Blood Of The Falcon

Seven

Gianni Girotti's pose of world-weary sophistication was carved in stone. His many acquaintances in the jet-set world of café society knew him as a blasé idler whose most violent response to a scandal or crisis was a raised eyebrow, a tolerant smile, an eloquent shrug. His comrades in the international terror network knew him to be no less unflappable.

But when his men hustled Nick Carter into his presence, Girotti looked like he'd been goosed with a cattle prod.

His eyes bulged. His jaw dropped. A lit cigarette fell from his gaping mouth into his lap, where it scorched a hole in his expensive custom-tailored slacks. He jumped up from his chair, both in response to Carter's unexpected appearance and to the painful burn inflicted by the cigarette.

"Solano! What are you doing here?"

"Surprised to see me?" Carter said. "I shouldn't wonder."

"I thought you were dead!"

"I'm not — no thanks to you and those idiots you teamed me up with. And speaking of idiots, tell your stooge to take his gun out of my back."

It was night, and Carter had come to Gianni Girotti's villa, an imposing structure set atop a rocky hill overlooking the town of Lulav on the bay.

Villa? Palazzo was a more accurate description. Built in the 1920s, it mingled Mediterranean and Turkish motifs in a mansion that was many-roomed, lavish, sprawling. It was surrounded by terraces, gardens, and arcades. Its grounds even boasted some ancient stone blocks, silent reminders that the villa was but a brash newcomer in this storied land.

The grounds also boasted plenty of guards, some of whom had taken Carter in hand when he strolled up the curving road rising from town. They escorted him indoors, where he was turned over to tougher, more brutal guards.

One of them, Tuttle, an American, ground the muzzle of his.357 magnum into Carter's spine as he was taken to Girotti. A mean-faced neo-Nazi from Nebraska, Tuttle fled his native land following a string of violent crimes committed in the Midwest. He ached for an excuse to hurt somebody, and Carter/Solano struck him as the likeliest candidate.

Girotti was lounging on the deck of an indoor swimming pool, located in its own separate wing. The pool was just short of Olympic size. It was illuminated by multicolored underwater lights. Chlorine-laden moisture thickened the air.

Far more spectacular than the pool was the blonde floating in it on a raft. She lounged indolently, stretched out on her belly, folded left arm pillowing her head, right arm trailing lazily in the water.

Long-legged and sleek, with a glowing tan, she wore nothing more than a shocking pink bikini bottom. Only a female with a form divine would dare to wear so minimal a costume. And this stunning female had nothing to hide — almost literally.

Her form was the only thing divine about her. She was Eva Reichenbach, and she was amoral, violent, hedonistic, and perverse. It was Eva who had provided Carter entree to Gianni Girotti's inner circle back in Milan two months ago. Girotti employed her as a "honey trap" to further his numerous schemes.

Eva stirred, lazily looking up when she heard the commotion caused by the new arrivals. When she recognized Carter at the center of the scene, her bright blue eyes went wide, narrowed, then smoldered with desire.

"Solano!"

Her cry rang in the echoing chamber. She rolled off her raft into the water and swam to the far end of the pool with swift, strong strokes.

She hoisted herself out of the pool and ran dripping across the tiles, bare feet slapping. Her short hair framed her chiseled Nordic face like a golden cap. Her tan was uniform, unbroken by any pale bikini lines. She wore no top. Her full breasts were sassily uptilted, crowned by neat dark nipples.

Carter grinned. "If you must know, she's the main reason I came back."

A snarl replaced his grin as Tuttle prodded him with the revolver.

Tuttle said, "Hey, how about you boys speakin' English so I can know what you're gabbin' about?"

"All right, Tuttle," Girotti said. "If it will make you happy. You Americans have no gift for languages."

Carter could have laughed at that one. His flawless Italian had enabled him to pass as a native for months. But Tuttle wasn't so funny. He was starting to distinctly annoy the Killmaster.

More dangerous than the clownish Nebraskan were Girotti's two personal bodyguards, the duo Carter had mentally labeled Bob and Bill.

Bill was Guillermo Lopez-Ortiz, a fine-boned Argentinian dandy who'd left the savage pampas to ply the gunman's trade on the Continent.

Bob was Roberto Martinez. Where Bill was slim and slight, Bob was a hulking physical presence, slope-shouldered and big-boned. Bob hailed from Uruguay, one of the original Tupamaros. His compañeros in that cause were all dead or rotting in jail, but he was still going strong on the other side of the world. His dark eyes, wide face, and high cheekbones testified that Indian blood ran in his veins.

Despite his brutish exterior, Bob was the brains of the pair. He and Bill were partners, working only as a team. A pair of dangerous professionals.

