

stream that suddenly opened to a huge lagoon that

had to be several thousand yards across.

On the far shore was a long, modern steel and

cement quay, several powerful looking boats tied

up there, and at least a hundred people all wearing

long flowing white robes lining the dock.

Inland, a huge area had been cleared from the

jungle, and in place of the trees and dense under-

growth, a small, but very modern town had been

constructed.

There was a wide mall leading up from the

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NICK CARTER

docks, and from where I knelt looking over the

rail, I could see well tended flower beds and care-

fully planted trees and fountains up the middle of

the mall, with numerous stores and shops on both

sides.

An ultra modern church of glass and steel, in the

form of a highly stylized pyramid, dominated the

far end of the small town from a small rise. Behind

it was some sort of a wide field ringed by bleachers.

The effect of the buildings, of the dock and of

the people, many of them waving now as Domingo

headed the boat their way, was stunning.

The place was beautiful.

I stood up as Domingo throttled down, the boat

easing the last twenty yards.

Several men, also clad in the white robes, were

coming down the mall toward the dock in a dead

run. One of them was carrying a black doctor's

bag.

Arimå was still crying and cursing where he lay,

and this close in now, many of the people waiting

on the dock could hear him, and they appeared to

be deeply concerned. Almost fearful.

Domingo closed in on the dock, expertly throw-

ing the boat in reverse at the proper moment, so

that we just nudged the soft timber fenders.

Several men from the dock scrambled aboard,

one of them stepping respectfully past me, and

tossed lines over to where others tied us up.

As the diesel engine died, the men who had come

down from the mall came aboard, and the one with

the doctor's bag immediately tended to Arimå,

giving him a shot of something before he ordered

two of his assistants to carry the captain off the

boat.

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133

"Be careful with him, Brothers," the doctor said.

Gently they lifted Arimå off the deck and care-

fully carried him across the dock and up the mall.

The doctor closed his bag and came forward to

where I still stood, the shotgun cradled under my

right arm.

He stuck out his hand. "I'm Doctor Bernard

Wilcox, originally from Buffalo, New York."

I shook his hand. A silence had descended over

the gathering as everyone watched us.

"I think you already know who I am," I said

evenly.

The doctor smiled. "Indeed, Mr. Carter," he

said. "You've caused us no end of trouble, you

know, but Brother Knox is a forgiving man."

"Is that why he's tried to kill me?"

A sigh rippled through the crowd.

"No one has tried to murder you, Mr. Carter."

"And the fire?"

A dark expression crossed the doctor's face.

"The two . . . renegades who did that have been

excommunicated. In fact, Brother Knox wants to

personally apologize for that unfortunate incident.

We were so happy and relieved when we learned

that neither you nor Miss Staley were seriously in-

jured. "

"Is she here now?"

The doctor smiled again. He seemed almost like

an animated cartoon character, and he was starting

to get on my nerves.

"Indeed. She came last night. She's anxious to

see you as well. When she heard you were coming,

she was beside herself with excitement."

"Fine," I said. "As soon as you have patched up

Captain Arimå, please send her down here, and

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NICK CARTER

we will leave you alone."

"Heavens no. Brother Knox would skin me alive

if I didn't insist on extending the hospitality of Re-

ward. "

"Reward?"

He chuckled. "That is the name of our village

here in the forest. Hostile on the outside, but a gen-

uine 'Reward' once you arrive: '

"A half hour," I said.

The doctor stepped forward and reached for my

arm, but I backed up and raised the shotgun, point-

ing it at his midsection.

"I'm in no mood for your silly bullshit, Doctor,"

I snapped. "I want Miss Staley down here within a

half an hour."

The doctor almost seemed to be on the verge of

tears. "Oh dear," he said. He looked over toward

the others on the dock. "One of you good people

go fetch Sister Staley. Tell her Mr. Carter has ar-

rived and would like to speak with her."

When he turned back to me, he shook his head.

('Now, off this boat,"

I snapped. "We'll be

leaving shortly. Have your people bring Captain

Anmå back as well."

Domingo stepped halfway out of the wheelhouse

door. "Senhor," he called down to me.

I glanced up at him. "Get the boat ready to

leave."

The boy shook his head. "We do not have the

fuel to return, Senhor," he said.

"We can give you fuel," the doctor interjected.

"Now!" I snapped.

The doctor turned to the people on the dock.

"Would someone be so kind as to refuel this

vessel. "

RETREAT FOR DEATH

135

Two men broke away, crossed the dock and en-

tered one of the buildings.

"I'm sorry that you cannot find it in your heart

to remain, at least for a day or two. Brother Knox

had planned a dinner tonight and tomorrow will be

a festival of the Lights For Departing Souls."

' 'Nick!" someone shouted my name.

I looked up as Pat, wearing one of the white

robes, came bounding down the mall toward us.

She seemed excited, and . .

. happy.

The crowd on the dock parted to let her pass,

and I was stepping past the doctor to help her

aboard, when something sharp and very hot

pricked my neck just below my left ear.

Almost instantly a roaring began to fill my ears,

and I could hear Pat shouting my name.

I spun around on my heel, bringing the shotgun

to bear on the doctor. But he reached out, grabbed

the barrel, and easily twisted the gun out of my

hands.

Staggering back I grabbed for my Luger, but I

couldn't seem to make my fingers work, and the

doctor's smiling face seemed to expand overhead,

while Pat kept calling my name and laughing.

ELEVEN

I awoke rested and relaxed minutes or hours lat-

er. I was lying nude on my stomach on a padded

table of some sort, while soft, but strong hands

massaged the muscles in my shoulders.

For a minute or two i just lay there, my head

turned to one side. From what I could see, I was in

a large, airy room. Windows high up on the wall let

in the afternoon Brazilian sun. And somewhere be-

hind me I could hear water splashing and smell the

rich odors of plants.

"I'm so happy you are awake finally, Mr.

Carter," a woman said behind me.

I turned my head and looked up. My masseuse

was a beautiful young woman with long, red hair

and freckles all over her body. She was nude, the

nipples on her small breasts hard, and her lips

slightly parted as she smiled at me.

"How long have I been here?" I asked thickly.

Whatever drug I had been shot with made it dif-

ficult to speak. It was as if I was still half asleep.

"Several hours,"

the girl said. "Can you roll

over now? I'll do your front."

The girl helped me roll over on the table , and she

began working immediately on my shoulders, and

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then on the muscles of my chest.

137

' 'What is this place?" I asked after a minute or

two.

"The Palace of Pleasure," she said. '%And my

name is Charlene."

Knox had quite a setup down here. His own

personal kingdom, with all the comforts, and

more, of home. "The man and boy I came with.

Where are they?"

"Oh, they're just fine, Mr. Carter. Little Domin-

go is playing with the other children, and Captain

Arimå is resting at the Clinic."

"Where is Pat Staley?"

' 'Sister Staley is getting ready for our dinner to-

night," Charlene said gaily. ' 'It will be a lovely din-

ner. And afterwards there will be the festival of

lights. It'll be wonderful, you'll see."

I was beginning to come fully awake, my head

finally clearing. And I looked closely at the young

woman. Her eyes were wide and dilated. She was

on drugs. There was no doubt about it. Probably

everyone down here was.

"l want to see her," I said.

"See her?" Charlene asked. "Who?"

"Pat Staley. I want her to come here now."

Charlene giggled. "Oh no, she does not work

here in the Palace of Pleasure. There are only a few

of us in the guild."

