Butcher of Belgrade

by Nick Carter

  I reached into my jacket for Wilhelmina. I had my hand on the Luger's butt when the Chinese surged back at me. He hit me squarely on the chin with a blow that almost snapped my neck and drove me against the bed.

  Losing my balance, I fell on top of the motionless body of Sheng's companion. I rolled over and landed in a crouch on the floor and reached for the Luger again.

  By this time, Sheng had opened the door. Astonishingly fast, he was into the corridor before I could point my gun in his direction.

  I rose out of my crouch and dashed after him, shoving the half-open door out of my way. Sheng was not in sight. Grimly, I turned back to the Schmidt woman's compartment. There was a body there to be dealt with.

  Pushing the door shut, I dragged the dead man to the window and dumped him out. I caught a glimpse of the body rolling down an incline before the train left it behind.

  I was breathing heavily. I picked up the dead man's gun and found Sheng's weapon on the floor near the bunk. I threw them out, then closed the window and did a hasty job of tidying up the compartment. I didn't want the Schmidt woman to know I had been there.

  My job was tougher now than it had been when I boarded the train. I had to find Sheng Tze. The encounter I'd just won didn't end it for us. I was the only free world agent still alive who knew what he looked like. He wasn't going to let me carry that knowledge around for long.

  Five

  I moved along the train from one end to the other and failed to spot the Chinese agent.

  By the time I'd completed my search, the train had made two quick stops. Sheng Tze could have jumped off at either of them. He could also be aboard in one of the compartments I had been unable to enter, or in a dozen other places. I couldn't hope to explore all the places where a man could hide on a moving train.

  I sighed and gave up for the moment. One way or the other, I was sure, I would be meeting Sheng again.

  At mid-afternoon I found Ursula sitting alone in a day coach compartment. She was busy writing in a small notebook she had taken from her purse. I slid the compartment door open and entered.

  "Hi," I said.

  "Oh, Nick! Sit down. I was just trying to draft a note to my boss. I must tell him that so far I've come up empty-handed. I'll send a wire at Venice."

  I sat down in a seat beside her. There were three plush seats on each side of the compartment, each covered with a black-and-brown patterned material that gave it the look of a European tea room of the last century. The compartment dated back to the glamorous days of the train when kings and celebrities had taken the Orient Express. There were large and small luggage racks over the seats, a mirror on each wall, and photographs of scenes along the route flanking the mirrors.

  Ursula put her notes away in her purse, and I caught a glimpse of a Webley .22 Lilliput automatic inside. I hoped she did not have to go up against her man with that tinkertoy. She looked over at me and the smile left her face.

  "Nick! What happened to you?"

  She was referring to the bruise that showed where Sheng had hit me. I grinned. "I've been practicing my profession."

  "Are you all right?"

  "Yes, I'm all right." It pleased me that she was genuinely concerned. "Say, there's no dining car on now, but I bought a bottle of bourbon at Milan. Would you like to join me in my compartment for a drink?"

  She looked over at me with those cool blue eyes. She knew it was a proposition, and she knew I wanted her to know. She glanced back out at the moving countryside, which was flattening out now as we drew closer to the Adriatic.

  "I think you are trying to seduce me, Nick."

  "I am," I said.

  She made a little face. "You haven't changed one bit. Can't you see I'm working?"

  "You've got to relax sometime."

  "It isn't easy to do that when you're tracking down a man like Hans Richter."

  For the first time she had mentioned the name of the man she called the Butcher. I recognized it. I had read about Richter, and what I'd read hadn't been pretty.

  "So he's the one you're after. I can understand your determination."

  The door slid open, and a middle-aged woman stood there. "Are these seats taken?" she asked with a British accent, pointing to the four empty seats.

  "No, please join us," Ursula said.

  The woman came in and sat down at the window seat across from Ursula and me. She left the compartment door open, a cool breeze came in from the corridor. After she was seated, she reached into a straw bag for a bundle of knitting.

