by Nick Carter
One of the soldiers was shoved aside, and a large, burly man barreled his way into the room. He looked at Carter.
"That's him," he said in French.
"What are you doing here?" the Chinese man asked in French.
"I've got my orders. The governor wants him," the big man said. He turned back to Carter. He carried a large Beretta automatic. "You will come with me voluntarily, or I shall kneecap you, Monsieur Carter. Do you understand?" he asked in English.
Carter nodded. It had been he who had arrived in the helicopter, not Tieggs. Carter shrugged. "I don't have much of a choice."
"No," the Frenchman said. He stepped away from the doorway and motioned Carter outside.
They went back through the dining room and living room, out onto the veranda, and down to the driveway. A large French military helicopter was parked just beyond the flagpole. Two men waited by it.
The three Chinese men had come out of the house, but they remained up on the veranda. Carter looked back at them. There was some kind of a power struggle going on here. But at the moment he could not see how he could turn it to his advantage. The Frenchman he was with was definitely a pro.
They marched across the driveway to the helicopter, and Carter was directed to climb into the rear compartment, where he was manacled to one of the seat supports after he had strapped in.
The Frenchman who had brought him down from the house went back up to the veranda to speak with the Chinese soldiers. The other two Frenchmen climbed into the helicopter, one of them at the controls, and he started the engine.
A minute later the other one came back, climbed in. and without a word they lifted off.
Almost immediately the pilot stiffened. "We have company," he said in French. "Looks like a small helicopter."
They swung around and headed toward town as Tieggs, in the smaller helicopter, swung past them from the left.
Carter's captor turned back to him. "Who is in the machine?"
"It's no one. Just a pilot from the base."
The man turned back. "Shoot him down," he said calmly.
"No!" Carter shouted, sitting forward.
They swung around, the pilot expertly bringing them up behind Tieggs.
"You bastards!" Carter shouted. "He's done nothing to you!"
The Frenchman turned back with his Beretta and jammed the barrel into Carter's face. "I will blow your head off, monsieur, if you are not quiet."
The French pilot was doing something with what looked like a weapons tracking and locking system. Out ahead, Tieggs apparently understood he was in trouble, because he was taking evasive actions.
"Now," the pilot said. He punched a button. A rocket streaked from their underbelly and in less than three seconds closed on Tieggs's machine. There was a brief pause, then the explosion.
Fifteen
Nick Carter kept seeing the explosion that destroyed Tieggs's helicopter. Tieggs never had a chance, although he had known what was about to happen.
Afterward they had swung out over the water to the southwest but had kept low, presumably to keep well under any radar or detection systems even though there was nothing out here but undeveloped islands.
Carter sat back. Right now there wasn't a damned thing he could do, he thought. The governor was working for the Chinese. Evidently Rondine swung some weight, otherwise the soldiers back at the house would not have deferred so easily to his henchmen. But Carter had wanted to see the man, and he would soon be getting his chance.
The military chopper they were in was very fast. Nevertheless it took them the better part of two hours before they swung around the western side of a large, jungle-choked island, came in low over a lagoon, then slowly followed a wide river or channel several hundred yards up from the beach.
They were almost on top of the yacht before Carter spotted it, and he realized that from more than a few hundred feet in the air it would be virtually invisible despite its size, which Carter estimated to be at least 150 feet.
About a half mile beyond the yacht, they came down in a narrow clearing. As the rotors slowed, the Frenchmen got out of the machine, and the one who had brought Carter out of the house opened the rear door and unlocked his manacles.
He stepped back, his Beretta out, as one of the other men came around and quickly frisked Carter, coming up with his stiletto but not the gas bomb. He gave the blade to the man with the gun.
"As soon as you are done here, come down to the boat. I think he wants to leave at dark."
"Out, Claude," the man said.
Carter's captor motioned with the Beretta, and they started down the path. Behind them the other two men were shoving the helicopter down the slope toward some overhanging trees. When they were finished, Carter suspected there would be little or nothing to be seen from the air.
It was very hot. The weather had cleared, and there wasn't a breath of air.
If they were leaving tonight after dark, they would probably run through the night without lights. By morning they would be far enough away from everything and not arouse the suspicion of anyone. Carter was sure he had seen a Liberian registry flag flying from the mast above the bridge deck.
He pondered his situation. Once he was aboard the boat and at sea, there would not be a lot he could do. Forget a rescue. And there would be little likelihood that he would get off the boat alive.
He stopped and turned around.
"Allans! Allans!" the big man shouted.
Carter let his eyes roll back in his head and flutter. "Christ…" he whispered, and he fell forward as if in a faint.
The Frenchman instinctively reached out. Carter fumbled with the man's gun hand as if he were seeking support. Too late the big man understood that it was a ruse. Carter drove forward and up, butting the man's chin with his head. At the same moment he twisted the Beretta sharply to the right, breaking the man's wrist with a loud pop.
The man cried out, then swore loudly in French.
Carter stepped back, kneed the man in the groin, then drove a right hook into his jaw that sent him flying backward onto the ground. The man was out cold.
