The Casbah Killers

Chapter 4

Returning to Karminian’s place for my things wasn’t a poor move. It had to be done — I’d left too many things behind. It had been a long day, and I was starting to feel a little tired when I put two tubes of paint in my pocket, closed up the paint box, took a last look around the flat and then closed the door behind me.

I had just walked out the arched doorway when the two shapes appeared, one on each side of me, and I felt the hard end of two guns pressed into me. I looked at the small, hard-blue eyes of the crew-cut Russian, his lips grim, set in a thin line.

“We will kill you here if we have to,” he muttered.

I saw the black Mercedes 600 pull around from the side street.

“You don’t have to,” I shrugged. “I’m easy to get along with.”

Pig-eyes gave me a fast frisking and took Wilhelmina. Crew-cut took the paint box and handed it to the other one. They didn’t have to tell me to get into the Mercedes.

I followed Crew-cut in and sat down between the two of them. The chauffeur turned and stared at me for a moment, his eyes very much the same hard, cold blue as Crew-cut’s unblinking orbs. He put the car into gear and we rolled quietly away. Two revolvers were poking into me.

It wasn’t a spot for anything more than conversation.

“What’s this all about?” I asked for openers.

Silence was my only answer, cold, angry silence.

“Don’t tell me,” I tried again. “Let me guess. Let’s see now... you want your portrait painted.”

Crew-cut glared at me but said nothing.

I tried another tack. “If you think I know where Karminian is you’re wasting your time,” I said.

“Neither did Ivan but it didn’t stop you from killing him,” Crew-cut finally answered, his voice a low snarl.

“I didn’t kill anybody,” I protested.

I saw the Russian lift his arm and bring it around in a short, chopping blow, the gun still gripped in his hand. It landed on my cheek and upper lip and I felt the trickle of blood that immediately ran down the side of my mouth.

“Lying pig!” he spit out. “You thought Ivan knew where Karminian was and you killed him when he refused to tell you. Now we will do the same thing to you.”

My mind was racing and I deduced what had happened instantly. The Rifs had struck again but telling Crew-cut and his pals wouldn’t help any.

First, I didn’t want to clue them in on anything and secondly they’d never believe me anyway. All I could do for now was hold to my story.

“When was I supposed to have killed your Ivan?” I asked.

“You know very well when, swine,” he barked. “When you found he was alone in the house, waiting for a radio message from Moscow.”

“Why me?” I cut in. “It could have been anybody, even a thief.”

“Bah!” the Russian grunted. “You seek Karminian too. It took someone with strength, someone who knew how to use the Moorish dagger. That rules out either of the women. And you are not an artist. We believe you are an American agent.”

I almost said congratulations. They’d gotten one thing right anyway. But I could see where I’d be their logical suspect and I decided on a little fishing of my own.

“Did I only kill one of your men?” I asked. “There were five of you including that ape dressed up like a chauffeur.”

The “ape” turned to give me a hard look.

“Da,” Crew-cut answered. “Panusky is at the house, waiting for us. That will leaves four of us, more than enough to take care of you.”

It was a good supposition for him anyway, and I’d found out what I’d wanted to learn. There were no others I hadn’t seen during our first go-round.

The Mercedes halted, and I saw the low-hanging crossbars forming part of the entranceway roof once again. I got out, and both their guns stayed in my ribs and this time the chauffeur came up behind us. They weren’t taking any chances with me.

“Panusky,” Crew-cut called out. “It’s Estan.”

There was no answer, and I felt a chilling premonition race through my body.

The Russian called out again and once more the house was silent.

I saw him frown.

“That’s strange,” he growled.

Pushing me along before them, they went into the inner room.

I wasn’t nearly as surprised as they were.

Panusky lay on the floor in a pool of blood, his head nearly severed from his neck.

I saw the slice in his neck was a curved arc, extending from almost the back of the neck to a point just under the chin. From the freshness of the still widening pool of blood, it hadn’t happened more than about fifteen minutes ago.

The Russians were staring at the man’s lifeless form as if they couldn’t believe their eyes.

I was thinking about the Rifs. They’d obviously been watching the place, saw the others leave and struck. They wanted to take the Russians one by one, apparently, silently, without any noisy shoot-outs.

