Agent Counter-Agent

Eight

Hawk, Vincent, and I went to the White Palace early the next morning. Most of the regular security force had been there all night. By six a.m. it was already a madhouse. Hawk told Vincent and me to check out the conference room and adjacent rooms before nine-thirty, when the conference was scheduled to begin. I was very jumpy. It gave me a weird feeling to be making all these security checks, moving so easily among the people who were there for the sole purpose of stopping me. If I hadn't been so nervous, I'd have enjoyed the irony of it all. The security men nodded and smiled at me, never suspecting I was the one who'd see to it that no one left the conference room alive.

Throughout the morning the faces from the orientation room came back to me over and over again, and every time it happened, I'd break out in a cold sweat. The intensity of my hatred was tearing me apart. I wanted to get on with it, to get the job done, to rid the world of those two evil men.

"Well, here it is an hour before conference time," Hawk said to me, "and we have nothing more to go on than we had when we left Washington. Except that we can look for a tall man that nobody but you has seen."

"That isn't my fault," I said sharply.

Hawk studied my face, and I realized I'd done it again. I avoided his piercing eyes.

"Who the hell said it was?" he snapped back.

"I'm… sorry, sir. I guess I'm a little edgy because of the conference."

"That isn't like you at all, Nick," he said seriously. "You always keep your cool. That's why I consider you my best. What is it with you, anyway? You know you can level with me."

I looked at him. He had a strange effect on me, and I couldn't figure out why. I liked the man, and somehow I felt very close to him, though I'd never laid eyes on him before yesterday morning. It was weird. "I'll be all right, sir," I said. "You can count on me."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, I'm sure."

"All right. If you discover anything, you can find me at the security headquarters."

When he left, I felt like punching my fist into a wall. I might look like Nick Carter, but I wasn't acting like him. And Hawk was noticing. If I wasn't more careful, I'd blow the whole mission.

By conference time, the palace was impossibly hectic. The halls were jammed with people. There were hundreds of reporters from all over the world. Flashbulbs were going off every minute, and there was a great deal of shouting and gesturing. When the principals arrived at the conference room, the crowd around them was so thick you could barely see them.

Seeing them again at close range, I felt such hostility, such open hatred for them that I had to turn away. I couldn't even watch them go into the room. After a few minutes everyone was inside, and the big double doors were shut behind them. The conference had begun.

When I'd gotten to the palace and checked out the conference room I'd made a point of noticing the water carafe on the long mahogany table. It was identical to the one I'd be given later, at the noon recess. It had been sitting there on a tray, along with about a dozen sparkling crystal glasses. By noon, whatever water was left in the carafe would be stale, and it would be natural for the palace staff to bring in fresh water for the afternoon session.

The morning seemed a year long. I paced restlessly up and down the long corridor. The other security people looked at me. The halls were full of them. Two Venezuelan guards, one CIA man, and one Secret Service agent stood guard at the entrance of the conference room. Every one of them knew Nick Carter, and no one had given me a second glance when I'd inspected the room earlier.

At about eleven-thirty, half an hour before the recess, the corridor outside the conference room began to fill again. I was feeling the awful tightness in my chest, and my head was beginning to ache. But this time the pain was almost pleasurable. I knew it would disappear immediately after I'd carried out my mission.

Just before recess a CIA agent came up to me. He obviously knew me, and I was supposed to know him. I concentrated, and his face began to look familiar, though of course it wasn't. It was all conditioning, and I didn't have time to worry about how it worked. Still, these confrontations made me nervous. One slip could destroy the whole mission.

"Where have you been, Carter?" the man asked. "We haven't seen you around here for a couple of days."

"Oh. I've been checking out some leads," I said tightly, trying hard to sound natural.

"Leads?"

"I saw a suspicious-looking man at the reception the other night, but it turned out to be a dead end."

"Oh, yeah, I heard about that. I also heard you were shacking up with some German girl for a while. Any truth in that?" he sneered.

The grin suddenly reminded me of the one on the American Vice-President's face when he had introduced me to the President. "Why don't you get lost, you incompetent bastard!" I snarled.

Suddenly I noticed Hawk and Vincent standing just a few feet away, staring at me. I hadn't seen them walk up.

"You ought to keep this one on a leash," the CIA man said angrily as he walked quickly past Hawk and Vincent and moved on down the corridor.

Hawk stood there studying me for a minute. When he spoke, his voice was calm and quiet. "Come with us, Nick," he said.

"I'd like to be here when they come out," I said. "There could be trouble."

"Damn it, I said to come with us!"

I rubbed a hand across my mouth. I was in trouble, with just a little over an hour to go till I had to meet the man who'd give me the carafe. But there was no way I could get out of going with Hawk. He wasn't giving me any choice.

"All right," I said quietly.

Hawk led us to an empty private room near the security headquarters. When we were inside, Hawk closed and locked the door, then turned to me. Vincent stood off to one side, looking very embarrassed.

"Now," Hawk said in a hard, low voice. "What the devil is going on here? I've taken about as much as I can from you, Nick. You're acting like a maniac."

