The Defector

by Nick Carter

  He felt Sheila standing next to him, tracing her fingers lightly along his arm. She had other plans for him. He glanced over at Ling. Ling had other plans for him, too. Things did not look good.

  Sheila wrapped herself around his arm, working her breasts against it. “I’m bored,” she said softly. “Entertain me.”

  The snout of Ling’s .45 followed Nick’s back as he walked with Sheila into the cabin. Once inside, Nick said, “Do you get some kind of kick out of torturing that guy?”

  “Who? Ling?” She began unbuttoning his shirt. “He knows his place.” She ran her hands along the hair on his chest.

  Nick said, “It wouldn’t take much for him to start firing that cannon of his.”

  She looked up at him, smiled, ran a wet tongue over her lips. “Then you’d better do as I say.”

  Nick figured he could take Ling if he had to. The two crewmen wouldn’t be much of a problem. But he still didn’t know where they were heading. It would be easier if he went along with this woman until they reached their destination.

  “What do you want me to do?” he asked.

  Sheila stood away from him until she had removed her shift. She untied the bun behind her head and let the hair fall around her shoulders. It reached almost to her waist. Then she unfastened his pants and let them fall to his ankles.

  “Ling!” she called.

  Ling immediately appeared in the entrance way to the cabin.

  In Chinese, Sheila said, “Watch him. Perhaps you may learn something. But if he does not do exactly as I say, shoot him.”

  Nick thought he saw the trace of a smile working on the corners of Ling’s mouth.

  Sheila crossed to the bunk and sat on the edge, her legs apart. “On your knees, American,” she ordered.

  The hair on the back of Nick’s neck bristled. Gritting his teeth, he sank to his knees.

  “Now come to me, baby,” Sheila said.

  If he swung to the left he could knock the gun out of Ling’s hand. But what then? He doubted if either of them would tell him where they were going, even if he tried to force it out of them. He had to go along with this woman.

  “Ling!” Sheila said, threatening.

  Ling took one step forward, the gun pointing at Nick’s head.

  Nick started to crawl to the woman. He reached her and as he was doing what she ordered, he heard Ling chuckling softly.

  Sheila’s breath came in short gasps. In Chinese, she said, “You see, Ling darling? You see what he is doing? He is getting me ready for you.” Then she lay back on the bunk. “Quickly, Ling,” she panted. “Tie him to the mast.”

  With the gun, Ling waved Nick to the table. He gratefully obeyed. He sat on the table itself with his feet on the bench. He put his arms behind him around the mast. Ling put the .45 down and tied Nick’s hands together quickly and tightly.

  “Hurry, darling,” Sheila cried. “I’m close.”

  Ling placed the gun under the bunk and hurriedly undressed. Then he joined Sheila on the bunk.

  Nick watched them with a bitter taste in his mouth. Ling went at it with the grim determination of a lumberjack chopping down a tree. If he enjoyed it he gave no sign. Sheila hugged him close to her breasts, whispering in his ear. The cabin darkened with the setting sun. Nick could smell moisture in the air. It was chilly. He wished he had his pants on.

  When they were finished, they slept. Nick stayed awake until he heard one of the crewmen snoring on the afterdeck. The other was at the tiller working with the rudder. Nick could barely make him out through the cabin entrance. Even he nodded with sleep.

  Nick dozed for maybe an hour. Then he heard Sheila waking Ling for another go. Ling groaned in protest but complied with the woman’s wishes. It took him longer than the first time, and when he was finished, he literally passed out. The cabin was enclosed in darkness now. Nick could only hear them. The junk bobbed its way upriver.

  The dawn was hazy when Nick awoke again. He felt something fuzzy brushing his cheek. There was no feeling in his hands. The rope wound tightly around his wrists cut off the circulation, but there was feeling in other parts of his body. And he felt Sheila’s hand on him. Her long raven hair slid back and forth across his face.

  “I was afraid I might have to wake up one of the crew,” she whispered when he had opened his eyes.

  Nick remained silent. She looked like a little girl with her long hair cascading around her fragile-looking face. Her naked body was firm and well put together. But the hard green eyes would always give her away. She was a hard woman.

