aCertainly, sir . . . my nephew.a aYour nephew? Explain yourself.a aMy brother and his wife were killed in a motoring accident. Their son, Sergas, then aged three, survived. As his only relation, I arranged his upbringing,a Holtz said quietly. aHe has had an excellent education. He speaks fluent English, French, German and Russian. At the age of eighteen, against my wishes, he became a mercenary soldier. I lost contact with him for some ten years, then one day, he came to me. He was bored with the Army and wondered if I could do something for him. He reminded me so much of Lu Silk, that I have been financing him in case Silk ever disappointed you or was killed as he has been. Sergas has all the qualifications you need, sir. I guarantee him.a aYou are a remarkable man, Holtz,a Radnitz said. aYou appear always to look ahead for my requirements. What is your nephew doing now?a aImproving his technique in arms, and waiting to serve you.a aVery well. Since you guarantee him, he can consider himself hired on the same terms as I hired Silk. Now, go and talk to Kendrick.a Half an hour later, Gustav Holtz was sitting in Claude Kendrickas room. Kendrick. fl.u.s.tered by Holtzas macabre appearance and alarmed to hear that Radnitz might, at the last moment, pull out of their agreement, explained to Holtz how the icon was to be smuggled to Switzerland. He also gave Holtz details about Haddon, Bradey and Duvine.

Holtz listened, then he said, aThis vanity box. I will need a photograph of it to show Mr. Radnitz.a aThat is no problem. I have photographed it for the replica,a Kendrick said and produced a series of coloured photographs.

aI feel sure Mr. Radnitz will approve of your planning,a Holtz said, rising to his feet. aI congratulate you.a aSo I may expect payment in Zurich?a Kendrick asked, a little anxiously.

aWhen the icon is delivered, payment will be made.a Back at the Belvedere hotel, Holtz explained to Radnitz in detail Kendrickas plan.

Radnitz listened, and from time to time, nodded approval.

aYes. It is a clever idea,a he said after examining the photographs of the vanity box. Then his toad-like face turned vicious. aEver since Kendrick failed when trying to get those Russian stamps, I promised myself to teach him a lesson. I want a replica of this box made. Your nephew is to bring it to my villa at Zurich.a Ever alert, Holtz said, aIf you will excuse me, sir, that would not be wise.a Radnitz glared at him.

aWhy not?a aA young man carrying a ladyas vanity box would be immediately suspect by the security people. He would have to pa.s.s through the Swiss customs. It would create dangerous difficulties. I know a man in Zurich who can make the box. All I have to do is to send him these photographs. I a.s.sure you there will be no problems.

Radnitz nodded.

aYou seem to think of everything. Very well. I leave it to you. I expect your nephew at the end of the week.a Holtz inclined his head, took the photographs and went away.

The coloured girl moved in her sleep, releasing a soft moan of pleasure. She lay naked on the grey-white sheet on the bed, her slim body glistening with sweat, her long, black hair a silky shield across her face. Her movement brought the man lying by her side awake with the awareness of a jungle cat.

He looked around the small sordid room, then at the girl sleeping at his side, then across the room to the rotting shutters that partially kept out the glare of Floridaas sun. His eyes took in the cane stool, the chipped enamel basin on the rickety table, supported by bending bamboo legs, and to his sweat shirt, Levis and loafer shoes, dropped on the dusty rush mat as he had stripped off.

He half-turned and lifted himself on his elbow to look down at the girl, his eyes running over her body. He liked black meat. White women now bored him. They expected so much before they gave out, and even when he did go along with their stupid teasing and demands, there were times when they dodged the final issue. Black girls either meant business or said no. That he appreciated. Since coming to Miami, he had shunned the spoilt, vapid white girls and had hunted in West Miami where the action was.

At the age of twenty-eight, Sergas Holtz was a splendidly built male animal who took a fanatical pride in keeping his body in peak condition. Tall, with shoulder-length straw-coloured hair, boxeras muscles, long-legged, when seen from behind, he aroused female interest, but the interest became cautious when he turned.

