Ruby Red Death

Twelve

The sound of the helicopter warming up awakened Carter. Early-morning sun slanted through the windows, already preparing the room for the day’s heat.

He moved off the bed, a bit creakily. Unidentifiable muscles and joints creaked and cracked. His feet hit the floor, and cursing Ravel Bourlein, he shot himself into an upright position and moved across to the windows.

He was just in time to see Bolivar hurry across the grass. Grossman awaited him and gave him a hand into the chopper. The moment the hatch was closed behind the security chief, the machine rose into the air. The tail twisted around and the helicopter headed southwest as it gained altitude.

Not in the direction of Rio or São Paolo, Carter observed, but toward Uruguay, or Argentina.

Bolivar had probably been on the horn all night trying to contact all the old Nazis he had attempted to befriend through the years.

Would they have the word yet that Otto was looking for von Wassner?

What would Bolivar tell them? He couldn’t tell them the truth. He certainly couldn’t tell them that he wasn’t the real SS Gruppenführer Graf von Wassner. And if he continued with the lie that he had come to South America because of his Nazi ties, the old guard would start to insist on him telling them just what those ties were.

Carter smiled to himself. Bolivar was going to have a very busy day.

He punched the button on the house intercom and ordered coffee. Then he moved into the bathroom. The shower blasted warm and then cold needles through his body, and he felt alive again when he emerged.

Still wet, he climbed into a pair of swim trunks and a thick pool robe he found behind the door.

He found a tray with coffee and croissants on the balcony table. There was also a note on plain but expensive stationery: Huzel: I have been called away on an important matter. Please forgive me. We will conclude our business tomorrow.

Tomorrow, Carter thought. Did that mean Bolivar and his chief of security would be gone overnight? He hoped so.

He was on his second cup of coffee and his first cigarette when his bedroom door was thrown open so hard that the inner knob crashed into the wall.

A very irate Verna Rashkin stormed into the room. She wore the same nightie he had seen the previous night. The difference in appearance between then and now was in the flesh beneath and around the nightie. There were bruises on her arms and shoulders as well as her hips and thighs.

“You pig... you bastard!” She said more, but it was so garbled with anger that Carter could make no sense of it.

“Calm down, Verna. Coffee?”

“You told Bolivar I wanted to make a deal with you!”

“That’s right.”

“You pig...”

“You already said that.”

She went straight for Carter’s eyes with her talons out. He caught one wrist, then the other, and tossed her on the bed. She still struggled, but she was no match for his body weight.

“Did he tell you about it before he took you to bed... or after?” Carter said smoothly.

“He’s an animal,” she cried. “He abused me half the night, and then this morning told me to get out!”

“So that’s where the bruises came from.”

She nodded. “I’m to be taken back to Rio sometime today.”

Carter chuckled. “I thought he dished out your kind of sex. You probably enjoyed every minute of it.”

Verna tried to knee him in the crotch, but he took it on the thigh. “Why did you tell him that I didn’t have the backing to make a bid?” she hissed.

“Because you don’t.”

“But how did you know?” She was practically screaming now.

“Because Bourlein told me.” Suddenly she went limp. Carter held on for a few seconds to make sure she stayed that way, then released her and stood. “Want some coffee now?”

She nodded. “And a cigarette.”

He gave her both and poured himself a fresh cup. “Tell you what I’ll do.”

“What?” She was sullen now, defeated, but not liking it.

“I’ll make this trip worthwhile if we can work a little trade-off.”

Her eyes flashed. “I don’t do trade-offs with bastards.”

“Yes, you do,” Carter said, and smiled. “You traded your body to Bolivar last night to get a leg up on me. He just didn’t trade back.”

She bristled for an instant longer, then her shoulders sagged. “What do you want?”

“I want you to stick around. I’ll clear it with Bolivar, and I’ll make it worth your while.”

She was intrigued but she didn’t jump right in with both feet. “What will you tell him?”

“That I need a second opinion on the jewels... weight, authenticity, the American market.”

Carter kept his eyes out the window, staring at the women playing water polo in the pool. He also held his breath until he got an answer. Verna Rashkin didn’t know it, but her skill in authenticating the stones would be invaluable. He was fair with a jeweler’s glass, but not in her league. If Bolivar tried to toss in some good paste, she could spot it.

She was in front of him then, the anger gone from her large eyes and replaced with dollar signs. She took a deep drag on her cigarette, parted her lips, and let the smoke curl out slowly over her moving tongue like a long kiss.

“How much?” she murmured.

“Enough to make the trip worthwhile.”

“That’s not enough.”

“That’s all you’re going to get. Let me know, I’m going for a swim.”

He left her and headed down to the pool. The helicopter was landing and most of the women were headed for the house. He saw Bremerhaven doing laps, and dived in to join her.

“Good morning,” he called.

