Nick Carter

The Defector

CHAPTER ONE

The sun always shines in Acapulco. In a small hotel room overlooking a white-sand beach, Nick Carter, number one Killmaster for AXE, watched the red ball of setting sun splash its color over the sea. He enjoyed the sight and rarely missed it, but he’d been in Acapulco a month now and he felt uneasy restlessness building inside him.

Hawk had insisted he take this time off, and Nick was all for it at first. But a month was too long for the idle life. He needed an assignment.

Killmaster turned from the window, already darkening in dusk, to gaze at the ugly black phone on the nightstand. He almost wished it would ring.

A rustle of bed sheets sounded at his back. Nick completed his turn to face the bed. Laura Best held her long tanned arms out to him.

“Again, darling,” she said in a voice husky with sleep.

Nick went into her arms, his powerful chest crushing her perfectly formed naked breasts. He worked his lips over hers, tasting sleep on her breath. Laura moved her mouth eagerly. With her toes she inched the sheet down from between them. The movement excited them both. Laura Best was an expert at making love. Her legs, like her breasts — indeed like all of her — were perfectly formed. Her face held a childlike beauty containing both innocence and wisdom and, at times, open desire. Nick Carter had never known a more complete woman. She was all things to all men. She had beauty. She was rich, thanks to the oil fortune left to her by her father. She had brains. She was one of the international Beautiful People, or as Nick preferred, Jet-Set leftovers. Making love was her sport, her hobby, her vocation. For the past three weeks she’d been telling her international friends she was madly in love with Arthur Porges, buyer and seller of government surplus goods. Arthur Porges happened to be Nick Carter’s present cover.

Nick Carter also had few equals in the love-making department. Few things satisfied him quite as much as making love to a beautiful woman. Making love to Laura Best satisfied him completely. And yet—

“Oh!” Laura cried. “Now, darling! Now!” She arched against him, raking her fingernails across his tight-muscled back.

And when they had completed their love act together, she went limp and fell away from him, panting.

She opened her large brown eyes, looking up at him. “God, that was good! That was the best yet.” Her eyes swept over his chest. “You never get tired, do you?”

Nick smiled. “I get tired.” He lay beside her, pulled one of his gold-tipped cigarettes from the nightstand, lit it and offered it to her.

Laura raised herself on one elbow to see his face better. She shook her head at the cigarette. “The woman who makes you tired will have to be more woman than I am.”

“There aren’t any,” Nick said. He said it partly because he believed it and partly because he figured she wanted to hear it.

She returned his smile. He’d been right.

“That was clever of you,” she said tracing his nose with her index finger. “You always say the right thing at the right time, don’t you?”

Nick took a deep drag from the cigarette. “You’re a woman who knows men, I’ll give you that” And he was a man who knew women.

Laura Best studied him, a faraway glaze filming her large eyes. Her auburn hair cascaded over her left shoulder, almost covering her breast. The index finger slid lightly over his lips, his throat; she spread the palm of her hand on his massive chest. Finally she said, “You know I love you, don’t you?”

Nick didn’t want the conversation to go in the direction it was heading. When he first met Laura, she told him not to expect too much. Their relationship was going to be strictly for laughs. They’d enjoy each other fully, and when that paled they’d part good friends. No emotional hang-ups, no sticky theatrics. She went for him and he went for her. They’d make love and have fun. Period. It was the philosophy of the Beautiful People. And Nick more than went for the idea. He had a break between assignments. Laura was one of the most beautiful women he’d ever met. Fun was the name of the game.

But recently she’d become moody. At twenty-two she had already been married and divorced three times. She spoke of her past husbands as a hunter speaks of his trophies. For Laura to love, Laura had to possess. And for Nick, that was the one flaw in her perfection.

“Don’t you?” Laura repeated. Her eyes were searching his.

Nick mashed the cigarette in the ashtray on the nightstand. “Feel like a moonlight swim?” he asked.

Laura flopped down on the bed beside him. “Damn it! Can’t you tell when I’m trying to propose to you?”

“Propose what?”

“Marriage, of course. I want you to marry me, to take me away from all this.”

Nick grinned. “Let’s go for a moonlight swim.”

Laura did not return his grin. “Not until I get an answer.”

The phone rang.

With relief, Nick moved toward it. Laura caught his arm, holding it.

“You’re not picking up that phone until I get an answer.”

With his free hand, Nick easily loosened her tight grasp on his arm. He picked up the phone, hoping to hear the voice of Hawk.

“Art, dahling,” a female voice said with a slight German accent. “May I speak to Laura, please?”

Nick recognized the voice as Sonny’s, another Jet-Set leftover. He handed the phone to Laura. “It’s Sonny.”

Angrily, Laura jumped out of bed, stuck her pretty tongue out at Nick, put the phone to her ear. “Damn you, Sonny. You picked a hell of a time to call.”

Nick stood by the window looking at but not seeing whitecaps faintly visible over the dark sea. He knew this would be the last night he would spend with Laura. Whether Hawk called or not, their relationship was over. Nick was slightly angry with himself for allowing it to go as far as it had.

Laura hung up the phone. “We’re taking a boat to Puerta Vallarta in the morning.” She said it easily, naturally. She made the plans. “I guess I should start packing.” She stepped into panties, picked up her bra. Her face had a concentrated look, as though she were thinking hard.

Nick crossed to his cigarettes, lit another one. This time he didn’t offer her one.

“Well?” Laura asked. She was fastening the bra.

“Well what?”

“When do we get married?”

Nick almost choked on the cigarette smoke he’d inhaled.

“Puerta Vallarta would be a good place,” she continued. She was still making the plans.

The phone rang again.

Nick picked it up. “Yes?”

He recognized Hawk’s voice immediately. “Mr. Porges?”

“Yes.”

“This is Thompson. I understand you have forty tons of pig iron for sale.”

“That’s right.”

“If the price is right, I might be interested in buying ten tons of it. You know where my office is?”

“Yes,” Nick answered with a broad smile. Hawk wanted him at ten o’clock. But ten o’clock tonight, or tomorrow morning? “Will tomorrow morning be soon enough?” he asked.

“Well,” Hawk hesitated. “I have several meetings tomorrow.”

Nick didn’t have to be told any more. Whatever the chief had for him, it was urgent. Killmaster stole a glance at Laura. Her lovely face was tense. She watched him anxiously.

“I’ll catch the next plane out of here,” he said.

“That will be fine.”

They hung up together.

Nick turned to Laura. If she had been Georgette, or Swee Ching, or any other of Nick’s girls, she would pout and kick up a small fuss. But they would part friends and promise each other that next time would last longer. It wouldn’t work that way with Laura, though. He had never known anyone quite like her. With her it had to be all or nothing. She was rich and spoiled, and used to having her own way.

Laura cut a fine figure standing in her bra and panties, her hand on her hips.

“So?” she said with raised eyebrows. Her face held the look of a small child watching something she wanted being taken away from her.

Nick wished to make this as painless and short as possible. “If you’re going to Puerta Vallarta, you’d better start packing. Goodbye, Laura.”

Her hands dropped to her sides. Her lower lip began to quiver slightly. “It’s over, then?”

“Yes.”

“Completely?”

“Completely,” Nick knew she could never be another one of his girls. The break with her would have to be final. He put out the cigarette he’d been smoking, and waited. If she was going to explode, he was ready for it.

Laura shrugged, gave him a weak smile and began unfastening her bra. “Then let’s make this last time the best ever,” she said.

They made love, gently at first, then violently, each taking from the other everything there was to give. It was their last time together; they both knew it. And Laura cried the whole time, her tears running down her temples wetting the pillow under her. But she had been right. It was the best ever.

At ten past ten Nick Carter entered a small office in the Amalgamated Press and Wire Services building on Dupont Circle. It was snowing in Washington, and the shoulders of his topcoat were damp. The office smelled of stale cigar smoke, yet the short black stub stuck between Hawk’s teeth remained unlit.

Hawk sat behind a dimly lit desk, his icy eyes studying Nick closely. He watched Nick hang up the topcoat and take a seat opposite him.

Nick had already filed Laura Best along with his Arthur Porges cover in the memory bank of his mind. He could recall the memory when he wanted it, but most likely it would merely rest there. He was Nick Carter now, N3, Killmaster for AXE. Pierre, his tiny gas bomb, hung in its favorite place between his legs like a third testicle. Hugo, the thin stiletto, was firmly fixed on his arm, ready to fit his hand if he needed it. And Wilhelmina, his 9mm stripped Luger, rested snugly under his left armpit. His brain was tuned to Hawk, his tight-muscled body waited for action. He was armed and ready for work.

Hawk shut the folder and leaned back in his chair. He pulled the ugly black stub out of his mouth, studied it with distaste and threw it into the trash can alongside his desk. Almost immediately he had another cigar between his teeth and his leathery face became clouded by smoke.

“Nick, I’ve got a tough one for you,” he said suddenly.

Nick didn’t even try to hide his smile. Both men knew N3 always got the tough ones.

Hawk went on. “Does the word ‘melanosomes’ mean anything to you?”

Nick recalled reading the word some time ago. “Has something to do with skin pigment, doesn’t it?”

Hawk’s genial face creased in a smile of satisfaction. “Close enough,” he said. He opened the folder in front of him. “Don’t let these ten-dollar words throw you.” He began reading. “In 1966, using an electron microscope, Professor John Loo discovered a method of isolating and characterizing such skin diseases as melanoma, cellular blue Nevus, albinism and others. While important in itself, the true value in this discovery was that by knowing and isolating these diseases, diagnosing more serious ailments became easier.” Hawk looked up at Nick from the folder. “That was in 1966.”

Nick leaned forward, waiting. He knew the chief was building up to something. He also knew everything Hawk said was important. Cigar smoke hung in the small office like a blue fog.

“Up until yesterday,” Hawk said, “Professor Loo was working as dermatologist with NASA’s Venus program. Working with ultraviolet light and other forms of radiation, he was perfecting a compound more sophisticated than benzophenones in screening harmful rays from the skin. If he’s successful, he will have a compound that protects the skin from sunrays, blisters, heat and radiation.” Hawk closed the folder. “I don’t have to tell you the value of such a compound.”

Nick’s brain digested the information. No, he didn’t have to be told. Its value to NASA was obvious. In the tiny cockpits of space vehicles, astronauts were sometimes subjected to harmful rays. With the new compound the rays could be made harmless. Medically, its use could be extended to blisters and burns. The possibilities seemed unlimited.

But Hawk had said up until yesterday. “What happened yesterday?” Killmaster asked.

Hawk stood, crossed to the bleak window. With light snow flurries and darkness there was nothing to see but the reflection of his own wiry frame clothed in a loose-fitting, wrinkled suit. He took a deep drag on the cigar and blew smoke at the reflection. “Yesterday, Professor John Loo flew to Hong Kong.” The chief turned to face Nick. “Yesterday, Professor John Loo announced he was defecting to the Chi Corns!”

Nick lit one of his gold-tipped cigarettes. He understood the gravity of such a defection. If the compound was perfected in China, its most obvious value would be skin protection against nuclear radiation. China already had an H-bomb. Such protection for them might be the green light for using their bombs. “Anyone know why the professor decided to defect?” Nick asked.

Hawk shrugged. “Nobody — not NASA, the FBI, the CIA — nobody can come up with a reason. Day before yesterday, he reports for work and the day goes fine. Yesterday he announces in Hong Kong that he’s going to defect. We know where he is, but he won’t see anyone.”

“How about his past?” Nick asked. “Anything Communist there?”

The cigar had gone out. Hawk chewed on it while he talked. “Nothing. He’s a Chinese-American, born in San Francisco’s Chinatown. Got his degree at Berkeley, married the girl he met there, went to work for NASA in 1967. He has a twelve-year-old son. Like most scientists, he has no political involvements. He’s devoted to two things: his work and his family. His son plays shortstop in the Little League. On his vacations he takes his family deep-sea fishing on the Gulf in their eighteen-foot outboard.” The chief sat back in his chair. “No, there’s nothing in his past.”

Killmaster mashed out the stub of his cigarette. Smoke hung thick in the tiny office. The radiator put out a moist heat and Nick felt himself sweating slightly. “The reason has to be either his work or his family,” he said.

Hawk nodded. “That’s the way I figure it. We have a bit of a problem, though. The CIA has informed us they have no intention of letting him work on that compound in China. If the Chi Corns get him in, the CIA will send an agent to kill him.”

Nick had figured something like that. It was not an uncommon practice. AXE had even done it occasionally. When everything failed to get a defector back, and if he was important enough, the final move would be to kill him. If the agent didn’t make it back — too bad. Agents were dispensable.

“The point is,” Hawk said, “NASA wants him back. He’s a brilliant scientist, and he’s young enough so that what he’s working on now will be just the beginning.” He gave Nick a smile without humor. “That is your assignment, N3. Use anything short of kidnapping, but get him back!”

“Yes sir.”

Hawk pulled the cigar stub from between his teeth. It joined the other in the trash can. “Professor Loo had a fellow dermatologist working with him at NASA. They were good working friends, but because of security they never got together socially. His name is Chris Wilson. That will be your cover. It might open the door for you in Hong Kong.”

“What about the professor’s family?” Nick asked.

“Far as we know, his wife is still in Orlando. We’ll give you her address. She’s already been interviewed, though, and she couldn’t give us anything useful.”

“Wouldn’t hurt to try.”

Hawk’s icy stare had approval in it. N3 accepted little on the words of others. Nothing was exhausted until he personally had tried it. That was only one reason why Nick Carter was AXE’s number-one agent. “Our departments are at your complete disposal,” Hawk said. “Get whatever you need. Good luck, Nick.”

Nick was already standing. “I’ll do my best, sir.” He knew the chief never expected any more, or less, than his best.

From AXE’s Special Effects and Editing Department Nick got the two disguises he figured he’d need. One was Chris Wilson, which was merely a matter of clothing, some padding here and there, and a few changes in mannerisms. The other, to be used later, was a bit more complicated. He had everything he needed — clothing and make-up — stored in the secret compartment of his luggage.

At Documents he committed to memory a two-hour, tape-recorded lecture on Chris Wilson’s work at NASA, along with everything personal AXE knew about the man. He received the necessary passport and papers.

By noon a slightly pudgy, bespeckled, new Chris Wilson boarded the Boeing 707, Flight 27, to Orlando, Florida.

CHAPTER TWO

As the plane circled Washington for the turn south, Nick noticed the snow had let up slightly. Patches of blue sky peeked through the clouds, and as the plane gained altitude, his window brightened with sunlight. He settled himself in his seat, and when the No Smoking light went out, he lit one of his cigarettes.

Several things seemed odd about Professor Loo’s defection. For one, why wasn’t the professor taking his family with him? If the Chi Corns were offering him a better life, it seemed logical that he’d want his wife and son to share it with him. Unless, of course, his wife was the reason behind his defection.

Another puzzling thing was how the Chi Corns knew the professor was working on that skin compound. NASA had a strict security system. Everyone who worked for them was screened thoroughly. Yet the Chi Corns knew about the compound, and convinced Professor Loo to perfect it for them. How? What could they offer him that the Americans couldn’t match?

Nick intended to find answers. He also intended to get the professor back. Once the CIA sent their agent to kill the man, it would mean Nick had failed — and Nick had no intention of failing.

Nick had had dealings with defectors before. He found they defected for greed, or they were running from something, or they were running to something. In the case of Professor Loo there could be several reasons. Number one, of course — money. Maybe the Chi Corns promised him a lump-sum deal for the compound. Certainly NASA wasn’t the highest paying outfit around. And everyone can always use a little extra scratch.

Then there were marital troubles. Nick guessed every married man had problems with his marriage at one time or another. Maybe his wife was sleeping around. Maybe the Chi Corns had someone better for him. It could be he was just disgusted with his marriage and this looked like the easiest way out. Two things were important to him— his family and his work. If he felt his family was breaking up, that might be enough to send him over. If not, it was his work. As a scientist, he probably demanded a certain amount of freedom in his work. Maybe the Chi Corns offered unlimited freedom, unlimited facilities. That would be an incentive for any scientist.

The more Killmaster thought about it, the more possibilities cropped up. The relationship the man had with his son; overdue bills and repossession threats; disgust with American political policies. All maybes, perhaps, and probablys.

Of course the Chi Corns could actually be forcing the professor to defect, threatening him in some way. To hell with it, Nick thought. As always, he would play it by ear, using his talents, weapons and brains.

Nick Carter stared at the slow-moving landscape far below his window. He had not slept in forty-eight hours. Using yoga, Nick concentrated on the complete relaxation of his body. His mind remained tuned to his surroundings, but he forced his body to go limp. Every muscle, every fiber, every cell completely relaxed. To anyone watching, he looked like a man in deep slumber, yet his eyes were open, his brain conscious.

But his relaxing was not to be. The stewardess interrupted him.

“Are you all right, Mr. Wilson?” she asked.

“Yes, fine,” Nick said. The muscles in his body tightened again.

“I thought you had fainted. Can I get you anything?”

“No, thank you.”

She was a lovely creature, almond-eyed, with high cheekbones and rich, full lips. The airline’s liberal uniform policy allowed her blouse to wrap itself tightly around her large protruding breasts. She wore a girdle because it was demanded by all airlines. But Nick doubted if she wore one except while working. She certainly didn’t need it.

The stewardess grew embarrassed under his gaze. Nick’s ego was enough to know that even with thick glasses and a thick middle, he still had an effect on women.

“We’ll be in Orlando soon,” she said, a slight flush in her cheeks.

As she moved down the aisle in front of him, the short skirt revealed long, nicely tapered legs, and Nick blessed short skirts. He thought momentarily of asking her to dinner. But he knew there would be no time. When he had finished his interview with Mrs. Loo, there was a plane to catch for Hong Kong.

At the small airport in Orlando, Nick stored his baggage in a locker, and gave the professor’s home address to a taxi driver. He felt slightly uncomfortable as he settled in the back seat of the taxi. The air was muggy and hot, and although Nick had shed his topcoat, he still wore a heavy suit. And all that padding around his waist didn’t help much, either.

The house sat squeezed between other houses just like it that lined both sides of the block. Because of the heat, sprinklers were going in front of almost every one. The lawns looked well manicured and richly green. Gutter water flowed down both sides of the street, and concrete sidewalks usually white had darkened with wetness from the sprinklers. A short sidewalk ran from the front porch to the curb. As soon as Nick paid the taxi driver, he had a feeling he was being watched. It started with the fine hair bristling on the back of his neck. A slight, prickly chill went through him, then quickly left. Nick faced the house just in time to see a curtain flow back into place. Killmaster knew he was expected.

Nick didn’t particularly care for this interviewing business, especially with housewives. As Hawk had pointed out, she’d already been interviewed and could offer nothing useful.

As Nick approached the door, he fixed his face to reveal his widest, boyish grin. He pushed the bell once. The door opened immediately and he was face-to-face with Mrs. John Loo.

“Mrs. Loo?” Killmaster asked. When he got a short nod, he said, “My name is Chris Wilson. I worked with your husband. I wonder if I might chat with you awhile.”

“Chat?” Her brow wrinkled into a frown.

Nick’s grin remained frozen on his face. “Yes. John and I were good friends. I can’t understand why he would do such a thing.”

“I’ve already talked with someone from NASA.” She made no move to open the door wider or to invite him in.

“Yes,” Nick said. “I’m sure you have.” He could understand her hostility. The husband’s leaving was hard enough on, her without being pestered by CIA, FBI, NASA, and now him. Killmaster felt like the ass he was pretending to be. “If I could just talk to you…” He let the words trail off.

Mrs. Loo sighed deeply. “Very well. Come in.” She opened the door, stepping back slightly.

Once inside, Nick stood awkwardly in the foyer. It was slightly cooler in the house. He had his first real look at Mrs. Loo.

She was short, under five feet. Nick guessed her age to be in the middle or late thirties. Her raven hair lay in thick swirls on top of her head, trying to give an illusion of height but not quite carrying it off. The curves of her body blended into a stout roundness, not thick especially, but heavier than normal. She looked about twenty-five pounds overweight. Her Oriental eyes were her most outstanding feature, and she knew it. They were meticulously made up with just the right amount of liner and shadow. Mrs. Loo wore no lipstick, no other make-up. Her ears were pierced, yet no earrings hung from them.

“Step into the living room, please,” she said.

The living room contained modern furniture, and, like the foyer, was thickly carpeted. An Oriental design swirled this way and that through the carpet, but Nick noticed the carpet design was the only Oriental thing in the room.

Mrs. Loo motioned Killmaster to the fragile-looking divan, and took a chair opposite him. “I think I told the others everything I know.”

“I’m sure you did,” Nick said, breaking his grin for the first time. “But this is for my own conscience. John and I worked closely together. I’d hate to think he did this because of something I said or did.”

“I don’t think so,” Mrs. Loo said.

Like most housewives, Mrs. Loo wore pants. On top she had on a man’s shirt too large for her. Nick liked baggy shirts on women, especially the kind that buttoned down the front. He disliked pants on women. They belonged in dresses or skirts.

Serious now, the grin completely gone, he said, “Can you think of any reason why John would want to defect?”

“No,” she said. “But if it will set your mind at ease, I doubt if it had anything to do with you.”

“Then it must have been something here at home.”

“I really couldn’t say.” Mrs. Loo had become nervous. She sat with her legs tucked under her, and kept twisting the wedding band around her finger.

The glasses Nick wore felt heavy on the bridge of his nose. But they reminded him of who he was pretending to be. In a situation like this it would be too easy to start asking questions like Nick Carter. He crossed his legs and rubbed his chin. “I can’t get over the feeling that somehow I caused all this. John liked his work. He was devoted to you and the boy. What reason could he have had for Mrs. Loo said a bit impatiently, “Whatever his reasons, I’m sure they were personal.”

“Of course,” Nick knew she was trying to conclude this conversation. But he wasn’t quite ready yet. “Did anything happen here at home in the last few days?”

“What do you mean?” Her eyes narrowed and she studied him closely. She was on her guard.

“Marriage problems,” Nick said bluntly.

Her lips tightened. “Mr. Wilson, I don’t think that is any of your business. Whatever reason my husband has for wanting to defect can be found at NASA, not here.”

She was growing angry. That was all right with Nick. Angry people sometimes said things they wouldn’t normally say. “Do you know what he was working on at NASA?”

“Of course not. He never talked about his work.”

If she didn’t know anything about his work, then what made her blame NASA for his wanting to defect? Was it because she felt their marriage was so good it had to be his work? Nick decided to pursue another line. “If John does defect, will you and the boy join him?”

Mrs. Loo straightened her legs and sat stiffly in the chair. The palms of her hands were sweating. She alternated between rubbing her hands and twisting the ring. She had checked her anger, but she was still nervous. “No,” she said calmly. “I’m an American. My place is here.”

“What will you do, then?”

“Divorce him. Try to find another life for me and the boy.”

“I see.” Hawk had been right. Nick wasn’t going to learn anything here. For some reason Mrs. Loo was on her guard.

“Well, I won’t take up any more of your time.” He stood, thankful for the chance. “May I use your phone to call a taxi?”

“Of course.” Mrs. Loo seemed to relax a little. Nick could almost see the tension go out of her face.

As Killmaster was about to reach for the phone he heard a door slam somewhere toward the back of the house. A few seconds later a boy came bounding into the living room.

“Mom, I…” The boy saw Nick and froze. He shot a quick glance toward his mother.

“Mike,” Mrs. Loo said, nervous again. “This is Mr. Wilson. He worked with your father. He’s here to ask questions about your father. Do you understand, Mike? He is here to ask questions about your father.” She had emphasized those last words.

“I understand,” Mike said. He looked up at Nick, his eyes holding the same guarded look as his mother’s.

Nick gave the boy a friendly smile. “Hello, Mike.”

“Hello.” Tiny beads of sweat dotted his forehead. A baseball glove hung from his belt. The resemblance to his mother was obvious.

“Getting a little early practice?” Nick asked, pointing to the glove.

“Yes, sir.”

Nick took a chance. He took two steps so that he stood between the boy and his mother. “Tell me, Mike,” he said. “Do you know why your father left?”

The boy shut his eyes. “My father left because of his work.” It sounded well rehearsed.

“Did you get along with your father?”

“Yes, sir.”

Mrs. Loo stood. “I think you had better leave,” she said to Nick.

Killmaster nodded. He picked up the phone, called for a taxi. When he had hung up, he faced the pair. Something was wrong here. They both knew more than they were telling. Nick guessed it was one of two things. Either they were both going to join the professor, or they were the cause of his defection. One thing was certain, he wasn’t going to learn anything from them. They didn’t believe or trust him. All they would tell him were their canned, rehearsed speeches.

Nick decided to leave them with a mild shock. “Mrs. Loo, I’m flying to Hong Kong to talk with John. Any messages?”

She blinked once, and for an instant her facial expression changed. But the instant passed and the guarded look returned. “No messages,” she said.

The taxi pulled up outside and honked. Nick started for the door. “No need to show me the way out.” He felt them watching him until he closed the door behind him. Outside, in the heat once again, he felt rather than saw the curtain being pulled aside from the window. They watched him as the taxi pulled away from the curb.

In the muggy heat once again, rolling toward the airport, Nick removed his thick, horn-rimmed glasses. He was not used to glasses. The gelatin padding around his waist, formed to look like part of his skin, was like a plastic bag around him. No air got to his skin, and he found himself sweating heavily. The heat in Florida was not like the heat in Mexico.