All of that took less than five seconds, and Carter was sure the scuffle had not alerted the helicopter crew. Nevertheless he grabbed the automatic and crouched by the side of the path, waiting for any signs that an alarm had been sounded.
But there was nothing other than the soft, jungle sounds of insects and birds.
Carter retrieved his stiletto from the downed man, and with the manacles that had been used to hold him in the back seat of the helicopter, he manacled the Frenchman to a small tree. He stuffed a handkerchief into the man's mouth and used his belt to hold it in place.
On the path he looked down toward where the yacht was tied, then up in the direction of the helicopter. If he went back to the helicopter to take care of the two crewmen, there was a very good chance he would have to use the Beretta. Someone from the yacht would hear it, and his element of surprise would be lost.
On the other hand, the crewmen would be coming down to the yacht within a very short time. Unless he was finished with what he wanted to do, they would be on top of him.
The latter was the more easily acceptable risk to Carter, and he headed quickly down the path toward the governor's yacht.
Rondine was intelligent. He had apparently expected his little island kingdom to come to an end sooner or later, and he had prepared for it with this yacht as his escape hatch.
In all likelihood he had another place picked out and ready for him, probably with the help of the Chinese.
The yacht was the Mariposa, Spanish for butterfly. She lay at anchor in the middle of the narrow channel. A couple of small motor launches were pulled up to the shore.
Carter held back within the protection of the jungle as he looked out at the activity. A couple of crewmen had gone over the side near the stem of the yacht, evidently to check on the propellers or the rudder. Several crewmen were visible on deck, and the ship's radar antenna was slowly spinning.
They were alert and ready for intruders.
Closer, two crewmen waited by the pair of motor launches pulled up to the river bank. Carter, his captor, and the two helicopter crewmen were evidently expected. The boatmen kept looking at their watches and glancing up the path.
His only way aboard would be by one of the motor launches. If he could lure the two crewmen out of sight of the yacht, he might be able to take them out.
He pulled out his gas bomb and started to edge around to the left, when the barrel of an automatic touched his cheek.
"Straighten up very slowly, Monsieur Carter."
Carter did as he was told, very slowly, the gas bomb in his left hand, the Beretta in his right.
There was only one of them… one of the crew from the helicopter. Carter figured if the noise could be kept down, he would still have a chance.
At that moment, however, the other crewman came up the path with the big Frenchman whom Carter had knocked out. The man did not appear to be happy.
"Louis! Jean!" he shouted. The two men from the motor launch jumped up and came running.
Carter let himself relax as one of them pulled his gas bomb and the Beretta out of his grasp.
Claude, the big Frenchman with the broken wrist, backhanded Carter, knocking him backward but not off his feet.
"Salaud," the man hissed.
Carter was smiling. "Send your pals away, and I'd be glad to break your other wrist," he said in French.
The big man was barely able to control his anger as he shoved Carter around and down the path. "The governor will have a few things to say to you, Monsieur Carter. But afterward you will be mine!"
They boarded the two motor launches, and within a minute or so they were climbing aboard the Mariposa, a couple of officers and several crewmen watching from the rails.
Carter was taken immediately aft and then into the main salon.
Governor Rondine, wearing a light gauze shirt and white trousers, a gold chain around his immense neck, lounged in a chaise. Gabrielle was seated next to him. She wore a very brief white bikini that was stunning against her tanned olive skin.
There were a dozen other men and similarly dressed women. They were having a light snack and were drinking champagne.
"Ah, Monsieur Carter. Welcome aboard," Governor Rondine boomed jovially.
One of the helicopter crewmen had gone out on deck. He came back with a nylon-webbed deck chair and placed it in the middle of the salon, in front of the governor and his guests.
"You know, I kept asking myself who you were and what you were," the governor said. He waved his hand. "Oh, we knew that you were an investigator sent from Washington. Like the others. But you…" he hesitated. "You were different. You caused us much pain."
The crewman had cut away the webbing from the chair's seat.
"The colonel is most unhappy. I'm told that Peking is not happy. You have created a very large problem for us. One, really, that has no solution."
The governor nodded, and several of the ship's crew crowded into the salon and forcibly shoved Carter into the chair, tied him in place, and then stepped aside.
"But I asked myself," the governor continued, "what was it I needed to help alleviate the situation… salve the wound, so to speak."
Gabrielle looked very uncomfortable, but most of the other guests seemed to be enjoying this.
"I told myself that I would need information. Who you are, who you work for, and just how you found out about the operations center on Natu Faui. With such information I would have at least something to offer the colonel."
Again the governor nodded. One of the crewmen flipped out a straight razor and came to Carter's side, where he quickly and efficiently cut off Carter's shirt and then his trousers, pulling the rags away from his body until he was seated completely nude, his rear end and testicles exposed by the bottomless chair.
A couple of the women tittered as the crewman put away his blade and stepped aside.
"He dallied with my wife. Most unfortunate… for Monsieur Carter," the governor said, and again he nodded.
The crewman went over to a sideboard where the food had been set up.
"Your island kingdom is gone, and you expect the Communists to give you another. Is that it?" Carter asked.
The governor smiled. "He speaks. There is some hope for the poor devil."
