When he was away from her on frequent trips, he left three of his men behind to guard her. But last night, late, when he returned from fetching Reguiba and company in the desert, Hodler was confronted by three ruined wrecks named Abdullah, Kizar, and Missab. Learning that an unknown Yankee had leveled the three guards and moved in on Sultana, Karl Kurt Hodler went out of his mind with jealousy.
Searing him like vinegar on an open wound was the image of Sultana, his woman, writhing in the ecstasy she had never shown him, offering all the charms of her perfect body to a stranger.
His pounding footfalls disturbed the birds nesting under the palace eaves. They made interrogative cooing chirps.
Hodler bounded up the front steps, under the portico.
A voice called his name: "Hodler!"
A man stepped out from behind a sheltering column. Hodler couldn't believe his eyes when he saw who it was.
"Solano?"
He'd met Solano, briefly, in Turin at one of Gianni Girotti's organizational meetings. The Italian struck him as brash, cocky, but absolutely capable.
Then last night Reguiba told him that Solano was in reality an AXE Killmaster named Nick Carter. Hodler had heard rumors about this American agent for years. And when he learned that it was Carter who had wrecked the Israeli action, he was enraged.
But he never in his wildest dreams suspected that the Yankee stranger who had taken his woman was Nick Carter himself. Until now. Now, he grasped the full dimensions of the big picture, and Karl Kurt Hodler just about went out of his mind. His fury knew no bounds.
All these thoughts spun in his reeling mind when he saw Carter. And that was too much thinking. For, while he was trying to sort things out to make sense of them, the Killmaster acted.
And shot the gun right out of Hodler's hand.
The impact broke Hodler's hand, even as the gun went flying. Hodler hardly noticed. He had gone totally berserk. Unarmed, he charged Carter's gun.
Carter had no intention of mixing it up with the six-foot-six-inch former boxing champion and power weightlifter. He shot Hodler in the left leg.
Hodler pitched forward, almost immediately scrambling up, lurching forward on one good leg, his huge hands outstretched to rend and tear. White foam bubbled from his mouth.
Carter shot him again, in the right kneecap.
Hodler went down again.
"That comes courtesy of Howard Sale," Carter spat.
Hodler was still in there pitching, fighting to drag his dead-legged body across the stones to get at Carter. Progress was turtle-slow, but he was game.
Carter shook his head, impressed despite himself. The East German giant's physical prowess was awesome. Hodler was like one of those indestructible characters in a bad stalk-and-slash movie. A bullet right between the eyes would stop him, but that was the last thing Carter wanted. Hodler had to be taken alive.
Hodler froze. Glancing over his shoulder, Carter saw the reason why. Sultana had emerged from within the palace, with Faranyah in tow.
For the first time, Hodler showed pain, anguish.
"Sultana — why?" he cried.
"Sultana is no man's slave," she said.
She started down the steps. "Stay clear of him," Carter warned, but she ignored him.
She stood over him, out of his reach.
"But I love you!" Hodler groaned.
"I hate you." From somewhere within the folds of her robe she drew a dagger, raising it high for the killing stroke. Hodler looked as if he would welcome it. But that was not to be.
The knife's downward arc aimed at the East German's broad, heaving back, but it never reached its target. There was a slapping sound as Sultana's wrist hit Carter's open hand, thwarting the blow.
"What are you doing?" she shrieked. "Let me kill him!"
"No." As gently as possible, Carter pried the dagger loose from her fingers. At the same time, what felt like a bear trap closed on his leg.
Hodler grabbed Carter's ankle, trying to heave him off balance. Carter's free foot slammed Hodler's forehead with a stunning back-heel kick. Hodler let go, but he was still conscious.
Distraction was provided from a new quarter, courtesy of a throaty rumbling coming from the direction of the main gate.
A man, not one of the guards, pushed the heavy wooden door open, allowing an incredible auto to roll into the courtyard, around the fountain, and up to the front entrance.
Here was the «spaceship» car that Gus Ferguson had seen when Prince Hasan came to Petro Town to confer with Howard Sale. It was a Rotwang Plus-X, an exotic mid-engine, four-wheel-drive concept car, turbo-charged and fuel-injected. The four-passenger, aerodynamically streamlined red auto's name translated as "Red Wing," but with its long snout and aggressive rear spoiler, it reminded Carter of nothing so much as a scarlet shark.
At a price of a cool quarter-million dollars, there were perhaps a dozen Red Wings extant in the world today. Here was one of them.
Prince Hasan hopped out. Pleasure smoothed the lines of fatigue in his face when he saw Hodler. "Nice work, Nick!"
"Thanks," Carter said. "You're right on time."
Hasan's face expressed even more pleasure when he caught sight of Sultana. "And who is your lovely and charming companion of this morning?"
"Sultana, meet Prince Hasan," Carter said.
"Delighted to meet you. Delighted!" the prince beamed.
Carter leaned over the semiconscious Hodler and clipped him behind the ear with the Luger barrel, putting him out cold. Kneeling beside him, Carter pried open Hodler's lantern jaws.
Wedging two fingers in Hodler's mouth, Carter probed his back teeth. Sure enough, one of his back molars popped loose. Carter pulled it out.
"What on earth are you doing?" Prince Hasan said.
Carter held up the tooth. "It's a poison pill. All he had to do was bite down hard on it to get a nice mouthful of cyanide."
"We wouldn't want that! My uncle's staff of, er, interrogators, is looking forward to many a long and productive session with Comrade Hodler!"
"I'll bet." Carter knew that by "interrogators," the prince meant the emir's torturers. A Khobaiqi question-and-answer session usually began with hot branding irons and then got nasty.
Carter wiped his fingers clean on Hodler's shirt and tossed the tooth away.
Hasan was asking Sultana, "Did I mention that my uncle is Emir Bandar, my dear?"
"You can tell her in the car," Carter said. "She's coming with us."
"Wonderful!"
"Faranyah changed her mind," Sultana said. "She's coming too."
That didn't leave much room for Hodler. Carter and Hasan hefted the East German and crammed him into the trunk. Even with both of them carrying, Hodler was a heavy load. They had to get rid of an extra spare in order to fit him inside, and even then, it was tight.
Carter savored the irony. The East German liquidator would be making his last ride in a West German-made supercar. And it would be his last ride. Once he was delivered to the emir's dungeons, Hodler would leave it only to attend his own execution. According to Khobaiqi custom, he would walk to the headsman's chopping block. Although in Hodler's case, he would probably have to go via wheelchair.
It was obvious at a glance that it would be a tight fit, getting five in the Red Wing: Hasan, Carter, Sultana and her slave, and Hasan's younger brother Fawwaz, who was standing lookout at the gate, scanning the valley below.
"We can always steal a bigger car," Carter suggested.
"You might be able to steal a bigger car, my friend, but not a faster one," Hasan said.
The foursome climbed in the car, the females in back, Hasan at the wheel, Carter riding shotgun. The dashboard-mounted two-way radio crackled with static.
"I radioed Road Post Fifty-eight to send us some back-up," Hasan said. "Odd… they should have been here by now."
Fawwaz fired a burst into the air to attract their attention. He frantically waved his arms.