Nick Carter - The Terrible Ones

“Please live,” he said, not knowing what he said. “Please live, and let me love you.” There was a gentle pressure on his arms and her lips touched his.

He rocked her in his arms and kissed her.

For a short moment she was kissing him.

And then she died.

There were no more shots. Three women looked on silently with tears upon their cheeks. He hadn’t seen them come; he didn’t want to see them. It was over.

“And it was over, then, I take it?” Hawk said quietly. There was a look in his ice-blue eyes that few men had ever seen. It might have been compassion.

Nick nodded. “That was it. Bodies to be buried, arrangements made to take care of that damned treasure, little details of that sort. But we’d about run out of Cubans and Chinese, so there was no one left to fight. There was a street riot in Santo Domingo when we got back so we weren’t even noticed.” He shifted uncomfortably in his chair. It was a hospital chair in a hospital room and the atmosphere depressed him. “It was a slaughter, the whole thing,” he added, staring out of the window at a blue sky many miles away from the Dominican Republic and thinking of the trail of death he’d left behind him. “I’m not sure that it was worth it.”

“Operation Blast died too,” Hawk said, eyeing the blue smoke of his cigar. “That may not mean much to you at this point, but it means a lot to us. They had a good scheme there, and I think some day they’ll try it again. I hope you’re going to be ready for them.”

“Yes, I hope so.” Nick said lifelessly.

Hawk rose to his scrawny length and looked down at him.

“You don’t,” he said. “But you will be ready. And remember one thing, Carter. They asked for help, and you gave them what they wanted. I’ll see you in Washington next week.”

He left as abruptly as he had come.

Nick unclenched his fist and looked at the ruby ring in his hand. Lucia had found it at the bottom of one of the flour sacks when the remnants of The Terrible Ones had come together for one final meeting.

“Take it,” she had said. “It was Paula’s. Think of her.”

He thought of her.