by Nick Carter
"No scientist is ordinary," the man said without rancor.
"You said Agent Z is injected. Is that the only way it can be used? You can't just slip a few drops into someone's drink?"
"Perhaps sometime in the future that would be possible," Danzig said. "But not now. One day you will put a man under a sunlamp that will scramble his brain cells, and he'll get off the table a different man, an android, ready to do your bidding. But for now, we have Agent Z, a drug that has to be injected into the veins to be effective."
"How close are they to perfecting Agent Z?"
"Very close. Walther Kerner, Bormann's man, is an unusually brilliant scientist We didn't even bother trying to get him over to our side, knowing how devoted he was to Hitler. His loyalty has switched to Bormann." Danzig reached for his neglected drink and finished it. "That's an unusual pen you have there, Mr. Carter."
"Nothing can surprise me at this stage of the game," Nick sighed. "You probably know more about the pen than I do."
"Score is one of my little inventions. I hope you know how to use it."
"It was explained to me." Nick lit a cigarette. "One click injects the drug; two clicks the antidote. It has to be done fast. Always go for the throat."
Danzig got to his feet. "I wish I could tell you exactly where the laboratory is. I can't. But it must be near Peking. It's up to you to find it, destroy it. But you know all that I wish you well, Mr. Carter. Till we meet again."
Nick stood up and they shook hands.
Chapter 3
Nick didn't bother crossing the harbor to Hong Kong. There were many good restaurants on Nathan Road in Kowloon. Kowloon, which was called The City of Nine Dragons, had as many interesting tourist attractions as Hong Kong Island. There was the Yaumati Typhoon Shelter where the boat people lived and the Lauchikok Amusement Park. But Nick didn't have the time. He had his lunch and then went out to hail a cab.
He lit a Canadian cigarette and settled back.
The cab went past the many department stores on Nathan Road. He looked out the window to watch the pretty girls sauntering by in their cheongsams, showing part of their thighs. He liked to look at pretty girls. He hoped he would never reach the stage where a pretty face or figure didn't interest him.
The cab reached its destination.
The plane left Kai Tak Airport and headed for the mainland. Nick saw the naval and merchant ships in the harbor; the family sampans in the bays and coves. The water was a soft blue.
He liked Hong Kong. He hoped he would be back soon for a much longer stay. He thought about Selina for a while and then pushed her out of his mind. There were other things to think about.
He was racing against time. There was an awful urgency about the whole thing. The interview with Hans Danzig convinced him of that.
Agent Z. A mind-altering drug. A subtle weapon. It didn't explode and make noise and bring death and destruction like a stick of dynamite or an atom bomb. But it was more dangerous than anything yet thought of. The idea of taking over a man's mind, making him into a robot, was almost unthinkable. Almost inhuman. Hell, it was inhuman. A devil like Martin Bormann wouldn't think twice about using such a weapon.
Bormann would do anything to bring about the resurgence of Nazi Germany.
Martin Bormann. Or Judas. God knew how many names Bormann had taken for himself since he had disappeared from Germany after Hitler's flaming death. Nick had felt respect and admiration for some of his enemies. But never for Bormann. He only felt a red-hot hatred for the man without hands. No hands. Just claws. Stainless-steel claws. And a face that was no face. Just a thousand scars.
Nick hadn't gotten to the point where he enjoyed killing. He knew others who had. But there would be no qualms about ending Bormann's life. The man had lived too long. Nick wouldn't be killing a man anyway, but a thing, a monster, a menace. He wanted to kill Bormann. He had to. He only hoped he wouldn't enjoy it — really enjoy it. God, he hoped he would never come to feel a sense of joy in taking a man's life. Even that of a monster like Bormann. He would feel nothing, absolutely nothing, when ending Bormann's black life. That was the way he wanted it. To kill the devil cleanly, swiftly, without remorse.
He had never looked forward to killing anyone. It was different now. It was an almost insane desire to rid the world of Bormann.
