Spy Killer (Stories from the Golden Age)

by L. Ron Hubbard

  “A man will admit anything under torture,” said Varinka.

  “Perhaps, but there is something else. Tonight you let a man escape us under a pretext. The taicho there did not stop him because your authority was higher than the taicho’s. This man, Takeki, is doubtless your partner. You are working for the Shina-lin, and anyone working for the Chinese is the enemy of Japan, therefore a traitor.”

  “But that proves nothing.” said Varinka.

  The officers looked at one another, smiling as men do when they have an ace as yet undisplayed. They looked back at Varinka. She was standing straight and steady. Her blue tunic with its high collar set off the brilliance of her yellow hair. But they saw nothing of her beauty. Not now.

  “Tonight many men were killed,” said the taisho. “And this has just been brought from the scene.”

  The man took the automatic she had given Kurt from his pocket and showed it to her.

  “The number of this gun,” said the taisho, “corresponds with the one issued to you. This is your gun. Some way you gave it to the foreigner. The final proof, Takeki, is that the men killed were members of Lin Wang’s Death Squad. Their papers disclosed that to us. What more proof could you want?”

  Heads moved from side to side. With an air of finality cigarettes were dropped to the floor and ground under boots.

  “The sentence, Takeki, is death. A firing squad is being sent from the barracks. Taicho Shimazu, take this woman to the Wall. Bring back her head, so that there will be no tricks. That is all.”

  Varinka’s expression did not change. She met their eyes unafraid.

  From the street came the clank and measured tread of marching men. The sound stopped and the Japanese clambered into the truck. Two men stepped up to Varinka’s side and took hold of her arms, Taicho Shimazu barked a command and went out through the entrance, followed by his prisoner.

  “Sayonara, Takeki,” said the taisho. “Goodbye. I shall treasure your head.”

  Varinka did not look back. The guards thrust her into the car and sat down on either side. Taicho Shimazu took his place on one of the intermediate seats.

  “Drive!” barked Shimazu to the silhouette of the driver.

  The car started off. Varinka held her head erect, disdainful of the hands which held her fast.

  An early dawn was coming up. The world was cold and thin as though seen through heavy gauze. The pearl shafts of the east did not reach far into the streets of Kalgan.

  As the brightness grew, Chinese and Mongols on the streets turned to stare at the touring car followed by the truck full of soldiers. The sight was not new. This was obviously an execution party. Some luckless soul was about to add his death to the long list which paid for conquest.

  Varinka looked straight ahead, chilly in her silk tunic, which fluttered a little in the brisk wind.

  “Driver,” said Shimazu, leaning forward, “this is not the way to the Wall. You are driving too fast.”

  Kurt smiled a triumphant smile. He had knocked out the driver and had hidden his body beside the wall of headquarters. In the darkness, with only his purloined military cap in evidence to those in the rear, he had easily escaped detection.

  He stamped on the brakes and swung swiftly about, the blue-nosed .45 pointed generally at the three.

  “Tobi-dasu!” cried Kurt. “Jump out! All of you!”

  Varinka uttered a small cry of relief and surprise. The two bayoneted rifles swung forward. The soldiers would defend themselves and their prisoner at any cost. Kurt saw the flash of steel.

  The captain snatched at his own automatic, fearless of death. Kurt caught the three separate movements and knew that he could not shoot fast enough. One of the three would get him.

  But Varinka was not merely a spectator. In a swift movement she reached out with both hands and snatched the rifle barrels, holding them up for the instant which was needed.

  The taicho’s gun flashed up. Kurt fired point-blank. Kurt reared up as the captain toppled to one side and caught the body by the shoulder. With a quick thrust he sent the taicho over the door and out.

  The smoking muzzle of the .45 covered the other two Japanese. They let go their guns as though they were white hot. Varinka threw the weapons onto the floor of the car.

  “Tobi-dasu!” cried Kurt again.

  The two soldiers jumped away from Varinka and swung out precipitately.

