Circle of Scorpions

Two

Ali Maumed Kashmir lived in a twenty-five-room mansion in the Great Bay area of the Jersey shore. The house was an uneasy melding of Mediterranean and Colonial American elements, and rested on thirty-two wooded acres with approximately five hundred feet of private beach fronting the property.

On that night, the small marina, the pool area, the mansion, and the long, winding gravel drive leading up to it were festooned with dozens of sparkling chandeliers, muted lanterns, and blazing torches.

A limousine announced itself at the tall wrought-iron gates. They swung open, and the big car glided noiselessly through.

In the cavernous rear seat sat a statuesque woman with dark brown eyes and raven black hair, a brown cigarette held in one black-gloved hand.

She was tall, with a proud figure. A black and yellow print dress lovingly covered her tapering curves.

Her name was Carlotta Polti. She had been born in Florence, Italy, and was now employed in Rome as a feature writer for one of the country's more leftist-leaning magazines. For the last two years, Carlotta Polti had also been a member in good standing of La Amicizia di Liberia Italiana, one of the more militant guerrilla/terrorist groups in her native country.

She had worked hard in those two years to ingratiate herself and rise through the ranks in the Friendship for Italian Liberty group. But being a magazine writer and a guerrilla were not her true occupations.

Her true employment was as a top undercover agent for the antiterrorist arm of Italy's internal security organization, the SID.

The car came to a halt in front of the mansion's deep veranda, and the chauffeur was immediately at the door.

Outside the car, the woman seemed even taller, with small, taut breasts, womanly hips, and miles of tapering, perfectly proportioned legs. Though she was only twenty-seven, her face had a hardness far beyond her years, and her smoldering dark eyes were as sullen as they were erotic.

"I will have your bags taken care of, signorina."

"Grazie."

Carlotta ascended the stairs, and halfway across the veranda a servant in a tuxedo opened the door and bowed her through. Inside, she announced herself to a butler, also immaculately dressed. Only a trained eye such as hers could have spotted the telltale bulges under the jackets of the doorman and the butler.

Both men were armed, as had been the chauffeur and the guard tending the gate.

She had just passed through the tall archway into a large, high-ceilinged room, when Ah' Maumed Kashmir appeared before her.

Carlotta took in his lean, powerful frame in one glance. In the year since they had last met face to face, she detected few changes other than more gray in the hair and an added inch or so in the belly.

"Ah, Carlotta, has it been a year? You are more beautiful than ever!"

Her smile, as he kissed her hand, was genuinely warm. She had been practicing it for years.

"I hope the drive down from Manhattan was pleasant?"

"Of course. It is a very comfortable car."

Kashmir shrugged, the smile on his face almost a leer. "Capitalism does have its rewards. Come, I will introduce you to the other guests."

They moved across the large room toward the bar, with Kashmir introducing Carlotta as an Italian journalist and an old friend from Rome.

Both were only half truths.

Her only prior meeting with Kashmir had been to conclude a purchase of small arms for the Liberta. Eventually, those arms — through an anonymous tip — found their way into SID hands instead of terrorist guerrilla apartments. But the contact had been made, and that had been Carlotta's real reason more than the actual arms.

The guests were an assortment of nearby neighbors, show people from New York, and business acquaintances of Kashmir. The business acquaintances were most likely legitimate. Some of the man's businesses were legitimate, such as the import and distribution of carpets and trinkets from Morocco, gems from Thailand, and fine china and glassware from Europe.

Neither these endeavors nor his inheritance, however, could account for the style of life he enjoyed, or the vast sums held for him in banks in Switzerland and Liechtenstein.

It was the brokering of vast quantities of illegal arms that made Ali Maumed Kashmir a very wealthy man.

At last they reached the bar.

"What would you like?"

"Campari."

A glass was instantly thrust into her hand. Ali stood smiling at her, adopting the mannered, hipshot pose that seemed to be his trademark as a playboy.

Her eyes made a lazy arc around the room as she sipped her drink. "You live well, Ali."

"The fruits of my hard labor."

"And your friends seem rather… passe."

He shrugged and spoke in a lowered voice. "They are part of this aspect of my life… a very necessary part."

"They look like St. Moritz in the winter, Biarritz or the Lido in summer, yachts converted from destroyer escorts, pole…"

"All of that and more," he interrupted, letting a little sneer dance over his thin lips as he, too, surveyed the group. "I was born to it. Sometimes it bores me, sometimes it amuses me. But an outsider, like yourself, is a welcome change… particularly when so beautiful."

"I didn't come here to be an adornment to your party. Ali."

"Of course not," he sighed. "But you must admit it is an ideal environment in which to discuss our business. These idiots would never see anything beyond their own noses."

"When?"

"Soon, when everyone is fully enjoying themselves. I'll let you know. For now, excuse me. Relax and enjoy yourself, my dear. They can be quite amusing."

Carlotta watched him move through the crowd, and felt fingers of warning slither up and down her spine. Kashmir was a master at survival. If he had any idea of the real reason she was here, or the fact that, at that very moment, an American agent, Nick Carter, and several of his cohorts were lying offshore ready to storm the house on her signal, Carlotta knew her life would be worth nothing.

