by Nick Carter
Nick chuckled. “You’re too modest. From what I understand it did more than offer a little help. It was a big breakthrough.”
John shrugged. “That’s what they say. Maybe they exaggerate a little.”
Nick had little doubt that he was talking with a brilliant man. John Loo was valuable not only to NASA, but to his country as well. Killmaster knew he had to keep the Reds from getting him. He drained his coffee and asked, “Do you have any idea how the Reds found out about the compound?”
John shook his head. “None.”
“How long have you been working on it?”
“Actually, I got the idea while I was in college. I kicked it around in my head for awhile, even made a few notes. But it wasn’t until about a year ago that I really started putting the ideas to work.”
“Did you tell anyone about it?”
“Oh, in college I might have mentioned it to a few friends. But once I was with NASA, I told nobody, not even Kathy.”
Nick crossed to the window again. The small transistor radio blasted a British marching song. Outside the window, the huge man still lurked in the patio. Killmaster lit a damp, gold-tipped cigarette. His skin felt chilled by the wet clothes he was wearing. “What it boils down to,” he said, more to himself than to John, “is to break this hold the Chinese Reds have on you.”
John remained respectfully silent.
Nick said, “I’ve got to get your wife and boy out of China.” Saying it was easy, but Nick knew the execution of it would be something else again. He turned to the professor. “Do you have any idea where in China they might be?”
John shrugged. “None.”
“Did any of them say anything that might give you a clue?”
The professor thought for a moment, rubbing his chin. Then he shook his head, smiling weakly. “Afraid I’m not much help, am I?”
“It’s all right.” Nick reached for his wet coat on the bed, shrugged his broad shoulders into it. “Do you have any idea when they’ll be taking you into China?” he asked.
John’s face seemed to brighten a little. “I can help you there, I think. I overheard the two sports downstairs talking about that I think they’ve made arrangements for midnight next Tuesday.”
Nick looked at his watch. It was three-ten A.M., Wednesday. He had less than a week to locate, get to, and remove the wife and boy from China. It didn’t look good. But first things first. He had three things that had to be done. One: he had to rig a cover statement with John over the microphone to keep the two downstairs from getting trigger-happy. Two: he had to get out of this house as unharmed as possible. And three: he had to get on the scrambler and tell Hawk about the phony wife and boy in Orlando. After that, he’d have to play it by ear.
Nick motioned John over to the lamp. “Can you make this radio squeak as if it had static?” he whispered.
John had a puzzled look. “Sure. But why . . Understanding came into his eyes. Without another word he fiddled with the radio. It squawked, then went off.
Nick said, “John, are you sure there’s no way I can persuade you to come back with me?”
“No, Chris. This is the way I want it.”
It sounded a bit corny to Nick, but he hoped the two downstairs bought it
“All right,” Nick said. “They won’t like it, but I’ll tell them. How do I get out of this place?”
John pushed a small button built into the nightstand.
The two men silently shook hands. Nick crossed to the window. The Neanderthal man was no longer in the patio. Foosteps sounded on the stairs.
“Before you go,” John whispered. “I’d like to know the real name of the man helping me.”
“Nick Carter. I’m an agent for AXE.”
A key clicked in the lock. The door was opened slowly by the smaller man. The monster was not with him.
“My friend is leaving,” John said.
The slick-dressed man smiled politely. “Of course professor.” He had brought into the room a smell of cheap cologne.
“Goodbye, John,” Nick said.
“Goodbye, Chris.”
When Nick was outside the room, the man shut and locked the door. He pulled out of his belt an Army .45 automatic. He pointed it at Nick’s belly.
“What is this?” Nick asked.
The slick man still had his polite smile. “Insurance that you leave quietly.”
Nick nodded and started down the stairs with the man behind him. If he tried anything, he might endanger the professor. There was still no sign of the other man.
