Her mouth was hot, sweet, devouring. Carter tasted it while his hands stroked their way down her back to her high, rounded rump. He cupped her bare buttocks under the lingerie, pulling her pelvis into his. There was a weakness in her knees as she ground her hips into his hardness.
Not breaking the rhythm of his kisses, he unknotted the halter at the back of her neck. It came undone, baring her upper body. She stroked stiff nipples against his chest, arousal writhing through her.
Suddenly she clawed the back of his neck, breaking the skin with her nails.
Fear chilled the Killmaster. He knew of an old assassin's trick of secreting poison under the fingernails, then injecting poison into the victim's bloodstream by scratching him.
Eva's gurgling laughter reassured him that this was no insidious technique, but merely some of her kind of kinky foreplay.
"Did I hurt you, Solano? Hurt me back."
He grabbed her hair, pulled her head back, and ground his mouth to hers.
"Ummm, I like that," she murmured when they came up for air.
That cued Carter as to how to play the rest of the game. He put his hand between her bare breasts and pushed her back to the bed.
She toppled back on the bed, bouncing on its mattress, falling awkwardly so that she landed with her legs spread wide. She did not bother to close them. She placed one hand between her legs and used the other hand to beckon him to her.
Carter opened his shirt down the front but left it on. He kneeled on the bed, looming over Eva.
"Aren't you going to take your clothes off?"
"Sure," he growled. "Help me a little." And she did, and then Carter helped himself to everything the lascivious Eva had to offer.
* * *
Eva sat nude at a vanity, her bare buttocks nestled in the plush white satin cushion on the bench. She was making up her face and powdering her nose. The powder formed a little mound on a mirror. Eva leaned over it, using a cocktail straw to snort up lines.
"What's that, cocaine?" Carter asked.
"No, heroin."
"Hard to get in this country."
"Oh, Gianni can get anything. You know him." She sniffed and snuffled.
"Yes, I know him. Careful with that stuff."
"I know what I'm doing." She looked up, white powder frosting her nostrils. "Want some?"
"No, thanks. In my line of work, I can't afford to take anything which might slow me up."
Eva shrugged, then vacuumed up some more lines. When she was done, she rose, swaying a bit unsteadily. Carter held her arm, supporting her until the rush of dizziness passed.
"Whew! That stuff's pure!" Her eyes swam in and out of focus. She held on to him.
"Umm, Solano, the man they cannot kill. So tough, so hard… so very hard," she murmured. Her caressing hands ran over him. "Such a pleasure for a change, to be with a man who's strong and hard and knowing."
"I like you too, Eva."
"Want a replay?" she asked.
He toyed with her stiff nipples, chuckling. "Again? So soon? You're insatiable."
"I am that, but that's not what I meant." She slipped free from his embrace. "I'll show you something cute."
Eva crossed the room to a wall panel decorated with a mural of the Grand Canal in Venice. Her fingertips probed along its lower edge, tripping a concealed switch. A hidden catch sprang open with a click.
Intrigued, Carter went to it. A hairline crack, previously invisible, ran down the center of the mural, dividing it into a pair of panels that Eva now swung outward, disclosing a secret cupboard.
It was crammed with electronic equipment, the centerpiece of which was a video monitor.
"Well, I'll be a dirty…" Carter began.
"You were, darling. And still are, on tape. Here, I'll give you a peek."
Eva rewound the tape, then switched on the «play» button.
The image flickered into existence. Mirrored in tones of gray and white on the goldfish bowl of the screen was a full-length view of Carter and Eva writhing on the bed in mutual ecstasy.
"I switched on the hidden camera before we began. Like it?" Eva said.
Carter, studying the action, said, "I look pretty good in there."
"There's a setup like this in just about every room in the villa."
"I didn't know Girotti was a voyeur."
Eva laughed nastily. "To tell you the truth, Gianni's not good for much else but watching. But that's not why he had these installed."
"Don't tell me. I can guess. Blackmail."
