The Living Death

by Nick Carter

  "I didn't do it, Amoretta," I said, putting every ounce of sincerity I had into my voice.

  "Stop your lies," she shot back. "It had to be you. You arranged it so you'd be with him all the time.

  Maybe you put something in that special water you had him drink."

  "No, I tell you," I yelled back. "I was sent to protect him."

  "But you did just the opposite. Maybe you're not even the real man, this Nick Carter fellow. Maybe you killed him and took his place. But we're going to find out. You're going to tell us the truth."

  "I am telling you the truth."

  "This is going to take a long time," one of the brothers cut in. "Can't we question him later? The pigs haven't been fed. The cows haven't been milked."

  "That is right," another chimed in. "You rushed us off this morning. We had no time to do anything. Besides, I'm hungry, too."

  "I say just kill him and be done with it," big ears cut in.

  "No, he will talk first," Amoretta insisted. "But we'll do it later, after you finish the chores." She turned to big ears. "Glauco," she commanded. "You stay here and watch him. If he tries anything, call out at once, understand?"

  Big ears — Glauco — nodded. It was probably as complicated an order as he could absorb all at once. Amoretta shot me a last, hard look and left with the others. Listening to them, I had become convinced of one thing. Their emotions were running too high to listen to logic or reason. Besides, I had to admit, from where she saw it, I did have the best chance at doing in the old man. I had to get loose. Maybe then I could make them listen. I let my eyes rove over the kitchen — big stone oven, heavy iron pots and skillets hanging from wall hooks overhead. Glauco had settled himself in a straight-backed chair, propped his feet up on a long, sturdy table, and had begun whittling on a piece of wood with a pocket-knife. If I tried moving back to the oven to scrape my wrist ropes against the stone, Glauco would see me in an instant. With my wrists tied to the chair, the chair was a part of me for the moment. I measured the distance to where Glauco sat as I considered rushing him, head-down, barrelling into him. It was no good. He'd be on his feet before I reached him. I needed something that would take only one move. I bad only one shot at the brass ring, and all I had to use were my feet and my knees. The rest of me was chairbound.

  I sat back and watched Glauco. He had grown more absorbed in his whittling but he cast periodic glances up at me. Feet propped up on the table, chair tilted back on its rear legs, he was a perfect target if I could only get close enough. Suddenly, I realized I didn't have to get all that close. All I needed was to get within range. I moved one leg of my chair, a scant inch, and waited. Glauco glanced at me, and returned to his whittling. I moved the other leg, another scant inch, and waited. Glauco continued on with his periodic glances. I edged closer, timing each laborious move between his glances, scooting each leg a fraction of an inch at a time. Glauco, I was glad to find, was neither too bright nor too alert. Finally I halted, not daring to move closer. I listened for sounds from the other room but everything was quiet. The others were all still outside at their chores. I leaped, kicking out one leg, hitting the back of Glauco's chair. It shot out from under him and he fell backwards with a shout. I was on top of him instantly, chair still tied to my back, dropping one knee onto his chest, the other onto his throat. His eyes began to pop at once and I let up, lifting my knee from his throat.

  "One wrong move and you'll be dead in half a second," I cautioned him. "All I have to do is press down with this knee. See?" I pressed and his tongue flopped out. His eyes were wide with more than fear. I let up on the pressure again.

  "Now you do exactly what I say," I told him in careful, measured tones. The look in my eyes and the feel of my knee against his windpipe was more than enough for him. "From where you are, you can reach up one hand and loosen the knots at my wrist. Slowly, now… slowly. A wrong move could make my knee come down automatically." I gave him a moment's increased pressure again for emphasis. I felt his hand go up my back, feeling for the wrist bonds. His fingers worked on the knots while his eyes looked up at me in fear. I felt the ropes loosen a little. "Keep on," I growled, bearing down a little more with my knee. His fingers speeded up and the ropes gave enough for me to work one hand free, then the other. I heard the sounds of voices entering the house. Without removing my knee from his throat, I smashed a hard right down on Glauco's jaw. His head lolled to one side and I got up. They'd be looking in in a moment, I knew. I didn't want to use Hugo. Misguided, stubborn and stupid as they were, they were still trying to do what they thought was right. I picked up one of the iron skillets. No wonder the Italian housewife has to eat plenty of pasta, I thought to myself. These things were better than weights for muscle-building. I stepped behind the door just as Amoretta led the others in.