“Not really,” she replied, rolling into an easy backstroke.

“Oh?”

They hit the side of the pool, crawled out, and sat. “Big Eva told us this morning that the chopper would take us in shifts over to Paranavi, then on to Rio.”

“Anything odd about that?”

“I suppose not,” she said. “It’s just that we were supposed to be here for a couple more weeks. Well, I’d better get packed. Nice meeting you.”

“Ja, the same.”

Carter watched her walk around the pool and then into the house.

Bolivar was clearing the decks. It could only mean that he was expecting trouble and he wanted no one on the scene who might carry word of it to the outside world.

Carter smiled to himself.

Otto had done a good job of tapping into Rio’s underground information pipeline.

He ordered breakfast and ate it by the pool. When he was finished, he spread out on a chaise in a position to watch the guards move around. They were all armed now, and they seemed more alert than they had been the previous day. Now and then he spotted some of them on horseback riding the outer fringes of the estate.

By noon the helicopter had made three trips and was loading a fourth time.

“Herr Huzel?”

Carter looked up. It was the Amazon, Big Eva, and she had fire in her eyes. “Ja?”

“I have been instructed to put Fräulein Rashkin on the helicopter this morning.”

“I know. She told me.”

“She refuses to go. She tells me to talk to you.”

“That’s right. I’ve decided to put her on my personal payroll for a while.”

“I cannot do that. I was told—”

“I will explain it to Senhor Bolivar.”

“I cannot do that. I was told—”

“What are you, a machine?” Carter barked. “She stays. I’ll take care of it.”

For a moment he thought she was going to throw him into the pool. They had a staring match, and finally she backed down and stalked off.

Carter took the sun for another hour and then returned to the house. He searched out Eva.

“Fräulein Rashkin and I will go for a ride this afternoon.”

“That is impossible. I have been told—”

“Inform the stables that we’ll be down there in half an hour.”

He left her stuttering, and climbed the stairs to rap on Verna’s door. It opened at once.

“Get dressed, we’re going riding.”

Her mouth twisted into a grimace. “I hate horses.”

“You need the air,” he growled. “Half an hour.”

He entered his own room, took a quick shower, and dressed. Verna was ready when he knocked on her door again, and they walked down to the stables.

“Why do you want to ride?” she groused, almost running to keep up with his pace.

“To commune with nature.”

The stableman was a grisled old Indian who said everything in grunts. They were both barely mounted when he disappeared back into the building.

They had scarcely left the main compound when a mounted guard fell in behind them. Carter could see two more tracking them in a parallel line to their right and left.

“What do you know about Bolivar?” Carter asked.

She shrugged. “What’s to know? He’s a Nazi who got out when the getting was good.”

“How did he first contact you?”

“I do a lot of business in Spain and Portugal. It was through a third party.” She glanced at him. “Why the third degree?”

“No particular reason,” Carter replied. “Have you sold much of his stuff?”

“A few small pieces. I didn’t know until a few weeks ago that he had this big a horde. He sent me a shopping list, invited me to bid.”

Carter was silent for a few seconds, and then asked, “Why do you suppose he’s bailing out now?”

“You mean you don’t know?” she asked, obviously surprised at his question.

“You tell me,” he said.

“I only know rumors, but I’ve heard that he was pretty heavy into oil speculation when the bottom dropped out. Also, the new government in Brasilia isn’t as easy on alien residents as the former administration. He probably wants cash in case he has to run.”

Carter nodded. “That’s about the way I figure it.”

They reached the perimeter of the estate and made a wide swing through the hills. At the lake, a mounted guard would let them go no farther.

It made no difference.

Carter had seen everything he needed to see.

It was one in the morning and the house was quiet as a tomb when Carter slipped from his room. He walked to where he had seen the trapdoor and gently pulled the ladder down. It moved quietly on its oiled springs.

He climbed and pulled the ladder up after him. He lay flat, moving back from the door, a motionless shape under the stars. He crawled across the roof on his belly. At the edge, he rolled over and toe-walked the stones along the wall, grasping the drainpipe with his hands.

At the rim of the L, he dropped from the second-story roof to the first. There was some sound but not enough to raise any alarm.

A huge old tree practically abutted the roof above the kitchen. He got to the ground limb by limb, and melted at once into the shadows.

It took him nearly a half hour to crawl through the compound, get over the wall and around the stables. Twice he had to curl into a ball in the shadows and await passing guards.

At last he reached the edge of the rain forest. He used footpaths for the first two hundred yards, but it was still difficult moving through a dark tunnel with the thick vegetation blocking any hint of the moon and stars.

It was dark now, very dark, not with the blackness of the night, but with the almost total absence of any infiltrating light. Only the immediate area around him, a few feet, no more, was visible at all. When he stopped to rest he could feel the dampness caress him like a fleshy hand.