I sat up on the table, brushing her hands away.

The room spun a moment as the girl stared open-

mouthed at me.

"I'm not finished yet, Mr. Carter," she said.

please lie down and let me finish."

"Please . . .

"We're done," I said. I got down off the table,

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and she had to help me for a moment as the room

spun again.

"You're not ready yet," she said.

"Where are my clothes?"

' 'There are fresh robes for you when we are fin-

ished—"

' 'My clothing, Goddammit!" I shouted. I

grabbed herarm and pulled her to me. "Where are

my things?"

She was shaking her head. "I don't know. You

were brought here to me, like .

. this. "

I shoved her aside and went across the room to

a low, wide bed set amidst a riot of green plants

that grew in some places as high as the tall, slanted

ceiling. A white robe and sandals were laid out for

me, and I quickly put them on.

"Oh please . . .

please Mr. Carter, you can't

leave here," Charlene was crying.

Ignoring her, I went across the room, down a

wide, plant-filled corridor and out the front door.

The building I had been in was huge, a broad

porch running its length. Several men and women

lay asleep on lounges, while white-robed atten-

dants massaged their temples or fanned them.

Charlene had pulled on a robe and she came out

behind me. "Please come back, Mr. Carter.

Brother Knox will be so displeased if you won't

accept our hospitality."

"Where is the Clinic?" I said.

"Why do you want to go there?"

"l want to speak with Captain Arimå."

"If I take you there, will you come back with

me?"

I looked at the girl. "After I see the captain, I

want to speak with Pat Staley. And then I may

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come back here with you."

139

A couple of the other attendants had looked up,

and they started toward us.

Charlene waved them back. "It is all right, Sis-

ters," she said. She took my arm and guided me

down off the porch and across the mall, the huge

church behind us to the right, the river and docks

below to the left.

Music was playing from somewhere, and there

were several people out and around on the mall,

some of them wandering past the many fountains,

others seated at pleasant-looking sidewalk

cafés.

We crossed the mall and went up to a large,

hite building without windows that was just

low the church.

"Captain Arimå is here," Charlene said.

We mounted the steps and entered the building.

ust inside the front door was a very large room

ith a desk and several medical equipment cabi-

ets at the far end. To the right were four machines

sed to air-inject drugs into patients' arms. They

ere lined up in four columns, and I suddenly un-

erstood just how Knox and his henchmen kept

e people down here so docile. Probably on a dai-

y basis, every man, woman and child was marched

n here and given a dose of some kind of a tran-

uilizer.

We went across the room to the left and went

hrough a set of double doors down a wide cor-

idor that opened onto a small, four bed dis-

ensary.

An old man lay in one of the beds, and Arimå

ay in another, his shoulder bandaged. He was

sleep.

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"There is the captain," Charlene said. "Now can

"Just a minute," I said. i went across to Arimå

and gently shook him awake.

He blinked several times until he finally focused

on my face. "Senhor," he said thickly.

' 'How do you feel?" I asked, keeping my voice

low. There were no medical staff in here at the mo-

ment, but Charlené stood by the door watching

me.

"Fine . . .

fine," Arimå said. "Are we leaving

"Soon," I said. "Do you think you can travel?"

"Sure .

. sure, tomorrow perhaps. Or maybe

next week." He smiled vacantly. They had him on

the drug, whatever it was.

"I'm coming back for you," I whispered. "To-

night. "

"Mr. Carter, can we go now please?" Charlene

asked from the doorway.

Arimå's eyes closed, and he smiled as I straight-

ened up and went back to Charlene.

'61 want to see Pat Staley now," I said. "And

then I will go back with you."

"I can't take you to her. You will have to go

back to the Palace of Pleasure, and I will bring her

to you."

"All right," I said. "And I'll want my watch and

my clothes and my other things brought to me."

"I will try, Mr. Carter," the girl said.

We went down the corridor, across the large

room and back outside. It seemed to be about four

or five in the afternoon, and it was very hot. As we

walked across the mall, back to the Palace of Plea-

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sure, I looked down toward the docks. I could see

Arimå's boat still tied up where we had left it, and

I just caught a glimpse of a flash Of white in the

wheelhouse, but then it was gone.

There was someone aboard the boat. The Rev-

erend Knox was not going to let us out of here

without a fight. And I was not going to leave with-

out Arimå and the boy, as well as Pat.

Back in the Palace of Pleasure, Charlene and I

went back to my room. "Promise that you will re-

main here, and I will get Sister Staley."

"And my things," I said.

She nodded and then turned and left. As soon as

she had disappeared around the corner, I hurried

to the tall, padded table and shoved it over next to

the wall just below one of the tall windows that

faced the mall.

I climbed up on the table and was just barely

able to see outside. I watched as Charlene emerged

from the building and went across the mall, then

cut down toward the river.

She entered a long, low building.

"I'm glad to see that you are feeling better, Mr.

Carter," a man said behind me.

I spun around. Michael Seidelman, wearing a

white robe, sandals on his feet, stood grinning in

the doorway.

"Sister Anderson will be back in a minute or two

with Sister Staley," he said. "Why don't you come

down from there."

I jumped down from the table as Seidelman

came across to me. He held out his hand, but I

ignored it.

"A slick setup you have down here," I said.

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"Why did you come here?"

"For Pat Staley," I snapped. "And I will take

her back with me."

"For the moment you are in no position to do

much of anything, Mr. Carter."

"I could kill you here and now with my bare

hands," I said in a low voice.

Seidelman laughed, but it had a false ring. "And

then what? Your boat captain is in no shape to be

of much help. The boy is happy here . . . it's para-

dise to him. And you'll be very much surprised

when you speak with Sister Staley."

"You've given her the tranquilizer," I said.

Something flashed in Seidelman's eyes, but he

shook his head. "We've given her nothing but the

facts of life."

"And Atterbury?"

"Him too, although he did help convince Sister

Staley of the truth."

I was dressed in nothing more than a robe and

sandals; I had no weapons, and I was still suffering

slightly from the after effects of the drug I had been

shot with. There wasn't much I could do. At least

not at the moment.

"You understand that I work for the

Amalgamated Press and Wire Services, and that

my people know exactly where I am."

"l understand that you may work for the news

service, although I have my doubts," Seidelman

said. "But I do not have any doubts that if any-

thing happened to you here, there would be others

after you. So, nothing will happen to you, Mr.

Carter. At least not here."

Charlene came to the doorway with Pat Staley.

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143

They stopped a moment when they saw Seidelman

was here.

"Nick?" Pat said.

"I want to be alone with her,"

I said to

Seidelman.

He looked at his watch. ' 'It's five-fifteen now. At

six-thirty sharp Charlene will return and you and

Miss Staley will join us for dinner. Brother Knox is

most anxious to speak with you."

"And afterwards?"

"That will depend upon you, Mr. Carter. If af-

ter speaking with Brother Knox you still want to

leave us, you will be escorted by boat back up to

the Amazon, just above Coari. From there you will

be on your own."

Seidelman turned, went across the room where

he took Charlene's arm, and they left.

Pat was smiling, her face radiant. Like the oth-

ers, she was dressed in a white robe, sandals on her

feet. Her hair had been done up in the back, and

she wore a small gold medallion on a headband.

She came slowly across the room to me, and

took her in my arms and held her close for a long

time.

When she looked up, we kissed deeply, her body

pressed against mine.

"l missed you, Nick," she said when we parted.

