by Nick Carter
Soon the Orient Express was pulling out of the station, going in the direction that it had come. In order to head east again, the train had to return to the mainland across a causeway. Dark was falling as the Express churned along the two miles of causeway and we saw behind us a dazzling display of yellow lights along the shoreline: the lights of Venice rising out of the blackness of the sea.
After a quick meal, Ursula said she wanted to take another crack at Hans Richter. "Let's try his compartment. If he's there, I'll arrest him. If he isn't, we'll make a search of his belongings and find out what he's up to."
Richter wasn't there and I wasn't surprised.
"By now he knows that we weren't killed. There should have been an explosion that never took place."
"Nick, do you think I've lost him?"
"He didn't get off the train at Milan," I pointed out.
I picked the lock and we entered the Butcher's compartment.
I switched on the overhead light. There were two pieces of luggage, both on the floor instead of on the racks. I took one, and Ursula reached for the other. After we picked the locks on the cases, we opened them carefully.
There was nothing of significance in the bag that I searched, but there was a handkerchief that surely did not belong to the man who had the radio. It had a slight scent of perfume, and the scent seemed vaguely familiar to me. I closed the bag and helped Ursula look through the other one. A moment later, she held up a piece of paper.
"Look at this," she said. "He plans to get off at Belgrade." It was his train ticket.
I grunted. "That doesn't give you much time."
I poked into a corner of the case, underneath some shirts, and found a couple of packs of European cigarettes. They appeared to be a custom blend. "Expensive taste," I noted, holding one of the packs up for Ursula to see.
She took the cigarettes from me and looked at the package. "Hans Richter smoked a special brand of Belgian cigarette. This is that brand."
"You'll have to try to grab him at Belgrade, when he gets off the train."
"The Yugoslav authorities have promised to help bring Richter to justice. I will have them meet us at the station with a couple of plainclothes policemen."
"Wouldn't you rather make the arrest alone?" I asked.
"He must be captured alive," she said. "If I get that Nazi pig alone I'm afraid I'll blow his brains out."
We put everything back just the way it was and left the compartment. Ursula went to her compartment to draft a wire while I took a walk through the rumbling train.
We had made our stop at Trieste just after Venice. By nine-thirty we were due at Poggioreale del Corsa on the Yugoslav border. I decided that if Eva Schmidt had not contacted me by then, I would start looking for her.
I returned to my compartment in the hope that Eva would get in touch with me there. I had given her its number when she promised to tell Horst Blücher I wanted in on the bidding for the satellite monitor.
Company was waiting for me, but it wasn't Eva Schmidt or her boy friend. Ivan Lubyanka, the KGB man, reclined on my bunk, his left hand pillowing his head. In his right hand he held a Webley .455 Mark IV revolver with silencer.
"Come in," he said.
I closed the door behind me, thinking that I should have been more careful.
Lubyanka sat up on the bunk. "So you are Nick Carter. You don't look so tough."
"Who told you I was tough? I'm a pussycat."
"If I had realized you were traveling on the train with me, Carter, I'd have dropped in to see you sooner."
I grunted. "If you had been doing your homework, you'd have recognized me when you saw me in the dining car. I recognized you."
He studied me petulantly. "You know, of course, that I must kill you."
I hunched my shoulders. "Why bother?" I asked. "You'll probably outbid me anyway."
"I did not come here to bid," he said flatly with a thick accent. "I came here as the only purchaser, and I want it to remain that way."
"What about the Chinese?"
"I will deal with one competitor at a time," he answered smoothly.
"If you do, you'll have bodies all over this train. You ought to think about that." I didn't bother trying for Hugo because I knew Lubyanka would not give me time.
"I have thought about it," he said. He rose from the bunk. He stood a couple inches shorter than me, and I could see that he did not like that very much. "You and I are moving down to the end of this train, Carter. We are walking very carefully. I will hold this gun in my pocket on the way, but it will be aimed at your spine. As you know, a spinal shot is very painful. So I hope you will not do anything foolish."
