Labyrinth

Chapter 28

The sudden assassinations of various members of the Committee’s executive board had come as quite a shock to Audra St. Clair. Of course, she knew Mandala was responsible but she had never imagined he would be this bold. Obviously he believed himself in sufficient control of the Committee’s hundred-odd direct representatives to take over once the others — and she — were out of the way. It would prove a gross misjudgment on his part and a fatal one, a fact that did little to provide a sense of security for her now.

She leaned back in the chair at the head of the meeting table and sighed. All her work, years and years of planning and implementation, was being challenged. The Committee was not made up of merely an executive board and body of the hundred representatives from all major and emerging countries. It was composed of thousands of others whom the Committee had set in place in sensitive positions all over the world. Accordingly, Mandala couldn’t possibly understand the true scope of what he was attempting to control. Well, Audra St. Clair wasn’t about to let him. She felt certain he was on his way there to play his final card. Fine. She had several of her own waiting for him. He could not be allowed to leave Kreuzenstein Castle alive. It might force the postponement of Tantalus, but she would deal with that later.

To have ordered Mandala killed before he reached the castle would have been a far simpler strategy, though an unrealistic one. After all, she had to learn what damage he had already done, what distortions of the original operation he had set into motion. There was no guarantee that his death would stop his plans, unless Audra St. Clair could learn the details prior to killing him.

The old woman tensed suddenly. In the emptiness of the old castle, approaching footsteps echoed, two sets by the sound of it. So Mandala had arrived, with his henchman, no doubt. She felt under the table for a small button. Once pressed, it would release a small canister of gas from a vent in the rear of the room. She would have time to grasp the gas mask from under the conference table even as the gas burned his insides apart.

It had been wrong to involve him in the first place, she realized now. The Committee had always been made up of reasonable individuals, and Mandala was anything but reasonable. His was a soldier’s sensibility, the very thing the Committee was attempting to subvert across the world. But modernization had forced changes in strategy. The need for a man of Mandala’s skills had seemed clear, and that need had cost them.

The double doors opened at the entrance to the conference room and Mandala entered. His Chinese giant closed the doors behind them.

“Good morning, madam,” Mandala said, his bright smile glistening.

“Is that how you greeted Van Dam, Kresovlosky, and Werenmauser?” Audra St. Clair snapped.

Mandala feigned shock. “Old woman, I’m surprised at you. I have come here to strike an honest bargain and you accost me. That’s hardly befitting someone of your manners.”

“I do not bargain with murderers.”

“But, old woman, I am the only one you have left to bargain with. All the others are dead or soon will be. I require the names of all those the Committee controls.”

“You expect me to simply hand them over? What, may I ask, do you offer in return?” She had to keep him talking. Her finger stayed poised near the button.

Mandala moved forward with Shang shadowing him until he stood directly opposite Audra St. Clair at the other end of the long table. “Your life, old woman.”

“At my age, I’m afraid you’ll have to do better than that. I would have thought some token would have been more fitting. Allowing me to keep my chair of the Committee, for instance.”

“You would never have believed such a promise, so I didn’t bother to make it. I will spare your life, though, because you’ll be in no position to harm me. I’ve cut you off, old woman. All your major contacts have been eliminated. Your time is done.”

“You ask for much but offer little in return.”

“Didn’t I mention the life of your daughter?”

Audra St. Clair felt the blood rush to her cheeks. Her lips trembled.

“Come now, old woman,” Mandala said, “did you really think you could keep it a secret from me? In any case, her life is in your hands now. She rescued Locke from my people in England. Sooner or later she will bring him here. I only have to wait with you as my hostage.” His eyes swung back toward the Chinese giant. “Shang has a way of making things most painful for people. I’m sure you don’t want to subject your daughter to that.”

St. Clair felt the anger swelling within her. Blood bubbled within her ears. “We might be able to come to some arrangement,” she said with forced calm. “But why is all this necessary? Why has all the killing been done?”

“To catch you totally unaware, I could say, old woman, but that would be only a portion of the truth.” Mandala leaned forward over the huge table. “This operation has never been yours, it has been mine from the beginning. I have changed it to my liking.”

“Changed it how?”

“I must compliment you, old woman, on the basic brilliance of this undertaking. Where dozens of countries and other organizations had failed, you succeeded in developing a means to neutralize America. I couldn’t agree more with the necessity of that. But then you would have set yourself up in that country’s place, utilizing genetic crops grown on the South American acres you’ve purchased. Also brilliant, but lacking because you would only be replacing one order with another.”

“But our order would be motivated toward our own ends. The South American harvests we would profit greatly from would allow us to build the Committee’s position in governments everywhere, developing our people into ultimate leaders — planting the seeds, if you will, to reap a far greater harvest in the future.”

“It is still order, old woman,” Mandala said. “And order is what I stand against. The balance of the world needs to be overturned, not just its leadership. We need a global revolution to utterly change the face of civilization. Tantalus provided the means.”

Audra St. Clair began to understand, and the shock so numbed her that she was unaware that her finger had slipped from the button which would release the gas.

“Food is truly the ultimate weapon,” Mandala continued. “With their stomachs empty, people everywhere will revolt. Economic and political systems will collapse. No one will be able to keep the order you so desperately want for yourself. We will be looking at a world of utter chaos with room for only a few gifted men to unite the masses.”

“But how—”

“Isn’t it obvious, old woman? Tantalus will not just be released in the United States and Canada. We will unleash it across South and Central America as well. And when the panic begins to peak in that hemisphere, we will turn our attention across the Atlantic and then to Asia.”

“My God,” St. Clair managed, suddenly short of breath. “Millions of people will die of starvation.”

“Billions probably, old woman. A new world will emerge. Lines of nation and culture will no longer exist. People will turn to whoever can feed them.”

“But all the land, you’re going to destroy it all.” She found the button again and resolved to use it without grabbing her gas mask. She had to be sure Mandala would be dead, even if that meant she would follow him. She could take no chances now.

“Not all of it, old woman, just enough. And, you forget, all the genetically advanced seeds destined for South America are now in my hands to use as I see fit.”

“Why do you need the list of the Committee’s rank and file then?”

Mandala moved out from behind the table and walked down its left side, eyes gazing out the window. He stopped halfway up and looked back at St. Clair.

“Because, old woman, any man able to plan for the coming famine would be in a tremendous position of advantage. A chain of individuals with a similar awareness stretched across the globe would assure total control. People will flock to men with the answers … and the food.”

“You want control of the entire world,” St. Clair muttered.

“Just as you did, old woman.” Mandala moved closer, smiling wildly. “Aspirations to anything less would be foolish. But it would not be a world bearing any resemblance to the one we know now or even what you and your Committee envisioned. It would be the kind of world I was born to live in … and rule over. A world totally without order.”

