Spy Killer (Stories from the Golden Age)

by L. Ron Hubbard

  “Why, yes, so it is,” said Kurt. “But I was still curious about Takeki. I have some information for him.”

  “For him? Ah, well, you can give it to me.”

  “Only to Takeki.”

  “You’re obstinate,” said the Japanese. “Ah, well, taicho, take this man back to the cells.” And to Kurt, “If Takeki comes, perhaps you will be able to give your information first hand. If not . . .” The officer shrugged and went back to work.

  Kurt fell into the files again and was presently thrust into a barred enclosure which resembled a jail less than a wild animal cage. He was the only prisoner there.

  The door clanged and Kurt was again left to his thoughts. At first he was very angry. He stomped up and down the paved floor, swearing and kicking at the bars, but at last his anger burned itself out and he sat down on a bench.

  “One jail after another,” said Kurt. “I should have let them hang me the first time.”

  He grinned at that and stretched out, glad to have a few hours’ sleep away from the scrutiny of Yang and the six members of the Death Squad.

  After what seemed a minute or two, but which was really six hours, Kurt was awakened by the slither of a rope into the enclosure.

  He propped himself up on one elbow and stared about him, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. He was cold, and the bench had bitten deeply into his hard body, but he had the feeling that something was wrong and he came alert in an instant.

  He saw stars over him and noticed for the first time that the enclosure had no roof. The bars were bent into hooks at the top to discourage anyone from climbing out. Next he saw a long snakelike thing which made him jump.

  He touched it in the darkness and found that it was a rope. Puzzled and holding his breath, he stood up.

  A scraping sound came from the top of the bars, and presently Kurt saw a man outlined against the sky. Slowly the man began to descend.

  Until it was too late, Kurt thought that Varinka had located him and was about to engineer his escape. He stood by until the hazily seen Chinese was firmly on the floor.

  A knife glittered in the stranger’s hand. The Chinese took a step toward Kurt.

  “Captain Yang,” said the guard in a low voice, “has passed the sentence upon you. You have failed Lin Wang, you are no further use to him. I am a member of the Death Squad.”

  The man dived in and the knife came down. Kurt was rocked back. The bars creaked as they were struck. Kurt caught the knife wrist and pried it back. He had been too startled to cry out, and now he needed all his breath.

  The garlic-reeking mouth of the Chinese was close to Kurt’s face. The man was trying to bring up his knees for a numbing blow. Kurt drove in his right fist and heard it crunch against a bone.

  The Chinese gave ground slowly. Kurt pushed up with all his might, striving to keep back the knife, but he was dealing with a man who had fought with steel his whole life.

  The arm went limp. Kurt was thrown off his balance. He let go the wrist for a fraction of a second. The knife came down with vicious strength.

  Kurt lurched back, deflecting the blade by making it hit his shoulder broadside. He doubled up and dropped to the floor. The Chinese attempted to pin Kurt down, but Kurt suddenly exploded.

  On top of the Chinese, Kurt secured the dagger hand with his knee and then with both hands, Kurt raised the close-shaven head and slammed it back to the concrete. Once, twice, the third time the head did not bounce. The man’s eyes rolled far up into his head. A sticky smear of blood stained the concrete black in the starlight.

  Kurt stood up and rubbed his sleeve across his forehead. He felt drained and shaking. One slip and he would be lying there instead of the Chinese.

  Abruptly he remembered that other members of the Death Squad might be waiting outside.

  “Guard!” cried Kurt. “Mamori!”

  The rope had looked inviting until he thought about Yang. Now a barred enclosure was just the thing.

  Doors slammed, men came running, rifles clanking. Flashlights stabbed through the bars.

  Japanese entered and looked down at the Chinese and then at Kurt.

  “He tried to kill me,” began Kurt.

  “But how did he get in?” demanded an officer.

  Kurt pointed to the rope.

  “Who was he?”

  Kurt thought it best to be discreet on that point. “A man who thought I had wronged him.”

  “That’s likely,” said the officer with a grunt. “He would hate very well to make an attempt on your life in here.”