"I wanted to leave you a message, but I was told it

would be for the best if we parted cleanly."

' 'How are you, Pat?" I asked.

She smiled again. "Just fine now that you're

here, Nick." She looked over at the wide bed, then

up again into my eyes. ' 'We have time now. Let's

make love."

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"I'm taking you back with me tonight," I said.

She took my hand and led me across the room to

the wide bed.

"Do you understand what I'm saying to you,

Pat? We're' leaving tonight."

"All right,"

she said offhandedly. Her eyes

seemed too bright, but her behavior too lethargic.

It didn't seem as if she was on any drug at the mo-

ment, and yet she wasn't herself.

She stepped back and pulled off her robe. She

was nude underneath, her body firm and lovely.

She stepped out of her sandals, then lay down on

the bed.

"Come to me, Nick. Now. Please. I need you."

I took off my robe and sandals and joined her on

the bed. Languidly she snuggled closer to me, her

legs entwined with mine as she caressed my chest

and nibbled on my ear.

"This room is bugged, Nick," she said so softly

I could barely hear her words.

I drew her even closer and kissed her neck. "Are

you all right?"

"They had me on the drug," she whispered. "I

was busy with the banquet preparations today, and

I managed to get out of taking mine at noon."

She moaned, rolled over on her back, and pulled

me atop her. When I entered her, she moaned

again, burying her face in my neck.

"Atterbury is in on it. They drugged me at his

house and then brought me down here. I've signed

a will leaving everything to the church."

We were making love then, and her last words

were slurred as she began to respond in earnest.

For the moment, then, we lost ourselves in each

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other, forgetting where we were and the trouble we

were in.

When we were finished, we showered together in

a small stall, and then slipped into a large hot tub

set across the room from the bed.

She came to me in the tub, and we clung to each

other as if in a loving embrace, which was partly

true. "Can you get us out of here?"

"Do you think you can find my clothing and my

weapons?" I whispered.

"No," she said. "Some of Karsten's men-—he's

head of security along with Seidelman—have your

things up at the church. No one can get near the

place except those on church business."

"Are there any guards here with guns?"

"None that I've seen. But we've all been told not

to wander away from the town, especially at night.

The Indians here are cannibals."

I tried to think this out. Arimå's boat would be

far too slow, and Domingo had said it was low on

fuel anyway. That meant I was going to have to

take one of the church's boats. There were a couple

of them tied up at the docks that looked sleek and

very fast.

Getting down there with Pat, Arimå and the

boy, however, was not going to be easy. It was a

certainty that Seidelman, Karsten, and their goons

would be watching out for just that.

"What's going on tonight?" I asked.

"There's supposed to be a big banquet of some

sort to celebrate the new arrivals

me in-

cluded."

"Where?"

"l don't know. Up in the church, probably.

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NICK CARTER

That's where everything of importance around

here takes place."

"What about the field? I saw it on the way in. It

looked like a sports stadium. What's it used for?"

"I don't know," she said. "But it has something

to do with the festival of the Lights of the Depart-

ing Souls, which is also going to happen later to-

night, and then something really big is supposed to

happen tomorrow night. But no one does much

talking about that, and I'm afraid if I ask too many

questions, they'll realize I didn't take my tran-

quilizer."

"All right, Pat, we'll be getting out of here soon.

Probably tonight. But try to avoid your drug

tomorrow if we can't get out of here by then. And

be ready at a moment's notice to run."

"I'm frightened, Nick," she said, holding on to

me tightly. "And I keep thinking about Don."

"We'll get out of here, Pat. I promise you."

Charlene came back forty-five minutes later as

Pat and I were drying off and dressing. She

apologetically held out my watch, my cigarettes

and my lighter.

"This was all I could get for you, Mr. Carter,"

she said.

I took them and strapped on my watch and lit

myself a cigarette. "Thanks anyway for trying," I

said.

Charlene turned to Pat. "You're to go back to

the dormitory. Sister Therese is waiting for you

there. We all have to get ready for the banquet."

She seemed excited.

Pat nodded, lowering her eyes, but then she

looked up at me, a dull, vacant expression on her

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147

face. "Are you sure, Nicholas, that you will not

stay here with us in Reward?"

"I'll think about it," I said. "But I'd rather you

return home with me."

Pat slowly shook her head. "This is my life now,

my darling. I am one with the Final Reward." She

turned and glided out of the room.

"Sister Staley is a lovely woman," Charlene said.

"So are you," I said gently.

The girl blushed. "I must' return to the

dormitory to make ready. Brother Michael will be

by momentarily for you."

She turned and left the room.

I went back to the bed where I strapped on my

sandals, and when I turned around, Seidelman was

standing in the doorway. He was wearing a long

white robe with gold trim at the neck and hem and

a gold sash around his middle.

His right hand was in a deep pocket. He pulled

out my Luger slowly and pointed it at me. "An

ugly, but deadly weapon I am told," he said.

"It's given me good service."

"l merely wanted you to know that I am armed,

and I will not hesitate to use it if I find the necessity

arises. In addition, my people will be closely watch-

ing you throughout the banquet. The slightest

wrong move on your part will result in your imme-

diate death. Do I make myself perfectly clear?"

"Will I get to meet Brother Knox?" I asked.

"Of course. You will be seated right next to

him."

'SAren't you afraid I might attack him?"

Seidelman laughed out loud. "Not in the

slightest," he said.

TWELVE

Seidelman followed me out of the Palace of Plea-

sure and directed me up the hill toward the ultra

modern church building. Many people were walk-

ing slowly up the mall toward the huge doors at the

front of the building, some of them in small

groups, some of them in long, almost military lines,

but none of them singly.

It was noticeably cooler now, and the sun was

low on the western horizon. It got dark fairly early

on or near the equator, which was just as well, I

thought. Whatever was going to happen, would

probably happen tonight. Darkness would give us

needed cover.

Near the top of the hill I was able to spot a

number of security men with their hands in their

pockets. They circled the crowd and flanked the

doorway. All of them were watching me.

As we passed, they nodded at Seidelman still be-

hind me, and then we were up on the broad, marble

step that led to the entrance.

The church was at least two hundred feet on a

side and probably a hundred and fifty feet tall at

the peak. Just inside the main doors, the crowd was

moving through a broad hallway, down a wide cor-

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149

ridor, and into the main chamber at the center of

the pyramid.

As Seidelman and I emerged from the corridor,

I stopped in my tracks, my breath catching in my

throat.

The vast hall was magnificent. A latticework of

steel beams and sharply angled sheets of plate glass

and mirrors rose in a complex array from about

thirty feet above the floor all the way up to the

peak. Long, curved banquet tables set with crisp

linen tablecloths and silver service, formed huge

arched tiers, all facing toward a raised dais at the

center, upon which was set a single long table that

slowly rotated.

At the far end of the hall, a twenty-piece or-

chestra was playing what sounded like Debussy,

the music barely competing with the hum of a

thousand voices in the packed church.

"It's wonderful, isn't it," Seidelman said at my

elbow.

I glanced at him. "With money you can do

almost anything," I said.

"If you'd only stick around for a day or two,

you'd see just how true that is."

' 'No thanks," I said.

"A pity," Seidelman replied, and we moved off

across the hall toward the raised dais. "You'll be

seated directly next to Brother Knox, on his left

side. I'll be right next to you, the Luger under the

table. "

We were stopped repeatedly by people who

wanted to say hello to Seidelman, and by others

who were frankly curious about me.