Now they flanked their boss, Girotti, who never left home without them, or stayed at home without them either. They lounged with seeming casualness, as if they couldn't have been less interested in the byplay, but they had covered Carter even before he stepped into the room.

"Solano, you beautiful bastard, I knew you were too tough to die!" Eva said. Sensing the tension, she stopped short a few paces from him. "What's wrong?"

By now, Girotti had recovered some of his savoir-faire. "We need to get a few things straightened out with our friend Solano, Eva."

She was nothing if not a survivor, knowing when to back off.

Bill and Bob were good, all right. They had to be good not to be distracted by Eva's erotic beauty. Their intent eyes never left Carter.

Staying in Solano's character, Carter blew Eva a kiss. "Keep it warm for me, baby. We've got a lot of lost time to make up for."

Eva smiled, saying nothing. She wouldn't commit herself one way or the other until she saw which way the deal went down.

"Shut up, you!" Tuttle jabbed Carter hard. Earlier, he had grabbed Carter's arm to steer him to Girotti. It was so corded with sinewy muscle that it was like taking hold of a tree limb. But Tuttle had already forgotten about that.

"So tell us, Solano, what happened to the Melina?"

Girotti drawled.

"Don't you watch television?"

"I want to hear it from you."

"She blew up. Those idiots on the ship must have crossed the wrong wires or something, and — kaboom!"

"Why didn't you blow up with it?"

"My squad had already cast off."

"You didn't blow up the oil depot," Girotti chided.

"After the explosion, the waters were crawling with patrol boats and covered with helicopters," Carter explained. "I signed on to do a job, not to commit suicide."

"And — the others in your group?"

"You know Abu-Bakir?"

"The Palestinian? I've heard of him."

"Too bad you didn't warn me about him," Carter said. "We made it to shore with no problem, but that guy didn't like the way some policemen were looking at him. He started shooting. They shot better. I was lucky. The others weren't."

"You deserted your comrades under fire?" Girotti asked silkily.

"With pleasure. You can't desert dead men, and they sure looked dead to me. I got away, stole a car, and made my way here."

Carter got mad. "Are you through playing twenty questions? It seems to me that I'm the injured party here! I signed on to do a professional job with professionals, and what do I get? A one-way ride on a ship of fools that nearly got me killed not once but often! I hold you responsible, Girotti!"

"I told you to take it easy, greaseball!" Tuttle growled.

"Where did you pick up this drugstore cowboy?" Carter asked.

"Why, you dirty…"

"That's enough, Tuttle!" Girotti barked.

"You buy that story?"

"What do you suggest?"

"Hell, it's no mystery to me!" Tuttle said. "This guy's yellow, just plain yellow, that's all! He got scared and chickened out on the job, and on his partners, too! You said it yourself — he's a damned lily-livered deserter!"

"I think not," Girotti said.

"You trust him?"

"I didn't say that, either."

"Use your head," Carter said. "I could have bought myself immunity and a fat reward by turning you all in. Instead, I came here. Maybe that was a mistake, eh?"

"It was for you, buddy boy," Tuttle snarled.

"Who's giving the orders around here, Girotti?" Carter demanded. "You, or this idiot?"

"I am," Girotti said. "Put your gun away, Tuttle."

"But…"

"I'm not asking you, I'm telling you! Put your gun down and stop baiting him!"

"Suit yourself." Tuttle sullenly obeyed.

"Sorry, but in this business, one can't be too careful. Sorry about the job, too, but, uh, these things happen. I'm glad you made it," Girotti said.

"So am I," Eva purred.

Girotti held out his hand. Carter shook it. Bob and Bill eased their intent awareness.

"My boss will want to talk to you," Girotti said.

"You know where to find me," Carter said. "Oh, yes, one thing more."

The Killmaster's right hand was a blur of lightninglike motion as he planted a solid haymaker square on the button of Tuttle's chin.

There was the solid, satisfying thud of fist striking flesh, a click as the blow slammed Tuttle's jaws shut, and a rush of air as Tuttle backpedaled, arms windmilling. A wall interrupted his progress. He slid down and slumped to the floor, head lolling, out cold.

Carter messaged his front knuckles. "Sweet dreams, buddy boy."

Bob and Bill exchanged glances, impressed.

Carter said, "If you don't mind, I'd like to get some good food in my belly. It's been too long since I've had a decent meal. All they ever served on board ship was couscous. If I ever seen another plate of that slop again, I'll vomit."

"I think you'll find our bill of fare to your liking," Girotti said with a smile.

"Knowing your gourmet tastes, I'm sure of it. And while I'm on the subject, a bit of vino wouldn't hurt either."

"The wine cellar is extensive. Make yourself at home."

"Thanks, I'll do just that," Carter said.

