"Goodbye," said the two amazed fishermen. They stared after the crazy Effendim. They stared at each other, Hakki put his finger to his temple and twirled it. The Effendim was indeed nuts! Was he not returning to the sanitarium, where undoubtedly he would be welcomed back and cared for? He shrugged. Inshallah! He picked up a net. "Come, old one! There is still a living to make! I doubt we will ever see backsheesh from that one!"
The old man nodded in agreement. "Evet. You are right. Allah has stricken that one! He is of a type who thinks he owns the Blue Mosque, no doubt! Let us work!"
As Nick approached the sanitarium he slackened his pace and trod water, his head barely above water. No doubt Dr. Six would have his husky attendents out, making a cursory search, but that was not the AXE man's immediate concern. He was looking for a way back into the place. There was a little unfinished business!
He found an iron-barred water gate barricading a narrow channel leading in under the building. The gate was chained and padlocked. No longer used, thought Nick. In the old days some rich Turk would have used it to make trips to Istanbul by boat, leaving and returning by way of his own basement. Most convenient.
And most convenient now. Nick was over the iron gate in a minute and walking toward a black arch that led into the lower parts of the sanitarium. He could walk now on the muddy bottom — the water was only chest high. As he was about to enter the gloom of the arch he heard voices and footsteps and stopped to submerge to his ears. Not a ripple stirred as he waited and watched and listened.
There were two of them. Big men in white trousers and jackets. Dr. Six's muscle boys. One of them was playing a flashlight carelessly about the gardens bordering the channel.
"This is all a lot of nonsense," said one of the men. "If the poor fool fell into the Bosphorus he is gone by now. That current is strong — his body is in the Sea of Marmara by now. We could be in our quarters drinking."
The other man grunted. "The raki will keep." He chuckled. "So will the American Effendim, in the cold water. Until the fishes are through with him. I agree that this is foolishness, but it is what the doctor ordered, no?" And he laughed at his own little joke.
"Yok." said the other attendent in a surly tone. "I have the bad cold as it is. I need raki! Let us go."
"A minute," agreed the other. He flashed the light out over the narrow, black strip of water where Nick was hiding. Nick slid quietly under the surface. He had expected this, was prepared for it. He could stay under for nearly four minutes if he must. No sweat there.
He kept his eyes open under water, saw the filtered white flash of the light as it traversed the surface over him. Then it was gone. Nick waited a full two minutes before he came up again. The attendants were gone. Now for it! Nick waded in under the black archway to the landing stage he knew must be there. The channel would lead him into the very guts of the building!
Ten minutes later N3 was on a second floor balcony peering into a long room. Heavy velvet hangings had not been drawn across the French windows and he could see clearly. He watched Dr. Joseph Six and the three men with him in the room. They were grouped around a table examining something with great interest.
N3 allowed himself a grim smile. They were examining their own death! As he watched them the plan sprang full born into his brain. They were examining his weapons, which the Syndicate man in the plane had been thoughtful enough to bring back from the battlefield beside the Kardu River.
So ironic, as Dr. Six himself might have put it! He thought himself quite safe. The Greek islands must seem very near. He planned to enjoy his retirement and his money, did the good Dr. Six.
Outside the French windows N3, clad only in cruddy and bedraggled shorts, his lean body not of concrete after all, for it was slowly leaking blood from a dozen punctures in the tanned hide, bided his time and waited his moment. He was running on his last reserves of strength now and he knew it. But he would last long enough — long enough to kill the vulture faced man in there. The man who now was toying with Pierre, the gas pellet, turning it over in his long surgeon's hands.
The gas bomb puzzled them. Nick saw them pass it around and exchange comments. It came back to Dr. Six and he examined it again with a magnifying glass, his high brow wrinkled in thought. The Luger and the stiletto lay on the table at his elbow, but he paid them no attention. They held no secrets. It was the gas bomb, Pierre, that held their interest. Dr. Six handled it gingerly. He was cautious. The little round pellet was an unknown quality. Possibly, thought Nick, the doctor was remembering a certain atomic explosion that had taken place beside the Kardu?
It was time! While the pellet was in full view on the table. The doctor had just put it there and was talking now and pointing to the little gas bomb.
Nick Carter put on an expression of utmost anguish. He crashed through the French doors into the long room. The four men at the table turned in shocked surprise. They stared.
Nick staggered toward the table. "Hel… me… I… so sick! I… I dying! You please… help me!" He fell to his knees, his face contorted as if in great pain. He extended his arms to Dr. Six. "H… help me!"
Dr. Six was the first to recover his wits. He rose and came toward Nick, a pleased expression on his narrow blade-like face. "My poor man," he said. His tone was soft, nearly tender. "My poor fellow — so you've come back. How clever of you! We were worried, very worried. But it's all right now — certainly we'll help you."
He assisted Nick to stand, supporting the swaying AXE man. Nick pretended to be about to vomit. One of the other men said sharply, "Get him out of here! He'll ruin the rugs."
"Now… now," said Dr. Six. "Is that any way to talk about a poor sick man? But you are right — he must go to his bed at once. He is very ill — very ill!"
Nick clung to the doctor. "T-thank you," he gasped. "I… I appreciate! I… ohhhh… so sick!" He broke away from Dr. Six and lurched toward the table. The three men still seated there drew away in alarm. Nick fell over the table. As he did so he scooped up the little gas pellet. He twisted the dial control and dropped it on the floor in the same flashing and indetectable movement. He held his breath. He could not breathe again in this room!
Dr. Joseph Six had not survived so long by being a fool. He alone sensed danger. His vulture's face twisted in alarm and he moved swiftly toward the door. "I'll get one of the attendants," he said crisply. "Ja-we must put this poor man to bed. I think…"
The other three men were already dying. The doctor sprinted for the door. N3 went after him in a long diving tackle. He brought him down just short of the door. By now the deadly fumes were filling the room. Nick sat on the writhing Dr. Six. "Your turn now," he told the man, careful not to inhale, pushing the words out with little exhalations. "Your turn now, Dr. Six! Remind you of the gas chambers? But I'll tell you a secret — don't breathe and you'll be all right!"
The emaciated man was powerless against N3's strength. He kicked and clawed and held his breath. His feet, in shiny patent leather shoes, beat a tattoo on the rug. Nick sat on him and watched calmly.
Dr. Joseph Six held his breath as long as he could. He slowly turned purple with the effort. A minute passed — then the doctor could stand it no longer. He took his last breath! He stiffened and his face contorted and the scrawny body arched under Nick. He died.
"Inshallah," said Nick softly. "Allah — and Pierre!"
He left the body and went back to the table. One of the men had fallen to the floor, the other two were dead in their chairs. Nick picked up his Luger, empty now, and the little stiletto. It had been a long time and his own lungs were beginning to pain him. Still a minute or a little less. Time enough.