At the front door, the slick man said, “I do not know who you really are. But we are not foolish enough to believe that you and the professor listened to British music while you were up there. Whatever you have in mind, do not try it. We know your face now. And you will be watched closely. You have already placed those persons concerned in great danger.” He opened the door. “Goodbye, Mr. Wilson, if that is your real name.”
Nick knew the man meant the wife and boy when he said “persons concerned.” Did they know he was an agent? He stepped outside into the night air. The rain had turned to mist again. The door was shut and locked behind him.
Nick breathed deeply of the crisp night air. He started walking. There’d be little chance of his getting a taxi in this district at this hour. His main enemy right now was time. In two or three hours it would be daylight. And he didn’t even know where to begin looking for the wife and boy. He had to get in touch with Hawk.
Killmaster was about to cross the street when the huge apeman stepped out of a doorway, blocking his path. The hair bristled on the back of Nick’s neck. So he would have to deal with this creature after all. Without a word, the monster stepped up to Nick and reached for his throat. Nick ducked and sidestepped the monster. The man’s size was awesome, but because of it, he moved slowly. Nick struck him on the ear with an open palm. It didn’t phase him. The ape-man grabbed Nick’s arm and tossed him like a rag doll against the building. Killmaster’s head hit the hard structure. He grew dizzy.
By the time he came out of it the monster had his throat in his huge, hairy hands. He lifted Nick off his feet. Nick felt the blood pounding in his head. He chopped at the man’s ears, but his movements seemed painfully slow. He kicked at the groin, knowing his blows were reaching their mark. But the man did not seem to even feel it. His hands squeezed tighter around Nick’s throat. Every blow Nick tried would have killed an ordinary man. But this Neanderthal didn’t even blink. He just stood with his legs apart, holding Nick off the street by his throat, all the strength in those huge hands. Nick began to see flashes of color. His strength was gone, he felt no power in his blows. The panic of impending death squeezed his heart. He was blacking out. He had to do something quick! Hugo would work too slowly. He could probably stab the man twenty times before killing him. By that time it would be too late for him.
Wilhelmina! He seemed to move in slow motion. His hand took forever getting to the Luger. Would he have the strength to pull the trigger? Wilhelmina was out of his belt. He stuck the barrel into the man’s throat and with all his dying strength pulled the trigger. The recoil almost knocked the Luger out of his hand. The man’s chin and nose were immediately blown from his head. The explosion echoed throughout the deserted streets. The man’s eyes blinked without control. His knees started weaving. Yet the strength in his hands remained. Nick pushed the barrel into the monster’s fleshy left eye and pulled the trigger again. The shot blew the man’s forehead away. His legs started to buckle. Nick’s toes touched the street. He felt the hands relaxing their grip on his throat. But life was leaving him. He could hold his breath four minutes but that had already passed. The man was not releasing him fast enough. Nick fired twice again, completely blowing off the ape-man’s head. The hands fell away from his throat. The monster staggered back, headless. His hands reached up to where his face should have been. He sank to his knees, then topped over like a freshly chopped tree.
Nick coughed, sinking to his own kne
es. He breathed deep, smelling the acrid stench of gunsmoke. Lights began popping on in windows all over the neighborhood. The area was coming alive. There would be police, and Nick had no time for police. He forced himself to move. Still gasping, he trotted to the end of the block, then started walking briskly out of the neighborhood. From far off, he heard the unusual ringing of a British police siren. Then he realized he still had Wilhelmina in his hand. He quickly shoved the Luger into his belt. In his career as Killmaster for AXE, he had come close to death many times. But he’d never been quite that close.
Once the Reds discovered the mess he’d just left, they would immediately connect it with Ossa’s death. If the smaller man who had been with Ossa was still alive, he would have contacted them by now. They’d put those two deaths together, along with his visit to Professor Loo, and know he was an agent. He could just about figure his cover was blown now. He had to get in touch with Hawk. The professor, as well as his family, was in great danger. Nick shook his head as he walked. This assignment was not going well at all.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Hawk’s unmistakable voice came at Nick over the scrambler. “Well, Carter. From what you’ve told me, it looks like your assignment has changed.”