"Ah, one thing, Solano. It would be best if you didn't try to leave the villa for now."

"With a dragnet in full swing, and me without a passport? Where would I go?"

"My sentiments exactly."

Carter slipped an arm around Eva's waist. Her satin skin was still moist from the pool.

"Solano, ummmm " She leaned into him. "Long time no see."

"You don't know the half of it. I haven't so much as seen a woman for over six weeks."

"You're seeing me."

"I'll do a lot more than see," he promised.

"Then what are we waiting for?"

"Lead on, carissima." Arm in arm, they went to the exit. Carter paused under the archway to deliver a parting shot. "Your hired hand's got a glass jaw, Girotti."

Tuttle was still out cold. He came to after Bob and Bill tossed him in the pool.

A cordon of Israeli commandos surrounded the villa. Taking advantage of the excellent cover provided by the rugged terrain, they had moved within a few dozen yards of the structure, where they impatiently awaited the go signal. Girotti's guards, patrolling the grounds, were blissfully unaware of the camouflaged action team lurking a scant stone's throw away.

It was an Israeli operation and the AXE contingent had to take a back seat. Griff and Stanton chafed under the enforced inaction.

Hawk had told them, "Remember, we're here to observe, and that's all. Our little escapade this afternoon didn't exactly make us the most popular kids on the block. Of course, if somebody snoots at us, we can shoot back."

"That's a comfort," Griff had said. "You think this ploy will flush out the big boss, Reguiba?"

"It's worth a try."

Stanton looked long and hard at the villa. "I wonder how Nick's making out right now?"

The dinner that Girotti's chef sent up to the guest room on the second floor looked and smelled delicious. Nick Carter didn't take a bite of it. The wine accompanying it was an excellent vintage. Carter didn't drink a drop.

He didn't suspect that the food and wine were poisoned. Girotti wanted to keep him alive, at least until his boss had a chance to interrogate the sole survivor of the Melina. But it might well be drugged. Knocking him out would be an easy way to keep him on ice until needed. He couldn't even use Eva as an unwitting food taster, since they were perfectly capable of drugging her along with him to lend credibility to the ploy.

He couldn't eat and he couldn't drink. That left him with only one source of amusement: Eva. She was in an adjoining dressing room, having showered after her swim.

The room — suite of rooms, actually — was ornate, opulent, filled with heavy antique furniture and objets d'art. There was a crystal chandelier, a gilded oval mirror, a big bed. A bed that looked particularly inviting.

Opposite the bed, French doors opened onto a small stone balcony. Carter stepped out for a breath of fresh air.

A guard stationed on the patio below looked up. Carter flashed him a friendly wave that was neither acknowledged nor returned.

A slight motion flashed in the corner of his eye. Turning to discover its source, he saw another guard stationed on a balcony two rooms away.

He saw no sign of the Israeli action team that should have been in position by then. That was all to the good. If he couldn't see them, neither could the opposition. If he could see them, he'd really have cause for worry.

"I'll be right with you," Eva sang out.

"Good." Closing the French doors, Carter went back into the room. Eva joined him.

He whistled. "Bellissima!"

"You like?" she teased.

"I like."

There was plenty to like. Plenty of Eva, that is. He'd already seen her near naked tonight, so for a change of pace she'd put on something more appropriate to the bedroom, a tiny one-piece garment of black silk and lace. It tied in a halter at the back of her neck, the translucent fabric capturing her firm breasts. Its black lace hem barely reached the tops of her thighs, doing next to nothing to conceal the blond triangle between them.

Carter's hormones kicked into overdrive. It had been a long, long time…

Black spike heels added inches to her already lofty height. She pirouetted, exhibiting a rear view, the cheeks of her firm buttocks only half-hidden by the teddy.

Carter applauded the total effect. Eva winced as she went to him.

"Ouch!"

"What's wrong?"

"I can hardly walk in these damned things."

"Then why wear them?"

"I like the way they look. Besides," she added, "I don't have to do much walking in bed."

"Speaking of which…" Carter said, embracing her. Eva made quite an armful. She had the face and figure of a high-fashion model, which she had once been before her lust for kicks and danger took her into bad company.

Her mouth was hot, sweet, devouring. Carter tasted it while his hands stroked their way down her back to her high, rounded rump. He cupped her bare buttocks under the lingerie, pulling her pelvis into his. There was a weakness in her knees as she ground her hips into his hardness.

Not breaking the rhythm of his kisses, he unknotted the halter at the back of her neck. It came undone, baring her upper body. She stroked stiff nipples against his chest, arousal writhing through her.

Suddenly she clawed the back of his neck, breaking the skin with her nails.

Fear chilled the Killmaster. He knew of an old assassin's trick of secreting poison under the fingernails, then injecting poison into the victim's bloodstream by scratching him.