Sergas Holtzas face scared, yet fascinated women. His face narrow, a short boxeras nose, small ice-cold grey eyes and a sensual mouth was a s.e.xual challenge for girls who wanted excitement. Even when he laughed, his eyes remained mirthless. He was a man who didnat invite friendship. During the years, serving as a mercenary soldier, murdering, looting and raping with others in the Congo and other parts of Africa, none of his comrades took to him. Even, although an excellent student, none of his teachers were ever friendly, sensing uneasily that there was something evil in him.

Sergas preferred being a loner. When not fighting in the jungle, he spent hours in the Army gymnasium, boxing, learning karate and all the tricks the Army could teach him of the quick, silent kill.

TV Westerns fascinated him. He became the fastest gun draw in the Army and the best marksman. Satisfied with his marksmanship, he turned his attention to knife fighting. He became an expert knife thrower.

There was only one man with whom Sergas found he could talk frankly: his uncle, Gustav Holtz. Apart from the fun of killing ruthlessly and chasing women, Sergasa only other interest was money. Tired of Army life, he had returned from Africa to Paris where his uncle worked for Herman Radnitz.

From what Sergas learned from his uncle, Radnitz impressed him. Radnitzas enormous wealth, his ruthless power, his a.s.sociation with the Heads of various governments made a big impact.

Sergas and his uncle had had a long discussion about his future. Sergas was inclined to join one of Castroas groups, and go to Cuba, but Gustav had counselled patience. He would supply Sergas with enough money to live on. Sooner or later, Gustav promised, he would find a place for him in the Radnitz kingdom. He told him about Lu Silk.

aMr. Radnitz has many enemies. Some of them a little too powerful. Silk is told, and the enemy dies. Silk is paid four thousand dollars a month as a retainer and for a successful disposal a lump sum of fifty thousand dollars. He is no longer young. He will either retire or be killed,a Gustav said. aYou could take his place. We must wait, but in the meantime perfect yourself,a and he went on to tell Sergas of Lu Silkas qualifications.

aWhy wait? Tell me where I can find this man and Iall get rid of him,a Sergas said.

Gustav shook his head.

aRight now, you are not yet in Silkas cla.s.s. You are very good, but he is perfection. I wonat have you risking your life. Besides, Radnitz would be suspicious. Wait.a So Sergas remained in Paris, honing his killing technique, chasing girls and reading biographies of the worldas leaders.

When Radnitz moved to Paradise City, Sergas moved to Miami where he rented a modest one-room apartment. In Miami, he spent hours on the beach, swimming, jogging and keeping trim, hunting girls and throwing knives at the palm trees.

He had faith in his uncle. Sooner or later, he would become a member of the Radnitz kingdom. If his uncle said so, it would be so.

This afternoon, he had needed a woman. He had gone to West Miami on his Honda motorcycle and to the black quarter. He had found this girl, now sleeping by his side. He had bought her a c.o.ke. She had told him her man was in Key West on business and wouldnat be back before the evening. They had looked at each other, and Sergas knew she meant action. Clinging to him on the Honda, she had directed him to a shack where she lived.

As soon as his l.u.s.t was released, Sergas always lost interest in his s.e.xual partners. He slid off the bed and put on his Levis. As he was reaching for his sweatshirt, he heard a car pull up with screeching brakes. Moving swiftly to a rotting shutter, he peered through the slats.

A battered, dusty Lincoln was before the shack. From it sprang a big black, wearing a cream-coloured suit and a panama hat. His brutal face with its fuzz of beard, shiny with sweat, was a vicious, frightening mask. He came storming up the path as the girl came awake. She sat up, her face turning grey with terror as the black flung his weight against the door.

Sergas looked at her as the door quaked under the shoulder impact. Screws from the lock flew into the room. An evil little smile flitted across his mouth. He moved swiftly against the wall to the left of the door. As he did so, the door burst open and the black, snarling, his knife blade flashing in the sunbeams coming through the shutters, rushed in.

The girl on the bed screamed, covering her b.r.e.a.s.t.s and cringing back.

Moving like a striking cobra, Sergas came from behind the door. The side of his open hand cut down on the blackas bull neck in a vicious karate chop. The shack shook as the black went down like a poleaxed bull.