When he killed it was because he had to. No other way out. He never thought twice about it. It was to save either himself or his mission. He knew that to hesitate, even for a second, could abort a mission. And he would be dead.
Killmaster tried to push everything out of his mind but he couldn't. He was on edge, and that was no good.
He felt naked without Wilhelmina and Hugo. He was used to having them around. All he had was the drug in the pen he carried in his breast pocket, the drug called Store. But he had to get close to the enemy to use it, too damn close.
The plane was over the mainland.
He saw the sloping hills and valleys. There were the rice paddies and the water oxen. There was farm machinery, tractors and such, but not enough to go around.
Production in many of the provinces was at a standstill because of the clashes between the people of Red China. Fighting among themselves, Nick thought. Like little children. They'll never grow up.
He knew that one hundred and sixty persons were killed recently in an armed battle between two Communist groups in Amoy. The feuding groups were the Promotional Alliance and the Revolutionary Alliance. The Promotional Alliance was primarily a worker's group backed by Communist artillery units, while the Revolutionary Alliance was made up mostly of peasants and had the support of Communist infantrymen. Chuanchow, a neighboring city, had rushed fifty truckloads of troops to maintain order.
Nick also knew that anti-Maoist organizations had been very active in the provinces of Kiangsi and Kweichow.
Though the time for revolution was ripe in Red China, Nick felt that Mao Tse-tung would keep the upper hand. He had control of the Red army, and that was the most important thing.
Nick lowered his seat to a reclining position and took a nap. The plane flew on, above the creamy clouds.
* * *
Nick bought a copy of the People's Daily News, tucked it under his arm, and took the bus to Freedom Square. He registered in the Cathay Hotel just off the square. He chose the Cathay because it was one of the more modern hotels that wasn't frequented by the western correspondents. He wasn't looking forward to bumping into employees of the Toronto Wire Service. If any suspicious Chinese officials decided to check him out with Toronto, he would get a clean bill of health; it had already been arranged with the Toronto people at the wire service. But the genuine wire-service boys from Toronto hadn't been notified, for obvious reasons. Might as well advertise as tell anyone of the wire-service boys. Nick wanted to stay clear of them.
The furniture in his room was plain but comfortable. He put away his clothes and slid the suitcase under the bed. He hung up his jacket, kicked his shoes off, and stretched out on the bed to read the Peking newspaper. It seemed that anti-Communist and anti-Mao forces in the southern province of Kwangtung had been using antirevolutionary economism and infiltration into revolutionary committees to alienate relations between the revolutionary masses and members of the committees.
It amazed Nick that the big shots let information like this get to the people. It would seem only natural that they would keep it quiet Did Mao Tse-tung want these different groups to fight among themselves? That's what it seemed like to Nick. It was an old political trick. The different factions were kept weak by fighting among themselves, and Mao Tse-tung stayed on top.
He put away the newspaper and sighed. Well, Hawk had been right. He and the other passengers had been searched after landing at the airport. A grinning Chinese with buck teeth had explained that much gold and silver was being smuggled into China, so it was essential that all visitors be searched. He apologized profusely for the inconvenience.
It was a good thing he had left his weapons behind. H
e would have been hard put to explain away a stiletto and a Luger.
When it was getting dark he changed to a dark-blue suit and stuffed his pockets with yuan notes that had been given him in exchange for Canadian money. Five fen coins jangled in his pants pocket as he went down to the street. He spied a small restaurant across the street He dined on lamb and rice and drank two cups of hot green tea.
It was dark when he left the restaurant. The moon was a mottled lead color. It hung low over the city.
He lit a Canadian cigarette from his pack, caught a bus, and sat behind a middle-aged couple who discussed the bus strike in Canton.
Nick got off and found himself in a practically deserted part of the city. He walked through winding streets till he came to a small curio shop. He hesitated, looked around, and saw a figure standing in a nearby doorway. It was a girl. She looked at him, then looked away.