“Except yours,” St. Clair shot at him. If she used the gas now, they would both die, it being inconceivable she could reach her mask and have it in place before the gas found her. But it didn’t matter. Mandala had to die and so did Tantalus. For all the operation’s brilliance, she had allowed it to be subverted. The Committee would go on, though. There would be someone to pick up the pieces.

Mandala ignored her with a faint smile. “My time grows short, old woman. My operation in South America will begin twenty-four hours after the American one begins on Sunday afternoon. I have much traveling to do, so please hand over the list. Call it up on one of your computer consoles.”

“Go to hell,” St. Clair spat out, and pressed the button, steeling herself against her own certain death. Mercifully, it would come fast.

Mandala started laughing. In the back of the room, Shang too broke into a smile.

Audra St. Clair hit the button again but by then she knew it was pointless. No gas would be escaping.

“Come now, old woman,” Mandala teased, “did you think me a fool? I know all of your little tricks. I disarmed the gas canister mechanism before entering the room.”

St. Clair leaned back, trying to look defeated. She still had an ace up her sleeve. Her eyes strayed toward a set of double doors just inside the entrance to the conference room. Any second now …

“It is over, old woman. With the life of your daughter at stake, I ask you one last time to hand over that list.”

Audra St. Clair just looked at him.

“Why do you still resist? It is over for you. Now that Shang has eliminated Grendel, there is no one left to stop me.”

“Locke will stop you,” she charged defiantly.

“An amateur?” Mandala laughed.

“But you haven’t caught him yet, have you? He keeps slipping away. You don’t understand. You couldn’t.”

“Old woman, my patience is wearing thin.”

“So is mine.”

At that instant there was a crash in the back of the room. One of the closet doors slammed against the side wall and a white-haired bear of a man lunged forward. Clive Thurmond, British representative on the Committee’s executive board and the man Christopher Locke had known as Colin Burgess, turned his Browning pistol first on Shang, who was rushing him. He fired five times into the giant’s midsection.

Shang kept coming, his expression unchanged, the slugs slowing him a bit but not stopping his approach.

Audra St. Clair hit a second button beneath the table. This one worked, activating a secret door on the wall behind her.

Mandala was rushing toward Thurmond when he heard the noise and swung back toward the table’s head, gun ready.

Thurmond had fired one more shot at Shang when the giant clamped a monstrous hand around his throat and lifted him effortlessly from the floor. Thurmond gagged for air, eyes widened with shock and agony.

Audra St. Clair stumbled on her way toward the secret door. She felt a jolt to her back and then a hot stab of pain. She started to pitch forward but righted herself as a second bullet burned into her side and a third into her leg. She felt the blood running from her, the sensation curiously like rainwater soaking through clothes. She knew she was dying but lurched ahead for the opening in the wall, crawling the final few yards as more bullets singed the air above her.

Finally she was inside the passageway. She hit a button just within her reach and the door closed, sealing her from her killers.

Shang lifted Thurmond higher. He squeezed harder and a crackling sound filled the room as the cartilage lining the big Brit’s throat gave way. When it was over and his feet dangled limply, Shang tossed him away like a rag doll.

Mandala was already moving from the room. He had no time to waste in finding the old bitch.

“Come, Shang, it’s over,” he called to the giant. “Nothing she can do can stop us now.”

Vaslov had been up most of the night pursuing some vital information from his suite in the Hotel Du Rhone in Geneva. Still, he looked none the worse for wear and was enjoying a light breakfast when a knock came to the door.

Right on time, the Russian thought, as he moved to answer it.

“Come in, comrade,” he said to the figure standing in the doorway. “It’s good to see you alive.”

“I’m full of surprises,” returned Ross Dogan, closing the door behind him.

Chapter 29

“You must tell me how you managed the trick,” Vaslov said.

Dogan sat down and poured himself a cup of coffee. “Fortune’s the residue of design, as they say. I had nothing to do with it. A man named Keyes was sent to dispatch me. He got into the room I was supposed to meet Locke in. Someone was waiting. The killer thought it was me and that was that.”

“Keyes … the man you saved me from in Paris?”

“The very same.”

“How unfortunate,” noted Vaslov with no regret in his voice.

Dogan had called the Russian from Rome as soon as he learned what had happened at the hotel. They had set up this meeting. From the hotel, Dogan had gone straight back to the airport, where he boarded the next plane from Rome to Geneva. He had gotten in just thirty minutes before.

“You’re certain our friends on the Committee are not pursuing you, comrade?” Vaslov asked.

“They probably still think I’m dead. Keyes was killed in the dark. We’re almost the same size and shape. It’s unlikely the killer had ever met me before, and there aren’t many pictures of me floating around either.”

“I have one,” boasted Vaslov. “Showed it to my daughter last Christmas. She’s quite taken with you, comrade.” His face grew somber. “What of Locke?”

Dogan’s eyes lowered. “I can’t be sure but I think they got him this time. Their intelligence was too tight for him to slip through again. The body of my contact at the hotel turned up last night.”

“Unfortunate. I would have liked to hear what the Dwarf passed on to our college professor.”

“It couldn’t be more than I learned in San Sebastian.”

“Especially concerning this SAS-Ultra group. Last night I discovered that three agents from another KGB Directorate had infiltrated the group in an attempt to influence them toward our politics. It was from these I was able to learn the present location of this man Masvidal.”

“Where is he?” Dogan asked eagerly, marveling at Vaslov’s professional prowess. The man was a true master of his craft.

“You’re not going to believe it, comrade, but he’s here! In Geneva! Staying at …” Vaslov consulted a piece of paper he had scribbled notes on. “… the De la Paix across town. He must be here for the hunger conference, which will begin Monday. Perhaps he has an agenda of his own to present.”

“But he can’t go public with what he knows. He’s a terrorist.”

“What other choice does he have now, comrade? Perhaps he will have South American diplomats do his talking for him. Better yet,” Vaslov theorized, “maybe he is planning to use his people to disrupt the conference. How ironic that he might be doing exactly what the Committee wants him to….”

“No,” said Dogan, “we were wrong about that. The Committee never did have a strike planned against the hunger conference. They want it to go on. They want the world’s attention drawn to the issue of food, an issue so desperate that the United States and Soviet Union are about to join forces in dealing with it. Unless I miss my guess, the Committee’s operation will go into effect early next week to coincide with the beginning of the conference. Suddenly in a world concerned about a means to better feed itself, reports will surface of massive crop destruction in the fields of the world’s largest crop producer. A climate of panic will be created.”

“The perfect atmosphere for the Committee to strike….”

“And the crop destruction will continue unchecked even as the second phase of their operation — planting their rapid-growing crops in South America — gets underway. Within three months, they will be ready to start shipping, effectively taking the place of North America in the marketplace.”

“At the time when the world has no alternative but to turn to them,” Vaslov completed. “Brilliant. But what of the words of that woman you killed in San Sebastian? If there is validity to them, matters might be complicated considerably.”

