A Korean Tiger

by Nick Carter

  A hand smashed across his face. It rocked and stung him. The woman said, "You are right for once, Doctor. All right, Mr. Carter! You may stop shamming now. Let us have no nonsense. Time is short and we have much to talk about."

  He couldn't have told them much of value about Raymond Lee Bennett and the woman, Nick thought before he opened his eyes. He really didn't know anything! What else he might have said he had no way of knowing — he could only hope they had been too much in a hurry, too interested in Bennett, to question him in depth about AXE secrets. He decided on brashness.

  He stared up at the woman. She was going bald, by God! Her mouse-colored hair was swept back and caught in a careless bun at the back of a thick neck. Her face was broad, the nose flat, her lips a thin incision in gray flesh. The blue eyes were watery, weak, but somehow very hard. Bleak. She was thick shouldered and massive around the waist. She must, Nick thought, have an enormous behind.

  Nick winked at her. "Colonel Kalinski, I believe? How's it going, Colonel? Doing any wrestling these days?"

  For perhaps five seconds the blue eyes blinked at him. Her lashes were scant, almost colorless. She took a deep breath, thrusting out breasts as large as basketballs, then slapped him again. And again. And yet again. She did it with the back of her open hand, hurting him with her knuckles.

  "That," she said evenly, "is just to let you know your position, Mr. Carter. To show you who is boss here. You are, believe me, in no position to make wisecracks!"

  "Can't help it," said Nick. "I'm just a fun-loving kid at heart. But I'll try to control it — for the sake of my jaw if nothing else. You pack a pretty good wallop there, Colonel." And yet her hands, he noted, were small and soft and somehow did not go with the rest of her.

  The woman made an impatient gesture. "Enough of this! You will answer my last question, please. What do you know of this woman called the Yellow Widow? No lies."

  Killmaster nodded. "Okay, Colonel. No lies. I never heard of her. Is she the one that got Bennett away?" He sneaked it in fast, hoping to catch her off balance, but having no great hope. The Socratic method was all right in its place; against a top agent of MGB he hadn't much hope. Yet he had to try to get something started. It was the whole reason for being here, for taking that clout on the head. He was stymied. And in this business you took help wherever you found it.

  Colonel Zoe Kalinski stroked a flabby chin with an incongruously beautiful hand. "I will ask the questions," she said. "But I begin to think I am wasting my time with you, Carter."

  Nick grinned at her. "A minute ago it was Mr. Carter. What happened to make me lose face?"

  The blue eyes studied him. "Lose face? That is an odd expression for you to use. But never mind — I repeat, what do you know of this Yellow Widow?"

  Nick scowled. "And I repeat — nothing! You must know I'm telling the truth. You questioned me under the drug, didn't you? What was it — sodium pentathol?"

  "Yes. But it was administered wrongly! I told you, Colonel..."

  The speaker was a tall, emaciated man who had been standing a little back of the woman. He was little more than a rack of bones wearing a cheap tweed suit. He wore a battered trilby hat. His face was gaunt, his eyes haunted, and there was dope addict written all over him. On the floor near his feet was a small black medical bag.

  The woman turned on the man in a fury. Her voice crackled like a shorted electric cable. "Keep quiet, you! Do not speak again! Not unless you have my permission. We are not dealing with a fool here, with an underling! This man is Nicholas Carter. He is the top agent for AXE, the American murder organization! Keep that in mind, all of you. I, and only I, will do the talking to this man. Understood?"

  The thin man's cowardice was abject. He passed a trembling hand over his face. "Yes — yes, my Colonel! I understand. I... I will not offend again."

  "See that you do not. I have enough trouble now without having to cope with fools."

  Nick Carter had used this brief altercation to survey the physical situation. His eyes missed nothing; his brain stored it for future use.