  The truck was coming up and the soldiers there had already seen the dead body of the captain on the ground. A rifle bullet ripped through the back window and bored a sparkling hole in the windshield.

  Kurt threw the car in gear and stamped on the accelerator. The touring car lurched and gathered speed. Varinka crouched low. A slug ripped the tonneau over her head.

  “Head south!” cried Varinka.

  Kurt whipped the machine around a corner and raced out along a rough road. A gate was before them. Two guards, seeing the pursuit of the truck, stepped out with leveled rifles directly in front of the car.

  Kurt jerked the wheel to the right and left. The Japanese jumped aside. The machine careened out through the twin towers and roared down a twisting road into China proper.

  Varinka climbed over the back of the front seat and settled herself beside Kurt. She smiled at him.

  He expected some kind of praise and was all ready to turn it aside. But she said, “I do not think that Anne Carsten could do that thing. I mean to catch the guns before they shoot.”

  Kurt stabbed her with a black-eyed glance, “Why bring her up?”

  Varinka smiled and folded her hands upon her lap. She was sitting quite at ease, although the car plunged down a winding grade at sixty miles an hour.

  “I thought,” said Varinka, “that you loved her.”

  “Hell, no,” said Kurt.

  She looked disappointed. “But she is my friend.”

  Nothing about how he had gotten there, nothing, about what they would do or where they would go. Kurt snorted. Varinka sat there baiting him about love.

  Wind whined through the hole in the windshield. The motor bellowed. Carts and droves of camels spilled off the road to make way for the juggernaut. The world was fully awake now, up and about its business. The morning sun yellowed the plain which stretched away from the hills deep into China.

  The truck was far behind them, lost in dust, much too slow to keep pace with Kurt’s masterful driving and the touring car’s Western engine.

  They rode for half an hour and then Varinka raised up to look behind them.

  “They have gone now. Lucky, eh? You can turn at the next road and head east.”

  “East? That’ll take us back into Japanese territory.”

  “You must head east,” said Varinka. “I have business.”

  “Say, listen, haven’t you had enough?”

  “Oh, no. I must never leave unfinished business. Head east.”

  Grudgingly, Kurt turned down the road which was far worse than the one he left. He was beginning to think that Varinka was crazy.

  He thought he knew it when the road started a little bit northeast. He was certain they would run into Japanese troops and the word would be telegraphed ahead of them. There would be no escape now.

  But he didn’t want to argue with the girl. He respected her too much.

  They came to another crossroads and to a ruined stone tower whose stones strewed its base. Withered creepers clung forlornly to the cracked structure.

  “Stop here and put the car behind this place,” said Varinka.

  “Stop here? What the devil do you want? What are you going to do?”

  “Oh, I think very soon some Japanese will come along this other road in a car, heading east. How good are you with a rifle, my Kurt?”

  “Good enough.”

  “Then take one of these and go behind that wall and when the Japanese come, we shall see. After that we go further east, to a certain deserted fort.”

  Kurt knew it would be useless to argue with her. He parked the car, took one of th
e bayoneted rifles and got out. Dust was already rolling up along the other road.

  “They come,” said Varinka with a cat smile.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Lin Wang

  KURT thrust the rifle through a loophole and slid off the safety catch. Varinka was standing beside him with the other weapon.

  “I aim for the tires,” said Varinka. “You aim for the driver. And don’t let them get by!”

  Kurt, although he did not understand the move, was quite ready to fix up any number of Japanese. The car was traveling straight toward them. The road bent around the old tower like an ox yoke.

  Varinka fired and flipped out the smoking cartridge. Kurt aimed at the base of the windshield. His first and Varinka’s second sounded as one explosion.

  The machine yawed wildly. A pair of mustard-colored arms were flung out to one side. Dust and motion blurred the scene. The car seemed to trip over itself. It slid sideways toward a ditch, struck the embankment and went over, rolling, strewing men down the slope.

  Kurt ran out, arriving at the top of the bank before any of the spilled occupants could move. The men were five in number, all of them Japanese.

