by Nick Carter
And then suddenly one of the chopping, yellow hands stopped slashing and went back to scrabbling on the floor. Nick clasped the thick neck and squeezed mightily, kneeing into the groin at the same time. Then something came up from the floor and smashed at the side of his head with such ferocity that for one dazed moment all his senses left him. The Commandant snarled and shook himself free of Nick's clutching hands, throwing him back across the room with a spinning movement that slammed Nick heavily into the wall near Mark and left him with his knees bent low and his head reeling.
Yi leapt.
Nick willed his senses to obey him. His arms reached back to make a springboard of the wall behind him and his foot soared upward in a savage dropkick used not in football but in the killing game of savate. His toe connected with an immensely satisfying thud. Yi's head flew back violently and Carter kicked again. This time he heard the scrunching snap of defeated bone as Yi's neck snapped.
The Commandant dropped.
"Oh, Philip, you were marvelous! Is he dead? Is he really dead?"
Nick shook his head groggily. Elena had come in through the doorway now and her bruised face beamed malicious approval. "You did hurt him, didn't you. For me!"
"Elena, darling…" Mark started to say.
"Help me, Elena," Nick said urgently, feeling like a man who has barely escaped alive from an enraged cement mixer. "Let's get these people loose and out of here."
He dropped to his knees beside Julie. Her eyes were still closed but her breathing seemed fairly normal. His Lockpicker's Special ought to take care of that collar and chain tied around her neck. Glancing up at the three bruised and bemused men, he picked the collar's sturdy lock. "Who're your friends, Mark?" he enquired. "Rudolf Dietz and Konrad Scheuer?" Mark nodded. "They've got a rocket, these people here. Red China's first atomic missile. Only it has bugs in it — major ones — and they want help. So they've been dragooning scientists from all over to give it to them."
"But all German. Or ex-German," Nick said, snapping loose the collar and slapping lightly at Julie's face. "Why's that?"
Mark's face clouded. "It seems that there are still some Nazis left in the world who figure that the only way they can put Germany back where she belongs is to join up with the Chinese Reds. Some fellow named Branson's been tracking us down and having us dragged here. And the threats! What they aren't going to do to everybody — and they've started already…"
"Do you know where the keys of those manacles of yours are?" Nick interrupted.
"The guard has them, I think," said Mark. "My God! The guard!"
"Don't worry about him," said Nick. "Others, maybe; not that one. Elena, have a look."
"Ah, yes, the guard," she said thoughtfully, and glided out of the room with a parting glance at the Commandant's limp and lifeless body.
Mark frowned. "It's all too much for her, I guess," he muttered. "Seems to be acting a little strangely." That, Nick thought, as he propped Julie against a wall and started looking through the Commandant's tunic for anything of use, was the understatement of the week.
Elena may have thought so too, because she changed her act.
"That'll be enough," she said from the doorway, an automatic in her hand. "Now that you've killed that pig for me you've done all I wanted you for. Oh, you'd make a wonderful lover to keep around, but who knows — maybe something can be arranged."
"What do you mean?" Mark rasped, "killed him for you? And what are you doing with that gun? Help us get out of these things, for God's sake."
She laughed. "You can stay where you are. Maybe little Janie Wyatt can get you free. I doubt it. But you, Carteret. You come with me. Just because I let you kill that bastard Yi doesn't mean you're getting any further. You killed him while attempting to escape, y'see, and I caught you at it."
"Elena, you've gone nuts," said Nick, measuring the distance to her, to Hugo, to the whip, to the three helpless men. "If we play this right, we can all get out of here."
"Oh, but we won't all get out of here," she said gently. "The men must work and the women must weep, or however the saying goes. And don't try to kid me, Carteret. You're no innocent photographer. Not a killer like you. And that incident in Delhi. Someone engineered that. Not to mention that little transmitter that someone left beeping away on that airplane until Yi finally discovered it hours after you must have put it there. And then you come looking for me." Elena laughed shortly. "Oh, I'm glad that you did. But you were the only man who managed to break out and snoop around. So I rather think you'll need to explain yourself…"
"The only one that you know of," Nick said, smiling, and flicked a glance at the passageway behind her. "Now, Pete!" he called, and saw Elena's startled movement as he leapt for the Commandant's whip.
Its snakelike thong flickered through the air and coiled around her wrist. Nick jerked as the stinging lash bit into its target and Elena sprawled forward as the automatic fell from her numb fingers and clattered to the floor. He pulled brutally, dragging her along like some ungainly fish until the lash uncoiled, and then he struck again. The lash curled and squeezed around her shoulders.
Nick dropped the whipstock where he stood, ignoring Elena's anguished obscenities and Mark's baffled cry. He scooped up the automatic and stepped quietly out into the passage. Nothing there but silence and a dead guard, short one automatic. He searched for keys, found them, and helped himself to the machine gun. When he got back into the room Julie had aroused herself and found Hugo; Elena was wrestling to free herself from the biting embrace of the whip.
"Carteret," said Mark, in a softly dangerous voice, "I think you owe us all an explanation."