  He was in a warehouse of some kind. It appeared to be very much in use. Everywhere he looked he saw stacks of what seemed to be heavy rolls of paper. Probably newsprint. From somewhere near came the muted bellow of a tug. They were still near the river, then. The long table on which he was bound stood in a little clearing in the stacks of paper. The single light was a 300-watter at least, dangling over him in a large green shade. It was hard to see back into the shadows, but he heard them move and cough, saw a match flare, heard the whispering. The muscle boys. He counted the shadows as best he could. Must be at least six of them. Fresh ones, no doubt, and not the ones he had worked over. This, he told himself, could get a little nasty before it's over. But then he had known that all along.

  The Colonel was back. Her thin lips parted to reveal where all the yellow had gone. "Now, Carter, once more. You know the Yellow Widow is a Chinese agent, no? You said as much. You must know more about her. Her friends, her mode of working, her safe houses where she would take — where she would hide out? You must know all these things — and you are going to tell me!"

  Nick shook his head. "I don't. I tell you I never heard of her. I made all that up just as I was coming out of the drug. Look, Colonel Kalinski, maybe we can make a deal, eh? At least I can, if you want to play. I have carte blanche from my government. Have you?"

  Again the long slow look. The thin lips twitched against was more of a gurgle than a chuckle, but the Colonel was definitely amused. "I am glad we met, Carter. You are all that I have heard — insouciant and arrogant. You are also not without courage — either that or you are a complete fool! That I-cannot believe."

  Nick assumed a slightly idiotic expression. "Gee, Colonel. Thanks a lot. We don't get many kind words in our profession and..."

  She slammed her knuckles across his face again. "Enough. You still maintain that you know nothing of the Yellow Widow?"

  It was hard work, but Nick managed to keep his grin. "I do. That's why you'd better consider a deal. Colonel, And fast! They're getting farther away all the time — Bennett and this Chinese lady. Why don't you put your cards on the table? I will. I'm after Bennett. I admit it. I want to kill him. You're after Bennett, too. But you don't want to kill him. Not yet. Not until you've used him, pumped him dry. Face it, Colonel. You people have goofed badly on this Bennett thing. So have we. We're going to have to fight it out between us later, I know, but right now neither of us has Bennett! This Yellow Widow has got him and she's running for China. If we put our heads together, if we exchange information, work together, we might be able to stop her."

  It was a monumental bluff. He didn't think it had a prayer. He could offer to exchange information because he didn't have any. This Colonel Five-by-Five might just have a smattering — the Russians, after all, had been on the trail just ahead of him.

  The blue eyes were like two marbles looking down at him. He got the impression that she was wearing contact lens and he wondered about it, but only briefly. She smacked him across the face again. "I think I am right about you, Carter. You don't know anything. You have, as you say, bungled it. So have we, this I admit, but your bungling is much worse. Were it not for your reputation I would be inclined to think that you are nothing but another American fool." Again her knuckles raked his face.

  Nick felt a trickle of blood on his lips. He smiled, feeling the torn skin pull and stretch. "When you've finished getting your jollies, Colonel, I suggest that you get in touch with your people and ask them what they think. Get your boss in the Kremlin on the short wave and ask him! You might be a little surprised."

  The woman turned from him and walked a few steps into the shadows. Nick saw that he had been right — her behind was enormous. Her legs would have been stout even on a piano. She was about two hundred pounds of feminine nastiness. His gut churned and he felt a moment of near panic. Sweat crawled on his skin like moist little snakes. Had he miscalculated? Was he going to be able t
o get himself out of this?

  He could hear her giving orders to someone in the gloom. After a moment the man said, "Da," and left immediately. The Colonel came back to stare down at Nick. "I have followed your advice in part, Carter. I have sent a message to my superiors informing them of your capture, and of what you suggest. It will be an hour or more before we can expect an answer — in the meantime we shall get back to the real business. What do you know of this Yellow Widow?"

  Nick groaned aloud. "You, Colonel Kalinski, have got a one-track mind."

  "Yes. That is so. I find it a great asset in my work. What do you know of the old Roman law, Carter?"

  That one stopped him for a moment. He blinked at her. "The old Roman law? Not much, I guess. Why? What's it got to do with finding Bennett?"

