Law of the Lion

Fifteen

Carter could hear the shallow breathing of someone who was excited, someone trying to control his own breathing.

He placed his visitor near the bed. He thought about throwing Hugo at the direction of the breathing, estimating his chances for a hit.

The woman's voice spoke in a soft whisper. "Don't you think after all this time I should find my way to your bed, Nick Carter?"

"You almost bought yourself some extra ventilation, Margo," Carter told her. "That was a foolish thing to do to achieve a dramatic effect."

"You come here," she said in the darkness, "and I'll show you everything you need to know about dramatic effects."

Carter swore under his breath and replaced Hugo in his chamois sheath. "Could anyone have seen you come in here?"

She sniffed disdainfully. "See how you begin to patronize me instead of accepting the gift that is yours? I was very careful. I finished my chores sometime back. No one is expecting me, and no one is keeping track of me as they are you."

"You know that for a fact?"

"I heard Rogan tell two of his staff to watch you and Zachary tonight and to report" — she chuckled — "to report any movements."

"What's so funny?"

"You are about to make some very interesting movements. Come sit next to me, Carter. It is time for us to meet our destiny."

"You wouldn't be one of those assigned to report my movements, would you, Margo?"

Carter could feel her anger flare in the darkness.

"You still don't trust me, do you," she said, her voice raised with indignation. "After everything we've been through, the risks I have taken? After I have provided you and your friends with vital leads, you still have your doubts about me?"

"I've been in this business for a long time," Carter said, "and I'll admit there's a good deal I do by the book, procedures proven to work. But there's also an instinct I've learned to trust, and something about you turns on my warning sirens."

She turned on the lamp on the nightstand. A small pool of light from a low-wattage bulb made it possible for Carter to now see clearly that she was in his bed, naked, her clothes neatly folded over a chair.

"So much for your warning sirens, Carter. This was to have been yours for the taking." She cupped her hands under her ample and shapely breasts, lifting suggestively.

Carter watched her without comment.

"All the hidden delights were to have been yours," she said, running her hands over her hips in an inviting, frank manner, her tongue flickering over her lips and moistening them. "There is unfinished business between us from before."

Naked, she was a beautiful and erotic sight, her body sleek, her dark hair pulled back so that the long curve of her neck was emphasized. Now her legs began to part suggestively.

"That was quite an interesting note you left earlier today on my bed," Carter said.

"What note? I left you no note, Carter. I have been here perhaps half an hour, but not before then."

Carter moved to the padded chair and sat, kicking off his loafers.

Margo Huerta swung her shapely legs over the side of the bed and began to approach him. Watching her, seeing her naked opulence, Carter was strangely unmoved. In a moment she sensed it and posed, hands on her hips. "What of all the chemistry between us before, Carter?" She seized upon an idea. "I know what it is," she said in triumph. "You still carry a torch for that little Mossad girl, don't you?"

Carter had not thought about Rachel Porat for some time, but now the mention of her name brought back the memory of their lovemaking in Phoenix, and the image of her (rim, compact body was very much with him.

"You see?" Margo said. "I was right. I can see what the mention of her does to you."

"We have a problem," Carter said, "or maybe I'm the one with the problem. This room is being watched to see what if any my movements are. You'll surely be noticed if you leave now, so it looks as if I'm stuck sleeping on this chair and you take the bed."

Margo approached him and delivered a stinging slap to his cheek. He felt the heat of it spread slowly. "You are a beast, Carter, to treat me like this. I am not used to being treated this way by men."

Carter realized the slap was sincere. It again gave him pause that maybe he was wrong. "Unless you can figure a way to get out of here without being seen, it's the bed for you and the chair for me."

She whirled and jumped on the bed in a fury. Carter smiled and took the chair.

At two o'clock Margo propped herself up on her elbows. "Carter," she said, "are you asleep?"

"Yes," Carter said mechanically.

"You could still be here, with me. We could have the rest of the night together."

Carter realized that was probably true and wondered if he was wrong. Margo Huerta was an attractive woman; it would undoubtedly be a memorable experience to make love with her. Was he passing up a splendid opportunity for no real reason?

But again the internal warning sounded and Carter knew he would have to be governed by it; he would accept the consequences of his own instincts, silly or not. He had lived with those instincts for too long now.

"Close your eyes and try to get some sleep," he told her. "Thinking about it isn't going to make it any better. It'll only keep you awake"

In the darkness Margo hissed a Spanish word across the gap that separated them. "Maricón!"