"I do," Nick agreed. "Elena Darby is one of the spies who brought us here. I have a whole lot more to tell you, but you can also tell me a thing or two." Elena crawled to her knees and swore at him. He covered her with the gun. "In the meantime we have some urgent business. We can't let her roam around here. But I find it hard to inflict more damage on a — uh — lady. Suggestions, anyone?"
Julie snorted and scrambled to her feet, pulling off one dirt-stained, high-heeled shoe.
"Sure, I have one. If you find it so hard to hit the goddamn lady, kindly allow me."
The shoe arced through the air and slammed against Elena's head with a loud thunk. Elena moaned and dropped.
"Goodnight, sweetheart," said Julie.
* * *
The blueprint was a dream of helpful clarity. Every tunnel and every sliding trap was marked with perfect accuracy. The incongruous, fluting sounds of"… wild blue yonder…" floated through the tunnel. Traps slid open. Voices were raised in surprise and quickly shushed.
One door in the tunnel that had been open was now closed. Behind it lay the Commandant and one dead guard. Elena slumped, manacled, against the wall, a gag stuffed firmly into her mouth.
Scheuer joined the single men.
Dietz, with an extra automatic, added his frail strength to Rieber's group of married couples.
Mark and Julie, armed with a machine gun and the Commandant's gun, eased their way into the single women's quarters and joined Mrs. Nikki in a plan to take the women in small groups through the tunnel to join the single men.
All would then wait, the sliding trapdoors just barely open to catch the sounds from below, for Nick's final call to arms.
A single small camera case swung gently as Nick walked along the underground path suggested by the blueprint. The path ran directly beneath the buildings where all his charges would be waiting. At the end of it there was a sudden upward slope ending in a wide door. He worked for several minutes at the locks and bolts.
And then he felt fresh, cool air brush his face.
In a Cavern in a Canyon
He had to do two things.
Blow this place to kingdom come so that the new weapon that was being developed in it with Nazi know-how and stolen help would be blasted out of existence.
Get Gerber, Dietz and Scheuer out of here along with all the others.
&
nbsp; And the devil take the hindmost, like the collaborators Lautenbach and Lehmann. As well as the elusive Bronson, whoever and wherever he might be.
So far the element of surprise was still on Carter's side. Their captors had obviously been so certain of their stronghold as a prison that they were guarding no more than the obvious exits. Or hardly any more, for this exit was far from obvious.
Nick looked out into the night. It was still dark, but the sky held the suggestion of approaching dawn. If anything was to be done, it must be done quickly before the sleeping men awoke.
The door he was peering through was a dirt-and-grass covered flap in the hillside. It was some thirty feet away from the main entrance into the sealed-in village and only about half the size. Yet it was large enough to permit something like a car or a large truck to pass through. Pity he didn't have one, or several. But the only available trucks were still parked in that parody of a village square, and to try hijacking them was to invite instant disaster. Even to put them out of action and risk being caught in the attempt was, he had decided, too much of a chance to take. They'd have one opportunity for a breakout and their single hope was one sudden, concerted move.
There were four guards patrolling outside; four that he could see walking back and forth along a swath of dim light for which he was extremely grateful. Even though the door he was peering through was heavily camouflaged from the outside with overhanging turf and tangled branches, the leaking light would surely have been noticed if the hillside was not already bathed in the soft, artificial glow. He closed the door quickly and swore at himself for his carelessness.
But he needed to know what waited outside. And something Scheuer had said about the layout of the inner plant had given him the beginnings of an idea. And there was one thing about this camouflaged door that he liked very much. It opened outward.
He left the door shut but unlocked and walked quickly back along the passage until he reached the turnoff Elena had told him not to take. This time he took it. It sloped down sharply to another wide door that threatened to resist all his quiet, fumbling efforts to make its lock give way. Sweat beaded his forehead and he was almost in despair when at last the Lockpicker's Special made something click and slide.
He walked through into an even wider hallway that branched out in several directions. To his right were two elevators, one with the cage in place and the other out of sight. From somewhere beyond them, far off to the right, he could hear the steady hum of machinery pierced by the whirring and clanking of smaller equipment. A series of corridors led to closed doors. These, he knew both from the blueprint and from Dietz and Scheuer, were the machine shops. Facing him and to his left was another series of passages. The third one down led to the laboratory office of the man called Lautenbach. It was a temptation to walk down that corridor, find the switch Mark had told him about, and walk in on that half-mad man to see if the legendary Bronson was still with him. Unfortunately, though, it was a move that didn't make much sense. He only had two jobs to do, and that wasn't one of them.
It was the farthermost corridor that interested him the most.
He catfooted toward it, keeping close to the wall and holding Hugo ready.
The corridor he sought was open at the far end. It had no door; Scheuer had told him why. It was because it wasn't necessary. It opened out into a vast cavern with an immense silo-shaped structure in the center. Four narrow catwalks, heavily barred where they reached the main artery, spanned the space between the cavern walls and the immense funnel. All workrooms lining the walls were kept securely locked. Suspended halfway between the floor and ceiling was a huge platform that he knew would interest him.
He reached the open doorway and flattened himself against the side wall to look into the cavern.
A guard turned the corner from inside and looked him square in the face.