  She stepped up on the table-bench and moved her breasts gently across his face. “You need a shave,” she said. “I wish I could untie you, but I don’t think Ling has the strength to hold the gun on you.”

  With her hand on him and her breasts lightly touching his cheeks. Nick could not control the fire building inside him.

  “That’s better,” she said, smiling. “This might be a little awkward with your hands tied like that, but we’ll manage, won’t we, darling?”

  And despite himself, and his dislike for her, he did enjoy it. The woman was insatiable, but she knew men. She knew what they liked and she provided it.

  When she was finished with him, she stood back and let her eyes sweep completely over him. Her tiny belly worked in and out with her heavy breathing. She brushed the hair out of her eyes and said, “I think I’m going to cry when we have to kill you.” Then she picked up the .45 and woke Ling. He rolled out of the bunk and stumbled behind her out of the cabin to the afterdeck.

  They spent the entire morning out there, leaving Nick tied to the mast. From what Nick could see through the cabin entrance, they had entered the delta south of Kwangchow. The area was dotted with rice paddies and canals fingered off from the river. Sheila and Ling had a chart. They alternated between studying it and the starboard bank. They passed many junks and even more sampans. The sun was hazy and did little to warm the chill in the air.

  The funk crossed the delta and started up one of the canals. Sheila seemed satisfied with the course and rolled the chart into a tube.

  Nick was untied and allowed to button his shirt and put on his pants. He was given a bowl of rice and two bananas. All the time Ling kept the .45 on him. When he was finished, he went out to the afterdeck. Ling stayed two feet behind him. Nick spent the afternoon on the starboard side, smoking his cigarettes and watching the passing scenery. Every now and then he caught sight of a Chinese Regular soldier. He knew they were getting close. Sheila spent the afternoon sleeping in the cabin. Evidently she’d had all the sex she needed for one day.

  The junk passed two villages filled with flimsy-looking bamboo huts. The inhabitants paid no attention as they passed. It was dusk when Nick began to notice more and more soldiers along the bank. They watched the junk with interest, as though they had been expecting it.

  As it grew dark, Nick noticed lights up ahead. Sheila had joined them on deck. When they drew closer, Nick noticed the lights lined a dock. Soldiers seemed to be everywhere. It was another village, different from the others they had seen because this one had electric lights. From what Nick could see as they approached the dock, the bamboo huts were lighted by lanterns. Two electric bulbs were on each end of the dock, and a line of lights lighted the way between the huts.

  Eager hands grabbed the thrown line as the junk came alongside the dock. The sail was dropped, the anchor cast. Sheila kept her little automatic on Nick while she ordered Ling to tie his hands behind him. A plank was set in place connecting the junk with the dock. Soldiers milled in the huts, a few stood around the dock watching. All of them were well armed. As Nick stepped off the junk, two soldiers fell in behind him. Sheila was talking to one of the other soldiers. With Ling ahead, the soldiers behind Nick pushed him slightly to get him moving. He started walking, following Ling.

  As he moved under the row of lights, he noticed there were five huts, three on his left, two on his right. The string of lights running down the center seemed to be con
nected to a generator of some kind at the end of the huts. He could hear it running. The three huts on his left were filled with soldiers. The two on his right were dark and seemed empty. Three soldiers stood guard on the door of the second one. Could that be where Kathy Loo and the boy were? Nick kept it in mind. Of course, it could also be a decoy. They had been expecting him. He was marched past all the huts. It wasn’t until they actually got to the structure that Nick noticed it. It was beyond the huts and set apart, a low, boxy, concrete building. It would be hard to see in the darkness. Ling led him down seven cement steps to what looked like a steel door. Nick heard the generator almost directly behind him. Ling pulled a ring of keys from his pocket and unlocked the door. It creaked open, and the group entered the building. Nick could smell a musty, damp odor like decaying flesh. He was led down a narrow, unlit hallway. There were steel doors on both sides. Ling stopped in front of one of the doors. With another key from the ring, he unlocked the door. Nick’s hands were untied, and he was shoved into the cell. The door clanged shut behind him and he was in total darkness.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Nick moved around his cubicle, touching the walls.