“When did I kill him?” I asked. “When you were holding me prisoner in the car? He hasn’t been dead more than fifteen or twenty minutes. Now maybe you’ll believe me.”

The one called Estan spoke to the others in short, rapid sentences, naturally unaware that my Russian was more than passable.

They were shaken up, alarmed, confused. Who, when and why flew in all directions but they kept their damned guns in my ribs.

Finally, Crew-cut turned to me again.

“You are not working alone,” he announced. “You have others with you who did this.”

“Yeah,” I said. “With the Moorish dagger again. We always use them. You know, when in Rome do as the Romans do.”

His hard, pig-like blue eyes studied me, and I could see him trying to think this out in a hurry. It took effort.

“Maybe you didn’t do it,” he said finally. “You might even be an artist. It really doesn’t matter any longer. We will have to kill you anyway. You know too much to let you run around loose.”

“I forget quickly,” I said but the Russian just continued to stare at me.

Hugo was silently waiting against my forearm. It was beginning to look as though I would have to finish what the Rifs had started, if I could finish it, that is.

They kept their guns steady. One sudden move and two slugs would be meeting inside me someplace.

“Where, Estan?” the second Russian asked.

“Here,” Crew-cut replied. “We’ll leave his body here with Panusky’s and work out of someplace else. Take Panusky’s passport and identification card first. I don’t like sloppy work.”

The chauffeur retrieved the dead man’s identity papers and I knew I had to buy some time and buy it fast.

“Wait,” I said. “What if I could take you to where Karminian is staying?”

The Russian’s little eyes opened wider and a slow smile of satisfaction crept over his face.

I let myself look hopeful and apprehensive.

“Well, well,” he said, taking my shirt front with a ham-handed grasp. “Suddenly your memory is returning, eh?”

He shook me back and forth, and I let myself go limp.

“Where is he, pig?” he thundered.

I shook my head. “Only if you promise to let me go afterward,” I said.

The Russian slowly unclenched his big hand and smiled slowly, obviously at my naïveté.

“All right,” he said smoothly. “All right. We don’t want to kill you. All we want is a little cooperation.”

Little naive me smiled in gratitude at his generosity. “I can’t tell you where he is, but I can take you there,” I said. “I only found out tonight. The place was pointed out to me by someone who saw him there.”

Crew-cut did all but lick his chops. “Move,” he commanded. “There’s no time to waste.”

Inside the Mercedes limousine again, they settled back on either side of me, guns still out and ready. The chauffeur, my paint box still on the seat beside him, moved the big car from the curb and I began to direct him up and down streets and avenues.

I put on a good act of searching for the place, looking for landmarks to help me. Actually, I was desperately looking for a spot that would give me a chance. I could feel their impatience growing as I kept the car going up and down side streets, around corners and across boulevards.

I knew I couldn’t keep the charade up much longer and then, suddenly, I found it, a dark street running alongside one of the old bidonvilles, the tar-paper and tin-can slums that once infested the city.

During World War II, Casablanca had been a thriving port, and, at the war’s end, hundreds of thousands of Arab migrants had descended on the port, lured by the promise of easy work. They set up unsightly, unsanitary slum areas that soon virtually overran the city. First the French and then the Moroccan governments attacked the problem and cleaned up many of the bidonvilles.

A number still existed, however, houses made of sheets of tin and tar-paper, nothing more than four walls and a roof, without facilities of any kind. The one I’d found was typical of its kind, its streets mere narrow passageways between the ramshackle huts.

“Stop!” I cried out.

I moved quickly and had the door open before the car came to a halt. The two Russians followed on my heels as I started into the bidonville. I caught a glimpse of the third one coming around the hood of the Mercedes, still keeping his chauffeur’s uniform smartly buttoned up.

I moved down one of the passageways, past houses that leaned in four directions at once. Suddenly I halted outside one shack, the door ajar, and I was sure untenanted. The interior was pitch black.

“In there,” I whispered to the Russian.

He motioned to the chauffeur to go around to the other side of the shack.

“Watch him,” he told the other Russian, gesturing to me as he carefully started to enter the shack, pressing his back tight against the rickety, tin sheet of a door.

As Crew-cut started to move slowly into the blackness of the shack I glanced at the other Russian. He had the gun on me but his glance kept darting to the shack. It wasn’t great but it was the best I could do under the circumstances.

