Peking & The Tulip Affair

by Nick Carter

  He heard the front door open and close, and drew his Luger. There were voices. A man's and a woman's.

  He moved and he stood framed in the doorway, his Luger covering Nick Carter and Lotus.

  Lotus gasped as she saw him. Nick raised his hands slowly. He was almost tempted to try for the gun in his belt, but that would have gotten him nowhere. He would have been gunned down before he could even touch metal. His hands were shoulder high.

  "We meet again, Carter," Bormann said.

  "Funny how we keep bumping into each other," Nick said lightly. "It's as if the gods decreed it."

  "But this is the last time, Carter. Our very last meeting. When I leave here, you'll be very dead."

  "That's up to the gods," Nick said. He motioned his head toward Lotus. "Why don't you let her go? She can't harm you."

  "She knows too much. Besides, she helped you. You almost ruined my plans, Carter."

  "Almost?"

  "No doubt you know that Kerner is dead. And you took care of the laboratory. But I still have Sim Chan. She will provide me with Agent Z. And then, Carter, I will be the new fuehrer of Germany. That will be the first step. With the help of those stupid Chinese Communists I will…" Bormann abruptly stopped and his eyes widened, staring past Nick's shoulder. His finger started to tighten on the trigger.

  Nick quickly craned his neck, saw Sim Chan in the front doorway, a gun in her hand. He shoved Lotus out of the path of fire and dived for the floor. Sim Chan and Bormann fired simultaneously, both shots sounding as one.

  Nick and Lotus scrambled behind the sofa. Nick drew the gun from his belt and peered around the arm of the sofa.

  Sim Chan was on her knees, blood oozing from her chest She still held the gun. She was trying to fire another round when Bormann sent a bullet spinning into her brain. She crumpled to the floor. There was blood coming from Bormann's shoulder. He had been hit. He turned, saw Nick aiming at him, dropped to one knee, and fired.

  Nick pulled his head back. The bullet almost grazed his cheek.

  Lotus moved to the other side of the sofa, a gun in her hand. This was her chance to avenge her father's death. She knew that the man with the frozen face had ordered her father's assassination. She quickly jumped to her feet, exposing herself, and fired at the hated enemy.

  Bormann howled in pain, shifted his Luger, and fired twice.

  Behind him, Nick heard Lotus cry out in pain. He darted to his feet in time to see Bormann heading into the bedroom. Nick went after him.

  Bormann was jumping out the window when Nick fired point-blank. He ran to the window, saw Bormann racing across the street He fired again and again. Why didn't the man fall? Bormann was gone, swallowed up by the night.

  Bormann had been hit at least three times, and yet he had kept going. Nick cursed silently. Sheer willpower. The man was made of iron. But the bullet in the back had to finish him. Probably crawl into a hole and die, Nick thought. He couldn't live after that.

  But Bormann wasn't human. Yet he was made of flesh and blood.

  "He has to die," Nick screamed into the night. He went back into the front room and found Lotus behind the sofa, her eyes open and peaceful in death.

  "I don't want to leave you like this," he said to the dead girl, "but I have to." He bent and kissed her forehead.

  It was time to leave. He got to his feet.

  The police would find two dead Chinese girls in the apartment, and a German in the bedroom closet. It would give them something to think about.

  Nick looked at Lotus once more and then left.

  The Tulip Affair

  Dedicated to The Men of the Secret Services of the United States of America

  Chapter 1

  Mark Harrison shoved his suitcase into the back of the taxi and got in. "You speak English?"

  The Thai driver turned his head and nodded, showing crooked teeth. "Yes, sir. Very good. Where you go?"

  "Fifty-six Suriwongse Road. That's the Metropole Hotel."

  "Yes, yes. I take you."

  The taxi started with a jerk and then it rolled away from the curb. Harrison turned to stare out the rear window at the airport. A man was pointing to the cab he was in and talking excitedly to the driver of a blue sedan. The man got in and the sedan roared into life.

  Harrison frowned and turned to face the driver. He had to be imagining things. No one knew he was in Thailand except Hawk and Tulip. Well, Harrison had been in Bangkok before and knew his way around. He said to the driver, "Turn into Dindang Road."