  The men started to go away, taking the dead man with them. “Wait a minute,” said Kurt. “I’m not going to stay in here.”

  “Why not?”

  “The man might have friends.”

  “All right,” said the officer, “come into the guard room, the tsumesho.”

  That suited Kurt very well, and he was escorted out of the enclosure and ordered to sit down along the wall beside a small heater. The soldiers there looked curiously at him.

  When the officer had gone, a small fellow with a pale face and a scholarly air said politely, “How do you do,” in English. It was probably all that he knew.

  In Japanese, the others began to talk about Kurt and wonder why he was there. Their conversation continued for a half hour and was of a very personal and critical nature. They discussed how pale Kurt was and how big, and said that he must be a very great thief because all foreign devils were great thieves.

  Kurt listened to them with a blank face for a while. Their inquisitiveness made him forget Varinka and Anne Carsten and Lin Wang. He began to cheer up.

  In Japanese, Kurt said, “Would you mind getting me a glass of water, tomodachi?”

  The scholarly little man leaped up in surprise and scurried to the skin bag which hung in the corner. He came back with the drink.

  “Thank you,” said Kurt, drinking. “Tell me, tomodachi, is it a crime here in Kalgan to speak of Takeki?”

  The scholarly one shook his head. “No, but it is dangerous. Takeki is one we call the Courageous. I cannot say any more. Is that why you are here?”

  “I merely wanted to see Takeki. I had some information for him.”

  “For him?” said the soldiers all together.

  The officer had said that. Kurt thought it queer. He decided not to talk about Takeki.

  A larger Japanese, with rugged features, almost Western, said in a complimentary tone, “That was a good job you did on that Chinese one. He looked very strong. Why did he go in there to attack you?”

  “He didn’t like me,” said Kurt.

  “All these Chinese are fools,” said the scholarly one. “For a long time we left them alone and did nothing to them. For centuries. They tried to take our country from us twice, and now when we merely want to police theirs and wipe out some of their so-called warlords such as Lin Wang, the whole world cries against it. It is very strange. I cannot understand it at all.”

  “They think you are trying to capture China,” said Kurt.

  “No, that isn’t what they think,” said the big one. “They are afraid of us. It would be a good thing if someone took over China and made a nation out of it and cut down this killing and made the people behave. All Chinese are fools. The world is afraid that Japan will grow powerful if Japan has China’s manpower. Perhaps it will. Can you blame Japan for trying?”

  Kurt nodded. He could see the Japanese side of things and he had no particular political views. Japan and China were farthest from his worries at that minute.

  He was thinking furiously about that confession. He would have to get it somehow. He couldn’t run away from the law the rest of his life. Maybe if he explained to Yang . . .

  A door swung open and a voice said, “Foreigner, Takeki is waiting to speak with you.”

  Kurt got to his feet. He was about to face the man he had been sent to kill. He wondered what he would say to the Japanese.

  He walked slowly out into the other room and stared across the desks.


  “There is Takeki, foreigner,” said the officer again.

  Kurt swallowed hard.

  He was staring at Varinka Savischna.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  The Japanese Spy

  IT took a moment or two for Kurt Reid to recover from his surprise, but his silence was unnoticed. Varinka Savischna came forward, holding out her hands to him, smiling.

  “My dear Kurt,” said Varinka. “I am surprised, but very glad to see you. I hope these compatriots of mine did not cause you any inconvenience.”

  She was taller than the Japanese, and she carried herself with a conscious pride of beauty. Her beautiful broad face was smiling.

  Kurt took her hands. He could do nothing else. “I did not know that you—”

  “And what news do you bring me from the south?” she said, interrupting him.

  Kurt glanced at the Japanese. They eyed him with a suspicion of hostility. “Nothing of any moment, Varinka.”

  “But certainly you must have something, to come so far to find me.”

  “Oh, yes, perhaps you’d be interested to know that . . . that Lin Wang . . . But then I would feel better if I could impart this information to you privately.”