  She let out an instant scream. "Mio dio! He is gone," she howled. The others tumbled in on her heels. I swung the iron skillet, catching two of them with one shot. They went sprawling face forward as I grabbed Amoretta, and now I had Hugo in my palm, the point of the stiletto pressed against the tip of the girl's full breast. Her brothers froze and I heard Amoretta's breath draw in sharply.

  "Wake them up, first," I said, indicating the three unconscious forms. One of the others dumped a pail of water over them, and they stirred into wakefulness.

  "Now you wild characters are going to listen to me," I said. "I didn't do anything to hurt your uncle. Get that through your thick skulls. I was trying to protect him. I can't prove it because I don't know what happened any more then you do."

  Amoretta's breast was soft against my hand holding the stiletto, and I had a thought. If I could prove myself to them it would save me hours finding my way out of these mountains or avoid their possibly chasing after me. God knows how many other relatives she had around here. If it worked, I'd be in the clear. If it didn't, I'd have my hands full. What the hell, I decided, you have to take a chance sometimes. I stepped back from Amoretta, releasing her. As she turned, I handed the stiletto to her. Her eyes widened in surprise. The rest of her kinfolk were equally nonplused.

  "Take it," I said, pushing the handle at her. She reached out tentatively.

  "Now do you believe me?" I asked. "I'm giving myself over to you to prove to you I'm telling the truth."

  The others were watching Amoretta, waiting to take their cue from her. I saw her eyes suddenly melt, her full lips part and she was in my arms, head buried against my chest.

  "Oh, Nick," she sobbed. "Please forgive me. I was so upset. I should not have suspected you, ever."

  "I suspected you," I admitted. "So I guess we're even." I could have told her it was my job to suspect everyone while she was just an overemotional, wild tomato, but I decided against it. Besides, her brothers and cousins were crowding around, slapping me on the back. Apologies and comradeship had taken over with a vengeance.

  "It all worked out and nobody really got hurt," I said to Amoretta, wiping a tearstain from her cheek. "I'm glad for that, really I am. Now I've got to get back to Rome as quickly as I can. I've got to find a lead somewhere."

  "Si," Amoretta agreed, quickly. "Get the truck out, Luigi. We must leave at once."

  Glauco had just handed Wilhelmina back to me with a longing last look at the Luger. I heard Amoretta's remark, but it took a few seconds to sink in.

  "Whoa?" I said. "What do you mean 'we'?"

  "I'm going with you, Nickie," she announced, matter-of-factly."

  "Oh, no, sweetheart," I said. "I'm going back alone. This is my stick."

  "No, I go with you," she said, thrusting her lower lip out. I saw the frowns gathering on her kinfolk.

  "This is nothing for you," I argued.

  "Why not?" It was Glauco who asked, belligerence in his tone. I wanted so to give his big stupid face a clout that might knock some sense in it, but I held back.

  "Because this is my work " I shouted at him.

  "And it is our uncle," he returned.

  "This is a matter of family hon
or," Luigi chimed in. They were drawing close again and I could see tempers skyrocketing and all the ingredients for another brawl in the making.

  "She is not good enough to help you, Americano?" another one glowered at me. If I had the time I'd have enjoyed bashing a few thick skulls but all I wanted was to get out of there as quickly and simply as possible.

  "She's fine," I said. "She can come with me. In fact, I'll be glad for her help."

  The relaxation was audible. Luigi got the truck out and took the wheel with Amoretta setding down beside me. Cries of good-luck and farewell resounded as I drove off. It was as though we were taking off for the front lines. I'd said I'd be glad for her help and I meant it. She would be more than helpful directing me down out of the mountains. When I reached the main roads, passionate, luscious Amoretta and I would be parting company. I knew it wouldn't exactly be a fond farewell but she'd get over it.

