Double Identity (7 page)

“Play along—go with the gag.”

Her nod was doubtful. “Yes— I suppose something like that. I did so. In due time the imposter arrived, looking exactly like you, Mr. Carter. I, er, played along. He asked many questions. So did I. I think he trusted me—he did not suspect that I knew the truth—but I do not think he told me anything of importance. Neither did I tell him anything that he did not already know, or could easily find out. My reason was simple— I did not
know
anything that would have been of interest to him. As I told you I am a High Priestess, not a spy or a secret agent. My role was to be secondary, passive—I was to pass on information from time to time if I thought it important. That is all. But Pei Ling was dying and had no one else to turn to—so he sent the runner to me.”

“And you sent it out to us—that means you’ve got a transmitter here in the lamasery!”

The devil mask nodded. Her voice sounded reluctant. “Yes—there is a transmitter. Well hidden. I was warned never to use it except in case of grave emergency—there are always Chinese patrols around and some of them have machines—whatever it is that they use to locate hidden transmitters?”

“DF—directional finding equipment,” said Nick. “Yes, the b—they would have those. But you seem to have gotten away with it, Dyla Lotti. You haven’t had any Chinese callers?”

“Not yet. I hope I never do. And I will be glad when this is all over— I am not well equipped for this work. I am a woman and I am afraid!”

“You’ve done fine so far,” N3 told her. “Great—we’d have been lost without you, Dyla Lotti. Really in a mess. We wouldn’t have known anything about this fake agent but for you—at least not until he had done a lot of damage;. As it is I’m not too far behind him.”

“He left four days ago.”

“Through the pass into Kashmir?”

She nodded. “Yes. He had a guide and ponies and five or six men. They did not stay here at the lamasery—the weather was good then and they camped in the gorge. I think they were Chinese soldiers without their uniforms. But that is only a guess—they kept to themselves. They would not even have anything to do with my girls, which is most unusual for soldiers.” Dyla Lotti permitted herself the slightest chuckle. Nick also thought he detected a note of slyness in her voice, but he ignored the opening—if it was that—and kept determinedly to the business at hand.

He rubbed his eyes; he was feeling drowsy again. Then he said: “So you didn’t tell him anything—you couldn’t. But what did
he
tell
you?
I’ve got to know that.”

“Not much. Only that he was going from here to Karachi on a highly secret mission. He did not say what it was, naturally. I pretended to believe him and I did not ask too many questions—I was afraid he would become suspicious and I did not wish to join Pei Ling.”

Karachi! Pakistan! N3 remembered Hawk’s words now. The Chinese Reds might attempt to put a finger into the India-Pakistan pie. Keep the pot boiling. It began to look as though Hawk had guessed right. Unless, of course, it was a deliberate plant, a feint, to draw Nick out of the way while the real monkey business was consummated elsewhere.

Somehow he thought not. Admittedly he wasn’t thinking too clearly at the moment, drugged as he was, but he agreed with Hawk that part of this business, at least, was a trap to draw him within killing distance. If that were true the phony agent would leave a clear trail. Another thing was that the agent, and his bosses in Peking, wouldn’t have expected their subterfuge to be discovered so soon. They would know that the CIA, and AXE, apparatus in Tibet was crude and primitive at this stage. They must have been gambling a little, depending on luck, and it had failed them.

Aloud Nick said: “I’m only four days behind him. I’ll get him. Thanks to you, Dyla Lotti.”

She rose and came around the bed to stand beside him. Her fragile red-tipped hand reached to touch his and lingered for a moment. Her skin was cool.

“I hope so, Mr. Carter. Now I must go. And you—you must take your medicine again and remain quiet.”

Nick found that he was clinging to her hand. “You said you would come back, Dyla Lotti. And can’t you stop calling me Mr. Carter? Nick would be better—more friendly.”

The long dark eyes regarded him through the slits in the devil mask. “I keep my word— Nick. I will come back. In an hour or so. But only if you are obedient and take your medicine—you will never catch this Chinese devil if you are ill.”

Nick grinned and let go of her hand. “Okay—I’ll take it. But I warn you—that potion of yours is pretty deadly. You may be sorry you made me drink it!”

She was at the opening in the wall now. She turned and again he could sense a smile beneath the mask. “I will not be sorry,” she said softly. “I know about the
sanga
root. And you must not forget, Nick, that if I am a High Priestess I am also a woman. I will return to you.”