  “Of course. I have a car outside and I am living a short distance away. You are probably hungry and you must come with me to get something to eat. We can talk then.”

  Kurt felt the leaden silence of the room. He felt very uncomfortable. He could feel the thoughts of the Japanese. They were not at all sure of him, those fellows, and he knew they were telling themselves that they would keep their eye on him. He felt a chill run up and down his spine when a soldier clattered his rifle against the wall. The brown eyes stabbed him. Death and danger were heavy in the room.

  Varinka did not seem to notice it. Her fur-topped boots whispered over the hard floor as she led Kurt out to the waiting car. Three sentries, carrying their rifles in their hands, swung on to the running board. Kurt felt that he was under arrest.

  A cold wind was sweeping across the dead brown hills, stirring up dust through the blackness. Kalgan was silent and without lights. It slept uneasily under the heel of its conqueror from across the Yellow Sea.

  They arrived at a small enclosure and went through a wide gate, which was quickly clanged shut behind them. The sound had a finality to it which Kurt did not like.

  The guards dropped to the cobblestones of the courtyard. Kurt looked about to see that this house, like most Chinese houses, was built in three separate huts, each one serving a different purpose. The gray stone walls reminded him of a prison.

  But the furnishings of the room into which he was led belied the exterior. Fine silks were draped along the walls. Colorful cushions were strewn about the border of a tan and black carpet. A fire was crackling cheerfully in the fireplace. The heavy odor of Russian incense, far too sweet, caught in Kurt’s throat.

  Varinka threw off her coat and tossed the cap aside. She sat down on a cushion and placed her left hand on the floor for support. She smiled at Kurt.

  The three guards were outside somewhere, walking back and forth, feet resonant upon the stones.

  A black-gowned amah came in, bowed, saw that Varinka had a guest and quickly went away. She returned in a moment with excellent whisky and a tray of food, which she placed on a chow bench.

  Kurt ate slowly, watching Varinka, and listening to the footsteps of the guard. Finally he said, “This is rotten business.”

  Varinka shrugged. “One has to live.”

  “You mean you’re a spy for these yellow devils? You mean you’re willing to help them take over China. Not that I care what happens to China, but after all the Japanese . . .”

  “One has to live,” said Varinka.

  “But to be guarded like this—”

  “Those guards are there because the Japanese are suspicious of you, Kurt. You have no official status here.” She paused as though unwilling to say more. Then, with a glance up at the small window, she leaned closer to him and lowered her voice, “I’m afraid they think that I . . . A spy can never tell who his friends and enemies are.”

  He caught a glimpse of fear in her eyes when she said that, but the expression was instantly gone.

  “Tell me what happened to you,” she said, lighting a long cigarette.

  Kurt snorted. “They picked me up after you left the house. Lin Wang’s men, I mean. Lin Wang has a confession waiting for me in Shanghai and if—”

  The food gagged him suddenly. He realized then that this Takeki and Varinka were one and the same person. He had been sent to Kalgan to kill Varinka, and if he did not kill her, his own life was forfeit. But then, hadn’t one of Yang’s men tried to kill him? Wasn’t that bond absolved? But still, the confession was in the hands of Lin Wang, and Lin Wang had ordered this thing to be done.

  “What’s the matter?” said Varinka suddenly. “You’re white as a ghost!” She moved closer to him. “Are you ill?”

  “No . . . no, no.”

  “Then go on. Tell me.”

  Kurt hid his face behind a large drink of the whisky. You can’t tell a person that you have been sent to kill them.

  “He sent me North, told me to leave China,” said Kurt.

  She did not believe him, but neither did she question him. She merely said, “Funny thing for Lin Wang to do. He usually uses his Death Squad.”

  “But I was glad you got away,” said Kurt, feeling very uneasy.

  “Never worry about me,” replied Varinka. “There’s a panel and a secret staircase, and another door in that house, in the native city.”

  “I still can’t figure out about my escape, though.”