At one point I thought I had spotted Pat seated

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with a number of other women, but when I looked

again, I couldn't see her.

Seidelman escorted me up on the dais, and to a

seat at the table. The center chair, the one Knox

would be sitting in, was tall, gracefully curved and

made of transparent plastic or glass. It didn't

match anything else in the hall and seemed oddly

out of place.

I sat down, Seidelman taking his place next to

me, and immediately a young woman appeared at

the front of the table and poured us both cham-

pagne.

Seidelman's associate, Larry Karsten, came up

on the dais, nodded at us, and took his seat a cou-

ple of chairs down from the center. A moment lat-

er, Pat, escorted by two women, came down one of

the aisles and stepped up on the dais.

I started to get up, but Seidelman stopped me.

"Another half inch off your chair and there

wouldn't be a thing I could do to save you," he

said.

"Hello, Nicholas," Pat said. She sat down in the

chair just to the right of Knox's. Champagne was

poured for her, and she picked up the glass and

sipped, ignoring me.

She was doing the right thing. If any of them got

wind of the fact that she had not taken her tran-

quilizer, they'd force her to take it.

But seeing her here, seated next to Knox's posi-

tion, gave me the shivers. I knew exactly what was

planned for her.

Gradually the last of the people filed into the

hall, took their places, and a silence began to de-

scend, broken only by the lovely strains of the mu-

sic.

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151

Looking out across the crowd, I could see that

everyone seemed expectant, as if they were waiting

for something spectacular to happen. Even

Seidelman had the same look on his face, as he

hunched slightly forward in his seat.

I was about to ask him about it, when the or-

chestra broke off its playing, sounded a drum roll,

and every light in the vast hall went out, plunging

us into total darkness.

Immediately I felt the barrel of the Luger

jammed into my side. "Do not move a muscle,

Carter," Seidelman's voice came from the dark.

An eerie, high-pitched keening sound began

from somewhere directly overhead, rising slowly in

pitch and volume so that the sound seemed to fill

the entire hall.

About the moment it became unbearable it sud-

denly ceased, and a blindingly bright blue light

came on, illuminating the Reverend Franklin

Knox seated regally on his modernistic chair.

A sigh rippled through the crowd, and as they

began to applaud, lights came on directly over each

table, including ours.

The applause swelled to a thunder, and people

began cheering and screaming and whistling. I

couldn't help but stare at Knox. There was some-

thing wrong with his image. At first I thought it

was my eyes, or the harsh blue light that caused his

figure to waver.

Pat was staring at him as well, and suddenly I

realized what was wrong, and why Seidelman had

not been concerned with the fact I would be seated

so close to him. Knox was not here. What we all

were looking at was a holographic projection of his

image.

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I glanced up toward the area just above him.

There was a strong blue light. Behind him there

was another light, and from the floor a third light

shown through the chair.

Knox was somewhere else seated at a table that

matched this one. Totally protected.

His image turned toward me, and he smiled, the

gesture totally devoid of humor or warmth. His

eyes seemed to glow with a deep red light, and his

skin was cast in a pale blue pallor.

"Welcome to Reward," he said, his voice boom-

ing powerfully across the hall.

Instantly the thunderous applause ceased, plung-

ing the vast hall into absolute silence.

"Thank you for your hospitality, Brother

Knox," I said evenly.

Knox laughed, the sound booming. 'S This, my

brother in sin, is merely a way station on the long,

arduous road to the final reward." He turned to

look out over his audience that was hanging on his

every word. "Tonight we will dedicate this banquet

to all the lost souls of this world who have yet to

see the light. To all the avarice and mendacity, to

all the pestilence and famine, to all the wars and

money mongers, who can be saved if only they

would reach out their hand for salvation." He

reached out his hands, as if he was beseeching his

congregation. "Will you be saved?" he cried.

"Yes!" the crowd roared.

"Will you be saved?" Knox screamed louder.

"Yes .

oh yes, Brother Knox, we will be

saved!" the audience screamed.

' 'Then join me in our feast. Join me in the festi-

val of the lights tonight. Join me in a day of fasting

on the morrow. And join me, Brothers and Sisters,

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for the celebration of the Final Reward!"

153

At least three dozen white-robed waiters and

waitresses seemed to appear out of nowhere, and

began serving food and more wine to the throng.

Two young women served our table, neither of

them approaching Knox, who sat there looking

over his congregation.

It was a great show, I had to admit. And I sus-

pected that no one down on the main floor could

tell that Knox wasn't really there, that his image

was nothing more than a technological trick of

electronics.

From time •to time Knox sipped at a glass of

wine, but he never looked right or left. He kept

staring out across the hall as the dais continued to

slowly rotate.

Twice I managed to catch Pat's eye, but each

time she just nodded at me vacantly, then went

back to her meal.

The orchestra had started up again, and there

was a low hum of conversation and occasional

laughter. I just picked at my food which consisted

of oysters on the half shell, an excellent French on-

ion soup, a fresh spinach salad, pheasant and wild

rice, but I drank a second glass of the good wine,

and then sat back with a cigarette.

About two hours after the banquet had begun,

the orchestra again stopped playing, and a drum

roll sounded. A silence fell, and the same eerie

high-pitched sound began. The lights went out,

leaving Knox's figure starkly illuminated. He

waved.

"Let the festival of the lights begin in one hour,"

his voice boomed, and then he was gone, the hall

completely dark until the house lights came up

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slowly to more applause.

Seidelman pushed back his chair and got up as

the people down on the main floor began leaving.

I got to my feet. "I'd like to speak with Pat for a

moment," I said.

Seidelman nodded, and I turned and went

around Knox's chair to where Pat was still seated.

Karsten had gotten up. He glared at me and then

moved off as I bent down to kiss Pat's neck.

"l know where you're staying. I'll try to come

for you late tonight."

She looked up at me and giggled, a vacant ex-

pression in her dilated eyes. They had gotten to

her. They had discovered she had not taken her

tranquilizer.

"What did ygu say, Nicholas?" she asked.

Christ. "I said, it was a lovely dinner."

"l'm so glad you enjoyed it," she said.

I shook my head and sighed deeply as I straight-

ened up. It would have been difficult getting her

. out of here with her cooperation. Now the task was

going to be next to impossible.

Seidelman was waiting for me at the edge of the

dais, and I went over to him.

"What's on the agenda now?" I asked.

"Brother Knox would like to speak with you, in

person, in his quarters before the festival of lights

begins."

"An exclusive interview?"

"Something like that," he said. He stepped down

from the dais, and I followed him to the back of the

hall, several of his henchmen coming right behind

us.

We went through a wide door, down a plushly-

carpeted, softly-lit corridor, and then into an

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elevator that went up rapidly, emerging from the

sloping side of the pyramid and through the floor

of a large projection from the building.

The doors opened on the most opulent suite of

rooms I had ever scen in my life. I had been to

Paris and Monte Carlo, to Berlin and Rome, and

to Buenos Aires and Mexico City, but never had I

ever seen anything to match Knox's living quar-

ters.

Gold icons, fine paintings, soft leather furniture

and what appeared to be a carpet sewn of mink and

ermine filled the apartment, whose back wall was

clear glass from floor to ceiling, looking over the

sports stadium and the jungle beyond.

Knox himself, a brandy snifter in hand, stood

with his back to us, looking out the windows. Peo-

ple were already filling the stadium, and he was

nodding as he watched them.

He was a very tall man, nearly seven feet, with a

husky build and a thick shock of black hair.

