The Death Dealer

by Nick Carter

  "A little. It's not the way we usually go at each other."

  "Do you even know what he looks like?"

  Nick took a long drag from the cigarette. "I've been face to face with him once. It was dark, and there was a lot going on, but I'll know him when I see him. It's his eyes. They're — well, they're strange. An odd, opaque blue. It's as if you can see right through them into his skull. And when you do, there's nothing there. Once you see those eyes, you never forget them."

  "You want to know what I think?" Nick turned to stare at her. "My money says you're praying he'll come after us. You'll be sitting there, eyeball to eyeball, and you won't be able to touch him. And I think that's just eating you up inside."

  Nick dropped his cigarette in a nearby ashtray and moved over to the side of the chaise. He reached forward and lightly feathered his fingers through the lush thickness of her hair. "You're bright as well as beautiful."

  His hand drifted to the inviting, dark hollow between the swells of her breasts. A fingertip traced the swell of one breast and then flicked the piece of jewelry it found there.

  "What's this?"

  "A gift from my father, a long time ago. I think of it as a good luck charm."

  He leaned forward to inspect it more closely. It was a round jade circle, brightly polished, with a grimacing Oriental face carved into the dark green stone.

  "An odd piece."

  She nodded. "Supposed to be the Shinto god of good harvest."

  Nick chuckled. "Must have been a bad year when they carved this one. You always wear it?"

  "Even to bed," Tori said, sliding from the chaise to her feet. "Want to see?"

  "Think it's safe?"

  "Aren't we alone?"

  Nick laughed. "Of course we are. That's not what I meant."

  "I know."

  They both knew. One agent bedding down another was never a good thing. Getting too close to each other in bed might make you too close in the field.

  Closeness means caring. And too much caring might mean carelessness — the number one "don't" on the survival list.

  But the aura that now surrounded them had gone too far; the erotic electricity that flowed between them had taken over their minds as well as their bodies.

  "I don't care," she whispered.

  "Neither do I," Nick replied in a throaty voice.

  He raised and stepped slightly back from her. God, he thought again, she was beautiful. Her dark chestnut hair was extremely long and brushed to a glinting glossiness. She was unusually tall and strikingly sleek, her lush breasts jutting brazenly and defiantly from her slender body.

  Nick was sure from the fit of the skin-hugging dress that she wore nothing beneath it except pantyhose. It was difficult to determine since her breasts didn't have the slightest suggestion of sag. She looked like a chestnut-haired, pale-skinned, doe-eyed man-eater, and she fascinated him.

  He saw her eyes lift and catch him staring at her. Something in the pit of his stomach stirred. Something deep in his body responded violently to the sight of her. He could not look away. He noticed that her eyebrows were quite arched and that her nostrils flared sharply. She held her full red lips slightly parted, and they glistened as though constantly moist. There was a sparkle to her teeth, and her eyes were a peculiar shade of violet, curiously fathomless, and welcoming.

  "Bedroom?" she breathed softly.

  "Bedroom," Nick growled, and they raced each other for it.

  He fumbled with the buttons on the front of her dress. In seconds it parted. There was no bra, and her breasts were as inviting and perfectly round as he had imagined.

  She moved against him. Nick felt the closeness of her body, then the touch of her thighs as she pressed the softness of her curves tightly against him. Her eyes were closed and her lips were pursed for his kiss. They were warm and soft and inviting. They came open as he kissed her and her tongue slipped into his mouth.

  Sudden excitement caught hold of him. burning through his veins like fire. Tori moaned and dug her fingernails into his back. Her body trembled and her hips twisted slowly against his.

  At last she tore herself away and looked up at him with glowing eyes. Her large breasts heaved from her labored breathing.

  "Undress, Nick — hurry!"

  His guess was right. She only wore pantyhose beneath the dress. In an instant she was totally naked; a white, candlelit figure standing seductively before him. He stared hungrily at her nude perfection as he tore at his own clothing.

  Her breasts were even larger than he had imagined, but perfectly formed. Two firm, ruby-tipped mounds of creamy flesh. The circlets were big and dark, and the hard little nipples were now stiff and erect.