Nick’s mind was filled with unanswered questions. They were a strange pair, those two. Not once during the visit had Mrs. Loo said that she wanted her husband back. And she had no message for him. That meant she was probably joining him later. But that didn’t sound right either. Their attitude suggested that as far as they were concerned he was already gone, and for good. No, there was something else, something he couldn’t quite put his finger on.

CHAPTER THREE

Killmaster had to change planes twice, once in Miami and again in Los Angeles, before he caught a direct flight to Hong Kong. Once over the Pacific, he tried to relax, to get some sleep. But again this was not to be; he could feel the fine hair on the back of his neck bristle again. A chill ran through him as before. He was being watched.

Nick stood and walked slowly down the aisle toward the rest rooms, his eyes scanning faces on each side of him. The plane was more than half-filled with Orientals. Some slept, others stared out their dark windows, still others glanced at him idly as he passed. None turned to look at him after he had gone by, and none had the look of a watcher. Once inside the rest room, Nick splashed cold water on his face. In the mirror he looked at the reflection of his handsome features, deeply tanned by the Mexican sun. Was it his imagination? He knew better. Someone on the plane was watching him, all right. Had the watcher been with him in Orlando? Miami? Los Angeles? Where had Nick picked him up? He wasn’t going to find the answer looking at his face in the mirror.

Nick returned to his seat watching the backs of heads. No one seemed to have missed him.

The stewardess came to him just as he was lighting one of his gold-tipped cigarettes.

“Is everything all right, Mr. Wilson?” she asked.

“Couldn’t be better,” Nick replied, giving her a wide grin.

She was English, small-breasted and long-legged. Her fair skin reeked with health. Bright-eyed and rosy-cheeked, she had the type of bubbly personality that everything she felt, thought and wanted was shown in her face. And there was no doubt as to what was written on her face right now.

“Is there anything I can get you?” she asked.

It was a leading question, meaning anything at all, just ask: coffee, tea or me. Nick considered it seriously. A crowded plane, more than forty-eight hours without sleep, too many things were against it. He needed rest, not romance. Yet, he didn’t want to close the door completely.

“Maybe later,” he said finally.

“Of course.” A trace of disappointment showed in her eyes, but she smiled warmly at him and moved on.

Nick settled back in his seat. Surprisingly, he was becoming used to the gelatin belt around his waist. The glasses still bothered him, though, and he removed them to wipe the lenses.

He felt a little sorrow over the stewardess. He didn’t even have her name. If “later” did come about, how would he locate her? He would get her name and where she would be for the following month before he got off the plane.

The chill hit him again. Damn it, he thought, there should be some way to find out who was watching him. He knew if he really wanted to there were ways of finding out. He doubted the person would try anything on the plane. Maybe they expected him to lead them straight to the professor. Well, when they reached Hong Kong he had a few surprises for whoever. Right now he needed rest.

Killmaster wished he could explain the odd feeling he had about Mrs. Loo and the boy. If they had told him the truth, Professor Loo was in trouble. It meant he was in fact defecting strictly because of his work. And that, somehow, just didn’t set right, especially considering the professor’s past performance in dermatology. His discoveries, his present experiments, didn’t point to a man unhappy in his work. And the less-than-cordial reception Nick received from Mrs. Loo made him lean toward the marriage as a reason. Surely the professor had told his wife about Chris Wilson. And unless Nick had blown his cover when talking with her, there was no reason for her hostility toward him. Mrs. Loo was lying for some reason. It was a feeling he had, the “something wrong here” attitude of the house.

But Nick needed rest now, and rest he was going to get. If Mr. Whatsit wanted to watch him sleep, let him. When he reported to whoever had told him to watch Nick, he’d be an expert on watching a man sleep.

Killmaster relaxed his body completely. His mind went blank except for the one compartment which always remained aware of the surroundings. This part of his brain was his life insurance. It never rested, never blacked out. It had saved his life on many occasions. He closed his eyes and was asleep immediately.

Nick Carter came awake instantly one second before the hand touched his shoulder. He let the hand touch him before he opened his eyes. Then he put his own big hand over the slim feminine one. He looked into the bright eyes of the English stewardess.

“Fasten your seat belt, Mr. Wilson. We are about to land.” She tried weakly to withdraw her hand, but Nick held it to his shoulder.

“Not Mr. Wilson,” he said. “Chris.”

She stopped trying to withdraw her hand. “Chris,” she repeated.

“And you are…” He let the sentence hang.

“Sharon. Sharon Russell.”

“How long will you be in Hong Kong, Sharon?”

That trace of disappointment came back into her eyes. “Only an hour, I’m afraid. I have to catch the next flight out.”

Nick ran his fingers along her arm. “An hour isn’t enough time, it it?”

“That depends.”

Nick wanted more than an hour with her, a lot more. “What I have in mind would take at least a week,” he said.

“A week!” She was curious now, it showed in her eyes. Something else was there too. Delight.

“Where will you be next week, Sharon?”

Her face brightened. “Next week I begin my holiday.”

“And where will that be?”

“Spain. Barcelona, then Madrid.”

Nick smiled. “Will you wait in Barcelona for me? We can do Madrid together.”

“That would be wonderful.” She pressed a slip of paper into his palm. “That is where I’ll be staying in Barcelona.”

Nick could hardly contain his chuckle. She had expected this. “Until next week, then,” he said.

“Until next week.” She squeezed his hand and moved on to the other passengers.

And when they had landed, and as Nick was leaving the plane, she squeezed his hand again, saying softly, “Ole.”

From the airport, Killmaster took a taxi straight to the harbor. In the cab, with his suitcase on the floor between his legs, Nick deduced time-zone changes and set his watch. It figured to be ten-thirty-five P.M., Tuesday.

Outside, the streets of Victoria remained unchanged since Killmaster’s last visit. His driver tooled the Mercedes unmercifully through traffic, relying heavily on the horn. A chill hung icily in the air. Streets and cars sparkled from a rainstorm just past. From curbs to buildings people mingled aimlessly, covering every square inch of sidewalk. They slouched, heads bent low, arms locked across their stomachs, and shuffled slowly along. Some sat on the curbs shoveling with chopsticks food from wooden bowls to their mouths. As they ate their eyes darted from side to side suspiciously, as though they were ashamed of eating when so many others were not.

Nick sat back in his seat, smiling. This was Victoria. Across the harbor lay Kowloon, every bit as crowded, every bit as exotic. This was Hong Kong, mysterious, beautiful and, at times, deadly. Countless black markets flourished. If you had the contact and the right amount of money, nothing was priceless. Gold, silver, jade, cigarettes, girls; everything was available, everything was for sale, if you had the price.

The streets of any city interested Nick; the streets of Hong Kong fascinated him. As he watched the crowded sidewalks from his taxi, he noticed sailors threading quickly through the throng. Sometimes they moved in groups, sometimes in pairs, but never alone. And Nick knew what they were hurrying to; a girl, a bottle, a piece of tail. Sailors were sailors everywhere. The action would be heavy on the streets of Hong Kong tonight. The American fleet was in. Nick wondered if the watcher was still with him.

As the taxi approached the harbor, Nick saw sampans packed like sardines against the docks. Hundreds of them were tied together, forming a miniature floating colony. Because of the cold, ugly blue smoke belched from crude stacks cut into the cabins. People lived their whole lives on these tiny boats; they ate, slept and died on them, and there seemed to be a hundred more since the last time Nick had seen them. Larger junks were dotted here and there among them. And farther out were anchored the huge, almost monstrous ships of the American Fleet. What a contrast, Nick thought. The sampans were small, cramped and always crowded. Lanterns gave them an eerie, bobbing look, while the gigantic American ships shined brightly with generator-powered lights, making them look almost deserted. They sat like boulders in the harbor, unmoving.

In front of the hotel, Nick paid the taxi driver and walked briskly into the building without looking around. Once inside he asked the desk clerk for a room with a view.

He got one overlooking the harbor. Directly below, waves of heads flowed and zigzagged like ants hurrying nowhere. Nick stood slightly to the side of the window watching moonlight flicker across the water. When he had tipped and dismissed the bell boy, he turned off all the lights in the room and returned to the window. Salty air reached his nostrils, mingled with the smell of cooking fish. He heard hundreds of voices from the sidewalk. He studied the faces carefully, and not seeing what he wanted, moved quickly across the window to make himself as lousy a target as possible. The view from the other side proved more revealing.

One man did not move with the crowd. Neither did he slice through it. He stood under a street lamp with a newspaper in his hands.

God! Nick thought. Not a newspaper! At night, in the middle of a crowd, under a poor street lamp — reading a newspaper?

Too many questions were unanswered. Killmaster knew he could lose this obvious amateur when and if he desired. But he wanted answers. And Mr. Whatsit following him was the first forward step he’d made since starting this assignment. As Nick watched, a second, heavily built man dressed like a coolie approached the first. His left arm was curled around a brown-paper-wrapped bundle. Words were exchanged. The first man pointed to the bundle, shaking his head. More words were exchanged, becoming heated. The second man thrust the bundle at the first. He started to refuse it, then grudgingly took it. He turned his back on the second man and melted into the crowd. The hotel was now being watched by the second man.

Nick figured Mr. Whatsit would be changing into a coolie costume about now. That’s probably what was in the bundle. Killmaster’s mind clicked off a plan. Good ideas wen digested, formed, worked over, placed into a slot to become part of the plan. But still it was rough. Any plan snatched cold out of the air was rough. Nick knew this. Polishing would come in steps as the plan was executed. At least now he would begin getting some answers.

Nick moved away from the window. He unpacked his suitcase, and when it was empty, he removed the hidden drawer. From this drawer he took out a small bundle not unlike the one the second man had carried. He unfurled the cloth of the bundle and rerolled it lengthwise. Still in darkness, he undressed completely, removing his weapons and laying them on the bed. When he was naked he carefully peeled the gelatin, flesh-toned padding from around his waist. It clung stubbornly, taking some of his belly-hair as he pulled. He worked with it for half an hour and found himself sweating heavily from the pain of pulled hair. Finally, he had it off. He let it fall to the floor at his feet and permitted himself the luxury of rubbing and scratching his belly. When he was satisfied, he took Hugo, his stiletto, and the padding into the bathroom. He slit the membrane holding in the gelatin and let the gooey stuff plop into the toilet. It took four flushings to get it all down. He followed it with the membrane itself. Then Nick returned to the window.

Mr. Whatsit had rejoined the second man. He too now looked like a coolie. As Nick watched them, he felt dirty from the drying sweat. But he smiled. They were the beginning. As he moved into the light of answers to his questions, he knew he would have two shadows.

CHAPTER FOUR

Nick Carter closed the draperies across the window and turned the lights on in the room. Moving to the bathroom, he took a leisurely shower, then shaved carefully. He knew the worst hardship on the two men waiting for him outside would be time. Waiting for him to do something was the tough part. He knew this because he had been there once or twice himself. And the longer he kept them waiting, the more careless they would become.

When he was finished in the bathroom, Nick padded barefoot to the bed. He picked up the rolled cloth and fastened it around his waist. When he was satisfied, he hung his tiny gas bomb between his legs, then stepped into his shorts, pulling the waistband up over the padding. He checked his profile in the bathroom mirror. The rolled cloth did not look as real as the gelatin had, but it was the best he could do. Back by the bed, Nick finished dressing, attaching Hugo to his arm and Wilhelmina, the Luger, in the waist of his pants. It was time for something to eat.

Killmaster left all the lights on in his room. He figured one of the two men would probably want to search it.

There was no sense making it difficult for them. By the time he finished eating they should be done.

In the hotel dining room, Nick had a light meal. He expected trouble, and when it came he didn’t want to be handicapped by a full stomach. When the last dish had been cleared away, he leisurely smoked a cigarette. Forty-five minutes had passed since he left his room. When he had finished the cigarette, he paid the check and stepped once again into the cold night air.

His two followers were no longer under the street lamp. It took him a few minutes to get used to the cold, then he began walking briskly toward the harbor. Because of the late hour, the crowds along the sidewalks had diminished somewhat. Nick threaded his way through them without looking back. But by the time he reached the ferry landing he began to worry. The two men were obviously amateurs. Was it possible he had lost them already?

There was a small group waiting at the landing. Six cars were lined up almost to the water’s edge. As Nick approached the group, he could see lights of the ferry coming toward the landing. He joined the others, stuffed his hands in his pockets, and hunched his shoulders against the cold.

The lights drew closer, giving shape to the huge vessel. The low chug of the engine changed pitch. Water around the landing boiled white as the propellers were reversed. The people around Nick moved slowly toward the approaching monster. Nick moved with them. He went aboard and quickly climbed the ladder to the second deck. At the rail his keen eyes scanned the dock. Two of the cars were already aboard. But he could not see his two shadows. Killmaster lit a cigarette, keeping his eyes on the deck below him.

When the last car was loaded, Nick decided to leave the ferry and look for his two followers. It was possible they were lost. As he moved away from the railing to the ladder he caught a glimpse of two coolies trotting along the dock toward the landing. The smaller man leaped aboard easily, but the heavier, slow-moving one did no leaping. He probably hadn’t done any in a long while. He tripped coming aboard and almost fell. The smaller man helped him with difficulty.

Nick smiled. Welcome aboard, gentlemen, he thought. Now if this ancient tub could just get him across the harbor without sinking, he’d lead them a merry chase until they decided to make their move.

The huge ferry chugged away from the landing, rolling slightly as it moved into open water. Nick remained on the second deck, close to the rail. He could no longer see the two coolies but he felt their eyes watching him. The biting wind had moisture in it. Another rainstorm was coming. Nick watched the other passengers huddled together against the cold. He kept his back to the wind. The ferry creaked and bobbed, but it didn’t sink.

Killmaster waited on his second-deck perch until the last car rolled off into the Kowloon side of the harbor. As he left the ferry, he scanned the faces of the people around him. His two shadows were not among them.

On the landing, Nick hired a rickshaw, gave the boy the address of the Bar Wonderful, a small place he had been to before. He had no intention of going straight to the professor. There was a possibility his two followers didn’t know where the professor was, and hoped he would lead them to him. That didn’t make sense, but he had to consider all possibilities. Most likely they were following him to see if he knew where the professor was located. The fact that he came straight to Kowloon might have told them all they wanted to know. If so, then Nick should be eliminated quickly and without fuss. Trouble was coming. Nick could feel it. He had to be ready.

The boy pulling the rickshaw trotted without effort through the streets of Kowloon, his thin, tight-muscled legs showing the strength needed for his job. To anyone watching the passenger, he was a typical American tourist. He sat back in his seat smoking a gold-tipped cigarette, his thick glasses looking first to one side of the street, then the other.

The streets were a bit warmer than the harbor had been. Ancient buildings and fragile-looking houses blocked most of the wind. But the moisture still hung in low, thick clouds waiting for release. Because traffic was light, the rickshaw made good time and soon stopped in front of a dingy door with a large neon sign blinking Bar Wonderful over it. Nick paid the boy five Hong Kong dollars and gestured for him to wait. He went into the bar.

Nine steps led down from the door to the bar itself. It was small. Besides the bar, there were four tables, all filled. The tables ringed a tiny open space where a lovely girl sang in a low, sexy voice. A colored cartwheel turned slowly in front of the spotlight, softly flooding the girl in blue, then red, then yellow, then green. It seemed to change with the type of song she sang. She looked best in red.

The rest of the place was dark except for occasional grimy lamps. The bar was crowded, and in one quick glance Nick knew he was the only non-Oriental in there. He took a position at the end of the bar, where he could see anyone coming in or out of the door. There were three bar girls, two already had their marks, the third circulated, sitting first on one lap, then another, allowing herself to be fondled. Nick was about to get the bartender’s attention when he noticed his heavily built follower.

The man emerged through a beaded curtain from a small private table. He was dressed in a business suit instead of the coolie outfit. But the changing of clothes had been hasty. His tie was crooked, and part of his shirt-front hung outside his pants. He was sweating. He kept wiping his forehead and mouth with a white handkerchief. He looked casually around the room, then his eyes locked onto Nick’s. His flabby jowls broke into a polite smile, and he came straight for Killmaster.

Hugo dropped to Nick’s hand. He quickly scanned the bar, looking for the smaller man. The girl finished her song and bowed to a sparse crackle of applause. She started speaking in Chinese to the audience. Blue light was splashing over her as the bartender came from Nick’s right. In front of him, the heavy man was four steps away. The bartender asked in Chinese what he was drinking. Nick delayed his reply, keeping his eyes on the man approaching him. The combo started playing, and the girl swung into another song. This one was lively. The cartwheel turned faster, the colors flashing over her, blending into a bright blur. Nick was poised on the balls of his feet, ready. The bartender shrugged and turned away. There was no sign of the smaller man. The heavier one took the last step, bringing him face-to-face with Nick. The polite smile remained on his face. He stuck out his pudgy right hand in a friendly gesture.

“Mr. Wilson, I am believing,” he said. “Allow me to be introducing myself. I am Chin Ossa. May I speak at you?”

“You may,” Nick replied softly, quickly replacing Hugo and taking the outstretched hand.

Chin Ossa gestured toward the beaded curtain. “It is more privately in there.”

“After you,” Nick said, bowing slightly.

Ossa led the way through the curtain to the table and two chairs. A thin, wiry man leaned against the far wall.

He wasn’t the small man who had followed Nick. When he saw Killmaster, he moved away from the wall.

Ossa said, “Please, Mr. Wilson, to allow my friend to be searching you.”

The man approached Nick and stopped as if undecided. He reached his hand out toward Nick’s chest. Nick gently pushed the hand away.

“Please, Mr. Wilson,” Ossa whined. “We must be searching you.”

“Not tonight,” Nick answered smiling slightly.

The man attempted once again to reach for Nick’s chest.

Still smiling, Nick said, “Tell your friend that if he touches me I’ll be forced to break his wrists.”

“Oh, no!” Ossa cried. “We do not wish for any violence.” He wiped sweat from his face with the handkerchief. In Cantonese he told the man to leave.

Flashes of colored light sprayed across the room. In the center of the table a candle burned in a wax-filled purple vase. The man silently left the room just as the girl wound up her song.

Chin Ossa sat heavily on one of the creaking wooden chairs. He wiped his face with the handkerchief again and waved toward the other chair for Nick.

Killmaster didn’t like the arrangement. The chair offered him had its back to the beaded curtain. His own back would be a nice target. Instead, he moved the chair away from the table to the side wall where he could see both the curtain and Chin Ossa; then he sat down.

Ossa flashed him a nervous, polite smile. “You Americans, always full of caution and violence.”

Nick removed his glasses and began cleaning them. “You were saying you wished to speak with me.”

Ossa leaned on the table. His voice took the tone of conspiracy. “Mr. Wilson, there is no need for us to be bouncing around the bush, right?”

“Right,” Nick answered. He replaced his glasses, lit one of his cigarettes. He didn’t offer one to Ossa. This would hardly be a friendly discussion.

“We are both of us knowing,” Ossa went on, “that you are in Hong Kong to see your friend Professor Loo.”

“Maybe.”

Sweat ran down Ossa’s nose and dropped to the table. He wiped his face again. “There is to be no maybe about it. We have followed you, we know who you are.”

Nick raised his eyebrows. “Do you?”

“Of course.” Ossa leaned back in the chair looking pleased with himself. “You are working for the capitalists on the same project as Professor Loo.”

“Of course,” Nick said.

Ossa swallowed hard. “It is my saddest of duties to inform you that Professor Loo is no longer in Hong Kong.”

“Really?” Nick feigned mild shock. He didn’t believe anything this man said.

“Yes. Last night Professor Loo has been en route to China.” Ossa waited to let the statement sink in. Then he said, “It is shameful that you have wasted a trip here, but there is no further need for you to remain in Hong Kong. We will, of course, be reimbursing you for any spending you have done in coming over.”

“That would be swell,” Nick said. He dropped his cigarette to the floor and crushed it out.

Ossa frowned. His eyes squinted and he looked at Nick suspiciously. “This is not a thing to be making jokes about. Am I to think you are not believing me?”

Nick stood. “Of course I believe you. 1 can see by looking at you what a good honest fellow you are. But if it’s just the same to you, I think I’ll stay in Hong Kong and do a little poking around on my own.”

Ossa’s sweating face reddened. His lips tightened. He struck his fist on the table. “There will be no poking around!”

Nick turned to leave the room.

“Wait!” Ossa cried.

At the curtain Killmaster stopped and turned.

The heavy man smiled weakly, rubbing the handkerchief violently over his face and neck. “Please to be forgiving my outburst. As a man I am not well. Please sit, sit.” His pudgy hand indicated the chair against the wall.

“I’ll be leaving,” Nick said.

“Please,” Ossa whined. “I have an offer I wish to be making you.”

“What kind of offer?” Nick made no move toward the chair. Instead he took one side step so his back was against the wall.

Ossa gave up on getting Nick back to the chair. “You helped Professor Loo to work on the compound, no?”

Nick suddenly became interested in the conversation. “What is your offer?” he asked.

Ossa squinted his eyes again. “You are having no family?”

“None.” Nick knew that from the file at headquarters.

“Money, then?” Ossa asked.

“For what?” Killmaster wanted him to say it.

“For to work with Professor Loo once again.”

“In other words, to join him.”

“Exactly.”

“In further words, to sell out, defect.”

Ossa smiled. He wasn’t sweating quite as much. “To be bluntly, yes.”

Nick crossed to the table, placing both his palms on it. “You’re not getting the message, are you? I’m here to persuade John to come home, not join him.” Standing at the table with his back to the curtain was a mistake. Nick realized it as soon as he heard the beads rustle.

The wiry man came up behind him. Nick whirled and jabbed the fingers of his right hand into the man’s throat. The man dropped the dagger and staggered back against the wall clutching his throat. He gagged several times while sliding down the wall to the floor.

“Get out!” Ossa screamed. His chubby face was red with rage.

“That’s us Americans,” Nick said softy. “Just full of caution and violence.”

Ossa narrowed his eyes, his pudgy hands balled into fists. In Cantonese he said, “I will show you violence. I will show you violence such as you have never known.”

Nick felt he had worn out his welcome. He turned and left the table, ripping down two strings of beads as he passed through the curtain. In the bar the girl was splashed with red, just finishing her song. Nick crossed to the steps, took them two at a time, half-expecting to hear a gunshot or a knife being thrown at him. He reached the top step as the girl ended her song. The audience applauded as he went through the door.

Icy wind slapped his face when he got outside. There was a mist in the wind now, the sidewalks and streets glistened with wetness. Nick waited by the door, letting the tension ease slowly out of him. The sign above him flashed brightly. The wet wind felt refreshing on his face after the smoky heat of the bar.

One isolated rickshaw was parked at the curb, the boy crouched in front of it. But as Nick studied the crouched form, he realized it was not the boy at all. It was Ossa’s partner, the smaller of the two men who had been following him.

Killmaster sighed deeply. There would be violence now.

CHAPTER FIVE

Killmaster moved away from the doorway. For an instant he thought of walking down the sidewalk instead of approaching the rickshaw. But he would only be putting it off. Trouble had to faced sooner or later.

The man saw him coming and leaped to his feet. He still wore his coolie outfit.

“Rickshaw, mister?” he asked.

Nick said, “Where’s the boy I told to wait?”

“He go. I good rickshaw boy. You see.”

Nick climbed into the seat. “You know where the Dragon Club is?”

“I know, you bet. Good place. I take.” He began moving down the street.

Killmaster didn’t care for the setup. His followers weren’t together anymore. Now he had one in front of him and one behind, which put him right in the middle. Obviously there was another way in and out of Bar Wonderful besides the front door. That was how Ossa had got in and changed clothes before Nick arrived. Ossa would have left the place by now, and would be waiting someplace for his friend to deliver Nick. There was little choice left to them now. They couldn’t get Chris Wilson to defect; they couldn’t buy him out of Hong Kong. And they knew he was there to persuade Professor Loo to return home. There was no other way. They had to kill him.

The mist grew heavier, beginning to soak through Nick’s coat His glasses became spotted with moisture. Nick removed them and placed them in the inside coat pocket of his suit. His eyes searched both sides of the street. Every muscle in his body relaxed. He quickly judged the distance between the seat he was sitting on and the street, trying to figure the best way to land on his feet.

How would they try it? He knew Ossa was waiting somewhere up ahead. A gun would be too noisy. After all, Hong Kong did have its police. Knives would work better. They’d probably kill him, rob him of everything he had, and dump him someplace. Quick, neat and workable. To the police it would be just another tourist robbed and killed. It happened often in Hong Kong. Of course Nick had no intention of letting them pull it off. But he figured they’d be as professional a pair of street fighters as they were amateur followers.

The small man trotted into an unlighted destitute section of Kowloon. As far as Nick could tell, the man still headed in the general direction of the Dragon Club. But Nick knew they would never reach the club.

The rickshaw went into a narrow alley, lined on both sides with four-story unlighted buildings. Except for the steady slap of the man’s feet on wet asphalt, the only other sound was the spasmodic dripping of rainwater from roofs of the buildings.

Even though Killmaster expected it, the move came suddenly, catching him slightly off-balance. The man pushed the front of the rickshaw up high. Nick twirled and jumped over the wheel. His left foot hit the street first, throwing him more off balance. He went down, rolling. On his back, he saw the smaller man rushing toward him, the ugly dagger high in the air. The man lunged with a scream. Nick brought his knees to his chest, and the balls of his feet caught the man’s stomach. Grabbing the wrist holding the dagger, Killmaster pulled the man toward him, then stiffened his legs, throwing the man over his head. He landed with a loud grunt.