Eva's gurgling laughter reassured him that this was no insidious technique, but merely some of her kind of kinky foreplay.

"Did I hurt you, Solano? Hurt me back."

He grabbed her hair, pulled her head back, and ground his mouth to hers.

"Ummm, I like that," she murmured when they came up for air.

That cued Carter as to how to play the rest of the game. He put his hand between her bare breasts and pushed her back to the bed.

She toppled back on the bed, bouncing on its mattress, falling awkwardly so that she landed with her legs spread wide. She did not bother to close them. She placed one hand between her legs and used the other hand to beckon him to her.

Carter opened his shirt down the front but left it on. He kneeled on the bed, looming over Eva.

"Aren't you going to take your clothes off?"

"Sure," he growled. "Help me a little." And she did, and then Carter helped himself to everything the lascivious Eva had to offer.

Eva sat nude at a vanity, her bare buttocks nestled in the plush white satin cushion on the bench. She was making up her face and powdering her nose. The powder formed a little mound on a mirror. Eva leaned over it, using a cocktail straw to snort up lines.

"What's that, cocaine?" Carter asked.

"No, heroin."

"Hard to get in this country."

"Oh, Gianni can get anything. You know him." She sniffed and snuffled.

"Yes, I know him. Careful with that stuff."

"I know what I'm doing." She looked up, white powder frosting her nostrils. "Want some?"

"No, thanks. In my line of work, I can't afford to take anything which might slow me up."

Eva shrugged, then vacuumed up some more lines. When she was done, she rose, swaying a bit unsteadily. Carter held her arm, supporting her until the rush of dizziness passed.

"Whew! That stuff's pure!" Her eyes swam in and out of focus. She held on to him.

"Umm, Solano, the man they cannot kill. So tough, so hard… so very hard," she murmured. Her caressing hands ran over him. "Such a pleasure for a change, to be with a man who's strong and hard and knowing."

"I like you too, Eva."

"Want a replay?" she asked.

He toyed with her stiff nipples, chuckling. "Again? So soon? You're insatiable."

"I am that, but that's not what I meant." She slipped free from his embrace. "I'll show you something cute."

Eva crossed the room to a wall panel decorated with a mural of the Grand Canal in Venice. Her fingertips probed along its lower edge, tripping a concealed switch. A hidden catch sprang open with a click.

Intrigued, Carter went to it. A hairline crack, previously invisible, ran down the center of the mural, dividing it into a pair of panels that Eva now swung outward, disclosing a secret cupboard.

It was crammed with electronic equipment, the centerpiece of which was a video monitor.

"Well, I'll be a dirty…" Carter began.

"You were, darling. And still are, on tape. Here, I'll give you a peek."

Eva rewound the tape, then switched on the «play» button.

The image flickered into existence. Mirrored in tones of gray and white on the goldfish bowl of the screen was a full-length view of Carter and Eva writhing on the bed in mutual ecstasy.

"I switched on the hidden camera before we began. Like it?" Eva said.

Carter, studying the action, said, "I look pretty good in there."

"There's a setup like this in just about every room in the villa."

"I didn't know Girotti was a voyeur."

Eva laughed nastily. "To tell you the truth, Gianni's not good for much else but watching. But that's not why he had these installed."

"Don't tell me. I can guess. Blackmail."

"He calls it 'leverage. It's been one nonstop party ever since we arrived. Gianni brought along a half-dozen playmates, beautiful boys and girls who are all very accommodating. We've entertained the cream of local society. Knesset politicians, industrialists from Ramat, scientists from Rehovath, Cafe Cassit intellectuals.

"We've been very much in demand. Everybody who's anybody wants an invitation to one of Gianni's parties. We've hosted the big men and their bored wives at bashes where the booze keeps flowing and the fun never stops. For those who want something with more of a kick than champagne, there's cocaine, hashish, pills, heroin. And plenty of beautiful young people of either sex to play with. Only once you play, you have to pay. Not with money, but with favors and obedience."

"I get the idea," Carter said. "You provide both the party and the hangover."

"That's right. Gianni's built himself up quite a little network in the short time we've been here."

"I see what I've been missing while I was stuck out on that lousy ship."

Carter jabbed the «stop» button.

"Hey! What are you doing?"

He ejected the cassette, then pulled out several dozen feet of tape, bunching them up before he tossed the mess into a wastebasket. In Carter's world, the fewer pictures of himself in existence, the better.

He made a joke out of it. "Why settle for imitations when you've got the real thing?"

Eva pouted. "Spoilsport."

A knock sounded on the door to the suite. "Yes, who is it?" Eva called out.

"It's me, Gianni. Tell Solano to get dressed and come downstairs. Somebody wants to meet him."