by Nick Carter
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 th
em 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 m
an 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.”