I moved my forearm, slowly turning it as I tightened the muscles. I felt the stiletto release and drop silently into the palm of my hand. My legs tensed, coiled springs of muscle and sinew.

I watched the Russian. His eyes flicked over to the shack. It was but a moment, but the moment was all I needed.

I threw Hugo underhanded, with all my strength, diving to the right at the same instant. The stiletto went into his belly and I heard him suck his breath in sharply.

As I’d figured, his finger automatically squeezed down on the trigger, and he got off one shot before he collapsed. Only I wasn’t there. I was racing down one of the black, narrow passages that stank of urine and rotted food and of everything else.

Crew-cut would be out and after me now, as would the one masquerading as a chauffeur.

I heard their harsh shouts as they split up to take different passageways. They were making things easier for me. But I heard other sounds as the slum-dwellers began to wake. I reached a spot where two passageways bisected.

I could hear Crew-cut’s footsteps racing after me and I looked around desperately for something to use as a weapon. A piece of tin, half-peeled from one of the shacks, caught my eye. It was thin but stiff, its edges jagged as a hundred slivers of broken glass.

I grabbed at it and pulled it free, feeling the blood spurt from my hands where they dug into the jagged edge. The small sheet of tin in my hands, I dropped to one knee in the deepest shadows against the shack.

Crew-cut emerged from the passageway and halted, peering up and then down the bisecting passage.

The mind is a funny thing, and suddenly I was seeing a little boy a long time ago standing on the shore of a lake and skipping flat stones far out across the water. It was the same motion, a short, hard flick of the wrist. I took aim and let the sheet of tin fly.

Crew-cut turned just as it slammed into his face, the jagged edge a hundred bits of tearing, ripping metal. Blood leaped from his face. He screamed in pain, dropped the gun and threw both hands up to his face.

I dived for the gun, grabbed it and pressed it against his stomach. I fired twice, the shots partially muffled in his clothes.

Now there was only one Russian left and I moved back into the shadows of the shack. I had only moments to wait.

He came racing down, saw the inert form of Crew-cut sprawled in the intersection and whirled, blazing away at every corner. He was firing wildly but furiously, and the slugs were zinging into the tin all around me.

I dropped to a prone position and fired back.

He staggered as my shots tore into him, but he stayed on his feet, still firing back, and now he had a bead on me.

I felt one slug tear through my collar, and I rolled over to come up against the shack.

Steadying my arm against the tin wall, I risked the time to aim, and my shot caught him right between the eyes.

He did a backflip and lay still.

I walked over to him and his uniformed chauffeur’s coat had ripped open to reveal the reason for his durability. He was wearing a steel, bullet-proof vest, the kind the European cops wear for riot duty.

I looked at the gun in my hand, tried the chamber and saw it was empty. The torrent of shots had set the neighborhood to waking, and lights and shouts filled the air.

I ran, tossing the useless gun away, as dawn lightened the sky, and I heard the sudden, sharp wail of a police siren nearby.

I wanted to retrieve Hugo but there wasn’t time to go back, not with the Casablanca cops just around the corner. I found my way through the bidonville and back to the Mercedes where, I saw happily, the keys were still in the ignition.

As I slid behind the wheel and drove off unhurriedly, I passed two police cruisers, lights flashing and sirens wailing beneath the fast-rising day.

I headed for Marina, but Aggie’s place was on the way, and I turned off to pull to a halt across the street from her apartment. If she hadn’t left yet I’d drive her to the airport myself.

I bounded up the steps and saw the door to her apartment ajar, the sight a sudden mixture of hope and fear, hope that it meant she’d cleared out fast, fear that it meant she hadn’t been fast enough.

I pushed the door open slowly. It was the fear that won out.

Aggie Foster would never see Akron, Ohio, again. She lay on the floor, half-dressed, her throat nearly slashed in two and, as it had been with the Russian, with the same, curving arc.

I knelt down beside her and gently moved her legs. There was no evidence that she’d been touched otherwise. It was a killing, silently, efficiently and an icy rage churned inside me. The sneaking, murdering bastards would pay for this.

I had already reduced their number from five to four, not counting Rashid. I’d reduce it to zero.

The cold rage inside me welled up, but I fought it down. This was no time for wild rages. This called for the same silent, deadly efficiency they practiced. But now another fear swept over me, and I raced out of the building and into the Mercedes, roaring from the curb in a screech of complaining rubber.