“There’s validity, all right. The woman thought I was part of the Committee, which meant she must have represented a different part. And it’s not her words that bother me as much as the presence of her and the other killers in the first place. They weren’t dispatched to eliminate us, they were already in the area.”

“Expecting your arrival perhaps?”

“More likely standing guard over San Sebastian.”

“Dead towns do not require guards, comrade.”

“There’s something very much alive down there, something I got too close to. And whatever it is, it’s tied into the part of the Committee those killers represented.”

“So the Committee has become factionalized. What is it they say, divide and conquer?”

“Except this time we had nothing to do with the dividing and I’m not sure it’ll make conquering the Committee any easier. That’s why I have to speak with Masvidal. This is a war now and he has access to the troops we need. The problem is we’re running out of time.”

Vaslov raised his thick eyebrows. “I may be able to help us there. In the last thirty-six hours, a series of well-timed, brutally elaborate executions of important men have taken place all over the globe. The American Secretary of State was one, a ranking KGB scientific specialist another. The killings cannot be random. There must be a connection.”

“The work of the Committee?”

“If you count killing off its own members, yes, comrade,” Vaslov affirmed. “It’s the only possible common denominator among the victims. As you said, the divisions in the Committee are already there. One faction, perhaps, is taking steps to destroy another. An old regime toppling, a new one emerging; we Russians are experts on such happenings.”

“What does that gain us, though?”

“Precisely the question I asked myself last night. If these men were in fact Committee members, they would have had to meet somewhere together on various occasions.”

“Locke said Austria.”

“Indeed, and my computers are at work now, comrade, trying to narrow things down a bit. Men this important cannot simply vanish. There will be clues, references, patterns left to uncover. Mileage on rental cars, vouchers, arrival and departure times — everything is being analyzed. My experts assure me we will have an answer shortly.”

“We’d better,” Dogan told him.

Masvidal returned from breakfast and inspected the electronic seals he had left on the door.

All the seals had been broken, evidence that someone had been or was still inside. Masvidal looked closer. The breaks had been recent. Yes, the intruder was probably still within. Only an amateur would have disregarded all his precautions. Masvidal yanked his pistol from beneath his jacket. Amateurs died the same way as professionals.

He unlocked the door silently and burst into his room in one swift motion, expecting to catch the intruder totally off guard. But he didn’t catch the intruder at all because none was present in the room.

“Drop it” came a voice from behind him.

Masvidal considered a quick turn and shot but the voice was too seasoned, too precise to challenge.

“I said drop it.”

Masvidal complied.

“Now raise your hands and turn around slowly.”

Dogan kicked the door closed behind him, as Masvidal turned and met his eyes. For some reason Dogan had expected someone colder. As it was, only the eyepatch gave the SAS-Ultra leader even the semblance of a sinister appearance. He looked more tired than anything, like a broken boxer who’s tried the ring a few too many times. His face was littered with small scars and one long one that ran from his left jaw through his chin. His one eye was ice blue, almost hypnotic in its reflective gaze.

“I know you,” Masvidal said, his one eye boring into Dogan. “You were in the lobby this morning. At the front desk. If you came here to kill me, you should have acted while my back was turned.”

“I haven’t come here to kill you. I need you to listen to me.”

“Except you have the advantage on me.”

“The name’s Dogan. And you can put your hands down. Slowly.”

Masvidal lowered his arms, surprise showing on his features.

“The famous Grendel? I am honored. Who sent you after me?”

“No one. Now kick your gun over here.”

Masvidal did as he was told. “You’re free-lancing then. I didn’t realize there was such a hefty price on my head.”

“I’m no bounty hunter. I’m here because I need your help. I’m here about San Sebastian.”

The color drained from Masvidal’s face, but the long scar glowed red. “You know about …”

“I was there.”

The man’s hands clenched into fists. “I swore I wouldn’t rest until we had revenge.”

“Forget about revenge. You don’t know what you’re up against here.”

“I know about a group calling itself the Committee. I know they were trying to destroy South America when we committed ourselves to destroying them.”

“Be glad you got that far, but it goes much deeper. San Sebastian was a field test for two major experiments: rapid crop growth and even faster crop destruction.”

“One of our people witnessed that the day of the massacre. He didn’t know what it meant.”

“The beginning of the end of America as a global economic power. Buying up the countries you’re fighting for has given the Committee the land they need to take over the market.”

Masvidal looked shaken. Clearly this was beyond anything he had considered.

“I learned about San Sebastian because an American agent also witnessed the massacre and sent a report,” Dogan continued. “Another man was sent out in his place to pick up the trail he uncovered. London, Liechtenstein — am I making myself clear?”

“The man we tried to kill…. I had my suspicions about him from the beginning. His moves were too random to be professional. But he managed quite well to stay alive.”

“Only because it suited the interests of the people actually controlling his movements, the same ones who were behind San Sebastian and the takeover of your lands. They needed to know where the leaks were. With Locke’s help, they started plugging them.”

“Were they aware of our commitment to fight them?”

“They must have known some organized group was standing against their interests in South America, and another of Locke’s unwitting duties was to show them which. Since you’re relatively new, and independent, they had no pipeline into you as they have into other similar groups. I would imagine you had them quite frustrated. But by now, almost surely, they’ve discovered it’s SAS-Ultra who’s their enemy.”

“Then why haven’t they struck at us?”

“They’re waiting for the right time. The Committee never moves on impulse.”

Masvidal’s mind worked frantically, trying to assimilate all the information Dogan was passing on. It answered many of the questions that had so frustrated him for months. Still, he wasn’t convinced.

“You said you needed my help,” he said suspiciously.

Dogan nodded. “I’ve got an associate who’s just about to come up with the location of a prime Committee stronghold, possibly even their headquarters. I want to storm it. I need men.”

“Why not get them from your own CIA?” Masvidal asked with his one eye narrowed.

“Because all of a sudden someone on the Committee wanted Locke dead and I was assigned to do the job. I decided on my own not to. That got the wrong people pissed off. My own superiors had to punish me for not following orders and the Committee was worried I’d interfere with their plans. So I ended up under a restricted quarantine. My file’s been deactivated. I don’t exist anymore.”

“How convenient,” Masvidal noted. “Your tale is quite convincing, almost too convincing. You didn’t kill me before, Grendel, but if you had, the identities and location of my people would have died with me. So perhaps you concocted a story that would convince me to join you. That way, once my people were out in the open, yours could have us all.”

“I don’t have any people.”

“So you say. CIA deep-cover agents rarely come to terrorists for help. You’re asking me to take a risk that might threaten the entire existence of SAS-Ultra.”