  As we neared the bottom of the hills, I saw the lights that indicated a main road crossing in front of me.

  "Have you ever walked to your home from down here?" I asked casually.

  "Oh, si," she said. "As a young girl, I often did it. It's not too bad if you know the way and don't rush."

  "Glad to hear that, honey," I said, braking to a sudden stop. "Because you're walking home right now!" I jumped from the truck, pulling her with me. A large clump of pine brush lined the road. I tossed, her into it screaming. The air was turning blue with Italian curses I'd never heard and more than a few I knew. I was in gear and starting off as she struggled out of the pine bush. I looked through the rear-view mirror to see her running out into the road, shaking her fist after me and still yelling.

  "Nothing personal, doll," I grinned. "But this isn't your bottle of vino, to coin a phrase."

  Dawn was just starting to tint the sky, but I was already thinking of where to go from here. One thought kept coming back like a recurrent melody. If it hadn't taken place after I'd left the professor, then it had to have occurred right under my nose. It just wasn't possible, I told myself again, all the time realizing that the impossible had obviously happened. I wanted a list of every son of a bitch who had attended the last eight meetings. I'd trace the background of every last one of them. There had to be a lead in there someplace.

  The little truck, while slow, was reliable. Morning brought a hot sun but I kept steadily on with it. When I reached Rome I pulled the truck over into a side street and left it there. The carabinieri would find it and trace the registration. I was dog tired, and I got a room at a modest hotel, the Rafaello, and cabled Hawk I was staying with it from here. I gave him my hotel and room and told him to wire me if he had anything important to add. It had been along day and a longer night. I took a hot bath, stretched out on the bed and fell asleep. It was late afternoon when I awoke. There'd been no cable from Hawk, which meant he hadn't anything more for me. I decided the fastest way to get a listing of everyone at the past eight meetings was through Karl Krisst I did some fancy checking, found there was a Karl Krisst in Zurich and put a call in to him. He answered and recognized my voice at once, to my surprise. I could just see his round face wreathed in an unctuous smile while those darting little eyes snapped attentively. I told him what I wanted. "I want the complete attendance list for each of those meetings," I said. "I want every person, big, little, important, unimportant.

  Karl Krisst's voice was cooperatively unctuous, his words just the opposite. It's not the policy of the ISS to give out such information, Mr. Carter," he intoned. "May I ask why you make this rather unusual request?"

  "I can't divulge that," I said, feeling my temper rise irritably. "The list of each meeting was publicly announced at the time. Why can't I obtain a copy now?"

  "Such announcements are never really complete," he answered smoothly. "To go back and compile a complete list for the past eight meetings would be a formidable task, I'm afraid."

  He was being ever so helpful while continuing to hedge. I was getting angrier by the second. "Look, cousin," I began again, hearing the edge to my voice. "I know you sure as hell have a complete list for every meeting. You'd have to have them for your own records if nothing else. If you won't send me a photostatic copy of the past eight attendance lists, I'll go to the ISS governing board and see that they order you to cooperate."

  His tone changed at once. "You misunderstand me," he said. "There's absolutely no need for that. I'm always happy to cooperate with any government officer on official business even when I don't know what it's about." The ending was a bait line tossed out that I didn't snap at. He could damn well wonder what it was all about. He was typical of minor officials, I concluded, always out to make themselves more important than they were.

  "Please airmail the lists to me at the Hotel Rafaello here in Rome," I said. "If they do what I hope I'll see you get your name in lights."

