by Nick Carter
"I didn't. Now listen — I put Dinky Man on the job and went into the station, to the latrine, so I could use the radio. They got booths now, you know. Just like Stateside. When I came out I saw this kid at the station-master's desk. A kid in a dirty white sailor suit. So what? In a minute the stationmaster picked up the mike and started paging the Haikada Kotos!"
Nick stared at him. "Paging them? That doesn't make any sense at all. We must be wrong. The last thing in the world they would do is have somebody page them. We..."
Jimmy Kim's grin was wide. "They didn't. The ferry people did. Mr. Koto had lost a contact lens on board and it had been found. They sent a boy with it. A smart kid — he got the stationmaster to help him. He was looking for some won, of course."
Nick rubbed his lean jaw. A contact lens and a new patch over a man's eye. Just maybe!
"Maybe they didn't hear themselves being paged," said Jimmy Kim, "or maybe they didn't want to come out again. They didn't show up. The kid hung around for a minute or two, then started back to the ferry slip. I collared him. I gave him a wad of won, which I will put on my expense account, and got his story. After I got it I thought we had something — I called you again but no answer. You were on your way by then. Anyway — Mr. Koto lost the contact lens just before they docked. There was a big search for it, with no luck. The kid said Mr. Koto kept his hand over his left eye all the time they looked — said it hurt him. Finally they gave up. And when they landed Koto had the patch over his eye. The kid noticed that because he was still trying to find the lens and he felt sorry for poor Mr. Koto. Now, Nick, you thinking what I'm thinking?"
Nick squeezed his arm. "If you're right it was damned good thinking, Kim. Mr. Koto's left eye is blue!" Bennett had blue eyes.
"I think both of his eyes are blue," said Jimmy Kim. "And I never saw a blue-eyed Jap. Here, look at this."
He took something from his poncho pocket and handed it to Nick. A contact lens. Dark brown. "I bought it from the kid," said Jimmy Kim. He glanced at Nick and laughed softly. "I thought maybe you would want to give it back to Mr. Koto in person."
Nick Carter made his decision. It was worth a try. It felt right. Killmaster had a tremendous empathy for the hunted — he had been hunted so often himself — and he knew, had he been in the shoes of Bennett and the Widow, that he would have tried it this way.
"All right," he told Jimmy Kim. “I’ll buy it. I think we've got them. I'll try to get a compartment on the same car and..."
Jimmy Kim reached into his pocket again. "Have, yes, sar." He affected a pidgin at times, though he spoke perfect English. "I took the liberty, sar. You likee?" He handed Nick a ticket in a buff envelope.
Nick grinned. "I likee — you're a good boy and I'll tell them so in Washington. Now cut out the crap and listen."
"Yes, sahib."
"I've got to check this out," said Nick. "If we're right then okay — I'll handle it. All of it. If we're wrong I'll head back here as soon as I can — probably be faster to go on to Seoul and fly back. Meantime I'm making you 2IC, temporary case officer. You and Dinky Man stay on the job here. Keep meeting the ferries the same as before — those two, the Kotos, could be decoys. If anything pops here call me at the Chosen Hotel in Seoul after six in the morning — if I'm not there I'll probably be at Number 23 Dongjadong. That's out in Choonkoo. If worst comes to worst and this is a false trail, you might have to send Pok up for me in that thing you call a plane. I hope not."
Jimmy Kim showed all his teeth in a wide smile. He was delighted to be 2IC. "You're talking about the plane I love, dad. But that old jalopy will fly to Seoul and back, don't worry. It's about time we did a little work for you people, anyway. You've been subsidizing us long enough." The Flying Turtles, more formally known as Chosen Airways, Inc., had long been a "front" for AXE.
"We've been here too long," Nick said. "Let's move around a little. In a few minutes you circle around and check on that other platform and Dinky Man. We can't afford to take any chances now."
"Dinky Man will stay on the ball," said Jimmy. His tone was grim. "He knows I can get him a fast firing squad if he doesn't."
They drifted down toward the main entrance to the station and waiting room. On the way they were besieged by a horde of beggar boys, endemic to every Korean railroad station, all in rags and with sores and scabs on their shaven heads. Most of them were war orphans — and most of them would die of disease and hunger before they attained manhood.