As Nick rolled over to get to his feet, Ossa kicked his side, the force knocking him back down. At the same time Ossa swished the air with his own dagger. Killmaster felt the sharp point slice across his forehead. He rolled, and kept rolling until his back hit the wheel of the overturned rickshaw. It was too dark to see. Blood began oozing from his forehead into his eyes. Nick got his knees under him and started to rise. Ossa’s heavy foot glanced along his cheek ripping the skin. The force was enough to knock him off to one side. He was pushed over on his back; then Ossa’s knee with all his weight behind it plunged into Nick’s stomach. Ossa had aimed for his groin, but Nick had brought his knees up, deflecting the blow. Still, the force was enough to take Nick’s breath away.

Then he saw the dagger coming down to his throat. Nick caught the fat wrist with his left hand. With his right fist he punched toward Ossa’s groin. Ossa grunted. Nick swung again, a little lower. This time Ossa yelled in agony. He fell away, taking the pressing knee with him. Nick caught his breath, and using the rickshaw for support, got to his feet. He wiped the blood from his eyes. Then the smaller man came from his left. Nick caught a glimpse of him just before he felt the blade slice into the muscle of his left arm. He backhanded the man across his face, sending him cartwheeling into the rickshaw.

Hugo was in Kill master’s right hand now. He backed to one of the buildings, watching the two shadows coming toward him. Now, gentlemen, he thought, now come and get me. They were good, better than he thought they’d be. They fought with vengeance, and left little doubt that their intention was to kill him. With his back to the building, Nick waited for them. The cut on his forehead did not feel serious. The bleeding had diminished. His left arm felt painful but he’d had worse wounds. The two men widened their positions so that each came at him from opposite sides. They were crouched low, determination on their faces, the daggers pointing upward at Nick’s chest. He knew they would try to plunge their blades up under his rib cage, high enough so the point would pierce his heart. There was no chill in the alley. All three men were sweating and panting slightly. The silence was broken only by raindrops falling from roof tops. It was as dark a night as Nick had ever seen. The two men were mere forms, only their daggers glinting now and then.

The smaller man lunged first. He came in low from Nick’s right, and because of his size, he moved quickly. There was a metallic clink as Hugo deflected the dagger. No sooner had the smaller man retreated than Ossa moved in from the left, only slightly slower. Again Hugo deflected the blade. Both men fell back. As Nick began to relax slightly, the small man lunged again, lower. Nick sidestepped, clicking the blade aside. But Ossa came in high, aiming for the throat. Nick twisted his head, feeling the point slice his ear lobe. Both men again fell back. The panting grew heavier.

Killmaster knew in a fight of this type he would come out third. These two could alternate lunges until they wore him down. When he was tired he’d make a mistake, and then they’d have him. He had to change the course of this thing, and the best way would be for him to become the attacker. The smaller man would be easier to handle. That made him first.

Nick feigned a lunge at Ossa, making him fall back slightly. The smaller man took advantage and moved in. Nick sidestepped as the blade creased his stomach. With his left hand, he caught the man’s wrist and with all his strength pulled him across and into Ossa. He hoped the man would be thrown onto Ossa’s blade. But Ossa saw him coming and turned sideways. Both men collided, staggered, and went down. Nick moved in a half-circle around them. The smaller man swung his dagger behind him before he got up probably thinking Nick was there. But Nick was at his side. The arm stopped its swing in front of him.

With a movement almost quicker than the eye could see, Nick sliced Hugo across the top of the man’s wrist. He let out a scream, dropping his dagger, and clutched the wrist between his legs. Ossa was on his knees. He swung the dagger in a long arc. Nick had to jump back to keep the point from ripping open his stomach. But for one instant, one fleeting second, Ossa’s entire front was exposed. His left hand hand pushed down on the street supporting him, his right was almost behind him in the completion of the swing. There was no time to aim for any section of the body, the second would soon pass. Like a striking rattlesnake. Nick moved in and struck with Hugo, pushing the blade up almost to the handle into the man’s chest, then quickly moved out. Ossa let out a short cry. He tried vainly to swing the dagger back, but made it only as far as his side. The left arm supporting him collapsed, he fell to his elbow. Nick looked up to see the smaller man running out of the alley still clutching his wrist.

Nick gently pulled the dagger from Ossa’s grasp and tossed it a few feet away. Ossa’s supporting elbow gave way. His head fell to the crook of his arm. Nick felt the man’s wrist. His pulse felt slow, erratic. He was dying. His breathing became strained, bubbly. Blood colored his lips and flowed freely from the wound. Hugo had cut an artery, its point had pierced a lung.

“Ossa,” Nick called softly. “Will you tell me who hired you?” He knew the two men did not attack him on their own. They were working under orders. “Ossa,” he said again.

But Chin Ossa was through telling anybody anything. The bubbly breathing had stopped. He was dead.

Nick wiped the scarlet blade of Hugo clean on Ossa’s pants leg. He was sorry he had had to kill the heavy man. But there had been no time to aim the blade. He stood and surveyed his own wounds. The cut on his forehead had stopped bleeding. Holding his handkerchief out in the rain until it was soaked, he wiped the blood from his eyes. His left arm was painful but the scrape on his cheek and the scratch across his stomach weren’t serious. He came out of it better than Ossa, maybe even better than the other man. The rain came heavier now. Already his jacket was soaked.

Leaning against one of the buildings, Nick replaced Hugo. He pulled out Wilhelmina, checked the clip, and replaced the Luger. Without a backward glance at the battle scene or the corpse which had once been Chin Ossa, Killmaster walked out of the alley. There was no reason why he shouldn’t see the professor now.

From the alley, Nick walked four blocks before he found a taxi. He gave the driver the address he had memorized back in Washington. Since the professor’s defection was no secret, neither was the place he was staying. Nick settled back in his seat, took out the thick glasses from his coat pocket, cleaned them, and put them on.

The taxi pulled up in a section of Kowloon as rundown as where the alley had been. Nick paid the driver and once again stepped into the chilled night air. It wasn’t until the taxi had driven away that he realized how dark the street looked. The houses were old and run down; they seemed to sag under the rain. But Nick knew the Oriental philosophy of building. These houses had a fragile strength, not like a boulder along the seashore taking the constant pounding of waves, but more like a spiderweb in a hurricane. No lights brightened any windows, no people walked the street. The area seemed deserted.

Nick had no doubt the professor would be well guarded, if only for his own protection. The Chi Corns expected someone would probably try to contact him. Whether to persuade Mm not to defect or to assassinate him, they wouldn’t know. Killmaster didn’t think they’d bother to find out.

The door had a window just above its center. A black curtain was draped over the window, but not completely enough to keep out all light. Looking at it from the street, the house looked as deserted and dark as all the others. But as Nick stood close to the door at an angle, he could barely make out a yellow splinter of light. He knocked on the door and waited. There was no stir inside. Nick pounded on the door. He heard a chair squeak, then heavy footsteps growing louder. The door jerked open, and Nick faced a mountain of a man. His massive shoulders touched each side of the doorway. The undershirt he wore revealed huge hairy arms, thick as tree trunks, hanging apelike almost to his knees. His broad, flat face was ugly with sleep and had a nose misshapen by repeated breakings. His eyes were razor slices in two marshmallow puffs of flesh. Across the middle of his forehead his short black hair was combed down and cut straight. He had no neck; his chin seemed to be supported by his chest. Neanderthal man, Nick thought. A few steps in evolution were missed by this one.

The man grunted something that almost sounded like “What do you want?”

“Chris Wilson to see Professor Loo,” Nick said matter-of-factly.

“He no here. You go,” the monster grunted, and slammed the door in Nick’s face.

Killmaster fought an impulse to kick the door open, or at least smash the glass in it. He stood for a few seconds letting the anger seep out of him. He should have expected something like this. To be invited in would have been too easy. The Neanderthal’s heavy breathing came from the other side of the door. He’d probably be delighted if Nick tried something cute. Killmaster was reminded of a line from Jack and the Beanstalk: “I’ll grind your bones to make my bread.” Not tonight, friend, Nick thought. He had to see the professor, and he would. But unless there was no other way, he’d rather not have to go through that mountain.

Raindrops dropped onto the sidewalk like watery bullets as Nick circled to the side of the building. There was a long, narrow space about four feet wide between buildings, littered with cans and bottles. Nick easily scaled the locked wooden gate and started toward the rear of the building Halfway along, he found another door. He gently tried the knob Locked. He continued, picking his way as quietly as possible. At the end of the passageway was another gate, unlocked. Nick opened it and found himself in a tiled patio.

A single yellow bulb glowed on the building, its reflection shimmering on the wet tile. In the center of the patio a small. fountain overflowed. Mango trees were dotted around the edges. One was planted next to the building, the top of it just under the only window on this side.

Under the yellow bulb was another door. That would be the easy way, but the door was locked. He stood back with his hands on his hips, eying the weak-looking tree. His clothes were soaked, he had a gash across his forehead, his left arm ached. And now he was about to climb a tree that probably wouldn’t hold him, to reach a window that was probably locked. And at night, yet, in the rain. At times like these he had minor thoughts of taking up shoe repair for a living.

There was nothing to do but get on with it. The tree was young. Since the mango sometimes reached ninety feet, the branches on this one should be pliable rather than brittle. It didn’t look strong enough to hold him. Nick began to climb. The bottom branches were sturdy and took his weight easily. He made rapid progress until about halfway up. Then the branches thinned and bent dangerously as he put his foot on them. By keeping his footholds close to the trunk, he minimized the bending. But as he approached the window, even the trunk had thinned. And it was a good six feet away from the building. When Nick was even with the window, the branches closed out all light from the yellow bulb. He was enclosed in darkness. The only way he could pick out the window was as a dark square on the side of the building. He couldn’t reach it from the tree.

He began rocking his weight backhand forth. The mango groaned its protest but reluctantly started to move. Nick lunged again. If the window was locked he’d break it in. If the noise brought the Neanderthal man. he’d deal with him too. The tree was really beginning to sway now. This was going to be a one-shot deal. If there was nothing there to grab onto he was going to slide headfirst down the side of the building. That would be a bit messy. The tree leaned toward the dark square. Nick pushed sharply with his feet, his hands groping air. In that instant when the tree swung away from the building to leave him hanging onto nothing, his fingers touched something solid. Walking the fingers of both hands, he got a good grip on whatever it was just as the tree left him completely. Nick’s knees banged into the side of the building. He was hanging on the edge of some sort of box. He swung his leg over the lip and pulled himself up. His knees sank into mud. A flower box! It was connected to the window sill.

The tree swung back, its branches brushing his face. Killmaster reached for the window, and immediately thanked all good things on earth. Not only was the window not locked, but it was open slightly! He opened it the rest of the way, then crawled through. His hands touched carpeting. He pulled his legs through and remained in a crouch under the window. Opposite Nick and just to his right came the sound of deep breathing. The house was a thin, tall, square-shaped structure. Nick figured the main room and kitchen would be downstairs. That left a bathroom and bedroom upstairs. He removed the thick, rain-spotted glasses. Yes, this would be the bedroom. The house seemed quiet. Except for the breathing coming from the bed, the only other sound was the splatter of rain outside the open window.

Nick’s eyes now were used to the dark room. He could pick out the shape of the bed and the lumpy form on it. With Hugo in his hand, he moved toward the bed. The dripping from his wet clothes made no sound on the carpet, but his shoes squished with each step. He made his way around the foot of the bed to the right side. The man lay on his side, his face turned away from Nick. On a nightstand next to the bed was a lamp. Nick touched the sharp blade of Hugo to the man’s throat and at the same time clicked on the lamp. The room exploded into light. Killmaster kept his back to the lamp until his eyes could get used to the brilliance. The man’s head turned, his eyes blinked and watered. He brought up a hand to shield his eyes. As soon as Nick saw the face, he moved Hugo just slightly away from the man’s throat.

“What the hell is…” The man focused his eyes on the stiletto just inches from his chin.

Nick said, “Professor Loo, I presume.”

CHAPTER SIX

Professor John Loo studied the sharp blade close to his throat, then looked up at Nick.

“If you put that thing away, I’ll get out of bed,” he said softly.

Nick pulled Hugo away but kept it in his hand. “You are Professor Loo?” he asked.

“John. Nobody calls me professor except our funny friends downstairs.” He swung his legs over the side of the bed and reached for a bathrobe. “How about some coffee?”

Nick frowned. He was becoming a little confused at this man’s attitude. He stood back as the man passed in front of him and crossed the room to a sink and coffee pot.

Professor John Loo was a short, well-built man with black hair parted on the side. As he made coffee his hands looked almost delicate. His movements were smooth and precise. He was obviously in excellent physical condition. His eyes were dark with very little Oriental slant and seemed to bore into whatever he looked at. His face was broad, with high cheekbones and a well-shaped nose. It was an extremely intelligent face. Nick guessed his age to be in the early thirties. He seemed to be a man who knew both his strength and his weakness. Right now, as he plugged in the hot plate, his dark eyes glanced nervously toward the bedroom door.

Get on with it, Nick thought. “Professor Loo, I’d like…” He was stopped by the professor, who raised his hand and cocked his head to one side, listening. Nick heard heavy footsteps coming up the stairs. Both men froze as the steps crossed to the bedroom door. Nick switched Hugo to his left hand. His right reached inside his coat to rest on the butt of Wilhelmina.

A key clicked into the lock in the door. The door was thrown open and the Neanderthal man bounded into the room followed by a smaller, slick-dressed man. The huge monster pointed at Nick and grunted. He started forward. The smaller man put a hand on the big arm, stopping him. Then he smiled politely at the professor.

“Who is your friend, professor?”

Nick said quickly. “Chris Wilson. I’m a friend of John’s.” Nick began to pull Wilhelmina out of his belt. He knew that if the professor blew this, he’d have to fight his way out of the room.

John Loo shot Nick a suspicious glance. Then he returned the small man’s smile. “That’s right,” he said. “I will talk to this man. Alone!”

“Of course, of course,” the small man said, bowing slightly. “As you wish.” He motioned the monster out, then just before he shut the door behind him, he said, “You will be very careful what you say, won’t you, professor?”

“Get out!” Professor Loo shouted.

The man slowly shut the door and locked it.

John Loo turned to Nick, his brow wrinkled with worry. “The bastards know they’ve got me over a barrel.

They can afford to be generous.” He studied Nick as though seeing him for the first time. “What the hell happened to you?”

Nick relaxed his grip on Wilhelmina. He switched Hugo back to his right hand. This thing got more baffling by the moment. Professor Loo certainly didn’t sound like a man who wanted to defect. He knew Nick wasn’t Chris Wilson, yet he protected him. And this friendly cordiality suggested he had almost expected Nick. But the only way to get answers was to ask questions.

“Let’s talk,” Killmaster said.

“Not yet.” The professor set up two cups. “What do you take in your coffee?”

“Nothing. Black.”

John Loo poured the coffee. “This is one of my many luxuries, a sink and a hot plate. Previews of coming attractions. This is what I can look forward to working for the Chinese.”

“Why do it, then?” Nick asked.

Professor Loo shot him an almost hostile look. “Why indeed,” he said without feeling. Then he glanced at the locked bedroom door and back at Nick. “By the way, how the hell did you get in here?”

Nick nodded toward the open window. “Climbed a tree,” he said.

The professor laughed out loud. “Beautiful. Just beautiful. You can bet tomorrow they’ll chop down that tree.” He pointed at Hugo. “Are you going to stab me with that thing, or put it away?”

“I haven’t decided yet.”

“Well, drink your coffee while you make up your mind.” He handed Nick the cup, then crossed to the nightstand which held, besides the lamp, a small transistor radio and a pair of glasses. He turned on the radio, dialed it to an all-night British station, and turned up the volume. When he put on the glasses they made him look quite scholarly. With his index finger he motioned Nick over to the hot plate.

Nick followed him, deciding he could probably take the man if he had to without Hugo. He put the stiletto away.

At the hot plate, the professor said, “You’re a cautious one, aren’t you?”

“The room is bugged, isn’t it?” Nick said.

The professor raised his eyebrows. “And clever too. I only hope you’re as sharp as you look. You’re right, though. The microphone is in the lamp. Took me two hours to find it.”

“But why, if you’re alone here?”

He shrugged. “Maybe I talk in my sleep.”

Nick sipped his coffee and reached into his soggy coat for one of his cigarettes. They were damp but he lit one anyway. The professor refused the one offered him.

“Professor,” Nick said. “This is all a little confusing to me.”

“Please! Call me John.”

“All right, John. My information is that you want to defect. Yet, from what I’ve seen and heard in this room I get the impression you’re being forced to.”

John threw his remaining coffee into the sink, then leaned against it with his head bent. “I have to be careful,” he said. “Damped careful. I know you’re not Chris. That means you might be from our government. Am I right?”

Nick sipped his coffee. “Could be.”

“I’ve been doing a lot of thinking in this room. And I decided that if an agent tried to contact me I’d tell him the real reason why I’m defecting and try to get him to help me. I can’t handle this on my own.” He stood straight and looked directly at Nick. There were tears in his eyes. “God knows, I don’t want to go.” His voice cracked.

“Then why are you?” Nick asked.

John sighed deeply. “Because they’ve got my wife and son in China.”

Nick put his coffee down. He took one last drag on the cigarette and threw it into the sink. But although his movements were slow and deliberate, his brain raced, digesting, discarding, retaining, and the questions stood out like bright neon signs. This couldn’t be. But if it were true, it could explain many things. Was John Loo actually being forced to defect? Or was he giving Nick a beautiful snow job? Incidents began taking shape in his mind. They had form and, like a giant puzzle, they began to blend together, forming a definite picture.

John Loo studied Nick’s face, his dark eyes worried, asking unspoken questions. He wrung his hands together nervously. Then he said, “If you’re not what I think you are, then I’ve just killed my family.”

“How is that?” Nick asked. He watched the man’s eyes. The eyes could always tell him more than the spoken word.

John began pacing back and forth in front of Nick. “I was informed that if I told anyone, my wife and son would be killed. If you are what I think you are, maybe I can persuade you to help me. If not, I’ve just killed them.”

Nick picked up his coffee, sipping it, his face showing only mild interest. “I’ve just talked with your wife and son,” he said suddenly.

John Loo stopped and faced Nick. “Where did you talk with them?”

“Orlando.”

The professor reached into his robe pocket and produced a photograph. “Is this who you talked to?”

Nick looked at the photo. It was a picture of the wife and son he had met in Florida. “Yes,” he said. He started to hand the photo back, then stopped. There was something about that picture.

“Look at it closely,” John said.

Nick studied the photo more closely. Of course! This was fantastic! There actually was a difference. The woman in the photo looked slightly slimmer. She wore very little, if any, eye make-up. Her nose and mouth were shaped differently, making her look prettier. And the boy’s eyes were closer together, with the same penetrating feature John’s had. He had the woman’s mouth. Yes, there was a difference, all right. The woman and boy in the photo were not the same as the two he had talked to in Orlando. The longer he studied the picture, the more differences he could pick out. The smile, for one thing, and even the shape of the ears.

“Well?” John asked anxiously.

“Just a minute.” Nick crossed to the open window. Below, in the patio, the Neanderthal monster paced about. The rain had let up. It would probably be over by morning. Nick closed the window and took off his wet coat. The professor would see Wilhelmina sticking in his belt but it didn’t matter now. Everything about this assignment had changed. Answers to his questions came to him one by one.

He had to notify Hawk first. Since the woman and boy in Orlando were phonies, they were working for the Chi Corns. Hawk would know how to deal with them. The puzzle came together in his mind, making the picture clearer. The fact that John Loo was being forced to defect explained just about everything. Like the reason why he was followed in the first place. And the hostile attitude of the fake Mrs. Loo. The Chi Corns wanted to make sure he never reached the professor. As Chris Wilson he might have been able to persuade his friend John even to sacrifice his family. Nick doubted that, but it would sound reasonable to the Reds. It wasn’t beyond them.

Incidents came to Nick that didn’t seem to have much significance when they happened. Like when Ossa was trying to buy him. He’s asked if Nick had any family. Killmaster didn’t tie anything to it at the time. But now— would they have kidnapped his family if he’d had one? Sure they would have. They’d have stopped at nothing to get Professor Loo. That compound John was working on must mean a great deal to them. Another incident came to him — yesterday, when he first met who he thought was Mrs. Loo. He had asked to have a chat with her. And she had questioned the word. Chat, outdated, overworked, hardly ever used any more, yet a word familiar to all Americans. She didn’t know what it meant. Naturally she wouldn’t, because she was Red Chinese, not American. It was slick, professional and, to use John Loo’s phrase, just beautiful.

The professor stood in front of the sink, his hands locked together in front of him. His dark eyes bore into Nick’s head, waiting, almost fearful.

Nick said, “All right, John. I am what you think I am. I can’t tell you everything right now except that I’m an agent for one intelligence branch of our government.”

The man seemed to sag. His hands dropped to his side, his chin went to his chest. He took a long, deep, shuddering breath. “Thank God,” he said. It was barely above a whisper.

Nick crossed to him, handed back the photo. “Now, you’re going to have to trust me completely. I’ll help you, but you’ve got to tell me everything.”

The professor nodded.

“Let’s start with how they kidnapped your wife and son.”

John seemed to perk up a bit. “You don’t know how relieved I am to be talking to someone about this. I’ve been carrying it inside me for so long.” He rubbed his hands together. “Some more coffee?”

“No, thank you,” Nick said.

John Loo scratched his chin thoughtfully. “It all started about six months ago. When I came home from work there was a moving van in front of my house. Two men had all my furniture in it Kathy and Mike were nowhere around. When I asked the two men what the hell they thought they were doing, one of them gave me instructions. He said my wife and son were on their way to China. If I ever wanted to see them alive again, I’d better do as they said.

“At first I thought it was a gag. They gave me an address in Orlando and told me to go there. I went along with it until I got to the house in Orlando. There she was. And the boy too. She never did tell me her real name, I just called her Kathy and the boy Mike. When the furniture was moved in and the two guys left, she put the boy to bed, then stripped right in front of me. She said she was going to be my wife for awhile and we might as well make it convincing. When I refused to go to bed with her, she told me I’d better cooperate or Kathy and Mike would die horrible deaths.”

Nick said, “You lived together as man and wife for six months?”

John shrugged. “What else could I do?”

“Didn’t she give you any instructions or tell you what would happen next?”

“Yes, the next morning. She told me that together we would make new friends. I’d use my work as an excuse to avoid old friends. When I’d completed the formula for the compound, I would take it to China, hand it over to the Reds, and then I’d see my wife and boy again. Frankly, I was scared to death, because of Kathy and Mike. I saw she was making reports to the Reds so I had to do whatever she said. And I couldn’t get over how much she resembled Kathy.”

“So now you have completed the formula,” Nick said. “Do they have it?”

“That’s just it. I didn’t complete it. I still haven’t I couldn’t concentrate on my work. And after six months j things were getting a little hairy. My friends were pressing and I was running out of excuses. She must have gotten the word from higher up because she suddenly told me I’d work on the compound in China. She told me to announce my defection. She’d stay for a week or two, then disappear. Everyone would think she had joined me.”

“And what about Chris Wilson? Wouldn’t he have known the woman was a phony?”

John smiled. “Ah, Chris. He’s a bachelor, you know. Away from the job we never got together because of NASA’s security, but mostly because Chris and I didn’t travel in the same social circles. Chris is a girl chaser. Oh, I’m sure he enjoys his work, but his main train of thought is usually on the girls.”

“I see.” Nick poured himself another cup of coffee. “This compound you’re working on must mean a great deal to the Chi Corns. Can you tell me exactly what it is without getting technical?”

“Sure. But the formula isn’t complete yet. When and if I do complete it, it will be in the form of a thin salve, something like hand cream. You’d spread it on: your skin, and if I’m right, it should make the skin immune to sunrays, heat and radiation. It’ll have a sort of cooling effect on the skin which would protect astronauts against harmful rays. Who knows? If I work on it long enough I might even be able to perfect it to a point where they wouldn’t need space suits. The Reds want it because of its protection against nuclear burns and radiation. If they had it, there’d be little to stop them from declaring nuclear war on the world.”

Nick sipped his coffee. “Does this have anything to do with the discovery you made back in 1966?”

The professor ran his hand through his hair. “No, that was completely different. By fiddling around with an electron microscope, I was lucky enough to find a way of isolating certain types of skin diseases which weren’t serious themselves, but when characterized, offered a little help in diagnosing more serious ailments like ulcers, tumors, and possibly cancer.”

Nick chuckled. “You’re too modest. From what I understand it did more than offer a little help. It was a big breakthrough.”

John shrugged. “That’s what they say. Maybe they exaggerate a little.”

Nick had little doubt that he was talking with a brilliant man. John Loo was valuable not only to NASA, but to his country as well. Killmaster knew he had to keep the Reds from getting him. He drained his coffee and asked, “Do you have any idea how the Reds found out about the compound?”

John shook his head. “None.”

“How long have you been working on it?”

“Actually, I got the idea while I was in college. I kicked it around in my head for awhile, even made a few notes. But it wasn’t until about a year ago that I really started putting the ideas to work.”

“Did you tell anyone about it?”

“Oh, in college I might have mentioned it to a few friends. But once I was with NASA, I told nobody, not even Kathy.”