Glad for the still empty streets of the early morning, I tooled the big car along the Avenue de l’Hippodrome, took the corner into the Boulevard Zerktouni on two wheels and came to a tire-marked spot across the street from Marina’s apartment on Hassan Souktany. My eyes swept the area as I dashed into the building. Only a beggar wandered down the street.

I pounded on the door and allowed a sigh of relief to escape me as I heard the lock click open from inside.

Marina opened the door a slit, her eyes half-closed yet, and then they opened wider as she saw me.

I pushed my way in and frowned, glancing quickly about.

She was in a half-slip and a bra, her shoes beside the small hassock in front of the sofa.

The bedroom door was open and I saw the bed fully made.

She’d been sleeping on the sofa in her slip and bra. She avoided my inquiring glance.

“Insomnia?” I asked quietly.

“As a matter of fact, yes,” she said quickly, rubbing her hands across her face. “I... I was reading, and I must have fallen asleep on the sofa.”

“You must have put the book away first,” I said, glancing around.

“Why, yes... I guess I did,” she stammered nervously. She picked her dress up from the end of the sofa and put it on a hanger.

I watched the beautiful movement of her breasts as she stretched her arms up to hang the dress.

“You don’t seem exactly elated at seeing me,” I tossed out.

She turned and a small furrow darkened her brow.

“It... it’s not that.” she said. “It’s just that I... I’m not feeling very well this morning. I... I’m going to try to sleep some more. I’ll call you later.”

I was seeing the gorgeous raven-haired creature who wouldn’t let me go till I promised to return. Something was very wrong here. I could see it in her quick, almost furtive glances, the nervous little flutter of her hands.

“No, you’re not going to call me later,” I said. “You’re going to leave here at once.”

Her eyes grew wide. “Leave here?” she gasped. “Why, that’s impossible. I... I can’t. It... it’s ridiculous.”

“Not as ridiculous as getting killed,” I said.

Marina swallowed hard. “Getting killed?” she repeated.

“You friend Karminian was mixed up in some nasty business,” I said. “Because you knew him you’re in great danger. A number of people have been killed already.”

As I spoke I heard myself sounding like a playback, an echo of a previous speech.

“All right,” she said, quickly. “I’ll leave... tomorrow. I’ve got to stay here today.”

She was trying to placate me.

“Why must you stay here today?” I asked, watching her closely.

Her lips tightened and she turned away for a moment. When she turned back she had composed herself.

“Someone is coming here,” she said. “An old aunt of mine. I’ve got to stay here and wait for her. It concerns important family matters, trouble at home.”

“Okay,” I said. “Then I’ll stay too. I think you need protecting.” I smiled grimly, inwardly.

Her story was as phony as a three dollar bill.

The alarm in her eyes when I announced I was staying was final proof, not that I needed it.

“No, Glen... you can’t stay,” she said, coming over to me. “It... it’s very confidential. Please, understand.”

I smiled. I was understanding a lot of things, mostly that she didn’t want me around.

Her face was now strained and white. Whatever was bothering her had brought her to a steel wire tenseness.

I noted, too, that she hadn’t seemed at all surprised when I mentioned that Karminian had been mixed up in some pretty nasty business. Maybe she knew it already. Maybe she was mixed up in it too. It was a possibility I couldn’t discard.

I had a suspicion that was taking larger shape with every passing second. This lovely creature, so frantically hungering so recently, was desperately trying to get rid of me. She was hiding something.

Five men and one girl had already been killed and I had a job to do. The time for playing games was over.

I watched her as she came over to me, the rapid rise and fall of her breasts exciting and tempting. But she could have been the Goddess of Love now, and it wouldn’t have bothered me.

I was on the trail of something and that’s all that counted.

“Please, Glen,” she said. “Do it my way and I’ll explain tonight.”

I smiled and sat down. “You won’t be able to explain anything to anyone tonight if I leave you alone,” I said. “I don’t mind sitting around, really. I’ll go into the other room when your aunt gets here so you can talk privately.”

Marina whirled around, angry frustration mirrored in her face.

I picked up a magazine and casually started to thumb through it.

Marina paced back and forth a few times, went into the kitchen, came out again and sat down, got up again, walked to the window and sat down again.