Jimmy Kim distributed won to the boys and chased them away. They halted again near a news kiosk, from where they could keep an eye on Car 1066. The Seoul train was being steadily put together now as the little switcher rumbled and puffed back and forth, adding more cars. There were already ten in the string on Track 4. As they watched, another car was added, a shiny new car with a white band painted along its sides. Nick saw MPs riding in the vestibules of the car.
"That's a military car," he told Kim. "What's up?" He was frowning. If he had to kill Bennett on the train, as well he might, he didn't want to get mixed up with the military. Bennett's execution, as well as the reasons for it, had to be top secret. Killmaster had no official standing in Korea, no one to whom he could turn for help. He had, literally, only his weapons and the clothes he stood in.
"Nothing to worry about," Jimmy said. "I know all about it. A bunch of big shots, VIPs and ROK and Yank officers, are going on a tiger hunt. It was in the paper this morning."
Nick shot his subordinate a quizzical glance. "A tiger hunt? In Korea?"
Jimmy nodded. "It happens once in a great while, dad. Some beat-up, toothless old tiger wanders down south from Manchuria. The old cat can't catch game anymore, so he has to eat peasants. I've been reading about this one — he's killed four or five farmers up around Yongdong. That's in the mountains near Taejon. So some of the brass got the bright idea of organizing a tiger hunt — saves the peasants and gives the brass something to do. Look — some of them are boarding now." Jimmy Kim laughed. "They've got a bar on that car. If I was a betting man I'd put my money on the tiger."
They watched a party of American and ROK officers boarding the special car. One of the ROK officers carried a Tommy gun. Nick smiled faintly. The tiger didn't figure to have much chance.
He turned to Jimmy Kim. "Okay, kid. Go check on Dinky Man now. And from now on we don't know each other — unless an emergency pops. I think I'll just stooge around for awhile. I won't board until the last minute. So long — and luck."
"So long, dad. Good luck to you. And happy hunting. Don't worry about a thing — I'll handle things here."
Nick Carter watched the boy bounce away on springy heels, full of verve and confidence. A good kid. For just a moment Nick felt old. His stomach pained him a bit. He glanced again at Car 1066. The blinds were drawn in all the compartments.
Nick went back into the bar and had a couple more shots of the bad whisky. He lingered there, not drinking more, until the loudspeaker rasped and a singsong voice began to call the Seoul train, first in Korean, then in English: "Taegu-Kumchon-Yongdong-Taejon-Chochiwon-Chonan-Seoul. Change at Seoul for Yongdungpo and Inchon and Ascom City. The Seoul Express — leaving in ten minutes from Track 4."
Killmaster waited until one minute before train time, then walked rapidly to the train. A huge diesel was snorting softly at the head of the fifteen cars. Nick glanced at his ticket, saw that his car was 1105. Two cars removed from Car 1066.
As he walked down the line he saw Jimmy Kim lingering near the open vestibule of 1066. Nick glanced through the vestibule as he passed, saw the squat figure of Dinky Man on the far platform.
As Jimmy Kim turned away he nodded slightly and flipped his cigarette butt at the train. It hit the car midway and fell to the tracks below. Nick looked straight ahead, but he had the message. The Kotos' compartment was midway in the car.
He reached his own car and swung easily up into the vestibule. He glanced down the long line of cars. Most Korean trains were pretty bad, and anything like a time sche
dule was mere wishful thinking, but this train, the Seoul Express, was the Koreans' pride and joy. It had, on occasion, actually arrived in Seoul on time after a four-teen-hour run.
Nick clung to the handrail. He lit a new cigarette. Fourteen hours was a long time in his business. Almost anything could happen. On this trip it probably would.
Near the engine a little Korean conductor was waving a green flag. There was a shrill of whistles and a last-minute running by two ichibans in tall horsehair hats, and their fat little wives. One of the wives was carrying a huge fish. They would be traveling third class.
The long metal snake jerked and jolted as the wheels of the giant diesel spun and bit into track. The Seoul Express moved out. Nick spotted Jimmy Kim in the crowd on the platform as the train glided slowly out of the station.
A tiny Korean boy in a smart uniform showed Nick Carter to his compartment For a Korean train it was luxurious. The boy seemed proud of it. He gestured around and said, "Number one, I think. Hokay?"