Then suddenly the forest was behind him and he was in a clearing with the lake directly in front of him.

He stripped to his shorts and hid his clothes and shoes against a huge tree. Then he got his bearings from the stars and slid into the inky water.

The lake was shaped like a large half-moon. He took to the water close to the center on the concave side. It was about three hundred yards across, and he alternated his strokes to save his strength.

He had scarcely pulled himself out on the other side when Otto, in green fatigues, his Bittrich disguise cast aside, slithered from the trees.

“You’re only ten minutes late. Good man. This way.”

Wordlessly, Carter followed him into the jungle, where a short, wiry man awaited.

“This is Jorge,” Otto said. “Good man. All four of them are.”

Carter nodded. Jorge grunted and took the lead.

“How far?” Carter asked.

“About a mile,” Otto replied. “Jorge knows this area like the back of his hand. There are ruins of an old mission. We’ve made camp there.”

Somehow, Jorge found paths through the trees and vines. In minutes they were in a little hollow. And then they were in a stone-walled compound. Because of the ever-present forest, constantly growing, Carter hadn’t recognized the stones until he was among them.

Likewise, he didn’t see the light of the fire until he was practically on it. Lorena was crouched beside it, the light dancing off the fine bones of her face.

She stood the moment she saw Carter. “Thank God,” she whispered. “We were afraid you wouldn’t be able to get through.”

“It was fairly easy,” Carter said, brushing his lips across her cheek. “They’re watching from the outside in. Where are the others?”

“Out there, watching, just in case,” Otto said, opening a flask and passing it to Carter. “How goes it so far?”

Carter drank, letting the liquor warm his belly, and sat down between them. “The Erwin Bittrich ruse worked. Bolivar is shook up. He flew out this morning. My guess is he’ll try to shore up his position.”

Otto laughed. “He’ll have a bloody hard time of it. The Mossad boys passed me around to several of the contacts they’ve made. Mostly they were minor people in the government who pass information along to what’s left of the old Third Reich.”

“And?” Carter said.

“I let it be known that my dear comrade Graf von Wassner was killed by one of his own men.”

“Did you name Bolivar?” Carter asked.

“No, but with dates and the Portuguese connection, the right people will put two and two together.”

Carter lit a cigarette and stared into the fire. “With any luck, Bolivar will see the handwriting on the wall. Without government sponsorship, he can’t stay in Brazil. If the old Nazis won’t help him, Argentina and Uruguay will be out.”

Lorena hadn’t spoken. Now she looked from the fire to Carter. “Which way will he jump?”

“My guess is he’ll take what he can salvage and go underground. That could be anywhere.”

“Have you seen the jewels yet?” she asked.

“No. That’s supposed to happen tomorrow, when he gets back.” Carter turned back to Otto. “Did you bring everything?”

The big man nodded. “Six pounds of plastique and twelve detonators. Here.”

Carter took the watertight belt and fastened it around his waist. “I’ll plant the house and some of the outbuildings on my way back in.”

“What time do we make them go boom?” Otto asked.

“Let’s make it after dark. Seven should be good. They do love to eat and drink, and even with his troubles I don’t think Bolivar will change his habits. They should be off their guard. By then I’ll have my back up and will force Bolivar to let me start appraising the gems.”

Carter stood, shook hands with Otto, and took Lorena by the elbow. He guided her outside the walls to the edge of the clearing and faced her.

“Now you have to make up your mind.”

“I know,” she said, averting her eyes.

“With or without the jewels, he’ll run. Chances are he won’t have much to run to. He wouldn’t have expected all this to come down on him.”

“What are you asking me?”

“You know damn well what I’m asking,” Carter replied, putting a bite in his voice. “We both know the jewels are only half of this ball game. My half.”

Her eyes came back to his, steady, unblinking. “I don’t know how I will do it, but I will do it. Bolivar is a dead man.”

Carter nodded and called for Jorge to guide him back to the lake.

Revenge, he thought, is a very malignant disease.

It was slow going. Several of the guards had been pulled in off perimeter duty, so Carter had to evade for several minutes before he could climb the pipes and plant the last charge on the roof of the house.

The gray predawn light was just creeping into the sky when he lowered the spring ladder from the roof and dropped down into the hallway.

The house was quiet as he made his way to his bedroom.

He was just reaching for the knob, when it opened and Umberto Grossman stepped through the door. His fist was full of a very large magnum. A split second later the door behind him opened.

Carter whirled.

Bolivar, with a second magnum, confronted him.

“I’ve just had an interesting cable forwarded from one of my people in Rio.”

“Oh?” Carter said, gauging his chances against the two revolvers.

“Yes, from Fabian Huzel. Just who the hell are you?”

Carter was about to reply, when a fist thudded into his kidneys. A sharp chop behind his right ear did the rest of the job.

All he saw was black as he hit the floor.