I gave Vincent an angry look. "You told him about the incident at the party."

"No, I didn't," Vincent said defensively. "But I should have."

"What incident?" Hawk asked.

"Just a little emotional flare-up," Vincent said.

I licked my dry lips. I was glad he hadn't mentioned my going for the Luger. Hawk was sharp. I was sure he already had doubts about my identity. Maybe he'd spotted some defect in my disguise. Maybe they'd left off some mole or scar or something else that had given me away. No, it had to be my fault. I just wasn't acting like Nick Carter.

"All right, what is it?" Hawk asked impatiently. "Why are you so damned jumpy all the time? You haven't been the same person since you came back from that villa."

The answer was easy. I was a different person. Rafael Chávez. But I couldn't tell him that. He was one of the enemy. Both these AXE men were my enemies.

"I just don't know, sir. Maybe it's because this whole thing is so damned frustrating, with the hordes of people milling around and the noise and confusion. And the worst part is knowing something could happen at any minute and we might not be able to do anything about it. This security work isn't my style."

Both men were silent for a minute. Hawk turned away and walked over to a window. "I'm afraid that's not good enough, Nick." He turned back to me. His lean frame seemed to have shrunk even further into his tweed jacket, and his cold eyes seemed to be looking right through me. "Just what happened during those two days you were gone?"

"Just what I told you," I said.

"I don't like to say it, Nick, but I think you're holding something back from me. That isn't like you, either. We've always been very frank with each other, haven't we?"

The pressure was rising in my head and chest. There was less than an hour to go before I had to be out there in that corridor. And David Hawk wanted to talk and talk.

"Yes, we've always been frank."

"Then let's be frank now," Hawk said. "I think something happened when you disappeared, and I don't understand why you're not telling me about it. I know you must have your reasons for holding back, but it would be a hell of lot better for both of us if you spit it out. Does it concern the Hoffmann girl?"

I shot a look at him. "No, it doesn't have anything to do with the girl. Why the hell should it? I told you she was clear. Do you really believe I'm lying to you? Is my loyalty suddenly in question?" I realized I was shouting, but it was too late.

"Take it easy, Nick," Vincent said quietly.

For a minute Hawk didn't say anything. He was staring at me again, piercing me with those hard, cold eyes. The pressure in my head and chest was rising dangerously, and I felt like a bomb getting ready to go off.

"Nick," Hawk said slowly, "I'm taking you off this case." His face suddenly looked old and tired.

A cold chill passed through me. I turned to meet his eyes. "You can't do that," I said hollowly. "You need me here."

"Please believe me when I say I don't want to. You're number one on my list, and you know it. Your record speaks for itself. But something is very wrong here. The feeling I had when I arrived in Caracas — the horrible feeling that something had gone haywire — is still with me. In fact, it's gotten a lot stronger in the past couple of days." He looked at Vincent. "You feel it too, don t you, Clay?"

"Yes, sir," Vincent said. "I do."

"You've always placed a lot of value on gut feelings, Nick. You've told me so yourself many times. Well, I do too. And right now I have a very strong feeling that you shouldn't be involved in this assignment any more. For your own good as well as for the good of the conference."

"Sir, if you'll just give me a chance to show you I'm all right," I said. "Just let me stay through the noon recess."

His brow furrowed, "Why the noon recess?"

I couldn't look him in the eye. "That just seems like a particularly dangerous time. Once they're safely back in the conference room, it's not likely that anything will go wrong. I'll leave then if you want me to."

"I want you to leave now," Hawk said coolly. "Vincent, go get one of the Venezuelan guards. I'm sending one back to the hotel with Nick, just to make sure he gets there all right."

"That isn't necessary!" I said angrily.

"Forgive me, Nick, but I think it is," Hawk said. His voice was as hard as his eyes.

Vincent had started for the door, and I suddenly panicked. I couldn't let these men stop me from carrying out my assignment. Something clicked inside, and my head cleared. I knew what I had to do. I had to kill them. A hard, cold determination came over me.

I reached quickly into my jacket and pulled out the Luger. I aimed it at Hawk but spoke to Vincent. "Hold it right there," I said sharply.

They were both staring at me in complete shock.

"Have you gone mad?" Hawk asked incredulously.

Vincent had turned back from the door. "Come around here, where I can see you," I said. As soon as he did, I'd kill them both. But I'd have to be quick about it.

"What is this, Nick?" Vincent asked in a low, strained voice.

"The name is Rafael Chávez." I said. "I'm a Vigilante. It doesn't matter now if you know. Nick Carter is dead, and I'm impersonating him. Within the hour, I'll have completed my mission, and everyone at the conference will be dead. Nothing is going to stop me, so move around in front of me, like I said."

Hawk and Vincent exchanged looks. "I saw the secret tattoo on your right arm when you were washing up this morning," Hawk said slowly. "No, you're not an imposter. For God's sake, Nick, put that thing down and talk to us."

His words infuriated me. I aimed the automatic at his chest. But then I saw Vincent lunging toward me.

I whirled around to meet him, but I was a split second too late. The next thing I knew, he was on top of me, and we were crashing to the floor.

