by Nick Carter
* * *
McHugh was sweating behind his mask. Sonofabitch, she wasn't responding. Hell and damnation to Captain, Goonhead, whole damn lot. Ape of a Captain kicking at the auto pilot. Rademeyer for making a break for it and dying practically on his hands. The boss would tear him apart — that is, if he ever got this crate headed where she was supposed to be going.
The man whose full name was Si Moon Goon watched impassively through his heavy goggles. Then, turning away from McHugh, he pulled a knife from the sheath strapped under his jacket. As unemotionally as if he were slicing himself a piece of cheese he thrust the knife into the side of the radio operator's neck. Just as dispassionately he withdrew the bloodied blade and sank it expertly into the unconscious engineer. Then he wiped the blade fastidiously on the man's flight jacket, before sliding it back into its sheath, and picked up the two blackjacks he and McHugh had dropped when they needed two hands each to handle the garrotes.
The plane banked steeply under McHugh's guidance and began a graceful turn.
Scarface Moon Goon opened the flight-deck door and looked out at the sleeping passengers. This time he carried a long-barreled automatic.
In the cockpit four men slowly stiffened in death and the murderer at the controls guided the stolen jet toward the north-northeast and a destination that had nothing at all in common with the Taj Mahal.
Special Surprise Number Two
There were voices. Shouts mingled with clanking noises. Doors slamming. Motors throbbing.
But not inside the plane.
Nick stirred. His head was lead and his mouth was coarse-grained sandpaper. He could not understand why he was lying on the floor or why his line of vision should be filled with legs.
Then he heard McHugh's voice, low but intense.
"No one told me the old fool had a weak heart. It would have been all right if it hadn't been for that fellow, God knows where he came from. But Jandi covered for us. Nobody suspected…"
"That will be enough, McHugh. Save your excuses for Bronson. Now get back to your seats, all three of you, before these cattle stop their snoring." The voice was musical, but the tone was muted menace.
Nick opened his eyes the merest fraction of an inch, at last realizing that all vibration and plunging sensation had stopped and that a draft of moderately cool, fresh air was stroking his face. He could see McHugh, gas mask in hand, standing outside the cockpit door facing a short man with a wide, flat face and the drab uniform of a Red Chinese officer. Scarface stood behind them. The officer's eyes swept over the sleeping passengers. McHugh shrugged and started walking up the aisle. Scarface followed, sliding his automatic inside his jacket. Nick closed his eyes.
"Mauriello, you ox!" McHugh's voice whispered savagely. "Put that thing away and sit down."
"Maybe I need it in a minute," Mauriello rumbled.
"Maybe you need a kick in the gut," hissed McHugh.
Mauriello grumbled something and started down the aisle.
There was silence inside the plane. Outside there were big vehicles of some sort, motors running smoothly as if waiting. Nick risked another peek. No one else was stirring yet. The inside lights were dim. But outside a powerful searchlight beam swept across an ink-black sky.
Two Chinese army medics came aboard. The Red officer gave a murmured command and they started up the aisle, bending over the seats and muttering to each other. Nick caught the flash of a needle. For a moment his blood ran cold. Finishing us off one by one in case their gas hasn't done its work, he thought with a stab of impotent fury. And then he realized they were trying to bring the passengers around. The medics worked on stolidly. Their officer watched and waited.
At last, someone stirred. A man groaned and started sputtering "Who-wha-where am I?" The galley curtain bulged and the purser stepped out, looking like a man emerging from one nightmare and falling into another. Mark Gerber yawned. The little Japanese lady yelped as the needle stung her arm. It was time for him to make a move.
He made himself turn over slowly. Then he scrambled to his feet.
"What happened?" he asked frantically. "Where are we? What's going on here?" Nobody answered.
He sought his seat and fell into it, feeling faintly nauseated.
The medics passed him by with a cursory glance.
McHugh, he saw, was putting on a magnificent performance of waking up, stretching, and leaping to his feet.