"And what happens at the end of our nice walk together?"
"Don't worry, it will be very quick."
"How generous of you."
"Please. You will go with me now." He waved the big gun at me, and I realized that if that thing went off, it would make a hole in my middle big enough for a man to jam his fist into.
I turned and opened the door, hoping there was somebody in the corridor. There was not. I entered the corridor, and Lubyanka followed right behind me. The gun was still held out in front of him but as I watched, he stuck it into a jacket pocket. I could see the muzzle protruding under the cloth, aimed at my waist.
He closed the compartment door and nodded for me to start walking. I turned and moved slowly down the corridor ahead of him. The train rumbled and rocked under us, but not enough to disturb Lubyanka's balance. He kept about three paces between us, so that I could not get to him easily.
We arrived at the end of Voiture 7 and moved out on the platforms between it and 5, where Eva Schmidt's compartment was located. We had to pass through two sets of doors. As I passed through the second set, Lubyanka right behind me, I made my move.
I slammed the door back against Lubyanka with a violent motion. The door struck him and knocked him off balance, and he fell to the floor of the platform. But he didn't lose the revolver. He fired as he fell. The first slug smashed glass in the door, passed through it, and narrowly missed my shoulder, burying itself in the wood paneling behind me. A second shot rang out, but it didn't even come close.
As Lubyanka scuttled for position on the platform, I yanked Wilhelmina free. My shot hit the metal floor of the platform just beside the crouching Russian, ricocheting around him without hitting him.
Lubyanka fired again, chipping the door frame that I was using for cover. Then, while I was ducking back behind my door, he scurried back through the door of the other car. I saw him at the last minute and managed to squeeze off two more shots from the Luger. One slug tore into Lubyanka's shoulder, and I could see him drop to the floor in the other car.
There was a long, empty moment as the wheels clattered loudly beneath us. Then I saw a raised hand holding a revolver. Lubyanka fired a quick shot at me, but it went wild. Next I saw his head darting along the bottom of the window. I fired at it but missed. Then he was gone, running down the corridor that led to the other end of the car. He had probably decided to go off and lick his wounds.
I moved cautiously out on my side of the platform and quickly crossed over the gap to a position beside the other door. No more shots came. I peeked inside, but Lubyanka was nowhere in sight. Perhaps he was setting a trap for me in there.
I opened the door a crack to get a better look. Nothing. It looked as if Lubyanka had really left. I slowly entered the car, holding the Luger out in front of me. He wasn't there. Then I rounded the corner and saw him about two-thirds of the way down the corridor. He turned, his face dark with anger and frustration, and fired two unsteady shots from his reloaded revolver. I crouched quickly and the slugs whined over my head.
I swore under my breath. Just as Lubyanka was turning to run down the rest of the corridor, I took another shot at him. But the train's movement spoiled my aim, and I narrowly missed him. Then the Russian disappeared around the corner, on his way out of the car.
Apparently no one had heard the exchange of muffle
d shots. No one came out of the compartments. As I reached the end of the car and the spot where the KGB man had disappeared from my view, I saw that the train was pulling into Poggioreale del Corsa.
Lubyanka would not get off at this quick stop, I told myself. He would not want the authorities to discover that he was wounded. He was in no position to explain what had happened. Besides, he still wanted the monitor he was trying to buy from the Topcon agents aboard the train.
A pair of uniformed men came down the corridor toward me. One was a train conductor, the other a customs man. We were near the border and were being checked.
I produced the false identification which AXE's special division had provided. The customs man nodded and he and the conductor moved on.
The train picked up speed, moving at a steady clip into Yugosalvia. The next stop would be around midnight at Pivka.
My next item of business, I thought, was to pay a visit to Eva Schmidt. The woman had to be the one who had told Lubyanka I was trying to get my hands on the satellite monitor.