  I hung up and went out for a stroll and dinner in Rome. I wished I could enjoy the warm, friendly city, but I was on edge, anxious, irritable. I went back to the hotel and got some more sleep. The desk woke me early. Give him credit, or maybe I'd put the fear of God into him, but Krisst had gotten the lists off at once and they had arrived. I spread them out on the floor and spent the whole morning studying them, making my own work sheets with each man's name on a sheet. When the morning was over I'd a floor full of papers and a lot of names cross-indexed with the disappointing result that not one ISS member had attended all eight meetings. That seemed to rule out my thoughts about one man being responsible for all eight of the horrible post-meeting collapses. I went over it again. I had to be sure there were no errors, no slip-ups. But I'd been right. A lot of them had attended a lot of the meetings, but none had been to every one of the past eight As my eyes roved over the work sheets spread out all over the floor before me, I let my mind race along by itself in a stream-of-association technique I'd learned years ago, delving, skipping, probing, jumping about Eventually, something began to come through. The only name that appeared at every meeting was Karl Krisst. I sat back against the couch and let that turn around in my mind for a while.

  I didn't try for reasons, for any kind of motivation for anything. I was only after leads and while it seemed an unlikely one, it was a fact He had attended every one of the past eight meetings. I'd seen plenty of unlikely facts become very likely in the past. I didn't ever discount anything, no matter how weird it seemed. Certainly in this wild affair I wasn't about to do it. Glad-hand Karl could be a dead lead — and then he could be something more than he seemed. It was the only lead I'd come up with, if you could call it that. I decided to call it that. I called Rome airport for a schedule of flights to Zurich.

  VI

  "Have you looked out your window, sir?" the pleasant, young voice asked me over the phone. I'd been so engrossed in my work sheets that I hadn't. When I did, I hung up. A thick fog was blanketing the city, the kind that doesn't go away for days. I checked out of the hotel and got a ticket on the Rome-Zurich Express. My compartment was in midrain and I boarded about twenty minutes before we left. Though listed as an express, it was far from what we call a through train back home. I had taken a sleeping compartment, and the conductor checked my passport and made up the berth. It was evening when we pulled out, and I watched the fog-shrouded lights of the Eternal City go by as we gathered speed. Like most European trains, it went like hell between stops, but then there were those innumerable stops for switching cars and adding new ones. I went to bed early and slept well. Trains always had a soporific effect on me. When I awoke we were just nearing the Swiss border at Bellizona. I went to the dining car and had a light breakfast. The countryside had changed, I saw as I looked out the train windows. It was hillier, with distant mountain peaks, snow-capped outlines, rising skyward. Spruce, evergreen and mountain laurel had replaced olive, cedar and grapevines. A crispness to the air had replaced the soft, indolent climate of Southern Italy. I strolled back to my compartment and was almost at it when a man's voice called out. I turned to see a man of medium height, bal
ding, holding a gold cigarette case open as he came toward me.

  " Scusi, Signor," he smiled, his Italian heavily accented. "Favorite darmi un fammijera?" I halted, fished a pack of matches from my pocket and handed them to him. As he leaned forward to take them, he spoke softly in accented English. "Do not move, Carter," he said. "There are two guns trained on you. One is here in my other hand, the other is behind you."

  I stood still and saw the tip of the revolver jutting out of his jacket. I turned my head only enough to see the other man at the far end of the corridor.

  "Open the door to your compartment and go in," the balding one said. "No tricks." Two more big, burly types in leather coats had appeared behind the man at the far end and they were closing in. I knew when I was in a sack. I opened the compartment and went in, my new-found acquaintances crowding in behind me. In a fast professional onceover they immediately relieved me of Wilhelmina. They missed Hugo. That was the great thing about the little stiletto. Even professionals, especially when in a hurry, often missed the leather sheath against my forearm.

  "You seem to know my name," I smiled cordially at the first one who had asked for a match.

  "Carter — Nick Carter." He smiled thinly. "Top AXE operative. N3, officially."

  I sized them up quickly. If I hadn't been able to type the balding one, the last two were dead giveaways. They wore the stolid, poker-faced expression of NKVD work horses, heavy of hand and solid of head. The balding one was no doubt Soviet Intelligence, on an upper level.

  "Since you know so much about me, am I to consider this some kind of special fan club?" I asked pleasantly. The balding one smiled again.

  "Not really," he said. "But your reputation is well known."