"Be so kind as to pour Mr. Carter a drink,

Brother Michael, and then leave us," Knox said.

Seidelman complied, returning to me with a

brandy snifter of what tasted like a fine cognac,

and then he and the guards stepped back onto the

elevator and were gone.

"Is it really you?" I asked. "Or another clever

projection."

Knox turned toward me. "You have caused me

no end of trouble, Mr. Carter. Or would you prefer

to be addressed by your alpha-numeric designation

. N3, I believe it is."

I was momentarily stunned. There were damn

few people in the world who had that information,

outside of AXE.

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"Killmaster status, I believe," Knox was saying.

"Curious. '

Then I understood where he had gotten the in-

formation. From Pat. And suddenly a deep, very

dark anger began to well up inside of me. They had

her on tranquilizers. But what other drugs had they

used on her to obtain that information? What had

they done to her mind?

"You would like very much to kill me at this

moment, but it would be of no avail, even if you

could accomplish it."

I took another sip of the cognac. The drink

could have been drugged, or poisoned, but I didn't

think Knox had called me up here to kill me that

way. There was something else. Something deep in

his eyes, almost a sadness, that made me think dif-

ferently.

"I don't understand," I said, looking around the

apartment.

"No, you don't. Your kind never have. Nor will

you ever. Because understanding of this comes

from the heart, not the head."

"Bullshit,"

I said sharply. "You have a great

racket going here. Last I heard, you and your

church were worth more than a billion dollars."

"Seven-point-eight billion U.S. dollars, at cur-

rent market prices," Knox said.

"Which makes you the richest man in the

world. "

"Yes," he said flatly. He turned his back on me

again and looked out the window at the rapidly-

filling stadium. "What have you come looking for,

Mr. Carter?"

"I came for Pat Staley," I said.

"I'm afraid that's not possible," Knox said. "Al-

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157

though I knew it would be impossible, I had almost

hoped that once you arrived, you could somehow

be convinced that what we are doing is right and

good. "

"Convinced? With some fancy parlor tricks?"

"Have you seen an unhappy person since you've

been here?"

"If there was enough Valium to go around, the

entire world would be happy, Knox. Which means

nothing."

Knox shuddered. "Get out of here, Carter. Take

thc elevator downstairs, and you will be escorted

back to the despicable little boat that brought you.

Arimå and the boy are already aboard."

"Not without Pat."

Knox spun around, and I tensed thinking he was

going to spring at me.

"Get out of here. Leave us in peace, or I will take

you where all of us are going tomorrow night!" he

screamed like a wild man, spittle flying from his

lips, his teeth bared.

V' You're crazy," I said. "What in God's name

are you planning for tomorrow night?"

"The Final Reward," he screeched. "Stay and

you will be a part of it. Leave and your life will be

your own!"

The elevator doors opened behind me. "Let's go,

Carter, your boat is waiting."

I turned to face Seidelman and two of his guards.

They all had guns pointing at me.

What was going to happen wasn't scheduled un-

til tomorrow night, which gave me at least twenty-

four hours. Not enough time to bring in help, but

certainly enough time for me to come up with

something.

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NICK CARTER

I drank the rest of my cognac, set the glass down

on one of the low tables, and without looking back

at Knox. stepped aboard the elevator, and rode

down with Seidelman and the other two.

They escorted me back through the church, out

the front door, and down the mall toward the

docks. The town seemed deserted. Everyone by

now would be up at the stadium.

"About my clothing and weapons?" I asked, as

we walked.

"Your clothing is aboard the boat, which we

have refueled and reprovisioned for you. But you

will go unarmed in peace."

"To be massacred by the Indians."

"Whatever fate decrees, so be it," Seidelman

said with satisfaction.

The diesel on Arimå's boat was idling when we

came down to the docks. I stopped by the boat and

turned around to look up beyond Seidelman and

the others, toward the church. Behind it, the night

sky was lit with a soft glow from the lights around

the stadium.

"Tomorrow night will be another Jonestown,

with one important difference," I said, looking

back at Seidelman.

The man had a half-smile on his lips, but he said

nothing.

"You and Karsten and your goons won't be tak-

ing the fall, although Knox will." I shook my head.

"He's quite crazy, you know. I think he actually

believes in all this mumbo jumbo."

"Get aboard, Carter."

"What about Pat?"

Again Seidelman smiled. "She'll be well taken

care of."

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I almost sprung at him then, but I held myself

back. Pat wasn't the only one at risk down here.

Suddenly the stakes had risen much higher. Sud-

denly there were more than a thousand potential

and likely victims of Knox's madness and

Seidelman's greed.

' 'I will be seeing you again, Seidelman," I said.

"l don't think so," he replied.

I turned and jumped aboard the boat. The little

boy, Domingo, was up in the wheelhouse, and he

waved down at me when I looked up.

I released the dock line at the bow, then went

back to the stern and released that line. Immedi-

ately Domingo eased us away from the dock, and

we headed across the lagoon and downriver.

As I started up the ladder to the wheelhouse, I

looked back in time to see Seidelman and his two

guards heading away from the dock, while one of

the large, sleek speedboats pulled away and fell in

behind us.

They were going to make sure that we didn't

turn around and attempt to come back. Either

that, or they were going to follow us until we got

well away from the town, and then attempt to sink

us.

I hurried the rest of the way up to the wheel-

house and went inside.

Domingo looked frightened, but he was doing

well with the boat. Arimå was not here.

"Where is the captain?" I asked, joining him at

the helm,

Domingo looked up at me, his wide brown eyes

filling with tears. "He is dead," he choked out the

words. "They say it was the poison that kill my

papa."

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NICK CARTER

I said half to myself in En-

"Your father . . . "

glish, but the boy understood.

He nodded his head. "He was my papa. They

brought him below. The sonsabitches!"

He was crying hard now, and I took the wheel

from him with one hand, while I cradled him

against me with the other.

"Why?" he cried. "Why?" Over and over. I had

no answer for him.

We made it across the wide lagoon in a couple of

minutes, and then plunged down the deep, but nar-

row Arauå, the night closing in around us now

that we were away from the town.

The speedboat was a hundred yards behind us,

its running lights clearly visible in an inky back-

drop.

"You must listen to me now, Domingo," I said.

The boy pulled away and looked up at me. He

nodded, sniffling.

"I want you to search the boat for weapons.

Guns, ammunition, knives, machetes—anything

we can use."

I glanced back. The other boat was still there

about a hundred yards aft.

Domingo had started for the door.

"Is there anv fuel aboard other than diesel for

the engines?"

He nodded. "Paraffin."

Kerosene. It would work. "Good," I said. "Af-

ter you have searched for weapons, bring the paraf-

fin out onto the after deck."

Again he nodded, and then he scrambled out the

door and down the ladder.

If they meant to sink us, they would be in for a

very large surprise.

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161

I was reaching up and flipping off the cabin

lights, when I noticed the softly illuminated fuel

gauges. One of them was on empty; the other nee-

dle hovered just above the empty mark. They had

not refueled us! It had never been their intention to

let us go. It still didn't answer the question, how-

ever, of their exact intentions, although I thought it

was likely that they wanted us to run out of fuel

here, without weapons. Easy pickings for the Indi-

ans who had attacked us on the way up.

Keeping the boat steadily on course, I kept

glancing back. The speedboat remained a hundred

yards behind us. Probably waiting for us to run out

of fuel.

