by Nick Carter
When I got to my knees, Tanya was standing and coming to me. The Mercedes's door slammed shut. It was a solid CLUNK sound like the closing of a safe. Immediately there was a whir of starter motor, then the purr of the big V8. Tires chirped on the asphalt as Sheng made a quick U and faded from sight.
I got to my feet and weaved back and forth.
"Oh, Nick!" Tanya cried when she reached me. "It's bleeding again. That bandage is soaked through."
I pushed away from her and scooped up the stiletto, then staggered on to Wilhelmina. As I picked up the gun I stuck Hugo back in his sheath. Bare-chested, bandage soaked with blood, holster under the armpit, sheath on the arm. It wasn't enough.
"Nick, what are you doing?" Tanya asked.
"Got to stop him."
"But you're bleeding. Let me stop it, then we can…"
"No!" I took a deep breath.
Mind over matter. The mystical, unknown powers of the East. Yoga. Closing my eyes, I called on everything within me. Just as yoga had helped me relax countless times, I now called on it for strength. Everything I had ever been taught was now summoned. I wanted my mind cleared of all pain. There was only one thing to concentrate on: stopping Sheng and that Lear jet. When I opened my eyes again, it was done — or done enough to get me moving.
"I'm coming with you." Tanya fell in step.
"No." I had started for the Volkswagen bus. And I was moving swiftly. Over my shoulder I said, "That cabin cruiser must have some kind of ship-to-shore radio. Find it and call Hawk. Tell him where we are."
It was a fool's kind of calmness which overtook me, an insane quiet which had nothing to do with reality. I knew it. Yet the only thought running through my mind was, "The sign of the Winged Tiger… the sign of the Winged Tiger." Sheng had a list our Government needed. I had to get it. And it was not the list he had taken from me — that one we didn't care about — it was the one he had hidden: the sign of the Winged Tiger.
Tanya disappeared through the hatch as I got the bus started and moved in a U. Over the mechanical clacking of the air-cooled, four-cylinder engine, I heard the scream of the Lear jet rise in pitch and volume.
I left the lights off as I drove along the asphalt. A stripped Luger, a stiletto, a gas bomb, and an agent with a lot of lost blood were no match for a Lear jet. But I had an idea I thought might work.
The flashing red-and-green running lights were far ahead of me now. I could see them clearly. The jet was rolling. Coming from the opposite end of the grassy field.
The asphalt road veered to the left at nine o'clock. The rolling jet was at twelve. I cut the wheel of the bus and left the road for the bouncing ankle-high grass, at an angle of about two o'clock.
Flames from the jets extended far behind the plane, looking like Fourth of July fireworks in the night. It was really moving now. I pushed the bus to its limit in third gear, then shifted to fourth.
From the angle I was driving, the jet was coming at ten o'clock while I was heading at twelve. The ground was much smoother than I thought it would be. My speedometer was hovering between fifty and sixty. The scream of the jet engines was now a thunderous roar. The running lights bounced as the plane rolled faster and faster.
It would take to the air soon. Blades of grass became a blur of darkness. My eyes never left the rolling plane. The distance between us was quickly gobbled up as the two rolling masses of metal headed on a collision course.
Vaguely I wondered if he had seen me. It didn't matter. Both of us had passed the point of no return now. There was nothing he could do with that plane but ride. He hadn't made enough speed to lift off, he couldn't brake it to a halt, and he couldn't turn without flipping. It was the same with me.
Reaching down behind the seat, I felt around the cold metal objects until I found the heavy mallet. I pulled it up and put it in my lap.
The plane was getting close now, the roar of the engines so loud they deafened, wheels a spinning mass of black, cockpit lit just enough so I could see him. His hair was still mussed slightly. The oxygen mask was loose, dangling to his left. He was an expert pilot, had been awarded Red China's highest medal.
