Butcher of Belgrade

by Nick Carter

  I hit her with a flying tackle, waist-high. We slammed onto the bunk. Eva kicked and scratched my eyes. We rolled to the floor and her knee flashed up and caught her target. I felt a nauseating pain.

  "Damn," I said. That was it. My patience had run its course. I hit her with the flat of my hand and her head struck the floor. I backhanded her again and she cried out as blood trickled from the corner of her lip.

  I straddled her now, her bare thighs up against my back. Her dress had been torn in the struggle and I could see part of one breast. Somehow she looked sexier than she had before, but I was in no mood for friendly games.

  Eva put a hand to her mouth, then looked at the blood on it. "Donnerwetter!" she spat. But fear was strong in her eyes.

  "If the idea occurred to you that I won't kill you because you're a woman, put it out of your head."

  I held Hugo in front of her frightened eyes, then slid the blade up under her chin. "I won't threaten you again. I'll just do it."

  "His name is Horst Blücher. I will tell you no more even if it means my life. I won't betray him. But if you wish to bid against the Russian for the device, I will get the word to Horst."

  I thought about that for a moment. I had no authority to pay hard cash to get the device back, but Eva apparently meant it when she said she'd give up her life to protect her boss.

  I reached over to the knitting case and dug into it and pulled out a Beretta. I tucked the automatic into my pocket just for insurance.

  "You and this Horst must have a pretty cozy arrangement."

  "He is a genius. I have great admiration for him."

  "And a little more than that, I'll bet"

  Eva touched the lip I'd cut with my backhand blow. "Yes, we're lovers. That's one of the reasons I'd die for him."

  "My government might be willing to make an offer to get the monitor back. Get the message to your man."

  "I will see what he says."

  "When will I know?"

  "I suppose I can have an answer by tonight."

  I got off her and she sat up and leaned heavily against the side of the bunk. I felt there was little chance Horst would take the bait and come out into the open. But I was taking a long shot, hoping Eva would lead me to him.

  Outside in the corridor, I wondered if I had made a mistake. There was a possibility Eva would succeed in contacting Horst without my knowledge and he would simply set out to polish me off. Then I'd have both Topcon's big gun and the Chinese killer after my scalp. That was not a prospect I found appealing.

  Six

  Ursula was gone.

  I had left her watching the door of the man we suspected of being Hans Richter, the Nazi war criminal called the Butcher. She was not at the end of the car where I had seen her last, and she was neither in her own compartment nor in mine.

  A girl as single-minded as Ursula wouldn't have left her post without good reason, I thought. She must have seen the man leave his compartment and decided to follow him.

  Stopping before the man's door, I knocked. I drew no response. I glanced along the corridor. A traveler had entered the car and was moving toward me with a smile on his face. Where had I seen him before? Then I remembered. Earlier in the journey, he had been seated in the same day car as Eva Schmidt and the man we believed to be Richter.

  He greeted me cheerfully. "How is the trip going?" When I told him it was going fine, he nodded and clapped me on the shoulder in a comradely gesture, then moved on.

  I lingered, waiting for him to get out of sight. I was going into the compartment while no one was there and conduct the search Ursula had wanted. The sooner she got her business settled, the sooner I would stop feeling responsible for her.

  The cheerful stranger had stopped. He turned around. "May I ask you a question?"

  "Yes."

  He moved the hand that was in the pocket of his jacket. "Would you believe me if I said I was holding a revolver?"

  "I don't know why you'd lie to me about a thing like that." I was impressed by his acting ability. He looked every inch a jovial tourist. He even wore a camera on a strap around his neck.

  "I am going to take you to someone who wishes to talk to you. That is all we want, a little talk," he said.

  "Then the gun isn't necessary."

  "Perhaps not, but I prefer to be careful. I'll walk a short distance behind you. Close enough to shoot, but not close enough for you to jump me. If you behave yourself, we will get along splendidly."

