His luck was holding. He could still hear voices and see lights at the far end of the passage, away from the corridor that had led him to the casemate. No alarm as yet. Nick slipped through the postern and out into the rain-swept night. The fresh air felt good on his sweaty body. He ran for the sheltering boulders and stopped for a breather. What now, friend?
He had to admit that he didn’t exactly know what now. All he could do was keep going, taking every target of opportunity, keep battling and hoping and raising all the hell he could. Something would give. Maybe himself. But he didn’t think so.
N3 was still lurking in the boulders when Beth Cravens passed ten minutes later. She was humming again. This time it was Lover Come Back to Me. Nick’s little smile was mean as he wondered if the tune was prophetic.
He went stealthily after her, back along the way they had come. She seemed happy, unconcerned. So far, then, he had gotten away with it. Nothing had been noticed. Five men dead and not yet noticed. Pathan organization and discipline was a little lax. Thank God.
No use worrying about his bomb in the casemate. He had done all he could. It might not work at all; it might partially work; it might smolder for hours before the big bang came.
Meantime there was Beth Cravens to attend to. Maybe he could talk her into coming back to the U.S. A few years in an American prison would be better than what would happen to her when the Chinese Reds got finished with her. They offered no second chances.
Nick Carter thought he knew how he could convince her — if only the impostor, the lover she was expecting, hadn’t shown up yet.
He hadn’t. Nick watched as the woman showered and prepared herself for what she imagined would be a night of passion. N3 was not above peeking into the bathroom window and observing some very intimate preparations of the sort an experienced and knowledgeable young woman takes when she is expecting a lover. Nick wondered what she had used in the car behind the Peshawar Hotel. Maybe she carried them in her purse!
A sound alerted him and he disappeared from the window like a ghost. His double was coming. Second encounter!
Chapter 11
Bedtime Story
This time it was no contest
Nick took his alter ego from behind with a vicious chopping blow across the neck. The man went down like a stone, out cold. Nick dragged the inert body into the shelter of dripping bushes and began to strip it. The only light in the house now was a soft rosy glow from the bedroom. How nice. Like a candle in the window. She must be getting impatient.
Won’t be long now, baby, N3 promised as he stripped the man. He was hoping to take Beth Cravens by surprise, in the dark, but if she did turn on a bright light he wanted to be able to pass as himself. Himself! Nick shook his head. This mixup was making him screwy.
He risked the pencil light to inspect the unconscious man’s features. He felt a little sense of shock — it was like looking in a mirror. The man was so damned near a perfect ringer — if you missed the tiny pink surgical scars and a certain mean cast in the mouth that Nick did not normally have.
Dressed well, too. Nick slipped on the expensive suit, a bit wet and muddy now, and the fine shirt and tie, the good shoes, the fawn Burberry. He transferred his black plastic holster to the new belt, put the Luger in it, and was ready to go. He left the impostor bound with Nick’s belt and strips torn from his old OD shirt and trousers. Should hold him long enough.
What to do with the man’s weapons was a problem for a moment. Nick ran the flash over them quickly. Duplicates of his own. A 9mm Luger, stripped down, and the stiletto — a trifle longer than his own. No one was perfect. He took the clip from the Luger and slipped it in his pocket, then flung the weapons as far as he could into the night. Metal clanked on the stony hillside.
As he started for the house the light in the bedroom went out. Nick whistled a little tune deep in his throat. He felt good. Keyed and on edge. Ready for anything. He was looking forward to this — he remembered how she had looked before the mirror.
He didn’t want to kill her, though she deserved it. She was a betrayer of her country — but such a lovely creature. He knew the Chinese would be merciless with her for failing, and he hated to think how they would deal with her. He must give her a chance to consider defecting. But he would have to do it fast. Climb into bed with her before she could get suspicious. That it would be dangerous he took for granted, as he always did. She might shoot him on sight — or later. A little grin crinkled Nick’s mouth— what a hell of a way to get shot. And he must be careful not to betray himself until the last moment — he could not hope to keep up the deception forever, of course. A single error might give him away. He didn’t know the layout of the house, didn’t know about doors or closets or the kitchen or where anything was. It would be like running a strange obstacle course in the dark.
His voice would pass, he thought. At the parking lot the man had spoken nearly like himself — Nick had wondered at the time where the Chinese spy masters had gotten the recordings or tapes. That might bear looking into — if he ever got back.
He went in a side door, the way Beth Cravens had. He used his tiny light, shielding it with his hand, hoping she wouldn’t see it from the bedroom. He couldn’t afford to fall over anything — be a dead giveaway.
The woman called from the bedroom. “Nick? Darling? What took you so long? I’ve been waiting for ages.”
In his own voice, blurred just a bit by what he hoped she would think was alcohol, Nick said: “I’ve been waiting for that turtle bastard at the hotel — he never did come. I spent too much time in the bar, too. I think I’m a little drunk, honey.” He slurred his words.
Beth Cravens laughed, but her voice sharpened. “That wasn’t very smart, darling! You know you shouldn’t drink too much until this job is over. We can’t afford to take chances with this man.”
Nick was oriented by now. He headed for the bedroom and her voice, taking off his clothes as he went. “I’m not that drunk,” he said, hoping she would think he was. He laughed loudly to cover the sound of his clothes coming off. “I’m not as drunk as you think I am!”
“Well — I hope you’re not too drunk. You know—”
“I’m not.” He was naked now, carrying the stiletto and the Luger. He stooped and shoved them under the bed. What a woman — it hadn’t been over two hours since she had been bouncing around in the car. Now she was avid again!
“You sound sort of funny,” Beth said. He heard her twist and reach for the bedside light. He slid beneath the cool sheets and pulled her to him, clamping his mouth over hers. For a moment she was tense, questioning, then her flesh betrayed her and she slid her tongue into his mouth.
He wasted no time on preliminaries. Not only were they dangerous, but there was so little time.
Beth Cravens welcomed him. She lifted herself to engulf him. Without a trace of tenderness, and yet without hate or malice, he took her. Perhaps a little brutally, but Beth did not appear to object. It was she, in the end, who turned to frenzy and began to inflict pain in her ecstasy.
She began to whimper and claw at his back. He felt her nails rake him, scraping away flesh. She followed his every movement, her moist body glued to his as though she could never bear to part with him.
To Nick she seemed insatiable. She was a trial even to his great endurance. But at last Beth Cravens gave a long convulsive sigh and ceased to move. But not for long. She reached up and wrapped her soft arms around his neck and smothered his mouth with moist kisses. It was, he guessed, her way of telling him not to go away — the best was yet to come.