As she was disappearing into the wall Nick said, “How about my guide, Hafed? I hope you’re taking good care of him.”

She laughed and the sound was like silver bells in the chamber, thin but resonant.

“I am not taking good care of your guide, Nick—but my priestesses are. I do not forbid it—they are also women. Young women. They drew lots and there were ten lucky winners.”

She disappeared. There was a faint grind of machinery and the brass monkey began to swing back into place.

N3 lay back on the bed and contemplated the ceiling. Ten lucky winners! Good God! He hoped Hafed was in form.

Minutes later the old crone came to him with another large mug of yak’s milk. Nick drank it down without dissent. Might as well play along, go the whole route. He knew, now, that
sanga
root, whatever else it was, was also an erotic drug. An aphrodisiac. Probably they had fed Hafed some of the same stuff. No wonder the girls were lining up.

He examined his professional conscience—the only sort he ever bothered about—and found it clear. He had done everything he could do for the moment. He had made his contact. He knew what there was to know. Not even Hawk would expect him to push through Karakoram Pass in a blizzard.

So bring on the music and the dancing girls, N3 told himself as he relaxed and watched the old priestess heap more charcoal on the brazier. He had nothing to lose but his virtue and that was more than a little tattered as it was. Yes—it looked like quite a night ahead. He never doubted for an instant that Dyla Lotti would return—the promise had been in her voice.

One tiny itch remained in his brain. She had shown him no sort of identification and had asked for none. She could not be expected, of course, to know about the Golden Number, but still—

He dismissed the thought. Dyla Lotti was an amateur, a novice, who had been pulled in in an emergency. Not to worry about it. Anyway he had his weapons and his wits—

Or did he have his wits? He found that he was laughing and rolling on the bed. The old priestess looked at him and smiled benignly and left, locking him in again.

Nick was aware of a high hyena sound in the chamber. His own laughter. If only Hawk could see him now! Probably he would get a lecture on morals and the dereliction of duty! Nick went off into another peal of laughter. His head was a feather pillow floating on his shoulders. The room was soft and fleecy and warm and snug—and what was the world outside to do with him?

“I might just decide to stay here forever,” he told the room. “Never leave! A thousand man-hungry women!” Ye Gods! He and old Hafed could have the ball of their lives!

It occurred to him that he had no idea what Dyla Lotti looked like. He couldn’t have cared less. She was a woman, soft and curved and perfumed. Maybe that hadn’t been a mask after all—maybe it was her real face! He still didn’t care. A man could learn to love a face like that in time—and the way he felt right now it wouldn’t take long!

Nick Carter stuffed one of the covers in his mouth to stifle his giggles. He felt so good—good—good . . .

Chapter 4

The Sweet Death

Nick dozed off but awoke immediately when he heard the brass monkey swing on its pivot. He sat bolt upright on the bed, dimly understanding what was happening to him—and caring nothing for it or any consequences. Lust simmered in him.

A single butter lamp flickered in the chamber. The brazier glared with a great red eye. Dyla Lotti came into the room and the monkey creaked shut behind her. She advanced to within a few feet of the bed and halted. Unspeaking, they gazed at each other.

Even without the devil mask she was tall. She would come nearly to his chin. She wore a single sari-like garment of translucent jade silk. Beneath it her skin, well oiled and scented, glistened with the shimmer of old ivory. A delicate pale yellow. Her hair was a burnished mass of black silk caught high and held with amber combs. Her mouth was small, a moist crushed rosebud, and when she spoke at I last her teeth glinted white in the semi-gloom.

“You like me, Nick?” There was a tease in her tone.

“I love you!” said Nick Carter. “Come here.”

“Not yet. Do not rush me.” Her smile was languid. “One does not hurry love—one lingers with it and enjoys it more.”

Desire welled in Nick. Such impetuosity might ruin everything—yet he could not control himself! He had to have her. Now! This minute—this second! He leaped from the bed and dropped his robe and slipped out of his shorts.

His lungs hurt with the effort of speech. “Come here,” he croaked again. “For God’s sake!”

Dyla Lotti gasped at the sight of him. Her red mouth formed a round O of surprise. She laughed, “You were right, Nick, dear. The
sanga
root
does
have side effects!”

