Amani also saw her and grasped Carter by the shoulder. He pointed upward and his lips moved, but the sound was carried away in the rush of wind as they skimmed over the trees at sixty miles an hour.
Carter shrugged and formed the word «Wait» with his lips.
It took a good ten minutes for the winch to bring them up under the belly of the copter. Then the machine tilted and, without the wind as a drag on their bodies, they shot through the bay.
Carlotta closed the doors and turned at once to help them from their harnesses.
"Are you all right, Signore Amani?" she asked, steadying him against her as the harness fell away.
"I think so," he gasped. "Sore, but that's about all."
Carter squirmed from his own harness and helped Carlotta move the Italian into one of the side-mounted bucket seats against the bulkhead.
"Signore Amani, I am Carlotta…"
"Polti. I know, you are one of Palmori's people," he said icily.
"I have worked with Palmori's people, yes, but I assure you that my allegiance has always been to you as our leader."
Amani swiveled his gaze to Carter, who shrugged. "I know nothing of your internal squabbles. I was working with the Liberta when I was arrested. When I requested help to escape, she offered — on the condition that I bring you out with me."
Amani turned back to the woman. "Is that true?"
"It is true. When we get to Paris, and you are able to contact those still loyal to you in Italy, you will find out that I, too, have been loyal."
Amani seemed to accept this and settled back in his seat. Carter grasped Carlotta by the shoulder and nodded his head toward the cockpit.
"Henry?"
She nodded. Carter made his way forward and slipped into the copilot's chair.
"Jason Henry?"
"The same."
"Ali Kashmir."
The head came around with a jerk. "The gun merchant?"
"The same."
"I'll be damned."
"Why do you say that?"
"Because you're a son of a bitch."
Carter had never seen such anger on a man's face. He tensed, fully expecting the other man to take a swing at him. "You know me?"
"Not personally, you bastard. But I hustled a load out of the Yucatan into South America for you two years ago, and you screwed me out of three thousand bucks."
"I guarantee you'll get it," Carter said.
"Great, I'll take it. But once I get you on the ground and I collect, I'm out of this deal. I hate your lousy guts. If the lady had told me who I was gettin' out of there, I would have let you rot. Who's the other dude?"
"Pietro Amani."
"The Italian Commie?"
Carter had to nod.
"Jesus, now I know I'm gettin' out of this deal!"
Carter slipped back into the bowels of the chopper and took Carlotta aside. "We've got trouble."
"How so?"
"Henry made a run for Kashmir a while back. Kashmir shafted him, and he now hates my guts. He also doesn't like the Liberia."
"Then the solution is simple, my friends."
It was Amani. He had scooted across the deck and now crouched at their side.
"What does that mean?" Carter asked.
Amani shrugged. "Kill the fool when we land."
Carter had almost started to like the old Italian. Now, in that brief second, he suddenly remembered who he was, and what he stood for.
Carter stepped from the helicopter before the blades had completely stopped rotating. The others followed close behind, Jason Henry bringing up the rear.
A van and a low, sleek Citroen sat about thirty yards away. Three men lounged against the Citroen's fenders, one of them dressed in blue coveralls, the other two in dark trousers and leather jackets.
Carlotta guided Amani toward the van. Henry made for Carter.
"Those are bad boys, Kashmir, but they do what they're paid to do. They'll get you to Paris. The three of you will ride in the back of the van with the guy in the coveralls. The other two will drive the Citroen. It's your crash car if you need one."
"Are they the same three that we are to use for the second part of the operation?"
"They are, but from here on out you make your own deal with them. I'm out of it, remember?"
As if to emphasize his words, Henry parted his jacket. The butt of a .44 magnum rested directly under his armpit, its barrel almost nudging his belt. The shoulder rig was a split-seam, for fast action.
Carter glanced from the hardware up to Jason Henry's eyes. He was pretty sure the man was an expert with the magnum.
But even if he had doubts, Carter wouldn't have tried to take him. They needed him too much.
"What if I up me ante?"
"Stick it up your ass."
"Amani thinks I should waste you."
"Does he? Why don't you try it?"
Carter smiled and held his hands up, palms out. "If money won't do it, what will?"
"Not a thing, you bastard. I'll do most anything for money, but not for youth or for that guy in the van."
Carter studied the man's cold blue eyes and regular features. He might be a mercenary, but he was obviously one with scruples.
Just their luck.
"Where do you go from here?"
"Take the chopper back to the bam. It's about an hour from here."
"And then?"
"I park it as per our deal. Half the deal is completed. I've been paid half the price. That's it, finis."
"What about the money you say I owe you?"
"Keep it. I'll write it off to character development."
"We need you, Henry."
"Well. I sure as hell don't need you. So long, bastard."
Carter made an instant decision. It was all he could do. The entire deal could go sour without this pilot and his connections.
They had come too far to have that happen now.
"Henry, wait a minute."
"Go to hell."
"Goddamn you, hold up!"
The man stopped. He spun around in the same movement, and faster than Carter could see it, the .44 was loose, its muzzle prodding his belly.
Carter looked down, and then up with a smile. "You're good."
"Good enough to kill you if you push much more."
"What if I told you I'm not Ali Kashmir?" he said in a whisper.
"I'd tell you you were full of crap."
"What if I said I'm an agent of the United States government?"
"In Castel Montferrato? Bull!"
"My name is Nick Carter. I work for an agency out of Washington."
Something in Carter's tone made Henry withdraw the gun from his gut. "CIA?"
"No."
"What then?"
"Got a pencil and a piece of paper?"
"Yeah."
"Gimme."
Henry withdrew a pad and pen from his jacket pocket with his left hand. The right continued to hold the magnum steady.
Carter used his knee to write on.
"Here. As soon as you can find a clean pay phone after you land, call this number. Identify yourself and tell them your half of tonight. They'll tell you the rest."
Henry stuffed the pad in his pocket. "Why don't you just tell me?"
"Because you'll believe them."
"Where's the number?"
"Washington," Carter said. "Call it!"
He walked directly to the van, nodded curtly to the hardnose who held the door, and crawled inside.
When they were moving, Carlotta spoke. "Well?"
Carter shrugged. "A little difference of opinion. It's all right now."
"Good," Amani said. "But if the need had arisen, I could have killed him on the spot."
Carter looked down. Amani was balancing a 9mm Beretta between his two hands.
"How long have you had that?"
"Since the first week of my imprisonment at the Castel," he replied with a smile.
"I see," Carter replied, balling his fists to keep them off the man's throat. "Tell me, Amani, would you have shot him before he shot me…or after?