Eighth Card Stud

by Nick Carter

  "Oh, Nick, this is hopeless," Marta exclaimed. "In spite of it all, I'm spending more time looking at things like that." She pointed to a potbellied ivory statue of Ho-tai.

  "If you rub his belly, he's supposed to bring you good luck," I said. While I admired the skill in carving the statue, I was more engrossed in studying the proprietor of the shop. A wizened old man, hunched over his counter — he reminded me of someone I'd met once.

  Once, in Hong Kong. The scene returned vividly. He was old, yes, but not as ancient and honorable as he tried to appear now. Lo Sung had been involved in an international heroin smuggling network, responsible for accepting the shipment from the Golden Triangle in Vietnam and Laos and refining the poppies to a more salable product — opium and heroin. We had met, I had killed several of his bodyguards, we had fought.

  I thought Lo Sung had died from the several bullets Wilhelmina had poured into his fragile body. Apparently, like all Orientals, the frailness covered a tenacity of life that I had misjudged.

  "May I aid you?" he asked, bowing low. I tried to read recognition into his body language. He covered himself well. We might have been nothing more than a pair of tourists likely to purchase an expensive trinket.

  "How much for the Ho-tai?" I asked, my eyes never leaving him.

  "Your tastes are most excellent," he said, giving another low bow. "A good luck statue can be most highly treasured in these days of uncertainty."

  "Fifteen dollars?" asked Marta, fingering the potbelly. She seemed unaware of the tension in the air. Or perhaps only I felt it.

  "Such a finely carved figurine could not be had for twice that price," he said.

  The haggling went on. I allowed Marta to engage Lo Sung as I walked around the small shop, pretending to examine the other trinkets. A curtained doorway led back into the depths of the store. This wasn't curious in itself but the heavy steel door with the most modern of locks a few feet behind the curtain struck me as out of place. Maybe protecting his valuable stock required such a door, I told myself. Checking to make sure that Lo Sung faced the other direction, I took a quick excursion down the hallway to check out the door. Not only did he have a vault door mounted in the hall, he used a sophisticated alarm system, too. A photocell would send out an alarm to somewhere if the door opened, providing the intricate locks could be cracked. No matter if the door were broken open or normally used, that photocell would alert others.

  I slid back into the shop just as Lo Sung turned away from Marta, the ivory figurine in his gnarled hands. He shuffled over to the cash register and rang up the sale. Marta had purchased it for twenty-three dollars, a good price for an ivory statue.

  "Does any other item in my humble shop catch your fancy?" Lo Sung asked me. I detected no sarcasm, no hint that he was anything but the legitimate storekeeper he seemed to be.

  "That should do us. Come along, dear," I said, taking Malta's elbow and pulling her from the store. In the street in front of the shop, I asked, "Do you remember having been in that place before?"

  "No, but I seem to remember Ed taking us to a little tea shop somewhere nearby. I think it might be around this corner. I'd stopped and looked in this window before we decided to get some food."

  "Good," I said, trying to mentally reconstruct the layout of the store, and where the passageway with the steel vault door might lead. "Let's try around the corner."

  "That's it!" she cried.

  I nodded slowly. The tea shop of Wang Foo. A notorious meeting spot for Chinese agents from up and down the West Coast. Had George sold out much earlier than the beginning of Project Eighth Card? He could have passed along invaluable information to the Chinese agents over a ten-year period. I'd have to tell Hawk and have him check more carefully into Edward George's background, his trips to San Francisco, everything concerning the man.

  That communication would have to wait. The tea shop bustled with activity, Chinese coming and going constantly. Very seldom did I hear any language but the singsong Mandarin Chinese. We had truly come into another world, buried in the middle of a great American city.

  "I don't like this, Nick," protested Marta. "You know how you sometimes get the feeling that someone's watching you? I feel that way right now."