  "I try to get along with everyone," I said. "Where are we going?"

  "Just turn and start walking. I'll tell you when to stop."

  I behaved myself and followed orders. I was interested in learning who had sent him after me.

  "All right. Stop," he said after we had moved into the adjoining car.

  I paused without looking back. We were alongside a row of private compartments. I heard the jovial man turn a key in a lock.

  "Now you may turn around and step inside," he said.

  I followed orders until I got inside the compartment. Then I saw Ursula and I went a little crazy.

  The girl was lying on top of the bunk. She was completely nude. Her clothing had been stripped from her and scattered about the compartment. She was breathing, but she was motionless.

  Disregarding the gun, I wheeled on my captor. I leaped for him. My hands closed on his throat. I slammed him against the compartment wall, choking him. "What did you do to her?"

  Then the door behind me opened. I heard it, but I didn't turn in time. A leaded sap struck me behind the ear and floored me.

  I tried to get up and couldn't. I felt my hands being drawn behind me. Then someone was trussing my wrists with silken cord, yanking the bonds tight with smooth efficiency.

  A hand slapped my shoulder. The man who had straddled me to do the tying job said, "Do not worry about the girl. She was only knocked out."

  I recognized the voice as that of the jovial tourist.

  My hazed vision began to clear. I saw the feet of another man who was standing near the door. He wore expensive black leather shoes. Apparently he was the one who had sapped me. "Find out who he is," he said to Mr. Cheerful.

  Then he stepped out of the door before I had a chance to get a look at his face.

  When the door closed behind the man with the black shoes, Mr. Cheerful turned me over. He was still beaming like the chairman of a welcoming committee. "As I said before, you won't be killed if you behave yourself."

  "What about the girl?"

  "I understand your concern. She is a pretty thing. But we had to find out who she is. So I knocked her out and took off her clothes and went through them."

  "How much did you find out?"

  "Her organization issues identification cards to its agents. Naturally she was carrying one."

  That was the trouble with being connected with Ursula's kind of undercover policy agency. They adhered to all the bureaucratic habits that could be dangerous to an operative out in the field.

  "Do you, too, have an identification card?" asked the cheerful man.

  "No," I said.

  I hoped that if I kept him talking long enough, I could get him within range of a skillfully placed kick. Then I could start a whole new ballgame, with me pitching.

  "The two of you have been prowling the train together, trying doors, peeking into other people's compartments. If you don't work as partners, how do you explain that?"

  "Hell," I said, "Can't you figure out anything for yourself?"

  "No, I'm lazy." He extracted another piece of cord from his pocket. "I'm going to make it hard for you to move around." He deftly looped my ankles with the cord, taking pains to see that I didn't catch him off guard. I had no chance for a well-placed kick.

  In the corridor, the man had shown the same caution, undoubtedly born of experience. Whoever he was, he knew the rules of the game.

  Mr. Cheerful's accent was German, like Eva Schmidt's. Like Ursula's, for that matter. It was not much of a clue to his allegi
ance. In the spy business, sides get switched quite often, professionals of all nationalities were available for hire to any client, and what appeared obvious frequently turned out to be a false lead.

  The assistant to Sheng Tze, for example, had been about as Chinese as Frank Sinatra.

  As far as I knew, Mr. Cheerful could be working for anyone from Topcon to East German intelligence. He could also be a pal of Hans Richter, the man Ursula had been assigned to apprehend.

  I could only be certain that he wasn't working for AXE, for reasons that were perfectly clear, or for Peking. If he were employed by the Chinese Communists, Sheng Tze would be present and I would probably be dead already.

  He dropped my feet, then gave them a little jerk to test the strength of his work. Satisfied, he straightened up. "Now that we're comfortable, we can talk. Tell me all about yourself."

  "From the beginning? Well, I was born in the United States of America…"

  "You joke too much," he warned me.

