Zachary knocked, entered his room, and spoke in a guarded professional whisper.
"It's starting to hit the fan," he said, reaching for his wallet. "I called my contact. Do you use one of these scramblers?" He held up a small plastic card.
Carter nodded.
"Remember I told you my people got burned for a million?"
Carter nodded again.
"I got my call through and found out that Piet Bezeidenhout burned the South African diamond cartel for something like five million dollars and — get this — the cartel has put a contract out on him. They want him dead. They're willing to pay a million American for his corpse."
"That settles it," Carter said. "He's made his break and is probably the leader of LT. They want a lot of money for some big operations. The question now is what. What is the LT organization up to? And how much time do we have to stop them?"
Sixteen
Carter and Zachary took the available maps of the Center for the Arts and divided them up in a grid system, each choosing a different area for their sweep. They would begin by ignoring more obvious areas located near the front of the campus and focus on the more remote areas on this side of Belmopan. They would use a standard military pattern to make sure they covered the most significant amount of area in the least amount of time.
Zachary had a liquid Swiss lensatic compass. Carter carried one of the newer Japanese infrareds with rechargeable battery.
Carter was quite sure that Margo would not come back to his room, but now they were faced with the likelihood that the Englishwoman, Vanessa, would hope to visit Zachary. Their decision was to put signs on their doors: Busy writing. Please do not disturb.
The lectures and workshops were over by eleven. A nearly full moon was up. The students were fidgety from sitting still all day, stimulated by some of the better speakers, and keyed up by some of the questions Carter and Zachary had asked to stave off their boredom. A number of them had invited Carter and Zachary to impromptu rap sessions, but when the two men spoke of wanting to work on their material, they were excused with admiration.
The Englishwoman made some broad hints to Zachary, who put her off lightly by telling her he'd come knocking later — if he had any energy left. "You are a very intense woman," he said, satisfying her immensely.
The light from the moon would cause trouble, but the two had to draw a line and not make it too obvious by the way they dressed that they were on a stealth mission. "I'm not planning on being caught," Carter said, "but if we're seen, I think it important to be able to give a convincing story and say we were out for a walk and lost track of the time."
"No blackening on the face, in other words," Zachary said.
"Nor black watch cap or turtleneck."
Zachary had an extra pair of jeans that Carter had to roll at the cuff. Carter wore black fitness shoes, and Zachary had a pair of dark blue Nikes that, unfortunately, had reflecting surfaces for night running. Zachary found some mud and daubed it in place.
The men checked weapons, infrared sighting devices, and mosquito repellant. They arranged a time and place where they should meet in their systematic sweep. With that, they taped the notes to their doors.
Easing open his back window and carefully lowering himself out, Carter checked to make sure he was not seen. The tropical air was balmy and fragrant. The Killmaster felt a surge of energy and excitement.
He moved within twenty yards of a group sitting in lawn chairs by the patio. Another few hundred yards along his path, there were the unmistakable sounds of a couple making love.
Checking his compass, he moved off at a brisk pace in a northeasterly direction, moving in the shadow of buildings whenever possible, switching to gravel or areas that would not show footprints. Gradually, sounds receded. No more portable tape decks or radios, no more ardent voices of arguing students.
By the time he judged he was a good distance from the main portion of the campus, he saw that the landscaping had been almost completely abandoned. The lawns were shaggy, overgrown. Tropical foliage grew in carefree abandon.
He reached his designated area and began his sweep, moving through the thick underbrush, hearing nothing now but the sounds of jungle animals, insects, and night birds. Mosquitoes dived at him, backing off when they became aware of his repellant.
Twice during the next hour Carter risked using his halide flashlight for traces of paths or installations. Increasing his pace, he moved impatiently into his next grid area, covering ground, seeing all he could, finding nothing of significance.
It was not until just before his scheduled meeting with Zachary at two o'clock that he came across the traces of a small encampment. Circling the area carefully to make sure no one was nearby, he came back and shone his flashlight on the traces of a cooking fire circled with heat-retaining lava rocks.
Someone had been careful enough — or bored enough — to have done an elaborate job with the rocks. Off to one side, Carter found freshly dug areas, and when he found a sturdy tree limb to poke at them, he found carefully buried cans and garbage. Further down from the cooking fire was a place where at least one person had slept and smoked.
Carter estimated he had about a mile to cover before his meeting with Zachary. Because of the discovery of the camp, he had to be careful. It could be nothing, perhaps just some adventurous students. Or it could be an advance guard.
When he reached the rendezvous area, Carter scanned with his infrared scope and would have been content to wait in silence for the CIA man except that his shoes dug into something in the terrain that felt uncharacteristic. Dropping to his haunches, he found several sets of tire tracks. He quickly reached for his sketch pad but realized he wouldn't have to. One was a Crosshatch, the other a bold set of large diamonds. He'd seen them both before.
In the darkness, Carter cursed himself for not thinking to get a took at the treads of the large diesel bus he'd worked on for Unkefer. Playing his infrared scope over the area, he was surprised to discover several dozen spent.762 NATO rounds. The locals apparently weren't able to work this territory. Too much risk back here.
Carter gave the signal of a snapping twig, followed by another in quick succession.
No response.
He moved cautiously about the area, deciding to give Zachary another ten minutes before signaling again, but off to his left he could hear a steady movement now, something or someone moving through the jungle night.
Carter took cover behind the trunk of a particularly large tree, leaned on it to steady himself, and turned on his infrared scanning scope.
Through the lens screen he saw a man perhaps in his early thirties wearing olive drabs and combat boots, and carrying an automatic rifle. Some twenty feet from him was Sam Zachary, poised and waiting with a small, deadly noose.
Carter watched in silence, knowing the patrol man was not aware of Zachary, that Zachary would neither attack nor kill unless it became necessary to prevent their discovery.
The patrolling man stopped, lit a cigarette, and propped himself against the side of a tree. From the acrid tang, Carter could tell the tobacco was a Delicado or one of the cheaper Mexican or Guatemalan brands. Carter would want to check it to see if it matched the butts by the camp he'd found earlier.
Like many cheap brands, the cigarette went fast. The man swigged at a bottle, probably some cactus brandy, shuddered from the enjoyment of it, wiped his mouth, and soon was on his way, moving off at about a forty-five-degree angle from Carter.
Waiting for his footfalls to vanish in the distance, Zachary stepped forward.
"Well?" Carter said.