  But wait! A man-mountain was moving sluggishly to his feet. He turned and looked up and then bellowed a curse. Captain Yang Ch’ieu sent wild fingers into his tunic for his automatic.

  Dropping to one knee, Kurt leveled the rifle and sighted with the battle sight. He fired at Yang’s chest. Yang roared and, waving his gun, began to run up the slope.

  Kurt fired a second time and worked the bolt. Yang still came on, his flat face twisted with hate.

  A third time Kurt sent a slug into the charging body, but he might as well have fired at the stones. Yang would not be stopped. With a sudden sense of panic, Kurt sent bullets four and five into the towering hulk.

  Yang was a yard away from him. Yang was setting himself to fire and Kurt’s magazine was empty.

  Swinging the rifle about his head like a club, Kurt leaped up. The automatic flamed in his face, searing him with burning grains of powder.

  Kurt dodged. He was off balance and falling. Yang, with a loud cry, depressed the muzzle of the automatic for the coup de grâce. Kurt cried out and rolled away, but there was no escaping that muzzle.

  Suddenly Yang folded into himself. His tremendous body plunged rigid into the dust, sending up a swirling cloud. His fingers clawed at the ground. A look of surprise came over his face.

  Wheeling, Kurt saw that Varinka was holding the three live Japanese motionless with the threat of her rifle. Her face was very strained. She had not dared deflect her attention from those armed men even for an instant.

  Kurt looked back at Yang. The man was riddled. Every bullet had plowed through the man mountain, three hitting vital spots. But the great vitality of the Chinese captain had scorned the mailed fist of death until the last. An ordinary man would have dropped under the first bullet.

  “Tie them,” said Varinka.

  Kurt found cord and belts and laid the three Japanese in a neat row beside their smoking car. When he was finished, he saw that Varinka had fished a black satchel from the wreckage and was now holding it triumphantly.

  “Come along,” said Varinka, “I think, perhaps, that we have done a good job here.” She looked thoughtful for a moment, and then said, “Wait. I think you had better take that officer’s boots and cloak and cap.”

  Kurt did so without question. He pulled off his own shoes, tucked his pants into the boots, donned the cloak and the red-banded cap. “Now what?”

  “I have one thing which they do not know,” said Varinka. She pulled a telegraph blank from her tunic and showed it to him. “Lin Wang is waiting for us. The copy was brought to me by one of my men. Come, let us be going. It would be a crime to keep Lin Wang waiting.”

  Kurt began to have some vague idea of what this was all about. He slid in under the wheel and drove at an easy pace down the bumpy, deserted road, still heading east.

  Varinka pulled a thick belt from her waist. “When we have gone a little way, you stop again.”

  He stopped and she showed him that she had phials of dye secreted in the belt—a part of a spy’s equipment. She made him rub it on his face and hands. She fixed a small band behind his ears which pulled his eyes up at the corners, giving them a slant.

  When she had made a presentable Japanese officer out of him, she crawled into the rear seat and laid down, spreading a robe over her.

  “I am wanted. You are a staff officer. Drive on, my Kurt, and I will tell you when we get to Lin Wang’s.”

  All through that day they made their way along the base of the hills which bound China on the north. They were skirting Japanese territory, but the Japanese would obviously expect them to head deep into China and take refuge there. They met no troops, only dull-faced Chinese and Mongols who were interested only in minding their own business in this bandit-ridden, war-torn land.

  Kurt’s nerves were on edge, but Varinka did not seem to mind. The tight tape about his head made his eyes smart, but that could not be helped. When dusk came at last he was very glad to stop.

  “We are almost there,” said Varinka. “Here at the right there is an old, deserted monastery. See it?”

  Kurt did. The crumpled ruin looked desolate in the twilight, sprawling up a hillside. He nodded.

  “The plan is short. Lin Wang is to die. We cannot kill him among his troops, that is impossible. You are to go to Lin Wang—dangerous, I know, but necessary—and tell him that Captain Yang and a taisho of the Japanese are waiting for a parley at this monastery. If Captain Yang is supposed to be there, then Lin Wang will suspect no plot and he will come. Let him bring three or four soldiers if he wills. Tell him that the taisho is afraid to be seen going to Lin Wang.