The girl screamed again.

aRelax,a Sergas said. aDonat excite yourself.a aIs he dead?a The girl scrambled to the foot of the bed and peered down at the vast, inert body.

aNo . . . no. Just asleep. a Sergas put on his sweat shirt.

aWhen he wakes, he will kill me!a Sergas bent to put on his loafers.

aNo, he wonat. Iall fix that for you.a aHeall beat me!a the girl moaned.

Sergas shook his head, his long hair like a yellow flag.

aHe wonat.a aHe will! Heall beat me until I bleed!a Sergas bent over the unconscious black, then taking one of the blackas enormous hands, he fastened on to the little finger. With a quick jerk, he wrenched back the finger, breaking the bone. Taking the other hand, he again broke the little finger, then smiling at the girl, he said, aHe wonat be able to touch you now, baby. Heall be too sorry for himself, but just in case he feels like kicking you, Iall fix his feet.a As the girl stared in horror, her body shivering, Sergas pulled off the blackas shoes and broke the two little toes of the blackas enormous, stinking feet.

aYou take care of him, baby. Heall be glad of your care.a Then giving his mirthless smile, he walked out, got astride his Honda and roared off back to his Miami apartment. As he entered the small shabby room, he saw the answering light on his telephone was glowing. The girl at the reception desk told him there was an urgent call for him and gave him a Paradise City number.

Sergasa eyes lit up.

His uncle!

He dialled the number.

aSergas,a he said when he heard his uncleas voice. aCome immediately to the Belvedere hotel, Paradise City,a his uncle said. aYou are now a member of Mr. Radnitzas staff,a and he hung up.

Sergas replaced the telephone receiver. He stood still for a long moment, then began hurriedly to pack.

The long wait was over.

chapter four.

Fred Sc.o.o.ner, Head of the security guards, permanently attached to the Washington Fine Arts museum, stood at the head of the three broad flights of marble steps leading to the entrance lobby of the first floor where the Hermitage exhibits were on display.

Sc.o.o.ner, in his early fifties, was a bulky man, wearing a dark blue uniform with a peak cap. The gold braid on his cuffs indicated his rank.

By his side was FBI Agent Jack Trumbler, wearing a dark suit, bareheaded, his jacket bulging slightly, concealing the police special .38 he carried in a shoulder holster.

The two men were regarding the orderly queue of people as they waited to go through the security screen. A guard was posted at the entrance doors, regulating the flow of the queue. Another guard was directing people to a long counter where they handed in everything they happened to be carrying.

Trumbler, lean and hard-faced, in his early thirties, disliked this a.s.signment. It wasnat his idea of action just to stand around and watch art lovers and gawkers, but his instructions had been precise and clear. His boss had told him he and his four men must be continually on the alert.

aThis G.o.dd.a.m.n city,a his boss had said, ais full of nuts. The exhibits are all wired so the chances of a steal are remote, but a nut with a bottle of acid can do damage. I have it from the President himself that there must be no incidents, and it will be your a.s.s in a sling if there is.a The same instructions from the White House had been pa.s.sed to Fred Sc.o.o.ner. Every one of his men for the past week had been on high alert, and the strain was beginning to tell. Even when the museum closed at 20.00, guards, in shifts, remained on duty throughout the night.

aIall be glad when this shindig is over,a Trumbler said. aOne more week!a Sc.o.o.ner nodded.

aThese people look all right, but no one ever knows. There are so many anti-Russian cranks around. Someone politically motivated could try to damage one of these exhibits. I reckon the last week will be the most dangerous.a aYou mean someone casing the joint, then returning?a aThatas my guess.a aIf someone does do damage, thereall be one h.e.l.l of a row,a Trumbler said gloomily. aWhat a chance for the Soviets to claim we are irresponsible: It wouldnat surprise me if they would be happy if a nut did do something.a aThe security is as tight as we can make it.a aYeah. How do you get along with those KGB creeps?a aNo contact. They pretend they only speak Russian.a aMe too.a While the two men were talking and while a continuous stream of people moved up the museumas steps, in the grounds, more queues were forming.

