"I was wondering when I'd run into you again," Carter said.
"I told you to stay away, Mr. Angus McDonald, or Nick Carter, or whoever you really are. I told you not to become involved in our politics."
"So now you're going to kill me?"
"Not I," Josepsson said. "Not unless you force us to do it. But there is someone who would very much like to speak with you."
The second giant stepped forward and quickly frisked Carter, finding his Luger but neither Hugo nor Pierre. He pocketed the weapon after first removing its clip and the shell from the chamber.
"I would rather you come peacefully with us," Josepsson said. "If you would choose otherwise, of course, we could break a limb or two, and take you out on a stretcher."
"I can't argue with firepower," Carter said. "Besides, I'm curious about who would like to see me."
They walked down the corridor together, Josepsson in the lead, used the rear stairs, and went outside to a large Mercedes limousine. A driver was waiting for them. Josepsson got in the front seat, and Carter was sandwiched in the back between his two guards. From the expression on their faces, he was sure they'd just as soon kill him here and now as look at him.
Rounding the hotel, they headed southwest to a section of large, lovely homes set back in the hills. Each home had a view of the city and of the ocean beyond. It was spectacular.
The sun was just beginning to come up when the driver pulled through an electrically-controlled gate and drove slowly up a long, curving driveway. He parked behind a very large three-story red-brick home, almost large enough to be considered a mansion.
Josepsson got out first. "Bring him into the study. I'll see if the general has returned yet," he said, and he disappeared into the house.
One of the guards got out of the car, then reached in, grabbed Carter by the collar, and yanked him out of the back seat. The other giant got out behind him. They went up the porch, into the house, and down a short corridor into a much larger, much wider hallway, where they directed him through a set of double doors into a large, book-lined study.
They shoved him into an easy chair, then they both stepped back toward the door, folded their arms over their chests, and watched him.
"Lovely weather we've been having, isn't it?" Carter said, looking around the room. Behind him, curtains covered what he assumed to be large windows or possibly even French doors. Aside from the door they had come through, another much narrower door led off to the side. A private exit to the rest of the house, perhaps? "What?" Carter looked back at the guards. "Cat got your tongues? Pity."
"Large does not mean stupid, Mr. Carter of the U.S. intelligence service," one of them said. His accented English was definitely Oxford.
"Mind if I stretch my legs?" Carter asked, starting to get up.
The moment you lose contact with that chair, you are a dead man," the guard said.
Carter slumped back. "I see."
Josepsson came in a minute or two later; he seemed flustered.
"What have you done, you madman?" he shouted. He hurried across the room and slapped Carter's face.
Carter reached out and grabbed the man by the throat and pulled him down. It had been too quick for the two guards.
They started forward.
"Another step and I break his neck," Carter shouted.
Both men hesitated.
Josepsson's face was turning red. He was struggling, but to no avail.
"Back to the door," Carter said. "I'll kill him otherwise. Long before you could reach me, I'd break his neck."
They stepped back after a moment, and Carter got to his feet, pushing the Icelander back.
"Who do you work for?" Carter asked the two guards.
Their eyes narrowed. "Mr. Josepsson."
"You're his personal bodyguards?" Carter asked. "Is that it?"
"No… we work for the Icelandic Internal Security Division."
"What about Ziegler?"
"What about him?"
"Do you take orders from him?"
"Of course not," one of the guards said.
Carter looked at Josepsson. He was probably making a very large mistake, but he could not fight an entire country. He suspected, as did Hawk, that Josepsson had either been blackmailed by Ziegler or had been completely taken in by the man. Now that they had come this far, it was too late for Josepsson to get out.
Carter let him go and shoved him back. Then he sat down and crossed his legs.
The guards had leaped forward, their guns at the ready, but Josepsson held them back.
"Very good," Carter said. "Now why don't we all sit down and have a nice little chat. There is a lot I have to tell you."
"What are you doing here, Mr. Carter?" Josepsson asked, rubbing his neck. He stepped back and leaned against the desk.
"A cigarette," Carter said, carefully digging out his pack and his lighter. The guards watched his every movement. When he had it lit, he looked at Josepsson. "I came up here originally to find out what happened to a very dear friend of mine."
"Dr. Coatsworth."
"Yes. Ziegler's people — your people — killed her."
Josepsson winced. "I had nothing to do with it."
"I came up here this time to destroy your nuclear generator and processing plant."
"Did your government send you?" Josepsson snarled. There was little love lost between most Icelanders and the U.S.
"No," Carter said. Any AXE mission anywhere in the world was always denied. It was one of the ways in which the agency was kept sacrosanct.
"Then why… what have you got against…"
"Your friend General Ziegler is building more than a nuclear power plant. He's also building a spent fuel reprocessing plant."
"Yes, to make new fuel rods."
Carter shook his head. "No. The reprocessing plant will make nuclear bomb material."
Thai's insanity," Josepsson shouted, straightening up.
"Not only that, but General Ziegler is a very high-ranking member of the Odessa," Carter said. "You have heard of that organization, haven't you?"
"Impossible," Josepsson said. But he was losing his conviction. "Inconceivable."
Carter looked around. "Is this your house?"
Josepsson nodded.
"Ziegler is your house guest?"
Again Josepsson nodded.
"Fine. Let's wait until he returns — I assume you told him that you had me — and see what he has to say."
"He's on his way out here now. He said he has something very important to say to me. Something to explain. Something vital to Iceland's future."
"Very vital to your country's future. I just wonder if you are ready to hear about it."
Josepsson just looked at him but said nothing. The two guards seemed worried.
Thirteen
The sun shone in the barracks windows, and Roberta squinted up against the brightness as the door shut behind the guard, and she was alone for a moment. Every bone and muscle in her body was on fire from where she had been beaten. Eight men had raped her so far, each one stronger and more violent than the last.
She had finally stopped fighting them, and it had made it easier, although no less endurable. She wanted to roll over and die, here and now. Except for the thought of Ziegler, she would have given up. But somehow, somewhere, at some time, she knew she would see him dead.
As she lay there she expected the door to open at any moment and another of Ziegler's guards to come in for her. But as the minutes passed and no one came, she began to hope they had had enough for a while. Just a little while, she told herself. She needed rest.
The had not really hurt her, not physically and not badly. She would be bruised a bit, but there were no broken bones, no torn flesh or muscles. Just the shame and filth of it all. It made her shudder.