Nick smiled and handed him a few won. "Hokay, junior. Thanks." The boy left and Nick locked the door after him. It was time now for a little planning. How was he to get in to the Kotos' compartment to check things out? See if it was really Raymond Lee Bennett and the Widow? And if it was — what then? He didn't want to kill Bennett on the train if it could possibly be avoided. But how to get him off the train? Perhaps he could arrange an accident of some kind. Maybe...
There was a soft tapping at the door of his compartment. Nick Carter came off the seat with the easy flow of a powerful cat and stood to one side of the door. He checked the Luger and the stiletto before he asked, "Who is it?"
The boy's voice said: "Is me, sar. Porter boy. I bring you towels."
"Just a minute."
Nick checked the tiny lavatory. There were no towels. He went back to the door. "Okay."
He opened the door. The woman who stood there was very beautiful, with a tall, sturdy body. Her hair was auburn, her eyes green. The little gun in her hand was rock steady on Nick's belly. Behind her was the Korean boy, staring at Nick with wide eyes.
The woman spoke to the boy. "Go now. You know what to do. Hurry!" Her English was heavily accented. A Slavic accent. So they were here, too, and they had wasted no time.
The boy ran off down the corridor. The woman smiled at Nick and moved the little gun a trifle. "Please step back into the compartment, Mr. Carter, and raise your hands. High over your head. I don't want to kill you just yet."
Nick obeyed. She followed him into the compartment and kicked the door shut with a high heel. The gun never wavered from his stomach.
The woman smiled again. Her teeth were good. Very white and just a trifle large. Her body, beneath a black failie suit, was finely molded.
"So we meet again, Mr. Carter. I admit that I am surprised, but then with you one can never tell. Did you enjoy your swim in the Rhine?"
For one of the very few times in his life Nick Carter was totally taken aback, at a loss. It was impossible. It was insane. And yet — her hands! The hand holding the little gun. A delicate, pink-tipped hand. He had seen those hands before.
Nick's grin was hard. "I still don't believe it," he told her. "I must have had too much ginseng booze last night. It can't be. You people just aren't that good at makeup!" He knew the truth. It was she, impossible as it seemed. But if he could keep the chatter flowing, keep the situation from becoming static, he just might try to jump the gun. Jumping a gun was a pretty sure way of getting dead, but...
Her smile a little cold about the edges, the woman said, "Turn around, Mr. Carter. Now! Don't do anything foolish. Lean toward the wall and keep your hands high on it."
Nick did as she ordered. He was off balance and knew he had lost for the moment. As he felt those delicate hands fluttering over him in search he managed a wry grin.
He said: "I now believe in miracles, Colonel Kalinski."
Chapter 10
She took the Luger and the stiletto and stepped back away from him. "Stay exactly as you are, Mr. Carter."
Nick stared out the window. Rain was clawing at it with gray blobby paws. The train ran through a tall stand of bamboo, then plunged into a tunnel. He watched her reflection in the window. She opened the door to the tiny bathroom, tossed the weapons inside, then removed the key and locked the door from the outside. She put the key in a pocket of her jacket.
She turned back to him. "You may turn around now. Go and sit over there." The gun indicated the long sofa-divan, along one wall, that made up into a bed. Nick sat down. The eye of the little pistol never left him.
Colonel Kalinski crossed her legs with a slither of nylon. The faille skirt was short, and what she displayed was impressive. Nick remembered the lisle stockings. She must have been wearing a hell of a lot of padding.
"I am presuming," she said, "that you still carry your little gas bomb between your legs, Mr. Carter? I know how lethal it is. We conducted an experiment on some of our undesirables. Condemned men. Your gas is most efficacious — but I believe I am safe as long as we are locked in here together."
Nick was careful not to dispel her illusions. The more secure she felt — the better. If he had to use the gas bomb he would. He could hold his breath a lot longer than she could. Meanwhile, to stall for time, he might as well try to set up a deal. She, her compatriots, even the Yellow Widow — none of them were of prime importance now. Raymond Lee Bennett, riding two cars back, was all that really mattered. Killmaster had to stay alive long enough to do his job. As simple as that.
"Colonel," he began, "I think..."
She interrupted him with a smile. "What you think, Mr. Carter, is no longer of any importance. And you will address me as Zoe, not as Colonel. For the time being, no matter how short, I am a woman. Not a Colonel in Soviet Intelligence. Is that understood?" She smiled again and this time he could detect something hungry in the glint of teeth. And there was something odd, speculative, in the stare of her wide green eyes. Nick Carter had seen that look before. So why not? Maybe sex could get him out of this! It had worked before. But he must be careful not to rush it.
