Nick was boiling with rage and frustration. To be taken so easily! By such a simple trick! The Basque had been as fiendishly clever as a child. At the last moment, just before the caravan began to trek, he had marked every tribesman with a red crescent mark. An hour later he had halted the caravan for an inspection. Nick had never had a chance. He had tried to sidle away, to vanish in the shadows, but the outer circle of horsemen had hemmed him in. The evasive attempt had called attention to him, and he had known the futility of resistance when three or four of the Kurds seized him. They had dragged him back to the Basque's sumptuously furnished little trailer. There he had been searched and his weapons taken: the Luger, the stiletto, the gas pellet and four fragmentation grenades he had had taped to his belt. They missed the big one — his sole remaining Tiny Tim — which he wore in a bag between his legs like a third testicle. This oversight seemed of small moment at the time — N3 had never been more helpless. The Kurds had been rough and now he stood before the Basque disheveled and bleeding from a dozen cuts, his hands bound painfully behind him.
The Basque regarded him from behind a small field desk. He picked up a pencil and tapped with it on the desk for a moment before he spoke. Behind him sat two neat little Chinese. They regarded Nick with bland dark eyes in which he read only curiosity. He meant nothing to them. Not at this stage. They were dressed in neat padded uniforms. Each wore a round peaked cap bearing a single red star.
The Basque had piggy little eyes surrounded by heavy scar tissue. He spoke in a matter of fact voice. He might have been interviewing Nick for a position.
"Your name?"
"John R. Thomson. No P." It was a name he used for such occasions.
The Basque smiled faintly. "That's a lie, but it doesn't matter. Not in the least. You're an AXE man?"
"AXE?" Nick shrugged. "I don't know what you're talking about."
At the word AXE one of the little Chinese said something to his companion. They whispered for a moment, then one of them spoke to the Basque.
"AXE? This man is of that organization? The American murder society?"
The Basque nodded. "Right. Watch. I'll prove it." He made a sign to the two huge Kurds who were guarding the door of the trailer. They seized Nick from behind. He did not struggle. He might get a chance, one chance, to get out of this, but the time was not yet.
The Basque came around his desk and rolled up Nick's sleeve. He grunted in satisfaction and pointed to the tiny AXE symbol tattooed on the left arm just above the elbow. "You see," said the Basque in triumph. "I have seen that mark before. Once before. I killed that sonofabitch!"
N3 did not flicker an eyelash. But he filed it away. That might be Matthews, he thought, who had never come back from a mission in Iran.
The two Chinese were hissing and buzzing now. They stared at Nick with narrowed cold eyes, as though they were looking at the Devil himself. One of them said: "Our government would very much like to have this man when you are through with him, Mr. Gonzalez. Perhaps that could be arranged?"
The Basque went back to his desk. He frowned. "I doubt it. My — some people in Istanbul are anxious to talk to him, too. You people will have to wait your turn. Anyway this is still my operation. Don't forget that! You people haven't moved in yet. I've got my own plans for our friend here, Mr… er… Mr. Thomson? No P?"
The Basque smiled cruelly at Nick. "I hear you've been raising a lot of hell in Istanbul?"
Nick returned a smile of derision. "A little, maybe. I try to kill rats whenever I find them."
The Basque ignored that. He said, "You're alone, of course?"
"Of course. I always work alone."
"Probably another lie. But I'll find out. I sent a party back along our trail to check."
Those six tribesmen he had seen pulling out and backtracking! Nick found himself praying that Mija would obey orders. Would stay in the cave until six hours had elapsed. If she did the chances were good the Kurds would miss her. If not — Inshallah!
The Basque made a mistake then. As simple — and deadly — a mistake as Nick had made about the red marks. The Basque turned to the two Chinese and began to discuss his plans — in fluent Chinese. It was such a complete fool's error that at first Nick was suspicious. Then, as he listened with a blank face of ignorance, he realized that the Basque and the Chinese were simply assuming, without much thought, that their prisoner could not speak or understand Chinese. Nick listened avidly, careful not to betray his comprehension.
The Basque, ignoring Nick for the moment, was pointing out something on a map. His Chinese was of the south, a Cantonese dialect, but the two little men appeared to understand him perfectly. So did N3.
"This is the Kardu River," the Basque explained. "A tributary of the Tigris. We have never used this ford before and probably it is not mined or guarded. It forms the border between Turkey and Syria. If we get across there — good! If we run into trouble we'll go a mile west, where there is another ford, and cross there while the trouble is going on here!" He stabbed the map with a thick forefinger. "They've got over five hundred miles of border to patrol, the Turks and Syrians, and not much to do it with! I don't expect any trouble. They won't have more than one patrol to fifty miles — they're spread too thin. So we use the goats and half a dozen Kurds as a decoy, see what happens, and then I'll take it from here."
One of the Chinese hissed and looked worried. "You say there are sometimes mines?"
The Basque shrugged. "Sometimes. Not often, but now and then we run into a mine field. I use goats." The Basque folded the map and turned to look at Nick. In English he said: "I said that they want you back in Istanbul — and I suppose I should follow orders, but I'm running things down here. Something they forget at times! And Fm a man that likes a little fun — a little amusement. I think you're going to provide it, AXE man! Would you like me to explain?"
Nick kept his face expressionless. He was sure he knew what was coming. There was nothing he could do about it at the moment. He said, "Go ahead. Coming from you it's sure to be nasty."
The Basque showed his tobacco stained teeth. "Not as nasty as it might be. I'm going to give you a chance. I could turn you over to my Kurds, you know. You wouldn't like that, AXE man! Believe me. But well make a little game of chance out of it — a gamble. Fm going to tie you on a camel and let you be a mine detector for me."
N3 gave him a hard grin. "And if there are no mines, if I get over the border safely, then you'll let me go free?"
The Basque broke into laughter. He shoved a long brown cigar into his flattened face. "Oh, yes! I'll let you go — right back to Istanbul! I told you — they're real anxious to see you there! So anxious they're sending a plane first thing in the morning. But maybe you'd better hope you're not around! There's a certain surgical gentleman who likes to experiment with people." The Basque laughed. He fit his cigar and puffed blue smoke, squinting his little eyes at Nick. "And when he gets through with you, AXE man, the Chinese here want you. You're quite in demand. If I were you, I'd pray that the camel steps on a mine!"
The back wall of the trailer was lined with green steel consoles. Now one of them began to buzz and a speaker rasped metallically.
The Basque knocked ash from his cigar. "That'll be Istanbul now, wanting to know what goes on." He grinned at Nick. "I'll have to lie a little. Fm afraid. Istanbul's not going to approve of our little game of chance."
The Basque pave a harsh order in Kurdish and the two guards took Nick outside and bound him to a camel. They bound him with leather thongs, tightly and without mercy, and drove the camel into the midst of the herd of sacrificial goats.