"He calls it 'leverage. It's been one nonstop party ever since we arrived. Gianni brought along a half-dozen playmates, beautiful boys and girls who are all very accommodating. We've entertained the cream of local society. Knesset politicians, industrialists from Ramat, scientists from Rehovath, Cafe Cassit intellectuals.
"We've been very much in demand. Everybody who's anybody wants an invitation to one of Gianni's parties. We've hosted the big men and their bored wives at bashes where the booze keeps flowing and the fun never stops. For those who want something with more of a kick than champagne, there's cocaine, hashish, pills, heroin. And plenty of beautiful young people of either sex to play with. Only once you play, you have to pay. Not with money, but with favors and obedience."
"I get the idea," Carter said. "You provide both the party and the hangover."
"That's right. Gianni's built himself up quite a little network in the short time we've been here."
"I see what I've been missing while I was stuck out on that lousy ship."
Carter jabbed the «stop» button.
"Hey! What are you doing?"
He ejected the cassette, then pulled out several dozen feet of tape, bunching them up before he tossed the mess into a wastebasket. In Carter's world, the fewer pictures of himself in existence, the better.
He made a joke out of it. "Why settle for imitations when you've got the real thing?"
Eva pouted. "Spoilsport."
A knock sounded on the door to the suite. "Yes, who is it?" Eva called out.
"It's me, Gianni. Tell Solano to get dressed and come downstairs. Somebody wants to meet him."
Eight
The showdown took place in what Eva called the "orgy room."
"Wait till you see it," she enthused. "It's really something! The last word in entertainment."
"I'm looking forward to it," Carter said. "I'm looking forward to meeting the big boss, too. What kind of a fellow is he?"
"I don't know. I've never met him. He's supposed to be very secretive. He meets only with Gianni. You should feel flattered that he's come out to meet you."
"I am," Carter said.
It was time to get down to brass tacks. Carter's senses were on full alert. His body vibrated with every heartbeat. His mouth was dry, his palms were moist. He looked as cool and unconcerned as if he were strolling on the Via Veneto. He concentrated on keeping his body loose, relaxed. Flexibility beats rigidity every time. When the time came, he would have to move fast.
He felt like Daniel going into the lion's den. Lion's den? Lion's mouth was more like it.
He was well equipped, however. He had brought along a pistol, expecting that it would be discovered, which it had been. Tuttle had found it and had taken it from him. But his cursory pat-down of the Killmaster had failed to detect Hugo up Carter's sleeve, not to mention Pierre, a miniature gas bomb worn high on his thigh between his legs. He'd removed his personal arsenal while Eva was in the dressing room, but everything was back in place now.
Tuttle had also overlooked Carter's communications device, but that was not surprising, since it was incorporated into the stylish wristwatch worn on his left hand. It contained a microminiatured transmitter that could be activated by pressing one of the nibs for setting the time. A pretty sophisticated piece of equipment, it even kept the correct time.
Carter was as prepared as possible.
Eva looked lovely in a sleeveless turquoise-and-white striped knit dress and high-heeled sand
als. "Here we are."
"After you." Carter followed her through a door and into the "orgy room."
The large room was cleverly divided into a system of stepped terraces, forming pits, pools, alcoves, and platforms — a seductive environment of rounded forms and smooth-flowing curves with no hard edges. A scheme of indirect lighting created zones of soft, inviting light and even more invitingly intimate shadow. Banks of fragrant potted plants and shrubs partitioned the space into a maze of secluded nooks and crannies. The sweet scent of incense perfumed the air.
A death chamber for the Killmaster.
Carter knew it as soon as he entered the room. Present were Girotti, Bob and Bill, and Tuttle. No one else, no one who could be Reguiba. But that didn't mean he wasn't there. The orgy room had plenty of places in which he could conceal himself if he wished.
There was no hiding the fact that Girotti and company had tumbled to the secret of his masquerade. Earlier they were suspicious, but they bought his story. Now they knew he was a phony. Their knowledge lurked behind a brittle facade of cool casualness.
As before, Girotti was flanked by his bodyguards, who stood with their hands resting near pistols worn in hip and shoulder holsters.