Dogan shrugged. “If I were in your place, I’d feel the same way. No words will convince you. Maybe this will.” He turned his gun away from Masvidal and tossed it to him. The terrorist snatched it out of the air with surprise. Then Dogan kicked the pistol on the floor back to him as well. “Now the roles are reversed. You have the gun and I am your hostage. All I ask is that you listen to what I have to say.”

Masvidal held the gun but didn’t point it. “Go on.”

“You’re here to attempt to expose what’s going in South America at the hunger conference, aren’t you?”

Masvidal made no response.

“You’ll probably try to do it through diplomats you trust. You’ll set up meetings, tell them everything you know in the hope they will bring these horrible injustices to the conference floor. So to expose the Committee you first have to expose yourself, and that’s when they’ll strike, possibly through the very diplomats you feel you can trust. They’ll strike before you have the opportunity to resort to a more active form of disruption. The reach of the Committee extends everywhere. It’s the way they work.”

“So basically you’re asking me to trust you instead of these diplomats I was planning to utilize,” Masvidal concluded.

“I didn’t give you my gun out of bravery,” the American told him. “I did it out of fear. I’ve escaped them several times myself but my luck won’t hold out much longer. If I don’t get them, they’ll get me. But to get them, I need you … and your people.”

“You already said we’re no match for them.”

“Not on their terms. We must make the terms our own.”

“By raiding their headquarters? Terms that include suicide aren’t acceptable.”

“They won’t be expecting an assault, nor will they be prepared for it. We’ve got to find out the details of the operation they’re about to initiate. I don’t think we can stop it altogether in Austria, but we can at least learn where and when it’s going to start … and why San Sebastian is still important to them.”

“San Sebastian doesn’t exist anymore.”

“There were armed guards down there two days ago, and I need your help in Austria to find out why. It might take an army to defeat them before we’re through.” Dogan paused. “Your army.”

“You’re mad, Grendel.”

“So are they. We start out even.”

Masvidal moved forward and handed Dogan back his gun. His features were softer, more reflective, but equally determined.

“I’ve been fighting this war for years,” he said distantly, “even before the Committee, for as long as I can remember. We started as children, throwing rocks through the windows of capitalist invaders. When armed guards came to scare us off, we attacked them with sticks. Others have always wanted our land for themselves. They deny us an identity. We exist only to serve them. I grew up hating these men for their manipulations but I never feared them.” Again the color drained from Masvidal’s face, flashing only in his long scar. “The Committee frightens me, chills my very soul. They deny us not only identity but also our very lives. They stand against everything I have fought for these long years. I have seen evidence of their work for years but never do they leave more than a shadow for us to pursue. If you can turn that shadow into substance, I will help you any way I can.”

Dogan breathed easier. “How long before you can call up your people?”

“For a trip to Austria, an hour. I have enough to suit our needs right here in Geneva.”

Dogan started for the phone. “Let’s hope we’ve got a target.” He dialed the Du Rhone and asked for Vaslov’s room, dreading the possibility that the Russian’s computers had turned up nothing.

“How nice to hear from you, comrade. I was beginning to think Masvidal had gotten the better of you.”

“We’ve reached a mutual understanding.”

“With good cause, I can now safely say.”

“You found it!”

“Kreuzenstein Castle, comrade. Did you ever doubt me?”

When Locke awoke that morning, Nikki had already showered and dressed.

“We’ve got to get moving,” she told him. “Austria’s a long way away.”

Locke stretched. “Have you made the arrangements?”

She nodded. “We have reservations on a nonstop excursion flight. It should be jam-packed, so it will be easy to hide ourselves.”

“And then?”

“From Vienna, we’ll drive to the castle. Then everything will be made clear for you.”

Locke didn’t press her further. He would let Nikki lead him because he was sick of making the decisions for himself and so far they had got him nowhere. This was her world he had entered. She knew its territory and laws far better than he did. In the dim light of their room with the shades still drawn, she looked suddenly familiar to him. He knew her face, yet he didn’t know it. The spell faded. It was time to get ready to leave.

They ate a quick breakfast and made the long drive to Heathrow, arriving at a peak late-morning time. Their flight was overbooked and delayed, and the gate was much too small to accommodate all the frantic passengers waiting to board. Chris had become quite frantic himself when he remembered his lack of a passport but Nikki swiftly produced one with a different name but his picture. He would have asked her how she managed it if the answer had mattered at all.

They were the last two people to receive seats and had to sit separately, he in the front and she in the back of the plane. That vantage point allowed her to watch for any people watching them. Chris had a seat next to an older man wearing a green porkpie hat who passed the flight doing crossword puzzles. Locke was grateful for his silence. The last thing he felt like was talking.

The plane landed in Vienna over an hour late. Locke rose from his seat, exchanged smiles with his crossword-playing neighbor, and headed out into the aisle after him. Waiting for Nikki inside the plane would make them stand out too much. Just because they had made it safely out of London did not mean Mandala would not have men waiting for them in Vienna.

She passed him as they moved into the terminal and smiled, as if at a stranger. Chris got the message and fell in comfortably behind her. He stayed always within sight as they passed through Customs, and finally caught up outside, crossing into one of several parking lots.

“You’re getting rather good at this,” Nikki said as she led him toward a dark-brown Mercedes. She inspected it very thoroughly to insure it had not been tampered with and, satisfied, she jammed her key in the door.

“How far to the castle?” Locke asked, climbing in.

“Twenty minutes,” Nikki replied. “Far enough.”

When they swept into the semicircular drive before Kreuzenstein, her hands tensed on the wheel.

“The guards,” she uttered breathlessly. “Where are the guards?”

“Maybe they’re—”

The crunching sound of tires spitting gravel buried Locke’s words as Nikki jammed the brake pedal down. She screeched to a halt before a pair of huge doors and sprinted up the heavy granite steps. Chris kept up as best he could, feeling out of place and unwelcome. The doors swung open just before Nikki reached them.

“What happened?” she asked a butler standing just inside.

“It’s bad, miss, very bad,” he reported grimly. “She’s waiting for you. She wouldn’t let the doctor sedate her until she spoke with you.”

Then Nikki was sprinting up the wide, carpeted stairway. Locke followed. He could feel the tension and despair in the air mixing with the ancient rustic-ness of Kreuzenstein itself. They had reached the third floor when Nikki veered to her left down a corridor and entered what looked to be the master bedroom. Chris heard her muttering to herself as she approached a bed containing an old woman propped up on several pillows. A man was moving a stethoscope over her chest.

“You’re just in time,” the doctor reported softly.

“Is he here?” the old woman asked Nikki, grasping blindly for her hand.

Locke moved into the room, noting the woman’s ghastly pale face and empty stare. Obviously, she had been expecting him too, but why?

Chris stopped in his tracks, seized by a chilling realization of something both awful and incredible. His eyes fell on the woman in the bed just as Nikki’s voice reached him.

“She’s your mother,” Nikki said.

