Spy Killer (9 page)

CHAPTER EIGHT

Lin Wang

K
URT
thrust the rifle through a loophole and slid off the safety catch. Varinka was standing beside him with the other weapon.

“I aim for the tires,” said Varinka. “You aim for the driver. And don’t let them get by!”

Kurt, although he did not understand the move, was quite ready to fix up any number of Japanese. The car was traveling straight toward them. The road bent around the old tower like an ox yoke.

Varinka fired and flipped out the smoking cartridge. Kurt aimed at the base of the windshield. His first and Varinka’s second sounded as one explosion.

The machine yawed wildly. A pair of mustard-colored arms were flung out to one side. Dust and motion blurred the scene. The car seemed to trip over itself. It slid sideways toward a ditch, struck the embankment and went over, rolling, strewing men down the slope.

Kurt ran out, arriving at the top of the bank before any of the spilled occupants could move. The men were five in number, all of them Japanese.

But wait! A man-mountain was moving sluggishly to his feet. He turned and looked up and then bellowed a curse. Captain Yang Ch’ieu sent wild fingers into his tunic for his automatic.

Dropping to one knee, Kurt leveled the rifle and sighted with the battle sight. He fired at Yang’s chest. Yang roared and, waving his gun, began to run up the slope.

Kurt fired a second time and worked the bolt. Yang still came on, his flat face twisted with hate.

A third time Kurt sent a slug into the charging body, but he might as well have fired at the stones. Yang would not be stopped. With a sudden sense of panic, Kurt sent bullets four and five into the towering hulk.

Yang was a yard away from him. Yang was setting himself to fire and Kurt’s magazine was empty.

Swinging the rifle about his head like a club, Kurt leaped up. The automatic flamed in his face, searing him with burning grains of powder.

Kurt dodged. He was off balance and falling. Yang, with a loud cry, depressed the muzzle of the automatic for the
coup de grâce
. Kurt cried out and rolled away, but there was no escaping that muzzle.

Suddenly Yang folded into himself. His tremendous body plunged rigid into the dust, sending up a swirling cloud. His fingers clawed at the ground. A look of surprise came over his face.

Wheeling, Kurt saw that Varinka was holding the three live Japanese motionless with the threat of her rifle. Her face was very strained. She had not dared deflect her attention from those armed men even for an instant.

Kurt looked back at Yang. The man was riddled. Every bullet had plowed through the man mountain, three hitting vital spots. But the great vitality of the Chinese captain had scorned the mailed fist of death until the last. An ordinary man would have dropped under the first bullet.

“Tie them,” said Varinka.

Kurt found cord and belts and laid the three Japanese in a neat row beside their smoking car. When he was finished, he saw that Varinka had fished a black satchel from the wreckage and was now holding it triumphantly.

“Come along,” said Varinka, “I think, perhaps, that we have done a good job here.” She looked thoughtful for a moment, and then said, “Wait. I think you had better take that officer’s boots and cloak and cap.”

Kurt did so without question. He pulled off his own shoes, tucked his pants into the boots, donned the cloak and the red-banded cap. “Now what?”

“I have one thing which they do not know,” said Varinka. She pulled a telegraph blank from her tunic and showed it to him. “Lin Wang is waiting for us. The copy was brought to me by one of my men. Come, let us be going. It would be a crime to keep Lin Wang waiting.”

Kurt began to have some vague idea of what this was all about. He slid in under the wheel and drove at an easy pace down the bumpy, deserted road, still heading east.

Varinka pulled a thick belt from her waist. “When we have gone a little way, you stop again.”

He stopped and she showed him that she had phials of dye secreted in the belt—a part of a spy’s equipment. She made him rub it on his face and hands. She fixed a small band behind his ears which pulled his eyes up at the corners, giving them a slant.

When she had made a presentable Japanese officer out of him, she crawled into the rear seat and laid down, spreading a robe over her.

“I am wanted. You are a staff officer. Drive on, my Kurt, and I will tell you when we get to Lin Wang’s.”

All through that day they made their way along the base of the hills which bound China on the north. They were skirting Japanese territory, but the Japanese would obviously expect them to head deep into China and take refuge there. They met no troops, only dull-faced Chinese and Mongols who were interested only in minding their own business in this bandit-ridden, war-torn land.

Kurt’s nerves were on edge, but Varinka did not seem to mind. The tight tape about his head made his eyes smart, but that could not be helped. When dusk came at last he was very glad to stop.

“We are almost there,” said Varinka. “Here at the right there is an old, deserted monastery. See it?”

Kurt did. The crumpled ruin looked desolate in the twilight, sprawling up a hillside. He nodded.

“The plan is short. Lin Wang is to die. We cannot kill him among his troops, that is impossible. You are to go to Lin Wang—dangerous, I know, but necessary—and tell him that Captain Yang and a
taisho
of the Japanese are waiting for a parley at this monastery. If Captain Yang is supposed to be there, then Lin Wang will suspect no plot and he will come. Let him bring three or four soldiers if he wills. Tell him that the
taisho
is afraid to be seen going to Lin Wang.