Domingo returned a few minutes later carrying a

ten-foot-length of chain, and a machete.

"Was that all?"

Domingo nodded. "Si. The paraffin is on the af-

ter deck as you wished. There are two cans, maybe

eight liters. "

"All right. Take the wheel. Give me two minutes

to get below and get ready, then turn off all our

running lights and throttle back. But listen up for

my order to get the hell out of here at full throttle."

Domingo looked up at me, a grin starting.

"We're going to kill the sonsabitches?"

"We're going to try, kid. We're going to try. "

THIRTEEN

Outside on the after deck of the boat, near the

stern, I opened one of the deck lockers, and with

the machete cut a ten inch section of thick rope

from a coil, then quickly frayed one end of it.

The speedboat was still behind us, its running

lights bright points in the night.

Opening one of the four-liter cans of kerosene, I

dipped the frayed end of the rope into the fuel,

soaking it well. Then I pulled out my lighter and

waited for Domingo to flip off the lights and throt-

tle back.

The speedboat following us was made of

fiberglass, the hull fairly thin and light for speed;

whereas this boat was constructed of heavy

wooden timbers with a thick hull and a bow strong

enough to bring down a barn.

Our chances of success were slim, but I could

think of no other way.

Our running lights were suddenly flicked out,

plunging us into darkness. An instant later Domin-

go throttled back, the wake we had thrown catch-

ing up with us, slopping us forward until we settled

down in the water.

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163

Quickly I picked up the open can of kerosene

and poured it into the water, holding it well out

away from the stern.

The speedboat behind us suddenly revved up,

and I could see by her lights she was riding high up

on the water.

Once I had emptied the can of kerosene into the

river, I looked up over my shoulder. Domingo was

hanging out one of the wheelhouse windows.

"Full throttle!" I shouted.

He ducked back inside. At the same moment I

flicked my lighter and set fire to the frayed rope

soaked with kerosene. It flared brightly in the

night, and Domingo jammed the throttle full for-

ward and we shot ahead.

I flipped the burning rope overboard, and the

kerosene lying on the surface of the water ignited in

a small patch that worked its way rapidly into a

large Sheet of flame that rose twenty feet above the

river.

Working my way admidships, I scrambled up

the river into the wheelhouse and took the helm

from Domingo.

Behind us the river was a sheet of flame, beyond

which the speed boat was invisible. But even as I

watched, the flames were beginning to die down.

I angled the boat over toward the left bank, and

when I figured we had come as close as we could

get, I slammed the helm hard over to the right. The

boat responded sluggishly even though we were

running at full throttle, and for a couple of anxious

seconds, I didn't think we'd make the turn without

running aground. But then we were heading up-

stream, directly towård the dying flames.

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NICK CARTER

Domingo was standing braced next to me, a wild

look on his face. For him, this was all nothing

more than a simple matter of vengeance. They had

killed his father. He wanted to kill them.

"Hang on," I shouted over the roar of the en-

gine.

About twenty yards from the now nearly dead

fire, I spotted the big speedboat riding at a slight

angle in midstream, and I braced myself for the

collision.

Something crashed through one of the wheel-

house windows at the same moment I spotted a

flash from the forward deck of the other boat.

They were shooting at us. "Down!" I shouted,

and Domingo dropped below the level of the win-

dows as several more shots were fired.

The speedboat was starting to move, trying to

get out of our way. But instead of turning his bow

toward us, to present a much smaller target, the

helmsman was turning downstream, laying his en-

tire flank open.

At the last moment, I could see white-robed men

leaping off the deck of the boat into the river, and

then I ducked down below the level of the win-

dows, and we crashed. Our boat seemed to lift up

into the air, a deep-throated, grating sound re-

verberating through the night, and then we canted

to the right and settled at the bow.

I jumped back up and threw our boat into re-

verse. We had struck the speedboat just below its

bridge, shoving it over on its side.

As we backed off, finally pulling free, I could see

water pouring through a huge hole in the hull. The

speedboat rapidly settled, bow first, her stern rid-

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ing high up, but then sinking rapidly out of sight.

"Turn the lights back on," I shouted, turning the

wheel over to Domingo, and then heading out the

door, down the ladder to the deck.

Several men were screaming wildly around the

wreckage. At first I couldn't tell what was happen-

ing until our lights came on.

The river was boiling and blood red. Three men

to one side of the oil slick, where Rhe speedboat had

gone down, were screaming and thrashing in the

water that seemed to have come alive with fish.

Piranha. The river seemed alive with them. And

there wasn't a thing [could do for the poor devils

in the water.

Domingo held the boat against the current, and

within a few seconds the water was quiet again.

The only sign that anything had happened here was

a slight oil slick and a few pieces offloating debris.

Domingo had seen what happened, and I could

see him up in the wheelhouse with a large, feral

grin on his face.

We circled the area for several minutes looking

for survivors, but there was no one, and I finally

climbed back up to the wheelhouse, took the helm

from Domingo, and headed back upstream toward

Reward.

"We going back to kill the rest of them, Senhor?"

the boy asked. He was excited. His eyes were wide.

"We're going back to save the other people. No

more killing."

"They killed my papa!" Domingo shouted.

C' There's been enough killing," I said again. "No

more." But even as I said it, I knew it wasn't likely

that that would happen. There was going to be

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166

more fighting. A lot more, before this was over.

The fuel gauge needle was right on the empty

mark as I angled the boat over to the right bank,

throttling back so that we were barely crawling

against the current.

I figured we were about a mile downstream from

the town, but if we ran out of gas here, we would

drift farther away. There would be no swimming to

shore, and I didn't believe we had enough fuel to

get us all the way to the docks. We were going to

have to go ashore here.

"Go below, and as soon as we hit the bank, jump

ashore and make us fast to a tree," I told Domin-

go.

He left the wheelhouse, scrambled down to the

deck, and hurried to the bow line as I gently eased

the boat over.

The moment we touched, he jumped over the

side with the bow line. A minute later he scrambled

aboard, hurried aft, grabbed the stern line and

jumped ashore again.

I shut the engine down and flipped off all the

lights. Grabbing the chain and machete Domingo

had found, I went down to the deck as he was com-

ing back aboard. The boat was secured.

With the boat lying still in the water, it was very

quiet here, and nearly pitch black. Finding the

town would be easy. We'd just have to follow the

river upstream for about a mile, and we'd run into

the docks.

I wasn't worried about that. It was the Indians.

Their attack on us out in the river had been under-

standable. Yet the fact that they had backed off so

easily was almost as bothersome as the fact that I

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167

had seen no defensive measures in the town.

It was almost as if the church and the Indians

had some kind of an agreement, some kind of a

pact together. The Indians apparently never at-

tacked the town. But what did Knox and the others

give them in return? What held the Indians off?

I left the chain on deck; it wouldn't do us much

good in the thick underbrush anyway. I stuffed the

machete into my belt and jumped off the boat onto

the shore, the ground wet and springy beneath my

feet.

Domingo followed, and we struck out toward

the town, the vague outlines of a plan beginning to

form in my mind.

Within twenty yards, the jungle had become so

dense and dark that we were not able to see the

river, only the vague outlines of the thicker trees

around us.

I had visions of stumbling around out here all

night, becoming hopelessly lost. I was about to

turn back toward the river, when a streak of light

crossed the sky, and then was gone.

Domingo and I stopped in our tracks and looked

up. Only snatches of the night sky were visible

through the treetops, and for a few moments I

wasn't completely sure I had seen anything. But

then another thin beam of light crossed the night

sky from the west.

