Night of the Warheads

Fourteen

A stiff breeze blew down off the mountains as the little car climbed steadily upward past the tall radio tower. Snow swirled in hazy gusts, forcing Carter to turn on the wipers every couple of minutes.

Beside him, in the passenger seat, Louisa sat stoically, staring straight ahead.

"Scared?"

"Yes."

"Good. You wouldn't be human if you weren't."

"How is Cubanez getting up here?"

"A jeep," Carter replied, "from the other side of Canillo."

A last hairpin turn, and the barricades denoting the road's end came up in the headlights' twin beams. Carter nuzzled the front bumper against them and killed the engine.

"We walk from here."

From the car's trunk he rescued two pairs of snowshoes and instructed Louisa how to lace them onto her boots.

"Ready?" he asked at last.

"I suppose so."

"Let's go."

The snow was powder for about eight inches down and packed solid underneath. It made for fast moving. Less than a half hour later, they were high on the mountain and moving across its peak.

"Much farther?" she asked from behind him in an only slightly breathless voice.

"Those trees, there. Hold up!"

Carter took a penlight from his pocket and blinked its beam three quick times toward the trees.

The answer came back at once.

"C'mon!"

They trudged the remaining forty yards and found themselves in a makeshift camp.

"You made good time," Cubanez said. "Your equipment is there."

Carter checked the load in a UZ61 Skorpion, loosened the lanyard, and wriggled it across his back. He then hooked two spare magazines to his pockets and adjusted a pair of goggles around his head.

He noticed, out of the corner of his eye as he stepped into his skis, that Louisa was duplicating his every move.

The last thing he did was to buckle on the holster. Western-style, that held the heavy Astra.357. He still had Wilhelmina under his left armpit, but for that night's work the Astra would better serve the purpose.

One slug in a crowd from the powerful handgun could go right through one body and fell a second.

"Ready?" Cubanez asked, joining them.

"Got it, "Carter replied, looking to Louisa, who nodded.

"Let's go. The others are down below on the ridge, ready to move out."

The skis made a faint hissing sound as they zigzagged down the short slope and came out on a narrow plateau high above the valley.

Directly below them was the radio tower, and far below it were the lights of Andorra-la-Vella and Les Escaldes.

Somewhere in between was the villa.

Six men stood on the edge of the precipice on skis. All of them were armed and ready.

Four others in black suits, looking like dark moths with the large black wings of their hang gliders poised above them, stood to the rear. All of them were poised in a crouch, ready to run off the top of the mountain.

The top man in command under Cubanez was introduced as Alfredo. He was a hulking bear of a man, made bigger by the harness draped around his body. He had shaggy black hair, dead eyes, and deep scars on both sides of his face.

Carter did not offer his own name, and no one asked.

Carter cased the others and found them to be stamped from the same mold as Alfredo. Cubanez had already told him that they were a crack antiterrorist team, and that was good enough for him.

There were no handshakes and only a bare vocal greeting before they got down to business.

"There is an American in there. His name is Lorenzo Montegra. If possible, I want him kept alive. He is an engineer and will know how to dismantle the missiles. That will make the cleanup later quicker and easier."

"Señor?" It was Alfredo.

"Si?"

This man Montegra… has he already armed the missiles?"

"We don't know," Carter replied, pausing to let his words sink in. "It's possible. That's why, as soon as you knock out the guns on the roof, you must move down to the tower doors as soon as possible to stop anyone from entering."

"I have briefed them all," Cubanez added, "on the villa floor plan from the master in the city files."

Carter nodded. "That floor plan should be exact, except for the alterations inside the towers."

Again Carter paused, looking at each man in turn before speaking again.

"This must be done as quickly and cleanly as possible. Also, these men are fanatics. I have no doubts that they are prepared to die to the last man."

"Then, señor," Alfredo growled, "that is what they shall do."

"All right," Cubanez said, "everybody stay in radio contact. Alfredo…"

The big man growled something to his three comrades, and, as one, they sprinted toward the edge of the cliff.

As silent as death they sailed out into the night sky, and within seconds they were lost in the inky blackness.

"Our turn," Cubanez said. "Single file… I will lead."

Carter turned to Louisa. "Stay close to me."

"Don't worry, I will!"

One by one, over they went.

Cubanez had the difficult job leading the way. The others, crouched low, had only to follow his track.