  She saw him looking at her and gave a throaty laugh.

  "Like what you see?" she asked softly.

  "My God," he muttered thickly, "you're lovely."

  She had a voluptuous, womanly body with ample hips, a smooth, rounded belly, and beautifully tapered thighs.

  Suddenly she was tugging him toward the bed. Then they fell together, locked in a fierce, straining embrace. His hand found one of her breasts, felt it rise and fall beneath his caressing fingers. He cupped the soft, swelling mound, then gently squeezed.

  Tori moaned and stirred beneath him. "I like that, Nick," she whispered. "Do anything you want to me — do everything to me!"

  He took both breasts in his hands and squeezed them together. She stiffened beneath him and purred her pleasure.

  "Kiss them!" she implored hoarsely.

  It was an order, but kissing was precisely what he had wanted to do. He lowered his face to her straining breasts, felt the soft round globes graze his cheek as he moved his mouth from one to the other, his lips parted, his tongue moistening the warm, pulsing flesh. Then her hands guided him until he found and caressed a hot, upright nipple.

  "Oh, God, yes — that's it!" she cried through clenched teeth.

  Nick felt her whole body tremble, and then she was writhing beneath him, pulling him down to her, clamping him within the circle of her tightening thighs. A shiver went through him as their bodies touched and seemed to melt together in a shuddering embrace.

  His hand and then his fingers found the soft, silken moistness between her thighs. Tori's body became electrified. She whimpered and gasped as her passion reached a peak. Perspiration beaded on her lips, plastered her hair to her head, streamed down her glistening breasts, oiled her slick flesh and gleamed on her writhing thighs. Nick drew back slightly and looked at her with awed fascination. Sightless eyes bulging and rolling, teeth bared in an animal grin, head slung wildly from side to side, she rocked and twisted savagely in a helpless paroxysm of pleasure, a convulsion of delight. As he watched her frenzied contortions and listened to her low, rattling cries, he knew he could wait no longer himself.

  In one smooth motion, he slid his body between her dancing legs. With a gasp, Tori reached between them and found him. Smoothly she guided him until Nick was deeply inside her.

  His entrance was like turning a switch on in Tori's body. Her hips writhed and her back arched as she thrust to meet him.

  "Yes, yes, Nick, all of me — take it all!" she cried, her body twisting beneath his in spasms of delight.

  Suddenly a deep groan of release burst from her throat and he felt her body cling and shudder against his in sudden ecstasy.

  Just as suddenly, Nick's cry of passion matched hers.

  Her long legs locked around him even tighter as the final, convulsive spasms of release took over their bodies at the same time. Nick flooded her belly with his warmth as she writhed her way through a climax that left her limp and drained beneath him.

  * * *

  Jacek nearly fell behind the steering wheel and slammed the car door shut behind him. He sat a moment, his hands running over his forehead. His brow felt warm and moist, and the breakfast he had just consumed sat uneasily in his stomach. He dropped his hands and shook his head, trying to get his eyes to focus correctly.

  "
I must never drink like that again," he muttered to himself.

  He reached to his right and lifted the road map from the seat. He tilted it toward the window, reading it by the parking lot lights. On it was a carefully traced route left for Jacek by the man who had driven him from the apartment.

  "Follow this route," he had said. "You will go to Charleston, West Virginia. Once you arrive, call this number." The man had written it out on the map, and then left.

  Jacek traced the route with his fingers, finally coming to rest at the tiny dot that marked his present location. He commanded his eyes to focus. Winchester, stated the map. Fifty miles had been traveled, too many more still to go. He tossed the map back onto the seat, an effort that seemed to consume all his strength. With his left hand, he stroked at the spot on his neck that the Dealer had teased with his knifepoint.

  It itched and burned and sent throbbing hints of irritation with each breath. Jacek suddenly was wracked with a deep cough that threatened to bring his breakfast back up with a vengeance. He gripped the wheel, waiting out the seizure, willing his body to settle itself. Then, as quickly as the coughing spell had come, it was gone. With a deep sigh, and again vowing eternal sobriety, Jacek fired up the car. With one final shake of the head, he moved out from the parking lot, and back out onto the road. Cranking down the window, he let the cool, Appalachian night air embrace him. For a moment the mountain air seemed to settle him.