There might not be enough time. I had to hurry. The distance was being eaten up too fast. I picked up the mallet and let the weight of it fall to the floorboard. The bus slowed slightly as I moved my foot from the gas pedal and placed the mallet on it. For an instant I had a feeling of utter smallness, something like what the man on a day sailer must feel as he is passed by an ocean finer.
My hand was on the doorlatch. The bus was now rolling at a steady fifty. But the jet had picked up a lot of speed. It took a great deal of effort to get the door open against the rushing wind. And I could hear the low roar of both engines at full throttle. I turned the wheel to the left slightly. Now the bus was heading directly for the jet. I pushed the door all the way open and jumped.
At first there was the sensation of flight, the timeless twilight area when you are not touching anything on this earth. Then, looking down, the ground was moving much too fast. I was going to get hurt.
I had thought about hitting the ground running. That was why my foot struck first. But the force of speed sent my head down and my other leg up toward my back. I no longer had control of where I was going. All I could do was relax my body.
My head hit, then my back, then I was in the air again. This time I came down on my shoulder and kept bouncing and rolling while I gritted my teeth against the pain.
Almost as quickly as I'd started, I stopped. Couldn't catch my breath, wind knocked out of me, blind for an instant. There was a lot of orange light and heat.
I felt it rather than saw it because I had only been able to catch glimpses of what had happened as I bounced and rolled. Maybe that was what helped me relax, concentrating on what was happening to the plane.
Sheng had seen the bus at the last minute. He had hit the port brake, trying to turn slightly out of the way. The Lear jet tipped up on its right wheel, dipping the right wing low. It was that wingtip the bus struck. With a screeching grind of breaking metal the wing bent and broke. By that time the nose of the jet was aimed toward the ground behind the bus and the tail was coming up.
With engines still roaring, the plane did one cartwheel, broken right wing to nose to left wing to tail. At that point Sheng cut the power.
For an instant the plane stood poised on its tail, simply flowing down the grassy strip with the tail less than a foot off the ground, blowing grass to the sides like the bow of a ship parting water.
When it came down it was upside down. The cockpit area slammed hard as the whole plane started spinning and twirling, making that screeching metal grinding sound.
And then it blew.
The wing tanks blew toward the fuselage, which came apart like a dropped puzzle. Orange and red balls of flame boiled up with roaring explosions. The sky was brightened as flames belched straight up and out in all directions.
Pieces landed less than twenty feet away from me. A wing section went high and landed close to where I had jumped. The entire tail section was blasted free from the fuselage. It went up like a well-kicked football and ripped apart far to my left.
The orange flaming light showed the Volkswagen bus rolling. It didn't explode. After the wing struck, it reared on its back wheels like a wild stallion, then pitched forward, flipped to its side, and rolled four times before it came to a halt upside down.
The air was filled with the smells of melting aluminum and magnesium, and burning rubber and plastic. There was no odor of Sheng's burning flesh; it was too weak beside the other flaming elements. As the cockpit melted and flowed, scarring the grass, I saw what might have been his body, or what might have been a charred, crooked log, or a shriveled black cow. A crusty stub still had hold of the wheel. Now and then flames licked at it, but not often, because it was already burned through.
Orange light also revealed Tanya running across the grass toward me. The calmness was still there. I knew what I had to do now. She came
with her skirt riding high, fine legs pumping that soft flesh along. Something dangled from her shoulder by a strap.
I had forgotten what it felt like not to hurt. Besides the wounded side, which was the deepest of pains, I was a mass of bruises. By some lucky twist of fate no bones had been broken, at least none that I could tell. There was pain low on my chest when I took a breath, but it was no worse or better than any of the others.
Tanya reached me all out of breath. I had managed to push myself to my feet. Standing there with the whole world lit by wavy orange and red flames, I waited for Tanya to get to me.
For a long time we stood in the orange light, just holding each other. Her fragile body shook with sobs. For some reason I was smiling.
Then she pushed away from me and looked at my face. "D-did we lose?" she asked. "I know he's dead… but the assignment… did we… fail?"