  There was no crack, no break, just solid concrete. And the floor was the same as the walls. The hinges on the steel door were outside and cast into the concrete. There would be no escaping the cell. The silence was so complete he could hear his own breathing. He squatted in a corner and lit one of his cigarettes. Since his lighter was out of fuel, he had taken a book of matches from the junk. There were only two matches left.

  He smoked, watching the ember of his cigarette glow with each drag. Sunday evening, he thought, and he only had until Tuesday at midnight. He still hadn’t located Kathy Loo and the boy Mike.

  Then he heard Sheila Kwan’s soft voice, sounding as though it came from the walls.

  “Nick Carter,” she said. “You are not working alone. How many others are working with you? When will they be here?”

  Silence. Nick mashed out the remains of his cigarette. Suddenly the cell brightened with light. Nick blinked, his eyes watering. There was a naked light bulb in the center of the ceiling protected by a small wire cage. Just as Nick’s eyes grew used to the brightness, the light went out. He judged it had been on maybe twenty seconds. Now he was in darkness again. He rubbed his eyes. A sound came from the walls again. It sounded like a train faraway whistle. Steadily it grew louder, as though the train came toward the cell. Louder and louder the sound came, growing in pitch until it was a screech. Just as Nick thought it would pass by, the sound was shut off. He figured that at about thirty seconds. Then Sheila spoke to him again.

  “Professor Loo wants to join us,” she said. “There is nothing you can do to prevent it.” There was a click. Then, “Nick Carter. You are not working alone. How many others are working with you? When will they be here?”

  It was a recording. Nick waited for the light to come on. But instead, he got the train whistle again. It was even louder this time. And the screech began to hurt his ears. As he put his hands over them, the sound stopped. He was sweating. He knew what they were trying to do. It was an old Chinese torture trick. They had used variations of it against the GIs in Korea. It was the mental break-down process. Make the brain like mush, then mold it as you wish. He could tell them he was alone until rice harvest time but they wouldn’t believe him. The irony of it was there was little defense against this type of torture. An ability to stand pain was useless. They by-passed the body and shot directly to the brain.

  The light came on again. Nick’s eyes watered against the brightness. This time the light was on only ten seconds. It went out. Nick’s shirt was soaked with sweat. He had to come up with some kind of defense. Already he was anticipating, expecting, waiting. Would it be the light?

  The whistle? Or Sheila’s voice? There was no way to judge, not what was coming or how long it would last. But he knew he had to do something.

  The whistle didn’t come from far away any more. It was high-pitched and loud immediately. Nick got to work. His brain wasn’t mush quite yet. He tore a large strip from his shirt. The light came on and he shut his eyes tight. When it went off again, he took the torn portion of his shirt and tore it again into five smaller strips. Two of the strips he tore again in half then wadded them into tight little balls. He worked the four balls into his ears, two in each.

  When the whistle came on he could barely hear it. With the three remaining strips, he folded two of them into loose pads and placed them over his eyes. The third strip he tied around his head to keep the pads in place. He was blind and deaf. He leaned back into his concrete corner, smiling. By feel, he lit another one of his cigarettes. He knew they could strip him of all his clothes, but right now he was buying time.

  They increased the volume of the whistle, but the sound was deadened so much it didn’t bother him. If Sheila’s voice came on, he didn’t hear it. He had just about finished his cigarette when they came for him.

  He didn’t hear the door creak open, but he smelled the fresh air. And he felt the presence of others in the cell with him. The blindfold was ripped from his head. He blinked, rubbing his eyes. The light was on. There were two soldiers, one standing over him, the other by the door. Both rifles were aimed at Nick. The soldier standing over Nick, pointed to his own ear, then at Nick’s. Killmaster knew what he wanted. He removed his ear plugs. With the rifle, the soldier motioned him to his feet. Nick stood, and, with prodding from the rifle barrel, walked out of the cell.