“Yes, sir,” Nick said. He had just brought Hawk up to date. He was in his hotel room on the Victoria side of Hong Kong. Outside his window the blackness of night was beginning to fade a little.
Hawk said, “You know the situation there better than I do. I’ll handle the woman and boy on this end. You know what has to be done.”
“Yes,” Nick said. “I’ve got to find some way to find the professor’s wife and son, and get them out of China.”
“Take care of it any way you can. I’ll get to Hong Kong sometime Tuesday afternoon.”
“Yes, sir.” As always, Nick thought, Hawk was interested in results, not methods. Killmaster could use any method he needed, as long as it brought results.
“Good luck,” Hawk said, ending the conversation.
Killmaster had changed into a dry business suit. Since the pad of clothing around his waist hadn’t got wet, he left it there. It seemed a little ridiculous to be still wearing it, especially since he was almost certain he’d blown his cover. But he planned to change into the clothing as soon as he knew where in China he was going. And around his waist was a convenient way to carry it. He knew the clothes would be a bit tattered when he got ready to put them on because of the dagger cuts on his stomach. If he hadn’t had the padding, his belly would have been sliced open like a fresh-caught fish’s.
Nick doubted if Hawk would learn anything from the woman in Orlando. If she was as well-trained as he thought, she’d kill both herself and the boy before she told anything.
Killmaster rubbed his bruised throat. Already it was beginning to discolor. Where could he start looking for the professor’s wife and son? He might go back to the house and make the slick-dressed man talk. But he’d already put John Loo in enough danger. If not the house, then where? He needed a place to begin. Nick stood by the window looking down at the street. Few people were on the sidewalk now.
He suddenly felt hungry. He hadn’t eaten since checking into the hotel. A melody kept haunting him, as some songs do. It was one of the numbers that girl had sung. Nick stopped rubbing his throat. It was a straw, meaning probably nothing. But at least it was a place to start. He’d have something to eat, then go back to the Bar Wonderful.
Ossa had changed clothes there, which might mean he knew someone. Even so, there was no guarantee anyone would help him. But again, it was a place to start.
In the hotel dining room Nick had a glass of orange juice, followed by a heaping plate of scrambled eggs with crisp bacon, toast, and three cups of black coffee. He lingered over the last cup of coffee, giving the food time to settle, then leaned back in his chair and lit a cigarette from a fresh pack. It was then that he noticed the man watching him.
He was outside, just to the side of one of the hotel windows. Now and then his head peeked around to make sure Nick was still there. Killmaster recognized him as the wiry man who’d been with Ossa in the Bar Wonderful. They certainly wasted no time.
Nick paid his check and went outside. The blackness of night had turned to dark gray. Buildings were no longer huge dark forms. They had shape and could be seen with doors and windows. Most of the cars on the streets were taxis that still needed their headlights on. The wet curbs and streets were easier to pick out now. Heavy clouds still hung low, but the rain had stopped.
Killmaster started walking toward the ferry landing. Now that he knew he was once again being followed there was no need for him to go to the Bar Wonderful. At least not yet. The wiry man could tell him a great deal, if he could be made to talk. The thing to do first was to reverse positions. He had to lose the man momentarily so he could follow him. It was a gamble. Nick had a hunch the wiry man was not the amateur follower the other two had been.
Before he reached the ferry landing, Nick cut down a side street. He trotted to the end of it and waited. The wiry man rounded the corner at a run. Nick walked rapidly, hearing the man close the gap between them. At another street corner Nick did the same thing, rounded the corner, trotted quickly to the end of the block, then slowed to a brisk walk. The man stayed with him.