I kissed her forehead. "We'll see. I've got a hunch. If I'm right, we were successful."
Then she grabbed me again, and the pain almost made me pass out. "Oh, Nick," she cried. "When I saw that bus rolling and rolling and I thought you were inside…"
"Shh. It's all right. What have you got in the little case?"
"First-aid kit. I called Mr. Hawk. He's on the way. Nick? Where are you going?"
"I was hobbling toward the overturned bus. She came trotting beside me. "I want to have a look at the Winged Tiger," I said.
The plane was still burning but the flames had diminished quite a bit. I felt the heat as I circled it to get to the bus. Metal was flowing from it like silver molten lava, oozing from cracks and open cavities.
When I reached the bus I got the big side door open. The inside smelled strongly of raw gas. Tanya waited outside while I rummaged through the scattered tools. The box had been kicked around quite a bit and a couple of wrenches had smashed through windows. Using the waving flames for light, I found two screwdrivers, a Phillips and a straight slot. I wasn't sure what kind of screw heads I'd be removing.
As I walked away from the bus, Tanya walked dutifully and silently beside me. She didn't ask questions; she knew if she remained silent and watched, all the answers would be there. As we walked toward where I had seen the tail section land, I put my arm around her shoulders. She pressed against me, lightly brushing me a little with each step.
There was a loud explosion behind us that sent another cloud of flame boiling up.
Tanya looked back over her shoulder. "What do you think that was?"
"Oxygen bottles probably. There it is, over to the right."
The tail section of the Lear jet had broken again and was resting in grass about a foot high. I passed over the pieces ripped from the main and stopped when I found the main piece.
"The Winged Tiger," I said.
Kneeling with Tanya beside me, I wiped grass stains and dirt and black soot from the smooth surface. There was the painted face and body of a winged tiger. The flush screwheads held a panel about eight inches square. I tossed the straight-slot screwdriver aside and used the Phillips. In less than five minutes I had the panel free and hanging by its small chain.
"What's in there?" Tanya asked as I felt around inside the cavity.
"This." It was a small packet of shiny aluminum foil about four inches by two. Very carefully I began unwrapping the foil. There were several sheets of folded paper inside clipped together.
Tanya was looking over my arm. "Nick," she said. "That's it, isn't it?"
I nodded handing her the clipped papers. "The list of the Winged Tiger. All of Sheng's Communist contacts in America." The words came automatically because I had discovered another piece of paper wrapped in the foil.
"What are you grinning about?" Tanya asked.
"We have a bonus, something I didn't expect. This list contains the names and locations of every contact from Palermo to Saigon where the heroin moves." I handed it to her, then kissed the tip of her nose. "Look it over, love. Names, places, and dates of previous deliveries."
"Nick, then…"
My grin turned to a chuckle that hurt. "Yes, Tanya, you might say that our mission was successful."
Fourteen
Two days later I was in Washington, D.C., in Hawk's office, still wrapped like a cocoon. The small office smelled of stale cigar smoke, although he did not have a cigar now. He sat behind his desk straight across from me. His leathery, creased face wore its constant frown of concern but his eyes were amused.
"The Attorney General has instructed me to place a commendation in your record, Carter." He smiled at some personal joke. "If we can find room for it."
"What about Tanya?" I asked.
Hawk leaned back in his chair and folded his hands across his flat stomach.
"I'll see that a letter of commendation is placed in her record," he said.
When he pulled one of his cigars from his coat pocket, I took out a gold-tipped cigarette. We lit up together with my lighter.
"How is the side?" he asked in a softened voice.
"A little painful but not too bad."
The final tally had been assorted lacerations and bruises, three ribs with hairline cracks, and that chunk of flesh out of my side. It was enough to keep me in a hospital one day, chomping at the bit to get out.
Hawk pulled the cigar from between his teeth and studied it. "Well, at least one source of heroin moving into Saigon has been stopped."