I tried Eva's compartment, but she wasn't there. Once again I picked the lock and entered with the Luger in my hand. No one was there. It figured that since her compartment was the only one I could identify by number my adversaries would hold conferences elsewhere.
I left the compartment and walked back toward the day coaches, looking all the while for Lubyanka and Schmidt — and looking for Sheng, too, since I had reason to think that he was still aboard and after my hide.
My search was fruitless. There was no sign of any of them. I began to worry that maybe they had all somehow gotten off at the border.
Then the train was pulling into the Pivka station. Pivka is just a country town that happens to be situated where several Yugoslav railway lines meet. The station is a primitive one — a long gray building that shows few lights at night. It was cold there in the mountains. There was a drizzling rain as the train stopped at the station.
I watched from one of the car platforms to see if anybody would get off. Four people appeared on the platform. Three of them were passengers who had decided to get a snack at the sandwich and coffee shop in the near end of the station building. The fourth, whom I finally recognized by his familiar gait, was Ivan Lubyanka.
Without glancing once over his shoulder, Lubyanka hurried through the station building to a dark street beyond. I hesitated for a moment. This could be a ruse to distract my attention while Schmidt and Blücher left from another car. But I had to take that chance. I stepped to the ground and started after Lubyanka. He just might have the stolen monitor.
Lubyanka had already disappeared into the gray building. I hurried after him, hoping the train wouldn't pull out before I could get back. The dimly lighted, shabby waiting room was almost empty. Lubyanka wasn't there — he must have already left the building.
I ran through the doorway to the street and looked up and down the dark sidewalk outside. The light rain wet my face — it was a cold, miserable night. There were no automobiles or pedestrians anywhere in sight — just gray stone fences, gray buildings, and the rain. Lubyanka had completely disappeared.
I had to decide whether to go after Lubyanka and forget the train and Schmidt and Blücher or to get back aboard on the chance that they were still there with the stolen device.
It was a pressure decision because I was running out of time — that train was due to leave in ten or fifteen minutes. If I made the wrong decision, I'd be back where I started in my search for. the monitor, and I might even lose it for good.
In a moment I had chosen. I turned on my heel and hurried back through the dimly lighted station to the platform. The lights on the Orient Express were strung out along the track before me. The train looked like an oasis of civilization in this black wilderness. I gazed toward the restaurant and saw a few people inside, huddled over cups of hot coffee or tea at rough wood tables. A Yugoslav child who should have been in bed at that hour was moving to a table with a cup of steaming tea. He wore a white apron and highly polished patent leather shoes. After I had surveyed the faces of the customers and was sure that none of them was familiar to me, I headed for the men's room. As I relieved myself, I wondered where Lubyanka had gone and whether he intended to consummate the deal for the monitor.
As I turned to leave, I noticed a man standing in the doorway — my old friend Sheng Tze. He was grinning slightly, and he was holding a revolver in his right hand. It was a Smith & Wesson .44 Magnum with a big silencer.
"We meet for the last time, Mr. Carter," Sheng said. "Our Russian friend has conveniently left the train, and when I dispose of you, I will have no other competitors."
I watched the gun and his gun hand. "There is still Blücher himself to deal with." I noticed that the only light in the room came from a dim bulb that hung from the ceiling, only a short distance from where I stood. But I saw no way to darken the place without getting two or three slugs in me. And the room offered absolutely no cover of any kind.
"The woman will be my way to the device," Sheng said coolly. "But that will be my problem, not yours." He raised the gun slightly; and it was aimed at my heart. Just as he was about to squeeze the trigger, a man walked through the door behind him. He was a Yugoslav, a station official.
"What is this?" he asked, looking at Sheng's long pistol.
He was standing within three feet of Sheng. Sheng twisted around toward him, threw his left elbow out and smashed it into his face. There was a dull crunching sound and a muffled cry, and the fellow slumped to the floor, unconscious.
But I did not wait for the official to hit the floor. Before Sheng could turn back to finish me off, I grabbed at the string on the small light bulb in front of me and yanked hard as I spun off to my left.