While she waited for some sign from Kashmir, she moved casually through the group of laughing and chattering people, carefully watching her host from the corner of her eye. He was now in a small group by the fireplace, talking to an American screen star. She, in turn, was holding court for five other men who hung on her every word.

Carlotta recognized several other faces in the room from magazines and newspapers around the world, and she let a smile curl her lip.

Most of the people were highly visible. Many of them were written about almost weekly, somewhere, and often the story was accompanied by a photograph.

Not so Kashmir. To her knowledge, he had never been photographed, and very few people he dealt with had ever met him face to face.

Carlotta knew that one of the reasons she had been so honored was the fact of Kashmir's lechery. He had tried several times during their previous meeting to lure her into his bed, without success. This time, when she had contacted him, he had been only too happy to accede to her suggestion that she come to him in the U.S.

Carlotta found herself talking to an aging Wall Street broker, while constantly shifting her eyes toward Kashmir. The man beamed at her, giving vent to his profoundest thoughts on humanity, on the direction the world was headed, and the deplorable sexual freedom among the young.

At the end of his diatribe, he gently pinched her bottom and strolled away.

"Signorina?"

It was the bull-like butler with the bulge under his left armpit.

"Yes?"

"He would like to see you in his office. It is the first door to the right at the top of the stairway."

Carlotta nodded, handed him her glass, and moved across the room. In her mind she went over the shopping list of arms she had prepared for Ali Maumed Kashmir, the merchant of death.

"Hadley, are you in place?"

"Right. I'm with Chris, about a mile out from the gate."

"Good. Barzoni?… Hal?"

"Barzoni here. I'm on the left perimeter. I can see right down into the compound."

"This is Hal. I'm in place on the right and on the hill."

"Check," Carter replied. "She's inside. Step down and rest easy. It's probably going to be a long night."

The replies squawked back at him through the small hand-held radio. Carter snapped it to "receive," belted it, and turned to the other three men in the launch.

Two of them were in black rubber wet suits like himself. The third man was dressed in dungarees, a black shirt, and a dark jacket. He was the pilot of the launch that now bobbed in the middle of Great Bay. His name was Harris, and like the launch, he had been borrowed from the Coast Guard for the operation.

"Ted, Marko… have you both got it, or do you want to go over it again?"

"Not much to it, really," replied the taller of the two men. "Marko and I take the marina and perimeter guards, while you go for the power source to shut off the fence."

Carter nodded. "Don't waste anybody unless it's an absolute necessity. We don't want a bloodbath if we can help it."

"What makes a necessity?"

"Anybody who tries to give an alarm," Carter replied, then stepped through the launch's hatch into the small cabin.

It had originally contained a galley, a table, and a couple of bunks. The galley remained, but the bunks and the table had been removed and replaced with communications equipment.

One small receiver between two larger ones glowed with a pulsing green light. When Cariotta Polti had word from Kashmir that the order could be filled, and the pickup and payment was cleared, that light would shift to red.

It was their signal to go.

Carter lit a cigarette and sat down to watch and wait.

"This is a very long and involved list," Kashmir said, looking over the notes he had made in an undecipherable scrawl. "Are you planning on overthrowing the entire government this time?"

"You merely broker the arms, Ali. You and I know that you don't give a damn what we do with them once they are paid for."

"Touché."

"Can you supply?"

His attention returned to the notes. The eyes were cold now, calculating profit. Gone was the sneering, practiced smile of the playboy jet-setter.

"The sniper rifles, the L39AIs…"

"Yes?"

"They are extremely difficult to come by, especially in these quantities."

Cariotta inhaled deeply on a cigarette and let the twin spumes of smoke shoot from her nostrils before replying. "Then I suppose they will be more expensive."

"Quite," he replied with a thin-lipped smile. "Would the new British Parker-Hale .222 do, if they are available? It has the same velocity but without the overpenetration."

She seemed to think a great deal on this. Actually, the quantity and the nature of the arms made very little difference. They would only be used as bait and pawns anyway, and, like the earlier shipment from Kashmir, they would never make their way into the hands of La Amicizia di Liberia Italiana.

Of course, she did not want Kashmir to know that.

"Yes, we would prefer the AIs, but we would accept the Parker-Hales as substitutes."

"The plastique, the submachine guns, and the fitted laser sights will be no problem." Kashmir looked up, his eyes boring into hers. "Do you have your own end-use certificate, or do I supply one?"

"That would depend on the place of delivery."

"I would prefer Amsterdam. Brussels is very dangerous right now."

"Then we will need a certificate."

He nodded. "You will take delivery personally?"

"Yes."

"Very well. Now… payment."

"Half on contract, half on delivery. The first half through Swiss accounts, the second half in cash."

"Swiss francs?"

"If you so desire."

"I do," Kashmir said, uncoiling from his chair and coming around the desk. "It will take about an hour to get a reply. In the meantime, why don't you rejoin the party?"

Carlotta stood and walked with him to the door.