“Something bothering you, doll?” I asked casually.

“Yes,” she snapped. “This whole thing. It’s just silly. It just won’t work this way. I want you to leave and I’ll call you after my aunt’s gone.”

I got up slowly, smiling, and she didn’t read the cold deadliness in it. “All right, sweetie,” I said. “After I do one thing.”

“What’s that?” she asked quickly.

I walked over to where she sat, looked down at her and then shot out a hand and grabbed the black bra in the center. As I yanked her up and onto her feet, the bra pulled down and her lovely breasts sprang free.

“After I get the truth out of you,” I snarled.

She tried to tear free, but I had her wrist now, and I whirled her around and slammed her down on the rug.

Her eyes were wide with helpless fear.

“The truth, Marina, and quick,” I said.

“You... you’re hurting me,” she said.

I loosened my grip on her wrist and with my other hand, began to caress the soft, smooth pink tips of her breasts.

“Sorry,” I said. “Is this better?”

Her eyes, black with anger at first, began to change to something else.

“Stop it,” she cried. “Stop it.”

I felt the smooth tips begin to grow hard and rise at my caresses. I continued to stroke them, gently, rhythmically.

“Oh, God, please stop,” she gasped out. “Please, Glen... don’t.”

“When did you hear from him?” I asked suddenly, taking my hand from her breast at the same time.

She looked up at me, her lower lip quivering.

I touched her nipple again and freed her other arm. “The truth, Marina,” I said softly. “Tell me.”

Her eyes looked up at me, suddenly filled with tears, and then she broke, flinging her face against my chest and sobbing, short, gasping sobs.

I held her tight.

“Where is he?” I asked firmly. “Come on, Marina. Tell me.”

“I don’t know,” she sobbed into my chest. “He called last night. I promised I wouldn’t tell anyone.”

“I want to help you,” I said. “And him too.”

She pulled her head back and wiped the tears from her eyes.

I let her sit up.

“He’s going to call me again this morning, sometime, when he can get to a phone,” she blurted out. “He has money in a locker and the key someplace. I’m to get the key, take the money and bring it to him. He’ll give me full instructions when he calls back.”

“That’s why you dozed on the sofa,” I finished for her. “You wanted to be ready the moment he called.”

She nodded. She was telling the truth, all she knew, and this was my golden opportunity to find Karminian.

I needed her cooperation. I didn’t want her trying to give me the slip when she went to meet him so I decided to level with her, telling her as much as I knew.

I began with the two Karminians and their activities as espionage informants and when I’d finished she was pale and shaken, her eyes deep and round.

“I would never have believed it,” she said quietly. “And you aren’t an artist at all, then. I was right in suspecting that, Glen.”

“Oh, I’ve been called an artist in my work.” I grinned. “And you can stop calling me Glen. It’s Nick — Nick Carter.”

“Nick,” she said, turning it over in her mind, savoring it aloud. “Yes, it fits you better,” she said finally. “It fits that sense of urgency and danger I first felt about you.”

Marina leaned forward and I had to hold back from scooping those two beautiful breasts up in my hands.

“Poor Anton,” she said sadly.

“Which Karminian has contacted you?” I asked. “Did you hear any voice difference?”

“Why, it had to be my Anton,” she replied. “I doubt the other one knew I existed, and only my Anton knew the little things between us he mentioned. Promise me he won’t be hurt, Nick. I feel terrible enough about going back on my word to him.”

“My people won’t hurt him,” I answered. “The Russians have other methods but they’re out of the picture now. The Rifs will certainly kill him. They might torture him to find out exactly how much he knows, first. And you shouldn’t feel horrible about having told me. You’re doing him a hell of a favor. You’re saving his neck.”

She put her head against my shoulder. It would have been so easy to take her in my arms and make love to her but I didn’t. That was not something I wanted to have stopped in the middle by a phone call. Not with Marina.

As it was, we didn’t have to wait long. When the phone jangled, Marina’s eyes flew to mine and her lips tightened.

“Answer it,” I said firmly. “Be yourself. Loosen up.”

She swallowed hard, picked up the phone and I watched her as she spoke to him, her eyes riveted on me all the while.

“Yes, yes, Anton,” she said. “I’m ready. Yes... I know the place. In your name. I understand. All right. I’ll be there with it. Yes, Anton. Au ’voir.”