  He heard the generator as soon as he stepped outside the building. The two soldiers were behind him, their rifles pushed into his back. They walked under the naked light bulbs between the huts and straight to the end hut, closest to the concrete building. As they entered, Nick noticed it was partitioned into three sections. The first was a sort of foyer. To his right a doorway led to another room. Although Nick couldn’t see it, he heard the squawk and screech of a short-wave radio. Directly ahead of him, a closed door led to still another room. He had no way of knowing what was there. Two smoky lanterns hung from bamboo rafters above him. The radio room glowed from more lanterns. Nick realized then that most of the juice from the generator was used to run the radio, the lights running between the huts, and all the equipment in the concrete building. The huts themselves were lit by lanterns. While the two soldiers waited with him in the foyer, he leaned against the hut wall. It creaked against his weight. He ran his fingers over the rough surface. Splinters of bamboo came away where he rubbed. Nick smiled slightly. The huts were tinder boxes waiting for a match.

  The two soldiers stood on each side of Nick. Next to the door leading into the third room, two more soldiers sat on a bench, their rifles between their legs, their heads nodding, trying to fight sleep. At the end of the bench, four boxes were stacked on top of each other. Nick remembered them from the hold of the junk. The Chinese symbols stenciled across them stated that they were grenades. The top box was opened. Half of the grenades were missing.

  A voice came over the radio. It spoke Chinese in a dialect Nick didn’t understand. The radio operator answered in the same dialect. One word was spoken that he did understand. It was the name Loo. The voice over the radio must be coming from the house Professor Loo was being held in, Nick thought. His mind absorbed, digested, discarded. And like a computer spitting out a card, a plan came to him. It was rough, but, like all his plans, flexible.

  Then the door to the third room opened and Ling appeared holding his trusty .45. He nodded a greeting to the two soldiers, then motioned for Nick to enter the room. Sheila was waiting for him. As Ling followed Nick in, shutting the door behind him, Sheila ran to Nick, wrapping her arms around his neck. She kissed him passionately on the mouth.

  “Oh, darling,” she whispered huskily. “I just had to have you one last time.” She still had on the same silk shift she’d worn on the junk.

  The room was smaller than the other two. There was a window in this one. It contained a cot, a table, and a baske
t-weave chair. There were three lanterns, two hanging from the rafters, and one on the table. On the floor next to the chair lay Hugo and Wilhelmina. Two Tommy guns were with them. The table was next to the cot, the chair against the wall just to the right of the door. Nick was ready any time they were.

  “I kill,” Ling said. He sat in the chair, the ugly snout of the .45 zeroed on Nick.

  “Yes, pet,” Sheila cooed. “In a little while.” She was unbuttoning Nick’s shirt. “Are you surprised we found out your real identity?” she asked.

  “Not really,” Nick answered. “You got it from John, didn’t you?”

  She smiled. “It took a little persuasion, but we have ways.”

  “Did you kill him?”

  “Of course not. We need him.”

  “I kill,” Ling repeated.

  Sheila pulled the shift over her head. She took Nick’s hand and placed it on her bare breast. “We have to hurry,” she said. “Ling is anxious.” She removed Nick’s pants. Then she backed to the cot, pulling him after her.

  The familiar fire was already burning inside Nick. It began when his hand touched the warm flesh of her breast. He released the bun on the back of her head, letting the long black hair fall around her shoulders. Then he gently pushed her down on the cot.

  “Oh, baby,” she cried when his face was close to hers. “I will truly hate to see you die.”

  Nick’s body pressed down on hers. Her legs were wrapped around his. He could feel her passion building as he worked with her. There was little enjoyment in it for him. It saddened him slightly to use this act she loved so dearly against her. His right arm was wrapped around her neck. He reached under his armpit and pulled at the tape holding Pierre. He knew that once the deadly gas was released, he would have to hold his breath until he could get out of the room. That gave him slightly more than four minutes. He had Pierre in his hand. Sheila’s eyes had been closed. But the jerking movement he made releasing the deadly gas opened her eyes. She frowned, then saw the tiny ball. With his left hand, Nick rolled the gas bomb under the cot toward Ling.