On purpose, Cubanez swung the column in wide arcs. Because of this it was almost a half hour before they broke through the trees and found themselves in a wide field to the rear of the villa.

"Skis off!" Cubanez hissed. "We walk in from here!"

The villa squatted like a huge mound of dark stone about two hundred yards in front of them.

The field itself was used as a pasture in the summertime. It was dotted with great, high boulders and groups of pine and scrub trees.

They moved forward, again in single file. Halfway across, the trees thinned out and Cubanez picked up the pace.

Now and then Carter glanced up, his eyes scanning the night sky for the men riding the gliders.

He could see nothing. It was pitch-black, so black that the outline of the villa itself against the sky could barely be discerned.

Even as chill as it was, perspiration gleamed on Carter's face. It came from anticipation as well as the exertion of the march.

"Hold it!" Cubanez whispered.

The column stopped and fanned out behind him and Carter.

They were forty yards short of the moat and the high, stone walls of the villa. Directly in front of them was a long, seemingly unending line of huge rocks.

"Is there a path between or over those boulders?" Carter asked.

"Yes," Cubanez replied. "I spotted it with binoculars this afternoon."

"It will be as slick as glass with this new snow."

"I know," Cubanez nodded and motioned up two men from the column.

One of them carried a canvas pack, the other something that looked like two aluminum poles.

"It's a lightweight loading chute," Cubanez explained. "It extends in width and length, and weighs next to nothing."

"To walk the moat?" Carter ventured.

"Exactly. Here's your pack. You are the bomber expert. I will position the men."

Carter grinned and accepted the pack as Cubanez slipped away. From it he took a hot-shot battery, two coils of wire, and a bundle tightly wrapped in oilskin.

"What's that?" Louisa asked, peering over Carter's shoulder.

"Good old-fashioned dynamite," he replied. "It makes the kind of boom everyone around here is used to hearing."

"My God, you'll blow up the whole villa!"

"Would that I could," Carter said as he broke the ties on the wire and started wrapping the two coils together with a loose twist.

Then he opened the end of the bundle and carefully inserted a fuse into the center stick of dynamite. This done, he tied the end of the wires to the coil he had already scraped clean. Then he uncrossed the opposite ends of the coil wires and handed them to Louisa.

"Hold these… and keep your hands clear of that battery. Ramon?"

"Here," came the reply out of the darkness, and then the man himself materialized.

"How close are we?"

"The jeep just checked in. They are in place. All we need now is the word from Alfredo."

It came five minutes later when the little light on top of the two-way in Cubanez's hand glowed red. He opened the channel and spoke.

"Go ahead."

"Alfredo here. The roof is secure. Six dead, no alert. We're moving down to the tower doors now."

"Good enough." He closed the channel and glanced up at Carter. "Ready?"

"Follow me over," Carter replied. "You carry the battery. Louisa, the wires!"

In a half crouch, with his feet widely spaced and the dynamite pack in one hand, he scaled the boulder and slid down the other side on his butt.

It was about twenty yards to the moat, and by the time he got there two me" were already extending the aluminum chute. One end of it fell silently in the snow on the other side, and Carter barely missed a beat as his feet hit the chute.

It took him a full two minutes to find a depression between the phony stone and the concrete foundation. When he did, he securely lodged the lethal pouch and retreated back across the moat, playing the wire out behind him.

The two men pulled the ladder a safe distance, then slid in between the rocks.

When Carter was again squatting between Louisa and Cubanez, he took the battery.

"I'll need a little light for safety's sake, but shield it."

Cubanez cupped a penlight between his hands and pointed the beam down at the battery.

Carter attached one of the two coils to the battery terminal. Carefully he kinked the second loose wire away from the terminal and looked up.

"Ramon…"

"Si?"

"Your men know enough to keep their heads down?"

"Oh, yes. And they know the groups they split into when they get inside. I've rehearsed it all, over and over again, with each one of them."

"Good. Louisa?"

"Si?"

"Lie flat and cover your head with your rifle and your arms. When this goes, there's going to be rock and concrete flying all over hell around here. Here we go!"

Carter pressed the wire to the second terminal, and the night was filled with sound.

The explosion was deafening. Rocks, dirt, and hunks of concrete filled the air. The wall of boulders blocked most of the debris, but a few fragments must have gotten through.