She put down the phone and I was beside her at once.

“Let’s go,” I said, puffing her to her feet.

She slipped on her dress and I rushed her out the door.

“What’s the plan?” I said brusquely. “Let’s have it.”

“The key to the locker is at the Hotel Mahraba in an envelope in his name,” she said. “He told the desk clerk I would be picking it up. The locker is at the Main Post Office at the Place des Nations Unies.”

“So far so good,” I commented as we got into the Mercedes. “After you get the money where do you go?”

She looked at me, hesitated a moment, and then answered. “To the Marcel Cerdan Stadium. It is not in use today, and I’m to go to section fourteen, aisle B and wait there.”

The Marcel Cerdan Stadium, I repeated to myself. I’d passed it once. It was modem, huge, typical of its kind, named after the French middleweight champion killed in an air crash some years ago. I wondered grimly if he’d been hiding in the stadium all along. He could mingle with the crowds when it was in use and hide away when it closed.

It was vast enough to avoid the cleaning brigades and the night watchman. He could probably pilfer food from concession stands too. An ingenious spot to pick, but then I’d already learned the Karminian twins had a long record of ingenious schemes.

“After you get the money from the locker, you’ll take a taxi to the stadium,” I told Marina. “Go through with everything just as you’ve been instructed by him.”

I wondered about reaching the stadium unseen. Such places usually had large, wide-open spaces around them. That was a problem I’d have to meet when I got there. I shot Marina another glance and saw her watching me apprehensively.

“What’s the matter?” I asked sharply.

“I... I don’t know if I’ve done the right thing,” she answered. “Suddenly you frighten me. You’re so different, so predatory, like a leopard that’s suddenly scented a kill.”

She shuddered and I didn’t try to smooth it over.

“Occupational conditioning,” I said. “It’s too late to change your mind now, Marina.”

I glanced at her again and saw she was still looking apprehensive and unhappy. I decided that the unhappy facts of life might straighten her out, just in case she got any last minute ideas.

“I’m going to be there, Marina,” I said. “If you go through with things, I’ll be able to grab him and get him to safety. But I can’t let him get away. If you try to help him escape I’ll shoot him.”

I omitted the fact that I didn’t have a gun with me.

“You would, wouldn’t you?” she said, shock lacing her words.

“You can count on it, baby,” I said. I braked to a halt outside the Mahraba Hotel. “Get the key,” I ordered. “And let’s keep moving.”

She got out, giving me a hurt, shocked look but I knew she’d play it straight now. In minutes she was back with an envelope which she opened as I wheeled the car toward the complex of buildings known as United Nations Plaza.

Once again I drew up and waited outside as she hurried into the building. This time she reappeared carrying a small satchel, not unlike an airlines bag. She unzipped it in the car and I didn’t bother to count the neatly wrapped packages of bills. There was a lot of money in the bag, perhaps ten or fifteen thousand dollars, I guessed. She zipped the bag up again and I pulled to the curb behind a taxi stand.

“Take one of those cabs and follow through with the plan,” I said. “Don’t look for me, don’t think about me. I’ll show up at the right time.”

I watched as she walked to the nearest of the taxis and climbed in, the long, lovely line of her leg disappearing into the rear of the old cab.

She hadn’t said a thing, and I could feel the nervous tension in her but I was confident she’d stick with it.

I followed the cab for a while, and, as we neared the stadium, I swung down a side street and gunned the limousine in a roaring race to the stadium. I pulled over a block from it and went the rest of the way on foot.

As I’d feared, the area around the place was open space.

Karminian would no doubt be watching, perhaps from high up in the seats, with a falcon’s view covering every part of the outside of the oval. He’d be certain to see me approaching.

A sound behind me made me whirl and I saw a man with a small cart of fruits coming down the street, a gaily colored parasol covering his little two-wheeled cart.

I waited till he passed abreast of me, then quickly moved behind him. I applied just enough pressure, carefully, slowly, and he sank to the ground unconscious.

It was risky business. The least little bit too much and he’d be dead. I put him against the building after I checked his heart. He was breathing normally, and he’d wake within five minutes.

I took the cart and started pushing it out into the open space surrounding the stadium. Beneath the bright parasol, I was only a pair of legs, slowly pushing a little fruit cart.