Nick crossed to the window again. The small transistor radio blasted a British marching song. Outside the window, the huge man still lurked in the patio. Killmaster lit a damp, gold-tipped cigarette. His skin felt chilled by the wet clothes he was wearing. “What it boils down to,” he said, more to himself than to John, “is to break this hold the Chinese Reds have on you.”

John remained respectfully silent.

Nick said, “I’ve got to get your wife and boy out of China.” Saying it was easy, but Nick knew the execution of it would be something else again. He turned to the professor. “Do you have any idea where in China they might be?”

John shrugged. “None.”

“Did any of them say anything that might give you a clue?”

The professor thought for a moment, rubbing his chin. Then he shook his head, smiling weakly. “Afraid I’m not much help, am I?”

“It’s all right.” Nick reached for his wet coat on the bed, shrugged his broad shoulders into it. “Do you have any idea when they’ll be taking you into China?” he asked.

John’s face seemed to brighten a little. “I can help you there, I think. I overheard the two sports downstairs talking about that I think they’ve made arrangements for midnight next Tuesday.”

Nick looked at his watch. It was three-ten A.M., Wednesday. He had less than a week to locate, get to, and remove the wife and boy from China. It didn’t look good. But first things first. He had three things that had to be done. One: he had to rig a cover statement with John over the microphone to keep the two downstairs from getting trigger-happy. Two: he had to get out of this house as unharmed as possible. And three: he had to get on the scrambler and tell Hawk about the phony wife and boy in Orlando. After that, he’d have to play it by ear.

Nick motioned John over to the lamp. “Can you make this radio squeak as if it had static?” he whispered.

John had a puzzled look. “Sure. But why. Understanding came into his eyes. Without another word he fiddled with the radio. It squawked, then went off.

Nick said, “John, are you sure there’s no way I can persuade you to come back with me?”

“No, Chris. This is the way I want it.”

It sounded a bit corny to Nick, but he hoped the two downstairs bought it

“All right,” Nick said. “They won’t like it, but I’ll tell them. How do I get out of this place?”

John pushed a small button built into the nightstand.

The two men silently shook hands. Nick crossed to the window. The Neanderthal man was no longer in the patio. Foosteps sounded on the stairs.

“Before you go,” John whispered. “I’d like to know the real name of the man helping me.”

“Nick Carter. I’m an agent for AXE.”

A key clicked in the lock. The door was opened slowly by the smaller man. The monster was not with him.

“My friend is leaving,” John said.

The slick-dressed man smiled politely. “Of course professor.” He had brought into the room a smell of cheap cologne.

“Goodbye, John,” Nick said.

“Goodbye, Chris.”

When Nick was outside the room, the man shut and locked the door. He pulled out of his belt an Army .45 automatic. He pointed it at Nick’s belly.

“What is this?” Nick asked.

The slick man still had his polite smile. “Insurance that you leave quietly.”

Nick nodded and started down the stairs with the man behind him. If he tried anything, he might endanger the professor. There was still no sign of the other man.

At the front door, the slick man said, “I do not know who you really are. But we are not foolish enough to believe that you and the professor listened to British music while you were up there. Whatever you have in mind, do not try it. We know your face now. And you will be watched closely. You have already placed those persons concerned in great danger.” He opened the door. “Goodbye, Mr. Wilson, if that is your real name.”

Nick knew the man meant the wife and boy when he said “persons concerned.” Did they know he was an agent? He stepped outside into the night air. The rain had turned to mist again. The door was shut and locked behind him.

Nick breathed deeply of the crisp night air. He started walking. There’d be little chance of his getting a taxi in this district at this hour. His main enemy right now was time. In two or three hours it would be daylight. And he didn’t even know where to begin looking for the wife and boy. He had to get in touch with Hawk.

Killmaster was about to cross the street when the huge apeman stepped out of a doorway, blocking his path. The hair bristled on the back of Nick’s neck. So he would have to deal with this creature after all. Without a word, the monster stepped up to Nick and reached for his throat. Nick ducked and sidestepped the monster. The man’s size was awesome, but because of it, he moved slowly. Nick struck him on the ear with an open palm. It didn’t phase him. The ape-man grabbed Nick’s arm and tossed him like a rag doll against the building. Killmaster’s head hit the hard structure. He grew dizzy.

By the time he came out of it the monster had his throat in his huge, hairy hands. He lifted Nick off his feet. Nick felt the blood pounding in his head. He chopped at the man’s ears, but his movements seemed painfully slow. He kicked at the groin, knowing his blows were reaching their mark. But the man did not seem to even feel it. His hands squeezed tighter around Nick’s throat. Every blow Nick tried would have killed an ordinary man. But this Neanderthal didn’t even blink. He just stood with his legs apart, holding Nick off the street by his throat, all the strength in those huge hands. Nick began to see flashes of color. His strength was gone, he felt no power in his blows. The panic of impending death squeezed his heart. He was blacking out. He had to do something quick! Hugo would work too slowly. He could probably stab the man twenty times before killing him. By that time it would be too late for him.

Wilhelmina! He seemed to move in slow motion. His hand took forever getting to the Luger. Would he have the strength to pull the trigger? Wilhelmina was out of his belt. He stuck the barrel into the man’s throat and with all his dying strength pulled the trigger. The recoil almost knocked the Luger out of his hand. The man’s chin and nose were immediately blown from his head. The explosion echoed throughout the deserted streets. The man’s eyes blinked without control. His knees started weaving. Yet the strength in his hands remained. Nick pushed the barrel into the monster’s fleshy left eye and pulled the trigger again. The shot blew the man’s forehead away. His legs started to buckle. Nick’s toes touched the street. He felt the hands relaxing their grip on his throat. But life was leaving him. He could hold his breath four minutes but that had already passed. The man was not releasing him fast enough. Nick fired twice again, completely blowing off the ape-man’s head. The hands fell away from his throat. The monster staggered back, headless. His hands reached up to where his face should have been. He sank to his knees, then topped over like a freshly chopped tree.

Nick coughed, sinking to his own knees. He breathed deep, smelling the acrid stench of gunsmoke. Lights began popping on in windows all over the neighborhood. The area was coming alive. There would be police, and Nick had no time for police. He forced himself to move. Still gasping, he trotted to the end of the block, then started walking briskly out of the neighborhood. From far off, he heard the unusual ringing of a British police siren. Then he realized he still had Wilhelmina in his hand. He quickly shoved the Luger into his belt. In his career as Killmaster for AXE, he had come close to death many times. But he’d never been quite that close.

Once the Reds discovered the mess he’d just left, they would immediately connect it with Ossa’s death. If the smaller man who had been with Ossa was still alive, he would have contacted them by now. They’d put those two deaths together, along with his visit to Professor Loo, and know he was an agent. He could just about figure his cover was blown now. He had to get in touch with Hawk. The professor, as well as his family, was in great danger. Nick shook his head as he walked. This assignment was not going well at all.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Hawk’s unmistakable voice came at Nick over the scrambler. “Well, Carter. From what you’ve told me, it looks like your assignment has changed.”

“Yes, sir,” Nick said. He had just brought Hawk up to date. He was in his hotel room on the Victoria side of Hong Kong. Outside his window the blackness of night was beginning to fade a little.

Hawk said, “You know the situation there better than I do. I’ll handle the woman and boy on this end. You know what has to be done.”

“Yes,” Nick said. “I’ve got to find some way to find the professor’s wife and son, and get them out of China.”

“Take care of it any way you can. I’ll get to Hong Kong sometime Tuesday afternoon.”

“Yes, sir.” As always, Nick thought, Hawk was interested in results, not methods. Killmaster could use any method he needed, as long as it brought results.

“Good luck,” Hawk said, ending the conversation.

Killmaster had changed into a dry business suit. Since the pad of clothing around his waist hadn’t got wet, he left it there. It seemed a little ridiculous to be still wearing it, especially since he was almost certain he’d blown his cover. But he planned to change into the clothing as soon as he knew where in China he was going. And around his waist was a convenient way to carry it. He knew the clothes would be a bit tattered when he got ready to put them on because of the dagger cuts on his stomach. If he hadn’t had the padding, his belly would have been sliced open like a fresh-caught fish’s.

Nick doubted if Hawk would learn anything from the woman in Orlando. If she was as well-trained as he thought, she’d kill both herself and the boy before she told anything.

Killmaster rubbed his bruised throat. Already it was beginning to discolor. Where could he start looking for the professor’s wife and son? He might go back to the house and make the slick-dressed man talk. But he’d already put John Loo in enough danger. If not the house, then where? He needed a place to begin. Nick stood by the window looking down at the street. Few people were on the sidewalk now.

He suddenly felt hungry. He hadn’t eaten since checking into the hotel. A melody kept haunting him, as some songs do. It was one of the numbers that girl had sung. Nick stopped rubbing his throat. It was a straw, meaning probably nothing. But at least it was a place to start. He’d have something to eat, then go back to the Bar Wonderful.

Ossa had changed clothes there, which might mean he knew someone. Even so, there was no guarantee anyone would help him. But again, it was a place to start.

In the hotel dining room Nick had a glass of orange juice, followed by a heaping plate of scrambled eggs with crisp bacon, toast, and three cups of black coffee. He lingered over the last cup of coffee, giving the food time to settle, then leaned back in his chair and lit a cigarette from a fresh pack. It was then that he noticed the man watching him.

He was outside, just to the side of one of the hotel windows. Now and then his head peeked around to make sure Nick was still there. Killmaster recognized him as the wiry man who’d been with Ossa in the Bar Wonderful. They certainly wasted no time.

Nick paid his check and went outside. The blackness of night had turned to dark gray. Buildings were no longer huge dark forms. They had shape and could be seen with doors and windows. Most of the cars on the streets were taxis that still needed their headlights on. The wet curbs and streets were easier to pick out now. Heavy clouds still hung low, but the rain had stopped.

Killmaster started walking toward the ferry landing. Now that he knew he was once again being followed there was no need for him to go to the Bar Wonderful. At least not yet. The wiry man could tell him a great deal, if he could be made to talk. The thing to do first was to reverse positions. He had to lose the man momentarily so he could follow him. It was a gamble. Nick had a hunch the wiry man was not the amateur follower the other two had been.

Before he reached the ferry landing, Nick cut down a side street. He trotted to the end of it and waited. The wiry man rounded the corner at a run. Nick walked rapidly, hearing the man close the gap between them. At another street corner Nick did the same thing, rounded the corner, trotted quickly to the end of the block, then slowed to a brisk walk. The man stayed with him.

Soon Nick came to the district of Victoria he liked to call the sailor’s playground. It was a section of narrow streets with brightly lit bars on each side. Usually the area was noisy with jukebox music, and streetwalkers stood on each corner. But the night was ending now. The lights still shone brightly, but the jukeboxes were quiet. The streetwalkers either already had their marks or had given up. Nick was looking for a certain bar, not one he knew but one that would suit his purpose. These sections were the same in every large city of the world. The buildings were always two-story. The main floor contained the bar, the jukebox and the dance floor. The girls floated here, letting themselves be seen. When a sailor showed interest, he asked her to dance, bought her a few watered drinks, and haggled over price. Once the price was set and paid, the girl took the sailor upstairs. The second floor looked like a hotel hallway with rooms spaced evenly on each side. The girl usually had her own room, where she lived and worked. It didn’t contain much — a bed, of course, a closet, and a dresser for her few trinkets and belongings. Each building was laid out in basically the same manner. Nick knew them well.

If his plan was going to work, he had to widen the gap between him and his follower. The section covered maybe four square blocks, which didn’t give him much area to work with. It was time to start.

Nick rounded a corner and ran full speed. Halfway down the block he came to a short alley blocked by a wooden fence at the other end. Trash cans lined each side of the alley. Killmaster knew he no longer had the cover of darkness. He’d have to use his speed. He ran quickly to the fence, judged its height at about ten feet. From the side, he pulled one of the trash cans over, climbed on it and scrambled over the fence. Down on the other side, he took off for the end of the block, rounded the corner and found the building he was looking for. It sat on the point of a triangle-shaped block. From across the street it would be easy to see anyone coming out or going in. A lean-to shed was connected to the side, its roof just under one of the second-story windows. Nick made a mental note of where the room would be as he ran toward the bar.

The neon sign over the front door read Club Delight. It was bright but not blinking. The door was open. Nick went in. The place was dark. To his left the bar stretched half the length of the room, with stools cockeyed at different angles. A sailor occupied one of the stools, his head in his folded arms on the bar. To Nick’s right the jukebox sat silent, encased in bright blue light. The space between the bar and jukebox was used for dancing. Beyond that, the booths sat empty, except for the last one.

It contained a fat woman leaning over paperwork. Thin, rimless glasses rested at the end of her bulbous nose. She smoked a long cigarette stuck into a holder. As Nick came in, she glanced at him without moving her head, just rolled her eyes to the top of their sockets and looked at him over the glasses. All this was seen in the time it took Nick to get from the front door to the stairs, which were located to his left just at the end of the bar. Nick did not hesitate. The woman opened her mouth to speak, but by the time the word came out Nick was already on the fourth step. He continued up, taking the steps two at a time. When he reached the top, he was in the hallway. It was narrow, with one light halfway down, deeply carpeted, and smelled of sleep, sex and cheap perfume. The rooms weren’t rooms exactly, but partitions blocked off on each side. The walls were about eight feet high, whereas the ceiling of the building stretched more than ten feet. Nick figured the window he wanted would be the third room down on his right. As he started for it, he noticed the doors separating the rooms from the hall were cheap plywood painted bright colors with tinseled stars taped to them. The stars had the names of girls, each different. He passed Margo’s and Lila’s door. He wanted Vicki’s. Killmaster planned to be as polite as he had time for, but he wouldn’t be able to dally about giving explanations. When he tried Vicki’s door and found it locked, he stood back and with one hard kick splintered the lock. The door swung open, banged noisely against the wall and rested at an angle with its top hinge broken.

Vicki was busy. She lay on the small bed, her plump, smooth legs wide-spread, matching the thrusts of the big, redheaded man on top of her. Her arms were circled tightly around his neck. The muscles contracted in the man’s naked buttocks and his back glistened with sweat. His big hands completely covered her ample breasts. Vickie’s skirt and panties lay in a crumpled ball by the bed. The sailor’s uniform was neatly draped over the dresser.

Nick was already to the window, trying to get it open before the sailor noticed him.

He raised his head. “Hey!” he shouted. “Who in the hell are you?”

He was muscular, big and good-looking. Now he was up on his elbows. The hair on his chest was thick and glowed bright red.

The window seemed to be stuck. Nick couldn’t get it open.

The sailor’s blue eyes flashed with anger. “I asked you a question, sport,” he said. His knees were coming up. He was about to leave Vicki.

Vicki shouted, “Mac! Mac!”

Mac must be the bouncer, Nick thought. At last he got the window free. He turned to the couple, giving them his widest, boyish grin. “Just passing through, folks,” he said.

The anger left the sailor’s eyes. He started to smile, then he chuckled and finally laughed out loud. It was a hearty, loud laugh. “This is kinda funny when you think about it,” he said.

Nick bad his right leg through the open window. He paused, reached into his pocket, pulled out ten Hong Kong dollars. He wadded it and tossed it gently to the sailor. “Enjoy yourself,” he said. Then, “Is it any good?”

The sailor glanced down at Vicki, then up at Nick, grinning. “I’ve had worse.”

Nick waved, then eased himself down the four feet to the roof erf the shed. At the end of it, he dropped to his knees and rolled over the edge. It was an eight-foot drop to the street. He rounded the corner of the building, out of sight of the window, then darted across the street and started back. He stayed in the shadows, sticking close to bar fronts until he’d worked his way back opposite the window. He was now directly across the street from the bar where he could see three sides of the building. Keeping his eyes on the window, he stepped into an ally, put his back against the fence across it, and stopped.

It was just light enough to see the window clearly. Nick saw the wiry man’s head and shoulders poke through it. In his right hand he held an Army .45. This group sure had a passion for Army .45s, Nick thought. The man took his time looking up and down the street.

Then Nick heard the sailor’s voice. “All right, now. This is gettin’ to be too much. Fun is fun — one guy, okay, but two is just too damned many.” Nick saw the sailor’s arm reach around the man’s chest, yanking him back into the room. “Damn it, clown. Look at me when I’m talkin’ to you.”

“Mac! Mac!” Vicki shouted.

Then the sailor said, “Don’t point that gun at me, buddy-boy. I’ll cram it down your throat and make you eat it.”

There was scuffling, the sound of splintering wood, the crack of a doubled fist striking a face. Glass broke, heavy things fell to the floor. And Vicki screamed, “Mac! Mac!”

Nick smiled and leaned against the fence. He shook his head, reached into his coat pocket and lit one of his gold-tipped cigarettes. The noise from the window went on without letup. Nick calmly smoked his cigarette. A third voice came from the window, deep, demanding. The Army .45 crashed through the upper part of the window and landed on the roof of the shed. Must be Mac, Nick thought. He blew smoke rings into the air. As soon as the wiry man came out of the building, he’d follow him. But that looked as though it was going to take quite a while.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Dawn came without the sun; it remained hidden behind dark clouds. The air still had a chill in it. Early morning people began appearing on the streets of Hong Kong.

Nick Carter leaned against the fence, listening. Hong Kong was opening its eyes, stretching, getting ready for a new day. All cities were noisy, but somehow the night noise seemed different from that of early morning. Smoke curled from rooftops, mingling with low clouds. The smell of cooking food filled the air.

Nick stepped on the butt of his seventh cigarette. There hadn’t been a sound from the window for more than an hour. Nick hoped the sailor and Mac left enough of the wiry man to follow. The man was a straw Nick was grabbing for. If he didn’t pay off, a lot of time would have been wasted. And time was something Nick didn’t have a lot of.

Where would the man go? Nick hoped that once he realized he’d lost the one he was supposed to be following, he’d report to his superiors. That would give Nick two straws.

Suddenly the man appeared. He sort of stumbled out the front door, not looking well at all. His steps were halting, staggered. The coat of his suit was torn across the shoulder. His face was discolored with bruises, both eyes had begun to swell. He stumbled about aimlessly for awhile, not seeming to know where to go. Then he started off in halting steps toward the harbor.

Nick waited until the man was almost out of sight, then started after him. The man moved painfully, slowly. Each step seemed to take great effort. Killmaster had wanted the man delayed, not beaten half to death. He could appreciate the sailor’s feelings though. Nobody likes to be interrupted. Especially twice. And he imagined the wiry man was totally without humor. He probably got belligerent, waving that .45 around. Yet, Nick sympathized with the man, but he could understand why the sailor did what he did.

Once out of the sailor’s playground, the man seemed to perk up a bit. His steps became more deliberate, quicker. It was as though he had just decided where he was going. Nick kept two blocks behind. So far, the man had not once looked back.

It wasn’t until they had reached the docks along the harbor that Nick realized where the man was heading. The ferry. He was going to cross back to Kowloon. Or was he? The man approached the early-morning crowd at the landing and stood on the fringe of them. Nick stayed against the buildings, keeping out of sight. The man didn’t seem to know what he wanted to do. Twice he took steps away from the landing, only to return. The beating seemed to have affected his mind. He looked at the people around him, then across the harbor where the ferry would be coming. He started back along the dock, halted, then walked purposely away from the landing. Nick frowned, puzzled, waited until the man was almost out of sight, then followed him.

The wiry man led Nick right to his own hotel. Outside, under the same street lamp where Ossa and the other man had met, he stopped and looked up at Nick’s window.

This guy just didn’t give up. The man’s actions on the ferry landing became clear to Nick then. He had to work it this way. If he reported what had actually happened to his superiors, they’d probably kill him. Was he really going to cross to Kowloon? Or was he headed somewhere on the dock itself? He had looked across the harbor, then started out along the dock. Maybe he knew Nick was on to him and he thought he’d try a little confusion.

One thing Nick was sure of — the man had stopped moving. And you couldn’t follow a man who didn’t lead you anywhere. It was time to talk.

The wiry man had not moved from the lamp post. He looked up at Nick’s room as though praying Killmaster would be in it.

The sidewalks had become crowded. People moved swiftly along them, dodging each other. Nick knew he’d have to be careful. He didn’t want a crowd around when he confronted the man. In the doorway of a building across the street from his hotel, Nick transferred Wilhelmina from the belt to his right-side coat pocket. He kept his hand in the pocket, his finger on the trigger, just like the old gangster movies. Then he started across the street.

The wiry man was so wrapped up in his own thoughts and watching the hotel window that he didn’t even see Nick approach. Nick walked up behind him, put his left hand on the man’s shoulder, and jammed the barrel of Wilhelmina into the small of his back.

“Instead of looking at the room, let’s go to it,” he said.

The man stiffened. His gaze shifted to the toes of his shoes. Nick could see the muscles twitching in the side of his neck.

“Move,” Nick said quietly, jamming the Luger harder into the man’s back.

The man silently moved off. They entered the hotel and, like old friends, climbed the stairs, with Killmaster giving friendly smiles to everyone they passed. Nick already had the key in his left hand when they reached the door.

“Put your hands behind you and lean back against the wall,” Nick ordered.

The man obeyed. His eyes watched Killmaster’s moves closely.

Nick got the door open, then stood back. “Okay. Inside.”

The man moved away from the wall and went into the room. Nick followed, closing and locking the door behind him. He pulled Wilhelmina out of his pocket, leveled its barrel at the man’s stomach.

“Lock your hands behind your neck and turn around,” he ordered.

Again, the man silently obeyed.

Nick patted the man’s chest, pants pockets, the inside of both legs. He knew the man no longer had the .45, but maybe he had something else. He found nothing. “You understand English,” he said when he’d finished. “Do you speak it?”

The man remained silent.

“All right,” Nick said. “Drop your hands and turn around.” The sailor and Mac had worked him over pretty good. He looked in sad shape.

The look of the man made Nick relax a little. As the man turned to face him, his right foot lashed out, catching Nick between the legs. The pain raced like a brush fire through him. He doubled over, staggering back. The man took one step forward, and with his left foot, kicked Wilhelmina out of Nick’s hand. There had been the click of metal against metal when the foot hit the Luger. Filled with pain from his groin, Nick stumbled back against the wall. He silently cursed himself for not noticing the steel tips on the man’s shoes. The man was going for Wilhelmina. Nick took two deep breaths, then moved away from the wall, his teeth clenched in anger. The anger was aimed at himself for relaxing when he shouldn’t have. Obviously the man was not in as bad a shape as he looked.

The man was bent over, his fingers touching the Luger. Nick kicked him and he went down. He rolled over on to his side and lashed out with those vicious steel-tipped shoes. The blow caught Nick in the stomach, sending him back against the bed. The man again went for the Luger. Nick moved quickly away from the bed, kicked Wilhelmina into a corner, out of reach. The wiry man was on his knees. Nick slapped him on each side of his neck with the side of his open hand, then with his open palm threw a quick jab up to the man’s nose, ripping it open across the nostrils. The man cried out in agony, then slumped in a curl, both hands covering his face. Nick crossed the room and picked up Wilhelmina.

He said through clenched teeth, “Now you’re going to tell me Why you were following me and who you work for.”

The movement was almost too quick for Nick to see it. The man’s hand moved to his shirt pocket, pulled out a small round pill and stuck it in his mouth.

Cyanide, Nick thought He put Wilhelmina into his coat pocket and quickly went to the man. With the fingers of both hands he tried to keep the man’s jaws apart, to keep the teeth from crushing the pill. But he was too late. The deadly fluid had already started through the man’s system. In six seconds he was dead.

Nick stood looking down at the body. He staggered back and plopped down on the bed. There was an ache between his legs that would be there awhile. His hands were covered with blood from the man’s face. He lay back on the bed and covered his eyes with his right arm. This had been his straw, his one gamble, and he had blown it. Everywhere he went there seemed to be a blank wall. He hadn’t had one decent break since starting this assignment Nick closed his eyes. He felt tired and beaten.

Nick didn’t know how long he lay there. It couldn’t have been more than a few minutes. Suddenly he jerked to a sitting position. What’s the matter with you, Carter? he thought. There’s no time to be wallowing in self-pity. So, you’ve had a few bad breaks. That was part of the job. There were still possibilities open. You’ve had tougher assignments. Get on with it.

He began with a shower and a shave, while his mind chewed over the possibilities left. If he couldn’t come up with anything else, there was still the Bar Wonderful.

When he stepped out of the bathroom he felt much better. He fastened the padding around his waist. Instead of placing Pierre, the tiny gas bomb, between his legs, he taped it in the small hollow just behind his left ankle bone. There was a slight lump showing when he pulled on his sock, but it looked like a swollen ankle. He finished dressing, wearing the same business suit. He pulled the clip from Wilhelmina and replaced the four missing cartridges. He stuck Wilhelmina where it was before, in his belt. Then Nick Carter went back to work.

He started with the dead man. Carefully he went through the man’s pockets. The wallet looked as though it had been gone through before recently. The sailor, most likely. Nick found two pictures of Chinese girls, a laundry ticket, ninety Hong Kong dollars in cash, and a business card from the Bar Wonderful. That place popped up everywhere he turned. He looked on the back of the card. Scribbled in pencil were the words, Victoria-Kwangchow.

Nick left the body and walked slowly to the window. He stared outside without really seeing. Kwangchow was Chinese for Canton, the capital of Kwangtung Province. Canton was a little over a hundred miles from Hong Kong, inside Red China. Was that where they had the wife and boy? It was a big city. It sat on the north bank of the Pearl River, which flowed south into Hong Kong harbor. Maybe the wife and boy were there.