"My chauffeur tells me that you brought down your bags with you."

"Wasn't that your suggestion?… That I stay the night?"

"Of course. I'm just rather surprised that you have decided to do so. The last time we met, I must say you were rather cold toward my… suggestions."

He had stopped, turning her body to his. Now he was slowly running his hands up and down her back and gently moving his lower body against hers.

Carlotta felt a shudder of revulsion begin its surge through her from his touch, and suppressed it.

"That was last time, Ali. This is this time."

His dark eyes flashed. "I am elated. With a client so beautiful, it will be a joy to mix a bit of pleasure with business."

She met his gaze evenly. "Just don't forget that the primary purpose of this visit is business."

"Of course. Perhaps later, once our little transaction is concluded, we could indulge in a little moonlight swim?… Nude, of course."

"Hardly," she said with a chuckle. "I don't make a spectacle of myself, and I'm not interested in orgies."

"You mean the other guests?"

"Yes."

Kashmir laughed. "There is a simple solution to that. My little party will break up early, and they will all be sent home."

Carlotta forced herself not to let the relief register on her face. If everything went according to plan in the wee hours of the morning, it was imperative that there be no innocent, legitimate people around to muddy up the waters.

"Well?"

"I think a midnight swim — nude, of course — would be exciting."

"Excellent!"

He let her out the door and quickly walked back to the wall behind his desk. A deft twist of a small piece of molding, and a panel in the wall slid open just wide enough to let him pass through.

The room was small, just large enough for a computer, a desk, and a telephone setup.

Kashmir activated the machine, and when it was warmed up sufficiently, dialed the special Manhattan number. When the modem clicked in, he began to send.

Naomi Bartinelli rarely drank. By the light from the lamp on her night table, she saw that she had already consumed half of the bottle of sherry next to it.

It had been four nights since she had wantonly given herself to the tall, handsome man she had met in the Oak Room of the Plaza Hotel. He had departed the next morning, saying that he wouldn't be able to see her for at least a few weeks, some flimsy excuse of a business trip.

She knew it was a lie. She would never see him again. It was the story of her life.

Oddly, she wondered if the almost two million dollars in her accounts would have impressed him as much as her body had obviously impressed him. Bodies were transitory; money was solid.

No, she would never see him again, and it was a shame. He had been a wonderful lover. But perhaps it was just as well. How would she ever explain to him the source of her wealth?

That was why Naomi had dipped so deeply into the bottle of sherry. Once again she was envisioning herself as a lonely, rich old lady one day.

She clicked the tiny, concealed switch on the light that would trip the breaker so the bulb would stay lit and moved through the living room to her office.

It took her a couple of minutes longer than usual to work the locks. Her eyes didn't seem to want to focus.

At last she was in the room and the equipment was humming. Seated, she typed in a "GO AHEAD," and the word «JASMINE» appeared on one of the screens.

Ali the codes and security passwords of her various clients had long ago been thoroughly memorized, so even in her slightly befogged state, Naomi was immediately able to reply.

"ALPHA ZONE."

"ACKNOWLEDGE… ORDER… JASMINE TO OAKHURST."

"PASSWORD?"

"DECIBEL."

"GO AHEAD»

A long series of numbers and more coded words appeared on the screen, ending with the plain language "PLEASE ACKNOWLEDGE ONE HOUR."

"AGREE."

The screen went blank, and Naomi reached for the telephone to gain access to a transatlantic line.

For the second time that evening, Carlotta walked up the stairs. Behind her, the party was already breaking up. With any luck, all the guests would be off the grounds in less than a half hour's time.

"Come in, my dear."

Carlotta eased herself into the same high-backed leather chair and accepted the light he offered.

"The merchandise is available. Half of the L39AIs you requested. I can fill out the order with Parker-Hales."

"Good. And delivery?"

This is Monday. Shall we say Friday? In Amsterdam?"

"Fine. How will the contact be made?"

"Come, come, my dear. You know I can't give you that information until you are there and the money has been transferred."

"Of course." She smiled, mashing out her cigarette. "And now the price."

Two hundred and twenty thousand. That includes the end-use certificate and delivery to your point of departure."

"Very well," Cariotta replied, standing. "I'll contact our people in Switzerland in the morning."

Kashmir moved in close to her, sliding his arms around her waist and cupping her buttocks in his hands. "I'll send off the verification and meet you by the pool in a half hour. That is, if you haven't changed your mind…"

Cariotta allowed her body to melt against his as Carter's words ran through her mind:

Stay with him, Cariotta… from the time you send the go, stay with him. He's surely got a way out of there for emergencies. Stay glued to him and make sure he doesn't slip us. The entire operation depends on nailing Kashmir so he can't show up later and ruin everything. If something happens when we go in that warns him, make sure he doesn't get away!

His lips covered hers, and Cariotta didn't jerk away when his tongue began to probe inside her mouth.

"We will be beautiful together, don't you think, my dear?"

"Yes. beautiful."

"The pool? A half hour?"

"A half hour," she said, turning and walking quickly toward the door.