Nick took a step toward her. Rage flared in him. What the hell—if this pale yellow bitch turned out to be a tease after all the buildup he—he would strangle her! So help him he would!

Dyla Lotti pointed a long scarlet fingernail at him. “Sit down on the bed,” she commanded quietly. Nick found himself obeying. It seemed right that he should obey her. Without question. His anger of a moment before faded and was lost.

N3 sat naked on the bed and stared at her. Dyla Lotti i, approached him slowly. He noted for the first time that she was wearing a pair of red high-heeled slippers. At the moment they did not appear incongruous.

She halted a scant twelve inches from him. He could see the gleaming fire of a huge sapphire, affixed to her navel, shining through her diaphanous gown like a beckoning eye. Her belly was flat and taut and the color of rich cream. It was cool and velvety when he leaned to kiss it.

Dyla Lotti put her hands on his shoulders and pushed him gently away. She kissed him on the forehead with moist hot lips, then drew back a little. She raised her arms and the garment fell away, a slithering froth washing the long perfection of her legs. N3 gazed at her in awe. Every pulse in his body clamored for her. This was perfection in a woman at last! The ultimate—the
plus!
What every man, in every time, had dreamed of and yearned for! For a moment doubt and fear struck at him—she was not real! He was dreaming her—under the power of the drug he was only dreaming her!

Dyla Lotti cupped her hands beneath her breasts and leaned to him, extending those succulent melons for his caress. “Kiss!”

Nick Carter obeyed. It was no dream. Her breasts were warm and cool and firm and soft. The perky small nipples were heavily rouged. They were aromatic with scent which stole into his nostrils as he kissed and laved them with his tongue. He noticed, almost without conscious perception, that she had painted spirals of gold around each breast. It did not seem particularly odd. Nothing was strange now—it was all perfection, all just right and as it should be.

Dyla Lotti stood with her fine legs wide apart, her head and shoulders back, her flat pelvis thrust forward. She ran her fingers through Nick’s smooth hair. She moved her pelvis in an undulating circular motion. She permitted the greedy search of his fingers. She moaned and moved closer to him, writhing and twisting as his hands sought out every secret.

Suddenly, with a breathless exclamation, she fell across him on the bed. Her long legs clamped him in a vise of velvet flesh and he was powerless to consummate his fierce desire, to loose the awful red tension that was tearing him to bits. When Nick began to curse, to protest bitterly, she closed his mouth with her own.

Her mouth was avid, even cruel. It sucked at his and her tongue went crazy, lashing his desire even higher. She kissed him with a vampire’s eagerness and her fragile small hands toyed with him. It was beyond bearing! Nick reached for her. Enough of this damned nonsense!

Dyla Lotti was too quick for him. Like a wraith her slippery oiled flesh slipped from his grasp. She put a finger on his lips. “Lie quietly,” she commanded. “Lie quietly and listen, my lover. I desire you as much as you desire me—but it cannot be! I am a High Priestess— I have taken vows of virginity!”

“This is a hell of a time to think of that!”

She touched his lips again with her finger. “I said to be quiet! I will talk. I will explain—and you will not be sorry, my Nick. Only be patient. There are other ways, you know, ways that can give great pleasure. You must remember where you are, my dear one. This is not the United States where everything, even love, is done in a great hurry. This is Tibet and we are very near to India—have you never heard of the Kama Sutra?”

N3 fought his way out of the drug haze long enough to say that he had indeed heard of the Kama Sutra, that he had read it, and he was damned if he was interested in Hindu erotic literature at the moment!

Her tongue was a sweet lance of honey in his mouth and she was whispering, “The Kama Sutra mentions alternatives, Nick. Other ways. So you see I am not going to disappoint you—so now be quiet and be patient and come with me into the perfumed garden. Close your eyes, my dear one, and think no thoughts. Do not try to understand what I do —only enjoy it. I will take you to Paradise!”

Nick Carter stared at the ceiling. It appeared to move in the faint light of the single butter lamp. Dyla Lotti left him for a moment—he heard the faint
slip-slip
of her bare feet—and the odor of incense began to permeate the room. She had thrown it into the brazier. The stuff had the pleasant pungency of burning wood, only much lighter and sweeter and with the barest suggestion of a flesh smell.