  "It's a pleasant day," she smiled. She was a thin woman with a hawk nose and short gray hair. Her spectacles contained only the bottom part of the usual lens, small slivers of glass used for close-up work.

  "Yes, isn't it?" Ursula agreed.

  Ursula looked from the knitting to me and smiled. The woman went about her knitting busily, paying no further attention to us. I was just about to speak to Ursula again when a man came into the compartment. Without speaking to anyone, he sat down at the far end of the compartment, by the door. It was the man I had seen earlier with the radio, which he was still carrying. He set it down beside him on the seat, pulled a newspaper from under his arm, and began reading. Every time I had seen this man, he was carrying the radio, yet he never played it.

  "Do you know when we arrive at Venice?" the British woman asked Ursula.

  Ursula had been trying to get a better look at the man with the newspaper. She turned to the English lady now. "I expect around six or after."

  "Oh, that isn't bad. We'll all have to get something to eat there, of course, since there's no dining car."

  "Yes, that's right," Ursula said. I saw her face change, as if she had remembered something, and then she looked quickly back toward the man with the radio.

  "I think it's terribly uncivilized not to send a dining car with us all the way," the British woman was saying.

  Ursula was now staring at the man's left hand. I looked, too, and saw what she was looking at. The knuckle on the third finger of the hand that held the newspaper was large and gnarled. We exchanged glances. That knuckle was an identifying feature of Hans Richter.

  Ursula could not get a good look at his face, so I decided to help her. I waited until the man turned a page and then spoke to him.

  "Excuse me, sir," I said.

  The man dropped the newspaper to look at me. "Yes?" His accent was similar to Ursula's. He was about my height, and he had a military bearing. His muscular, intelligent face seemed younger, at first glance, than his years.

  "I see you have a London paper," I said. "Are there any football scores in it?"

  His gaze had drifted from me to Ursula and now came back to me again. He folded the paper and handed it across to me. "I'm sure there are. Here, I have just finished."

  I avoided looking at his left hand. "Thanks," I said, taking the paper. I saw no scar on his neck.

  He was looking at Ursula again. "It's all right." He picked up his radio and rose. "Now, if you will excuse me."

  He turned and left the compartment, heading toward the sleeping cars. I turned to Ursula, "Well?"

  "I don't know," she said.

  The woman across the aisle stopped her knitting and listened to our conversation with open interest.

  "There aren't many hands like that," I said.

  "No," Ursula admitted. "Not many."

  I stood. "I'll be back shortly."

  I moved quickly down the corridor of the day coach in the direction that the man had gone. I caught up with him as he entered Voiture 5, the car where the Topcon woman stayed. I stood at the end of the car as he moved on. Then I ducked around the corner of the corridor. In a moment I heard a door close. He had gone into Compartment 6.

  While I was standing there, I made a decision. My next move against Topcon would be less subtle. I would have to go to Eva Schmidt and ask her where the stolen device was hidden. Now was as good a time as any. I knocked on the door of Compartment 4, but there was no answer. I tried again, but
all was quiet inside. I would have to try later.

  When I returned to Ursula, the woman was still with her, discussing the merits of rail travel over the airlines. Ursula looked relieved to see me. "Let's take a walk," I said. "It's pleasant out on the platforms."

  "Don't forget to get something to eat at Venice," the woman said.

  "We won't," I told her.

  When we got into the corridor, I said, "Come on, let's go to my compartment."

  She gave me a look. "All right."

  When we got to my compartment, which was three down from Ursula's in the same car, I removed my jacket for comfort, and Ursula stared at the big Luger in its holster. Then she shrugged her thoughts away.

  She sat warily on the edge of my bunk-bed while I broke out the bourbon and poured us each a drink. She took hers with a small smile. "Before you get me too drunk, tell me — did you locate the man with the radio?"

  "He's in the next sleeper," I said. "Compartment 6. Do you think you've found the Butcher?"