  "We go, Jacek," he muttered. "We go to Charleston. We go to Bern."

  There was one thing that Jacek could feel much better about. The letter had been mailed. The red and blue mailbox had stared at him from across the parking lot, all the way through breakfast. He had debated the choice, and made it. He was already in flight, what harm could confessions do now? And he would see his friend, be able to face him. How much better if Stefan had time to consider his reactions.

  So the letter had been removed from the pocket, and dropped into the box. The act, now done, gave him relief, lifting his spirits as the city lights of Winchester faded behind him. He felt with his foot, and clicked on the brights as the mountain road began twisting before him. Why did his foot weigh a thousand pounds?

  He dropped the window some more, giving a quick shiver as the air collided with his sweating brow. He flicked on the radio, scooting the dial past an early farm report, and settling on a country station.

  "Enjoy it, Jacek," he said. "You will not be getting Dolly Parton in Moscow."

  He settled back into his seat, only dimly aware of the sudden appearance of lights in his rearview mirror. He concentrated on the road, occasionally shaking his head whenever the center line would begin to weave in his vision. He only truly sensed the headlights when they began gaining a rate of speed that hinted at trouble.

  Jacek fought the growing sense of dread as his eyes jumped from road to mirror. Could the police be looking for him? Was it possible that someone saw the car he left in? Would the police know which vehicle to stop?

  All the questions seemed superfluous as the car behind him came to life. Twin blue beacons flashed on, and a siren split the air. Jacek's heart leaped into his throat and his foot pressed against the accelerator.

  No! he thought. Not now. Not before I've had a chance with Stefan. You cannot take me. You will not!

  Jacek was aware of the screech of his own tires as the vehicle began twisting through the bends of the mountain road. Behind him were echoing squeals as the police car maintained its distance. It was not gaining, but it was not being lost either. Jacek pressed harder on the pedal, his head shaking violently as the road weaved before him, the cut on his neck throbbing painfully with each heartbeat.

  He aimed the car down the center of the road, avoiding the sheer mountain face lifting to his left, and the moonlit darkness of the drop to his right. In spite of his efforts, his eyes would still blur, and there was one horrifying minute of fender meeting guard rail, a sickening whine of metal as Jacek bit into the deep turn.

  And then relief. For a moment the road straightened, a long stretch of rising highway that slanted its way up the mountainside. Jacek floored the accelerator, suddenly becoming aware of danger in a different form. From around the bend that marked the end of the stretch came a pair of headlights.

  He fought with his vision, inching the car over into the right lane. But the headlights approached him at far too rapid a pace, and no matter how many times he shook his head, one impression would not be stilled. The car that approached was aiming directly at him.

  Jacek slammed his hand onto the horn, but the lights wouldn't yield. His eyes grew wide with fright as the oncoming vehicle grew nearer, and nearer, and nearer. At that moment, something within Jacek accepted death.

  There was no such choice as stopping; it just didn't exist for him. There were only three real choices: the left, and the hard impact of the mountain face; ahead, and the destruction of collision; or the right, and the looming darkness of the drop.

  There was no drama to it, no guard rail to crash out a final chord, no hard screech of braking tires behind, no scream.

  There was just an eerie silence as the car left the roadbed.

  Jacek's life did not even flash before his clenched and weary eyes.

  There was only flight.

  And descent.

  And then the night was filled with the crushing sound of impact.

  Inside the car, there was only the briefest sound of exhaled life, as the steering wheel ground its way through Jacek's chest.

  Chapter Five

  AMSTERDAM

  There was an almost festive feeling to the city night. Nick and Tori silently shared the lifting sensations, the crisp air rising from the Prinsengracht Canal, the lights glowing over the narrow packed houses with their gabled tops, the distant rise of the Westerker Tower chiming out its eleven o'clock carillon. The two moved quickly, past the pubs, past accordion and belalyka ensembles mingling with the revelry, and past restaurants rich with the odors of fish and pastries.