  "Perhaps a great deal. A very great deal — with me finding Bennett. Doctor! The equipment, please. I think I will begin now." She reached a hand back and wriggled her ringers. Killmaster, remembering certain details of Zoe Kalinski's dossier, felt the sweat grow cold along his spine. He could take torture. Had taken it many a time. But he had never gotten to like it. And there was a limit to what any man could take.

  Nick was prepared for knives, dental drills, even air hoses. He would not have been surprised at brass knucks, clubs, whips. This was an old warehouse and they would have to make do with what was at hand, yet the equipment that the dope addict produced puzzled him. It was so simple, so innocuous looking.

  Two pieces of thin wood. About an eighth of an inch thick and five inches square. A small rubber mallet, very similar to a judge's gavel.

  Colonel Kalinski stood back from the table. "Prepare him."

  Two of the muscle boys came out of the shadows. Both were grinning. Nick tested the bonds that held his wrists to the table corners. Rock firm. Hell! What pleasure to have smashed the grins off those flat faces. But it was not going to be — this time he was just going to have to lie there and take it. But what?

  He found out soon enough. He had been stripped to his shirt and trousers. His weapons were gone, of course, and the heavy Army shoes were also missing. Now, at the woman's command, the men unbelted his trousers and pulled them down. His shorts were ripped off and he was exposed to the hot glare of the light.

  It was a strain, but Nick managed to preserve both his grin and his cool — as the cats back Stateside would have said — and he could even leer up at the Colonel. "Please, Colonel! I know we're enemies and all that, but isn't this going just a bit far? I'm a modest man and..."

  "You talk a great deal. Carter, but you never say anything. But you will — you will." Her cold stare was unwavering. Nick was reminded of giant squid he had once confronted in i sea cave near Madagascar. The squid had looked at him the way she was looking now.

  "I was speaking of the old Roman law/' she said. She began to draw on a pair of very thin rubber gloves. Surgeons' gloves. Again he noted the delicacy of her hands, then forgot it in a wild flurry of panic. He did not like thinking about surgeons. Not exposed like this.

  "The old Roman law," she went on, "was just the opposite of your decadent English law. Now, in your country, confessions extracted by torture are thrown out of court. In the old Rome it was just the opposite — a confession had to be obtained by torture to be valid. You: begin to understand, Carter?"

  "I understand," he blurted, "but you're wasting your time. If the drug didn't work..."

  "Drugs!" It was as though she had spat. "I have little faith in drugs. Even less in the fools who administer them." She turned to glare at the doctor. "You will remain, understand. No creeping away because you have a weak stomach. You are a poor thing, but you must have some knowledge, and I must know when his pain threshold is reached."

  "As you command," said the emaciated man with his first show of dignity. "But I will be sick as usual. I promise you that, Colonel." One of the other men laughed.

  "Then be sick!" the woman rasped. "But attend closely. You and your drugs! I will show you the best drug of all — the best truth drug. Pain!"

  In all his long career as an agent Killmaster had never experienced anything quite like this. Even as he steeled himself against the pain that was to come he found that he was curiously fascinated. Those delicate hands in the pale rubber gloves. Certainly she was clinical enough; there was nothing but the most dispassionate interest as she went about her business.

  She put one piece of wood beneath him; the other piece of wood she lay on top. A sandwich of wood. Very thin wood. Colonel Kalinski picked up the rubber mallet and gazed down at Nick Carter. Her expression was very close to benign. She might have been a dumpy, rather ugly, nurse dealing with a recalcitrant child. She poised the mallet deftly in one hand.

  "Possibly I am wasting my time," she told Nick. "And inflicting needless pain. Perhaps my intuition is correct and you know nothing of the Yellow Widow — but I cannot trust my intuition. As an agent yourself, Carter, you will understand that. I must be sure! And there is no surer way than by torture. This has been true since the world began — when all else fails, torture works. Now, Carter? One last chance. What do you know of the Yellow Widow? I know you people have a file on her — what is in it? Also I want the names of your people in this city, in Cologne and in Berlin. Quickly now!"

  Nick Carter shook his head. "You're right about one thing, Colonel. You're wasting your time. I..."

  Colonel Kalinski rapped the upper square of wood with the mallet. Sharply.