  He walked over to the bed and gazed down at the nude Ursula, who was bound hand and foot with the same kind of cord that held me. He glanced up to make sure I was watching his every move, then deliberately flicked one of the unconscious girl's nipples with his fingernail.

  "I am not going to try to beat answers out of you. It would be too difficult. If you don't tell me who you are, I'll work on the girl."

  I couldn't see what I had to gain by withholding the information. "I take my orders from an organization called AXE. My name is Nick Carter."

  "Your name and that of your organization are familiar to me. But I do not understand why you and the girl are working together."

  "Maybe you won't believe this, but we just happen to be old friends who were taking the same train."

  "The girl hunts down former Nazis. Are you hunting a former Nazi, too?"

  "Not exactly. But if I run into one, I sure won't kiss him on both cheeks."

  "I would imagine not, Mr. Carter. In any event, I have to be going." He glanced at his watch, then walked quickly to the door. "Enjoy the rest of your trip."

  I watched the door close and heard the lock click. Then the compartment was silent. I glanced around. There was no luggage or clothing to indicate that the quarters were occupied by a passenger. Maybe Mr. Cheerful had a master key and had picked an empty sleeper in which to hold us prisoner.

  I was surprised that he had asked his questions and then left us unharmed. But I wasn't about to complain. My problem was to get us out of here.

  "Ursula," I said. "Wake up, Ursula."

  The girl didn't move. I wriggled over to the bunk, my progress slow and awkward. Then I got up on my knees and spoke to Ursula again. Her eyelashes fluttered slightly.

  She was a pretty picture, fresh and inviting. I leaned over and touched her nipple with my tongue. It was one way of waking her up.

  Ursula smiled instinctively. Then she stirred on the bunk. Her eyes flew open. "Nick!"

  "Surprise," I said.

  I tongued the nipple again. I hated to stop.

  "This is no time for that," she chided me. "How did you get here?"

  "A stocky man brought me. A cheerful fellow with a camera hanging around his neck. What's your side of the story?"

  "I was watching the compartment in Voiture 5 while you went about your business, whatever it was. The man came out. Carrying that blasted radio of his as usual. He was in such a hurry that I was sure he was going to meet someone. I decided to follow and see what it was that he felt was so urgent. He must have spotted me. He led me through the day coach where that cheerful fellow, the one with the camera, was sitting. They must have exchanged signals in some way. The two of them trapped me out on the platform. I was forced to come here. Then I was slugged behind the ear."

  "I see a lovely little goose egg there, but you're in fine shape just the same."

  Ursula blushed a little. "You have me at a definite disadvantage."

  "I wish I could figure out a way to capitalize on it."

  "Try to keep your mind on business. What do we do next?"

  "I'll think of something," I assured her.

  Already my mind was reviewing the events of the afternoon. Something didn't fall into place and I was annoyed that I couldn't pin it down.

  I tried to arrange the conclusions I'd reached in a logical order. The man with the radio was Richter, Ursula's fugitive Nazi. He had a malformed knuckle like Richter and his behavior was that of a man accustomed to being on the run. After he got wise to Ursula, it was only natural that he would try to find out who I was. He had seen me with the German girl.

  Richter had slugged me as I struggled with his confederate, Mr. Cheerful. He was the man who'd told Mr. Cheerful to determine my identity. But why would a man as careful as Richter leave the questioning to a companion? For that matter, why was Richter traveling with a companion who appeared to be a skilled agent? Maybe Herr Richter was in the spy business these days.

  "Move over, Ursula, and make room for me. I'm going to get on the bed with you," I said.

  "Nick!" she scolded. "Not now."

  "You misunderstand, baby. I'm going to get on the bed so I can try to untie your hands."

  We sat back to back and I worked at the tight knots in the cords that bound her. The task was so difficult I cursed Mr. Cheerful a half-dozen times.

  "Nick, why did they take off my clothes?"

  "Not just for the view, lovely though it is. Mr. Cheerful wanted to search your clothing."

  "Did anything, well, happen while I was knocked out?"

