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"Go back to bed," Carter said, half sitting up, but she came across to him and lay down beside him, her body cool and incredibly soft.

"Nick?" she sighed.

"Damn," Carter swore softly, but he didn't mean it. Soon he was undressed, and they were on the carpeted floor together, her long legs wrapped around his body, her lovely breasts crushed against his chest, and they were making love — slowly, tiredly, but with great comfort and pleasure.

* * *

They went into the bedroom together, where they finally got to sleep a couple of hours before dawn. When they woke, traffic was bustling in the street below, and it was already getting hot outside.

Carter got up and made coffee while Roberta showered and dressed. When she was ready he showered and dressed too. AXE had set him up with a new Luger, another stiletto in a chamois sheath, and a new gas bomb and pouch; in Germany, Schmidt had promised to see what he could do about finding Carter's original weapons. He packed these things in his suitcase so that he would have no trouble through Icelandic customs, and then he called a cab.

"Last night…" Roberta began on the way out to National Airport.

Carter smiled.

"It was lovely. I'm going to enjoy being your wife for this job… I'm going to enjoy it a lot."

Carter had to laugh, the good feeling lasting all the way out to the airport, the hour-long wait there, and then the five-hour flight to Reykjavik.

When they touched down, however, the mood was gone. Completely. This was enemy territory, and they had a job to do.

The weather, particularly after the hot and sunny Washington morning, was terrible. Low, sullen-looking clouds hovered over the city, and a very chill wind blew in from the ocean.

They checked in at the Saga and registered under the names Angus and Marta McDonald. He was a salesman from Vancouver. He and his wife were here on a combined business trip and vacation.

They asked for and got a room on the top floor with a view of the harbor — which took several Canadian twenties — and when the bellboy left and Carter threw back the drapes covering the large windows, the entire harbor lay spread before them.

After room service had brought up a bottle of cognac and some sandwiches, Carter locked and chained the door, then set up a pair of high-powered binoculars on a tripod in front of the window. He pulled a chair over, sat down, and focused the glasses on the harbor. The ships leaned up at him. He could read the names with ease.

"I'll take the first shift," he said, pouring himself a drink and opening his notebook.

Roberta pecked him on the cheek. "I'll be a good little wifey and go shopping."

"Be careful," Carter said, and she left.

He locked the door after her, then went back to the binoculars. In his notebook he began drawing a detailed map of the harbor, along with the names and relative positions of every ship. When one came in, he added it; when one left, he scratched it.

There was a lot of activity in the harbor, so it kept him busy for several hours until Roberta came back and he let her in.

"Anything yet?" she asked. She had brought some more food and drink with her.

"Nothing suspicious," Carter said.

She put her packages down on the bureau and came over to where he was seated. She looked through the binoculars.

"If anything at all comes in from Argentina, from Ziegler's warehouses, we'll see it here," Carter said.

She looked away from the glasses. "That could take time."

Carter shrugged.

She made him a sandwich and opened a bottle of beer for him around four, when she took over the watch. He lay down on the bed for a while, watching the single Icelandic television channel.

A freighter. The Delfin, came in at six. But after she was tied up, nothing happened. No crew came to unload her.

Roberta watched until eight, then Carter took up the post again. The hotel window faced west into the harbor, into the selling sun; in Iceland, in August, the sun remains at the horizon for a very long time. The slanting rays played havoc with his vision.

At about eleven Carter fell asleep in the chair. Roberta was asleep in the bed, the television a static blank, having gone off at ten.

At 12:45 Carter woke with a start. Quickly he scanned the harbor, then trained his glasses on The Delfin. Something was happening. He sat up straighter. Lights were on over the ship's hold, and a gigantic crane was swinging a load onto the dock, where a heavy truck was waiting to receive it.

"Roberta," Carter called.

She sat up, rubbed her eyes, then came over to the glasses. "What is it?" she asked sleepily.

"Take a look," he said, getting up.

She looked through the binoculars. "The Delfin," she said. "They're unloading something… Is it what I think it is?"

"Possibly," Carter said. He had pulled his weapons out of his specially designed radio-cassette player. He strapped them on now.

Roberta grabbed her bag, and together they hurried downstairs to the hotel parking lot, where they retrieved the car they'd rented and headed immediately toward the dock where The Delfin was tied.

"If they're unloading reactor parts, they'll be taking them out to the construction site."

"Maybe they haven't started yet," Roberta said. "Maybe they're just stockpiling the equipment until they're ready."

Carter shook his head. "Hawk and I have already discussed that possibility. From what we can learn, discussions in the Althing about the nuclear alternative have stalled. The Odessa cannot take the chance it'll be defeated, not at this stage of the game, so it's my guess they've already started construction, When Iceland's geothermal energy does run out, they'll unveil the reactor. A fait accompli, and the Althing will have no choice but to accept it."

"A dangerous game."

"Exactly. It's why Ziegler and his people will stop at nothing to protect it."

The streets near the docks were dark and empty. Carter pulled up and parked in the shadows beside a warehouse.

"The Delfin is just around the comer, I think," Carter said. The other side was lit up. "I'm going to take a look. Give me fifteen minutes, then get the hell out of here."

She pulled a small Beretta automatic out of her purse, then nodded. "Careful."

Carter went the rest of the way on foot, and at the corner he looked out across the dock. The truck had been loaded. As he watched, the driver and another man climbed up into the cab, started the big diesel, and the truck lumbered forward.

Carter had to duck back out of the way as the truck passed, but then he raced back to the car where Roberta was behind the wheel.

He jumped in on the passenger side. "That's it," he shouted. "Don't lose him."

Roberta started the car and screeched away from their parking place, picking up the truck's headlights in the next block.

Ten

The truck led them south of Reykjavik, down a little-used two-lane blacktop. There was absolutely no other traffic, and only the glow of the city behind them lent any evidence to the fact that civilization was near.

"Cut your lights and stay with him," Carter said.

The big transport disappeared over the crest of a hill. Carter and Roberta reached the top minutes later, but the valley beyond was empty. The truck was nowhere to be seen.

"Where'd it go?" Roberta asked, slowing down.

"There," Carter said, picking out a rooster tail of dust on a track that trailed off the highway between twin mounds of pumice.

Roberta turned off the pavement, and they slowly bumped along the uneven track. This was volcano country. Carter unfolded the map that had come with the car and studied it for several moments with the aid of his penlight. Ahead was an oddly shaped, flat-topped cone.