The suddenness of it sent a shock chilling down Nick's spine.
But he managed a pleasant smile. The expression on the guard's face was even more ludicrous than his own. Or so he hoped.
"Good evening," Nick said genially. "Herr Bronson, do you know where he is?"
The guard had barely started to open his mouth when Nick's arm struck out and sank Hugo deep into the man's neck. The icepick blade withdrew and struck again. Nick supported the sagging body while he looked through the open doorway. The passage was level for several yards and then it started sloping sharply downhill. A man was walking along one of the catwalks toward the vast circular structure Dietz had told him about. A door opened in the smooth face of the great funnel and the man disappeared within. There was no one else in sight. Nick dragged the guard through the doorway and left him lying just inside the cavern opening, a few feet off the wide ramp that sloped downward. There was no time now to think of places for concealing bodies. And one more machine gun joined the Carter arsenal.
He walked quickly down the ramp to the platform suspended between floor and ceiling, ignoring the stairways that went up and down on either side.
At any moment now — or perhaps it had already happened — one dead guard or another would be discovered. Time was running very short.
When he reached the platform he felt a vast wave of relief. It widened out on one side into a sort of siding crammed with loading bins and flat trailers, some of them built for coupling onto engines and others equipped with motors and steering equipment of their own. And the one thing Dietz had been able to describe only vaguely but that he'd been praying to see was there in all its custom-built perfection, stretched out like a giant centipede with a diesel engine. Behind it, the platform spread out like a fan, with one ramp leading far back to the opposite side of the cavern and several others leading down to the work area. But he was not concerned with what lay beyond. He was concerned with the width of the strange vehicle, its capacity, and getting it out the way he'd come. He measured it with his eyes. It would be a close fit and a wildly hazardous ride. But it would go through the wide doorways and passages he'd come through tonight. The thick rubber treads would be almost soundless. Only the engine would be heard. And the low throb and whine of machinery would help to cover that.
This would be as good a place as any to leave the bomb.
He crouched down in the shadow of a huge loading bin and took the «camera» out of its case. The timing was going to be tricky. He had to get his people out before the thing went off, and only just before, or there'd be nothing on God's earth to keep the whole pack of wolves at bay. Set it off too soon, and one plane load of innocent tourists would take one last, horrible flight into oblivion. He hesitated as he fingered the timer. There was no changing it, once it was set. Half an hour? Maybe. Better too early than too late. There was always a chance that someone might discover it if it lay around too long. And horrifying though the thought was, he had to wreck this monstrously dangerous place even if it meant blowing up the innocents with it. Because, according to Gerber, Dietz and Scheuer, it was the repository of every single atomic secret stolen by the Red Chinese from the Russians and the West. Without it, they would be back where they started — begging and stealing nuclear weapon knowhow. With it — goodbye, world.
Nick set the timer for half an hour and carefully slid the compact but devastating bomb beneath one of the metal loading bins. Then he set a corresponding timer on his own wrist watch and turned his attention to the long series of coupled cars that made up the odd-looking trackless trolley he planned to use as a subway train. Each car looked like a huge metal barrel laid lengthwise, stripped of its flat ends, sawed in half, and then mounted on four wheels. Coupled together as they were, the ten or twelve cars could hold and transport a cylindrically shaped object of considerable length. Or… each could carry, uncomfortably, about ten people.
The couplings gave it a maneuverability that he desperately needed.
The first of the curved flatcars was hitched to a miniature but muscular-looking diesel tractor that seated two, a driver and probably a guard. Nick climbed behind the wheel a
nd quickly examined the controls. The machine gun went down on the floor beside him.
Twenty-eight minutes to go.
He took one more look around the vast cavern with its ramps and catwalks and giant central funnel. The wide entryway near which he'd left the guard was clear. The ramps behind him were clear. The catwalks…
A door opened in the curved side of the immense funnel and two men walked out along one of the spoke-like catwalks talking earnestly. Nick froze. In about four or five seconds they would reach the main, circular catwalk that passed over his head and be out of his sight, and he out of theirs. No reason why they should look down. He stayed where he was, in full view of them and immovable as a statue.
They dawdled. They gestured. They debated. He could hear their voices raised in earnest discussion. They stopped. And one of them leaned on the catwalk rail and looked down into the pit, still gesturing.
Nick's heart tried to climb into his throat. One casual look at that siding, and the talkative one up there would let out a yell of something or other; enquiry, maybe, or a piercing scream for a guard.
The talkative one turned his head away to make a telling point. Nick slid off the tractor seat and down the far side of the vehicle to a crouching position on the platform. From there he watched them talk. And talk. And talk.
Once they seemed on the verge of going back along the catwalk. Then they changed minds in midstream and swung back to their position at the rail. He cursed them bitterly for choosing such an unlikely spot for conversation.
Twenty-three minutes to go. Twenty-two minutes.
Twenty-one.
Well, it looked as though the shooting was about to start. He'd have to get this contraption moving now regardless of what the two men up there saw or said or did. Perhaps two little Wilhelmina-type gunshots wouldn't be noticed? Not a hope in hell. Of course they would.