Like a man gone berserk, the Sword advanced on me, his hands flapping uselessly at the ends of massive arms that reached out to enfold me in what I knew would be a bone-crushing bear hug. I wasn’t about to risk his reaching me. The second crack of the Beretta sounded like an echo of the sharp retort that preceeded it by a second.
Abdul screamed twice as the bullets tore into his kneecaps, then another shriek tore from his throat as he slumped forward and landed on the knees that already were sending knife-sharp streaks of pain through him. Driven by a brain that no longer was functioning logically, he pulled himself up on his elbows and began to inch his way toward me, across the linoleum tiles. Obscenities poured from his twisted lips like bile until he finally sprawled at my feet, mumbling unintelligibly.
I turned away and walked to Sherima’s side, suddenly aware that her screams, which had begun as the Sword’s bullets ripped Candy apart, had subsided into deep, rasping sobs. Shifting gun hands so I would be ready in case the secret door started to open, I unsheathed my stiletto and cut the first of her bonds. As her arm dropped, lifeless, to her side, she became aware of my presence and lifted her bowed head. She looked at me, then at the Sword groaning in pain on the floor, and I could see her throat muscles tighten to hold back her reflex to gag.
“Good girl,” I said as she fought off throwing up. “I’ll have you loose in a minute.”
She shuddered and, involuntarily, started to look toward the bed. I moved in front of her to obstruct the view of the blood-covered woman she loved like a sister, as my blade freed her other arm. She fell forward on my chest, the top of her head just brushing my chin, and choked out, “Oh, Nick… Candy… Candy… It’s my fault… It’s my fault…”
“No it isn’t,” I said, trying to comfort her at the same time I was supporting her with one arm and squatting to cut the ropes around her ankles. Severing the last brutal binding, I stood back up and held her close, saying soothingly, “It isn’t anyone’s fault. Candy couldn’t help herself. Abdul had her convinced that Hassan was responsible—”
“No! No! No! You don’t understand,” she sobbed leaning back to pound her tiny clenched fists on my chest. “It’s my fault she’s dead. If I hadn’t told that lie about remembering what Hassan had said, she wouldn’t have tried to kill Abdul, and… and that never would have happened.” She forced herself to look at the horrible crimson drenched figure sprawled on the bed.
“That was a lie?” I asked, incredulous. “But I’m sure that’s just what happened. It was the kind of thing Abdul would do,” I motioned with the Beretta toward the Sword, who was lying still. I couldn’t tell whether or not he had passed out. If not, he gave no indication he had heard what Sherima was telling me. “What made you say it, if it never happened?”
“I could see that you were trying to upset him or distract him so you could perhaps jump him and take his gun away. I thought that if I said what I did, he might look my way, or maybe come after me, and you would have your chance. I never thought that Candy would. Her body convulsed in spasms of wracking sobs again, but I didn’t have time to comfort her. Over the sound of her crying I had heard something else, the whirr of an electric motor, and my brain had whirred with it, remembering the noise that marked the first time I’d opened the door to the CIA hideaway.
There was no time to be gentle. I shoved Sherima toward the desk and hoped that her legs had regained enough circulation to hold her up. As I spun toward the opening, I saw her, out of the corner of my eye, falling partially behind the cover I had intended her to take.
That’s when I discovered that the Sword had been feigning unconsciousness. Before the massive concrete barrier was open far enough for his man to walk into the room, he was on his elbows again and shouting a warning in Arabic:
“Mustapha Bey! Danger! Carter has the gun! Watch out!”
I flicked a glance in his direction just as he collapsed on the tiles again. The effort to warn his gunman had taken the last of the strength that was ebbing from him as the blood seeped from his wounds. Tense, I waited for the killer to come through the doorway. He didn’t appear, however, and the motor that operated the heavy panel completed its cycle as the door started to close again. A whoosh of air told me when it had sealed off the hideout. We were safe inside, but I knew I had to get out. I looked at my watch. Six-twenty. Hard to believe that so much had happened since six o’clock, when the Sword had dispatched his henchman Selim back to the embassy. Even more difficult to believe was the fact that I had to get Sherima out of there and have her at the Secretary of State’s pied-a-terre in just about ninety minutes.
Selim, I knew, had instructions not to contact his cohorts in Sidi Hassan until he heard from the Sword. I had delayed that part of the plan, all right, but there was no way I could stop the Shah from expecting Sherima’s voice over the radio. And ready to keep me from getting her there was a professional killer. I had his automatic rifle, but still unaccounted for was the silencer-equipped .38 that very efficiently had knocked off two CIA agents with well-placed shots. I had him outweighed with firepower, having also retrieved my Luger, but he had the advantage of being able to wait for me to come out the only exit from the hidden room. Also, I had a deadline to meet, and he didn’t.
I should have had help waiting outside — Hawk’s men must have arrived by now — but they would be under orders not to interfere unless it appeared obvious I needed assistance. And there was no way of communicating with them from a soundproof room.
My contemplation of the odds facing me was suddenly interrupted by a quivering voice behind me: “Nick, is it all right to come out now?”
I had forgotten the former Queen, whom I had shoved roughly to the floor. “Yes, Your Highness,” I told her, chuckling. “And for Pete’s sake, find your clothes. I have enough on my mind without being distracted by your loveliness.”
After I said it I was sorry I had used the word lovely.
It brought back memories of the beautiful woman who had laughed and loved with me, and who was now a bullet-butchered hunk of meat in the corner. It was my turn to hold down the gorge rising inside me.
Chapter 13
Sherima found the negligee she had worn when they had carried her off, but not her mink coat. We decided that someone probably had taken it away after they moved her into the basement. She couldn’t remember much of what happened, probably because the tranquilizers Candy had given her were of much greater potency than she had supposed.
It was hard to keep my eyes from enjoying the golden curves of Sherima’s diminutive figure under the filmy lingerie as she hastily, told me that she recalled, vaguely, being awakened abruptly by Abdul, who told her something about somebody trying to harm her, and that he had to take her away, obviously without anyone knowing about it. One of his men must have been with him, because she had a recollection of two people supporting her as she got in the limousine.
Beyond that point, she remembered nothing else, except waking later to find herself tied to the wall, nude. The one whose name we now knew was Mustapha had been running his hands over her body. She obviously didn’t want to talk about that part of her ordeal and passed over it quickly, going on to explain that Abdul eventually had arrived with Selim from the embassy. Her former bodyguard hadn’t bothered to answer her questions and just laughed when she ordered him to set her free.