Probably a prostitute, he figured. But that didn't make sense. It was a deserted street; business would be bad. He didn't think any more of it and approached the door of the shop. There was a button in the jamb. He knew his contact lived in back of the shop. Nick was about to thumb the button when a sharp crack sounded — a gunshot. And it came from within the store.
He tried the knob and the door opened. As he walked in, another shot was fired.
Chapter 4
Nick hurried through the store toward the back, where he could see a yellowish light seeping through the gaping door. He flung the door open, and a man craned his neck to look at Nick. The man was squatting near the body of a middle-aged Chinese. The man, also a Chinese, was dressed in western-style clothes and held a gun in his right hand. He started to rise, at the same time shifting his gun hand to cover Nick.
Nick dived at the rising figure, and they both toppled over, rolling against an old-fashioned rolltop desk. Nick brought his knee up sharply against the man's groin. There was a cry of pain and outrage. Nick gripped the man's right wrist and twisted it sharply. The gun dropped from paralyzed fingers.
Nick grabbed the gun, rolled the man over, pressed the gun against the man's back, and squeezed off a shot. The bullet shattered the aorta, and Nick got to his feet.
He started for the middle-aged Chinese and stopped, his back as rigid as plaster. A girl had materialized in the doorway — the girl who had been partly hidden in the shadowy doorway outside.
She ignored the gun Nick trained on her and ran to the middle-aged Chinese. She knelt by the man's side and started to weep. If it was an act, it was a good one.
Nick walked to the doorway and peered into the shop. There was no one else in the store. He leaned against the wall, watching the girl.
She finally stood up and faced him. She was young and good-looking. She was wearing a peasant-type pajamalike costume. Nick decided she would have looked good in a cheongsam, the dress that was so tight there had to be slits at both sides to enable the wearer to walk. But the cheongsam was forbidden in Red China because it was an example of bourgeois bad taste.
Nick nodded at the dead man who had been his contact. "You know him?" he asked the girl.
"He… he was my father." Her chin trembled and he was afraid she was going to cry again. "I am a coward. I am so ashamed."
"Why do you brand yourself a coward?"
She twisted her head to stare at the man Nick had killed. "I was outside when I saw Lum Fen enter my father's store. I recognized him. He is a well-known assassin. I couldn't do anything. I was paralyzed with fear. Then you walked by and there were the shots and I knew my father was dead. I almost ran away, but…" She shrugged her slim shoulders.
"You had to find out for sure, is that it?"
She nodded her head slowly.
Nick moved away from the wall, went to where the man he had killed was sprawled and searched his pockets. There were identification cards and a box of cartridges. He slipped the box into his jacket pocket and stood up. There was no sense in searching the man he had come to see, and no sense in going over the small office and living quarters. The man wouldn't have written anything down.
"You're an American, aren't you?" the girl asked.
"Does it matter?" He approached the girl. "Does it really matter? I mean, deep down inside?"
She saw his twisted grin. "You don't believe what I told you?"
"How do I know you re not allied with the man I just killed?"
"Then kill me now," she said defiantly.
"I may just do that. This is a dangerous business."
"I know my father was working for the Americans."
Nick stared at her. "Did he tell you all his secrets?"
She shook her head, no. "My father and I were not… very close. He learned that I — sold my body and he threw me out. Often I came to see him and try to make him understand. I did not like it, our not speaking to each other."
"Do you live far from here?"
"No, not far»
"Let's go to your place and talk."
"Yes. But first-" She went to her father's body, knelt, and took something from his pocket She straightened up and Nick demanded to see what she had. She showed it to him. It was a piece of jade.
Many Chinese carried jade in their pockets for luck. It was a Chinese superstition.
"It was my father's for many years," she said. "He would often put his hand in his pocket just to rub it. See how smooth it is."
"Yes. Now let's get the hell out of here."