Chapter 30

Locke floated, unable to move, barely managing to breathe. His whole body was tingling. He might have even passed out for an instant; he wasn’t sure. He just kept staring.

“Come closer,” the old woman beckoned him.

“You know who … I am?”

She managed a weak nod, the motion obviously a struggle for her. “And now you know who I am … or was.”

Locke did nothing but stand there.

“Stop dawdling and come closer,” the old woman ordered. “I’m in no condition to shout.”

Chris found his feet and shuffled forward, stopping just out of reach. He could see the bandages covering the old woman’s entire midsection. She looked so old and frail, such a contrast with the young and vibrant mother who sometimes came to him as a stranger in his dreams.

“I have little time, Chris,” the old woman muttered through dry, cracking lips. “None to spare on apologies or explanations. There is much you have to learn and none of it concerns personal things. The past must be put aside, if there is to be a future for anyone.”

Locke wanted to say something but there were still no words.

“It was all many years ago,” the old woman said, eyes drifting, voice fading. “If I had it to do again, I would have changed much, all perhaps. I loved your father, I truly did. But times were so different then. We all had our duty, and that duty had to come first. He understood that.”

“He never understood!” Was that his voice? Had he said that?

“It was not easy for me to leave him or you. And it was even harder never to contact you after my escape was complete.”

“They caught up with you at a farmhouse.”

“There was an escape runnel that was never discovered. For me the war was over, for Germany too. I knew it; others didn’t. I used the time to arrange for the requisition of funds. Years later, when the world was ready, that money gave birth to the Committee.”

“You were its founder,” Locke said.

“And only leader these many years.”

Chris looked at his mother, wanting to feel bitterness, hate, sadness, anxiety, even affection. But he felt nothing. He stood there transfixed, feeling overloaded. Too much was coming in too fast.

“We searched for methods of control,” Audra St. Clair said. “We sought from the beginning to succeed economically where the Nazis had failed militarily. We came close a few times — the oil embargo, the wave of international terrorism unsettling governments everywhere. But only with the latest operation did we see the opportunity to truly realize our goals.”

“Tantalus,” Locke muttered.

The old woman nodded weakly. “Food became our weapon. We would destroy America’s crops and dangle our own grapes beyond their reach.”

“And you used me to help you!” Chris charged. “From the very beginning you used me!”

“But the risks you faced were minimal.” The old woman’s dying eyes tilted toward Nikki. “Nikki was around to protect you. I had a brief love affair some years ago and from that she emerged. I was so grateful for the chance to have another child. Abandoning you had left a hole in my life.”

Locke felt his knees wobble. “Then she’s—”

“Your half sister.” She struggled for breath. “Weeks ago, when we learned of your involvement from our Washington representative and elected to … use you, I dispatched her to keep you alive. With Nikki in your shadow, I never feared for your safety. She’s quite good at what she does. I’ve made sure she’s had the best training available.”

“You turned her into a killer.”

“To survive, one becomes what one must.”

Chris shook his head. “You want me to accept all this but I won’t. I’ve seen too much, been scared too much these past weeks. My son, your grandson, had a finger chopped off and I couldn’t even stay long enough to comfort him when he came out of shock. Not that I would have known what to say. All of you seem the experts when it comes to explanations.”

Audra St. Clair’s eyes moistened. “That was Mandala’s work,” she said softly.

“So was this,” Locke told her, showing her his hand.

The old woman’s features squeezed together in anguish. “Retaining his services was the one mistake I made,” she said distantly. “But he was an expert in fields we needed covered. We hoped that through him we might avoid direct entanglements with authorities. He was our cover. The strategy seemed sound.”

“Because it allowed you to keep your hands clean of the blood he spilled,” Chris charged. His feelings confused him more than anything. He couldn’t look at the old woman as a stranger, yet she was nothing more. Anxiety knotted his stomach.

“No, you don’t understand,” St. Clair said. “It was never meant to be like this. Mandala exceeded his parameters. I should have put an end to it earlier. I should have known what was coming after the massacre.”

“San Sebastian …”

“It was the key to everything, but I didn’t see that in time. He killed an entire town acting totally on his own. He loved death; we knew that and accepted his actions. We still needed him, you see. Something else was involved, though, something he had to hide. He had done more than subvert Tantalus. He had remolded it to fit his own goals. He was out of control. We had given him the rope he needed to hang us.”

“And the United States.”

“More than just the U.S.,” the old woman said with a sudden burst of energy. “He’s after much more now, and you and Nikki are the only ones left who can stop it.”

“Stop what?”

“There are things you must hear about Tantalus before you can understand. Years of exhaustive and expensive research paid off some months ago with the discovery of a fungus that destroys all field crops in an amazingly short period of time. The fungus, through a toxin it produces, kills them almost on contact and is spread both through the air and the soil. It is swept over the earth remarkably fast by weather systems. If the jet stream cooperates, all American and Canadian crops would be affected within a week, dead within two at the outside.”

“Oh, my God!”

“Nothing can stop the fungus once it’s released. It’s unkillable, a perfect organism. It regenerates and multiplies at an incredible level. We developed it in a vacuum. It contains qualities literally not of this world. The only way to destroy it once the spoors are active would be to deny it a food supply, roughly a hundred square miles for every ounce released into the atmosphere.”

“Which explains why San Sebastian had to burn.”

“Exactly. But keep in mind what I said about the potency of one ounce and then consider that nearly one thousand canisters containing a hundred and twenty-eight gaseous ounces each are going to be released over the United States. The whole country would have to be burned to destroy the fungus.”

“Over America,” Locke muttered. “The gas will be released by airplanes?”

“Cropdusters taking off from the center of the nation. A place in Texas called Keysar Flats. A chain will be set up through the country’s center. Each set of cropdusters will handle a hundred-mile segment, then land and pass the remains of their canisters over to the next set. The switching process will not take more than an hour. In the course of little more than a single day, then, the whole of America’s central portion, the nation’s breadbasket and Corn Belt, will be infected.”

“And the fungus will begin moving both east and west with weather patterns.”

The old woman nodded weakly.

“But Keysar Flats is the key. If we can stop Tantalus there, we can stop it altogether.”

The old woman was breathing hard now, her strength ebbing. She grasped the bedspread tight as if to hold on to life. The doctor hovered over her again, probing with stethoscope. She pushed him away.

“Not anymore,” she managed. “Our plan was merely to eliminate field crops in the U.S. and Canada. That didn’t suit Mandala. He has expanded the operation. Sunday is when the planes are scheduled to leave Keysar Flats. On Monday he will release the fungus in South America.”

“But the Committee owns those lands.”

“Mandala is not part of the Committee. We are a civilized body. Yes, our plan was to use genetic crop production to overcome the loss in the market caused by the destruction of crops across North America. The world would go on, but the United States and Soviet Union would be hostages to us.” The old woman lost her breath, snatched it back. “Chaos would reign throughout the U.S. but our crops would be the linchpins of order through the rest of the world. It was the beginning of a far deeper plan.”