A small blue van on which was painted Washington City Electricity Corporation pulled up at the entrance gates. A tall black, wearing the familiar Corporationas uniform, slid out of the van and went over to one of the guards.

aMr. Sc.o.o.ner phoned,a he said. aYou have trouble with your fuse box.a The guard eyed the black.

aYou know where the fuse box is?a aSure.a The black grinned. aAround the back.a The guard, seeing a big air-conditioned coach pull up, impatiently waved the black through. The van drove off around the back of the museum where there were no guards.

The guard moved to the coach. From it came a short, fat, beaming clergyman.

aReverend Hardcastle,a he said. aI have brought my flock to see the exhibition. It has been arranged, I believe.a The guard had been alerted that thirty-five Vietnamese refugees would be arriving in charge of a Reverend Hardcastle.

aTickets, sir?a he said, saluting.

aCertainly.a The fat clergyman produced a book of tickets and a pa.s.sport.

The guard waved the pa.s.sport aside.

aThat isnat necessary, sir.a aI understood the security is very strict. I thought I should bring my pa.s.sport.a Clergymen, fat or thin, were, in the guardas opinion, G.o.dd.a.m.n do-gooders and a nuisance. He checked the tickets, looked at the yellow faces peering down at him from the coach windows, snorted, then waved to the driver.

aGo ahead, sir,a he said to the clergyman. aThereas a security check in the lobby. Please tell your people to leave everything in the coach that they may be carrying. This will save time. Umbrellas, bags, canes and any metal objects.a aI understand. Thank you,a and the clergyman returned to the coach which drove up to the entrance of the museum.

There was a delay before the pa.s.sengers descended. There was confusion in the coach while they rid themselves of their possessions. The last two women out of the coach had to be a.s.sisted. They were both in advanced stages of pregnancy.

aOh, h.e.l.l!a Sc.o.o.ner muttered. aLook at this lot!a He stared down at the group of Vietnamese; some men, some women, some with small children: all dressed in their national costume: the women in cheongsams, the men in white shirts and black trousers.

aRefugees,a Sc.o.o.ner went on. aThe padre organized this outing through the Brotherhood of Love society.a aLook at those two women,a Trumbler muttered. aThey look as if they are about to drop their bundles any moment.a aI hope to G.o.d not!a Below in the lobby, Chick Hurley, the guard on the entrance gates, was also staring at the two pretty Vietnamese girls, big with child.

Hurley, young, a little overweight, not overly bright, had opted to join the museumas security guards, knowing it would be a steady pensionable job that would suit his lack of ambition and his pace in life. Ten months ago, feeling his position secure and with no extravagant tastes, he had got married. His wife was like him: without ambition, but desperately anxious to raise a family. They both loved children. His wife was also big with child, and the birth was expected any day. Hurley who doted on his fat wife was horrified by the way her body had expanded. He had seen a number of TV films depicting childbirth and they had so upset him that during the past week he had been in torture, visualizing what his wife was about to face. When he saw the two flower-like Vietnamese girls, he felt a chill run up his spine.

As the fat clergyman handed in the book of tickets, then moved to his group, Hurley left the entrance doors and approached him.

aThereas an elevator, sir,a he said to the clergyman. aThese two ladies shouldnat climb those steps.a The clergyman beamed at him.

aHow kind! How very thoughtful!a Hurley smirked.

aWell, sir, Iam expecting my own any day now.a aCongratulations! Splendid!a Hurley indicated the elevator and hurried back to his post at the entrance.

While the rest of the Vietnamese climbed the steps, the clergyman and the two pregnant girls entered the elevator. They waited for the others, then the clergyman said, aFollow me, please and do not stray,a and he set off into the first room of the exhibition.

aSome of these Viets are attractive,a Trumbler said. aI wouldnat mind giving one or two of them a ride.a aKeep your mind on the job,a Sc.o.o.ner snapped. aYou take the right wing. Iall take the left. Weall circulate.a As the Vietnamese group moved from exhibit to exhibit, pausing to listen to the clergymanas remarks, Trumbler walked on, past the special alcove that housed the Catherine the Great icon which was not attracting much attention, and into the vast hall that housed some of the finest oil paintings in the world.

