"Louisa…!"
"I'm all right! "she yelled, her voice already fading down a hall.
Carter headed up, full tilt. At the top he nearly tripped over a body and chalked up one for Louisa.
She obviously knew how to use the Skorpion and wasn't afraid to.
The lights came back on when Carter entered the hall. Louisa was at the far end.
Carter was about to sprint after her, when a door midway between them burst open and his old buddy, Ramos, stepped out. He was facing Louisa, bringing up the ugly snout of a machine pistol.
"Ramos!"
The man spun toward Carter just in time to catch a five-shot burst from Carter's Skorpion. The slugs stitched across his chest, throwing him flat against the wall. He paused there, upright for a second, and then slowly slid down, leaving the wallpaper behind him crimson with gore.
"I told you I'd kill you, you son of a bitch," Carter hissed as he broke into a run.
He joined Louisa, and together they went from room to room.
The firing from below and outside the house had abated. What he could hear was an occasional staccato burst that was unmistakably fire from an UZ61.
That meant that the war was nearly over, and their side had won.
Then, from behind a huge, paneled door at the end of the hall, there was the boom of a shotgun.
"Louisa… do you remember what's in there?"
"Upstairs library, I think."
"Cover me!"
The door opened just as Carter reached it, and he smashed directly into Lupe de Varga. He was brandishing a sawed-off double-barreled Winchester.
De Varga tried to bring the barrel around, but before he could. Carter had a grip on it. Carter wrenched it from the scar-faced man's hands just as de Varga's finger squeezed the trigger.
A hot blast seared by Carter's neck and shoulder, and the buckshot made a mess of the oak door.
"Forget it, Lupe, you've had it. The war's over."
De Varga didn't think so.
He made a grab with both hands for the Skorpion resting across Carter's chest.
"Damned fool," Carter hissed, reversing the Winchester and driving the heavy stock into the man's guts.
De Varga groaned and doubled over.
Carter dropped the Winchester, stepped in fast, and straightened the man with a hard right to the side of his head.
He tried to whirl away, but Carter stopped him with a crushing heel to his instep. At the same time, he buried his fist wrist deep in the man's gut, and the fight was over.
Carter easily manhandled him into a chair and pulled the monstrous Astra from its holster at his hip.
"Where's Lorenzo Montegra?"
Silence.
"Have you armed any of the missiles yet?"
More silence, not even a look.
"Nick…"
It was Cubanez. Carter turned to face him. He stood in the doorway holding a sniveling Alain Smythe up by his collar. Louisa was just behind them.
"Any casualties?"
"None," Cubanez said. "Two wounded, neither seriously."
"And theirs?"
"Eleven dead. No one got away. I found this one hiding in a closet."
"Montegra?"
"No sign. The towers are secure. This one says he knows where they kept the arming devices."
"You pig!" de Varga shouted and lunged toward Smythe.
Carter caught him full in the face with the butt of the Skorpion and knocked him back into the chair.
He turned back to Smythe. Over the man's shoulder, he saw Louisa wince.
"Where's Montegra?"
"I don't know, I swear it," Smythe whimpered and then started crying. "They made me do everything. I swear I didn't…"
"Get him out of here and gather up the arming devices!"
When the door was closed, Carter turned back to de Varga.
With quick, deft fingers he went through the man's pockets. Then, using Hugo, he ripped his clothing apart.
He found what he wanted between the two halves of his leather belt.
"Are these the ETA numbered accounts in Switzerland and Liechtenstein?"
"Who are you?"
"I'm not Nicholas Carstocus."
"That figures," de Varga said weakly. "Can you be bought?"
"No."
The man was silent.
"Where's Montegra!"
"Over there, behind the screen."
Carter crossed the room and whipped the screen aside.
Lorenzo Montegra was tied hand and foot to a chair. Half his chest was blown away.
Then Carter remembered the shotgun blast he had heard.
"He was a casualty," de Varga growled. "A casualty of a war of liberation."
"Oh, yeah?"
"I gave him a choice… arm the missiles or die. He chose to die."
Silently Carter cursed. If he had been five minutes faster up the stairs…
He walked to the door and turned.
"Casualty, huh?"
"One more does not matter in our struggle," de Varga said, his one good eye blazing at Carter from his mangled face.
"Then join the list," Carter hissed.
The Astra sounded like a Howitzer in the small room. The slug took de Varga dead center in the chest, sending both his lifeless body and the chair clear across the room.
The tower cribs were architectural marvels. The entire inner cones of the towers were elevators. When the missiles were ready for firing, the elevator would go up, literally pushing the small tower room and the roof off.
"Think they would have fired them?" Cubanez asked as they finished inspecting the last one and made their way toward the roof.
"Yes, I think they would have," Carter replied.
He took the black case containing the firing devices from Cubanez and passed him the two slips of paper he had taken from de Varga's belt.
"You contacted Julio Mendez?"
Cubanez nodded. "He will cooperate fully."
"I'm sure Smythe can help you get into most of those accounts. Perhaps Mendez can use the money to turn the ETA into something that the Basques can believe in."
"Perhaps," Cubanez said. "But who knows?"
In the distance they could hear heavy trucks rumbling up the mountain. Within twenty-four hours, the missiles would be completely broken down and stored in the trucks. Then they would be driven into Spain and quietly shipped back to the States.
"We've rounded up the De Palma and Sons people in San Sebastian," Cubanez said, "and just about everybody is talking."
"How widespread was it?" Carter asked.
"Pretty much as you figured. Armanda de Nerro had cells in Italy, France, and all over Spain. Security has been alerted in all those countries, and they're mopping up."
"With any luck," Carter growled, "maybe we can get a Soviet connection."
"I doubt it. They finance and train, but they are very careful about staying in the background."
Two men moved past them to the waiting chopper. They carried Lorenzo Montegra in a makeshift body bag.
Louisa stepped out onto the roof, and Carter crossed to meet her.
"Where do you go?" she asked.
"Paris first, to lay Nicholas Carstocus to rest at last, and then…" He shrugged.
She kissed him gently on the cheek, started to turn, and paused.
"Somewhere out there is another Lupe de Varga," she said.
Carter nodded. "You can bet on it."
"Then we'll probably meet again."
"I hope not," Carter said, managing a wan smile.
He squeezed her hand, turned, and walked to the waiting chopper. The rotor was starting to roll around as he climbed the ladder and threw a final salute to Cubanez.
When he was secure in the bucket seat, he relaxed at last…
And remembered…
The address and phone number in Avignon…
No, let her forget.
Then he remembered another phone number… of an answering service in Washington.
Her name was Delores, and with any luck she would be at one of the watering holes on this side of the pond — probably Monte Carlo.