Carter could not see what the crewman was doing at the sideboard. But he could feel the sweat running down his chest.
"How far do you expect to get in this toy? Our submarine is still…"
"Is a thousand miles from here. There will be no rescue, Monsieur Carter. You will be tortured until you give us the information we require. And then, mercifully, I will kill you."
The crewman at the sideboard turned around. He was holding the fire ring from a chafing dish. He brought it over and set it beneath Carter, then lit the alcohol flame.
Almost immediately Carter could feel the heat on his anus and testicles. He tried to lift himself up, but he could not move more than an inch or so. He started to scoot the chair to one side, but two of the crewmen grabbed the back of the chair and held him in place.
The heat rose.
"Take it away and I'll tell you what you want to know," Carter said, the pain already beginning.
The governor chuckled. "Yes, I think I will do just that, Monsieur Carter." He turned to Gabrielle. "But first, my dear, would you pour me a glass of champagne?"
The pain was rising sharply. Every muscle in Carter's body was straining.
Gabrielle jumped up and looked wildly from Carter to her husband.
"Albert," she said.
Carter could feel a scream building in his chest and rising up his throat.
Rondine laughed. He held out his champagne glass.
"Albert!" Gabrielle screamed.
A moan escaped Carter's lips.
Gabrielle turned, raced to Carter, and kicked the alcohol burner away, then spun back and grabbed the champagne glass from her husband's hand.
The governor was laughing out loud now. "Touching," he said, choking. "Very touching."
Gabrielle broke the champagne glass on the edge of the coffee table, then leaped forward, plunging the ragged glass edge into Rondine's throat, opening a jagged wound that spurted blood. Someone screamed as she viciously jabbed again, this time using the glass as a saw, severing the artery on the left side of his neck before one of the crewmen pulled her off and shoved her aside.
"Mon Dieu!" one of the crewmen cried.
"The doctor!" another one shouted.
Through a haze of pain, Carter watched as Rondine thrashed and kicked, his blood pumping everywhere as he tore at his throat with his hands, a terrible, choking sound coming from his mouth.
The guests had ail jumped up and moved toward the doorway to the aft deck. One of the men was vomiting. The women were screaming and crying.
Gabrielle had scooped up a large.357 magnum pistol from where it evidently had been stuffed beneath one of the cushions beside the governor, and she waved it around.
"Everyone out of here!" she screamed.
The governor gave one final gasp, looked up at his wife, then rolled over and lay still in a huge puddle of his own blood.
"Everyone out of here!" she screamed again. "He is dead! It is all over!"
She fired a shot, high. It smacked into the doorframe above the guests' heads.
The women screamed again, and everyone crowded through the door.
"Have the captain make the boat ready!" she cried after them. "You are leaving here."
She came to Carter's side, the tears welling in her eyes as she untied him.
"Can you walk?" she asked.
Carter's stomach was heaving, and the pain below was unspeakable, but his head was clear, and he managed to stand.
He took the.357 from her. "We'll stay aboard. Radio for help." Talking was an effort.
She shook her head wildly. "There is a bomb," she whispered. "I put a
bomb in the engine room. This boat will explode tonight at midnight. Everyone aboard will be killed."
"How…"Carter began.
"It was meant for you in the hotel or at the base. The colonel gave it to me."
Carter tried to make his mind work. They would be stranded here on this island. The little motor launches wouldn't get them very far. But then he remembered the helicopter. He had flown one before when absolutely necessary, and there would be a radio aboard so that they could signal for help.
He stumbled across the salon to the door as the ship's diesels came to life. Several crewmen were working to bring both motor launches aboard.
Carter stepped out on deck. "Stand back," he shouted. They looked around.
Someone came out of the bridge above. Carter looked up at him. He had a rifle.
"We'll cause you no trouble," Carter said. "We want to get off here. You can take this boat anywhere you want. It'll be days before we'll be found. It'll give you plenty of time."
For a long second or two no one moved or said a thing. Finally the man on the bridge deck put up his rifle.
"Let them go," he said.
"No!" the big Frenchman with the broken wrist suddenly shouted from the starboard deck.
Carter spun around, bringing up the.357 as the man charged. He fired one shot, catching Claude in the chest and sending him backward, his body flipping over the rail and into the river.
Gabrielle emerged from the salon. She carried a first aid kit, some clothing, and a duffle bag with something heavy in it.
Carefully the) made their way across the aft deck, then down the boarding ladder into the second motor launch.
Gabrielle undid the line as Carter started the motor, and they were off. Soon the Mariposa's anchor began to come up.
Epilogue
They heard the explosion far to the northwest at around midnight from where they were camped near the helicopter.
Carter's burns were more painful than they were serious. It would be weeks, perhaps months, before he would feel completely normal. But Gabrielle assured him that nothing had been permanently damaged.
They had switched on the emergency locator beacon transmitter in the chopper. Sooner or later a high-flying commercial airliner or a ship passing near these islands would pick up the signal and would come to investigate. But in the meantime there were rations aboard the helicopter, more aboard the launch, and there were a dozen varieties of fruit on the island. In the duffle bag Gabrielle had brought from the ship were a half-dozen bottles of excellent champagne.