Here, the crowd was dense, and he noted that all five members of the KGB were mingling with the crowd, and two of his own men were also watching.

The clergyman paused at one of the windows and looking down, he saw a small blue van leaving the grounds of the museum. He glanced at his watch, then he moved on to another exhibit. Ten minutes later, he paused in his talk and gave a slight nod of his head to one of the pregnant girls. She moved away from the group and approached a guard who was stifling a yawn. He had been on night duty and was anxiously waiting to be relieved.

aA toilet, sir?a He eyed her and her inflated belly, then gave her a friendly smile.

aThat door over there, miss.a aThank you, sir.a The girl walked to a door on the far side of the iconas alcove as the fat clergyman led his group into the alcove.

aNow, here, my friends,a he said, ais the first icon known and used by Catherine the Great of Russia.a The group made a complete circle around the roped off gla.s.s case.

A guard moved forward.

aPlease keep clear of the ropes,a he said curtly.

aOf course; of course,a the clergyman said and opened the ill.u.s.trated catalogue he was carrying. As the guard moved back, he went on, aThe artist is unknown, but, as you can see, considering the vast age . . .a There came a loud hissing sound and thick, black smoke billowed out from behind a large exhibit near the door of the ladyas toilet.

The Vietnamese immediately panicked. The girls screamed and jostled each other. The men shouted and the children wailed.

The guard rushed in the direction of the smoke, but the smoke now was so dense, he staggered back, choking and coughing.

People in the hall of paintings also panicked. Cries of aFIRE!a resounded through the rooms. There was a concerted rush for the various exits.

Sc.o.o.ner, hearing the uproar, ran from the right wing and into dense, black smoke. This was no fire, he told himself: this was a powerful smoke bomb. He ran to the head of the steps and bawled down to Hurley who was gaping up at him.

aShut the doors! No one in; no one out!a The other guard on the entrance doors with Hurley took the steps three at a time and joined Sc.o.o.ner. They were nearly knocked down the steps by the screaming Vietnamese who were trying to rush down to the exit, but Sc.o.o.ner and the guard blocked them off.

aStay right where you are!a Sc.o.o.ner barked. aThereas no danger!a Alone in the lobby, Hurley set his fat back against the closed entrance doors and gaped up the steps at the confusion going on above.

aMy friend.a He started and turned to find the fat clergyman at his side.

The elevator doors stood open, and one of the pregnant Vietnamese girls lay on the floor.

aI fear this disturbance has brought her to labour,a the clergyman said. aMr. Sc.o.o.ner has been kind enough to telephone for an ambulance. Ah! I hear it coming. Please help!a Had Hurley been less dimwitted, he would have realized that Sc.o.o.ner, battling with the Vietnamese at the head of the steps couldnat possibly have had time to telephone for an ambulance, but the dreadful moaning coming from the Vietnamese girl, and the shrill note of the siren of the approaching ambulance paralysed what wits he had. G.o.d! He thought, this could be happening to Meg in a day or so! He hurried with the clergyman to the girl, and together they both lifted her. Her face, glistening with sweat, was contorted with pain.

aLet the ambulance people in,a The clergyman said sharply.

In a complete dither, Hurley ran to the doors, slid back the bolts and let in two black men, carrying a stretcher. He was not to know that these two men had but a quarter of an hour ago, been in the uniforms of the Washington City Electricity Corporation.

aWeall take care of her,a the tallest of the blacks said. They scooped the girl on to the stretcher as she gave a wail of pain.

Before Hurley, shuddering at the sound, had time to think, the two stretcher bearers were out, loading the stretcher into the ambulance, which went roaring down the drive with the siren at full blast.

aSplendid!a the clergyman exclaimed. aThank you. Now, I must return to my flock. I canat think what is happening up there.a He moved swiftly to the elevator and pressing the b.u.t.ton to the second floor, waited until the elevator came to rest. People, and they were few, who had been looking at other exhibits on the second floor were gathered at the head of the steps. The clergyman entered one of the menas toilets and shut the door. Three minutes later, the door opened and a young, thin man, in a white sports shirt and black trousers, his hair ruffled, joined the crowd that was now being held back by a guard.