Julie uncurled like a cat and looked around with faint surprise.
"What the hell goes on here?" A deep male voice, free of fear but bristling with outrage, rolled down the aisle. Old Pete Brawn with the white hair and rugged face. A good man to have around.
"Ladies and gentlemen," the Red Chinese officer's voice boomed out. "Forgive me if I do not introduce myself by name. First let me beg you not to alarm yourselves. As you can see by my uniform, I am an officer in the army of the People's Republic of China." A babble of voices broke out. "No! There is no need for anyone to be afraid. You will be my honored guests. Due to circumstances which are not yet quite clear to us, your plane has gone many miles off course. Some sort of difficulty then developed in the ventilation system — for all we know it may have contributed to the navigating error. In any event, we at our base camp picked up an emergency radio signal and guided your plane down to our base. To our great relief — for we are but human and not nearly so bad as we are painted — your pilot effected a forced landing with great success. For some reason the fumes in the ventilation system were less virulent in the flight deck. And so we have already evacuated your officers and they are now recovering in my personal quarters."
Evacuated! Nick thought bitterly. Mark Gerber had arrived at his destination. And so, therefore, had Nick.
"Now I must explain one thing to you," the big voice went on. "There is not, I believe, any government in the world that encourages, shall we say, strangers, to visit its military encampments. Fortunately we are able to offer you sleeping quarters for however long it may take to repair this aircraft. But, since this is a military camp, you will be confined to your quarters until the time of your departure. We will endeavor to make you as comfortable as we can. Do not be alarmed if you see guards posted outside your quarters. This is normal procedure. And naturally we must be particularly careful when we have guests from foreign countries." He beamed cordially at his listeners. Nick saw Gerber fidgeting nervously.
The Commandant continued. "Since it is rather late at night, I will ask you to put up with the inconvenience of doing without your suitcases. We will unload them, and you shall have them with your breakfast. Please bring your flight bags and your coats. Three transport vehicles are waiting. I thank you for your patience, and I bid you welcome." He ducked his head graciously and smiled.
"But where are we?" Mrs. Adelaide Van Hassel's voice piped up demandingly.
The Commandant looked at her quizzically. "Ah, my dear lady, I am not permitted to tell you. I can only say that you are somewhere in what you people call Red China." He bowed and turned away.
There was a sudden hustle-bustle of excited conversation and reaching for overnight bags. Nick took his two small bags from the otherwise empty seat beside him and snapped open the camera case. Wilhelmina slid into a new hiding place under a sturdy flap. Nick fitted her into place and manipulated the secret catch, in case of a search. It would rather destroy the illusion of hospitality if they did, but they'd be fools if they didn't. He stuffed the now empty case of one camera into the pocket of the seat in front of him.
Four armed Chinese officers boarded and began directing passenger traffic with bland efficiency. Nick attached himself to Mark and Elena. Elena looked frightened and Mark was clearly worried. But he seemed more concerned about Elena's state of mind than his own. Julie joined the three of them, wide-eyed with interest but completely untroubled.
"Greetings, fellow adventurers," she said cheerfully, "Do you suppose we've been hijacked?"
Elena blanched. Rather well done, Nick thought. You're qu
ite an actress, baby. "Don't say things like that," she gasped. "How could we possibly have been?"
"Quite easily," Julie said blandly, "while we were asleep. Still, there's no point in spreading nasty, panic-making rumors. That Commandant seems like a sweetie, even if he is a Red."
But the look she exchanged with Nick a few seconds later made it abundantly clear that she had a pretty fair idea about what must have happened.
One of the junior officers took up the Commandant's place at the flight-deck door, leaving his chief free to stalk the aisle and scrutinize his charges. His eyes searched out every reasonably attractive woman and roved like exploring fingers over breasts and thighs and legs. Then he smiled imperturbably and walked down the steps onto the airfield.
