He knew it was dangerous to linger. He must talk to her now.
Suddenly the bedside light went on and she was staring at him with what might have been fear and awe and amazement — and gratitude? The little automatic in her hand was rock steady on his muscle-corded belly. She had had the gun under her pillow!
“Who are you?” Her voice trembled but the gun did not. She was sitting up, naked from the waist, the fine white breasts bobbling as she fought to control her breathing. Her blonde hair was in wild disarray and her red mouth swollen and smeared. Her face was pink, but the gray eyes were cold. Nick could see the wild beat of a pulse in her milky throat.
N3 smiled at her. He felt relaxed and good and sure of himself. Let her think she had the upper hand. Anytime he felt like it he would take the pea-shooter away from her.
“I’m Nick Carter,” said Nick Carter. “The real McCoy. Not an imitation. Surprised?”
She took it in her stride. He admired her nerve and intelligence. She believed him at once. Then she smiled and moved away a little, her finger tense on the trigger of the little black pistol. “So you did come. I thought you would but I couldn’t be sure. I only know what the turtle tells me— and he’s not very reliable when he’s under hypnosis. He’s really not such a good subject.”
Nick grinned at her. “I bet they think so in Peking.”
“Yes, but they were wrong. They did it under lab conditions — I have to do it in the field.” She was wearing a little silver locket on a fine chain. Absently she began to twirl it, her gray eyes huge and steady on Nick.
The man from AXE stretched luxuriously. “You’re wasting your time, sweetheart. I don’t hypnotize.” No AXE man did. It was a rudimentary requirement for the service.
Her smile had a tinge of pseudo-sweetness in it. The eyes were not quite so cold. But the pistol was as steady as ever. “This is really better than what we had in mind at first,” she said. “My orders have been changed. Peking doesn’t want you killed now — they want you taken alive. They’ve got big plans for you.”
“How considerate of them. I’ll bet I can guess, too. Why fool around with a fake Nick Carter when you can have the real thing, eh? Get me and brainwash me and turn me loose again in about five years. I’d play hell with Uncle’s security then, wouldn’t I? That it?”
Her perfect teeth flashed. “About. No matter. I’ve got you — now I can stop playing house with that other fool. That’s what gave you away, you know.” Her smile was sly and tinged with lust. “You’re terrific! My God — the Turtle was never like that. In a way it’s a shame that I have to turn you over to them.”
Nick was enjoying himself. Fun while you wait If it was coming the explosion should be any minute now.
Nick gave her a maddeningly slow smile. “What if I don’t go with you? You really wouldn’t want to shoot me. Peking wouldn’t like it. Also, I’m afraid you’re going to be disappointed. There’s not going to be a jehad. Your tribesmen are not going to use those two sets of uniforms to keep the war going. And if you’re expecting help from your Turtle — don’t. He’s a bit tied up at the moment.” He leaned toward her. She moved away and pushed the pistol at him. “Stay away!”
Nick went on, “I’m going to make you a proposition— give you a chance. You’d better take it. All hell is due to break loose around here. You’ll be in the middle of it, with a lot of mad Pathans after your lily white hide. You would be smart to come with me. Right now. I’ll get you back to the States and you can stand trial. After I kill your boy, of course. The Turtle. Well — think fast, Miss Cravens. I’m a temperamental guy — I may withdraw that offer any time.”
She spat at him. Sudden hate glared in her eyes. “You lousy, crummy superior bastard! You come in here, throw your stinking weight around and think you can bulldoze and fast talk me into going back to the States. That stinking idiotic country! I’d die first!”
“You might at that. If the Pathans get you afterwards.”
“After what?” she screamed. “After what? Y — you moron! I’ve got the gun, remember. Jesus — I wish I dared kill you now!”
Nick waggled a finger at her. “Ah-ah — Peking not like.”
He had her mad enough now. Raving. But why didn’t the goddamned fort blow? Come on, grenade! Come on!
As if in answer, it started right then. A gradually rising, high keening blast superimposed on the basso of the explosion. The cottage twisted on its foundation. A giant hand lifted it and put it down askew. Walls cracked and big chunks of ceiling came down. A small chandelier came down with a crash.
Beth Cravens screamed. Nick reached and flicked the little gun out of her hand. He made a fist and tapped her behind the ear, hard but not too hard. She slumped on the bed. He gazed at her for a moment, feeling no pity now. Next stop a Federal prison. He didn’t suppose they would shoot her. Not in so-called peace time.
“Get your hands up! Drop the gun!”
N3 dropped it. It was no good to him anyway — not enough gun to handle this situation. He put up his hands and stared coldly at the man in the doorway. His double. The Turtle. And he was carrying a shield — Mike Bannion!
The impostor was behind Mike, one brawny arm around the little man’s throat to hold him in position. It wasn’t difficult. Mike was very drunk. His eyes rolled wildly and his knees sagged.
Mike’s old Webley was in the double’s hand. It was sighted firmly on Nick Carter’s naked belly. God damn it! To come so far, to be so close, and then be destroyed by a well-meaning drunk! Mike must have been looking for him, to help, and had somehow stumbled into the phony agent.
The Chinese agent held Mike in a vise of muscle that so nearly matched Nick’s. He looked at the unconscious girl. “You kill her?” His eyes were clear and his voice firm and he looked every inch the killer. Nick guessed that he was out of hypnosis — it had worn off or the man had been shocked out of it.
“She’s not dead,” he told the man. “Just knocked out. You intend to kill me?”
“What else?” The eyes, so very like Nick’s own, were cold and empty. The only expression in them was that of wariness.
Cautiously, not moving, thinking furiously, Nick said, “Won’t it be sort of like killing yourself?”
The Webley did not waver. The man watched Nick with cold contempt. The AXE man could see the final decision to kill arriving in the man’s eyes.
He nodded toward the girl. “She told me that Peking wants me alive.”
“So I make a mistake. I got the orders wrong. And for God’s sake cut the crap — don’t try to con me! We’re both pros and you lost, so shut up and die like a pro.” The finger tightened on the trigger of the Webley.
Nick Carter’s admiration was not all feigned. “You’re a hard case,” he said. “Where are you from in the States? You still got any people there?”
“None of your screwing business!” The finger moved on the trigger.
Mike Bannion began to squirm and thrash around. He was helpless, held by the massive arms of the impostor as though he were a rag doll. But the struggle prolonged Nick’s life for another second. The man applied a powerful pressure to Mike Bannion’s throat. The little man tried to fight back, tugging and pulling at the muscular arm that was throttling him. His eyes found Nick for a moment and he tried to grin and panted, “I–I shorry, Nick. I found him — thought he you! I be good guy, untie and now… I so shorry…” He passed out.
His double grinned evilly at Nick. “Let that be a lesson to you! Never hire drunken help. Now you get—”
Nick clasped both hands. “If you’re really going to kill me I’d like to pray for a minute. Surely you won’t deny me that — no matter what you are now. You were once an American. I’d guess you were a soldier once. You must have had buddies who died in battle. You wouldn’t deny a man the right to a last prayer?”