  "Don't worry. It's just your imagination." I could lie well when I had to. I had already spotted three Chinese youths lounging in doorways, their dark eyes never leaving us as we made our way along the littered streets. Descending into the gloom of the tea shop only increased Malta's nervousness. I held her arm firmly, guiding her to a table at one side of the small shop. When our eyes had adjusted to the dim lighting, we saw that we were the only nonChinese in the shop.

  A waiter came to us, his gliding walk making me think he had ballbearings instead of feet. He bowed low and in poor English asked, "You want order?"

  "Oolong tea," I said, "for two."

  He bobbed twice and turned, gliding away on silent feet. I leaned back in the chair, opened the front of my jacket so that Wilhelmina rested easily in my shoulder holster. The tendons in my right arm tensed and relaxed, ready to receive Hugo in a flash, if necessary. On the surface, the tea shop of Wang Foo ran quietly and with no fuss. The tension just under that peaceful facade told me that all hell might break loose at any second.

  The tea came, was poured into the porcelain cups, was approved. The waiter left again, wordlessly.

  "Nick," said Marta.

  "I know," I said. "Why don't you go back to the hotel? The diversion might be enough to get me into that back room. I don't think you're in any danger. Lo Sung realizes I'm the one they really want."

  "Lo Sung? Who's that?"

  "The charming old gentleman who sold you the ivory statue. He was a kingpin in the heroin trade ten years ago. It looks as if he's moved into other endeavors."

  "Nick, will you be alright?" Her hand pressed warmly against my wrist. I smiled winningly and nodded.

  "Go on. Everything is running along just fine now. I've got a sixth sense about these things. George is around here, and I'll find him." Conviction rang in my words. What I told her was the truth this time. It had been a long shot, and I had begun to feel it had finally paid off. The activity around the tea shop had the air of espionage rather than smuggling.

  "Do you want me to try to contact Hawk?"

  "You couldn't get through to him," I said, shaking my head. "Just go to the hotel and wait for me. You'll be okay. If you run into any trouble, call a cop. The last thing in the world these people want is notoriety."

  She hastily kissed me and left, her trim form blending with the shadows as she went up the steps leading to the street and the teeming crowds along Grant Avenue. I used the diversion of her departure to sidle along the wall and slip behind a nearby curtain.

  A duplicate of the door in Lo Sung's shop prevented me from penetrating further into the maze of corridors between the buildings. I checked and the same type of photocell blocked the path. Pressing my ear against the steel door, I heard faint murmurings from within. I had no idea at all what was going on — but it would no doubt interest me greatly if I could find out.

  Shuffling noises from the entrance behind me alerted me in time to melt into the shadows. A hunched Chinese entered, muttering to himself. He looked neither left nor right as he went to the steel door. I flattened myself even more into a convenient dark alcove and waited for him to open the door. He pushed on through. I watched as the vault door slowly started closing by itself. Since the Chinaman had continued along the hallway allowing the door to tend to itself, I leaped over the photobeam and squeezed between doorframe and case-hardened steel door seconds before it securely locked again.

  The hall on this side of the door looked no different, but the sound of people talking came more distinctly. I cautiously moved, Wilhelmina comforting in my hand. Closed doors lined the hall. One at the end stood partially open. Peering through it, my heart leaped into my throat at the sight.

  Victory!

  Seated at a plain wooden table, Edwa
rd George motioned violently to an unseen person across the room. Changing position and widening the crack in the door allowed me to see Madame Lin, dainty hands on her hips, not looking at all pleased with what George told her.

  "Too high," she snorted, her nostrils flaring delicately. "I will pay only the amount already agreed upon."

  "This," said George, tapping the small black box on the table in front of him, "is worth a dozen times as much, and you know it. Think of the political coup, Madame Lin."

  Politics does not concern you," she said snappishly. "We have had a pleasant working arrangement in the past. Why do you now attempt to change it by futilely demanding more money?"

  "I've never had a gadget as valuable as this before," George said, indolently lounging back in his chair and smiling at the woman. "It's got to be worth half a million."

  "The price is out of the question. But perhaps," she said, her voice hinting at worlds of riches other than money, "something else might be arranged."

  "Such as?" George demanded suspiciously.