  "I saw no scar," she said.

  "No. But his build is right, and his age."

  "I don't know, I just don't know," she said slowly. "I have the feeling that the man is Richter, but I do not want to arrest the wrong person."

  "Then you have only one alternative," I said. "You're going to have to try to find something in his personal effects that will make your identification more positive."

  "Yes, you are right," she agreed. "I must try to get into his compartment."

  I sighed. "Look, I'm an expert at this kind of thing. Let me search his compartment."

  "You wouldn't know what to look for, Nick."

  I thought a moment. "All right, we'll go together."

  She smiled. "That's better. You can't have all the excitement."

  I took a drink of the bourbon. "We can't go now," I said to her, moving my arm around her waist. "Richter, or whoever he is, just returned to the compartment. He'll be there for a while. We'll have to wait him out."

  The blue eyes glanced at me, and she took a gulp of the bourbon. I took the cup from her hand and put it aside. I sat on the bunk's edge and pulled her to me. Then I planted a long kiss on her lips, and she responded. I kissed her neck under the blonde hair, and there was a little gasp from her throat. "Relax," I said.

  By the time the next kiss was over, she had made up her mind to let me have her. I pulled her to her feet, and we began undressing without saying a word. Soon we were on the bunk, our bodies straining together. Lovely small sounds came from her throat. Her flesh was hot to my touch.

  I slid my hands over her breasts. Ursula's eyes were closed. I saw her white teeth flash. She moaned and hooked her right arm around my neck. I felt her tremble and heard her gasp and then she fell back, a smile playing at the corners of her mouth.

  The train wheels clacked away underneath us, and the car moved gently. It was a splendid moment, and neither of us was eager to break into it with words.

  Finally, Ursula reached up and touched my cheek. "That was wonderful, Nick."

  I smiled back at her. "It beats knitting in a day coach."

  When we had dressed, I pulled the shade open on the window. We were getting into the marshy country near Venice.

  "Now, about that compartment we were going to search…" said Ursula.

  "Let me check on your man and see if he is still there."

  I eased into the corridor and moved along it to the compartment occupied by the man with the radio.

  He opened the door just as I reached it and for a moment we gazed directly into each other's eyes. I kept walking and went past him to the end of the car. Then I turned and pretended to take a casual glance back. The man was still in the doorway and he was watching me.

  Our eyes met again. His gaze was hard, challenging. Then he stepped back into the compartment and slammed the door.

  The search I had suggested to Ursula was ruled out for the moment. Moreover, the man appeared suspicious of me. If he happened to be Hans Richter, that suspicion was understandable. To elude capture as long as Richter had, a man would have to be super-cautious, constantly watchful, distrustful of everyone. He probably slept with a gun near his hand.

  Of course he was Richter, I thought. Ursula had to make absolutely sure because that was her job. She would need proof of his true identity in order to arrest him. But for all practical purposes, I was assuming that he was the Butcher of Belgrade. That malformed knuckle and the man's wary behavior had convinced me.

  As I stood there at the end of the car, Eva Schmidt appeared, reminding me that I had a job of my own to do and that she appeared to be the key to it.

  The woman brushed past me and I caught the scent of her perfume, which was very feminine. I looked at her legs as she moved on down the corridor. Not bad, I thought.

  Pausing at the door of her compartment, she gave me the same appraising glance she had given me the first time I saw her. Then she unlocked the door and went in.

  I returned to Ursula and told her the man I believed to be Richter was still in his quarters. "Try to keep a watch on his door. I have to see to a little business of my own," I said, making a check of the Luger.

  "What sort of business, Nick?"

  "Some people call it persuasion."

  I knocked on Eva Schmidt's door and she opened it instantly. She looked surprised. "What do you want?" she asked in a German accent.

  "In," I told her. I pushed her out of the way, then quickly closed the door behind me.

  The woman eyed me warily, but she was definitely not on the edge of panic. "There are better ways to get acquainted," she said.