But Nick doubted if that’s what was meant on the card. It was a Bar Wonderful business card. He felt that whatever Victoria-Kwangchow meant was right here in Hong Kong. But what? A place? A thing? A person? And why was this man carrying such a card? Nick retraced in his mind every event that had happened since he saw the man peeking through the dining-room window. One thing stood out — the man’s queer actions on the ferry landing. Either he was going to take the ferry but was afraid to report his failure to his superiors, or he knew Nick was there and he didn’t want to tip off where he was going. And he had started out along the dock.

Killmaster could see the harbor from his window, but not the ferry landing. He brought a mental picture of the area to his mind. The ferry landing was lined on each side by a floating community of sampans and junks. They were side-by-side almost to the landing itself. To get Kathy Loo and Mike to Canton, they’d fly them from the States to Hong Kong, then—

But of course! It was so obvious! From Hong Kong they’d take them up the Pearl River to Canton by boat! That’s where the man was heading when he started away from the landing — to a boat somewhere along that community of boats. But there were so many in that area. It had to be big enough to make the hundred or so miles to Canton. A sampan would probably make it, but that didn’t seem likely. No, it had to be bigger than a sampan. That in itself narrowed the field, since ninety percent of the boats in the harbor were sampans. It was another long shot, straw, gamble, whatever. But it was something.

Nick drew the curtain across the window. He packed his extra clothes in the suitcase, shut off all the lights and left the room, locking the door behind him. He’d have to find someplace else to stay. If he checked out, there would be someone to clean the room right away. He figured it would be sometime in the afternoon before the body was discovered. That might be enough time. In the hallway Nick dropped the suitcase down the laundry chute. He climbed through the window at the end of the hall, went down the fire-escape ladder. At the bottom he dropped six feet from the ladder and found himself in an alley. He brushed himself off and walked quickly to the street, now bustling with people and heavy traffic. At the first mailbox he passed, Nick dropped in the hotel room key. Hawk would straighten things out with the police and the hotel when he got to Hong Kong. Nick blended with the sidewalk crowd.

The air was still crisp. But the heavy clouds had thinned, and the sun shone brightly through breaks in them. The streets and sidewalks had started to dry out. People scurried around and past Nick as he walked. Occasionally sailors came out of tailor shops looking hung-over, their uniforms wrinkled. Nick thought of the redheaded sailor and wondered what he was doing at this hour; probably still banging away at Vicki. He smiled, remembering the scene as he had crashed into the room.

Nick reached the docks and headed directly for the ferry landing, his expert eyes searching the multitude of sampans and junks connected like links of a chain in the harbor. The boat wouldn’t be in this section, but on the other side of the landing. If there was a boat at all. He didn’t even know how he’d be able to pick it out.

The huge ferry was just chugging away from the landing as Nick approached it. He crossed the landing to the docks on the other side. Nick knew he had to be careful. If the Reds caught him poking around their boat, they’d kill first and find out who he was later.

Killmaster stayed close to the buildings, his eyes studying closely every boat that looked larger than a sampan. He spent all morning and part of the afternoon at it with no results. He went almost as far along the docks as the boats did. But when he reached the section where large ships from all over the world were either loading or offloading cargo, he doubled back. He had covered almost a mile. The frustrating thing was there were just too many boats. Even eliminating the sampans still left a large number of them. He might have already passed it; he had nothing to identify it with. And again, the business card might not mean a boat at all.

Nick restudied each boat larger than a sampan as he made his way back to the ferry landing. The clouds had broken up; they hung high in the sky looking like scattered popcorn over a deep blue tablecloth. And the afternoon sun warmed the docks, steaming moisture out of the asphalt. Some of the boats were connected to sampans; others were anchored a little farther out. Nick noticed water-taxis chugging to and from the huge ships of the American fleet at regular intervals. Because of the afternoon tide, the big ships had swung around on their anchor chains so that they sat sideways across the harbor. Sampans were gathered like leeches around the ships, their occupants diving for nickels being thrown by sailors.

Nick saw the junk just before he reached the landing. He had missed it earlier because its bow had been pointed into the dock. It was anchored just away from a row of sampans, and because of the afternoon tide, it too sat sideways. From where Nick stood, he could see the port side and the stern. And in bold yellow block printing across the stern was the word: Kwangchow!

Nick stepped back in the shadow of a warehouse. A man stood on the deck of the junk looking up and down the dock through a pair of binoculars. His right wrist was heavily wrapped in white bandage.

In the shadow of the warehouse, Nick grinned broadly. He permitted himself a deep sigh of satisfaction. The man on the junk was, of course, Ossa’s sidekick. Nick leaned against the warehouse and slid to a sitting position. Still grinning, he pulled out one of his cigarettes and lit it Then he chuckled. He cocked his handsome head to one side and roared with laughter. He’d just gotten his first break.

Killmaster permitted himself this strange luxury for exactly one minute. He wasn’t worried about the man with the binoculars; the sun was in the man’s face. As long as Nick remained in the shadows, it would be almost impossible to see him from out there. No, Nick had something else to worry about. The police had undoubtedly found the body in his room and were probably looking for him now. They’d be looking for Chris Wilson, American tourist. It was time Nick became someone else.

He stood up, put out his cigarette, and moved off toward the landing, staying within shadows. There would be no chance for him to get close to the junk in daylight, at least not as long as Binoculars was on deck. Right now he needed a place to change.

The ferry landing was crowded when Nick got to it. He passed the people warily, keeping an eye out for police.

When he’d crossed it he stepped onto the first finger of dock pointing into the harbor. He walked slowly past rows of sampans, watching them closely. They extended in lines like growing corn, and Nick continued until he found the one he wanted.

It sat next to the dock in the second row from the harbor. Without hesitating, Nick stepped onto it and ducked under the small cabin roof. He noticed signs of abandonment right away, absence of any clothing, a roof that had leaked rain soaking the bunk and small stove, tin cans with a trace of rust on the lips. Who knew why or when the occupants had left? Maybe they had found a place to stay inland until the storm had passed. Perhaps they were dead. The sampan smelled musty. It had been abandoned for some time. Nick went through the crooks and crannies, coming up with a handful of rice and an unopened can of string beans.

He could not see the junk from the sampan. There were about two hours of daylight left It was taking a chance, but he had to make certain that was the right junk. He stripped and removed the padding from around his waist. He figured that in four minutes he could swim under the first row of sampans and be well into the harbor before he had to come up for breath. If Binoculars was still on deck, he’d have to approach the junk from the bow or the starboard side.

Naked except for Hugo, Nick slipped over the side of the sampan into the icy water He waited a few seconds until the first shock of cold left him; then he dipped under and began swimming. He passed under the first row of sampans and turned right toward the water side of the ferry landing. Then he surfaced just long enough for two deep breaths of fresh air. He caught a glimpse of the junk as he went under again. The bow was pointed toward him. He swam toward it, careful to stay about six feet under. He had to come up for air one more time before his hand touched the fat bottom of the junk.

Edging along the keel, he let himself come up slowly on the starboard side, almost astern. He was in the shadow of the junk but there was no handhold, nothing to hang on to. The anchor chain lay over the bow. Nick placed his feet on the keel, hoping that would help hold him. But the distance from the keel to the surface was too far. He couldn’t keep his head out of the water. He moved to the stem on the starboard side of the basket-woven rudder. By holding the rudder he could stay in one position. He was still in the shadow of the junk.

Then he saw a dinghy being lowered over the port side.

The man with the bandaged wrist climbed into it and began rowing clumsily toward the dock. He favored the wrist and couldn’t get equal pull on the oars.

Nick waited, shivering with cold, for about twenty minutes. The dinghy returned. This time there was a woman with the man. Her face had a hard beauty to it, not unlike that of a professional whore. The lips were full and a brilliant red. Her cheeks had rouge where the skin tightened over the bone. Her hair was raven black, tight, and pulled to a bun on the back of her neck. The eyes had the beauty of emeralds, and were just as hard. She wore a tight-fitting, flower-patterned lavender shift, slit along both sides well up her thighs. She sat in the dinghy with her knees together, her hands locked around them. From Nick’s position, he saw she wore no panties. In fact he doubted if she wore anything under that bright silk.

When they reached the side of the junk, the man scurried on board, then reached a hand to help her.

In Cantonese dialect, the woman asked, “Do you have any word from Yong yet?”

“No,” the man answered, same dialect. “Perhaps tomorrow he will complete his mission.”

“Perhaps nothing,” the woman snapped. “Perhaps he has gone the way of Ossa.”

“Ossa…” the man began.

“Ossa was a fool. You, Ling, are a fool. I should have known better than to head an operation surrounded by fools.”

“But we are dedicated!” Ling cried.

The woman said, “Louder, they cannot quite hear you in Victoria. You are an imbecile. A newborn babe is dedicated to feeding itself, but it does not know how. You are a newborn babe, and a crippled one at that.”

“If ever I see that…”

“You will either run or die. He is but one man. One man! And all of you are like frightened rabbits. Right now he may be on his way to the woman and boy. He cannot wait much longer.”

“Yong will…”

“He has probably killed Yong. I thought that out of all of you, at least Yong would be successful.”

“Sheila, I…”

“So, you want to put your hands on me? We will give Yong until tomorrow. If he does not return by tomorrow night, we load up and leave. I would love to meet this man who has you all frightened. Ling! You paw me like a puppy dog. Very well. Come into the cabin and I will at least make you half a man.”

Nick had heard what was to follow many times before. There was no need for him to freeze in icy water to hear it again. He dipped under and moved along the bottom of the junk until he reached the bow. Then he filled his lungs with air and pushed off back toward the sampan.

The sun had almost set when he came up for another lungful of air. Four minutes later he had passed once again under the first row of sampans and was back to his borrowed one. He climbed aboard and dried himself with his business suit, rubbing the skin vigorously. Even after he was dry, it took quite a while for him to stop shivering. He stretched out almost the full length of the small boat and closed his eyes. He needed sleep. Since Yong was the dead man in Nick’s room, it wasn’t likely he would show up tomorrow. That gave Nick until tomorrow night at least. He’d have to figure some way to get on that junk. But right now he was tired. That cold water had sapped his strength. He drifted away from himself, letting the rocking sampan carry him. Tomorrow he would begin. He would be well rested and ready for anything. Tomorrow. Tomorrow was Thursday. He had until Tuesday. Time raced quickly.

Nick woke with a jerk. For an instant he didn’t know where he was. He heard the light lap of water against the side of the sampan. The junk! Was the junk still in the harbor? Maybe the woman, Sheila, had changed her mind. The police knew about Yong now. Maybe she had found out.

He sat up, stiff from his hard bed, and looked toward the other side of the ferry landing. The big Navy ships had again changed positions in the harbor. They sat lengthwise, their bows pointed toward Victoria. The sun sat high, glimmering in the water. Nick saw the junk, its stern swung out toward the harbor. There was no sign of life aboard.

Nick boiled a handful of rice. He ate the rice and a can of green beans with his fingers. When he had finished, he placed the ninety Hong Kong dollars he’d removed from his suit into the empty can, then put the can where he’d found it. Chances were the occupants of the sampan wouldn’t return, but if they did, he would have at least paid for his room and board.

Nick leaned back in the sampan and lit one of his cigarettes. The day was almost half over. All he had to do was wait for nightfall.

CHAPTER NINE

Nick waited in the sampan until darkness was complete. Lights glittered along the harbor, and across it he could see the lights of Kowloon. The junk was out of his view now. He had not seen any movement on it all day. But, to be sure, he waited until well past midnight.

He wrapped Wilhelmina and Hugo in the coolie clothes that had been tied around his waist. He had no plastic bag, so he would have to hold the clothes out of the water. Pierre, the tiny gas bomb, was taped just behind his left armpit.

The sampans around him were dark and quiet. Once again Nick lowered himself into the icy water. He moved with a slow side-stroke, holding the bundle above his head. He went between two sampans in the first row, then headed for open water. The going was slow and he made certain there was no splashing. When he was beyond the ferry landing, he turned right. He could see the dark silhouette of the junk now. There were no lights. Once he had passed the ferry landing, he headed directly for the bow of the junk. When he reached it, he hung onto the anchor chain and rested. He had to be very careful now.

Nick climbed up the chain until his feet had cleared the water. Then, using the bundle as a towel, he dried his feet and legs. Wouldn’t do to leave wet footprints on the deck. He climbed over the bow rail and dropped silently onto the deck. With cocked head, he listened. Hearing nothing, he quietly dressed, pushed Wilhelmina into the waistband of the pants, and kept Hugo in his hand. In a low crouch he made his way along the walkway on the port side of the cabin. He noticed the dinghy was missing. When he reached the afterdeck, he saw three sleeping forms. If Sheila and Ling were on board, Nick thought, they’d most likely be in the cabin. These three must be the crew. Nick stepped lightly between them. There was no door covering the front of the cabin, just a small, arch-shaped open space. Nick poked his head through, listening and looking. He heard no breathing except from the three behind him; he saw nothing. He went inside.

To his left were three bunks, one on top of the other. On his right were a wash basin and a stove. Beyond that was a long table with benches on each side. The mast came up through the center of the table. Two portholes were on each side of the cabin. Beyond the table was a door, probably the head. There was no place in the cabin he could hide himself. The storage lockers were too small. All open spaces along the bulkhead could easily be seen from the cabin. Nick looked down. There would be a space under the main deck. They’d probably use that for storage. Nick figured the hatch would be somewhere near the head. He moved cautiously along the table and opened the door to the head.

The toilet was mounted flush with the deck, Oriental fashion, and too small for a hatchway below. Nick backed into the main cabin, his eyes searching the deck.

There was just enough moonlight to pick out silhouettes. He bent over as he backed, sliding his fingers lightly over the deck. It was between the bunks and wash basin that he found the crack. He ran his hands over the square, found the finger-lift, and slowly pulled up. The hatch was hinged and well-used. It let out only a slight squeak as he opened it. The opening was about three feet square. Pitch blackness waited below. Nick knew the bottom of the junk couldn’t have been more than four feet down. He dropped his feet over the edge and lowered himself. He went down only as far as his chest before his feet touched bottom. Nick crouched, pulling the hatch shut above him. All he could hear now was the light lap of water against the sides of the junk. He knew that when they got ready to move they’d be loading supplies aboard. And they’d probably store them in this space.

Using his hands to guide him, Nick moved aft. The darkness was total; he had to go strictly by feel. All he found was a rolled spare sail. He doubled back. If there was nothing forward of the hatch he could roll himself into the sail. But they’d probably want to move it to store supplies. He had to find something better.

Forward of the hatch he found five boxes lashed down. Working as quietly as possible, Nick untied the boxes and arranged them so that there was an empty space behind them and enough space from the top of them to the overhead for him to crawl through. Then he lashed them down tight again. The boxes weren’t too heavy, and because of the darkness he couldn’t read what they contained. Probably foodstuffs. When they were lashed again, Nick crawled over them to his little space. He had to sit with his knees against his chest. He stuck Hugo into one of the boxes within easy reach, and lay Wilhelmina between his feet. He leaned back, his ears trying to pick up every noise. All he could hear was the water against the side of the junk. Then he heard something else. It was a light, scratching noise. A cold chill ran through him.

Rats!

Disease-ridden, filthy, the larger ones had been known to attack men. Nick had no idea how many of them there were. The scratching sound seemed to be all around him. And he was enclosed in darkness. If only he could see! Then he realized what they were doing. They were scratching at the boxes around him, trying to get to the top. They were probably starved, coming after him. Nick had Hugo in his hand. He knew he was taking a chance but he felt trapped. He pulled out his cigarette lighter and struck a flame. For an instant he was blinded by the light, then he saw two of them on top of the box.

They were as big as alley cats. The whiskers on their long pointed noses quivered from side to side. They looked down at him with black slanting eyes glittering in the lighter flame. The lighter grew too hot to handle. It dropped to the deck and went out. Nick felt something furry drop to his lap. He swiped at it with Hugo, hearing the click of teeth on the blade. Then the thing was between his feet. He kept jabbing Hugo at it while his free hand searched for the lighter. Something pulled at his pant leg. Nick found the lighter and quickly lit it. The rat’s jagged teeth were caught on his pant leg. It shook its head back and forth, snapping its jaws. Nick stabbed it in the side with the stiletto. He stabbed it again. And again. The teeth came free, and the rat snapped at the blade. Nick plunged the stiletto into its stomach, then pushed it into the face of the other rat that was about to jump. Both rats went over the box and down the other side. The scratching stopped. Nick heard the others scurrying over to the dead rat, then squabbling over it. Nick shivered. One or two more may be killed during the fighting, but it wouldn’t be enough to last them for long. They’d be back.

He shut the lighter and wiped the blood from Hugo’s blade on his pants. He could see morning light through the crack of the hatchway.

It was two hours before Nick heard movement on deck. His legs had gone to sleep; he could no longer feel them. There was stomping above him, and the smell of cooking food sifted down. He tried to shift his position, but he couldn’t seem to move.

He spent most of the morning dozing. The pain along his spine was eased by his extreme power of concentration. He couldn’t sleep because even though they were quiet, the rats were still with him. He heard one now and then scurrying in front of one of the boxes. He hated to think of spending another night alone with them.

Nick figured it was around noon when he heard the dinghy bump against the side of the junk. Two more pairs of feet walked on the deck above him. There were muffled voices, but he couldn’t understand what was being said. Then he heard a slow-turning Diesel engine come alongside the junk. Props were reversed, and he heard heavy line thud on deck. Another boat had come alongside. Feet got busy on the deck above him. There was a loud clunk, like a board dropping. Then there were thuds being repeated every now and then. Nick knew what it was. They were laying in supplies. The junk was getting ready to move. He and the rats would soon have company.

It took the better part of an hour to get everything on board. Then the Diesel started again, revved, and the sound faded slowly away. Suddenly the hatch was thrown open, flooding Nick’s hiding place with bright light. He could hear the rats running for cover. The air felt cool and refreshing as it flowed in. He heard the woman speaking in Chinese.

“Hurry,” she was saying. “I want us to be on our way before dark.”

“Perhaps the police have him.” It sounded like Ling.

“Be still, stupid one. The police do not have him. He is on his way to the woman and boy. We must get there before he does.”

One of the crewmen was stationed a few feet from Nick. Another was outside the hatch, collecting crates from the third and handing them down. And what crates! The smaller ones were being placed around the hatch where they would be easy to reach. They contained foodstuffs and the like. But there weren’t many of those. The bulk of the crates were marked in Chinese, and Nick could read Chinese well enough to tell what they contained. Some were filled with grenades, but most held ammunition. They must have an army guarding Kathy Loo and the boy, Nick thought. Sheila and Ling must have gone out of the cabin; their voices had become muffled again.

The light had all but faded by the time the crew had lashed down all the crates. They stacked everything aft of the hatch. They hadn’t even come near Nick’s hiding place. Finally it was all done. The last crewman climbed out and slammed the hatch shut. Nick was once again in total darkness.

The dark air smelled strongly of the new crates. Nick heard feet pounding on deck. A pully creaked. The junk seemed to list to one side. Must be raising the sail, he thought. Then he heard the anchor chain clacking. The wooden bulkheads creaked. The junk seemed to ride lighter on the water. They were moving.

They would most likely head for Kwangchow. It was either there or somewhere along the Canton River they had the professor’s wife and son. Nick tried to visualize the area along the Canton River. It was a lowland rainforest type of terrain. That told him exactly nothing. As he recalled, Kwangchow lay in the northeast delta of the Hsi Chiang River. There was a maze of streams and canals running between small rice paddies in that area. Each was dotted with villages.

The junk rolled very little crossing the harbor. Nick knew when they started up the Canton River. The movement forward seemed to slow, yet water sounded as though it was rushing along the sides of the junk. The pitching grew slightly more violent.

Nick knew he could not stay in his position much longer. He was sitting in a pool of his own sweat. He was thirsty, and his stomach growled with hunger. The rats were hungry, too, and they hadn’t forgotten him.

He had been hearing their scratching for more than an hour. At first there were the new crates to be inspected and chewed on. But it was too hard to get to the food inside. There was always him, warm with the smell of blood on his pants. So they came after him.

Nick listened as their scratchings grew higher on the boxes. He could just about tell how high they were getting. And he didn’t want to waste his lighter fluid. He knew he would need it. He felt them then, on top of the boxes, first one, then another. With Hugo in his hand, he flicked flame to his lighter. He raised the lighter and saw their pointed, whiskered noses in front of their black, shiny eyes. He counted five, then seven, and more kept making it to the top of the boxes. His heart raced. One would be bolder than the others, it would make the first move. He’d watch for that one. His wait wasn’t long.

One moved forward, its feet close to the edge of the box. Nick stuck the flame of the lighter to the whiskered nose, then jabbed with the point of Huso. The stiletto plucked out the right eye of the rat, and it fell back. The others leaped on it almost before it could get down the other side of the box. He could hear them fighting over it. The flame in Nick’s lighter flickered out. No more fluid.

Killmaster had to get out of that position. He was trapped there with no defense now that he was out of lighter fluid. There was no feeling in his legs; he couldn’t raise himself. Once those rats were done with their friend, he’d be next. There was one chance. He put Wilhelmina back in his waistband and stuck Hugo between his teeth. He wanted the stiletto within easy reach. Hooking his fingers over the top box, he pulled with all his strength. He got his elbows over the top, then his chest. He tried kicking his legs to get the circulation going, but they wouldn’t move. Using his hands and elbows, he crawled over the top of the boxes and down the other side. He could hear the rats close to him, chewing and scrapping. On the bottom of the hull now, Nick crawled to one of the food crates.

Using Hugo as a pry, he broke open one of the crates and reached inside. Fruit. Peaches and bananas. Nick pulled out a bunch of bananas and three peaches. He began scattering and tossing the rest of the fruit aft of the hatch between and around the grenade and ammunition cases. He could hear the rats scurrying after it. He ate hungrily but slowly; there was no sense in getting sick. When he finished, he started rubbing his legs. They tingled first, then felt pain in them. Feeling returned slowly. He stiffened and bent them, and soon they were strong enough to hold his weight.

Then he heard the powerful engine of another boat; it sounded like an old PT boat. The sound grew nearer, until it was alongside. Nick moved to the hatch. He put his ear close to it, trying to hear. But the voices were muffled and the idling engine drowned them out. He thought of lifting the hatch slightly, but some of the crew might be in the cabin. Must be a patrol boat, he thought.

He had to remember that, because he planned to come back this way. The patrol boat stayed alongside for more than an hour. Nick wondered if they were going to search the junk. Sure enough. Heavy footsteps clumped onto the deck above him. Nick had full use of his legs now. He dreaded the thought of getting back into the confined space, but it looked as if he’d have to. The heavy steps were on the afterdeck. Nick relieved himself on one of the ammunition crates, then crawled back over the top of the boxes to his little hiding place. He stuck Hugo into the box in front of him. Wilhelmina was back between his feet. He needed a shave and his body stank, but he felt much better.

There was a lot of conversation with the search, but Nick couldn’t hear the words. He heard what sounded like laughter. Maybe the Sheila woman was trying to con the searchers to keep them from seeing the grenades and ammunition. The junk was riding at anchor, and the patrol boat’s engines had been shut off.

Suddenly Nick’s hiding place was flooded with early-morning light as the hatch was opened. A flashlight beam played all around him.

“And what is down here?” A man’s voice asked in Chinese.

“Only supplies,” Sheila answered.

A pair of legs dropped down through the hatch. They were clad in the uniform of the Chinese Regular Army. Then the rifle came in, followed by the rest of the soldier. He played the flashlight around Nick, then turned his back. The beam fell on the opened food crate. Three rats scattered from the crate when the light hit them.

“You have rats,” the soldier said. Then the beam hit the grenade and ammunition cases. “Ah-ha! What have we here?” he asked.

From above the open hatch, Sheila said, “That is for the soldiers in the village. I told you about them…”

The soldier moved around in a crouch. “But why so much?” he asked. “There are not that many soldiers there.”

“We are expecting trouble,” Sheila answered.

“I will have to report this.” He crawled back through the open hatch. “The rats have opened one of your food crates,” he said, just before the hatch was slammed shut again.

Nick could no longer hear what the voices were saying. His legs were beginning to go to sleep again. There were a few more minutes of muffled conversation, then the pulley squeaked, and the anchor chain started clacking again. The junk seemed to strain against the mast The powerful engines fired up and the patrol boat pulled away. Water rushed along the sides and bottom of the junk. They were on their way once again.

So they were expecting him in some village. He felt as if he was being tossed tiny bits and pieces of information. He had already learned a great deal since coming aboard the junk. But the all important “where” still eluded him. Nick pulled himself to his chest on top of the boxes so that his legs would be straight. He worked them until the feeling returned. Then he sat back down. It he could do that every so often, it might keep his legs from falling asleep. For the time being the rats seemed to be content with the opened food crate.

He heard steps coming toward the hatch. It was opened and daylight flooded in. Nick had Hugo in his hand. One of the crewmen dropped down. He had a machete in one hand and a flashlight in the other. In a crouch, he crawled toward the opened food crate. His light hit two rats. When they tried to escape, the man cut them both in half with two swift blows. He looked around for more rats. Not seeing any, he began stuffing the fruit back into the crate. When he had cleaned up the area around him, he reached for the splintered board Nick had pried off the crate. He started to replace it, then stopped.