They walked through the shop, out the front door. Either no one had heard the shots or people here, like everywhere else, just didn't want to mix in.
Nick put his hand on her shoulder when she wanted to walk faster. "Take your sweet time," he said. "You don't want to attract attention, do you?"
She told him she was called Lotus and she lived alone. Her father had been her only living relative and now he, too, was gone.
Nick only half listened to her. He felt the weight of the gun in his jacket pocket. He felt good, having a weapon. He hoped he wouldn't have to use it on the girl. She was too pretty to kill. He wasn't a hundred percent sure about her. She seemed genuine enough, but —
They reached the house where she lived. A young couple was embracing near the front door. "There is a back way," Lotus informed Nick. They half circled the building and walked through the back door and up one flight of stairs.
It was a nicely furnished apartment with deep inexpensive rugs and water colors on the walls. She quickly rummaged through a chest of drawers and brought out some snapshots and showed them to him. "Here are pictures of my father and me. You will see that I did not lie to you."
"Okay. I'm convinced" He handed the snapshots back.
"Would you like some tea?"
"I'd love some," he said.
While Lotus prepared the tea, Nick examined the pistol he had taken from the assassin who had killed Lotus's father. It was an Astra Firecat.25 caliber with a blue finish and plastic grips. It had four safeties and could be fired only when the grip safety was depressed. It was a Spanish pistol.
"You like guns?" Lotus asked, placing two cups of tea on the low table in front of him.
"It's possible to become very attached to a gun," he said, putting' the weapon aside. "Especially after it's helped you out of some tough spots. And a gun is not like a woman. It talks only when you want it to talk. When you want it to be silent it is silent."
Lotus lifted her cup of tea and sipped. "It cannot keep you warm on a cold night," she reasoned.
"No. But it can make you feel comfortable just knowing it's nearby when you want it You can trust it; you can't trust a woman."
"You never met a woman you trusted?"
He sipped some tea. "I can't say no to that But women are too damn emotional, and even when you feel you've met one you could trust you still have to be on your guard."
"You can trust me."
"Can I?"
"Yes," she said, almost vehemently. "I want to avenge my father. You must give me that chance."
Nick studied
her for the first time. She was slender and virginal-looking, with a slim long throat and black black hair that came down to her shoulders and curled inwards at the ends. Her smooth skin was ivory-tinted. Her lips were full and blood-red and her eyes were dark and almond-shaped. Around her neck was a strand of Mikimoto pearls.
Oriental girls look innocent, virginal, and calm, but underneath that veneer is a passionate nature that would put western women to shame.
Nick couldn't help it; he started to think of Lotus in a sexual way, and his senses tingled with desire.
As if she could read his thoughts, Lotus lowered her eyes like a blushing bride and then raised them again. "You want me?" Her voice was low and husky. Her teeth were tiny pearls.
"Yes. Very much."
She was in his lap and her arms snaked around his neck and her mouth was pressed hard against his. His hands found her small, firm breasts under her clothing.
The bed was firm, sturdy, and it didn't creak.
Later, much later, they talked. Lotus was adamant about helping Nick. Fear had paralyzed her, fear had kept her from helping her father. Now she was angry at herself for her disgraceful behavior. She had to redeem herself. Nick had to give her that chance.
Nick tried to explain. "I'd have to take you into my confidence. I can't afford to do that. Too much is at stake. If you're caught you'll be tortured."
"You're afraid I'll talk?"
"Yes," he answered bluntly.
"Are you here because of the Germans?"
Nick sat up, reached for a cigarette and lit it. "You claim your father didn't tell you any of his secrets and yet you know of the Germans. Are you trying to confuse an old man?"
"You are not old." She touched his arm with slender fingers. "Some of the Germans are my customers," she said without embarrassment They are quartered in the Imperial Palace."
That decided it Nick hated to use her, but it was necessary. And she did want to avenge her father. "Do you know exactly where the Germans stay in the Imperial Palace?"