  The driver nodded his head and did as he was told. Under Harrison's directions, the driver shot into Petburi Road next and then turned left at Chakapong. He drove past the Temple of the Emerald Buddha. Harrison looked back. The sedan was no longer in sight He told the driver to head for the Metropole and then leaned back and lit a cigarette.

  Mark Harrison was thirty-four, with sand-colored hair and a craggy face. He had a good athletic body which he always kept in trim.

  His hotel room was on the seventh floor. He unpacked, put away his things, and examined the Ruger nine-shot automatic. It was in excellent working order. He then used the phone to call the number Tulip had given him.

  "Yes?" The voice was-male, gruff, almost metallic.

  "Tulip sends his regards."

  "Oh, yes. And how was your trip?"

  "Fine. I had some company before"

  "We can't talk over the phone. Can you come over?"

  "Sure. Where are you?"

  The voice over the phone gave directions. Then there was a click, and the line was dead.

  Mark Harrison thoughtfully replaced the receiver in its cradle. He didn't like this. He didn't like this one bit.

  The Ruger automatic went into the holster under his left armpit. He went down, found a waiting taxi at the corner, and had the driver take him to a small house on Pahurat Road.

  He paid the driver, walked to the front door, and found a black bar set in the jamb. He thumbed it Presently the door opened, and a burly man in a Chinese-red kimono admitted him.

  The front room was spacious, with thick carpets, blond wood furniture and Chinese silk prints on the walls.

  "Sit down," the burly man said. "Make yourself at home. Want a drink?"

  "Gin and bitters, if you have it"

  "Sure. I'll be right back."

  Harrison seated himself in a club chair and looked about. The burly man just didn't fit in these surroundings. But in this business one had to expect the unexpected.

  The burly man came back with two drinks and handed Harrison one. He sat down and seemed to study the AXE agent "You say you were followed?" the man said.

  Harrison nodded. He sipped his drink.

  "Just doesn't seem possible."

  "By the way," Harrison said, "you do have a name, I hope?"

  "Carpenter. Rudy Carpenter."

  "Tulip didn't tell me much. Just gave me your number to call. He said you would set things up for me."

  "Yes." Carpenter looked amused. "I get you information for you to pass on to your people."

  Harrison drank a third of his gin and bitters. "You seem to think that's funny."

  "I suppose you're armed?"

  Harrison's eyes narrowed. There was something definitely wrong here, and he was finding it hard to think. There was a dull ache in the back of his skull.

  Rudy Carpenter got to his feet. "I added something to your drink, Mr. Harrison. You can try for your gun but you'll never make it Yes, you were followed from the airport. By my men. But you managed to shake them, didn't you? It doesn't matter. I knew you would call me." He walked to the club chair where Harrison was slumped. He wondered if the dead man had heard his last sentences. He lifted his head and bellowed, "Shigeta."

  A sharp-featured Japanese walked in, carrying a cloth sack. He was dressed in a business suit.

  "Remove all identification," Carpenter ordered. "You know what else to do." The burly man walked out.

  Shigeta took everything out of the dead man's pock
ets and then tore the label from inside the jacket He removed a gold watch and a signet ring from the late Mark Harrison.

  Then Shigeta made a phone call.

  He smoked three cigarettes while waiting. It was dark when he heard a car stop outside. There were footsteps, and Shigeta peered out the window. He opened the door and another Japanese walked in. Shigeta spoke rapidly to the man and then walked into another room and returned with lead weights.

  They put the body and the weights into the cloth sack. A heavy cord tied around the mouth of the sack made the body secure.

  They opened the door, made sure the street was deserted, and carried the body out to the car. Shigeta stayed in back with the body while his companion drove to the dock where the body was put in a small sampan. A grinning middle-aged woman rowed them out to where the water was deep.

  The two Japanese tossed the body overboard and watched it sink in the Chao Phraya River.

  The woman rowed them back to the dock. Shigeta gave her 200 baht. The woman put her money away, bowed, smiled, said, "Sawaddee."