Audra St. Clair hesitated as death reached out for her.

“With destruction of lands in South America, our order will disintegrate. Massive starvation will result. Economic chaos and upheaval will spread everywhere. We teeter on a tightrope. Mandala is going to push us off, even if that means spreading Tantalus … everywhere.”

“He could destroy the world,” Locke said.

The old woman nodded, face hardening. “But he can still be stopped. If North America can be saved, there is hope. His fleet of planes at Keysar Flats will be well protected but vulnerable to the right kind of attack.” St. Clair reached out and grasped Locke’s arm. He stiffened but didn’t pull away. “You and Nikki …” She was fighting for air every two or three words now. “… two of you must go there, go to Keysar Flats in Texas and find planes…. Destroy them before … contents of canisters … is released. Only sure way to kill fungus … is while it lies in inert state. Planes … must be burned, blown … up.”

“What about going to the American government for help?” Locke wondered. “They’d have to believe—”

“No!” the old woman ordered, fingers digging into his flesh. “Mandala’s people everywhere. Government channels too open, take too much time to clear. Might … be walking right into him. Can’t take risk. No time.”

Audra St. Clair started to rasp horribly. The doctor started to herd the others out of the room.

“No,” she commanded him in a voice that was barely a whisper, “not yet.” Back to Locke now. “Mandala’s dangerous. Avoid him at all costs. Avoid his giant.” Her eyes dipped in and out of consciousness. She was rambling. “Bullets … can’t … kill him.”

Locke shuddered. “He’s the one who broke my fingers. I shot him six times. Six times and he kept coming!”

“Thanks to space-age steel, not magic” came a voice from the doorway.

Locke turned and saw Dogan. “Ross!”

“It’s good to see you, Chris, and quite a surprise.”

Audra St. Clair’s eyes wandered. “Grendel? Here? Alive?”

Dogan stepped forward. “I’m here, Madame St. Clair, and I’m very much alive.”

She looked up at Locke. “Tell him everything I told you. He’ll know what to do. He’ll know … how to stop Mandala….”

The old woman’s voice tailed off and she slumped forward. The doctor rushed over and checked her eyes and pulse.

“She’s alive,” he announced grimly. “But it won’t be long now.”

Chris looked over at Nikki and noticed her tears for the first time. She was holding the old woman’s hand tenderly. So many questions had been answered now, so much was clear. Nikki was his half sister! No wonder she looked so familiar to him. No wonder—

Dogan’s hand grasped his shoulder, lifting him from his daze.

“Let’s go downstairs and sort this thing out.”

Locke started to follow him from the room. Nikki let go of her mother’s hand.

“I thought you’d want … to stay with her,” Chris said.

“You heard her last orders. My place is with you.” Then, toward Dogan: “And him.”

“Meet my guardian angel, Ross, and my … sister.”

Then everything fell into place for Dogan. “The old woman’s your mother, isn’t she?” he asked softly.

Locke just nodded.

In the downstairs study, the three of them were met by a large, dark man with a black eyepatch. Both Locke and Nikki noticed a number of armed men standing around the perimeter of the semicircular drive before the castle.

“This is Masvidal,” Dogan said, “who has graciously agreed to lend us his firepower.”

“It must have been his people I saved you from in London,” Nikki explained, “the ones who sent the old hag to take you out later in Liechtenstein.”

“All that’s in the past,” Dogan cut in before Locke could respond. “We’re all together now and that’s the only way we can win. First I want to hear everything Audra St. Clair told you.”

Chris related her words as best he could with Nikki adding elaboration on several key points.

“My God!” Dogan said at the end. He thought of the vague accusations of the woman in the shack before he killed her. She had been there to stand guard over the next phase of Mandala’s operation. “Mandala’s going back to San Sebastian.”

“And taking his Chinese monster along, no doubt,” Chris added. “What was it you said about space-age steel?”

“Our scientists — and others obviously — have been experimenting for years with a thin but virtually impenetrable alloy that can be molded to fit the body of a man. It would protect him from any shot other than a direct hit to the head or neck. This man Shang must make that kind of steel underlayer a regular part of his wardrobe.” Dogan paused tensely. “But Mandala’s our problem now.”

Minutes later they were inspecting a map of Texas. They saw that Keysar Flats covered a surprisingly large patch.

“Christ”—Chris moaned—“it’s the size of Rhode Island.”

Keysar Flats was located in northern Texas, nearly two hundred miles east of Lubbock off Route 82. The North Wichita River was its central landmark.

“Those cropdusters won’t be easy to find,” Locke persisted.

“You’ll have help,” Dogan promised, and his eyes moved from the map to Masvidal. “How many men can you get to Texas?”

“Given two days, between a hundred and twenty-five and a hundred and fifty.”

“Equipment and weapons?”

“I’ll have them brought up through Mexico. A few helicopters should be easy to get. They should make the search for the planes far simpler.”

“I’ll say,” Locke noted. “It’ll be damned impossible otherwise.”

“You’ll need lots of explosives too,” Dogan told Masvidal.

The head of SAS-Ultra smiled. “My specialty.”

“How did you find us here?” Locke asked Dogan, who gave him a brief review of what he had learned in San Sebastian and from Vaslov.

“The Committee’s planners are out of the way for good,” he said at the end. “Mandala’s the only thing we have to concern ourselves with.” He looked at Locke closely. “Chris, you and Nikki will go straight from here on the fastest route to Texas. We’ll have to come up with a rendezvous point for you to link up with Masvidal in or near Keysar Flats on …” He looked to the one-eyed man for the answer.

Masvidal calculated briefly. “I’ll have to gather the men together at my base in Spain and leave en masse. Say Saturday afternoon.”

“The operation is scheduled to begin sometime Sunday,” Locke reminded him. “That doesn’t give us much time.”

“We won’t need much,” Masvidal said. “I have been waiting for years for the chance to destroy my greatest enemy.”

“Then we’re all agreed so far,” Dogan concluded.

“Sure, boss,” Locke snapped sarcastically, “except what am I supposed to do about my son?”

“I don’t know what—”

“Mandala wanted some answers from me back in Rome. He thought showing me one of the boy’s fingers might do the trick.” Chris steadied himself, backed off. “Nikki stashed him with a doctor in Devon.”

Dogan turned to Nikki.

“I’ve used him in the past,” she explained. “Just me. Mandala doesn’t even know he exists.”

Dogan looked back at Locke. “Then your son’s safer where he is for now. When this is over, the U.S. government will fly him home in Air Force One.”

“Unless we fail and there’s no one left to make the reservation.”

“We won’t fail, Chris. We can’t.”