I passed the door marked Cinq and went on close to the concrete stadium wall. I was beyond the line of vision of anyone watching from inside. I passed another door and paused to push against it. It was locked and steel ribbed. I went on past two more locked doors until I came to a small, narrow doorway. This one was wood and I halted the little cart to push against it. It was locked but the wood yielded.

I turned to see the taxi draw up back beside the first of the doors and Marina get out.

Karminian would be watching her now. I stepped back, hit the door with my shoulder, timing it to coincide with the noise of the taxi engine starting up, and half-fell, half-stumbled into the dimness of the interior of the stadium.

I was beneath the seats and I moved along the passageways, working my way back toward the main entrance to the stadium. I could hear the sharp sound of Marina’s heels clicking along the concrete flooring up ahead and I saw the arrow directing spectators to Row B. I followed it, moving slowly now.

As I passed Row A I cut up and out onto the seating area. Almost creeping, crouched low behind the rows of seats, I peered over at Marina’s figure as she stood alone, waiting in aisle B.

I gazed across the thousands of empty seats, looking for a figure, but there was only silence. I stayed crouched behind the seats, peering out through a small opening between two of them.

He had been terribly clever, cautious and fearful up to now, and he would continue to be.

I could see Marina, now beginning to pace up and down, her eyes scanning the empty stadium. He might be anywhere, waiting, watching.

Then, suddenly, I saw him, a small black shape half-way across the stadium, making his way along the passageway where the seats sloped down to the edge of the field.

Marina hadn’t seen him yet, and he was still pacing nervously. It was only when he drew near that she saw him and whirled to wave at him.

I saw her glance around quickly, and I knew she was trying to spot me.

Knock it off, I hissed inwardly. You’ll get him suspicious.

She waved to him again, and now he was mounting the steps from the lower seats, taking them in bounds.

He was fairly tall, black-haired, with the gaunt, cadaverous kind of good looks that make women feel protective.

Marina rushed over to him and I noted that he took the bag first and then embraced her.

“Anton,” I heard Marina say. “I’ve done what was best for you.”

I saw him frown at once. She’d have him on guard and running with talk like that. It was time to move and move fast. I didn’t know how true that was as I leaped over the seats and headed for them.

He whirled and saw me at once. He turned to Marina and his arm shot out. I saw her recoil as the slap struck her face and echoed like a small shot in the emptiness of the stadium.

“Bitch!” he shouted at her.

“No, Anton, no!” Marina cried but he was off and running.

I was moving through a row of seats to cut him off when we suddenly had company. I saw the evil face of Rashid first as he appeared at the top of the sloping ramp between the rows of seats. Then I saw the other four, moving in from all sides. My first thought was to wonder how the hell they knew we were there, but I tossed aside speculation for action.

Karminian saw them also, and I caught a glimpse of Marina’s shocked face.;

I was closest to him, and I reached out and grabbed his arm.

“Stay with me,” I hissed at him.

He paused a second, and I thought he was going to go along. Instead, he turned and kicked out, his ascetic face livid with rage. The blow took me by surprise and I felt the sharp, stabbing pain in the groin. I went down on one knee.

“Come back, you damn fool,” I yelled at him. “I want to help you.”

He wasn’t listening. He was running, leaping over seats, twisting back and forth, racing up and down aisles.

One of the Rifs was coming across to cut him off, the jeweled, curved, Moorish dagger in his hand.

I couldn’t let Karminian be killed. He was my only key to this. If he got away I’d find him again, somehow. Dead, there’d only be the Rifs left, and they, I knew, would fade away like a desert mirage.

Another Rif, the tall one, was coming up behind to box Karminian into a corner where two aisles bisected.

I went after Karminian as he started to leap over seats and I forced him to turn and head back toward the Rif with the unsheathed dagger. As he neared the Rif, I vaulted over a row of seats and put myself between the Arab and Karminian.

Seizing the moment, the fleeing informant cut off to the other side and streaked up the aisle.

Snarling, the Rif brought his dagger around in a sharp arc at me. As it curved through the air, I dropped level with the top of the seats and saw it come down to slice through the wooden seats in a shower of splinters.

I popped up, grabbed the Rif’s arm before he could draw it back again and yanked him forward. As he toppled over the back of the seats I chopped him with a karate blow that came up to shatter his Adam’s apple. He gurgled once and collapsed at my feet.

