Spy Killer (5 page)

“I might remind you, Kurt Reid, that something of the fate of China rests on your shoulders.”

“You went far enough around to put it there,” snapped Kurt. “All right. I’ll try it. Let me up from here.”

Captain Yang unlashed him and pulled him to his feet. Although Kurt was tall, Captain Yang loomed over him like a mountain which has a summer house at its summit.

Captain Yang said, “I think we will have a very enjoyable trip, bucko mate.”

CHAPTER FOUR

Danger in Kalgan

I
T
was a very different looking Kurt Reid who arrived one night on the Peking-Suiyuan Railway in Kalgan. He stepped from the train in the company of a gigantic merchant who had six servants unload their baggage.

Kurt Reid was dressed in a well-tailored dark suit and wore a pearl gray hat. He was clean shaved again and looked as much unlike the bucko mate as had the prisoner of Lin Wang. His clear black eyes searched through the crowd as do those of men about to hang, and he found no friendship or promise of rescue. Yang Ch’ieu nudged him, as a signal to move along.

They picked their way through littered streets toward a small hotel. Japanese soldiers were in evidence everywhere, dressed in mustard-colored uniforms, officers marked by red cap bands. Guards with fixed bayonets stood before many entrances. Japan was about to take over North China, and Kalgan, near the Great Wall, was the jumping off place.

Kurt Reid felt very tired and down in the mouth. He had been unable to locate Anne Carsten in Shanghai, although he had tried his best to find her at the risk of his own liberty. And he had approached the puzzle of Lin Wang’s move no further.

On the surface, it would appear that Lin Wang was fighting to retain North China, and to do so, Lin Wang considered it vital that this
Takeki
person, supposed to be a Japanese spy, be killed. But the closer Kurt Reid came to it, the more convinced he was that killing a Japanese spy in the Japanese lines was an impossibility.

But with that confession of Bonner’s as a lure and with Yang here beside him, Kurt knew he would try.

As they rounded a corner and pressed their way through a camel caravan which had stopped in the street, Kurt drew a sudden breath of surprise, causing Yang to look down at him quickly.

Kurt walked on calmly enough although he was certain that he had seen a familiar face in the crowd. Maybe all White Russians looked alike, and maybe there was more than one fur hat and coat like that in China, but something more than sight had given him his information.

Varinka Savischna was here! He had seen her entering a shop.

That bothered him more than a little, and heartened him a great deal. On one hand he hated to see Varinka in a Japanese town, but on the other, her presence might be an omen of good luck. If he could see her, maybe he would be able to find out where this
Takeki
might be found.

With springier stride he followed Yang into the hotel and registered. The six servants, hiding their warlike faces under their hats, made their way back to the lesser ground floor quarters.

Kurt’s room was a small affair, boasting only a bed and a chair and a picture of the Mikado, put up by the hotel keeper, doubtless, to show Japan that he had their cause at heart.

Yang had gone to his own room, and for a moment Kurt fondled the idea of getting out and away. But when he looked down into the street he saw one of the six slowly puffing a cigarette at the hotel entrance. The man was armed, and even though a street fight might give away their identity, these guards knew what to expect from Lin Wang as the price of failure.

A man in a blue gown thrust his head into the doorway and said, “Everything all right, sir?”

“Yes,” said Kurt. “Quite all right.”

But the small yellow-faced man did not go away. He entered and patted the bedspread smooth and adjusted the pillow. “Anything I might tell the gentleman?” he said.

“No,” replied Kurt.

“Pardoning your honor, but this one is a good guide. He knows all things.”

Kurt studied the man for a moment and then said, “You can tell me something, if you promise to forget the question immediately. Where can I find this one known as
Takeki
?”

The other shook his head. “I do not know.” He went out.

Kurt stretched himself on the bed and thought for a long time. He wondered how he was going to find this Japanese spy in the first place. Perhaps the spy would come to see him. That was a plan. If Kurt let it be known that he had some vital information about South China, the spy might present himself. Distasteful as the job was, it had to be done.

He wondered for a long time why Varinka was here, and how he could find her again. But then Kalgan was not so big and Varinka’s exotic beauty was easily spotted in an Oriental crowd. Odd that he had crossed her track again.

His ponderings were interrupted by a knock on the door. Without knowing quite why he did so, Kurt glanced out of the window and saw that the guard was gone.

He opened the door and fell back. A Japanese officer and a squad of infantrymen blocked the passage. Their dark faces were set in a military glower and their caps sat precisely upon the tops of their heads. Their blued bayonets shimmered dully.

The officer said, “You are under arrest. Quietly come with us.”

No man is fool enough to launch himself against eight bayonets. Kurt picked up his hat, set it on the back of his head and fell in between the files.

Yang burst out of his room and stood gaping at the squad. Then, startling in his iron face, two great tears welled up out of his eyes and ran down his cheeks. Yang was an excellent actor.

Yang fell upon Kurt and wept loudly. “Do not take him,
taicho.
He is my friend!” wailed Yang, shaking like a mountain in an earthquake. But under cover of the sobs he whispered in a voice like a saw, “Keep your mouth shut, fool. Killing will be too good for you.”

The captain pried Yang away and pushed him back against the wall. Yang submitted tearfully, and Kurt was led away.

The squad marched him through the crowded street. People paused to stare and point. Little children, faces round and mouths filled with jeers, ran on either side of the files.

“It is some great traitor,” ran the whisper. “They are going to execute him!”

Kurt watched the cloth shoes going up and down on either side of him. He was unable to account for this sudden turn of events and he looked bleakly ahead to even a worse fate than that promised by Yang.

They went into a big stone house which served as Japanese headquarters and Kurt was left standing before a rough desk. The man who sat there was small and wiry. His eyes were hidden behind plate-glass spectacles which made him look like a submarine monster. His hair stood straight up, like a pig-bristle brush.

Kurt saw another beside the desk, a small man in a blue gown. The man he had taken for a bellhop at the hotel.

“Is this the man?” said the officer at the desk.

“Yes, sir. He asked me about
Takeki,
sir.”

The officer nodded and peered nearsightedly at Kurt. “Why did you ask that question? What is your name?”

“My name is Smith,” said Kurt. “I was merely curious, that is all.”

“Please do not lie to me,” said the officer, rubbing his hands thoughtfully together. “Your name is Kurt Reid. Now go on.”

Kurt blinked. It seemed that he was fated to be known mysteriously by everyone. How had this information come to this Japanese headquarters?

“Why, yes, so it is,” said Kurt. “But I was still curious about
Takeki
. I have some information for him.”

“For him? Ah, well, you can give it to me.”

“Only to
Takeki
.”

“You’re obstinate,” said the Japanese. “Ah, well,
taicho,
take this man back to the cells.” And to Kurt, “If
Takeki
comes, perhaps you will be able to give your information first hand. If not . . .” The officer shrugged and went back to work.

Kurt fell into the files again and was presently thrust into a barred enclosure which resembled a jail less than a wild animal cage. He was the only prisoner there.

The door clanged and Kurt was again left to his thoughts. At first he was very angry. He stomped up and down the paved floor, swearing and kicking at the bars, but at last his anger burned itself out and he sat down on a bench.

“One jail after another,” said Kurt. “I should have let them hang me the first time.”

He grinned at that and stretched out, glad to have a few hours’ sleep away from the scrutiny of Yang and the six members of the Death Squad.

After what seemed a minute or two, but which was really six hours, Kurt was awakened by the slither of a rope into the enclosure.

He propped himself up on one elbow and stared about him, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. He was cold, and the bench had bitten deeply into his hard body, but he had the feeling that something was wrong and he came alert in an instant.

He saw stars over him and noticed for the first time that the enclosure had no roof. The bars were bent into hooks at the top to discourage anyone from climbing out. Next he saw a long snakelike thing which made him jump.

He touched it in the darkness and found that it was a rope. Puzzled and holding his breath, he stood up.

A scraping sound came from the top of the bars, and presently Kurt saw a man outlined against the sky. Slowly the man began to descend.

Until it was too late, Kurt thought that Varinka had located him and was about to engineer his escape. He stood by until the hazily seen Chinese was firmly on the floor.

A knife glittered in the stranger’s hand. The Chinese took a step toward Kurt.

“Captain Yang,” said the guard in a low voice, “has passed the sentence upon you. You have failed Lin Wang, you are no further use to him. I am a member of the Death Squad.”

The man dived in and the knife came down. Kurt was rocked back. The bars creaked as they were struck. Kurt caught the knife wrist and pried it back. He had been too startled to cry out, and now he needed all his breath.

The garlic-reeking mouth of the Chinese was close to Kurt’s face. The man was trying to bring up his knees for a numbing blow. Kurt drove in his right fist and heard it crunch against a bone.

The Chinese gave ground slowly. Kurt pushed up with all his might, striving to keep back the knife, but he was dealing with a man who had fought with steel his whole life.

The arm went limp. Kurt was thrown off his balance. He let go the wrist for a fraction of a second. The knife came down with vicious strength.

Kurt lurched back, deflecting the blade by making it hit his shoulder broadside. He doubled up and dropped to the floor. The Chinese attempted to pin Kurt down, but Kurt suddenly exploded.

On top of the Chinese, Kurt secured the dagger hand with his knee and then with both hands, Kurt raised the close-shaven head and slammed it back to the concrete. Once, twice, the third time the head did not bounce. The man’s eyes rolled far up into his head. A sticky smear of blood stained the concrete black in the starlight.

Kurt stood up and rubbed his sleeve across his forehead. He felt drained and shaking. One slip and he would be lying there instead of the Chinese.

Abruptly he remembered that other members of the Death Squad might be waiting outside.

“Guard!” cried Kurt.
“Mamori!”

The rope had looked inviting until he thought about Yang. Now a barred enclosure was just the thing.

Doors slammed, men came running, rifles clanking. Flashlights stabbed through the bars.

Japanese entered and looked down at the Chinese and then at Kurt.

“He tried to kill me,” began Kurt.

“But how did he get in?” demanded an officer.

Kurt pointed to the rope.

“Who was he?”

Kurt thought it best to be discreet on that point. “A man who thought I had wronged him.”

“That’s likely,” said the officer with a grunt. “He would hate very well to make an attempt on your life in here.”

The men started to go away, taking the dead man with them. “Wait a minute,” said Kurt. “I’m not going to stay in here.”

“Why not?”

“The man might have friends.”

“All right,” said the officer, “come into the guard room, the
tsumesho.
”

That suited Kurt very well, and he was escorted out of the enclosure and ordered to sit down along the wall beside a small heater. The soldiers there looked curiously at him.

When the officer had gone, a small fellow with a pale face and a scholarly air said politely, “How do you do,” in English. It was probably all that he knew.

In Japanese, the others began to talk about Kurt and wonder why he was there. Their conversation continued for a half hour and was of a very personal and critical nature. They discussed how pale Kurt was and how big, and said that he must be a very great thief because all foreign devils were great thieves.

Kurt listened to them with a blank face for a while. Their inquisitiveness made him forget Varinka and Anne Carsten and Lin Wang. He began to cheer up.

In Japanese, Kurt said, “Would you mind getting me a glass of water,
tomodachi
?”