I reached quickly into my jacket and pulled out the Luger. I aimed it at Hawk but spoke to Vincent. "Hold it right there," I said sharply.
They were both staring at me in complete shock.
"Have you gone mad?" Hawk asked incredulously.
Vincent had turned back from the door. "Come around here, where I can see you," I said. As soon as he did, I'd kill them both. But I'd have to be quick about it.
"What is this, Nick?" Vincent asked in a low, strained voice.
"The name is Rafael Chávez." I said. "I'm a Vigilante. It doesn't matter now if you know. Nick Carter is dead, and I'm impersonating him. Within the hour, I'll have completed my mission, and everyone at the conference will be dead. Nothing is going to stop me, so move around in front of me, like I said."
Hawk and Vincent exchanged looks. "I saw the secret tattoo on your right arm when you were washing up this morning," Hawk said slowly. "No, you're not an imposter. For God's sake, Nick, put that thing down and talk to us."
His words infuriated me. I aimed the automatic at his chest. But then I saw Vincent lunging toward me.
I whirled around to meet him, but I was a split second too late. The next thing I knew, he was on top of me, and we were crashing to the floor.
When we hit, Vincent's meaty fist smashed into my face. It was a hard blow, and it dazed me. Then I felt the Luger being twisted out of my hand. I held on with all my strength, but Vincent had the advantage. The automatic fell to the floor. I was recovering my strength, though. I got a foot up against Vincent and kicked him hard in the groin.
He screamed and fell off me onto his back. I spotted the Luger, then started to go for it.
"Don't do it, Nick. I'll have to shoot." Hawk was standing over us, holding his Beretta on me. I looked up past the long silencer and into his eyes, and I knew he was dead serious. I stood up slowly.
"You think you can stop me with that?" I asked in a menacing voice I didn't recognize as my own.
"I'm quite sure I can," he said calmly. "But don't make me do it."
"I'm going to take that toy away from you and kill you with it," I growled. I took a step toward him.
"I'll shoot, Nick," Hawk said. But I could see a hint of fear in his eyes — he was afraid he couldn't kill me.
I was just about to call his bluff when I saw Vincent staggering back to his feet. As Hawk aimed the gun carefully at my chest, Vincent came at me. I grabbed him and dragged him in front of me to shield myself from Hawk's Beretta. Then I gave Vincent a hard shove, and he fell heavily against Hawk. Both men stumbled backward, and the gun went off, making a soft thumping sound. The slug slammed into the ceiling.
I moved quickly, smashing the side of my right hand against Vincent's neck, and he fell away from Hawk, clearing my path. As Hawk was bringing the gun down to aim again, I grabbed his gun arm and pulled, twisting hard as I dragged him toward me. He went flying over my hip and crashed to the floor, the Beretta clattering up against the wall behind him. He was out cold.
I started for the Luger, but just then Vincent tackled me again. I went down but recovered immediately and threw a left hook into Vincent's broad face. His cheekbone snapped, and he crumpled under the blow. He was hurt, but he wasn't finished. I saw his hand go inside his jacket. In a single motion I slipped the stiletto down into my palm and sent it flying just as Vincent was taking aim. The knife sliced in under his ribs, and he gasped, his eyes going wide, and fell over onto his side.
"Jesus, Nick!" Hawk shouted, staring at Vincent's body in disbelief. Hawk had regained consciousness but was still too weak to move. I grabbed the Luger and aimed it carefully at his head. He'd have to die. There was no other way. I tightened my finger on the trigger, but something stopped me. Hawk was staring up at me, defiant and angry — and hurt.
Hatred and fury welled up in my chest. This man stood in my way. I had to eliminate him. My finger tightened again on the hard metal of the trigger. I looked into that lined face and froze, stunned by an unexpected surge of emotion. I didn't know why, but I liked and respected the man too much to shoot. Yet I had to pull the trigger. I broke out in a cold sweat as the conflicting emotions tugged at my fevered brain. I licked my dry lips and took aim again. My duty was clear. David Hawk had to die.
But I couldn't do it. I just couldn't pull the trigger. Maybe I didn't have to kill him, after all. I could tie him up and keep him out of the way till I'd completed my mission.
Hawk was watching my face. He didn't really seem surprised when I lowered the gun.
"I knew you wouldn't kill me" he said quietly.
"Shut up!" I shouted. I was too frustrated and confused to think clearly.
I bound Hawk's hands and feet with his tie and belt. My mind raced, I'd fought like an AXE agent, not an amateur revolutionary. And I'd bound Hawk like a pro, though I knew I'd never done anything like it before. And there was that strange emotion I'd felt for the old man. It didn't make any more sense than the flashes of unknown memories and the crazy dreams I'd had for the past few days.
Again I had the feeling that something was drastically wrong with all of this — with the people at the clinic, the mission I was on, and myself. But there wasn't time to figure it out.
I dragged Hawk to a closet. I hadn't gagged him because I knew the rooms were completely soundproof. He just kept staring at me.
"You're drugged or something," he said.
"Keep quiet and I won't kill you," I said harshly.
"You don't want to kill me. Do you really believe you're a man named Chávez?"
"I am Chávez."
"That's not true," he said emphatically. "You're Nick Carter. Goddamn it, you're Nick Carter!"
He was making my head spin. The headache was returning — the headache that would go way only after I'd killed my enemies. I glanced at my watch and saw that I only had about half an hour to go. I stuffed Hawk into the closet and slammed and locked the door. I glanced at Vincent as I walked to the door. He looked dead, and for some crazy reason, I was really sorry about it.
I went out into the corridor and was surprised to find it almost deserted. A Venezuelan policeman was going into a security room at the other end of the hall. He hadn't seen me. Obviously, nobody had heard us. But I didn't want to run into anyone. The security people might wonder where I was coming from, or somebody who'd seen me go down the hall with Hawk and Vincent might start putting two and two together. I decided to leave the palace through a side entrance. I could walk through the garden and come back in through the main entrance. Hopefully, the crowds would have dispersed during the noon recess. And anyone who saw me coming in would just assume I'd gone out for an early lunch. I looked around quickly, walked calmly down the hall, and went out through the side door.
Nine
I put Hawk and Vincent out of my mind. My watch read twelve thirty-five — just twenty-five minutes till I had to meet my contact outside the conference room.
I walked briskly through the garden to the front of the palace. Even during this relatively quiet time, there were people everywhere. Cars jammed the streets approaching the palace grounds. The drives were closed off, but guards were letting top-security cars through.
As I rounded the building, I saw hundreds of people milling around outside on the grounds, waiting for the dignitaries to reappear.
I'd just started down toward the crowd when a man walked up to me from a side path, blocking my route. I looked at him and realized it was the CIA man I'd had the run-in with earlier. I couldn't ignore him. That would have further aroused his suspicions.
"Say, Carter, can I speak to you?"
I turned to him casually, trying to ignore the mounting pressure in my chest. My head was throbbing with pain. "Yes?"