“I’m going after Mandala,” Nikki said suddenly. “No trips to Texas on my agenda.”

“So you’ll leave Chris to make it there on his own?”

She hesitated at that. “You saw what the bastard did to my mother. I owe him.”

“And I’m the only one who can find him,” Dogan told her. “But he won’t be in Texas; that part of the operation has been planned like clockwork all along. It can easily proceed without him. Mandala will be in South America preparing to get the second stage of his plan underway.”

“San Sebastian?”

Dogan nodded. “That explains the presence of those guards down there who tried to kill me. Mandala burned the town but he always knew he’d be coming back.” He held Nikki’s eyes with his own. “But all this is speculation on my part. There’s no sense in both of us wasting our time on what might turn out to be a wild goose chase. You’re a professional. God knows you’ve proved that much. A professional’s place is with Chris. Leave Mandala to me.”

“And his giant?”

“He’s not indestructible.”

“Where will you be while the rest of us are in Texas, Ross?” Locke wondered.

“Washington. Trying to pry some people off their asses.”

“My mother said that would be a mistake,” Nikki reminded.

“For you maybe, but not me. Up until last week, Washington paid my salary. I’ll find people who’ll listen. I know the right buttons to push.”

Nikki nodded. “Insurance, right?”

Dogan said nothing.

“Ross, what does she mean by insurance?” Locke asked anxiously.

It was Nikki who answered the question. “I mean if we don’t get the job done in Keysar Flats, he’s going to try to have somebody standing by who can.”

“They might supplement your efforts,” Dogan said. “And there’s San Sebastian to consider also. This whole thing’s much too big for us to handle alone.”

“Why not let me take my people to San Sebastian?” Masvidal suggested. “It is my territory.”

“But Keysar Flats is the key, the U.S. is the key. We’ve got to concentrate our forces there. Both of us will have to succeed anyway if Mandala is to be stopped altogether.” Dogan met the eyes of Nikki and then of Locke. “I should reach Washington tomorrow about the same time you reach Texas. I’ll start knocking on doors immediately.”

“And hope somebody answers,” said Locke.

“Someone who won’t put a bullet through your head,” added Nikki.

Chapter 31

Before Locke and Nikki departed for America, Dogan gave them a number to call once they reached Paris. They would be speaking into a tape machine and need only state anything that had come up along the way. Dogan would need Vaslov’s help in establishing the line, so he cautioned them not to bother calling it until Paris. It would surely be in place by then.

Next a site had to be found for the rendezvous with Masvidal and his people on Saturday. A guidebook provided them with a roadside motel just off Route 83 that would be perfect. Masvidal would arrive there with his men and equipment sometime after three but before five on Saturday. If he was going to be any later, he would get word to Locke through a messenger.

At Vienna Airport, Chris let Nikki take care of purchasing the tickets and obtaining their boarding passes. While she was at the ticket counter, he busied himself with watching the people. Airports were fantastically uniform locales. All cities in all countries featured the same luggage and the same people carting it in a rush to make their flight, nervously checking their watches as if their eyes might make the hands move slower.

Locke’s attention was caught at a small café. An older man with little hair was seated at the counter. Chris felt a tingling in his spine, a warning of recognition. He tried to place the man, couldn’t, and stared harder. The man swung round briefly and their eyes would have met if Chris hadn’t looked away.

Nikki was by his side seconds later and when he turned back to the coffee counter the man was gone.

“Something wrong?” she asked him.

“No. I just thought I saw someone I recognized.”

“Well, we’ve got forty-five minutes before the flight leaves,” she said, placing their boarding passes in her shoulder bag. “A drink should settle those nerves of yours.”

Chris went with her to the bar but ordered soda. They sat on stools at the end of the small bar, a vantage point that gave him clear view of the airport lobby.

“The flight has a stop-off at Geneva and then goes to Paris,” Nikki was saying. “We’ll be in by early Friday morning.”

Chris didn’t hear her. Something had caught his eye, a head, no, a hat — a green porkpie hat. The man from the coffee counter was visible only from the rear at a newsstand but the hat reminded Locke where he had seen him before. It was the man who’d sat next to him on the flight from London, the man who had spent the trip doing crossword puzzles. Locke slid from his chair.

“Chris?” Nikki called after him.

But Locke was already in motion, pushing through a swarm of debarking passengers crowding into the terminal and hurrying toward the newsstand. What was the man doing back at the airport? Had he been following them all along?

Chris reached the newsstand, but the man with the porkpie hat was gone.

A hand grasped his shoulder. Locke swung quickly.

“Take it easy,” Nikki said. “What’s going on?”

“The man I sat next to on the plane from London, I thought I saw him standing over here.”

“Are you sure?”

“I don’t know. Maybe.”

“Same size? Height?”

“Just a hat, a green porkpie hat. The overcoat too, I think, but I can’t be sure.”

“You didn’t get a good look at his face?”

“I was too far away. That’s why I came over here.”

Nikki didn’t seem overly concerned. “I think all this is starting to get to you.”

“It already has. I still think it was him.”

“And what if it was? This airport is known for delayed and canceled flights. No one followed us to or from the castle; I’d bet anything on that. He’s probably just a stranded traveler.”

Locke shrugged. Nikki led him away from the newsstand back toward the bar.

“You could have stayed at Kreuzenstein,” he said when they were seated once again on their stools. “You could have stayed with … your mother.”

“She’s your mother too.”

“She was never my mother.”

“But what Mandala did to her bothers you as much as it does me, doesn’t it?”

“No, because I never knew her. And what I knew I didn’t like. She was a specter from my past, a specter I loathed all through my childhood. I didn’t just lose her, I lost my father at the same time.”

“Chris—”

“No, let me finish. I never knew my mother, Nikki, and I never knew my father either. It isn’t easy growing up that way.”

“I know how you feel,” she said honestly. “But it still hurt when your father died, didn’t it?”

“It hurt. And what about you?” He looked at her sharply. “That was your mother we left dying back at the castle. But after shedding a few tears, you took a couple deep breaths and left for the airport with me. You know you’ll never see her again, yet I can’t see any change in you because of that. Doesn’t it hurt for you?”

“Plenty. Feel enough pain, though, and you learn to control it. I’ve learned to deal with grief in my own way.”

“What?”

“You don’t want to hear it.”

Nikki started to move away. Chris grabbed her arm. “Yes, I do.”

Her eyes went cold. “You make it work for you, Chris, that’s how you live with it. You turn the grief around and sprinkle your bullets with it. You dream about coming face to face with the person who caused it and that keeps you going, takes your mind off the pain. You dream about killing that person a hundred different ways and when you finally finish him the grief is lifted off your shoulders.”

That left Locke speechless. Once again the coldness of the world he had entered hit him head-on. These people could live with death just fine. It was life that gave them problems.