He ran the light beam along the edge of the board. There was a deep frown on his face. He ran his thumb along the edge, then looked at the two dead rats. He knew the rats hadn’t opened that crate. The light beam flashed all around. It stopped on the ammunition cases where Nick had relieved himself. The man began checking the crates. He poked around the grenade and ammunition cases first. Not finding anything, he untied the food crates, pushed them closer together, then retied them. And then he turned to Nick’s boxes. Working quickly, his fingers untied the knots holding the boxes down. Nick had Hugo ready. The man got the lines free from the boxes, then pulled the top box down. When he saw Nick his eyebrows went up in surprise.

“Ayee!” he screamed, and brought the machete back for a swing.

Nick lunged forward, driving the point of the stiletto into the man’s throat. The man gurgled, dropped both flashlight and machete, and staggered back, blood rushing from the open wound.

Nick started over the boxes. The junk listed to one side, and the boxes toppled over knocking him to the bulkhead. He looked up to see a feminine hand holding a small-bore automatic pointed at him through the hatch opening.

In excellent American, Sheila said, “Welcome aboard, sweetheart. We’ve been expecting you.”

CHAPTER TEN

It took a while for Nick to get full feeling back into his legs. He paced the afterdeck, breathing deeply of the fresh air, while Sheila followed his every move with her tiny automatic. Ling stood next to the woman. Even he had an old Army .45. Nick figured the time to be around noon. He watched as the two other crewmen hoisted their comrade through the hatch and tossed the body overboard. He smiled. The rats were out a good meal.

Then Nick turned to the woman. “I’d like to clean up and shave,” he said.

She had been watching him with a gleam in her cold emerald eyes. “Of course,” she said returning his smile. “Would you like something to eat?”

Nick nodded.

Ling said, “We kill,” in less than perfect English. There was hatred in his eyes.

Nick figured Ling didn’t like him much. He entered the cabin and poured water into the wash basin. The pair stood behind him, both guns aimed at his back. Hugo anilhelmina were on the table. The junk bobbed up and down as it headed up the river.

As Nick started to shave, Sheila said, “I suppose we should get the formalities over with. I am Sheila Kwan. My stupid-looking friend here is called Ling. You, of course, are the infamous Mr. Wilson. And what is your first name?”

“Chris,” Nick said. He kept his back to them while he shaved.

“Ah, yes. Friend of Professor Loo. But we both know that isn’t your real name, don’t we?”

“Do we?”

“It isn’t important. We’re going to have to kill you anyhow. You see, you’ve been a naughty boy, Chris. First Ossa, then the big one, and then Yong. And poor Ling here will never have the full use of his hand again. You’re a dangerous man, you know that?”

“We kill,” Ling said with feeling.

“Later, pet. Later.”

Nick asked, “Where did you learn to speak American like that?”

“You did notice,” Sheila said. “How nice. Yes, I was educated in the States. But I’ve been away for so long, I thought I had forgotten some of the phrases. Do they still say words like fabulous, and cool, and dig?”

Nick finished with the wash basin. He turned to face the pair and nodded. “West Coast, isn’t it?” he asked. “California?”

She smiled with amusement in her green eyes. “Very good!” she said.

Nick pressed it. “Wouldn’t be Berkeley, would it?” he asked.

Her smile broadened into a grin. “Excellent!” she said. “I can certainly see why they sent you. You’re sharp.” Her eves swept approvingly over him. “And very good to look at. It’s been a long time since I’ve had a big American man.”

Ling said, “We kill, we kill!”

Nick nodded toward the man. “Doesn’t he know anything else?”

In Chinese, Sheila told Ling to leave the cabin. He gave her a small argument, but when she told him it was an order, he reluctantly left. One of the crewmen set a bowl of hot rice on the table. Sheila gathered Hugo and Wilhelmina and handed them outside the cabin to Ling. Then she motioned Nick to sit down and eat.

As Nick ate he knew another question was about to be answered. Sheila sat on the bench on the opposite side of the table from him.

“What happened between you and John?” Nick asked.

She shrugged. The automatic was still pointed at him. “I guess you might say I wasn’t his type. I enjoyed college, absolutely loved American men. I slept around too much for him. He wanted someone more permanent. I guess he got what he wanted.”

“You mean Kathy?”

She nodded. “She’s more his type — quiet, reserved. I’ll bet she was a virgin when they got married. I’ll have to ask her.”

Nick asked, “How long did you go with him?”

“I don’t know, probably a month or two.”

“Long enough to learn that he was toying with the idea of the compound.”

She smiled again. “Well, I was sent there to get an education.”

Nick finished his rice and pushed the bowl away. He lit one of his gold-tipped cigarettes. Sheila took the one offered her, and as he was about to light her cigarette, he knocked the small automatic out of her hand. It slid off the end of the table and bounced on the deck. Nick reached over to pick it up but stopped before his hand touched it. Ling stood in the opening to the cabin with the .45 in his hand.

“I kill,” he said, cocking the hammer.

“No!” Sheila cried. “Not yet.” She moved quickly to stand between Nick and Ling. To Nick she said, “That wasn’t very bright, baby. You aren’t going to make us tie you up, are you?” She tossed Ling her small automatic and in Chinese told him to wait just outside the cabin. She promised him that very soon he would be allowed to kill Nick.

Ling, grunted and stepped out of sight.

Sheila stood in front of Nick smoothing her tight lavender shift. Her legs were slightly apart and the silk clung to her body as though it was wet. Nick knew now that she wore nothing under it. In a husky voice, she said, “I don’t want him to have you until I’m finished with you.” She cupped her hands just under her breasts. “I’m supposed to be pretty good.”

“I’ll just bet you are,” Nick said. “But what about your boy friend? He’s already eager enough to see me dead.”

Nick was standing against one of the bunks. Sheila moved close to him, pressing her body against his. He felt the fire building inside him.

“I can handle him,” she said in a husky whisper. She moved her hands under his shirt to his chest. “I haven’t been kissed by an American in a very long time.”

Nick pressed his lips to hers. He worked his mouth against hers. His hand went to her back, then slid slowly downward. She moved closer to him.

“How many others agents are working with you?” she whispered in his ear.

Nick kissed her neck, her throat. His hands moved up to her breast. “I didn’t hear the question,” he answered in an equally low whisper.

She stiffened and tried weakly to push herself away. Her breathing was heavy. “I… have to know,” she said.

Nick held her close. His hand moved under her shift, touching bare flesh. Slowly he started lifting the shift up.

“Later,” she said hoarsely. “You’ll tell me later after you find out how good I am.”

“We’ll see.” Nick laid her gently on the bed and finished removing the shift.

She was good, all right. Her body was blemish-free and thin-boned. She arched it against him and groaned in his ear. She writhed with him and pushed her firm, well-shaped breasts against his chest. And when she reached the pinnacle of satisfaction, she scratched her long fingernails along his back, almost raising herself off the bunk, her teeth biting the lobe of his ear. Then she fell limp under him, her eyes closed, her arms at her sides. As Nick was about to climb out of the bunk, Ling entered the cabin, his face red with rage.

He spoke not a word but went straight to his work. The .45 was aimed at Nick’s belly. He uttered profanity in Chinese at Nick.

Also in Chinese, Sheila ordered him from the cabin. She had come alive again and was pulling the shift over her head.

“What do you think I am?” Ling protested in his Cantonese dialect.

“You are what I say you are. You do not own or control me. Get out.”

“But with this… spy, this foreign agent.”

“Out!” she ordered. “Get out! I will tell you when you may kill him.”

Ling tightened his lips over his teeth and stomped out of the cabin.

Sheila looked at Nick, smiling slightly. She had a flush on her cheeks. Her emerald eyes still held the glaze of satisfaction. She smoothed the silk shift and straightened her hair.

Nick sat at the table and lit a cigarette. Sheila came to sit opposite him.

“I enjoyed that,” she said. “It’s a pity we have to kill you. I could easily get used to having you around. However, I can’t play games with you any longer. Again, how many agents are working with you?”

“None,” Nick answered. “I’m alone.”

Sheila smiled, shaking her head. “It’s hard to believe one man has done everything you have. But let’s say you’re telling the truth. What did you hope to accomplish by smuggling yourself aboard?”

The junk had ceased its bobbing. It was running over smooth water. Nick couldn’t see outside the cabin but he figured they were about to enter the small harbor at Whampoa or Huang-pu. They would pass big ships here. This was as far upriver as the big ships could go. He judged they were roughly twelve miles from Kwangchow.

“I’m waiting,” Sheila said.

Nick said, “You know why I smuggled aboard. I told you I’m working alone. If you don’t believe me, then don’t.”

“Surely you can’t expect me to believe your government would send one man to rescue John’s wife and boy.”

“You can believe what you will.” Nick wanted to be out on deck. He wanted to see where they were heading from Whampoa. “You think your boyfriend would shoot me if I tried to stretch my legs?”

Sheila tapped her fingernail against her front teeth. She was studying him. “Probably,” she said. “But I’ll go with you.” As he started to rise, she said, “You know, sweetheart, it would have been much more pleasant if you had answered my questions here. Once we get where we are going, it won’t be pleasant.”

The late-afternoon sun was ducking in and out from dark rain clouds as Nick went on deck. The two crewmen were forward checking the depth of the river. The ugly eye of Ling’s .45 followed Nick closely. He was on the rudder.

Nick went to the port side, flipped his cigarette into the river and watched the passing bank.

They were moving away from Whampoa and the big ships. They overtook small sampans loaded with families, the men sweating as they worked against the current. Nick figured at this pace it would take another full day to get to Kwangchow, if that was where they were heading. That would be tomorrow. And what was tomorrow? Sunday! He had slightly more than forty-eight hours to locate Kathy Loo and Mike and get them back to Hong Kong. That meant he’d have to cut this traveling time in half.

He felt Sheila standing next to him, tracing her fingers lightly along his arm. She had other plans for him. He glanced over at Ling. Ling had other plans for him, too. Things did not look good.

Sheila wrapped herself around his arm, working her breasts against it. “I’m bored,” she said softly. “Entertain me.”

The snout of Ling’s .45 followed Nick’s back as he walked with Sheila into the cabin. Once inside, Nick said, “Do you get some kind of kick out of torturing that guy?”

“Who? Ling?” She began unbuttoning his shirt. “He knows his place.” She ran her hands along the hair on his chest.

Nick said, “It wouldn’t take much for him to start firing that cannon of his.”

She looked up at him, smiled, ran a wet tongue over her lips. “Then you’d better do as I say.”

Nick figured he could take Ling if he had to. The two crewmen wouldn’t be much of a problem. But he still didn’t know where they were heading. It would be easier if he went along with this woman until they reached their destination.

“What do you want me to do?” he asked.

Sheila stood away from him until she had removed her shift. She untied the bun behind her head and let the hair fall around her shoulders. It reached almost to her waist. Then she unfastened his pants and let them fall to his ankles.

“Ling!” she called.

Ling immediately appeared in the entrance way to the cabin.

In Chinese, Sheila said, “Watch him. Perhaps you may learn something. But if he does not do exactly as I say, shoot him.”

Nick thought he saw the trace of a smile working on the corners of Ling’s mouth.

Sheila crossed to the bunk and sat on the edge, her legs apart. “On your knees, American,” she ordered.

The hair on the back of Nick’s neck bristled. Gritting his teeth, he sank to his knees.

“Now come to me, baby,” Sheila said.

If he swung to the left he could knock the gun out of Ling’s hand. But what then? He doubted if either of them would tell him where they were going, even if he tried to force it out of them. He had to go along with this woman.

“Ling!” Sheila said, threatening.

Ling took one step forward, the gun pointing at Nick’s head.

Nick started to crawl to the woman. He reached her and as he was doing what she ordered, he heard Ling chuckling softly.

Sheila’s breath came in short gasps. In Chinese, she said, “You see, Ling darling? You see what he is doing? He is getting me ready for you.” Then she lay back on the bunk. “Quickly, Ling,” she panted. “Tie him to the mast.”

With the gun, Ling waved Nick to the table. He gratefully obeyed. He sat on the table itself with his feet on the bench. He put his arms behind him around the mast. Ling put the .45 down and tied Nick’s hands together quickly and tightly.

“Hurry, darling,” Sheila cried. “I’m close.”

Ling placed the gun under the bunk and hurriedly undressed. Then he joined Sheila on the bunk.

Nick watched them with a bitter taste in his mouth. Ling went at it with the grim determination of a lumberjack chopping down a tree. If he enjoyed it he gave no sign. Sheila hugged him close to her breasts, whispering in his ear. The cabin darkened with the setting sun. Nick could smell moisture in the air. It was chilly. He wished he had his pants on.

When they were finished, they slept. Nick stayed awake until he heard one of the crewmen snoring on the afterdeck. The other was at the tiller working with the rudder. Nick could barely make him out through the cabin entrance. Even he nodded with sleep.

Nick dozed for maybe an hour. Then he heard Sheila waking Ling for another go. Ling groaned in protest but complied with the woman’s wishes. It took him longer than the first time, and when he was finished, he literally passed out. The cabin was enclosed in darkness now. Nick could only hear them. The junk bobbed its way upriver.

The dawn was hazy when Nick awoke again. He felt something fuzzy brushing his cheek. There was no feeling in his hands. The rope wound tightly around his wrists cut off the circulation, but there was feeling in other parts of his body. And he felt Sheila’s hand on him. Her long raven hair slid back and forth across his face.

“I was afraid I might have to wake up one of the crew,” she whispered when he had opened his eyes.

Nick remained silent. She looked like a little girl with her long hair cascading around her fragile-looking face. Her naked body was firm and well put together. But the hard green eyes would always give her away. She was a hard woman.

She stepped up on the table-bench and moved her breasts gently across his face. “You need a shave,” she said. “I wish I could untie you, but I don’t think Ling has the strength to hold the gun on you.”

With her hand on him and her breasts lightly touching his cheeks. Nick could not control the fire building inside him.

“That’s better,” she said, smiling. “This might be a little awkward with your hands tied like that, but we’ll manage, won’t we, darling?”

And despite himself, and his dislike for her, he did enjoy it. The woman was insatiable, but she knew men. She knew what they liked and she provided it.

When she was finished with him, she stood back and let her eyes sweep completely over him. Her tiny belly worked in and out with her heavy breathing. She brushed the hair out of her eyes and said, “I think I’m going to cry when we have to kill you.” Then she picked up the .45 and woke Ling. He rolled out of the bunk and stumbled behind her out of the cabin to the afterdeck.

They spent the entire morning out there, leaving Nick tied to the mast. From what Nick could see through the cabin entrance, they had entered the delta south of Kwangchow. The area was dotted with rice paddies and canals fingered off from the river. Sheila and Ling had a chart. They alternated between studying it and the starboard bank. They passed many junks and even more sampans. The sun was hazy and did little to warm the chill in the air.

The funk crossed the delta and started up one of the canals. Sheila seemed satisfied with the course and rolled the chart into a tube.

Nick was untied and allowed to button his shirt and put on his pants. He was given a bowl of rice and two bananas. All the time Ling kept the .45 on him. When he was finished, he went out to the afterdeck. Ling stayed two feet behind him. Nick spent the afternoon on the starboard side, smoking his cigarettes and watching the passing scenery. Every now and then he caught sight of a Chinese Regular soldier. He knew they were getting close. Sheila spent the afternoon sleeping in the cabin. Evidently she’d had all the sex she needed for one day.

The junk passed two villages filled with flimsy-looking bamboo huts. The inhabitants paid no attention as they passed. It was dusk when Nick began to notice more and more soldiers along the bank. They watched the junk with interest, as though they had been expecting it.

As it grew dark, Nick noticed lights up ahead. Sheila had joined them on deck. When they drew closer, Nick noticed the lights lined a dock. Soldiers seemed to be everywhere. It was another village, different from the others they had seen because this one had electric lights. From what Nick could see as they approached the dock, the bamboo huts were lighted by lanterns. Two electric bulbs were on each end of the dock, and a line of lights lighted the way between the huts.

Eager hands grabbed the thrown line as the junk came alongside the dock. The sail was dropped, the anchor cast. Sheila kept her little automatic on Nick while she ordered Ling to tie his hands behind him. A plank was set in place connecting the junk with the dock. Soldiers milled in the huts, a few stood around the dock watching. All of them were well armed. As Nick stepped off the junk, two soldiers fell in behind him. Sheila was talking to one of the other soldiers. With Ling ahead, the soldiers behind Nick pushed him slightly to get him moving. He started walking, following Ling.

As he moved under the row of lights, he noticed there were five huts, three on his left, two on his right. The string of lights running down the center seemed to be connected to a generator of some kind at the end of the huts. He could hear it running. The three huts on his left were filled with soldiers. The two on his right were dark and seemed empty. Three soldiers stood guard on the door of the second one. Could that be where Kathy Loo and the boy were? Nick kept it in mind. Of course, it could also be a decoy. They had been expecting him. He was marched past all the huts. It wasn’t until they actually got to the structure that Nick noticed it. It was beyond the huts and set apart, a low, boxy, concrete building. It would be hard to see in the darkness. Ling led him down seven cement steps to what looked like a steel door. Nick heard the generator almost directly behind him. Ling pulled a ring of keys from his pocket and unlocked the door. It creaked open, and the group entered the building. Nick could smell a musty, damp odor like decaying flesh. He was led down a narrow, unlit hallway. There were steel doors on both sides. Ling stopped in front of one of the doors. With another key from the ring, he unlocked the door. Nick’s hands were untied, and he was shoved into the cell. The door clanged shut behind him and he was in total darkness.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Nick moved around his cubicle, touching the walls.

There was no crack, no break, just solid concrete. And the floor was the same as the walls. The hinges on the steel door were outside and cast into the concrete. There would be no escaping the cell. The silence was so complete he could hear his own breathing. He squatted in a corner and lit one of his cigarettes. Since his lighter was out of fuel, he had taken a book of matches from the junk. There were only two matches left.

He smoked, watching the ember of his cigarette glow with each drag. Sunday evening, he thought, and he only had until Tuesday at midnight. He still hadn’t located Kathy Loo and the boy Mike.

Then he heard Sheila Kwan’s soft voice, sounding as though it came from the walls.

“Nick Carter,” she said. “You are not working alone. How many others are working with you? When will they be here?”

Silence. Nick mashed out the remains of his cigarette. Suddenly the cell brightened with light. Nick blinked, his eyes watering. There was a naked light bulb in the center of the ceiling protected by a small wire cage. Just as Nick’s eyes grew used to the brightness, the light went out. He judged it had been on maybe twenty seconds. Now he was in darkness again. He rubbed his eyes. A sound came from the walls again. It sounded like a train faraway whistle. Steadily it grew louder, as though the train came toward the cell. Louder and louder the sound came, growing in pitch until it was a screech. Just as Nick thought it would pass by, the sound was shut off. He figured that at about thirty seconds. Then Sheila spoke to him again.

“Professor Loo wants to join us,” she said. “There is nothing you can do to prevent it.” There was a click. Then, “Nick Carter. You are not working alone. How many others are working with you? When will they be here?”

It was a recording. Nick waited for the light to come on. But instead, he got the train whistle again. It was even louder this time. And the screech began to hurt his ears. As he put his hands over them, the sound stopped. He was sweating. He knew what they were trying to do. It was an old Chinese torture trick. They had used variations of it against the GIs in Korea. It was the mental break-down process. Make the brain like mush, then mold it as you wish. He could tell them he was alone until rice harvest time but they wouldn’t believe him. The irony of it was there was little defense against this type of torture. An ability to stand pain was useless. They by-passed the body and shot directly to the brain.

The light came on again. Nick’s eyes watered against the brightness. This time the light was on only ten seconds. It went out. Nick’s shirt was soaked with sweat. He had to come up with some kind of defense. Already he was anticipating, expecting, waiting. Would it be the light?

The whistle? Or Sheila’s voice? There was no way to judge, not what was coming or how long it would last. But he knew he had to do something.

The whistle didn’t come from far away any more. It was high-pitched and loud immediately. Nick got to work. His brain wasn’t mush quite yet. He tore a large strip from his shirt. The light came on and he shut his eyes tight. When it went off again, he took the torn portion of his shirt and tore it again into five smaller strips. Two of the strips he tore again in half then wadded them into tight little balls. He worked the four balls into his ears, two in each.

When the whistle came on he could barely hear it. With the three remaining strips, he folded two of them into loose pads and placed them over his eyes. The third strip he tied around his head to keep the pads in place. He was blind and deaf. He leaned back into his concrete corner, smiling. By feel, he lit another one of his cigarettes. He knew they could strip him of all his clothes, but right now he was buying time.

They increased the volume of the whistle, but the sound was deadened so much it didn’t bother him. If Sheila’s voice came on, he didn’t hear it. He had just about finished his cigarette when they came for him.

He didn’t hear the door creak open, but he smelled the fresh air. And he felt the presence of others in the cell with him. The blindfold was ripped from his head. He blinked, rubbing his eyes. The light was on. There were two soldiers, one standing over him, the other by the door. Both rifles were aimed at Nick. The soldier standing over Nick, pointed to his own ear, then at Nick’s. Killmaster knew what he wanted. He removed his ear plugs. With the rifle, the soldier motioned him to his feet. Nick stood, and, with prodding from the rifle barrel, walked out of the cell.

He heard the generator as soon as he stepped outside the building. The two soldiers were behind him, their rifles pushed into his back. They walked under the naked light bulbs between the huts and straight to the end hut, closest to the concrete building. As they entered, Nick noticed it was partitioned into three sections. The first was a sort of foyer. To his right a doorway led to another room. Although Nick couldn’t see it, he heard the squawk and screech of a short-wave radio. Directly ahead of him, a closed door led to still another room. He had no way of knowing what was there. Two smoky lanterns hung from bamboo rafters above him. The radio room glowed from more lanterns. Nick realized then that most of the juice from the generator was used to run the radio, the lights running between the huts, and all the equipment in the concrete building. The huts themselves were lit by lanterns. While the two soldiers waited with him in the foyer, he leaned against the hut wall. It creaked against his weight. He ran his fingers over the rough surface. Splinters of bamboo came away where he rubbed. Nick smiled slightly. The huts were tinder boxes waiting for a match.

The two soldiers stood on each side of Nick. Next to the door leading into the third room, two more soldiers sat on a bench, their rifles between their legs, their heads nodding, trying to fight sleep. At the end of the bench, four boxes were stacked on top of each other. Nick remembered them from the hold of the junk. The Chinese symbols stenciled across them stated that they were grenades. The top box was opened. Half of the grenades were missing.

A voice came over the radio. It spoke Chinese in a dialect Nick didn’t understand. The radio operator answered in the same dialect. One word was spoken that he did understand. It was the name Loo. The voice over the radio must be coming from the house Professor Loo was being held in, Nick thought. His mind absorbed, digested, discarded. And like a computer spitting out a card, a plan came to him. It was rough, but, like all his plans, flexible.

Then the door to the third room opened and Ling appeared holding his trusty .45. He nodded a greeting to the two soldiers, then motioned for Nick to enter the room. Sheila was waiting for him. As Ling followed Nick in, shutting the door behind him, Sheila ran to Nick, wrapping her arms around his neck. She kissed him passionately on the mouth.

“Oh, darling,” she whispered huskily. “I just had to have you one last time.” She still had on the same silk shift she’d worn on the junk.

The room was smaller than the other two. There was a window in this one. It contained a cot, a table, and a basket-weave chair. There were three lanterns, two hanging from the rafters, and one on the table. On the floor next to the chair lay Hugo and Wilhelmina. Two Tommy guns were with them. The table was next to the cot, the chair against the wall just to the right of the door. Nick was ready any time they were.

“I kill,” Ling said. He sat in the chair, the ugly snout of the .45 zeroed on Nick.

“Yes, pet,” Sheila cooed. “In a little while.” She was unbuttoning Nick’s shirt. “Are you surprised we found out your real identity?” she asked.

“Not really,” Nick answered. “You got it from John, didn’t you?”

She smiled. “It took a little persuasion, but we have ways.”

“Did you kill him?”

“Of course not. We need him.”

“I kill,” Ling repeated.

Sheila pulled the shift over her head. She took Nick’s hand and placed it on her bare breast. “We have to hurry,” she said. “Ling is anxious.” She removed Nick’s pants. Then she backed to the cot, pulling him after her.

The familiar fire was already burning inside Nick. It began when his hand touched the warm flesh of her breast. He released the bun on the back of her head, letting the long black hair fall around her shoulders. Then he gently pushed her down on the cot.

“Oh, baby,” she cried when his face was close to hers. “I will truly hate to see you die.”

Nick’s body pressed down on hers. Her legs were wrapped around his. He could feel her passion building as he worked with her. There was little enjoyment in it for him. It saddened him slightly to use this act she loved so dearly against her. His right arm was wrapped around her neck. He reached under his armpit and pulled at the tape holding Pierre. He knew that once the deadly gas was released, he would have to hold his breath until he could get out of the room. That gave him slightly more than four minutes. He had Pierre in his hand. Sheila’s eyes had been closed. But the jerking movement he made releasing the deadly gas opened her eyes. She frowned, then saw the tiny ball. With his left hand, Nick rolled the gas bomb under the cot toward Ling.

“What did you do?” Sheila cried. Then her eyes opened wide. “Ling!” she shouted. “Kill him, Ling!”

Ling jumped to his feet.

Nick rolled to his side, pulling Sheila with him, using her body as a shield. If Ling had fired into Sheila’s back, he might have got Nick. But he moved the .45 from side to side trying to get a clear shot. And that delay killed him. Nick was holding his breath. He knew it would take just seconds for the odorless gas to fill the room. Ling’s hand went to his throat. The .45 thudded to the floor. Ling’s knees buckled, and he sank down. Then he fell face forward.