When we hit, Vincent's meaty fist smashed into my face. It was a hard blow, and it dazed me. Then I felt the Luger being twisted out of my hand. I held on with all my strength, but Vincent had the advantage. The automatic fell to the floor. I was recovering my strength, though. I got a foot up against Vincent and kicked him hard in the groin.

He screamed and fell off me onto his back. I spotted the Luger, then started to go for it.

"Don't do it, Nick. I'll have to shoot." Hawk was standing over us, holding his Beretta on me. I looked up past the long silencer and into his eyes, and I knew he was dead serious. I stood up slowly.

"You think you can stop me with that?" I asked in a menacing voice I didn't recognize as my own.

"I'm quite sure I can," he said calmly. "But don't make me do it."

"I'm going to take that toy away from you and kill you with it," I growled. I took a step toward him.

"I'll shoot, Nick," Hawk said. But I could see a hint of fear in his eyes — he was afraid he couldn't kill me.

I was just about to call his bluff when I saw Vincent staggering back to his feet. As Hawk aimed the gun carefully at my chest, Vincent came at me. I grabbed him and dragged him in front of me to shield myself from Hawk's Beretta. Then I gave Vincent a hard shove, and he fell heavily against Hawk. Both men stumbled backward, and the gun went off, making a soft thumping sound. The slug slammed into the ceiling.

I moved quickly, smashing the side of my right hand against Vincent's neck, and he fell away from Hawk, clearing my path. As Hawk was bringing the gun down to aim again, I grabbed his gun arm and pulled, twisting hard as I dragged him toward me. He went flying over my hip and crashed to the floor, the Beretta clattering up against the wall behind him. He was out cold.

I started for the Luger, but just then Vincent tackled me again. I went down but recovered immediately and threw a left hook into Vincent's broad face. His cheekbone snapped, and he crumpled under the blow. He was hurt, but he wasn't finished. I saw his hand go inside his jacket. In a single motion I slipped the stiletto down into my palm and sent it flying just as Vincent was taking aim. The knife sliced in under his ribs, and he gasped, his eyes going wide, and fell over onto his side.

"Jesus, Nick!" Hawk shouted, staring at Vincent's body in disbelief. Hawk had regained consciousness but was still too weak to move. I grabbed the Luger and aimed it carefully at his head. He'd have to die. There was no other way. I tightened my finger on the trigger, but something stopped me. Hawk was staring up at me, defiant and angry — and hurt.

Hatred and fury welled up in my chest. This man stood in my way. I had to eliminate him. My finger tightened again on the hard metal of the trigger. I looked into that lined face and froze, stunned by an unexpected surge of emotion. I didn't know why, but I liked and respected the man too much to shoot. Yet I had to pull the trigger. I broke out in a cold sweat as the conflicting emotions tugged at my fevered brain. I licked my dry lips and took aim again. My duty was clear. David Hawk had to die.

But I couldn't do it. I just couldn't pull the trigger. Maybe I didn't have to kill him, after all. I could tie him up and keep him out of the way till I'd completed my mission.

Hawk was watching my face. He didn't really seem surprised when I lowered the gun.

"I knew you wouldn't kill me" he said quietly.

"Shut up!" I shouted. I was too frustrated and confused to think clearly.

I bound Hawk's hands and feet with his tie and belt. My mind raced, I'd fought like an AXE agent, not an amateur revolutionary. And I'd bound Hawk like a pro, though I knew I'd never done anything like it before. And there was that strange emotion I'd felt for the old man. It didn't make any more sense than the flashes of unknown memories and the crazy dreams I'd had for the past few days.

Again I had the feeling that something was drastically wrong with all of this — with the people at the clinic, the mission I was on, and myself. But there wasn't time to figure it out.

I dragged Hawk to a closet. I hadn't gagged him because I knew the rooms were completely soundproof. He just kept staring at me.

"You're drugged or something," he said.

"Keep quiet and I won't kill you," I said harshly.

"You don't want to kill me. Do you really believe you're a man named Chávez?"

"I am Chávez."

"That's not true," he said emphatically. "You're Nick Carter. Goddamn it, you're Nick Carter!"

He was making my head spin. The headache was returning — the headache that would go way only after I'd killed my enemies. I glanced at my watch and saw that I only had about half an hour to go. I stuffed Hawk into the closet and slammed and locked the door. I glanced at Vincent as I walked to the door. He looked dead, and for some crazy reason, I was really sorry about it.

I went out into the corridor and was surprised to find it almost deserted. A Venezuelan policeman was going into a security room at the other end of the hall. He hadn't seen me. Obviously, nobody had heard us. But I didn't want to run into anyone. The security people might wonder where I was coming from, or somebody who'd seen me go down the hall with Hawk and Vincent might start putting two and two together. I decided to leave the palace through a side entrance. I could walk through the garden and come back in through the main entrance. Hopefully, the crowds would have dispersed during the noon recess. And anyone who saw me coming in would just assume I'd gone out for an early lunch. I looked around quickly, walked calmly down the hall, and went out through the side door.