Carter laughed quietly. "Now, Margo," he said, "you know that isn't true. Try to get some sleep."

"Cochon!"

"That's better," Carter said. "Pig is okay."

At four o'clock Margo called out again. "Carter," she said. "Can you hear me?"

"Go to sleep, Margo."

"First I want to tell you."

"Tell me what?"

"I really respect you, Carter. You're absolutely right. I wanted you just because we're in something frightening and I'm horny and I wanted to prove that I could make you care for me. It was you and my own fears I was really after. I apologize, compadre. Is it okay between us now?"

"It's okay, Margo. Go to sleep."

"Listen, Carter, let me take the chair for a while and you take the bed."

At five-thirty they began hearing sounds of life outside and by six o'clock there were the unmistakable smells of coffee and the aroma of frying bacon. Carter showered, shaved, got dressed, and headed for Zachary's room. If he were still being watched, that would give Margo a chance to get out of his room unnoticed.

The CIA agent offered Carter a cup of freshly brewed coffee that helped clear the mists in his head. Last night had not been easy. "You look a bit done in," Zachary said.

Carter noticed the same of Zachary.

The CIA man handed Carter an English muffin, toasted on a small gas stove from his war chest. "Marmalade or damson plum preserves?" Zachary said, causing Carter to marvel at his resourcefulness.

"The mountain would not come to Mohammed," he said, "and so Vanessa came to the mountain. She is a demure-looking lady, but she has some intriguing moves." Zachary pinched the bridge of his nose. "I have not had a cognac hangover for some time," he said with a wince. "Here, let me pour you some more coffee."

There were pads of paper on the small desk, and while they ate their breakfast, the two men went resolutely to work on the writing assignment Jim Rogan had given the night before. "We've got to get clear to do a thorough investigation," Carter recounted, "and if we play Rogan's game, we'll get the best opportunity to get free."

Groaning loudly from time to time, Zachary recalled some material from his college days and later reading. Carter worked on something he remembered from one of the Russian dissident writers. The two men finished another pot of Zachary's good Jamaican coffee while working on their assignments, then they went to the cafeteria and managed some bacon and eggs. Carter noticed the pay phone was free and moved to it to call David Hawk.

Even though it was apparently a standard pay phone, Carter thought it best to use precautions. This was going to be a sensitive conversation with no way to talk around things. "You'd better put this call on scramble," he advised. "Try range two."

From his wallet, Carter extracted a circuit board the size and approximate thickness of a credit card. Across the middle was a round green membrane the size of a half dollar. Carter held the card directly over the mouthpiece of the phone, then began to speak.

"What did Cincinnati say, sir?"

The crusty AXE director lit a cigar. "You hit the mark. Nick. Cincinnati was most cooperative and impressed. They report an unclaimed traumatic force corpse that appeared about three days after the Grinning Gaucho business in Covington. They'd been on the telex to a number of agencies. Really responsible people."

"How about the ID?"

"The corpse had been in the river for sometime." Hawk said. "That didn't leave much to work on. Significantly, the fingerprints had been eaten away and the face was battered beyond recognition. But the size, apparent weight, and general body characteristics are a good match with our man."

"How about a dental match to make certain?" Carter said.

"No longer possible, Nick. The corpse was kept for the required period of time, the usual notices sent out. It was sent to the medical school anatomy department. The soggy mortal remains of the Grinning Gaucho are probably quite spread out among a number of young men and women who are the future doctors of America."

He paused, took in some smoke, and exhaled with pleasure. "How's your poetry venture?"

Carter told him of the episode with the doctor. "I'm betting it's Charles Smith. You might check for me to see if we're dealing with a five-foot-five or five-foot-six male Caucasian, dark brown hair, weight about a hundred and ten or fifteen."

"Will do," Hawk said.

"Any news on those Japanese investment bankers taken as hostages by LT?"

Hawk sounded concerned. He told Carter of the pressure he'd been getting to develop some leads on the three men. "Believe it or not, that's having a direct effect on the market value of the dollar and on the stock market. You can imagine how that trickles down to me. And now it's landed in your lap." He took in smoke, then let it out with a sigh. "I'm almost tempted to pull you off what you're doing to have a look at all the evidentiary materials."