  At the very first there was no pain. Only a gathering sickness that began in his stomach and moved up into his chest and throat. Nick thought he was going to spew and fought it back. He was choking. Then the delayed wave of pain hit him, a searing wash of agony that tore at his brain.

  "You nave a foolish courage," she said. The mallet came down again. A little harder this time. The pain came faster and Nick could not restrain the hot scald in his throat. He was conscious of vomit on his lips and chin. She struck again with the mallet. And again. Nick was floating on a hot raft of pain that was unendurable and yet must somehow be borne. And more than that — he must keep at least a part of his mind clear. He must listen to, and try to remember, what this sadistic bitch was saying.

  Her voice came clearly enough out of the scarlet mists of his pain. Pain that he could not remember, for one cannot remember how pain felt; pain that he would never be able to describe any more than he could describe the odor of a rose; pain that was the essence of here and now, an immediate thing that banished the rest of the universe. His racked body personified pain. He was pain!

  "I will tell you the little we know of the Yellow Widow," the woman was saying. "I do this because I am sure you already know all this — a fact which you will admit presently."

  The mallet fell.

  "Her real name is Chung," the voice went on. "She is half Korean, half Chinese. She is considered very beautiful, though now she must be in her forties. She is now known as Madame Hsu Tzu Tsai — in Peking, that is. Her late husband was on the Chinese General Staff. She had been most unfortunate with her husbands. The last one was her fourth."

  Again the mallet.

  Nick put his lower lip under his teeth and bit down hard. Tasted the salt of his own blood. He wasn't going to scream for her. Not yet.

  "She is a top echelon agent, this Yellow Widow. She works only on the most important missions. Our own dossier on her is very scanty, which is why I must know what you know, Carter. Because this woman must be caught, she and Bennett, before she can get him to China."

  "My thought exactly," said Nick. Was that groaning, pain-racked mumble actually his voice? "If you would just listen to..."

  Tap-tap-tap — Three brisk strokes with the mallet. Vast new vistas of pain opened before him. He was wandering over white hot coals, over a vast plain of pain. He began to fight hard for his sanity. The pain in Spain falls mainly on my brain. There it was again! Oh God... oh God... oh God... stop it... stop it... stop it...

  The mallet rested, poised over his brui
sed and swelling body.

  "My people," said Colonel Kalinski, "have in the past made the mistake of underestimating Chinese Intelligence. This present generation, I for one, is paying for their mistakes. To use your gangster slang — we did goof on the man Bennett. He was recruited, and planted in Washington, some thirty years ago. And then forgotten. His file lost. The idiots! His file was found recently quite by accident — in some trash that was about to be burned. That led to the discovery of a bank account in his name, into which a great deal of money had been paid." The voice was a little puzzled. "That is another thing we do not understand — why this Bennett would defect to the Chinese when he has a fortune waiting for him in Moscow."

  Through pain-bleared eyes Nick saw her raise the mallet. To forestall the immediate agony he blurted, "It's the woman! Bennett loves women. He's a psycho, a sex nut. I don't think he cares much for money. But a pretty woman could talk him into anything." He was, he told himself, not giving away anything of import. So far he was getting far more information than he was giving. But that mallet — that horrible mallet!

  Silence. The mallet hovered, but did not fall.

  "Hmm — so that is it. Thank you, Carter. See, you are beginning to talk. So Bennett is a sex psychopath? We do not have that information in our files. Yes. I can see now how it was worked. The Chinese knew this, and we did not. They sent the Yellow Widow as bait. And it worked."

  Nick Carter kept talking, his eyes on the mallet. He was getting very near to the end of his resistance and he knew it. A few more strokes with that sledge hammer — the mallet grew bigger by the moment — and he would be babbling like a brook. Be begging them to listen to AXE secrets. Unless he could somehow, mercifully, lose consciousness. But it was never that easy.

  "The Widow might be sorry she got Bennett," Nick told the face hovering above him in the pain cloud. He killed his wife, you know. Or did you?"

  The face nodded. Through the mists that clogged his brain he could see the blue eyes boring into him like gimlets.