She leaned toward him. She was sitting in a small leather chair that opened out of the wall. "Do you consider me an attractive woman, Mr. Carter?"
"Yes." No lie. "And I congratulate your makeup man, whoever he is."
She nodded. "One of our movie people. The best. In my country the best technicians must work for the State at times."
"He's a genius," Carter said truthfully. If he could worm the man's name out of her — and lived to tell it — he would see that the fellow was taken care of. He was entirely too good.
The woman shrugged. "It is a tiresome business. The makeup is heavy and takes many hours to apply. Padding, a harness, contact lenses, the bald wig — but you know. You were fooled."
Nick agreed with a nod. He certainly had been fooled. But now he put the spurs to her just a bit. "The makeup was perfect. But you also play the part well, Col... I mean, Zoe. The sadistic bit, of course. I am sure that torturing me must have hurt you as much as it did me? Or almost?"
The wide green stare did not waver. Behind those basilisk eyes he thought he could detect a hint of something warmer. Desire? Plain old-fashioned lust? Was this creature really so human?
Boldly he put it to the test. "We've got a long ride ahead of us, Zoe. You're in the driver's seat, for now at least. You've got the gun and I'm sure there are a couple of your goons on guard in the corridor. Must be, or you wouldn't be so sure of yourself. As long as we've got to pass the time — let's do it pleasantly."
Her smile was enigmatic. She moistened her wide mouth with a sharp pink tongue. Something flickered in the green eyes. But she said, "Perhaps we shall, Mr. Carter. Nick. But later. A little later. We shall see. I..."
Someone tapped on the door. She pointed the little gun at Nick's heart. "Quiet, please."
She went to the door and, without taking her eyes off Nick, spoke softly in Russian. He could not make out the wor
ds. She listened for a moment, then gave a soft command. When she took her seat again the high white forehead was creased in a frown.
Quietly Nick said, "Trouble, I hope?"
"Perhaps. Nothing I cannot handle. It appears that quite a few rough peasant types boarded the train at Pusan-Ju. They probably have weapons concealed in their luggage. It could turn out to be something of a problem." She sank her white teeth into her scarlet lower lip and stared at him, her eyes fuzzy with thought.
Nick got the picture immediately. The train had made a brief stop at Pusan-Ju, the suburb of Pusan, to pick up third class coaches from a siding. And now the Widow and Bennett had help if they needed it. The "peasants" were undoubtedly guerrillas recruited from the mountains and acting under direct orders from Peking. The Widow had not, after all, placed all her eggs in one basket.
"Things could hot up pretty fast," he told the woman. "Once you make your move, Zoe. Those guerrillas are along as watchdogs, just in case you try to take Bennett and the Widow off this train. Which you must do — you can't afford to let them get to Seoul. It's too big. You'll lose them. They'll be over the 38th in a matter of hours. Think fast, Miss Moto!"
Zoe Kalinski was not amused. She bit her full lower lip and frowned at him. The little gun moved in her hand and for a moment he thought she was going to pull the trigger. Then she appeared to relax.
"It is not, as you Americans say, all that bad. My men will handle the guerrillas. I have a dozen aboard, all good men."
"Plus the porter boy," said Nick, remembering. "The little bastard."
She laughed. The diesel hooted far ahead as it labored up a grade. They were getting into wild mountainous country now. Outside it was growing dark. Rain pelted silver arrows at the windows.
"Yes," she said. "You were easily tricked, Mr. Carter. Bok Yong has been working for us since he was six. It was he, and his father who also works for the railroad, who smuggled us aboard this car while it was still in the yards. It was very expensive, but worth it. You see, Nick, I came straight to Pusan as soon as I heard you were here. We have been watching you — hoping you would lead us to the Widow and Bennett. As you have. We spotted your man as he followed them to the train. We tried to have Bok Yong check them out, to be sure, and when they wouldn't open their compartment door we were pretty sure. Then you put in an appearance, you take this train and, again as you Americans say, it is open and shut. No? That couple in Car 1066, in Compartment B, are the Yellow Widow and Raymond Lee Bennett!"