  Shigeta and his companion made their way to the car and drove off.

  Chapter 2

  Kris Bancroft had a Swedish mother and an English father. Her Nordic features were inherited from her mother, who was still a beautiful woman. Kris poised at the edge of the diving board; then, with the grace of a swan, sailed through the air and cut the water sharply. Her head, encased in a Latex swimming cap, bobbed to the surface of the water. She swam to the lip of the pool, shifted her body out of the water, and lay back on the concrete deck.

  Kris was thirty-one, a widow, with the firm body of a twenty-year-old girl. Her teeth were white and even, her lips full and red. She had a perfect body with firm, rounded promontories that poked out the upper half of her two-piece swimsuit. Her thighs were rounded and deeply tanned.

  Kris sat up when she saw the tall, bronzed giant approaching with two Stingers. She took off her cap and ran her ringers through her blonde tresses. She studied the man in the quilted robe, and her thoughts went back to last night when she had spent those heavenly hours in his arms. She had never before been so thrilled by a man's lovemaking.

  The man sank down onto his haunches and gave her one of the Stingers. "I saw you dive. I'm impressed."

  "I'm glad I impress you," she said, putting extra warmth in her voice. "You did a very good job of impressing me — last night."

  "It took me two solid days to talk you into bed," he reminded her with a crooked grin on his tanned face.

  "I'm sorry now I waited so long»

  The bantering went on for a while till a bellboy interrupted them. "There's a call for you, Mr. Carter. You can take it in the bar."

  Nick excused himself, followed the boy into the bar, and picked up the receiver.

  "How's the vacation coming along?"

  Nick Carter recognized Hawk's familiar voice. "Something tells me this vacation is coming to an abrupt end."

  "Can't be helped. Try to be back by this evening. I'll be staying late."

  "Will do." Nick hung up and walked back to the swimming-pool area. Kris had moved to a beach chair, her long legs stretched out, twin columns of perfection.

  "You've got beautiful legs," Nick said. "I wish I could stay and admire them forever but I'll be leaving soon."

  Kris reached out to touch his arm. "Isn't there anything that will induce you to stay?"

  Nick shook his head gently. "I'm may be back."

  "And I may not be here."

  Nick hated goodbyes. He always felt awkward. He proposed they have a last drink together, and Kris agreed.

  She watched him walk away to the tap room. She knew it would be a long time before she found someone like him — if ever.

  * * *

  Hawk looked tired, more tired than usual. He motioned Nick to the chair in front of his desk and the tall, broad-shouldered man sat down. Hawk got right to the point. "About a month ago I sent out three agents for the express purpose of filtering information back about ChiCom movements in the Far East Norwich in Singapore, Bennet in Hanoi, and Harrison in Bangkok. This morning Harold Rustoff of CIA paid me a visit with some startling news. All the info I got, and which I passed on to Rustoff, has been false."

  Nick's face and voice were emotionless. "You think they were caught?"

  Hawk shrugged. "I don't think they even got started."

  "Then they were sold out," Nick said.

  "And enemy agents took their places." Hawk toyed with a yellow pencil. "Has to be. No other explanation. They didn't sell out and go over to the other side. Not all three at the same time. Perhaps one, maybe, but all three? Nope." Hawk looked at Nick with grim eyes. "They went through the Hong Kong contact."

  "Tulip." Nick lit a gold-tipped cigarette. "I can't see Tulip selling out, either."

  "You and Tulip are rather close."

  Nick didn't answer.

  "All right," Hawk said. "It's your baby. Go to Bangkok and find out what you can. If Tulip turned double…" Hawk left it unsaid.

  "What about Singapore and Hanoi?"

  "You just worry about Bangkok. I'm more interested in the traitor. I'll give odds it's Tulip."

  Nick got to his feet. Hawk had to be right about Tulip. Everything pointed to Tulip. Three AXE agents, and Tulip had thrown them to the wolves. But Nick wanted to be sure. He liked Tulip. He and Tulip were friends.

  "I want to give Tulip every chance," Nick said.