  "The People's Republic is on the verge of breaking into the twentieth century. We require scientists and technicians in all disciplines. An agreement might be reached that would allow you to live in luxury the remainder of your life — in exchange for the high-voltage switching device and your continued research services."

  "No deal," said George quickly. "I may have sold out my country, but I'm not about to leave it."

  "You can have whatever luxuries you have here," the woman pressed. "Stereo, car, lavish quarters, all the women you could desire — and all of whom desire you."

  "Commies tend to be puritanical. Would you really pimp women for me?"

  "Puritanical?" Madame Lin laughed. "Perhaps our moral system seems so to you, but we are most pragmatic. We will furnish whatever you need to continue in your brilliant work."

  "A Chinese laser," mused George. "That would really make the Russians come to a boil. You could sit along your border and zap them at will. Knock their most sophisticated interceptors from the sky, even burn their satellites in orbit."

  "It can be done. You have shown that," Madame Lin cooed almost hypnotically.

  George shook himself. "Money, one half million dollars. Nothing else."

  "I can see your mind is set. Very well, I will order the payment made in the usual manner. To your Swiss bank account?"

  "Yes," he said, fondly running his fingers over the black, crackled surface of the switching device.

  I had heard more than enough. Pulling back on the toggles of my Luger, I shoved into the room, the barrel leveled at a point midway between the two. In this way, I could swing and shoot either Madame Lin or Edward George if they attempted to escape. I doubted both would be able to work in concert against me.

  "I'll remove temptation from your path, Dr. George," I told him. "Let me have the laser switching device."

  "You don't scare me, Carter," raged the scientist, standing and kicking over his chair. "If you take another step, I'll destroy the switch. I think you know its circuits are etched on frangible glass."

  "One little scratch will completely destroy it," I said. "But that's not my affair. If I can't recover it, I'm to destroy it. Either way is okay by me."

  "You fool!" cried Madame Lin, already moving. I swung Wilhelmina around and covered her.

  "Hold it, Madame Lin. Don't move."

  "Mr. Carter," the Oriental woman aid in her low, seductive voice. "I have underestimated you. I suppose it would be useless to make an offer to you?"

  "To turn traitor? Positively useless," I assured her.

  "Alas, the best agents tend to be the most dedicated, also," she said, flicking open her fan with a swift movement of her wrist.

  I felt panic flare inside of me. She had made no threatening gestures, yet I feared that fan for some reason. It appeared harmless enough. The lacquered pattern on it depicted a pastoral scene like hundreds of others I'd seen on fans. She moved it rapidly, fanning herself.

  The glint of light off the edge of the fan warned me. She saw the recognition in my eyes and instantly sent the fan spinning through the air. Ducking, the razor-edged fan whistled above my head, missing by scant inches. I heard a dull thunk and saw the fan embedded a full three inches into the wooden wall behind me. If that had connected, it would have sent my head leaping from my torso.

  "Hold it!" I cried, bringing Wilhelmina to bear, but I had become too engrossed with Madame Lin. George kicked, his foot connecting with my right wrist. My Luger flew like a blue steel bird and crashed into the far wall. Even before I felt the butt of my gun leave my grasp, I tensed my forearm and sent the spring-loaded Hugo rushing to fill the void. I spun completely around and got behind George, my knife pressing into his kidney while my left arm circled his neck.

  Madame Lin had another of the deadly-edged fans open, standing and waiting for the opportunity to send it spinning into my throat. I moved the point of my knife around until it dug into George's side.

  "Drop the fan," I ordered. "I'll run this blade all the way to the hilt in his side if you don't."

  "Mr. Carter, do you think this miserable slug's life means a thing to me? Kill him."

  I wanted George alive — for the moment. I tightened my grip to choke him out while I drove the butt end of the knife into his kidney. He sputtered and went limp, unconscious. I dropped George to the floor and faced the deadly fan, a sliver of high-grade steel in my own hand. Hugo was more than a match for any circular sawblade.