Tuttle wasn't cool. Ugly, gloating triumph marked his face, as did an enormous purple bruise from Carter's knockout punch.
"You should have killed me when you had the chance, buddy boy," Tuttle said.
"I can fix that now if you'd like," Carter retorted.
"You're the one who's gonna get fixed, wise guy."
Carter's adrenals primed his body for flight or fight.
Tuttle started toward him. "I'm gonna tear you down like a condemned building."
Girotti held up a hand. "I'm afraid you'll have to forgo that pleasure, Tuttle. Solano belongs to someone else. Or perhaps I should call him by his real name — Nick Carter."
Guns appeared in the hands of Bob and Bill. They were good, all right. Carter had hardly seen them draw, they were so fast.
Eva sidled away from Carter. She knew which way the winds were blowing, even if she lacked the big picture.
"More games?" Carter asked. "Suppose you tell me, so I can play too."
"You're good. Very good. You'd have to be good to fool me for so long. I, Gianni Girotti, salute your skill, Carter."
"The name's Solano."
Girotti shook his head. "No need to act any more, Carter. Your cover's blown. I know who you are and what you are. Or should I say what you were. Because as of tonight, you're done for."
Tuttle fidgeted, unable to contain himself any longer. "I don't care if he's Jimmy Carter, I got a score to settle with that guy and I ain't kiddin'."
Girotti's eyebrows drew themselves together in a frown. "Leave us, Tuttle. You, too, Eva."
Eva was well trained. Without a word, she spun on her high heels and left the room.
"Ciao, carissima," Carter called after her.
She did not reply.
"I told you to leave, Tuttle," Girotti said.
"Nobody gives me the bum's rush."
"I won't argue, Tuttle. I'm telling you to get out while you still can."
"Sheeeyit." Tuttle reached for the revolver stuffed in his waistband.
Two shots rang out. Bob fired casually from the hip, his bullet taking off the top of Tuttle's head in a soft wet explosion of blood, brain, and bone. Bill used a more classic marksman's stance, shooting with arm extended straight out. His shot took Tuttle in the heart.
Tuttle was doubly dead.
Carter held back from making his play, even though Tuttle's death had provided an opening diversion. Girotti was enjoying his little game of cat and mouse too much to cut it short by killing Carter. Still, this waiting game was hell on the Killmaster's nerves.
Glancing at Tuttle's bloody corpse, Carter said, "Thanks. You just saved me the trouble."
"You're a cool one," Girotti said. "Let's see how cool you are when the pain begins."
"I don't know who you think I am, but you're making a big mistake…"
"It won't wash, Mr. Carter. You know a man named Tigdal?"
"Never heard of him."
"He knows you. He's my pipeline into the upper echelon of the SB's Counterforce department. Tigdal had a sister, a pretty little thing, if a bit spoiled and reckless. She came here to play, but when I found out who her brother was, why, I simply couldn't let her go. Tigdal didn't believe I had her, so I sent him a ring he'd given her for her birthday."
Girotti paused, then delivered the punchline. "Her finger was still attached to the ring. Since then, the lieutenant has been most cooperative."
Carter figured Girotti for the type who could have happily gone on gloating all night long. But the arrival of his master put a halt to the game-playing.
Girotti and his bodyguards stood on a raised dais, looking down at Carter. A hairline crack appeared in the wail behind them, the leading edge of an oblong of darkness revealed when a hidden door slid back.
Reguiba stepped through it.
The trio glanced his way as he made his entrance. Carter used the opportunity to put his hand in his pocket, plunging his fingers through its slitted hole to touch Pierre. The contact was infinitely reassuring.
Reguiba stood regally, sinister in his black garments so reminiscent of the garb of the ninjas. But no ninja ever wore twin.45s holstered on his hips.
How had he managed to slip through the cordon around the villa? Carter wondered. Was he that good, or was more treachery involved?
Reguiba stared at Carter. Something odd about his eyes… the irises as dark as the pupils, with no line of demarcation between the two. They created the unnerving illusion of twin black holes bored through his eyeballs, a pair of gun-barrel eyes. Reguiba regarded Carter so coldly that icicles could have formed in the room.
