"What about the fifties on the roof?"
"Hang gliders, all black, four of them. There is a lot of area on that roof, with a lot of chimneys, towers, and obstructions. All the fifties are in the rear. If they land in the front, the gunners can be knocked out before they know it."
"All well and good," Carter said, "but that still leaves us on the outside."
"Not for long, I hope," Cubanez replied, rubbing his hands together. "When they did the renovation, they also put in an addition here, to modernize and enlarge the kitchen."
"So?"
"So, the stone there is only a facade, masking a single brick wall."
"We could blow it," Carter suggested.
"Right, and be inside and spread out before they can regroup."
Carter lit another cigarette and calmly went over the whole thing one more time. He asked about equipment and personnel, and received quick, to-the-point answers from the able Spaniard.
"Good enough," he said at last. "Let's just hope that the villa is far enough up the mountain that the villagers won't think World War III has started."
"Thought of that, too," Cubanez replied. "I have a team here at Canillo, and another at Soledad. When the big boom goes, they will add a couple of their own."
"Dynamiting the snow to avoid avalanches?"
"Right."
"Ramon, you should have been a general," Carter said and chuckled.
"No, thanks. This is more fun," Cubanez replied with a grin.
"Okay, let's trade faces!"
They both undressed and traded their clothing. When that was finished, they stood side by side in front of a mirror.
Cubanez peeled off the close-cropped salt-and-pepper beard and passed it to Carter. It was quickly followed by the shaggy eyebrows, the mustache, and the sideburns. As Ramon washed the gray from his hair at the temples, Carter added some silver to his.
The fur-collared topcoat completed the ensemble.
"What do you think?"
"Perfect," Cubanez replied. "If you are stopped, only someone who had been very close to Nicholas Carstocus could recognize you."
"Good enough. Where's the car?"
"I will take you to it."
Louisa had slipped from the bedroom alcove. She had donned a pair of skintight black jeans, a layer of sweaters, and a heavy leather jacket. Fur-lined boots were on her feet.
Carter started to speak, but she held up her hand.
"I'm going. I've been baring my breasts and playing prostitute up here for six months. Now that it's finally happening, I want to be there!"
Carter looked at Cubanez, who shrugged.
"Ramon, what's the hardware?" Carter growled.
"Czech Skorpions for rapid fire," he said, "and our own Astra three-fifty-sevens for sidearms."
Carter turned to Louisa. "You ever fire an Astra?"
"No."
"The recoil can break your wrist."
"I'll use two hands," she replied.
"So be it," Carter said. "Let's go."
"See you on the mountain!" Cubanez said, going through the door.
Fourteen
A stiff breeze blew down off the mountains as the little car climbed steadily upward past the tall radio tower. Snow swirled in hazy gusts, forcing Carter to turn on the wipers every couple of minutes.
Beside him, in the passenger seat, Louisa sat stoically, staring straight ahead.
"Scared?"
"Yes."
"Good. You wouldn't be human if you weren't."
"How is Cubanez getting up here?"
"A jeep," Carter replied, "from the other side of Canillo."
A last hairpin turn, and the barricades denoting the road's end came up in the headlights' twin beams. Carter nuzzled the front bumper against them and killed the engine.
"We walk from here."
From the car's trunk he rescued two pairs of snowshoes and instructed Louisa how to lace them onto her boots.
"Ready?" he asked at last.
"I suppose so."
"Let's go."
The snow was powder for about eight inches down and packed solid underneath. It made for fast moving. Less than a half hour later, they were high on the mountain and moving across its peak.
"Much farther?" she asked from behind him in an only slightly breathless voice.
"Those trees, there. Hold up!"
Carter took a penlight from his pocket and blinked its beam three quick times toward the trees.
The answer came back at once.
"C'mon!"
They trudged the remaining forty yards and found themselves in a makeshift camp.
"You made good time," Cubanez said. "Your equipment is there."
Carter checked the load in a UZ61 Skorpion, loosened the lanyard, and wriggled it across his back. He then hooked two spare magazines to his pockets and adjusted a pair of goggles around his head.
He noticed, out of the corner of his eye as he stepped into his skis, that Louisa was duplicating his every move.
The last thing he did was to buckle on the holster. Western-style, that held the heavy Astra.357. He still had Wilhelmina under his left armpit, but for that night's work the Astra would better serve the purpose.
One slug in a crowd from the powerful handgun could go right through one body and fell a second.
"Ready?" Cubanez asked, joining them.
"Got it, "Carter replied, looking to Louisa, who nodded.
"Let's go. The others are down below on the ridge, ready to move out."
The skis made a faint hissing sound as they zigzagged down the short slope and came out on a narrow plateau high above the valley.
Directly below them was the radio tower, and far below it were the lights of Andorra-la-Vella and Les Escaldes.
Somewhere in between was the villa.
Six men stood on the edge of the precipice on skis. All of them were armed and ready.
Four others in black suits, looking like dark moths with the large black wings of their hang gliders poised above them, stood to the rear. All of them were poised in a crouch, ready to run off the top of the mountain.
The top man in command under Cubanez was introduced as Alfredo. He was a hulking bear of a man, made bigger by the harness draped around his body. He had shaggy black hair, dead eyes, and deep scars on both sides of his face.
Carter did not offer his own name, and no one asked.
Carter cased the others and found them to be stamped from the same mold as Alfredo. Cubanez had already told him that they were a crack antiterrorist team, and that was good enough for him.
There were no handshakes and only a bare vocal greeting before they got down to business.
"There is an American in there. His name is Lorenzo Montegra. If possible, I want him kept alive. He is an engineer and will know how to dismantle the missiles. That will make the cleanup later quicker and easier."
"Señor?" It was Alfredo.
"Si?"
This man Montegra… has he already armed the missiles?"
"We don't know," Carter replied, pausing to let his words sink in. "It's possible. That's why, as soon as you knock out the guns on the roof, you must move down to the tower doors as soon as possible to stop anyone from entering."
"I have briefed them all," Cubanez added, "on the villa floor plan from the master in the city files."
Carter nodded. "That floor plan should be exact, except for the alterations inside the towers."
Again Carter paused, looking at each man in turn before speaking again.
"This must be done as quickly and cleanly as possible. Also, these men are fanatics. I have no doubts that they are prepared to die to the last man."
"Then, señor," Alfredo growled, "that is what they shall do."