"What is it?" Domingo asked in a small voice.

He was beginning to get frightened.

A third and a fourth light beam flashed in the

sky, and I suddenly knew what we were seeing. Ev-.

eryone had talked about a "festival of lights" to-

night at the stadium. It was starting now, offering

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NICK CARTER

us an easy way back to the town.

More light beams of many different colors

crisscrossed the sky, and I set out directly toward

it, Domingo right behind me.

Within a quarter of a mile, we emerged from the

dense jungle, finding ourselves on the opposite

shore of the lagoon.

Across from where we stood, we could see the

docks. There was still'one speedboat tired up down

there, but as far as I could tell, there were no

guards posted.

From this point we could see the town, which

was mostly in darkness, the church lit in red, blue

and green lights. Beyond was the stadium, from

where the light beams were flashing across the sky.

"What are the lights, Senhor?" Domingo asked

once more in a small voice.

They were laser beams, I could see that. But

what their significance was, I had no idea. I didn't

think Knox and the church did anything just for

show; so there was probably some meaning to the

light show. But what?

'61 don't know," I said, looking down at the boy.

' 'But I'm going to find out."

"I'm coming with you," Domingo said, stepping

back.

"To the boat over there. We're going to take it,

and you're going to stay aboard. As soon as I get

Pat, we're getting out of here."

"You won't leave me?"

"l won't leave you. I promise."

We worked our way slowly around the lagoon,

coming at length to the pilings that held up the end

of the dock. We crouched there in the shadows.

Still no guards were visible. They were probably

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all up at the stadium for the light show which was

still going on. But I didn't want to take any

chances with Domingo.

"Stay here," I whispered. "If I make it to the

boat, you can follow. But if anything happens, get

out of here."

The boy nodded. I pulled the machete out of my

belt and climbed up on the dock. I stayed there a

moment, and then keeping low, raced down the

wide dock directly toward the speedboat.

As I passed the opening up to the mall, I looked

up toward the church. The entire town seemed

deserted, but from here I could hear the crowd up

at the stadium cheering.

Quickly I scrambled aboard the boat, stopped a

minute to listen, then climbed up the outside ladder

to the bridge.

There was no one there, and within a couple of

minutes I had looked through the entire boat, con-

firming that no one was aboard.

Domingo came silently aboard as I was prying

open a cabinet in the forward cabin.

The lock parted with a loud snap, and I threw

open the door. Inside were three M16 automatic

rifles and loaded clips of ammunition stacked in

the bottom.

I grabbed one of the rifles, loaded it, and then

pocketed a couple of extra clips.

' 'No matter what happens, I want you to stay

here on the boat," I said, closing the cabinet door

and hanging the lock back on the hasp.

We went back out on the deck. "You can watch

from here," I said. "If anyone comes down to the

dock, hide yourself."

"You won't leave me," the boy said.

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"No," I said looking into his eyes. "But if I'm

not back by morning, I want you to take this boat

and get the hell out of here. Get back to Manaus,

if you can, and call the authorities."

The boy finally nodded and I jumped back down

to the dock and headed quickly up behind the

buildings that faced the mall, keeping low and in

the shadows as much as possible.

When I reached the dispensary, the last building

at the top of the mall before the church itself, I

could see the stadium about two hundred yards

away. The bleachers were filled with people, and

the laser beams flashing up into the night sky came

from equipment set up in the middle of the field.

The rear door of the dispensary was unlocked,

and just inside I stopped a moment to listen. But

there were absolutely no sounds other than the

people cheering in the stadium.

I hurried through the dispensary, down a long

corridor, and into the main room at the front

where I went immediately to the three machines

used to air-inject the tranquilizer.

Laying my rifle down, I pulled the machete out

of my belt and started on the machines, damaging

them as much as I could, while making as little

noise as possible. I cut hoses and wires, pried parts

loose, and smashed the various dials and controls.

The machinery would be fixable, given time. But

I only wanted to delay tomorrow's scheduled injec-

tions at-noon. If the entire congregation came off

the tranquilizer, there would be at least some of

them willing to fight.

I couldn't handle Knox and his crew alone. Nor

did I want to simply run off and leave his congrega-

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tion to whatever he had planned for them.

I slipped out the front door and stood a moment

on the dispensary porch watching and listening for

any sign of posted sentries. But as far as I could

tell, there was no one anywhere on the mall, or

even up by the church.

Checking first to make sure the safety was off

and a round was in the chamber of my M16, I

sprinted down off the porch and across the top of

the mall to the wide steps leading up to the church

entrance.

The doors were still open, and just inside I

stopped to catch my breath and look back the way

I had come. I half expected to see someone coming

after me, but there was no one.

I turned and went down the corridor into the

huge main hall. The tables had all been cleared

from the banquet, the chairs all back in place, and

the dais was standing stationary.

Only a couple of dim lights high up in the lat-

ticework were on, providing just enough light for

me to make my way across the hall and into the

back corridor to the elevator that led up to Knox's

quarters.

Like the dock and the mall, this place was

deserted too. My luck was running high at the mo-

ment. If it continued to hold just a little longer, it

was just possible I'd pull this off.

I punched the button for the elevator, then

stepped back, raising the M16 to my hip. The

doors slid open, but no one was in the car, and I

stepped inside.

The doors closed automatically and the elevator

started up.

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Knox was the center of the entire organization.

If I could get to him, it was possible that I could

not only gain Pat's release, but the release of

everyone else down there. Just how the hell I'd get

them all out was another question; but I would

deal with that when the time came—if it came.

The elevator bumped to a halt, and I raised the

M16 as the doors slid open.

Knox's apartment was in darkness, except for

the light coming through the glass wall from the

stadium far below.

I stepped off the elevator, the doors closing be-

hind me, and quickly searched the apartment. Be-

sides the living room, there was a spacious master

bedroom with a large, round bed, a huge bathroom

with a sunken tub and a sauna, a small kitchenette,

and a dining nook. The place was empty. Knox

was evidently either down on the field or in the

control room with the holographic projector.

I made -myself a sandwich in the kitchen,

grabbed a cold bottle of beer from the refrigerator,

and went back into the living room where I sat

down on one of the thick chairs in front of the win-

dow.

The light show was still going full force, multi-

colored beams of light stabbing high into the night

sky, almost like fireworks on a Fourth of July cele-

bration.

Tonight was the festival of Lights fot the Depart-

ing Souls, as they ali called it. Apparently a

harmless ceremony leading up to a day of fasting

tomorrow, and then something tomorrow night.

The Final Reward, Knox had said, was coming

tomorrow night. If he meant what I thought he did,

it was going to have to be stopped.

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173

I had just finished my sandwich, and had drunk

the last of the beer, when I heard the elevator com-

ing up.

Jumping up and grabbing the M16, I stepped

away from the glass wall, moving into the deep

shadows in the corner.

The elevator stopped, the doors slid open, and

the Reverend Knox stepped into the living room,

Pat Staley right behind him.

"Stand very still and I won't kill you," I said.

Knox and Pat both stopped in midstride as the

elevator doors closed, and I stepped out from the

corner.

"Nick?" Pat said vacantly.

"You!" Knox hissed stepping forward.

"Stop!" I shouted. Knox complied. "I won't

hesitate to shoot you down," I said.

"What do you want?"

"The three of us are leaving here. You're going

to provide an escort for us down to the docks. I

have a boat waiting for me there."