Ten minutes later they passed through Austrian Customs and headed through the terminal for their gate. Chris stopped for a drink and snuck a look behind him.

“He’s following us,” he told Nikki as he fell in step with her again.

“Who?” She started to turn.

Locke grasped her at the elbow. “Don’t look back. It’s the man in the damn porkpie hat. Convinced now?”

“Enough to be glad I got my knives through security.”

“You think he’ll be boarding the plane?”

“More than likely he’s just here to make sure we do. He knows we’re headed for Geneva now. All he has to do is contact Mandala and there’ll be a welcoming committee to greet us at the airport.”

“What if we changed our plans?”

“Wouldn’t matter. The man would just change his.”

“And if we … took him out?”

If Nikki was surprised at Locke’s suggestion, she didn’t show it. “There could be others with him, probably are. Him we’ve marked; them we haven’t. We watch him while he watches us. Stalemate.”

“Which gives the advantage to Mandala.”

Nikki’s face was a mask of determination. “Only for now. We’ll have the whole flight to figure out some way of slipping by them in Geneva.”

Locke managed to keep a watch on the man with the porkpie hat as he and Nikki joined the boarding line for the flight. Their seats were in the front of the second cabin so they had a clear view of the entrance to the jet. People filed through one after another and found their seats quickly. The stewardess gave the usual set of instructions in German and then English.

The jet began to move. Chris looked out from his window seat. The man with the porkpie hat was standing against the glass over the runway, watching, hands in his pockets. Locke could see him clearly only for a few seconds. But something about the man’s stare was chilling.

“He was in the window,” Chris told Nikki.

“It makes sense,” Nikki whispered calmly. “He’s absolutely sure we’re on the plane now. Geneva can be alerted. He thinks we’re trapped.”

A chill seized Locke. “Why did he let us see him?” he asked suddenly.

“What do you mean?”

“He wanted us to see him, that’s what I mean. He wanted us to think just what we’re thinking, and he was standing there in the window to be certain we didn’t try a dodge at the last second. It was worth risking exposure for him.”

“What are you talking about?”

“They put a bomb on this plane!”

Nikki’s head seemed to snap backward. She searched for a rationale to refute Locke but knew immediately that he was right. Mandala couldn’t chance letting them reach Geneva. The man was a red herring sent to distract them, perhaps even to activate the bomb now that they were on board.

“What are we going to do?” Chris asked her, fighting against panic.

“I don’t know. I’ve got to think. We’ve got time. The bomb won’t go off until we’re well in the air, past Zurich at least. No trace that way.”

“We’ve got to tell them to go back and land the plane! We’ve got to tell them about the bomb!”

“They’ll detain us, steal time away we don’t have. We’d be sitting ducks for Mandala. He wins either way.”

Locke thought quickly. “Then only one of us will alert them.”

Nikki shook her head. “No good. If we go back to Vienna, we run smack into your friend with the hat again. He’ll have others waiting with him, and it’ll take all our efforts to stay out of their grasp. We can’t afford that. Keysar Flats, remember?”

Locke felt the panic surging now. “What the hell do we do then?”

Nikki thought quickly. “There’s a way out but it’s risky. We’ll have to wait until we’re close to Switzerland. Another twenty minutes maybe.”

“And what if the bomb goes off before then?”

“We’ll have to take that chance. We can’t risk going back to Vienna if my plan backfires.”

“What are you going to do?”

“Hijack this flight.”

The minutes passed slower than any Locke could ever remember. Finally Nikki leaned back and pretended to stretch, while she freed her Gurkha knives from their sheaths beneath her bulky jacket. A stewardess was approaching, wheeling a tray of beverages. Good fortune, because the cart would block the aisle and prevent any dime-store heroics once Nikki made her move.

“There might be security agents on board,” she whispered to Locke. “If they get me, rush to them immediately and say I mentioned something about a bomb but you thought it was a joke. Understand?”

Locke nodded.

“And whatever happens, act as if you don’t know me. Act terrified, dismayed, inconvenienced. Just don’t look any different from everyone else.”

The stewardess pushed her cart up even with their seats.

“Would you care for a—”

Nikki sprung over the hand rest, Kukhri knife gleaming in her hand as she grabbed the stewardess and spun her around, blade pressed against her throat.

“Anyone makes a move and she dies!”

Screams and cries rang out through the cabin. People ducked under seats or covered their ears and eyes in terror. No one dared intervene.

“You!” Nikki shouted at another stewardess. “Go to the cockpit. Tell them this plane is being hijacked. I want it landed in Zurich straightaway.” Then, to the passengers who had grown silent. “I’m not alone in this. I’ve got partners. They won’t show themselves unless someone foolishly forces them to.” Back to the other stewardess: “Take my message to the cockpit. Now!”

The stewardess ran down the aisle, whimpering.

Locke watched Nikki back up to the break between cabins with her blade resting dangerously close to her hostage’s jugular. Her back came up against a steel divider, which would preclude attack from the rear. She seemed to settle down a little, waiting.

Chris couldn’t settle down at all. His heart was thumping madly against his chest. He forced himself to think. If Nikki’s plan was successful and the jet landed safely in Zurich, Mandala would be caught off guard. He couldn’t have men with green porkpie hats waiting at every airport in the world. Chris would be free to make his escape from Zurich and get back to America by any route he could arrange. Nikki had slipped him plenty of cash to make the trip. The prospects of incarceration, prison even, didn’t faze her.

“I’ve gotten out of these kind of scrapes before,” she had assured him. “I’ll be free again within a few days.”

Minutes later the captain’s voice came over the intercom, announcing that the plane was being forced to land in Zurich by an armed hijacker but that the passengers were not in any danger whatsoever. Everyone was asked to stay calm and the delay would be kept to a minimum.

When the jet had landed in Zurich, the captain coolly approached Nikki and her stewardess hostage, holding his hands in the air.

“What next?” he asked her in German-laced English.

She pulled the blade from the stewardess’s throat, freeing her as she handed the knife over to the captain.

“I’m turning myself over to your custody. Get the passengers off this plane fast. There’s a bomb on board.”

Locke let himself be swept away in the rush that followed.

Chris broke free from the body of passengers and collected his thoughts in a men’s room stall. Mandala might have men waiting at the jet’s final destination in Paris, so that city was out of the question for him. He had to head for another, less traveled city, someplace less likely to be within the dark man’s reach.

He made his way from the men’s room and stopped at the TWA counter where a clerk provided him with the answer: a flight leaving for Madrid in ninety minutes. The wait was nerve-racking but necessary. He went to the gate early and sat facing the runways with his back to airport pedestrian traffic. He could see no one and no one could see him.

Hours later, from a phone booth in Madrid, he called the number Dogan had given him. It rang once, was answered, and a tone followed. Chris was brief in summing up what had happened. His first two lines, in fact, said it all:

“Nikki’s out of it. I’m alone.”