The purser looked around uncertainly. When he saw the soldier against the flight-deck door he seemed to realize it was up to him to organize an orderly debarkation. He and the stewardesses helped the first of the passengers out.
The three transport trucks started loading.
The airfield was immense. Lights blinked along its fringes and the searchlight beam swept a sky in which the bright stars seemed very close. The air was noticeably cooler than the night air of India. Vast black shapes rose in the darkness beyond the lights. Mountains. They were in a valley, then. No, more likely a plateau; the air was too crisp and cool for a low-lying valley. The vegetation, too, seemed very sparse. Now where…?
Nick climbed into a truck behind Mark and wondered when something was going to be done about confiscating the cameras. Surely Commandant Bedroom Eyes wasn't going to let his little band of tourists take pot shots out of their barracks windows.
The trucks drove smoothly along the airstrip and then bumped onto a rougher track for no more than a couple of minutes. Then they stopped in front of an insuperable obstacle — an immense, low-lying hillock that was nevertheless much too high and steep for a truck to climb.
Then the dark face of the hillock opened and light spewed out into the night.
The trucks ground their gears and Indian-filed through the opening, followed by a jeep-load of soldiers and the Commandant's staff car.
Nick's truck was filled with cries of amazement. People crowded to the windows as the cavalcade slowed to a stop.
Soft street lights lit a little village of small houses and long, low, metal buildings. Leafy plants lined the narrow walks that led from house to house. At the far end of the village were two houses that were more elaborate than the others, and yet not so large as the barrack-like buildings that occupied the greater part of the settlement. Where the sky should have been there was a shell of rock. And where cops might have strolled the sidewalks, there were Chinese soldiers, heavily armed.
Three truckloads of startled people piled out into the lamplit night and milled about, uttering little exclamations and breathing in deep, unexpected draughts of cool, clean-washed air.
The hillside closed silently behind them.
The Commandant's voice rose above the whispers. Ninety or so strained faces swung around to listen.
"Ladies! Gentlemen! If you will all kindly separate into groups as I request, my guards will show you to your quarters. Married couples to my left. Yes, please, all married couples — and no cheating, if you will be so kind!" The flat face grinned. "Single ladies to the right. Come, ladies. You have nothing to fear."
Elena cast an imploring glance at Mark.
"Go along now," he said quietly. "I'm afraid we're in no position to argue."
Julie and Nick exchanged swift, meaningful looks.
"C'mon, honey," Julie said, taking Elena's arm. "We'll look after each other."
The Commandant beamed. "Thank you," he said genially. "The couples will have such houses as are available; single ladies and gentlemen will have separate barracks. The other dwellings here are fully occupied by my officers and men." There was something about the way he said it that Nick didn't like. But then, he didn't like much of anything about the Commandant or this underground hideout. No wonder they hadn't bothered to confiscate the cameras. You don't take many pictures when you're sealed inside a mountain.
Then he heard a high-pitched yelp of feminine outrage. Mrs. Adelaide Van Hassel was making ineffectual shooing motions at a guard outside the single women's barracks. The man, his face expressionless, ignored her indignation and ran his fingers expertly over her body. She drew back her handbag and swung it at his face. "You… you creature!" she whooped, as it slammed against his cheek. He took it from her effortlessly and pawed through it.
"Ah! Ladies!" The Commandant's voice pealed through the miniature village. "So sorry. Standard procedure. Nothing personal." He grinned deprecatingly under one of the stage-set street lamps. "Gentlemen too, of course. Anything found will be returned when you leave. I must ask you to accept my apologies."
As Nick's group reached its barrack each man was subjected to the same treatment. And the closer he tried to stick with Mark, the harder it seemed to become. First Scarface stumbled between them. Then McHugh drew Mark aside with a whispered question while a guard prodded Nick along. Then a second soldier stopped both Mark and McHugh while the first one marched along behind Nick and white-haired Peter Brawn. When he looked over his shoulder he saw that Mark was at the tail-end of the group walking toward the barrack between McHugh and the guard. Nick's watchdog shoved him again, none too gently.