I made a grab for the dagger as it fell from his hands. I missed and it slipped under the seats. This was no time to try to find it.

The other Rif, the tall one, was only a few feet from me and I saw him hesitate, wondering who to go after.

I made up his mind for him by moving toward him.

He turned on me, drawing his own dagger.

Beyond him, I saw Karminian’s form catapulting seats and racing down aisles, eluding the other Rifs.

I jumped two seats into one of the aisles and raced for the exit when I heard Marina scream. I’d lost sight of her and expected she had fled in the confusion and the melee, but now I saw Rashid throw her to the ground.

I shifted direction and went for him. He turned from Marina to me.

The tall Rif was coming up behind me, dagger in hand.

The other two, I saw, were zeroing in from the sides.

I halted, half-crouched, feeling like a deer cornered by a pack of wolves.

Rashid drew his dagger and started for me, but the tall Rif called out, and he halted.

“No, do not kill him,” he commanded. “I want him and the girl alive.”

I breathed an inaudible sigh of relief, straightened up and let my muscles relax.

The other two Rifs were pulling Marina to her feet now, and I saw her face, white, terror-stricken, strained.

I felt the point of the dagger in the small of my back, and I was surrounded in seconds.

The tall one holding the dagger against me only gave me a passing glance and I saw his eyes were riveted on Rashid.

“So, Rashid, son of a mud-caked pig,” he snarled. “You killed Karminian, did you?”

I watched Rashid’s eyebrows go up in protest. “But I did kill him, I tell you,” the Rif answered excitedly.

“You not only lie, you persist in maintaining the charade,” the tall one shouted. “Your lying tongue will not wag again.”

He motioned to the other two Rifs who started for Rashid, daggers drawn.

Rashid’s evil face had broken into a mask of abject terror. He backed up, flung down his dagger and fell on his knees.

“I beg you to believe me,” he croaked.

“I believe my eyes,” the tall Rif spat out, nodding again to the othed two.

Rashid got up and turned to flee with a long moan of terror. The other two took after him, and I saw Marina’s wide, round eyes looking at me, a frown of incredulity on her face.

My eyes, narrowed, returning her gaze, told her to keep her mouth shut. I knew damn well what she was thinking, that I knew the explanation, that I could prevent this miscarriage of justice.

Not me, sister, I said inwardly. It’s nothing more than his past evils catching up with the bastard.

I heard Rashid scream, a high-pitched scream cut off by a bone-chilling gurgling sound followed by a sickening half-scream, half-groan.

The two Rifs returned and tossed something on the concrete in front of the tall one.

I looked at the bloody, grisly object for a moment before realizing it was Rashid’s tongue.

I looked up at Marina, saw her eyes roll upward as she fell into a dead faint. I caught her before she hit the ground.

“We will take these two back to El Ahmid,” the tall one said. “He will find ways to make them tell us where Karminian hides.”

“We don’t know anything about that,” I said. “Neither I nor the girl know.”

The Rif smiled, a slow, nasty smile. “That is why she came here with the money,” he said, sarcasm dripping from his tone. “That is why you interfered and let him escape us.”

“I had my own reasons for that,” I answered, gently slapping Marina’s cheeks. “How did you know we were meeting him here?” I questioned further.

Their sudden appearance still bugged me. I’d seen no signs of them or of being tailed by anyone.

The tall Rif smiled.

“We merely applied the techniques of our mountains to the city,” he said. “We put a man atop the minaret on the top of the Great Mosque. He saw the streets of the city as we see the mountain passes from our lookout points high in the mountains. We saw you escape from the Russians in their big, black car. It was easy to follow your path in the car. When we saw you come to the stadium, park the car and proceed on foot, we converged here.”

I smiled grimly. I’d gotten an object lesson in why they’d successively given the French, British and Spanish a hard time. Not only were their techniques good, but they knew how to adapt them to fit changing conditions, the first rule of military tactics.

“You are an American agent, of course,” the Rif said. “And the girl is your accomplice. Karminian had been working for you.”

“I am an artist,” I said. “The girl knows nothing. She was an old girl friend of Karminian’s.”

I saw the Rif flick his eyes at one of the others who had moved behind me.

Holding Marina in my arms, I tried to turn but the sharp pain exploded in my head, bright lights flashing briefly and then a curtain of blackness.