I nodded. "Did you ever find out who put those nineteen slugs into Carlo Gaddino?"
"Yes, the same two you caught searching the apartment. They were operating under Sheng's orders, of course. Seems they got into Gaddino's place by pretending to be picking up the laundry. Once they were inside, they went directly to the sauna, opened the door, and let him have it with silenced machine pistols — .38s. Nineteen times. Then they picked up the laundry and left."
"Afterwards I guess they got orders from Sheng to get the list from Acasano."
"Exactly. And they were to kill Acasano silently, with a dagger."
"So what happens with the list of the Winged Tiger?"
"It is already happening, Carter. At this moment all the Communists are being rounded up. We've discovered that most of them are in this country illegally, so they will be deported back to China."
I leaned forward and mashed out my cigarette. "Sir, what is going to happen with La Cosa Nostra? With Nicoli and Acasano and Sheng all dead, who will be the new boss of the underworld?"
Hawk shrugged, then mashed his cigar in the ash tray. "They'll probably find somebody no one has heard of. I'm sure the underworld will continue to function and to flourish. Emergency measures are probably already being taken."
A picture of Lake Tahoe and a lakeside cabin came to my mind. "What about the real Sandee Catron? You don't have anything to hold her on, do you?"
"No, we don't. She is here in Washington, you know. After talking with her for a long time we've convinced her that perhaps she would find a rewarding career working for us."
I leaned forward. "What?"
But Hawk did not even blink. "She has agreed to stay close to Acasano's friends and to inform us of their activities. Who knows? Perhaps someday the newly elected boss of the American underworld will be an undercover agent working for the Government."
He stood and leaned forward with his palms flat on the desk. "You have a week off, Carter. Two if you want it. Any plans?"
"Well," I said standing. "This business about keeping the real Sandee Catron in a cabin has given me ideas. I keep thinking about those mountains north of Flagstaff, a cabin high enough so snow is still all around it, sitting in front of a rock hearth, maybe doing a little fishing during the day, and at night…"
* * *
The people in the small village three miles from the cabin said it was very late in the season for snow to be falling. Tanya told me the snowflakes were a welcoming committee.
We found a sleigh for rent with a bay mare to pull it. And when we had loaded it with groceries and supplies, we climbed under the
thick quilt and pointed the mare toward our cabin. Tanya snuggled close to me.
The sleigh had a bell on it that brought people out of every cabin we passed. They stood on their porches and waved as we went by.
A scent of pine filled the air. And the trees stood like crowds of tall thin soldiers lining our path. A creek twisted and curved about four feet from the narrow road we were on.
"Be good fishing," I commented.
"If you have time."
I looked down at the girl sitting next to me, bundled with a parka, a hint of discolor around her green eyes, the tip of her upturned nose red with the cold. And the look she gave me was a woman's look, not that of a girl.
* * *
By the time we got the sleigh unloaded and the mare taken care of, it was dark. We ate, cleaned up the dishes, and got a fire going in the fireplace.
The cabin was not luxurious. It had three basic rooms. The large living room had the kitchen and dining table at one end and the fireplace at the other. There were two doors besides the front and back leading outside, one to the bathroom and the other to the bedroom. All the furniture had been handmade of pine. There was a large bearskin rug in front of the fireplace.
As I sat in front of the fire smoking, I noticed that the lanterns in the living room were being put out. Tanya had been in the bathroom. When the only light came from the flickering flames of the fireplace, I felt her close to me.
Her hand touched the back of my neck lightly, then slid over my shoulder and down my arm to my hand. She had been standing behind me. Now she came around and knelt in front of me.
She was wearing a knitted sweater that buttoned down the front and a short skater's skirt. As I started unbuttoning the sweater I noticed that she had nothing under it.
"Ban the bra," I whispered.
"Right on." She leaned back on the bearskin rug, her breasts looking smooth and flushed in the firelight.
I knelt beside her. My fingers found the zipper and button on the side of her skirt.