  Hawk nodded his head. "I understand. That's why I'm sending you to Bangkok first."

  * * *

  The Thai people originated in Southeast China, where they founded the independent Kingdom of Nanchao in 650 a.d. In 1243 they were driven out by the armies of Kublai Khan and moved south to what is known today as Thailand.

  Nick's plane landed at Don Muang Airport late in the afternoon. He showed his passport, his visa, and his International Certificate of Health, and passed through.

  Nick had his stiletto in its sheath strapped around his arm, and his Luger was in the false bottom of his suitcase.

  A taxi took him to the Royal Hotel on Rajadamnern Avenue. He registered, and a bellboy, carrying his suitcase, led the way to his room on the third floor. He tipped the boy 100 satangs and closed the door after him.

  Nick took the Luger out of the false bottom of his suitcase, put it under his pillow, took off his shoes, and sprawled out on the bed. When it was dark he woke and went into the bathroom, where he undressed and showered. He put on fresh underwear, fresh socks, and the suit he had worn. With his stiletto Hugo and Luger Wilhelmina for company, he went out.

  Nick didn't like typical Thai food because it was highly spiced. He found an Italian restaurant and ate. He drank a glass of sherry, paid the bill, and continued on his way.

  The man who had taken Harrison's place had to be at the Metropole. He would have to stay there to receive Hawk's communications.

  Nick walked up the seven flights, made his way to the right room, used the lockpicker's special, drew out Hugo, and slipped inside.

  The rooms were dark.

  He made sure no one was home before he turned on the lights. He searched through everything. He found a Ruger nine-shot automatic, a gun Harrison favored. But there were cold cigar butts in trays, and Harrison didn't smoke cigars. The clothes weren't Harrison's. He found a stainless-steel watch of Russian make in a bureau drawer.

  Nick turned out the lights, sank into a club chair and waited. He didn't smoke a cigarette, even though he wanted one. He was like a statue, sitting in the club chair, hardly a muscle moving.

  Every so often he would look at the luminous dial of his watch. Then he stopped doing that.

  The sound of metal against metal reached him. He stiffened slightly, then forced himself to relax. The key turned the lock, the door opened, the lights came on, and the door closed.

  Nick came out of the chair in a half turn, the Luger in his hand. The man was slightly bald, thin, wearing a pin-stripe suit. He was over forty. He s
eemed stunned at first at sight of Nick, and then he smiled. "You… uh… have made a mistake, my friend." He spoke English with an East European accent. "I am not rich. You may search…"

  "Are you Mr. Harrison?" Nick asked softly.

  "Harrison?" The man's eyes darted from Nick's face to Wilhelmina and back to Nick's face. "Mr. Harrison is away. On business. He will be back shortly. I will give him your message."

  Nick motioned with the Luger. "Into the bedroom."

  "If I scream…"

  "You won't," Nick said. "I'll kill you, and you know it."

  The man licked his lower lip. He looked from Nick to the door as if debating his chances. He knew his chances to get away were no good. He went into the bedroom, Nick behind him.

  Nick told the man to sit on the bed.

  The man sat. There was fear etched on his face. "What are you going to do with me?"

  "Tie you up like a Christmas package."

  Fear made his voice strained. "You're going to torture me. I–I can't stand torture. I can't tell you anything. I don't know anything. You have to believe me."

  "Sure. Now lie back."

  "No." The man opened his mouth to scream and Nick slammed the gun barrel against the man's head.

  When the man regained consciousness, he was tied and gagged. Fear made his eyes round as an owl's. His shirt and undershirt had been ripped down to his belt, exposing his thin, naked chest.

  Ruthlessly, Nick used Hugo till there was a red bloody pattern of crisscrossing lines on the man's chest. He never went deep, just deep enough to draw blood and inflict pain.

  "I'm going to take off your gag," Nick said. "If you yell, I'll cut your throat."

  Weakly, the man nodded his head.

  Nick removed the gag.

  "A doctor," the man whispered. "Get me a doctor."

  "Sure," Nick said, "but not right now. You'll answer my questions first. If I suspect you're lying, you won't need a doctor. Understand?"