  "Is this the way you want it, Madame Lin? Just the two of us fighting it out over the switching device?"

  We circled one another warily, jockeying for the right opening. I had no chivalrous thoughts to dissuade me from killing her if the chance presented itself. Among the ranks of the top spies, gender means nothing. Life and death were the commodities we traded, and very few of us ever died of old age.

  I lunged, the point of my blade seeking her wrist. She spun the fan around and neatly blocked Hugo's blood-lusting reach. Sparks flew off the metal-to-metal contact, and I felt the impact all the way up my arm. I retreated, still circling, keeping the table between us now. I made a wild grab for the small black box, and Madame Lin almost cut off my hand. The edge of her fan buried a full inch into the softwood table. I kicked out and shoved the table forcefully toward her. The edge of the fan snapped off, but she lightly danced out of the way.

  "Give it up, Madame Lin," I urged. "You know that you'll be out free in a couple of weeks."

  "I cannot lose face, Mr. Carter. My effectiveness as a spy in your country would be jeopardized. I have no desire to see my picture in every postal office. No, Mr. Carter, I will bargain with you."

  "Bargain with what?" I scooped up the switching device and held it close to my body, protecting it, remembering what Hawk had said about recovering it intact.

  "The switching device for Marta Burlison."

  "What?"

  "We captured her as she left the tea shop. Wang Foo is a most accomplished kidnapper. She is unharmed, but unless you surrender the switch, that condition might not last much longer."

  I came out of the knife-fighting crouch and tried to guess if she told the truth. Too late I saw the ghost of a smile on her lips and heard the faint shuffle of slippered feet behind me. A sudden rush of air brought a pipe smashing down onto my head. I fell heavily, dropping both Hugo and the laser cannon switching device.

  * * *

  I came to, almost instantly awake. I strained and fought against the ropes on my hands and feet. Chafing my wrists produced a little slack. I would have to play Houdini to get free.

  "So, Mr. Carter, you return to the land of the sentient," came Madame Lin's mocking voice. "Do not struggle so. The ropes were purposefully tied. I am sure you can work free with only a few minutes of diligent effort."

  She walked around in front of me, silhouetted by a single bare bulb dangling from a wire that vanished into the ceiling. She looked like a Junebug in the iridescent gree sheath dress. H
er face vanished into shadows, but the set of her body told me she thought she'd won.

  From where I sat tied, it looked that way, too.

  "It has been interesting dealing with you, Mr. Carter," she continued. "Pitting my efforts against your not inconsiderable talents has been instructive. I feel now that I can meet and best any of the remaining American agents I might encounter in future work. After all, haven't I defeated your country's finest?"

  She laughed and I tensed, my arms straining even more against the rough hemp ropes binding me. I chafed my wrists until the blood flowed, but I was mad. I wanted nothing more than to wrap my fingers around her swanlike throat and squeeze until the last vestiges of life fled her delicate body.

  "So quiet? Do you acknowledge defeat so easily?"

  "I've still got a few trumps up my sleeve," I said with more bravado than I felt. "You've won the battle but not the war."

  "No? I do have Marta Burlison. I believe I played that card at a most opportune time. And now I have the laser control switching device within my grasp. I fear I must conclude my dealings with Dr. George on a basis not of my choosing. Being the pawn of bureaucrats can be tedious, don't you agree?"

  "You're letting him live?"

  "The director of the Social Affairs Department feels Dr. George might prove useful at some future date. My objections were overruled." She made a disparaging gesture as she moved, no longer shielding my eyes from the bare one hundred watt bulb. I squinted, trying to see more of the room around me.

  "What are you going to do with Marta?"

  "Eliminate her, of course. She has blundered into an area where she has no protection at all — now that you have been removed from the game."

  "And how am I to be removed? Permanently or just for this round?"

  She laughed, a musical sound far more menacing than if she'd sneered or threatened. I believed this woman capable of any cruelty.

  "Ah, Mr. Carter, I fear it is a permanent removal. This removal will enhance my prestige enormously and lend greater force to my words in the future."