The room was plunged into almost total darkness, the only dim light coming from the station platform through the open door. Sheng fired in my direction but missed by a foot. The gun popped dully in the room, and the slug chewed into the cement wall behind me. As I turned around to face Sheng again, he was taking aim. I hurled the stiletto through the darkened room, and it struck Sheng in the forearm above the hand holding the revolver. The hand opened spasmodically, and the gun flew across the room.
Sheng uttered a loud cry as he stared at the knife imbedded in his forearm, which had severed tendon, arteries, and muscle. He turned, the knife still in his arm, to look for his gun. Then he took a step toward it, but I blocked him. He swore in Chinese.
"No more guns, Sheng," I said in a low growl. "Let's see what you can do without them."
Sheng hesitated a moment, then pulled the stiletto from his forearm with a grunt of pain. Blood gushed to the floor. He grabbed the handle of the knife expertly with his left hand, and started toward me.
I could have tried to reach for the gun on the floor, but I knew I'd never get to it before Sheng. As for Wilhelmina, my Luger would have sounded like a cannon in that station.
Sheng was now circling me. I had to retreat from his gun on the floor. He couldn't get to it, either, but he was perfectly content with his new advantage. He expected to cut me to shreds with the stiletto.
Sheng stepped in quickly, feinting with the knife. He was good with it. I avoided a quick hard thrust, but a second assault cut through my jacket sleeve and scratched my arm. The grin was returning to his broad face. He was confident. He made another swipe with the blade and gashed my chest.
Our eyes were adjusting to the dimness now, and I could see the blood dripping steadily from Sheng's right forearm as he methodically stalked me in a tight circle. He saw the blood on my shirt, too, and his face showed he liked what he saw. He figured it would just be a matter of seconds till he could finish me off.
Then Sheng made his big move. He came in for the kill with a thrust at my belly. I stepped and twisted to one side and chopped down at his wrist with my right hand. I hit him solidly, and the arm was jarred under the impact. Hugo clattered to the floor.
Before Sheng could recover, I turned closer to him a
nd chopped down on his head and neck with the heel of my hand. He grunted and slipped to his hands and knees. I stepped over him to deliver another blow, but he was ready for me. He kicked out with his right foot and knocked me down with a blow on my upper leg.
We both scrambled to our feet at the same time, but I had the edge on him because I was not hurt as badly. I threw a fist at him, but he saw it coming in the nick of time. Despite his bad arm, he grabbed me and threw me over his shoulder in a wide arc. I saw ceiling and floor as I reached for him on the way down. I landed on one knee, still holding on to him. With the momentum he had created, I swung him over my back, turning him upside down in the air and landing him hard on his back on the concrete floor. He hit with a loud thud, and I could hear the air punched from his lungs.
I regained my footing as Sheng, out of breath, struggled weakly to his knees. Then I kicked out savagely at his head, and he fell to his side. He tried to make it to his knees again, but I was waiting for him. Just as he struggled weakly to his feet, I took careful aim, chopped down hard with the back of my hand at the bridge of his nose, and connected with a loud crack. Sheng grunted and hit the floor flat on his back. Then he twitched twice and was dead.
I glanced out of the door and saw that the conductors were preparing to start the Orient Express again. After I retrieved Hugo and Wilhelmina, I buttoned my jacket to cover the blood on my shirt, and rushed into the rainy night to the train.
Eight
Soon after the train departed from Pivka, I found Ursula on the rear platform, alone, checking out the ammunition in her Webley Lilliput. She was relieved to see me.
"I saw you get off, and I thought you might have run into trouble at the station," she said.
I had changed my jacket and shirt so there was no evidence of my run-in with Sheng. "There have been a few developments for me," I admitted. "Getting ready for Belgrade?"
She smiled a tense smile. "Yes. I am a little anxious about it, I guess."
"Well, it's almost one o'clock. I suggest you go get some sleep. We don't arrive at Belgrade until nine a.m."