Bennett had almost reached him by now. Nick stood like a statue, hardly breathing, as he ran the possibilities rapidly through his mind. His orders were to kill Bennett Not in so many words, perhaps, but it had been implied. A bullet in the soft tissues of the brain.
Yet there was the matter of positive identification. In this business you took nothing for granted. He thought the man edging toward him now was Raymond Lee Bennett — he was sure it was Bennett — yet he had to be positive, sure without any shadow of doubt. Nick's smile was harsh in the blinding rain. So ask the little creep! Point blank! Right out of the literal black of night — the reaction was sure to be a true one.
He could hear a whimpering sound now, an animal sound like a dog in pain. A whimpering and a breathy squealing and muttering. He realized that the man was crawling on all fours in the ditch, making very slow progress. And the muttering, the moaning, the complaining! Killmaster knew then that he had nothing to fear from the creature in the ditch — and also knew that he had a whole new set of problems.
It was time. Softly, in a conversational tone, Nick said: "Is that you, Mr. Bennett?"
The splashing stopped. Silence broken only by the cry of the rain. Bennett was listening. Nick spoke again. "Is that you, Bennett? Speak up. Don't be afraid. I won't hurt you. I'm here to help you."
As he finished speaking there was a new burst of firing from the train. The man who crouched on all fours in the ditch, like an animal, said in a tremulous voice: "Is that you, Jane? Help me, Jane. Please help me! I'm so cold."
Jane? Jane — Nick racked his brain for a moment and it came. Jane Bennett! That had been the wife's name — the woman he had killed with an axe. Nick sighed aloud. This was all he needed — to find Bennett at last, to find him far around the bend and wandering in cuckoo land. But it did solve one problem — he wasn't going to execute a crazy man.
"I'm not Jane," he told Bennett gently. "But she sent me to help you. I've come a long way to help you, Mr. Bennett. So we had better get started. I'm cold and hungry, too. The sooner we start the sooner we can get something to eat, and get nice and warm. Okay?"
Bennett was at Nick's feet now, still on all fours. He reached out and tugged at Nick's sodden trousers. "I'm afraid. You won't make me go back there, will you? Back where all the noise is — I'm afraid of those bad people. They want to hurt me."
"No. We won't go back there." Nick hauled the man to his feet. He ran expert hands quickly over the slight, shivering figure, not expecting to find weapons. He didn't. He wondered just when Bennett had gone over the line. It must have been some time since that night on the Ladenstrasse, when he had visited Helga — and he must have been a hell of a burden for the Yellow Widow. Now she was lying back there by the tracks, a wet bundle of nothing at all, and Carter had the problems.
First thing — get the hell out of there!
He threw away the Tommy gun, thrust the Luger back in his shoulder clip and took off his belt. Bennett stood docilely, not speaking, as Nick slipped his own belt through Bennett's and made a loop and a short tether. "Come on," Nick told him. "We have to get away from here."
A stray bullet whined overhead and Bennett whimpered again. He might be pretty far gone, Nick thought, but he knows that bullets will hurt him.
Nick began to climb the far side of the embankment, pulling Bennett up after him. The man came willingly enough, like a dog on a leash. Nick reached the top, pulled Bennett up level with him and started down the other side. Only one thing mattered at the moment — put as much distance as possible between them and the train. Find shelter, a safe spot, then think things out.
Killmaster was feeling his way down the far side of the embankment. He lost his footing and fell, pulling Bennett along with him. The fall was a good fifteen feet, on a steep slant, and when he splashed into mud and water the smell told Nick where he was — in a rice paddy, face down in crap. He wiped the stuff from his face, cleared his eyes, and swore with great feeling. Bennett sat there quietly, waist deep in the filthy paddy water.
"I am greatly tempted," said Nick through his teeth, "to kill you now and have it over with."
"Don't hurt me," said Bennett in his child's whimper. "Don't hurt me. Jane wouldn't like it if you hurt me. Where is Jane? I want Jane." And Raymond Lee Bennett, there in the Korean wilds, rain sodden and stinking, began to cry.
Nick Carter shrugged in resignation. He tugged at the belt. "Come on. Let's get out of this crap."
Korean rice paddies are usually divided into cells, each cell separated from the others by tall dikes. An interlacing pattern of footpaths runs along the tops of the dikes, enabling each peasant to reach his paddy and work it. In total darkness it is like trying to find your way out of a box maze. After the fourth or fifth dive into the sludge Nick would have given his soul for a flashlight — and would have used it no matter what the risk.
By now the danger from the train, from either set of guerrillas or the drunken soldiery, was minimal. Nick kept bearing steadily away from the sound of shooting and yelling. Once he paused atop a dike and took a backward glance. The train was still halted — they had probably killed the engineer and fireman — and all he could make out was a long line of rectangular yellow holes punched in the night. As he watched, one of the yellow rectangles vanished in a blossom of red. He heard the hollow crump of a grenade. They were really getting down to it now. Having themselves a real ball. There would be hell to pay come morning. The neighborhood would be crawling with American and ROK troops and Korean police. By that time the guerrillas would have vanished back into their mountains and he, Nick and his dotty captive, would have gone safely to ground. It was a fervent hope.
It took him the better part of an hour to work his way out of the paddy. The rain stopped suddenly, as it does in Korea, and the sky cleared with amazing rapidity. A horned moon, as though in atonement, tried to shed a little light through the thick overcast. It wasn't much but it helped.
They came out of the paddy onto a narrow road, deeply rutted by centuries of ox carts passing over it. Even a jeep would have found the going tough. Nick did not know Korea intimately, but he knew it well enough to know that when you got off the beaten track you could easily get lost. They did not call Korea the "dragon's back" land for nothing — this, the south central part, was an endless series of valleys and mountains.
All of which suited Killmaster perfectly at the moment. He wanted to get lost, so thoroughly lost that no one could find him until he was ready to be found. He set out to follow the winding, climbing road, pulling Bennett along behind him on the leather tether. The man came docilely enough, without any complaint except his whimpering for Jane, but nevertheless Nick was alert for any sign of trouble. Bennett could be faking.
They walked for two hours, always climbing. Bennett stopped whimpering and crooned to himself like a baby playing in its crib. Nick spoke only to give a command. Bennett fell a few times and would not get up until he had rested. After the last fall he refused to get up at all, to go any farther. Nick searched him again, this time with great thoroughness, and again found nothing. He slung the frail body around his shoulders in the fireman's carry, and slogged on. The rain began again, but more gently now, a cold silver curtain that blotted out the smudge of moon; Nick cursed to the even rhythm of his steps and plodded on.