Carter's response cheered Hawk when he told him, "I believe we're going to find a connection between the kidnapped investment bankers and that so-called gas main explosion in Los Angeles. I think we're going to find all these activities tie in with LT." He told Hawk about the notes he and Zachary had received and about his belief that they were intended as clues. "I'll of course obey your instructions," Carter said, "but I urge you to consider that I'm in the right place now."

"Fine, fine," Hawk said, "but keep pushing." He reflected for a moment. "I can tell you for a fact, Nick, that the explosion in Los Angeles was a bomb. The gas main story was trumped up from the beginning."

"It may be a little late in the game to ask you this, but it was you who taught me the virtues of checking on everything."

Hawk blew out smoke.

"The CIA man, Sam Zachary. He claims he met you at a gathering hosted by you at your place."

"Quite right, Nick, it's always important to check. Yes, I've seen him two or three times socially. I frankly can't understand what he sees in that bunch at Langley. He isn't their sort at all. More of a loner. Good man. I did a stealth inquiry on him and discovered he hadn't cashed a paycheck in over a year. You'd think they wouldn't notice, the way they throw around their discretionary funds and all, but it played havoc with their payroll and they called him on the carpet."

Hawk smoked, began to chuckle. "His excuse was that he'd forgotten."

"You wouldn't have that trouble with me, sir," Carter said."

"This is highly confidential and is not to go beyond you. It seems Zachary is independently wealthy. He came from a middle-class family, but married into real money. He refused their help, worked at securities trading, and amassed a tidy fortune all on his own. The marriage failed, and even though his ex-wife's family can well afford his son's education, he regularly contributes a handsome stipend for the boy."

"One more personnel status check, please," Carter requested. "The individual is James Rogan." Carter told him what he knew, which Hawk took down, still chuckling to himself about the background on Sam Zachary.

Carter and Zachary had a last cup of coffee in the cafeteria and moved to join a group of students and Jim Rogan in a small but comfortable auditorium.

They handed their assignments to the chubby director who smiled, scanned them briefly, then looked at the two with admiration. "These guys," he said, "really entered into the spirit of things. They got their assignments done and in the process addressed significant ideas. I'm proud of you. Incidentally, they were the only two to complete their work so far. The rest of you get busy."

Finding a seat with Zachary, Carter whispered behind the back of his hand. "I hope that little exercise raises our credibility."

Rogan bounded up on the stage and took his place at a heavy plank table with microphones. Two men and two women sat on either side of Rogan, clearly the members of a panel discussion.

Zachary groaned, then whispered, "I can't believe we've got to sit through this until tonight."

They did have to sit through it, and both men plowed in. It was part of their job.

At the dinner break, Carter did a search on his room and determined to his satisfaction that no one had been inside. Wandering past the cafeteria area, Carter decided to force the issue and see if he could determine if anyone was still watching him.

He headed to the points where he'd been stopped by the armed guards. They were not on duty. He pushed his incursions well beyond where he'd been told not to go. To double check, he blended into the scenery, doubled back, and waited to see if he were being allowed to go forth while still under surveillance.

To his satisfaction, the trail was clear.

He headed toward the building that looked like an athletic facility, entered, and began looking around. After about half an hour of looking, Carter found things as they'd been represented. There were piles of construction-grade lumber, some scaffolding, some bags of plaster. From what Carter could put together, this had once been a luxurious spa. Now it was destined to become a swimming pool and a few basketball and volleyball courts.

He left the building, deciding Jim Rogan had called off the watchdogs, whoever they were. That meant the stage was set for some reconnaissance.

He went to his room to shower, change his shirt, and prepare for the night ahead. The Killmaster knew he was coming closer to Lex Talionis all the time. Tonight would be important. At the slightest trace of a solid lead, he'd have to take the risk of blowing cover. He'd have to go in for the kill.

Zachary knocked, entered his room, and spoke in a guarded professional whisper.

"It's starting to hit the fan," he said, reaching for his wallet. "I called my contact. Do you use one of these scramblers?" He held up a small plastic card.

Carter nodded.

"Remember I told you my people got burned for a million?"

Carter nodded again.

"I got my call through and found out that Piet Bezeidenhout burned the South African diamond cartel for something like five million dollars and — get this — the cartel has put a contract out on him. They want him dead. They're willing to pay a million American for his corpse."

"That settles it," Carter said. "He's made his break and is probably the leader of LT. They want a lot of money for some big operations. The question now is what. What is the LT organization up to? And how much time do we have to stop them?"