  "Nothing you'd have minded missing," I grinned.

  As I worked at the knots in the cord, my hands occasionally brushed against Ursula's naked back and buttocks. "There are some fringe benefits to this job," I told her.

  "Did they find anything when they searched me, Nick?"

  "Your ID card. Richter knows who you are."

  At that moment, I saw Mr. Cheerful's camera. He had left it behind in the compartment.

  "What's the matter?" asked Ursula.

  "He left his camera."

  "You mean he may be coming back for it?"

  "Not on your life," I said. "A man that careful doesn't forget something like a camera."

  Not unless he intended to forget it.

  I wormed off the bed and dropped to the floor. I rolled to the camera because that was the fastest way to get there.

  "Ursula, get off the bed and put your back to the window and raise it." I said.

  She had her wits about her. From my tone of voice, she knew she shouldn't waste time. I heard her bare feet hit the floor.

  I lay on my stomach and examined the camera at close range. If I was right, I was risking getting a blast right in the face, but that couldn't be helped.

  "I can't see any timing device and I can't hear a ticking, but I think there's an explosive device inside."

  "The man left it behind on purpose?" said Ursula. She was at the window now.

  "Having found out who you are, why should Hans Richter leave you alive? This compartment is supposed to become our tomb, baby."

  I heard Ursula breathing hard. She was getting hold of the window, yanking it up.

  "Mr. Cheerful looked at his watch before he left us. I've got to assume he activated the timing device by pushing down the lever on the camera. I may set it off if I pick up the camera, but I've got to take the chance."

  I turned my back to the camera and grabbed hold of it with both hands. I was sweating. I didn't tell Ursula, but I figured that if the explosive did go off when I moved the camera, at least my body would shield part of the blast and perhaps save her life.

  "Move away from the window," I told her.

  She spoke my name in a soft voice and then she moved, and I stood up.

  No explosion.

  I hopped toward the train window. I didn't want to take the risks involved in rolling across the floor. I turned my back to the window and leaned against it and gave the camera a flip with my tied hands.


  The train churned onward and I looked at Ursula and we smiled at each other, our relief showing.

  Then we heard the explosion back along the tracks. It sounded like a hand grenade going off on the other side of a hill.

  "I'm glad you saw that camera when you did," Ursula said.

  "Yeah, a few minutes more and we'd have been finished."

  "I'm sorry, Nick. Because of me, your life is in danger. Richter will be out to get both of us now."

  Ursula saw only the tip of the iceberg. Hans Richter and his lieutenant, Mr. Cheerful, were but a minority among the killers riding this train.

  Seven

  I managed to free Ursula's hands by the time the Orient Express stopped at Venice. She got rid of the cords around her ankles and donned a couple of key pieces of clothing before she unbound me.

  "Don't be shy," I teased her. "By now I know everything about you."

  "No, Nick. You only know what I look like. A man never knows everything about a woman."

  We left the compartment and mingled with the crowd leaving the train. Ursula dashed for sandwiches while I took up a post that permitted me to watch for the faces that meant something to the two of us.

  I didn't see Hans Richter and his companion and I didn't spot Sheng Tze, the Chinese Communist agent. I did catch a glimpse of Eva Schmidt. Like Ursula, she was picking up sandwiches.

  "Eva," I called as she passed me, headed back for the train with a bag of food in her hand.

  She paused. "You gave me until tonight, remember?"

  "Just checking in, that's all."

  "I will make contact with Horst and relay your message about being interested in the monitor. But I won't make that contact until I'm sure the moment is right. In other words, I have no intention of giving his identity away to you or to anyone else who might be watching me."

  Then she drifted off with the crowd and I turned my attention to Ursula, who had come up behind me with our sandwiches.

  "I thought you were trying to pick up another playmate," she said, "until I heard a bit of your conversation. Who is Horst?"

  "Just a man I want to meet. You keep your, mind on Richter, baby."