  Varinka laughed at him and hugged her knees. “I knew that you were to be let loose from the Rangoon, and so I placed a sampan near the ship so that you wouldn’t have to swim ashore. You must have evaded the men Lin Wang sent to follow you, but my man picked you up and trailed you to the tea house. I waited there for you and my messenger. I needed a good, strong man I could trust, and I knew that Lin Wang wanted you for some purpose or other. I was going to steal his man from him.”

  “What did you want me for?”

  “I don’t trust Chinese, much less Japanese. I thought you would be able to help me and I knew I could help you. I had an idea that I could prove you innocent, and you had such a reputation as a fighter and as a linguist, I thought it a shame to let such material run around loose. And maybe . . . maybe, I was just being kind. I don’t know. It amused me.

  “Tell me, Kurt, did you see Anne Carsten there?”

  “Why, yes, of course,” and for some reason he could not define he felt himself crimson.

  “Ah, so you did meet her, eh? A fine woman, isn’t she? So young to be living alone in the native city. She must have taken quite a fancy to you, from the way you look. She is always taken with sailors.”

  “Wait a minute,” said Kurt. “I think she’s a swell kid.”

  Varinka laughed delightedly. “Then you love her, eh?”

  “No, of course not.”

  “Why ‘of course not’ so very gruff? Would that be impossible? Tell me, Kurt, if you were to choose between us, which one would you take?”

  He crimsoned again. “An unfair question.”

  “Oh, but never mind. Anne Carsten has such a hard time of it. You know her father died in Shanghai six months ago. Did you know that? It was said that the Death Squad had some little thing to do with it. Carsten was far too interested in Chinese politics.”

  “The poor kid,” said Kurt. “What happened?”

  “Why, her father was a merchant prince, and he thought Lin Wang shouldn’t have so much responsibility. He died for it, that’s all. Lin Wang is a devil.”

  Kurt agreed with her there. Once again he saw the horrible nightmare of the man’s scaly face, the dirt-grimed wrinkles, the limply hanging and clattering hands, the hunched back.

  But the mention of Lin Wang brought something else to him. Lin Wang held liberty in his shaking
hands. Lin Wang had sent Kurt Reid to Kalgan to kill one named Takeki the Courageous, who was also known as Varinka Savischna.

  “You are very thoughtful,” said Varinka. “What is wrong?”

  If the Japanese guessed his mission there, Kurt knew that sudden death would be the mildest of fates.

  Suddenly a gunshot roared outside, blasting through the night. Feet clattered over the cobblestones. Shrill Japanese voices cried out.

  In one motion, Kurt swept Varinka back against the wall and knocked over the lamp, bringing darkness to the room. Varinka gasped. Kurt felt her under his hand, and the treacherous thought that he could kill her easily now made him shudder.

  The glass crashed from the window and something thumped into the room. Another shot roared and then the guards came back swearing. Cautiously Kurt fumbled about on the floor and discovered something which felt like a grenade. He picked it up as though it was hot, about ready to explode. Then he realized that it was a stone with a paper tied around it. He knelt against the wall and undid the sheet.

  The fireplace flickered up for a moment, throwing Kurt’s shadow hugely against the silken drapes. Varinka crawled toward him.

  In that sudden splash of light, Kurt made out the note. It was in English and it said:

  We are waiting. Death there will cancel death here.

  Kurt crumpled up the note in his hand. Varinka’s fingers tried to reach it, fingers which were suddenly strong. Kurt jerked the note away and threw it wildly toward the fireplace.

  The guards were coming in through the door.

  “What is wrong?” bawled a Japanese.

  Varinka stood up and ordered Kurt to his feet. The other two guards came in, panting. They had been running.

  “What did you find outside?” said Varinka.

  The guard shook his head. “Nothing. Men climbed up on a roof across the street and threw something toward your window. Did anything land in here? They got away.”

  Varinka picked up the stone and looked at it. The twine which had held the note was still there. She looked long at Kurt.

  Taking in the situation, one of the guards looked about in front of the fireplace. He found the note lying a foot away from the flames. He spread it out on the hearth, kneeling there, rifle on the floor beside him.