At the end of one aisle he found a particularly large piece of gear covered in plastic. Careful to make as little noise as possible, he pulled back some of the plastic to get a better look. He'd ripped away a large section when he heard a low, menacing growl in the darkness behind him.
He spun around in time to catch no more than a blur as the dog charged him. He threw up his arm to protect his face as the dog hit, then went down under the force of me impact, the camera skating across the concrete floor.
The animal had been trained to go for the face and neck of its victim, and it was very strong and very quick.
He managed to shove the animal back far enough so that he got his left arm free. He pulled out his stiletto, and when the animal came at him again, he jabbed up into the beast's belly and sliced hard and to the left.
The animal whimpered in mortal pain, leaped away from Carter, and ran around in tight circles snapping at its own entrails.
Someone was shouting from the front of the warehouse, and he could hear other dogs barking, and he scrambled to his feet. The camera had evidently slid under one of the pallets, but there was no time to search for it now.
He dashed down the nearest aisle, then through a gap in the crates to the next aisle over, and halfway down that one until he found a nest of cardboard boxes on the second tier up. He hurried up the crates and shoved his way behind the cardboard boxes, hidden from view from below.
He was covered with blood — the dog's as well as his own. The animal had bitten his left hand, puncturing the skin and tearing the flesh. It was very painful. He pulled out his handkerchief and wrapped the wound, tightening the knot with his teeth.
From the rear of his perch he could just see a section of the area where the dog had attacked him. The animal lay dead. A forklift came into view and stopped. Then two guards with dogs hurried up. They all were armed with AK-47 Russian assault rifles.
"He's probably still in the warehouse," the tallest of the three men barked in German. He gave instructions to the other two to spread out, and they started back along the aisle.
Carter glanced up the stack of boxes toward the skylights in the ceiling. It was a long way up there, and he would be exposed. There was no way in hell he'd get out the way he'd gotten in.
He pulled out his Luger, checked the clip in the dim light, and levered a round into the chamber. Before he left he was going to have to retrieve the camera. It was the sole reason he had risked coming here in the first place. Without it, he would have all but wasted his time here tonight.
He eased himself down from his hiding place and hurried down the aisle, keeping to the shadows, putting as much distance as he could between himself and the guards with the dogs.
Gradually he worked his way around so that he was on the opposite side of the aisle where the camera lay. He could see the entire area clearly. The dog that had attacked him lay dead, sprawled against a crate, There was blood everywhere.
A dog suddenly began barking in the next aisle over, and Carter could hear the sounds of forklifts at the front still working.
He stepped out from behind the crate he had been watching from and started toward where he thought the camera might have slid when a second dog barked, this one much closer and directly behind him.
Carter spun around in time to see the animal charging at him from fifteen yards down the aisle. He leaped forward to the stack of crates and managed to pull himself halfway up when the animal had him by his left leg. He turned back, pointing Wilhelmina directly at the beast's head, about to pull the trigger, but then he stopped. Two men, both with AK-47s, stood looking at him.
"Hans! Back!" one of them snapped. The animal backed down, whining.
For just a moment Carter considered shooting it out with them, but then he decided against it. There was no way in hell he had a chance against their firepower.
He tossed his Luger down to the nearest guard, jumped down to the floor, and raised his hands.
"We'll take the knife you used to kill the other dog," the guard said in German.
Carter handed over Hugo, and the guard motioned toward the front of the building with the stiletto.
In front, the workmen were taking a break. They sat on boxes and machinery with their lunch pails open. They stopped and looked up when Carter and the guards appeared, then laughed and pointed. Some money changed hands.
"This way," one guard ordered, nudging Carter to the left with the barrel of the automatic.
They crossed the main entryway and went into the small front office equipped only with a couple of desks, a few swivel chairs, and a few file cabinets. One of the guards pulled out a chair and shoved Carter into it, while the other knocked softly at a rear door.
"Kommen," a rough voice commanded.
The guard opened the door and just stuck his head inside. "We have the spy, Herr General," he said.
The man in the back room came out. He was tall, completely bald, and wore a monocle in his right eye. It was Ziegler. There was no mistaking him. His thin, bloodless lips parted in a smile.
"Tie him to the chair," he snapped.
Quickly the guards produced some rope, and expertly bound Carter's arms and legs as well as his waist and chest.
"It is a long journey from Iceland to this place," Ziegler said in German, perching on the edge of one of the desks. "Who sent you?"
Carter just looked at the man, a slight smile on his face.
"You are going to die, Herr Carter. There is no question of that. However, how painful your death may or may not be is entirely up to you."
"Did you personally handle Lydia Coatsworth's death as well?" Carter asked. "You torture women too?"
"Break his fingers," Ziegler said nonchalantly to the guards. "Start with the pinky on his injured hand."
One of the guards roughly grabbed Carter's hand, but Ziegler held him back.
"Not so fast, Wilhelm. With care. Slowly, with care. We want Herr Carter to enjoy this."
The guard carefully began prying back the little finger on Carter's left hand, the pain shooting up his arm.
"Now," Ziegler said. "Who is it you work for? The CIA, perhaps?"
Carter held his silence, relaxing his body, letting the pain wash over him, through him, not fighting it.
The guard pulled the finger farther back, and the pain worsened. Carter could feel the sweat popping out on his forehead.
Ziegler shook his head sadly, then nodded toward the guard, who pulled the finger the rest of the way back until it popped, the breaking bone sending a huge bolt of pain through the back of Carter's head… almost as if he had received a massive electric shock.
"There are nine fingers remaining. Then the toes. And if all else fails, there are interesting things to be done with your anus, or perhaps even your testicles." Ziegler chuckled.
The guard moved to Carter's ring finger.
"I'll tell you," Carter shouted. "Christ, it's not worth this."
The guard stopped. Ziegler just stared at him.
"Lydia Coatsworth was a close friend of mine. We… were lovers. She sent me a letter telling me she was in some kind of trouble. When she died I went up to see what happened."
The guard pulled Carter's Luger and the stiletto out of his jacket pocket, and handed them to Ziegler. "He was armed with these, Herr General."
Ziegler looked at them, then set the weapons on the desk. "Not CIA." he said thoughtfully. He looked at Carter. "How did you know about this warehouse?"
"Hauptmann told me before I killed him. He told me everything when I threatened to cut his eyes out and leave him there. He told me about you and the Odessa. About the operation up there as well as down here. About this place. About Steuben and Sons. The shipments from Mainz. Everything."