Sheila struggled against Nick, but he held her close to him. Her eyes were wide with fear. Tears came to them and she shook her head as though she couldn’t believe this was happening. Nick pressed his lips over hers. Her breathing came in pants, then suddenly stopped. She went limp in his arms.

Nick had to move fast now. Already his head was growing light from lack of oxygen. He rolled off the cot, quickly gathered Hugo, Wilhelmina, one of the Tommy guns, and his pants, then bolted through the open window. He staggered ten steps away from the hut, his lungs aching, his head becoming a black blur. Then he sank to his knees and sucked in the welcome air. He stayed on his knees for awhile, breathing deeply. When his head had cleared, he pushed his legs into his pants, stuck Wilhelmina and Hugo into the waistband, picked up the Tommy gun, and in a low crouch made his way back to the hut.

He filled his lungs with air just before he reached the open window. No soldiers had entered the room yet. Standing just outside the window, Nick pulled Wilhelmina from his waistband, took careful aim at one of the lanterns hanging from the rafters, and fired. The lantern splattered, spreading flaming kerosene all over the wall. Nick fired at the other one, then at the one on the table. Flames licked across the floor and climbed two walls. The door opened. Nick ducked, and, in a crouch, circled the hut. There was too much light in front of the huts. He laid the Tommy gun down and removed his shirt. He buttoned three buttons, then tied the sleeves around his waist. Shaping and working with it, he ended up with a nice little sack on his side.

He picked up the Tommy gun and headed for the front door. The rear of the hut roared with flames. Nick knew he had only seconds before other soldiers started running toward the fire. He reached the door and stopped. Down the row of naked light bulbs, he saw groups of soldiers moving toward the burning hut, slowly at first, then faster, their rifles at the ready. Seconds raced by. With his right foot, Nick kicked open the door; he sent a spray from his Tommy gun, first from the right then from the left. The two soldiers had been standing by the bench, their eyes heavy with sleep. When the spray of bullets cut across them, they bared their teeth, their heads bounced twice against the wall behind them. Their bodies seemed to wiggle, then their heads smashed together, the rifles clanged to the floor, and like two lumps joined at the arms, they fell on their rifles.

The door to the third room was open. Flames were on all the walls now, the rafters were already black. The room crackled as it burned. Two more soldiers were with Sheila and Ling, dead by the poisoned gas. Nick saw Sheila’s skin curling from heat. Her hair had already been burned away. And the seconds became one minute and kept on. Nick crossed to the grenade boxes. He began stuffing his homemade sack with grenades. Then he remembered something — almost too late. He twirled just as the bullet creased his collar. The radioman was about to fire again when Nick cut him from the crotch to his head with a Tommy gun spray. The man’s arms went straight out, hitting both sides of the doorway. They stayed straight out as he staggered back and went down.

Nick cursed to himself. He should have taken care of the radio first. Since the man had still been at the controls, chances were that he had already contacted the patrol boat as well as the house where they had the professor. Two minutes went by. Nick had ten grenades. That would have to be enough. Any second the first wave of soldiers would come bursting through the door. There wasn’t much chance the poisoned gas would have any affect now, but he wasn’t going to be doing any deep breathing. The front door was out. Maybe the radio room. He went through the doorway at a run.

Luck was with him. The radio room had a window. Heavy feet clumped outside the hut, growing louder as the soldiers approached the front door. Nick made it through the window. Just under it he crouched and pulled one of the grenades from his little sack. The soldiers were milling around in the foyer, with no one giving orders. Nick pulled the pin and counted slowly. When he reached eight, he tossed the grenade through the open window and ran in a crouch away from the hut. He hadn’t taken more than ten steps when the force of the explosion knocked him to his knees. He turned to see the roof of the hut rise slightly, then the unburned side seemed to puff out.

As the sound of the explosion reached him, the sides of the hut split down and across the middle. Orange light and flames spit through open windows and cracks. The roof settled, slightly cockeyed. Nick got to his feet and kept running. He could hear gunfire now. Bullets chewed up the still-damp dirt around him. He ran full speed toward the concrete building and around it to the back. Then he stopped. He had been right. The generator chugged away inside a small, boxlike bamboo shack. A soldier stationed at the door was already reaching for his rifle. Nick cut him down with the Tommy gun. Then he pulled a second grenade from his sack. Without hesitating, he pulled the pin and counted. He tossed the grenade into the open doorway leading to the generator. The explosion immediately darkened the area around him. Just to be sure, he pulled another grenade and lobbed it inside.

Without waiting for the explosion, he took off into the underbrush growing just behind the huts. He passed the first burning hut and went on to the second. He was panting as he crouched along the edge of the brush. There was a slight open space to the open window at the rear of the second hut. He still heard gunfire. Were they killing each other? There were shouts; someone was trying to give orders. Nick knew that once somebody took command the advantage of confusion would no longer be his. He wasn’t moving fast enough! A fourth grenade was in his hand, the pin pulled. He ran in a crouch, and as he passed the open window, tossed in the grenade. He kept on running to the third hut sitting next to the canal. The only light now came from the flickering lanterns through windows and doorways of the remaining three huts.

Already he had a fifth grenade in his hand. A soldier loomed in front of him. Without stopping, Nick sprayed bullets from the Tommy gun in a circle. The soldier jerked back and forth all the way down to the ground. Nick cut between the exploding second hut and the third. Fire seemed to be everywhere. Men’s voices shouted, cursing each other, several trying to give orders. Gun shots echoed in the night, mingled with the crackling of burning bamboo. The pin was pulled. As Nick passed the open side window of the third hut, he tossed the grenade inside. It hit one of the soldiers on the head. The soldier bent to pick it up. It was the last movement of his life. Nick was already under the string of darkened light bulbs, crossing to the remaining two huts, when the hut puffed with explosion. The roof slid down the front.

Nick was bumping into soldiers now. They seemed to be everywhere, running aimlessly, not knowing what to do, firing at shadows. The two huts on the other side couldn’t be handled like the last three. It was possible Kathy Loo and Mike were in one of them. No lanterns glowed in these huts. Nick reached the first one and, just before going in glanced down at the second. The three soldiers were still at the door. They hadn’t been confused. A wild bullet kicked up the dirt at his feet. Nick entered the hut. Flames from the other three huts gave out just enough light for him to make out the contents. This one was used for arms and ammunition storage. Several of the cases were already opened. Nick went through them until he found a fresh clip for his Tommy gun.

He had five grenades left in his homemade sack. He would need only one for this hut. One thing was sure, he’d have to be far away when this one went up. He decided to save it for later. He went back outside. The soldiers were beginning to get organized. Someone had taken control. A pump was set up by the canal, and hoses sprayed water over the last two huts he had hit. The first had burned almost to the ground. Nick knew he had to get through those three soldiers. And there was no time like the present to get started.

He stayed close to the ground, moving quickly. He shifted the Tommy gun to his left hand and pulled Wilhelmina from his waistband. At the corner of the third hut, he stopped. The three soldiers stood with their rifles ready, their legs slightly apart. The Luger jumped in Nick’s hand as he fired. The first soldier spun, dropped the rifle, clutched his stomach, and went down. Rifle shots still cracked from the other end of the huts. But confusion was leaving the soldiers. They were beginning to listen. And Nick seemed to be the only one using a Tommy gun. That was just what they were listening for. The other two soldiers were turning toward him. Nick fired twice, quickly. The soldiers jerked, bumped into each other, and went down. Nick heard the hiss of water quenching flames. There was little time now. He rounded the corner to the front of the hut and kicked open the door, his Tommy gun ready. Once inside, he gritted his teeth and cursed. It had been a decoy — the hut was empty.

He could no longer hear rifle shots. The soldiers were beginning to gather into one force at the dock. Nick’s mind raced. Where could they be? Did they take them somewhere else? Was all this for nothing? Then he knew. It was a chance, but a good one. He left the hut and cut directly across to the first one he’d hit. The flames had died to a glimmer here and there. A charred skeleton remained of the hut. Because the fire had been so advanced, the soldiers did not even attempt to put it out. Nick went directly to where he thought Ling had fallen. There were five charred bodies, looking like mummies in a tomb. Smoke still curled up from the floor, which helped hide Nick from the soldiers.

His search was a short one. All the clothes, of course, had been burned from Ling’s body. The .45 lay next to Ling’s corpse. Nick pushed at the body with his toe. It crumbled at his feet. But as he moved it around, he found what he was looking for — the ash-colored key ring. It was still hot to the touch as he picked it up. Some of the keys had melted. More soldiers had gathered at the dock. One of them was giving orders, calling others to the group. Nick moved away from the hut at a low run. He ran along the string of burned-out lights until they ended. Then he cut to the right and slowed when he reached the low, concrete building.

He descended the cement steps. The fourth key unlocked the steel door. It creaked open. Just before Nick went inside, he glanced toward the dock. The soldiers had fanned out. They were beginning their search for him. Nick entered the dark hallway. At the first door, he fumbled with the keys until he found one that unlocked the door. He pushed it open, the Tommy gun ready. He could smell the stench of dead flesh. A body lay in the corner, the skin pulled tightly over the skeleton. It must have been there quite a while. The next three cells were empty. He passed the one he’d been in, then he noticed one of the doors was open down the hall. He went to it and stopped. He checked the Tommy gun to be sure it was ready, then went inside. A soldier lay just inside the door, his throat cut open. Nick’s eyes scanned the rest of the cell. He almost missed them at first; then the two forms became clear to him.

They were huddled in a corner. Nick took two steps toward them, then stopped. The woman had a dagger at the boy’s throat, point piercing his skin. The boy’s eyes showed fear, the woman’s horror. She wore a shift, not unlike the one Sheila had worn. But it was ripped up the front and across her breasts. Nick looked down at the dead soldier. He had probably tried to rape her, and now she thought Nick was there to do the same. Nick realized then that in the darkness of the cell, he looked as Chinese as the soldier. He wore no shirt, his shoulder was bleeding slightly, there was a Tommy gun in his hand, a Luger and a stiletto in the waistband of his pants, and a sack of hand grenades hanging from his side. No, he didn’t look like the United States Army come to rescue her. He had to be very careful. If he made the wrong move, said the wrong thing, he knew she would slice the dagger across the boy’s throat, then plunge it into her own heart. He was about four feet from them. Gently he knelt to a crouch and laid the Tommy gun on the floor. The woman shook her head and pressed the point of the dagger harder against the boy’s throat.

“Kathy,” Nick said softly. “Kathy, let me help you.”

She made no move. Her eyes watched him, still filled with fear.

Nick formed his words carefully. “Kathy,” he said again, even more softly. “John is waiting. Are you about ready to leave?”

“Who… who are you?” she asked. A trace of the fear had left her eyes. She didn’t press quite so hard with the point of the dagger.

“I’m here to help you,” Nick said. “John sent me to take you and Mike to him. He’s waiting for you.”

“Where?”

“In Hong Kong. Now listen carefully. There are soldiers on their way here. If they find us they’ll kill all three of us. We have to move quickly. Will you let me help you?”

More of the fear left her eyes. She took the dagger away from the boy’s throat. “I… I don’t know,” she said.

Nick said, “I hate to push you like this, but if you delay much longer it won’t be your decision to make.”

“How do I know I can trust you?”

“You have only my word. Now, please.” He held his hand out to her.

Kathy hesitated for a few precious seconds longer. Then she seemed to have made her decision. She handed him the dagger.

“Good,” Nick said. He turned to the boy. “Mike, can you swim?”

“Yes, sir,” the boy answered.

“All right; here is what I want you to do. Follow me out of the building. Once we get outside, both of you head directly toward the rear. When you get to the back, go into the brush. Do you know where the canal is from here?”

Kathy nodded.

“Then stay in the brush. Don’t show yourself. Move at an angle toward the canal so that you get to it downstream from here. Hide yourselves and wait until you see a junk going down the canal. Then swim for the junk. There will be a line over the side for you to grab onto. Can you remember that, Mike?”

“Yes, sir.”

“You take good care of your mother, now. Be sure she makes it.”

“Yes, sir, I will,” Mike answered. A slight smile worked on the corners of his mouth.

“Good boy,” Nick said. “Okay, let’s go.”

He led them out of the cell and along the dark hallway. When he reached the door leading out he held his hand for them to stop. Alone, he went outside. The soldiers were spread out in a staggered line between the huts. They were coming for the concrete building and were now less than twenty yards away. Nick motioned for Kathy and Mike.

“You’ll have to hurry,” he whispered to them. “Remember, stay deep in the forest until you get to the canal. You’ll hear some explosions, but don’t stop for anything.”

Kathy nodded, then followed Mike around the side of the building and toward the rear.

Nick gave them thirty seconds. He heard the soldiers drawing closer. The fires were burning low in the last two huts, and because of the clouds there was no moon. The darkness was on his side. He pulled another grenade from the sack and took off at a low run across the clearing. Halfway across, he pulled the pin then hurled the grenade over his head toward the soldiers.

He already had another grenade pulled when the first one exploded. Nick noticed by the flash that the soldiers had been closer than he had thought. The explosion took out three of them, leaving a gap in the center of the line. Nick reached the skeleton of the first hut. He pulled the pin of the second grenade and threw it where he’d thrown the first. The soldiers were shouting now and firing at shadows again. The second grenade exploded toward the end of the line, taking out two more. The remaining soldiers started running for cover.

Nick circled the burned-out hut to the opposite side, then he took off across the clearing to the ammunition hut. He had another grenade in his hand. This would be the big one. At the door of the hut, Nick pulled the pin and lobbed the grenade into the hut. Then he felt movement to his left. A soldier rounded the corner of the hut and fired without aiming. The bullet creased Nick’s right earlobe. The soldier cursed and swung the butt of the rifle toward Nick’s head. Nick swung his body to the side and kicked his left foot into the soldier’s stomach. He completed the swing by bringing his half-closed fist down on the soldier’s collarbone. It cracked under the blow.

Seconds had ticked by. Nick bad to move. He started running back across the clearing. A soldier blocked his way, the rifle aimed straight at him. Nick hit the ground, rolling. When he felt his body hit the soldier’s ankles, he swung for the groin. Three things happened almost at the same time. The soldier grunted, falling on top of Nick, the rifle fired into the air, and the grenade in the ammunition hut went off. The first explosion set off a chain of larger explosions. The sides of the hut blew out. Flames rolled up like a huge, orange, bouncing beach ball, lighting up the whole area. Pieces of metal and wood scattered as though fired from a hundred shotguns. And the explosions kept coming, one after another. Soldiers cried out in agony as debris struck them. The sky was bright orange, with sparks falling everywhere, starting fires.

The soldier lay heavily on Nick. He had absorbed most of the shock, and pieces of bamboo and metal were imbedded in his neck and back. The explosions weren’t as frequent now, and Nick heard the groans of wounded soldiers. He pushed the soldier off him and picked up the Tommy gun. There seemed to be no one left to stop him as he moved toward the dock. When he reached the junk, he noticed a case of grenades next to the plank. He picked it up and carried it aboard. Then he dropped the plank and cast off all lines.

Once aboard, he hoisted the sail. The junk creaked and slowly moved away from the dock. Behind him, the tiny village was ringed with small fires. Burning ammunition fired now and then. With the skeletons of huts almost waving in the orange light of the flames, the village looked ghostly. Nick was sorry for the soldiers; they had their job to do, but he had his also.

At the tiller now, Nick kept the junk to the center of the canal. He figured he was slightly more than a hundred miles from Hong Kong. Moving downriver would be quicker than the trip up had been, but he knew he wasn’t through with trouble yet. He lashed down the tiller and threw a line over the side. The junk had moved out of sight from the village, he heard only an occasional crack as more ammunition exploded. The land on the starboard side of the junk was low and flat, mostly rice paddies.

Nick searched the darkness along the port side bank, looking for Kathy and Mike. Then he spotted them, slightly ahead of him, swimming for the junk. Mike reached the line first, and when he had climbed high enough, Nick helped him aboard. Kathy was right behind him. As she climbed over the rail, she tripped and grabbed Nick for support. His hand caught her waist and she fell against him. She clung to him, her face buried in his chest. Her body was slick with wetness. She had a womanly smell about her, unhampered by cosmetics or perfume. She clung to him as though desperate. Nick stroked her back. Her body was slight and frail against him. He realized that she must have been through hell.

She didn’t sob or cry, she just held onto him. Mike stood awkwardly beside them. After about two minutes had passed she slowly moved her arms from around him. She looked up into his face, and Nick saw that she was truly a lovely woman.

“Thank you,” she said. Her voice was soft, and almost too low for a woman.

“Don’t thank me yet,” Nick said. “We’ve still got a long way to go. There might be some clothes in the cabin, and some rice.”

Kathy nodded, and with her arm around Mike’s shoulders, went into the cabin.

Back at the tiller, Nick thought of what lay ahead. First there was the delta. Sheila Kwan had needed a chart to get across it in daylight. He had no chart, and he’d have to make it at night. Then there was that patrol boat and, finally, the border itself. For weapons he had a Tommy gun, a Luger, a stiletto, and a box of grenades. His army consisted of a lovely woman and a twelve-year-old boy. And now he had less than twenty-four hours.

The canal began to widen. Nick knew they’d be into the delta soon. Ahead and to his right he could see tiny dots of light. He had watched Sheila’s direction carefully that afternoon; his mind had recorded every turn, every change in course. But at night his moves would be general, not exact. One thing was going for him — the current of the river. If he could find it somewhere in that delta where all canals met, it would take him in the right direction. Then the port and starboard banks fell away and he was surrounded by water. He had entered the delta. Nick lashed the tiller and moved around the cabin to the bow. He studied the dark water beneath him. Sampans and junks were anchored throughout the delta. Some had lights but most were dark. The junk creaked through the delta.

Nick dropped to the main deck and unlashed the tiller. Kathy came out of the cabin carrying a bowl of steaming rice. She had put on a bright red shift which clung tightly to her curves. Her hair was freshly combed.

“Feel better?” Nick asked. He began eating the rice.

“Much. Mike went right to sleep. He couldn’t even finish his rice.”

Nick couldn’t get over her beauty. The photo John Loo had shown him didn’t do her justice.

Kathy looked up at the bare mast. “Is anything the matter?”

“I’m waiting for a current.” He handed her the empty bowl. “How much do you know about all this?”

She froze, and for an instant the fear she’d had in the cell showed in her eyes. “Nothing,” she said softly. “They came to my home. Then they grabbed Mike. They held me while one of them give me a shot. The next thing I remember was waking up in that cell. That was when the real horror began. The soldiers…” She hung her head, unable to speak.

“Don’t talk about it,” Nick said.

She lifted her head. “They told me John would soon be with me. Is he all right?”

“As far as I know.” Then Nick told her everything, leaving out only his encounters with them. He told her about the compound, about his conversation with John, and he wound up by saying, “So we only have until midnight to get you and Mike back to Hong Kong. And it will be daylight in a couple of hours…”

Kathy was silent for a long while. Then she said, “I’m afraid I’ve been a lot of trouble for you. And I don’t even know your name.”

“The trouble was worth it to find you safe. And my name is Nick Carter. I’m an agent of the government.”

The junk moved faster. The current caught it and moved it along, helped by the light breeze. Nick settled back with the tiller. Kathy leaned against the starboard rail, deep in her own thoughts. She had held up fine so far, Nick thought. But the toughest part was yet to come.

The delta was far behind them. Ahead, Nick could see the lights of Whampoa. The big ships were anchored on each side of the river, leaving a narrow channel between. Most of the city was blacked out, waiting for dawn, which was not far away. Kathy had gone into the cabin for some sleep. Nick stayed at the tiller, his eyes watching everything.

The junk moved on, letting the current and wind take it toward Hong Kong. Nick dozed at the tiller, a nagging worry in the back of his mind. It was going too smoothly, too easily. Surely all the soldiers in the village hadn’t been killed. Some of them must have escaped the fires to give an alarm. And the radioman must have gotten through to someone before he fired at Nick. Where was that patrol boat?

Nick jerked awake to see Kathy standing in front of him. She had a hot cup of coffee in her hand. The dark night had faded to a point where he could see the thick rainforest on both banks of the river. The sun would be up soon.

“Take this,” Kathy said. “You look as if you need it.”

Nick took the coffee. His body felt cramped. There were dull aching pains in his neck and ears. He was unshaven and dirty, and he still had about sixty miles to go.

“Where’s Mike?” He sipped the coffee, feeling the warmth all the way down.

“He’s on the bow, watching.”

Suddenly he heard Mike shout.

“Nick! Nick! There’s a boat coming!”

“Take the tiller,” Nick told Kathy. Mike was on one knee, pointing just starboard of the bow.

“There,” he said. “See, just coming up the river.”

The patrol boat was coming fast, its bow high in the water. Nick could barely make out two soldiers stationed at the gun on the foredeck. There wasn’t much time. The way that boat was coming, they knew he had Kathy and Mike. The radioman had gotten to them.

“Good boy,” Nick said. “Now let’s go make some plans.” Together they jumped off the cabin to the main deck. Nick broke open the case of grenades.

“What is it?” Kathy asked.

Nick had the top of the case open. “Patrol boat. I’m sure they know about you and Mike. Our little boat trip is over; we’re going to have to move on land now.” He had his shirt-bag filled with grenades again. “I want you and Mike to swim for shore right now.”

“But…”

“Now! No time to argue.”

Mike touched Nick’s shoulder, then dove over the side. Kathy waited, looking into Nick’s eyes.

“You’ll be killed,” she said.

“Not if it works out the way I want. Now move! I’ll meet you downriver some place.”

Kathy kissed his cheek, then dove over the side.

Nick could hear the powerful engines of the patrol boat now. He climbed onto the cabin and dropped the sail. Then he jumped down to the tiller and threw it violently to the left. The junk lurched and began to turn sideways across the river. The patrol boat was closer now. Nick saw orange flame spit from the bow gun. The shell whistled through the air and exploded just in front of the junk’s bow. The junk seemed to shudder from the shock. The port side faced the patrol boat. Nick positioned himself behind the starboard side of the cabin, the Tommy gun resting on top. The patrol boat was still too far away to fire on.

The bow gun fired again. And again the shell whistled through the air, only this time the explosion ripped a cavity at the water line just aft of the bow. The junk jerked violently, almost knocking Nick off. The bow began immediately to sink. Still Nick waited. The patrol boat was close enough now. Three more soldiers opened fire with machine guns. The cabin all around Nick was being cut and chipped by the bullets. Still he waited.

The junk was listing badly to starboard. It wouldn’t stay afloat much longer. The patrol boat was close enough for him to see the expressions on the soldiers’ faces. He was waiting for a certain sound. The soldiers stopped firing. The boat began to slow down. Then Nick heard the sound. The patrol boat was drawing alongside. The engines were cut while the props were reversed. Nick raised his head just high enough to sight. Then he opened fire. His first spray killed the two soldiers on the bow gun. He was firing in a crisscross pattern, without stopping. The three other soldiers jerked back and forth bumping into each other. Deck hands and soldiers hit the deck for cover.

Nick laid the Tommy gun down and pulled out the first grenade. He pulled the pin and threw it, then took out another, pulled the pin and threw it, and took out a third and pulled the pin and threw it. He picked up the Tommy gun and dove backward into the river. The first grenade exploded just as he hit the water, which was icy cold. He kicked his powerful legs against the weight of the Tommy gun and the remaining grenades. He came straight up and surfaced beside the wounded junk. His second grenade had ripped the patrol boat’s cabin apart. Nick hung onto the side of the junk while he pulled another grenade from the sack. He yanked the pin with his teeth and lobbed it over the junk’s rail in the direction of the opened case of grenades. Then he let go and let the weight of his weapons carry him straight to the bottom of the river.

His feet hit slushy mud almost immediately; the bottom was only eight or nine feet down. As he started to move toward shore, he dimly heard a series of small explosions, followed by a huge one that knocked him off his feet and somersaulted him over and over. His ears felt as though they were popping apart. But the concussion had knocked him close to shore. A little further and he would be able to raise his head above water. His brain felt jarred, his lungs ached, there was a pain along the back of his neck; still his tired legs plodded on.

He first felt coolness on top of his head, then he lifted his nose and chin out of the water and sucked in the sweet air. Three more steps brought his head up. He turned to look at the scene he had just left. The junk had already sunk, and the patrol boat was well on its way. Fire covered most of what was visible and the water line was now along the main deck. Even as he watched, the stern began to sink. There was loud hissing as water reached the fire. Slowly the boat settled, water bubbling over it, filling all compartments and cavities, hissing against fire that diminished as the boat sank. Nick turned his back to it and blinked his eyes against the morning sun. He nodded with a grim knowledge. It was dawn of the seventh day.

CHAPTER TWELVE

Kathy and Mike were waiting among the trees as Nick climbed onto the bank. Once he was on dry land, Nick took several deep breaths of air, trying to clear his ringing head.

“Can I help you carry something?” Mike asked.

Kathy took his hand. “I’m glad you’re all right.”

For an instant their eyes locked, and Nick almost said something he knew he’d regret. Her beauty was almost too much for him. To keep his mind off her, he checked his tiny arsenal. He had lost all but four grenades in the river; there were about one-fourth of a clip left in the Tommy gun and five shots left in Wilhelmina. Not good, but it would have to do.

“What happens now?” Kathy asked.