As Carter lifted his head from his arms, he heard moaning just behind him.

One of the men was cursing and trying to apply a makeshift tourniquet to his arm. He saw Carter's questioning glance and flashed him a thumbs-up sign.

"Let's go!" Carter hissed when the last of the falling rocks clattered back to earth.

Sliding down the other side of the mound of boulders, they heard a second explosion far in the distance, quickly followed by a third.

Across the moat, there was a gaping twenty-foot-wide hole in the wall of the villa. Inside, Carter could see electrical sparks flying all over the place.

"Watch the bare wires when you go through!" he shouted just as he gained the edge of the moat.

The two ladder bearers were on the ball. The aluminum chute was already stretched across the moat, and they were holding it steady as Carter's boots hit it.

Two seconds later he was through the hole and into the kitchen. He could hear the jeep-mounted.50-caliber opening up in front and the footsteps of the others behind him.

Several exposed wires were doing wild things along one wall. They left sparks and the beginnings of tiny fires where they skipped. Finally two of them collided, and the lights went off when a breaker somewhere hit.

"Let's go!" Carter rasped, unlimbering the Skorpion from across his back.

There was an exit to the right and one to the left.

Carter saw Cubanez go through the right as he burst through the left, with Louisa and two of the others right behind him.

He found himself in the great room of the villa.

Two men were running wildly down the stairway. When they saw the raiding party, they tried to swing the machine pistols bumping their sides into action.

Without breaking stride, Carter sprayed them both. At the same time he heard firing from the other wing of the ground floor, telling him that Cubanez was engaged.

"Two of you take the front door! They'll be coming in from the courtyard. You… cover our asses!"

Louisa was already bounding up the stairs. Carter took off after her. Halfway up, there was a single shot and then a burst from the Skorpion.

"Louisa…!"

"I'm all right! "she yelled, her voice already fading down a hall.

Carter headed up, full tilt. At the top he nearly tripped over a body and chalked up one for Louisa.

She obviously knew how to use the Skorpion and wasn't afraid to.

The lights came back on when Carter entered the hall. Louisa was at the far end.

Carter was about to sprint after her, when a door midway between them burst open and his old buddy, Ramos, stepped out. He was facing Louisa, bringing up the ugly snout of a machine pistol.

"Ramos!"

The man spun toward Carter just in time to catch a five-shot burst from Carter's Skorpion. The slugs stitched across his chest, throwing him flat against the wall. He paused there, upright for a second, and then slowly slid down, leaving the wallpaper behind him crimson with gore.

"I told you I'd kill you, you son of a bitch," Carter hissed as he broke into a run.

He joined Louisa, and together they went from room to room.

The firing from below and outside the house had abated. What he could hear was an occasional staccato burst that was unmistakably fire from an UZ61.

That meant that the war was nearly over, and their side had won.

Then, from behind a huge, paneled door at the end of the hall, there was the boom of a shotgun.

"Louisa… do you remember what's in there?"

"Upstairs library, I think."

"Cover me!"

The door opened just as Carter reached it, and he smashed directly into Lupe de Varga. He was brandishing a sawed-off double-barreled Winchester.

De Varga tried to bring the barrel around, but before he could. Carter had a grip on it. Carter wrenched it from the scar-faced man's hands just as de Varga's finger squeezed the trigger.

A hot blast seared by Carter's neck and shoulder, and the buckshot made a mess of the oak door.

"Forget it, Lupe, you've had it. The war's over."

De Varga didn't think so.

He made a grab with both hands for the Skorpion resting across Carter's chest.

"Damned fool," Carter hissed, reversing the Winchester and driving the heavy stock into the man's guts.

De Varga groaned and doubled over.

Carter dropped the Winchester, stepped in fast, and straightened the man with a hard right to the side of his head.

He tried to whirl away, but Carter stopped him with a crushing heel to his instep. At the same time, he buried his fist wrist deep in the man's gut, and the fight was over.

Carter easily manhandled him into a chair and pulled the monstrous Astra from its holster at his hip.

"Where's Lorenzo Montegra?"

Silence.

"Have you armed any of the missiles yet?"

More silence, not even a look.

"Nick…"

It was Cubanez. Carter turned to face him. He stood in the doorway holding a sniveling Alain Smythe up by his collar. Louisa was just behind them.