  While Tori stared left, taking in the sights, Nick stared right, searching the ranks of houseboats that lined the canal's edge. Finally he saw the one he was searching for. With a tug on Tori's arm, they crossed the street, hopped the iron rail at the embankment, and stepped their way onto the long deck of the boat.

  "Hmm, tasteful," Tori quipped. "Vibrant green with red trim. Do you suppose the inside is this subtle?"

  Nick grinned. "I think you're in for a pleasant surprise. Anatole may not be subtle, but he's entertaining. Brace yourself, my dear, to be swept away in style."

  Nick tapped on the door. His knock was answered by a booming bass voice that rattled the walls. "If you are male, depart! I'm not buying anything. If it is a woman, undress and enter!"

  Nick called back, "But what if it's neither?"

  The door jerked open to reveal a barrel-chested hulk of a man. "If you are one of those types, come back tomorrow. Let me see how it goes with the women first." A loud roaring laugh ended the comment — that, and the almost complete loss of Nick Carter in the bearlike grip of the man's arms. "Nicholas!" raged the man. "Welcome, you son of a camel humper!"

  Tori stared in amazement at the man. He was immense, at least six feet five in his sandaled feet, his limbs thick and sturdy. Any thoughts of subtlety were instantly erased by the skin-tight black pants and the brilliant red shirt — open to the navel, sleeves cut to the shoulder — all to give the coarse flaming red hair that coated his body the room it needed to breathe. Topping the giant body was a freckled face, its fifty-five years of life carved in stone and surrounded by more flaming red tangles of beard. The skull was as bald as a cue ball.

  The man released his grip on Nick and grinned into N3's face. The two front teeth were solid gold and gleaming. "I have been expecting you, my dear, dear friend." His eyes then darted to Tori, taking her in, leaving no doubt of the appreciation they were receiving from the sight. "My. my, my. my, my," he crooned.

  Then he moved toward her. From what she had
seen of the man's hugs. Tori reacted almost defensively to the approach, cringing backward a few steps. But he stopped short of her, gripped her hand with a touch that was surprisingly gentle, and raised the palm to his lips. Tori let out a small giggle as the beard brushed against her skin.

  The giant's eyes twinkled. "It tickles, no?" His free hand dusted through the shaggy facial hair. "It drives the women wild. 'Anatole's bush' they call it. It can tickle you in the most delightful ways, my sweet lovely. And the head!" The hand rose to slap against his pate. "It can do things you have never dreamed. I swear it!"

  "Nick. Help!"

  Nick stepped over and slapped his friend's broad back. "Anatole, she is overwhelmed by your charm and awed by your beauty. But she has promised her aged and dying father to remain a virgin."

  "A virgin!" the giant groaned, and with a deep sigh he lowered Tori's hand. "Ah, well, I must respect the vows made to the ancient and infirm." With a wink he added, "After the funeral, however, visit again — who knows, eh? But enough! Enter, good friend and fair virgin. Bless this humble home with your company!"

  Anatole turned and burst back into the boat. Nick and Tori followed. The boat was long and narrow, with two rooms. One was a sitting room with a small kitchenette in the corner, the other, the bedroom.

  Tori stood awed at the decor. It was a cluttered museum of knickknacks and junk, from the zebra skin rug on the floor, to the stained glass wall that separated the rooms, to the player piano with its top lifted and ferns billowing out from the interior.

  "Your pleasure. Nicholas? The usual?" Anatole bellowed. "And for the lady, the same?"

  Nick nodded, and he and Tori settled themselves onto what served as the sofa: a small ship's dinghy with its side cut out and piled high with pillows. Anatole moved to the kitchen counter and swept aside a stack of dirty dishes. He opened one of the overhead cabinet doors, grumbling slightly as two or three empty bottles fell out. Brushing them aside, he gave the cabinet a quick search, and with a cry of triumph, pulled out an ancient dark bottle.

  He turned to display it to his guests. "Ambrosia! My own creation. There is nothing like it on this earth." As he dug for two glasses. Tori leaned in to whisper to Nick.