It made no difference.
Carter had seen everything he needed to see.
It was one in the morning and the house was quiet as a tomb when Carter slipped from his room. He walked to where he had seen the trapdoor and gently pulled the ladder down. It moved quietly on its oiled springs.
He climbed and pulled the ladder up after him. He lay flat, moving back from the door, a motionless shape under the stars. He crawled across the roof on his belly. At the edge, he rolled over and toe-walked the stones along the wall, grasping the drainpipe with his hands.
At the rim of the L, he dropped from the second-story roof to the first. There was some sound but not enough to raise any alarm.
A huge old tree practically abutted the roof above the kitchen. He got to the ground limb by limb, and melted at once into the shadows.
It took him nearly a half hour to crawl through the compound, get over the wall and around the stables. Twice he had to curl into a ball in the shadows and await passing guards.
At last he reached the edge of the rain forest. He used footpaths for the first two hundred yards, but it was still difficult moving through a dark tunnel with the thick vegetation blocking any hint of the moon and stars.
It was dark now, very dark, not with the blackness of the night, but with the almost total absence of any infiltrating light. Only the immediate area around him, a few feet, no more, was visible at all. When he stopped to rest he could feel the dampness caress him like a fleshy hand.
Then suddenly the forest was behind him and he was in a clearing with the lake directly in front of him.
He stripped to his shorts and hid his clothes and shoes against a huge tree. Then he got his bearings from the stars and slid into the inky water.
The lake was shaped like a large half-moon. He took to the water close to the center on the concave side. It was about three hundred yards across, and he alternated his strokes to save his strength.
He had scarcely pulled himself out on the other side when Otto, in green fatigues, his Bittrich disguise cast aside, slithered from the trees.
“You’re only ten minutes late. Good man. This way.”
Wordlessly, Carter followed him into the jungle, where a short, wiry man awaited.
“This is Jorge,” Otto said. “Good man. All four of them are.”
Carter nodded. Jorge grunted and took the lead.
“How far?” Carter asked.
“About a mile,” Otto replied. “Jorge knows this area like the back of his hand. There are ruins of an old mission. We’ve made camp there.”
Somehow, Jorge found paths through the trees and vines. In minutes they were in a little hollow. And then they were in a stone-walled compound. Because of the ever-present forest, constantly growing, Carter hadn’t recognized the stones until he was among them.
Likewise, he didn’t see the light of the fire until he was practically on it. Lorena was crouched beside it, the light dancing off the fine bones of her face.
She stood the moment she saw Carter. “Thank God,” she whispered. “We were afraid you wouldn’t be able to get through.”
“It was fairly easy,” Carter said, brushing his lips across her cheek. “They’re watching from the outside in. Where are the others?”
“Out there, watching, just in case,” Otto said, opening a flask and passing it to Carter. “How goes it so far?”
Carter drank, letting the liquor warm his belly, and sat down between them. “The Erwin Bittrich ruse worked. Bolivar is shook up. He flew out this morning. My guess is he’ll try to shore up his position.”
Otto laughed. “He’ll have a bloody hard time of it. The Mossad boys passed me around to several of the contacts they’ve made. Mostly they were minor people in the government who pass information along to what’s left of the old Third Reich.”
“And?” Carter said.
“I let it be known that my dear comrade Graf von Wassner was killed by one of his own men.”
“Did you name Bolivar?” Carter asked.
“No, but with dates and the Portuguese connection, the right people will put two and two together.”
Carter lit a cigarette and stared into the fire. “With any luck, Bolivar will see the handwriting on the wall. Without government sponsorship, he can’t stay in Brazil. If the old Nazis won’t help him, Argentina and Uruguay will be out.”
Lorena hadn’t spoken. Now she looked from the fire to Carter. “Which way will he jump?”
“My guess is he’ll take what he can salvage and go underground. That could be anywhere.”
“Have you seen the jewels yet?” she asked.
“No. That’s supposed to happen tomorrow, when he gets back.” Carter turned back to Otto. “Did you bring everything?”
The big man nodded. “Six pounds of plastique and twelve detonators. Here.”
Carter took the watertight belt and fastened it around his waist. “I’ll plant the house and some of the outbuildings on my way back in.”
“What time do we make them go boom?” Otto asked.
“Let’s make it after dark. Seven should be good. They do love to eat and drink, and even with his troubles I don’t think Bolivar will change his habits. They should be off their guard. By then I’ll have my back up and will force Bolivar to let me start appraising the gems.”
Carter stood, shook hands with Otto, and took Lorena by the elbow. He guided her outside the walls to the edge of the clearing and faced her.
“Now you have to make up your mind.”
“I know,” she said, averting her eyes.
“With or without the jewels, he’ll run. Chances are he won’t have much to run to. He wouldn’t have expected all this to come down on him.”
“What are you asking me?”
“You know damn well what I’m asking,” Carter replied, putting a bite in his voice. “We both know the jewels are only half of this ball game. My half.”
Her eyes came back to his, steady, unblinking. “I don’t know how I will do it, but I will do it. Bolivar is a dead man.”
Carter nodded and called for Jorge to guide him back to the lake.
Revenge, he thought, is a very malignant disease.
It was slow going. Several of the guards had been pulled in off perimeter duty, so Carter had to evade for several minutes before he could climb the pipes and plant the last charge on the roof of the house.
The gray predawn light was just creeping into the sky when he lowered the spring ladder from the roof and dropped down into the hallway.
The house was quiet as he made his way to his bedroom.
He was just reaching for the knob, when it opened and Umberto Grossman stepped through the door. His fist was full of a very large magnum. A split second later the door behind him opened.
Carter whirled.
Bolivar, with a second magnum, confronted him.
“I’ve just had an interesting cable forwarded from one of my people in Rio.”
“Oh?” Carter said, gauging his chances against the two revolvers.
“Yes, from Fabian Huzel. Just who the hell are you?”
Carter was about to reply, when a fist thudded into his kidneys. A sharp chop behind his right ear did the rest of the job.
All he saw was black as he hit the floor.
Thirteen
When Carter came to, his neck and right shoulder were a mass of pain, intense, throbbing pain. He lay on his belly, and perhaps another minute passed before he heard the groans. It was another minute before he realized they were his own.
Then he concentrated, first to stop making the silly noises, and then to find out where he was.
It wasn’t easy.
He began with his fingers and then his toes. Everything moved. He opened his eyes. A window. Daylight. But his eyes wouldn’t focus.