"Any casualties?"

"None," Cubanez said. "Two wounded, neither seriously."

"And theirs?"

"Eleven dead. No one got away. I found this one hiding in a closet."

"Montegra?"

"No sign. The towers are secure. This one says he knows where they kept the arming devices."

"You pig!" de Varga shouted and lunged toward Smythe.

Carter caught him full in the face with the butt of the Skorpion and knocked him back into the chair.

He turned back to Smythe. Over the man's shoulder, he saw Louisa wince.

"Where's Montegra?"

"I don't know, I swear it," Smythe whimpered and then started crying. "They made me do everything. I swear I didn't…"

"Get him out of here and gather up the arming devices!"

When the door was closed, Carter turned back to de Varga.

With quick, deft fingers he went through the man's pockets. Then, using Hugo, he ripped his clothing apart.

He found what he wanted between the two halves of his leather belt.

"Are these the ETA numbered accounts in Switzerland and Liechtenstein?"

"Who are you?"

"I'm not Nicholas Carstocus."

"That figures," de Varga said weakly. "Can you be bought?"

"No."

The man was silent.

"Where's Montegra!"

"Over there, behind the screen."

Carter crossed the room and whipped the screen aside.

Lorenzo Montegra was tied hand and foot to a chair. Half his chest was blown away.

Then Carter remembered the shotgun blast he had heard.

"He was a casualty," de Varga growled. "A casualty of a war of liberation."

"Oh, yeah?"

"I gave him a choice… arm the missiles or die. He chose to die."

Silently Carter cursed. If he had been five minutes faster up the stairs…

He walked to the door and turned.

"Casualty, huh?"

"One more does not matter in our struggle," de Varga said, his one good eye blazing at Carter from his mangled face.

"Then join the list," Carter hissed.

The Astra sounded like a Howitzer in the small room. The slug took de Varga dead center in the chest, sending both his lifeless body and the chair clear across the room.

The tower cribs were architectural marvels. The entire inner cones of the towers were elevators. When the missiles were ready for firing, the elevator would go up, literally pushing the small tower room and the roof off.

"Think they would have fired them?" Cubanez asked as they finished inspecting the last one and made their way toward the roof.

"Yes, I think they would have," Carter replied.

He took the black case containing the firing devices from Cubanez and passed him the two slips of paper he had taken from de Varga's belt.

"You contacted Julio Mendez?"

Cubanez nodded. "He will cooperate fully."

"I'm sure Smythe can help you get into most of those accounts. Perhaps Mendez can use the money to turn the ETA into something that the Basques can believe in."

"Perhaps," Cubanez said. "But who knows?"

In the distance they could hear heavy trucks rumbling up the mountain. Within twenty-four hours, the missiles would be completely broken down and stored in the trucks. Then they would be driven into Spain and quietly shipped back to the States.

"We've rounded up the De Palma and Sons people in San Sebastian," Cubanez said, "and just about everybody is talking."

"How widespread was it?" Carter asked.

"Pretty much as you figured. Armanda de Nerro had cells in Italy, France, and all over Spain. Security has been alerted in all those countries, and they're mopping up."

"With any luck," Carter growled, "maybe we can get a Soviet connection."

"I doubt it. They finance and train, but they are very careful about staying in the background."

Two men moved past them to the waiting chopper. They carried Lorenzo Montegra in a makeshift body bag.

Louisa stepped out onto the roof, and Carter crossed to meet her.

"Where do you go?" she asked.

"Paris first, to lay Nicholas Carstocus to rest at last, and then…" He shrugged.

She kissed him gently on the cheek, started to turn, and paused.

"Somewhere out there is another Lupe de Varga," she said.

Carter nodded. "You can bet on it."

"Then we'll probably meet again."

"I hope not," Carter said, managing a wan smile.

He squeezed her hand, turned, and walked to the waiting chopper. The rotor was starting to roll around as he climbed the ladder and threw a final salute to Cubanez.

When he was secure in the bucket seat, he relaxed at last…

And remembered…

The address and phone number in Avignon…

No, let her forget.

Then he remembered another phone number… of an answering service in Washington.

Her name was Delores, and with any luck she would be at one of the watering holes on this side of the pond — probably Monte Carlo.

With any luck.

He would call from Paris.

By the time the chopper cleared the roof, Nick Carter was smiling.