Soon Nick came to the district of Victoria he liked to call the sailor’s playground. It was a section of narrow streets with brightly lit bars on each side. Usually the area was noisy with jukebox music, and streetwalkers stood on each corner. But the night was ending now. The lights still shone brightly, but the jukeboxes were quiet. The streetwalkers either already had their marks or had given up. Nick was looking for a certain bar, not one he knew but one that would suit his purpose. These sections were the same in every large city of the world. The buildings were always two-story. The main floor contained the bar, the jukebox and the dance floor. The girls floated here, letting themselves be seen. When a sailor showed interest, he asked her to dance, bought her a few watered drinks, and haggled over price. Once the price was set and paid, the girl took the sailor upstairs. The second floor looked like a hotel hallway with rooms spaced evenly on each side. The girl usually had her own room, where she lived and worked. It didn’t contain much—a bed, of course, a closet, and a dresser for her few trinkets and belongings. Each building was laid out in basically the same manner. Nick knew them well.
If his plan was going to work, he had to widen the gap between him and his follower. The section covered maybe four square blocks, which didn’t give him much area to work with. It was time to start.
Nick rounded a corner and ran full speed. Halfway down the block he came to a short alley blocked by a wooden fence at the other end. Trash cans lined each side of the alley. Killmaster knew he no longer had the cover of darkness. He’d have to use his speed. He ran quickly to the fence, judged its height at about ten feet. From the side, he pulled one of the trash cans over, climbed on it and scrambled over the fence. Down on the other side, he took off for the end of the block, rounded the corner and found the building he was looking for. It sat on the point of a triangle-shaped block. From across the street it would be easy to see anyone coming out or going in. A lean-to shed was connected to the side, its roof just under one of the second-story windows. Nick made a mental note of where the room would be as he ran toward the bar.
The neon sign over the front door read Club Delight. It was bright but not blinking. The door was open. Nick went in. The place was dark. To his left the bar stretched half the length of the room, with stools cockeyed at different angles. A sailor occupied one of the stools, his head in his folded arms on the bar. To Nick’s right the jukebox sat silent, encased in bright blue light. The space between the bar and jukebox was used for dancing. Beyond that, the booths sat empty, except for the last one.
It contained a fat woman leaning over paperwork. Thin, rimless glasses rested at the end of her bulbous nose. She smoked a long cigarette stuck into a holder. As Nick came in, she
glanced at him without moving her head, just rolled her eyes to the top of their sockets and looked at him over the glasses. All this was seen in the time it took Nick to get from the front door to the stairs, which were located to his left just at the end of the bar. Nick did not hesitate. The woman opened her mouth to speak, but by the time the word came out Nick was already on the fourth step. He continued up, taking the steps two at a time. When he reached the top, he was in the hallway. It was narrow, with one light halfway down, deeply carpeted, and smelled of sleep, sex and cheap perfume. The rooms weren’t rooms exactly, but partitions blocked off on each side. The walls were about eight feet high, whereas the ceiling of the building stretched more than ten feet. Nick figured the window he wanted would be the third room down on his right. As he started for it, he noticed the doors separating the rooms from the hall were cheap plywood painted bright colors with tinseled stars taped to them. The stars had the names of girls, each different. He passed Margo’s and Lila’s door. He wanted Vicki’s. Killmaster planned to be as polite as he had time for, but he wouldn’t be able to dally about giving explanations. When he tried Vicki’s door and found it locked, he stood back and with one hard kick splintered the lock. The door swung open, banged noisely against the wall and rested at an angle with its top hinge broken.
Vicki was busy. She lay on the small bed, her plump, smooth legs wide-spread, matching the thrusts of the big, redheaded man on top of her. Her arms were circled tightly around his neck. The muscles contracted in the man’s naked buttocks and his back glistened with sweat. His big hands completely covered her ample breasts. Vickie’s skirt and panties lay in a crumpled ball by the bed. The sailor’s uniform was neatly draped over the dresser.
Nick was already to the window, trying to get it open before the sailor noticed him.
He raised his head. “Hey!” he shouted. “Who in the hell are you?”