"I don't think these bastards are as friendly as they make out to be," Pete Brawn growled between his teeth.
Nick muttered agreement and thought swiftly. If he tried anything now, even called to Mark, he'd achieve nothing but draw attention to himself. And Mark, though ostensibly being led toward the barrack, was slowly but surely getting separated from the group. He'd have even less chance than the others of making a getaway. And the same would go for Carter, if he insisted on sticking with Mark.
"Halt!" The guard at the barrack door released the old man who ogled legs, and snatched at Nick's camera case. He inspected one camera, then the other. Poked at the light meter. Scrabbled through the rolls of film. Pushed aside the filter cases. Probed at the bottom and sides of the case. Closed it and thrust it back at Nick.
"Fright bag," he ordered. Nick gave it to him. Same result.
Then the stubby hands flew over his body. "Hah. What these?" From Nick's pocket the guard withdrew the little round metallic globes called, respectively, Pepita and Pierre.
Nick glanced at them with little interest. "Counters for a game called 'Balls, " he said. "Amelican game."
"Pah!" The guard dropped them back into Nick's pocket and waved him along. "Next! Hully, you."
Pete Brawn swore and submitted to the search.
Hugo safe inside his pencil-like sheath; camera case intact; «balls» still with him, all of them; keychain flashlight unnoticed; and a little transmitter possibly still beeping away on the airplane. Nick's spirits rose fractionally. Things could be worse.
The rooms inside were little more than four-bed cells but they were reasonably comfortable and the doors had conventional locks. There were sixteen of the cells. Apparently the passengers were to be their only occupants.
Mauriello shambled in and stationed himself in a room next to the front door. Nick watched as the search continued. Scarface and McHugh were given very cursory treatment and waved inside. Hubert Hansinger sputtered indignantly. The door slammed shut after him. No guards had come inside. Neither had Mark Gerber.
"Say, buddy," Pete Brawn rumbled softly into Nick's ear. "What say we share a cell? I don't wanna get stuck with a creep like Hubie."
"You have a point there," said Nick, and meant it. "Okay."
Uncle Hubert was still sputtering. "Outrageous!" he sizzled. "I'd like to know more about those pilots, that's what I'd like to know. They've sold us down the river! They've been paid for this, you can be damn sure. We'll be hostages, you'll see. This is the most fantastic, the most intolerable situation…"
"But I thought you'd planned it all for us," Nick said, wi
th an air of mild surprise.
Hansinger stared. His eyes bugged open.
"I… planned… it? I…?"
"Sure, Uncle Hube. Don't you remember what you promised? 'Always special surprises on a Hansinger tour. "
Help Wanted, Male
Somewhere in the bowels of the earth an elevator whined to a stop.
Three men stepped out and walked along the passage, the sound of their feet muffled by the hum and scream of machinery.
The Commandant strode ahead. Mark lurched along behind him, his hands cuffed together and his face a stony mask. The third man, uniformed, prodded him with a gun.
They turned down a corridor toward a heavy double door and stopped. The Commandant reached up to what seemed like a blank wall and slid back a tiny panel. Mark craned to see what lay behind. He saw a triple row of pushbutton switches. The Commandant's stubby forefinger selected the second from the bottom in the center row and pushed firmly. Then he slid the little panel back into place. The wall looked as blank as ever. Mark measured with his eyes. Commandant's height about five-five; panel about six feet above the floor and three feet from the door.
The doors opened inward with an almost inaudible swish. And closed again behind the trio.
They were in another corridor with a blank wall on one side and a few widely spaced open doors on the other. These were rooms that Mark recognized. There was a bank of computers; here a gleaming laboratory, bristling with equipment; there a smaller workroom where white-clad men with yellow faces puttered over intricate arrangements of glass tubes; now a closed door; then another shiny laboratory; and then a smaller room that combined the functions of office, computer-room and lab.
The Commandant knocked on the open door and entered.