  "This is more like a business call, Eva."

  "If you are a policeman, I have nothing to hide. If you are a thief, I have very little worth stealing."

  "Only an electronic device any number of governments would like to have," I replied. "Let's not play around. I know you're a Topcon agent."

  "What in the world is a Topcon agent?"

  "I also know that you've been talking to a KGB agent. You're hoping to sell the device to the Soviets."

  "What's a KGB agent?" she said. She was beginning to sound like a phonograph record.

  I saw that I was going to have to convince her that I knew what I was talking about. I said, "I listened in on one of your conversations with the Russian. His name is Lubyanka. We have his picture in our files."

  Her eyes narrowed. "And who are you, the CIA?"

  "I'm in their line of work."

  "Suppose I am trying to sell something to the Russians. How did you propose to stop me?"

  "Well, there's one easy way. I can kill you."

  Eva Schmidt didn't flinch. "Not on a crowded train, you can't. You're bluffing."

  I moved my arm and the stiletto popped into my hand. "How very wrong you are. I've already killed one person on this train. I could easily make it two."

  Her face paled and her eyes flicked nervously to the knife's gleaming blade. "The monitor isn't in this compartment."

  "Where is it?"

  "I can't tell you that. If I did, my own people would kill me."

  My hand darted toward her. With one swift movement, I sliced a button off the front of her dress and it popped to the floor and rolled.

  "It could just as easily be your throat, Eva."

  She gasped softly. Her eyes followed the button. "I don't have the device. I'm only handling negotiations with the Russian."

  "The boss of Topcon is on the train, isn't he? You're a go-between, relaying the KGB's offers to him."

  "Just a precaution. You know how it is. There's no one you can trust anymore." Apparently Eva Schmidt had a deadpan sense of humor.

  I grinned at her and leaned against the compartment door. "If the KGB sets a price that's right, your boss comes out of the woodwork and turns over the monitor. Is that the plan?"

  "You won't stop him from carrying it out. No one has ever stopped him."

  "I specialize in firsts," I told her.

  Then
someone in the corridor turned the knob and gave the door a hard shove, throwing me off balance.

  Eva Schmidt reacted as though she had been anticipating this opportunity. She lashed out with her foot and her heel caught me on the shin. Driving a shoulder into my chest, she clamped both hands on my wrist and brought my arm down over her knee.

  The woman had taken lessons from an expert. She would have snapped my arm if I hadn't moved with her, denying her the leverage she needed to offset my superior strength. I locked my free arm around her neck and yanked her head back so hard she grunted as though she'd been hit.

  I brought the stiletto up and touched it to her throat, then spun around so that I was facing the door.

  No one was there.

  "Move again," I told Eva, "and this trip's over for you."

  She stopped struggling. I watched the compartment door, which now hung ajar, tremble slightly with the motion of the train.

  Dragging the woman with me, I checked the corridor. Eva's would-be caller had disappeared.

  "You were expecting company. Who was it?" I asked her.

  "The Russian. You scared him off."

  I kicked the door shut. "I have a hunch you're lying and I just missed meeting Topcon's head man."

  "If so, you're fortunate. He would have killed you."

  That was the second time she'd told me how infallible the mystery man was. Either he aroused a lot of admiration in his co-workers or Eva had a personal interest in him. I remembered something the Chinese agent had said when he was boasting. Eva was not the chief of Topcon but she certainly wasn't just another hireling, he'd said.

  "Tell me about your boy friend, Eva. Start with his name."

  "You're choking me. I can hardly talk."

  I relaxed my hold a little and she repaid me for the favor. She sank her teeth in my hand.

  There are a few things you can't steel yourself against. A deep bite from a keen set of teeth, and Eva appeared to have the keenest, is one of them.

  I cursed and turned her loose.

  The woman bounded away from me and leaped for the knitting case I'd seen her carrying in the day coach. She flipped the top back, reaching inside.