Girotti said, unnecessarily, "This is Carter."
"I know," Reguiba said. "He looks like the kind of man who could have sunk my ship."
He spoke directly to Carter. "You have cost me no small trouble and expense, a debt you will repay a thousandfold."
Carter said nothing. What was there to say?
Reguiba told Girotti, "Your work here is done. The dogs are hard on your heels. Even as I speak, the hunters tighten the net around your dwelling place."
"What?"
"You will leave now, with me."
"But I can't leave just yet…"
"You must."
Girotti looked stricken. "But my work, all I've accomplished here…"
"There is work for you in Al Khobaiq. Come."
"All right, just let me get some things together."
Reguiba shook his head. "Time runs out. We must go now."
"I…" Realizing the futility of arguing with Reguiba, Girotti accepted the inevitable. He pointed at Carter. "What about him?"
"Bring him. I will exact the full measure of the blood debt he owes me."
Bob and Bill started down the stairs of the dais toward where Carter stood.
Reguiba was right. Time had run out.
The Killmaster depressed Pierre's tiny trigger button twice, a fail-safe device to prevent accidental activation. It was activated now, and this was no accident. He pulled off the special tape and it rolled down his leg and dropped to the floor, a little lead egg whose three-second safety delay was done.
Carter took a mental picture of the positions of the foursome, then squeezed his eyes shut.
He had selected his armaments well. This particular Pierre was a combination dazzle-smoke bomb, a useful tool for a one operator in the midst of his enemies.
Pierre detonated in a flash, with a loud fizz-pop! It was like a gigantic flashbulb going off, a blinding glare. Even with his eyes squeezed shut, the glare was harsh, painful.
Carter threw himself to the floor. Shots rang out, none of them nearing him as he rolled sideways to Tuttle's corpse.
Clouds of choking smoke billowed from the little bomb.
Carter grabbed Tuttle's.357, j
ammed in the top of the dead man's pants. It was more gun than he preferred, but it would do the job and then some.
Pink and yellow afterimages danced in front of his eyes. He could imagine the blinding effect the flash must have had on those who had their eyes wide open when it went off.
Girotti and his bodyguards stumbled around like three blind mice, futilely clawing at their eyes, arms flailing, guns blasting far wide of the Killmaster.
Reguiba had better reflexes. At the instant that Pierre rolled across the floor, he had thrown himself backward, through the secret door by which he had entered.
Carter crouched on one knee, holding the gun in a two-handed grip. He squeezed off three shots.
Three shots, three kills. Gianni Girotti, Bob, and Bill spun like swivel-mounted targets in a shooting gallery. They went down, not to rise again until Judgment Day.
Carter paused to give the go signal. He hit the switch on his wristwatch, its intricate layers of wafered microchips transmitting the alert to the action team.
As if by remote control, the dull boom of concussing grenades and the typewriter chattering of automatic weapons sounded from outside the villa.
The raid was on.
Carter dashed up the dais, eyes tearing from the choking smoke fumigating the room. He ducked through the doorway in pursuit of Reguiba, flattening himself against the wall to throw off any ambush. He remembered Reguiba's twin.45s; his magnum contained at best three more shots. He would have grabbed one of the bodyguard's pistols, but the smoke had been too thick to locate the weapons.
No shots greeted him. Reguiba had taken to his heels. Carter took off after Reguiba.
He followed a long, narrow, curving corridor, dimly lit. The secret passage was a kind of companionway, snaking behind the rear walls of various rooms on the villa's ground floor. It had no side exits that Carter could see.
Reguiba had only a few seconds' head start. His soft boots muffled his footfalls, but not so much that Carter couldn't hear them.
"Oof!"
An outcry sounded ahead, where the passage ended in an open doorway. Beyond it lay a drawing room. On the floor lay one of Girotti's hired guns, a heavyset thug whom Reguiba had knocked down in the course of his mad flight.
Blood Of The Falcon Page 7