"You'll never get out of this building.

I smiled. "You'll be the first to die if anything

happens."

"You're crazy!" Knox screamed. "You're going

to ruin everything!"

"You should have thought about that when you

caused Pat's brother to kill himself,"

I snapped

stepping forward. "And you should have thought

about it even harder when you came after me."

' 'What are you doing, Nick?" Pat asked, holding

her hands out to me.

"We're leaving this place, right now," I said.

There was definitely something wrong with her.

She was on the tranquilizer, but there was some-

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NICK CARTER

thing else the matter with her. They had

brainwashed her or something.

"No, Nicholas,"

she said. "Don't you see,

Brother Knox is correct. It is beautiful here. And

tomorrow night, at the Final Reward, everything

will be perfect."

"Listen to her," Knox said.

"We're getting on the elevator," I said, coming a

little closer to them. They both backed up a step.

"Call the elevator, Pat."

She shook her head.

"Are you going to shoot her if she doesn't com-

ply?" Knox asked. He was smiling now.

Pat was staring at me, her mouth open.

I raised the M16 a little higher, pointing it direct-

ly at Knox's chest. "Call the elevator, Pat, or I will

kill Brother Knox. "

"No!" Knox shouted, but Pat turned and hit the

elevator button, the doors coming immediately

open.

"All right, step aboard," I said.

"You'll never get out of here," Knox said, but he

and Pat both backed into the elevator.

The doors started to close as I jumped aboard. I

jammed the barrel of the gun into Knox's chest. "I

want no trouble," I said softly.

We started down, Knox's eyes locked onto mine,

Pat watching us, a horrified expression on her face.

At the ground floor the doors opened and we

stepped out into the empty corridor and started

across to the main hall.

"Why are you doing this to us, Nick?" Pat

asked, walking ahead of me.

"I'll explain later," I said. ' 'For now you've got

to trust me."

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We stepped through the doors into the main hall, and Pat stopped a moment. "No ... Nick, no ... don't do this." "Don't you remember Don? Don't you re-member how he jumped out the window?" She was nodding, a smile on her face. At that moment I almost shot Knox for what he and his people had done to her. "He's in a better place now. Nick. We can all be there together." "Let's get down to the boat, and I'll explain it all there. Can you do that for me?" I asked reason-ably. She looked uncertainly from me to Knox, who nodded. We then started across the wide hall, Knox right behind her. I brought up the rear. "You'll never get that far," Knox said to me over his shoulder. "We'll see . ." I started to say, when I heard what sounded like a crowd roaring outside, and Knox laughed.

FOURTEEN

There was a huge commotion in the corridor op-posite where we stood, and we all stopped as hun-dreds of screaming, shouting people burst into the main hall. "Arise my people, and cast out the infidel!" Knox screamed. I raced forward to where he stood, his arms over his head, grabbed him around the neck, and hauled him back a couple of steps. The crowd roared even louder, answered by an-other mass of people streaming in from the cor-ridor we had just left. Other people burst into the hall from doors on the left and right, all of them screaming and shout-ing. "Stop or Knox dies!" I shouted, but my voice was lost in the din as the mass of people advanced on us from all four directions. "Oh Nick . . . please," Pat cried, and although I could not hear her, I could pick out what she was saying. Knox was hanging loosely in my grasp and was not struggling with me. I raised the M16 over my head and fired a short burst, the shells breaking the glass and mirrors overhead, some of them whining off the steel beams. 6 Still the crowd advanced, and I suspected that even if I began tiring into them, they would not

176

MIRETREAT FOR DEATH 177

T (DH8IcC»

177 I (187 of 228)

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RETREAT FOR DEATH 177

stop. They were all on drugs, and evidently all hyped up after the festival of lights at the stadium. I shoved Knox away and turned and raced to the middle of the hall, where I jumped up on the dais. The crowd surged forward totally surrounding me, and for a few brief moments I was certain they would come up on the dais and tear me down. But then they stopped. Knox came forward, his people making a re-spectful path for him, until he stood just below me, his hands outstretched. "Escape is impossible, Brother," he said. "You can not kill all of my people." Out at the fringes of the crowd I spotted Seidelman and several of his men. They had Do-mingo. One of Seidelman's goons was holding a gun to the boy's head. "Give it up and come with us in peace, Brother," Knox was shouting to me. "We will offer you no harm, on my word. Tomorrow you will participate in the day of fast with all of us, and in the evening, the Final Reward will be yours." I have been in difficult situations in my life. But this was the first time I felt truly overwhelmed. I was armed. Yet there was simply nothing I could do to get out of here. Killing Knox would do noth-ing but hasten my own death, without having the slightest effect on what I knew was going to happen tomorrow night. Alive, however, there was a possibility I still might be able to get us all out of this. I clicked the safety back on, laid the rifle down on the table behind me. and clasped my hands be-hind my head.

NICK CARTER

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178 NICK CARTER Knox beamed his approval. He jumped up on the dais with me, grabbed the gun, threw it out to one of Seidelman's men in the crowd, and then took my machete and handed it down as well. "You may put your hands down, Brother Nich-olas," Knox said gently. "We are all friends here." I complied, and the crowd began to break up, turning and leaving the hall through the four doors. Pat left with them, and within five minutes I was alone with Knox on the dais, four of Seidelman's men armed with pistols standing below. Knox shook his head sadly, stepped down from the podium, looked up at me one last time. then turned and strode across the hall, back toward the elevator. "Convert him," he shouted over his shoulder. "Make him mine!" "Down off there," one of the guards said rough-ly when Knox was gone. I jumped down off the dais, and immediately two of the guards grabbed my arms at the elbows and yanked them back, while a third stepped up and gave me an injection in my neck just below my right ear. flinched with the sharp prick and started to struggle out of their grasp, but my legs suddenly began to get wobbly, a roaring sounded in my head, and a sense of peace and well-being seemed to course through my body, like waves on a beach. Within a few seconds the guards released my arms. One of them took my hand and helped me walk along, down the aisle, through the corridor and out the front doors. The lights from the stadium were out, and most

RETREAT FOR DEATI I 179

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of the people were heading back to their rooms when I crossed with my escorts to the Palace of Pleasure. Charlene, my masseuse from earlier, was there on the porch waiting for us. She wore a broad smile. "Brother Nicholas, you don't know how much we worried about you here," she said. She took my hand and led me inside, my guards leaving us. Everything around me seemed to be hazy as I went with Charlene into the same room where I had been brought before. Gently she undressed me, helped me take a shower, and then when I was dried off, walked me back to the wide bed where she laid me down. She was nude, and suddenly she was in the bed with me kissing me everywhere and caressing me, her lovely breasts brushing against my chest and then my legs, and I could feel myself responding. It was as if I was in a dream. She straddled me, and I slipped inside her at the same moment she broke something under my nose, and a sharply sweet odor wafted up into my nostrils at the same time I took a deep breath. It seemed as if the top of my head was coming off, and I was flying higher and higher, Charlene's body wonderfully warm and soft and secure. Higher and higher I soared, the pleasure cours-ing through me in gigantic waves, while all the while I was dimly aware that my breath was com-ing far too fast, and my heart was racing out of control, ready to burst from my chest. And Yet the feeling seemed to go on and on, the pleasure rising higher and higher, becoming stronger and stronger, until it was almost pain, but lovely pain, and then stars, and spots, and bright flashes, but all

1%0 NICK CARTER

667

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