Nick rubbed the stubble of his chin. “There are railroad tracks somewhere close by. It would take too long for us to get another boat. Besides, the river would be too slow. I think we’ll try to find those railroad tracks. Let’s head out in this direction.”

He led the way through forest and bush. The going was slow because of the thickness of growth, and they had to stop many times for Kathy and Mike to rest. The sun was hot, and insects pestered them. They walked all through the morning, moving farther and farther away from the river, down small valleys and over short peaks until finally, shortly after noon, they came to the railroad tracks. The tracks themselves seemed to cut a wide path through the growth. The land was clear for at least ten feet on each side of them. They glistened in the afternoon sun, so Nick knew they were well used.

Kathy and Mike flopped to the ground at the edge of the deep growth. They stretched out, panting. Nick walked up and down the tracks a short distance, studying the area. He was wet with sweat. There was no way of telling when the next train would come by. It could be any minute, or it could be several hours. And he didn’t have many hours left. He walked back to join Kathy and Mike.

Kathy was sitting with her legs tucked under her. She looked up at Nick, shielding her eyes from the sun with her hand. “Well?” she said.

Nick knelt and picked up a few of the pebbles scattered on both side of the tracks. “Looks pretty good,” he said. “If we can get a train to stop.”

“Why does it have to stop?”

Nick looked up and down the tracks. “It’s fairly level along here. When and if a train comes by it’s going to be moving along at quite a clip.”

Kathy stood, brushed off the clinging shift, and put her hands on her hips. “Okay, how do we stop it?”

Nick had to smile. “Sure you feel up to it?”

Kathy put one leg slightly in front of the other, striking a very fetching pose. “I’m no frail little flower to be kept in a teapot. Neither is Mike. We both come from good stock. You’ve shown me you’re a violent man of ingenious invention. Well, I’m pretty good stuff myself. The way I see it we’ve got one goal, to get to Hong Kong before midnight. I think you’ve carried us long enough. I don’t see how you’re still on your feet the way you look. It’s time we started carrying our own share of the load. Do you agree, Mike?”

Mike jumped to his feet. “You tell him, Mom.”

Kathy winked at Mike, then looked at Nick, her hand shielding her eyes again. “So I have only one question for you, Mr. Nick Carter. How do we stop that train?”

Nick chuckled softly to himself. “Tough as nails, aren’t you? Sounds, like mutiny to me.”

Katby walked up to him, her hands at her sides. There was an earnest, pleading look on her lovely face. Softly, she said, “Not a mutiny, sir. An offer of help, out of respect, admiration and devotion to our leader. You destroy villages and blow up boats. Now show us how you stop trains.”

Nick felt an ache in his chest that he didn’t fully understand. And there was a feeling growing inside him, a deep feeling for her.

But it was impossible, he knew that. She was a married woman with a family. No, it was just that he was sleepy, hungry and thirsty. Her loveliness had hit him at a time when he was not his strongest.

“All right,” he said, matching her stare. He pulled Hugo from his waistband. “As I cut branches and bushes, I want you to pile them on the railroad tracks. We’ll need a big pile, one they can see from quite a distance.” He walked back to the heavy growth with Kathy and Mike following him. “They may not stop,” he said as he began cutting. “But maybe they’ll slow enough for us to jump on.”

It took almost two hours before Nick was satisfied with the height. It looked like a green, sappy mound, about four feet around and almost six feet tall. From a distance it looked as though it would completely block any train.

Kathy stood after placing the last branch on the pile and wiped her brow with the back of her hand. “Now what happens?” she asked.

Nick shrugged. “Now we wait.”

Mike began picking up pebbles and pitching them into the trees.

Nick walked up behind the boy. “You’ve got a good arm there, Mike. You play Little League?”

Mike stopped pitching and started shaking the pebbles in his hand. “Pitched four shutouts last year.”

“Four? That’s good. How did you end up in the league?”

Mike threw the pebbles down with disgust. “Lost in the playoffs. We ended up in second place.”

Nick smiled. He could see the father in the boy, the way the straight black hair lay over one side of the forehead, the piercing black eyes. “Well,” he said. “There’s always next year.” He started to walk away. Mike held his arm and looked into his eyes.

“Nick, I’m worried about Mother.”

Nick shot a glance at Kathy. She sat with her legs under her, pulling weeds from between the pebbles, just as though she were in her front yard. “Why are you worried?” he asked.

“Give it to me straight,” Mike said. “We aren’t going to make it, are we?”

“Of course we’re going to make it. We’ve got a few hours of daylight plus half the night. The time to start worrying is ten minutes to midnight if we’re not in Hong Kong. We’ve only got sixty miles to go. If we don’t get there, then I’ll worry with you. But until then, keep saying we’ll make it.”

“What about Mother? She’s not like you and me — I mean being a woman and all.”

“You and me, Mike,” Nick said with feeling. “We’ll take care of her.”

The boy smiled. Nick walked over to where Kathy was sitting.

She looked up at him and shook her head. “I wish you’d try to get some sleep.”

“I don’t want to miss my train,” Nick said.

Then Mike shouted. “Listen, Nick!”

Nick whirled. Sure enough, the tracks were buzzing. He grabbed Kathy’s hand and yanked her to her feet. “Come on.”

Kathy was already running beside him. Mike joined them and all three began running along the tracks. They ran until the pile they had built was almost out of sight behind them. Then Nick pulled Kathy and Mike about five feet into the forest. Then they stopped.

They panted for awhile until they could breathe normally. “This should be far enough down,” Nick said. “Now don’t go for it until I tell you.”

They could hear a dim clacking sound steadily growing louder. Then they heard the lumbering noise of a fast-moving train. Nick had his right arm around Kathy, his left around Mike. Kathy’s cheek was on his chest. Mike had the Tommy gun in his left hand. The noise grew louder; then they could see the huge black engine passing in front of them. In a second it was past them, and the boxcars blurred by. Slow down, Nick thought. Easy.

There was a loud screech that grew louder as the cars became easier to see. Nick noticed one out of four had the doors open. The screeching kept on, slowing the huge snake of connected cars. There was a loud thud that Nick guessed was the engine hitting the pile of shrubs. Then the screeching stopped. The cars were moving by slowly now. Then they began to pick up speed.

“They aren’t going to stop,” Nick said. “Come on. It’s now or never.”

He ran ahead of Kathy and Mike. The cars were picking up speed quickly. He put all his strength in his tired legs, and ran alongside the open doorway of a boxcar. With his hand on the floor of the car, he jumped and twisted, landing in a sitting position on the doorway. Kathy was right behind him. He reached down for her but she started falling back. Her breath was giving out, she was slowing. Nick got to his knees. Holding the door-post for support, he leaned out, wrapped his left arm around her tiny waist, and swept her off her feet and into the car behind him. Then he reached down for Mike. But Mike was quick on his feet. He grabbed Nick’s hand and swung himself into the car. The Tommy gun clanged beside him. They lay back, breathing hard, feeling the side-to-side sway of the car, listening to the clackety-clack of the wheels on the tracks. The car smelled of stale straw and old cow dung, but Nick couldn’t keep from smiling. They were on their way at about sixty miles an hour.

The train ride lasted for a little more than half an hour. Kathy and Mike were sleeping. Even Nick was dozing. He had dried all the shells in Wilhelmina and the Tommy gun, and swayed back and forth with the car, his head nodding. The first thing he noticed was a longer space between the clackety-clack of the wheels. When he opened his eyes, he saw the scenery was passing by much more slowly. He quickly got to his feet and moved to the open doorway. The train was entering a village. Ahead of the engine, the tracks were blocked by more than fifteen soldiers. It was dusk; the sun had almost set. Nick counted ten cars between his and the engine. The engine hissed and squeaked as it slowed to a stop.

“Mike,” Nick called.

Mike woke immediately. He sat up rubbing his eyes. “What is it?”

“Soldiers. They’ve stopped the train. Get your mother up. We’re going to have to leave.”

Mike shook Kathy’s shoulder. Her shift was split almost to her waist from running to the train. She sat up without a word, then both she and Mike got to their feet.

Nick said, “I think there’s a highway close by leading to a border town called Shench’ Uan. We’re going to have to steal some kind of vehicle.”

“How far is it to this town?” Kathy asked.

“Probably twenty to thirty miles. We still might make it if we can get a car.”

“Look,” Mike said. “The soldiers are around the engine.”

Nick said, “They’ll start searching the boxcars next. The shadows are on this side. I think we can make it to that shack over there. I’ll go first. I’ll keep an eye on the soldiers, then motion for you to follow one at a time.”

Nick took the Tommy gun. He dropped from the car, then waited in a crouch watching the front of the train. The soldiers were talking with the engineer. Keeping low, he ran a distance of about fifteen feet to an old way-station shack. He rounded the corner, then stopped. Watching the soldiers closely, he motioned for Mike and Kathy. Kathy dropped down first, and as she ran across the clearing, Mike left the car. Kathy reached Nick with Mike right behind her.

They moved behind buildings toward the front of the train. When they were far enough ahead of the soldiers, they crossed the tracks.

It was dark by the time Nick found the highway. He stood on the edge of it with Kathy and Mike behind him.

To his left was the village they had just come from, to his right was the way to Shench’ Uan.

“Do we hitchhike?” Kathy asked.

Nick rubbed his heavily bearded chin. “Too many soldiers move along this highway. We sure as hell don’t want to stop a truckload of them. The border guards probably spend some evenings and leaves in that village. It’s for sure no soldier is going to stop for me.”

“They would for me” Kathy said. “Soldiers are the same everywhere. They like girls. And let’s face it, that’s what I am.”

Nick said, “You don’t have to sell me.” He turned to look at the gully running along the highway, then back at her. “Sure you can handle it?”

She smiled and struck that fetching pose again. “What do you think?”

Nick returned the smile. “All right. Here’s how we’ll work it. Mike, stretch out along the highway here.” He pointed to Kathy. “Your story is your car ran into the gully. Your boy is hurt. You need help. It’s a lame story, but the best I can do on such short notice.”

Kathy was still smiling. “If they’re soldiers, I don’t think they’ll be too interested in any story I tell them.”

Nick pointed a warning finger at her. “You just be careful.”

She hung her head. “Yes, sir.”

“Let’s get in the gully until we see a likely prospect.”

As they jumped down into the gully, a pair of headlights appeared coming from the village.

Nick said, “Too high for a car. Looks like a truck. Stay put.”

It was a troop truck. The soldiers were singing as it passed. It went by and on down the highway. Then a second pair of headlights appeared.

“This is a car,” Nick said. “Get out there, Mike.”

Mike jumped out of the gully and stretched out. Kathy was right behind him. She smoothed her shift and patted her hair. Then she struck that pose again. As the car approached, she began waving her arms, making sure she held that pose. Tires squealed on the pavement as the car shuddered to a halt Still it passed Kathy about seven feet before it completely stopped.

There were three soldiers in it. They were drunk. Two got out immediately and started back to Kathy. The driver got out, staggered to the rear of the car and stopped, watching the other two. They were laughing. Kathy started to tell her story, but she had been right. All they wanted was her. One took her arm and mentioned something about how she looked. The other started patting her breast, making noises of approval. Nick moved quickly along the gully to the front of the car. When he was ahead of it, he climbed out of the gully and started for the driver. Hugo was in his right hand. He moved along the side of the car and came up behind the soldier. His left hand went over the mouth, and with one swift movement he sliced Hugo across the man’s throat. He felt warm blood on his hand as the soldier sank to the ground.

Kathy was pleading with the other two. They had hep shift above her waist, and while one pawed and rubbed her, the other was pulling her toward the car. Nick went for the one pulling her. He came up behind him, grabbed a handful of hair, yanked the soldier’s head back, and sliced Hugo across his throat. The last soldier saw him. He shoved Kathy aside, and pulled out a wicked-looking dagger. Nick had no time for a prolonged knife fight. The soldier’s beady eyes were dull with drink. Nick tock four steps back, switched Hugo to his left hand, pulled Wilhelmina from his waistband and shot the man’s face from his head. Kathy screamed. She doubled over, holding her stomach, and staggered to the car. Mike had jumped to his feet. He stood stiff, staring at the scene. Nick hadn’t wanted either of them to see anything like this, but he knew it had to happen. They were in his world, not theirs, and although Nick did not care for this part of his job, he accepted it. He hoped they would. Without hesitating, Nick rolled the three dead bodies into the gully.

“Get in the car, Mike,” he ordered.

Mike didn’t move. He stared at the ground, his eyes wide.

Nick went to him, slapped him twice across the face, and pushed him to the car. Mike went reluctantly at first, then he seemed to snap out of it and climbed into the back seat. Kathy was still bent over, holding onto the car for support. Nick put his arm around her shoulder and helped her into the front seat. He ran around the front of the car and got behind the wheel. He fired up the engine and started driving down the highway.

The car was a banged-up, tired, 1950 Austin. The gauge showed half a tank of gas. The silence in the car was almost deafening. He could feel Kathy’s eyes boring into the side of his face. The car smelled of stale wine. Nick wished he had one of his cigarettes. Finally Kathy spoke. “This is just a job to you, isn’t it? You don’t care anything about me or Mike. Just get us to Hong Kong before midnight, no matter what. And kill whoever gets in your way.”

“Mother,” Mike said. “He’s doing it for Dad, too.” He put his hand on Nick’s shoulder. “I understand now.”

Kathy looked down at her fingers twisted together in her lap. “I’m sorry, Nick,” she said.

Nick kept his eyes on the road. “It’s been rough on all of us. You’ve both been fine so far. Don’t come apart on me now. We’ve still got to get across that border.”

She touched his hand on the steering wheel. “Your crew won’t mutiny,” she said.

Suddenly Nick heard the roar of an airplane engine. It sounded soft at first, then steadily grew louder. It came from behind them. All at once the highway around the Austin was being chewed up by gunfire. Nick turned the wheel first to the right then to the left, zigzagging the car. There was a whoosh as the plane passed overhead, then it turned to the left, climbing for another pass. Nick had been moving at fifty miles an hour. Up ahead he could faintly make out the taillights of a troop truck.

“How did they know so soon?” Kathy asked.

Nick said, “Another truck must have found the bodies and radioed in. Since it sounds like an old prop plane, they probably grabbed whatever was flyable. I’m going to try something. I’ve got a hunch that pilot is going strictly by headlights.”

The plane hadn’t completed its pass yet. Nick switched off the lights of the Austin, then pulled off the highway and stopped. He could hear Mike’s heavy breathing from the back seat. There were no trees or anything he could park under. If he was wrong, they would be sitting ducks. Then he faintly heard the airplane engine. The engine noise grew louder. Nick felt himself beginning to sweat. The plane was low. It zoomed over them and kept dropping. Then Nick saw fire spitting from the front of its wings. From that distance he couldn’t see the truck. But he saw the orange ball of flame roll into the air and he heard the deep thunder of explosion. The plane climbed to make another pass.

“We’d better sit tight for awhile,” Nick said.

Kathy had buried her face in her hands. They could all see the truck burning just over the horizon.

The plane was higher as it made its final pass. It flew past the Austin, then the burning truck, and kept going. Nick moved the Austin slowly forward. He stayed to the side of the highway, driving at under thirty. He kept the lights off. They moved painfully slowly until they approached the burning truck. Bodies were scattered all over the highway and along the sides. Some had already burned black, others were still burning. Kathy kept her face in her hands so she couldn’t see. Mike leaned on the front seat, looking with Nick through the windshield. Nick crisscrossed the Austin back and forth across the highway, trying to get through the area without running over any of the bodies. He made it through, then picked up speed, keeping the headlights off. Up ahead he could see the blinking lights of Shench’ Uan.

As they drove closer to the city, Nick tried to visualize what the border would be like. It would be senseless to try to bluff their way through. Every soldier in China was probably looking for them. They would have to crash through. If he remembered right, this border was merely a large gate in the fence. There would be a barrier, of course, but on the other side of the gate there would be nothing, at least not until they got to Fan Ling on the Hong Kong side. That would be six or seven miles from the gate.

They were approaching Shench’ Uan now. It contained one main street, and at the end of it Nick could see a guard rail across it. He pulled over to the side and stopped. There were about ten soldiers milling around the gate, their rifles hung on their shoulders. A machine gun was set up in front of the guard hut. Because of the late hour, the street through town was dark and deserted, but the area around the gate was well lighted.

Nick rubbed his tired eyes. “This is it,” he said. “We don’t have much in the way of weapons.”

“Nick.” It was Mike. “There are three rifles on the back seat here.”

Nick turned in his seat. “Good boy, Mike. They will help.” He looked at Kathy. She was still watching the guard rail. “Are you all right?” he asked.

She turned to him. Her lower lip was between her teeth, her eyes started to fill with tears. Moving her head from side to side, she said, “Nick, I… I don’t think I can go through with it.”

Killmaster took her hand. “Listen, Kathy, this is the end of it. Once we get through that gate it will be over. You’ll be with John again. You can go home.”

She closed her eyes and nodded.

“Can you drive?” he asked.

She nodded again.

Nick climbed over to the back seat. He checked the three rifles. They were ancient Russian-made but looked in good condition. He turned to Mike. “Roll down the windows on the left side there.” Mike did it. Meanwhile Kathy slid behind the wheel. Nick said, “I want you to sit on the floor, Mike, with your back against the door.” Mike did as he was told. “Keep your head under that window.” Killmaster untied the shirt-sack from around his waist. He set the four grenades side-by-side between Mike’s legs. “Here’s what you do, Mike,” he said. “When I give you the word, you pull the pin on the first grenade, count to five, then toss it over your shoulder and out the window, count to ten, pick up the second one, and do it again until they’re ah gone. Have you got that straight?”

“Yes, sir.”

Killmaster turned to Kathy. He put a hand gently on her shoulder. “You see,” he said, “It’s a straight line from here to the gate. I want you to start off in low, then shift to second. When the car is heading straight for the gate, I’ll give you the word. Then I want you to hold the steering wheel steady at the bottom, push the gas pedal to the floor and lay your head on the seat. Remember, both of you, keep down!”

Kathy nodded.

Nick stationed himself at the window opposite Mike with the Tommy gun. He made sure the three rifles were within easy reach. “Everybody ready?” he asked.

He got nods from both of them.

“All right, then, let’s go!”

Kathy jerked slightly starting off. She pulled into the middle of the street and started for the gate. Then she shifted into second.

“You look good,” Nick said. “Now hit it!”

The Austin seemed to lurch as Kathy pushed down the gas pedal, then it quickly started picking up speed. Kathy’s head went down out of sight.

The guards at the gate watched, curious, as the car approached them. Nick didn’t want to open fire quite yet. As the guards saw the Austin was picking up speed, they knew what was being tried. The rifles came off their shoulders. Two of them ran quickly for the machine gun. One fired with his rifle, the bullet plinking a star pattern in the windshield. Nick leaned out the window and with a short spray from the Tommy gun cut down one of the guards at the machine gun. More rifle shots came, shattering the windshield. Nick gave two more short sprays, the bullets finding their marks. Then the Tommy gun was out of ammunition. “Now, Mike!” he shouted.

Mike fumbled with the grenades for a few seconds, then got down to business. They were within yards of the cross-bar. The first grenade exploded, killing one guard. The machine gun started chattering, its bullets thudding like hailstones into the car. A front side window was cut in half and fell out. Nick had Wilhelmina out. He fired, missed, and fired again, dropping one guard. The second grenade exploded, close to the machine gun, but not close enough to hurt those operating it. It chattered away, chewing the car apart. The windshield became fragments, then opened as the last of the glass was shot away. Nick kept firing, sometimes hitting, sometimes missing, until finally all he got was a click when he pulled the trigger. The third grenade exploded near the guard shack, leveling it to the ground. One of the machine-gun operators was hit by something and fell. A tire exploded as the chattering machine gun chewed away at it. The Austin started veering to the left. “Pull the wheel to the right!” Nick shouted to Kathy. She pulled, the car straightened, smashed through the guard rail, shuddered, kept moving. The fourth grenade wiped out a large section of fence. Nick was firing with one of the Russian rifles. Its accuracy left much to be desired. The guards closed in behind the car. The rifles were to their shoulders; they fired at the back of the car. The back window was plinked and starred, with their bullets. They kept on firing even after their bullets could no longer hit the car.

“Are we through?” Kathy asked.

Killmaster threw the Russian rifle out the window. “You can sit up, but keep that gas pedal to the floor.”

Kathy sat up. The Austin started to misfire, then cough. Finally the engine just quit running, the car slowed to a stop.

Mike had a green tinge to his face. “Let me out,” he cried. “I think I’m going to be sick!” He crawled out of the car and disappeared into the bushes lining the road.

Glass was everywhere. Nick crawled over to the front seat. Kathy was staring through a window that didn’t exist. Her shoulders started to shake; then she began to cry. She didn’t try to hide the tears, she let them come from somewhere deep inside her. They rolled down her cheeks and dropped from her chin. Her whole body shook. Nick put his arm around her and pulled her close to him.

Her face went to his chest In a muffled voice, she sobbed, “Can… can I come apart now?”

Nick stroked her hair. “Let them come, Kathy,” he said softly. He knew it wasn’t his hunger or thirst or lack of sleep. His feeling for her ran deep inside him, deeper than he wanted it to. Her crying had diminished to sobs. Her head came away slightly from his chest, to lay in the crook of his arm. She sniffled, looking up at him, her eyelashes wet, her lips slightly apart. Gently Nick moved strands of hair from her forehead. He softly put his lips on hers. She returned the kiss, then moved her head away from his.

“You shouldn’t have done that,” she whispered.

“I know,” Nick said. “I’m sorry.”

She gave him a weak smile. “I’m not.”

Nick helped her out of the car. Mike joined them.

“Feel better,” Nick asked him.

He nodded, then waved a hand at the car. “What do we do now?”

Nick started off. “We walk to Fan Ling.”

They hadn’t gone far when Nick heard the slapping of helicopter blades. He looked up and saw the chopper approaching them. “Into the bushes!” he shouted.

They crouched down among the brush. The helicopter circled above them. It dropped down slightly as though to make sure, then flew off in the direction from which it had come.

“Did they see us?” Kathy asked.

“Probably.” Nick’s teeth were clamped tight together.

Kathy sighed. “I thought we would be safe now.”

“You are safe,” Nick said through his clenched teeth. “I got you out, and you belong to me.” He regretted saying it immediately afterward. His mind felt like oatmeal. He was tired of planning, of thinking; he couldn’t even remember when he had last slept. He noticed Kathy was looking at him strangely. It was a secret womanly look he had seen only twice before in his lifetime. It told reams of unspoken words which always trimmed down to one word “if.” If he wasn’t what he was, if she wasn’t what she was, if they didn’t come from such completely separate worlds, if he wasn’t devoted to his work and she to her family — if, if. Such things were always impossible, they both knew it.

Two pairs of headlights appeared on the highway. Wilhelmina was empty; all Nick had was Hugo. He pulled the stiletto from his waistband. The cars approached them, and he stood. They were Jaguar sedans, and the driver of the front car was Hawk. The cars stopped. The rear door of the second one opened and John Loo stepped out, his right arm in a sling.

“Dad!” Mike shouted and started toward him at a run.

“John,” Kathy whispered. “John!” She too ran to him.

They hugged each other, all three crying. Nick put Hugo away. Hawk got out of the lead car, a black stub of cigar between his teeth. Nick walked up to him. He could see the loose-fitting suit, the creased, leathery face.

“You look like hell, Carter,” Hawk said.

Nick nodded. “Did you happen to bring a pack of cigarettes?”

Hawk reached into his coat pocket and tossed a pack at Nick. “You’re cleared with the police,” he said.

Nick lit a cigarette. John Loo came toward them with Kathy and Mike on each side. He reached out his left hand. “Thank you, Nick,” he said. His eyes were filled with tears.

Nick took the hand. “Take care of them.”

Mike broke from his father and hugged Nick around the waist. He too was crying.

Killmaster ran his hand through the boy’s hair. “Almost time for spring practice, isn’t it?”

Mike nodded, then joined his father. Kathy was hugging the professor; she ignored Nick. They walked back to the second car. The door was held open for them. Mike climbed in, then John. Kathy started to, then halted, her foot almost inside. She said something to John, then came back to Nick. There was a white knitted sweater around her shoulders. She looked, somehow, more like a housewife now. She stood in front of Nick, looking up at him. “I don’t suppose we’ll ever see you again.”

“Ever is an awful long time,” he said.

She stood on her toes and kissed his cheek. “I wish… I…”

“Your family is waiting.”

She sucked her lower lip between her teeth and ran to the car. The door was shut, the car started, and the Loo family drove out of sight.

Nick was alone with Hawk. “What happened to the professor’s arm?” he asked.

Hawk said, “That’s how they got your name out of him. Pulled a few fingernails, broke a couple of bones. This was a rough one.”

Nick was still watching the taillights of the Loo car.

Hawk opened the door. “You’ve got a couple of weeks. I guess you’ll be heading back to Acapulco.”

Killmaster turned to Hawk then. “Right now all I want is hours and hours of uninterrupted sleep.” He thought of Laura Best and how it had been in Acapulco, then he thought of Sharon Russell, the pretty airline stewardess. “I think I’ll try Barcelona this time,” he said.

“Later,” Hawk told him. “You get your sleep. Then I’m going to buy you a good steak dinner, and while we get drunk you can tell me what happened. Barcelona will come later.”

Nick raised his eyebrows in surprise, and he wasn’t sure, but he thought he felt Hawk pat his back as he got into the car.

The End

Content

Nick Carter
The Defector

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE