Nick Carter - The Terrible Ones

And also, apparently, invisible.

Nick slunk back further into the concealing bush and stared. intently into the darkness. His eyes roved over rock and crevice, foliage, tree trunks and branches, and saw nothing that could possibly be a man on silent watch. Insects scurried through the leaves and the distant shouts still rang out, yet there was no sound of a human presence nearby. Nevertheless he sensed that there was such a presence. And at the same time he did not feel that curious prickling at the back of the neck that was the sign of his danger-instinct at work. This was normal. Probably Paolo the Terrible was waiting in the cave as promised and would emerge on signal.

Nick whistled softly. It was a bird call of the islands, not the radio chirruping call but a long, melodious sound that rose and fell like the voice of a wild bird in flight. He waited for a moment and then mouthed the second part of the call, a tricky little variation straight out of Jean Pierre’s intimate knowledge of Haitian wildlife. Then he listened.

The first call came back to him from the recesses of the rock crevice. Then the second, muffled by foliage and rock but unmistakably right. Nick tensed as leaves rustled and a thin dark shape blocked the opening in the rock and stood there silently. He could see little but a blob of extra darkness and something that looked vaguely like a cowboy hat or maybe a sort of sombrero and a suggestion of booted and trousered legs.

“Not too late for those who seek their friends,” Nick whispered back.

“It is late for honest travelers,” a low voice whispered in soft Spanish.

“Who is it that you seek?”

“Paolo.”

“Ah. You have found the one you look for, if you have the axe.”

So far so good. He had the axe, all right, a tiny tattoo on his inner elbow, though Paolo knew nothing of that.

“It will be at your disposal,” he murmured into the night, and the code exchange was ended. All the right things had been said and now it only remained to follow Paolo through the crevice into the cave. Yet a growing sense of unease made him hesitate. There was something odd here. And the idea of going into a dark cave with a stranger was not one that appealed to him. Especially If there were other strangers inside with some dark plans of their own.

He glanced about him, listening intently. The only sounds were far away. If there were watchers near they were silent ones indeed.

The dark shape stepped aside from the entrance to the cave.

“Enter, then,” the low voice said.

Nick took a slow step forward and silently slid Wilhelmina from her holster into his hand.

“Turn, please,” he said softly. “You go first into the cave.”

He heard a low snort. “You are afraid?” the low voice asked.

“I am cautious,” he answered. “Move, please. I do not wish to stand out here and talk all night.” The aching fingers of his left hand reached for the pen-shaped tube in his upper pocket.

There was an Irritated intake of breath, and then, reluctantly, “As you say.”

“Your back toward me, now.”

“But naturally, cautious one.”

The figure turned and disappeared into the crevice.

Nick followed quickly, in one swift and silent bound. He stood sideways in the opening, Wilhelmina poised for action, and flicked the switch on the tiny flashlight tube. Brilliant light flashed around the small hideout.

“Turn that off, you fool!” the voice hissed.

He turned it off and ducked inside, surprised and angry. The cave was empty of people but for himself and the one with the whispering voice. That was as it should be. But the one he had seen in the sharp beam of light was not at all what he had expected.

The tiniest of glowing lights appeared in the other’s hand. There was a movement at the entrance and he saw a curtain of shrubbery and a dark cloth being drawn across the entrance. The one who answered to the name of Paolo reached for something on a rocky ledge and suddenly the small cave was filled with a soft glow.

“Do you want to give everything away?” Nick’s companion said furiously. “Already you people have made enough noise to wake the dead! Did you think you would be pounced upon by bandits when you came in here?”

“I thought many things,” Nick said slowly, “but you, friend Paolo, are the last thing I expected.” He took one step forward and let his gaze travel deliberately down from the ranchero-type hat, over the loose army jacket, over the dirt-stained slacks covering the well-formed legs, and over the battered riding boots. Then he let his eyes travel upward again to scrutinize such shape as he could distinguish beneath the concealing jacket. He took his time; it was an insolent survey, but his anger made him do it. At last he stared into the face, with its hard mouth and cold-slate-colored eyes. And its peaches-and-cream complexion, marred only by the small scar on the lower left cheek.

The eyes stared back at him, flickering over his bearded face and his bloodied clothes.

Nick sighed and sat down abruptly on an outcropping of rock.

The girl gave a short laugh and swept the ranchero hat from her head. Her hair tumbled out from beneath it. It was long and honey-blonde.

“Well?” she demanded. “Have you seen all you wanted to see?”

“Not enough,” he said harshly. “Are you really a woman, or haven’t you made up your mind?”

Her eyes spat fire. “I suppose you expect me to tramp through the mountains in high heels and an evening gown?” She flung the hat away from her as if it were Nick’s head, and glared at him. “Spare me the insults, if you please, and let us get down to business. First we must get your men together— though God alone knows how you plan to do it after all the disturbance you’ve created. What was that all about, may I ask?” She was looking again at the blood on his shirt. “You are hurt, I see. Was there an accident, or were you seen?”

“How nice of you to inquire,” said Nick, putting Wilhelmina on the rock beside him and sliding the back-pack off his weary shoulders. “Who do you think might have seen me?”

“Haitian patrol, of course,” she said impatiently. “No one else comes up here, at least not at night. There is a voodoo superstition about the place. That is why I chose it.”

“No one else?” Nick stared at her. “And it was impossible, was it, for anyone to follow you here?”

“Of course no one followed me,” she snapped, but her cold eyes were worried. “What are you talking about?”

“About someone who was not a Haitian guard and who might even be a friend of yours, for all I know.” Nick watched her carefully while he spoke. “A big man, a little taller than myself and heavier, and dressed in the same sort of fatigues.

Bearded, Latin features, so far as T could see, and a mouthful of broken teeth.” Her eyes widened almost imperceptibly. “And he called me a Yankee pig,” Nick went on. “I don’t mind being called names, but how would he know? I am not wearing my capitalistic, Wall Street clothes tonight, as you may have noticed.”

“Indeed T have noticed,” she said quietly, and her cool gaze swept once again over his darkened, bearded face and his bloodied fatigues. “Where was this man?”

“He was waiting for me at the top of the cliff,” said Nick, “trying his best to kick me into space. I had to kill him, of course. There was no time to exchange pleasantries.” His tone sharpened suddenly. “Who was he? You recognized the description, didn’t you?”

She shook her head slowly. “It is hot an unusual one. Many men these days wear what you are wearing, and many of them have beards and broken teeth. It is quite true that he sounds like a man I know, but I cannot be sure unless I were to see him. And that I suppose is quite impossible?”