  “Lin Wang understands that this must be a secret affair and he’ll be the last one to insist on a large bodyguard. He will come gladly and then . . . I suppose you will call it murder.”

  “I’ll be very glad to see him dead,” said Kurt.

  “You follow them. When they come here, you get the guard. I’ll get Lin Wang. His headquarters are about two miles down the road. Wait a while until I set the trap. Lead him straight up this road and to this entrance, then drop behind.”

  “Then . . .” said Kurt, “Lin Wang is selling out to the Japanese!”

  “Right. He is a traitor to China and needs killing for the safety of the country. He sells his regimental support to Japan for the money which is in this black bag. There you have it.”

  “And you’re not a Japanese spy?”

  “No. I am a supporter of China. And the last duty I have is to kill Lin Wang. Go.”

  Kurt shook her hand and found that it trembled a little. She weaved close to him and he kissed her. She pushed him away toward Lin Wang’s headquarters.

  He took his time going, waiting until the evening meal would be over, letting Varinka set her trap. He had parked the car behind the monastery, ready for instant flight.

  Once he heard a furtive movement behind him, but he could see nothing. When the darkness had fully closed in he changed his course and walked far off to the right of the road. That he might be going to his death did not bother him. He was marveling too much at Varinka’s courage. To outwit a whole country and earn herself the name of Takeki, the Courageous!

  When he came to the ancient fort he saw that guards were posted at the entrance, gray clad and very alert. But no other soldiers were about.

  For a long time, nearly an hour, Kurt stayed in the shadows. He wanted to make certain that these two guards were the only men about the outside in case matters called for a hasty escape.

  He was about to go down and announce himself when a small group came hurrying along the road. Two soldiers were dragging a third person, but from the distance, Kurt could not make out who that person was.

  They came from the opposite direction from that which Kurt had taken, dispelling his fears that it might be Varinka. The three went past the guard
s and a door clanged shut behind them.

  Kurt gripped his cloak tightly about him and with a purposeful stride, approached the two guards. His heart was hammering against his ribs, but he showed nothing of it in his face. He was too tall for a Japanese, he knew, but then some Japanese were tall.

  The guards leveled their rifles at him. He made his Chinese crisp. “I am Taicho Shimazu, to see General Lin Wang on business.”

  They saw his cap and red band then and dropped their guns to their sides. One of them said, “He expects you, Captain.”

  That was easy enough. But maybe getting out would be another matter. Kurt kicked the door open and shut and, for some reason, thought locking it would be a good idea. Silently he dropped the chains in place. A moment later he heard a motor rumble outside and a squeal of brakes. That puzzled him, but it was too late to turn back now. If this was a Japanese officer . . .

  He went on down the long, dimly lit hall, his boot-heels ringing and sending the echoes rocking emptily. He pushed open another door.

  Lin Wang sat in a puddle of yellow light, flanked by two sentries. The rest of the room was dim. Great shadows flickered along the walls like crawling monsters about to pounce. Lin Wang was looking through candle flame at two soldiers and a prisoner.

  Kurt was unnoticed. Something was familiar about the prisoner. Brown hair, slender shoulders. A military cape drooped down from the throat. The hair was disheveled.

  Kurt almost cried out. He swallowed the sound and sagged against the door. The prisoner was Anne Carsten!

  Lin Wang was speaking in English. His hands rattled before his twisted face. The black caverns criss-crossed his scaly visage and made his expression diabolical. His eyes were screwed up into black pinpoints, showing muddy blue flecks in the saffron light. When he spoke a small shower of scales fluttered to the desk.

  “I have wanted to see you for some little time,” said Lin Wang to Anne Carsten. “I once saw you coming out of a ballroom. You looked at me and shuddered and said to your companion that I was loathesome. Oh, I know how you felt. You are a beautiful woman. You could have the pick of men, but now the choice comes down to me. Tonight I am leaving China. As soon as a certain messenger—”