Night of the Warheads

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Nick Carter stood at the villa's massive upstairs window, gazing out at the softly falling snow. Smoke leaked from the corner of his mouth as his powerful shoulders shrugged deeper into the expensively cut white dinner jacket.

In the villa's great room, behind and below where he stood, the gentle tinkle of china and silverware being set wafted up to his ears.

The table was being prepared for the dinner party Nicholas Carstocus was giving that evening.

"Just a small gathering, select people, to celebrate my liberation from American taxes and the anniversary of my first month in the delightful little principality of Andorra!"

That's what he had told her.

Far below him, headlights pierced the darkness on the road leading up from Andorra-la-Vella, the country's capital.

It's been quite a month, Carter thought, raising a glass of the harsh local red wine to his lips.

And tonight may put the icing on what had started out to be a "piece of cake" mission. Some you figure wrong…

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