“Lin Wang understands that this must be a secret affair and he’ll be the last one to insist on a large bodyguard. He will come gladly and then . . . I suppose you will call it murder.”

“I’ll be very glad to see him dead,” said Kurt.

“You follow them. When they come here, you get the guard. I’ll get Lin Wang. His headquarters are about two miles down the road. Wait a while until I set the trap. Lead him straight up this road and to this entrance, then drop behind.”

“Then . . .” said Kurt, “Lin Wang is selling out to the Japanese!”

“Right. He is a traitor to China and needs killing for the safety of the country. He sells his regimental support to Japan for the money which is in this black bag. There you have it.”

“And you’re not a Japanese spy?”

“No. I am a supporter of China. And the last duty I have is to kill Lin Wang. Go.”

Kurt shook her hand and found that it trembled a little. She weaved close to him and he kissed her. She pushed him away toward Lin Wang’s headquarters.

He took his time going, waiting until the evening meal would be over, letting Varinka set her trap. He had parked the car behind the monastery, ready for instant flight.

Once he heard a furtive movement behind him, but he could see nothing. When the darkness had fully closed in he changed his course and walked far off to the right of the road. That he might be going to his death did not bother him. He was marveling too much at Varinka’s courage. To outwit a whole country and earn herself the name of
Takeki,
the Courageous!

When he came to the ancient fort he saw that guards were posted at the entrance, gray clad and very alert. But no other soldiers were about.

For a long time, nearly an hour, Kurt stayed in the shadows. He wanted to make certain that these two guards were the only men about the outside in case matters called for a hasty escape.

He was about to go down and announce himself when a small group came hurrying along the road. Two soldiers were dragging a third person, but from the distance, Kurt could not make out who that person was.

They came from the opposite direction from that which Kurt had taken, dispelling his fears that it might be Varinka. The three went past the guards and a door clanged shut behind them.

Kurt gripped his cloak tightly about him and with a purposeful stride, approached the two guards. His heart was hammering against his ribs, but he showed nothing of it in his face. He was too tall for a Japanese, he knew, but then some Japanese were tall.

The guards leveled their rifles at him. He made his Chinese crisp. “I am
Taicho
Shimazu, to see General Lin Wang on business.”

They saw his cap and red band then and dropped their guns to their sides. One of them said, “He expects you, Captain.”

That was easy enough. But maybe getting out would be another matter. Kurt kicked the door open and shut and, for some reason, thought locking it would be a good idea. Silently he dropped the chains in place. A moment later he heard a motor rumble outside and a squeal of brakes. That puzzled him, but it was too late to turn back now. If this was a Japanese officer . . .

He went on down the long, dimly lit hall, his boot-heels ringing and sending the echoes rocking emptily. He pushed open another door.

Lin Wang sat in a puddle of yellow light, flanked by two sentries. The rest of the room was dim. Great shadows flickered along the walls like crawling monsters about to pounce. Lin Wang was looking through candle flame at two soldiers and a prisoner.

Kurt was unnoticed. Something was familiar about the prisoner. Brown hair, slender shoulders. A military cape drooped down from the throat. The hair was disheveled.

Kurt almost cried out. He swallowed the sound and sagged against the door. The prisoner was Anne Carsten!

Lin Wang was speaking in English. His hands rattled before his twisted face. The black caverns criss-crossed his scaly visage and made his expression diabolical. His eyes were screwed up into black pinpoints, showing muddy blue flecks in the saffron light. When he spoke a small shower of scales fluttered to the desk.

“I have wanted to see you for some little time,” said Lin Wang to Anne Carsten. “I once saw you coming out of a ballroom. You looked at me and shuddered and said to your companion that I was loathesome. Oh, I know how you felt. You are a beautiful woman. You could have the pick of men, but now the choice comes down to me. Tonight I am leaving China. As soon as a certain messenger—”

Anne shuddered and the ragged cape whispered against the floor. She was very white, but she held her chin up and looked coldly at Lin Wang.

Her voice was throaty. “Tonight you are leaving China. But I am not going with you. Try what you please, Lin Wang. I have ways of putting myself out of this world. In a necklace about my throat . . .” She clutched it. “I carry a swift poison.” She pried the cover off. “One move and it goes down.”

She had spoken too soon. The soldier beside her whipped it out of her hand. The broken golden chain slinked musically on the floor.

Lin Wang saw Kurt then. He looked up expectantly. “Pardon this, Captain. But a small side play. She is beautiful, don’t you think?” He spoke in Japanese, out of courtesy.

“Kirei na,”
said Kurt. “She is beautiful indeed—if you like white women. But this is not the time to speak of women.” He felt a cold sweat starting out against his palms. Anne Carsten looked dazedly at him without a trace of recognition. After that first glance he had not dared to look at Anne.

“You have the money?” said Lin Wang. “Where is the
taisho
?”

“He is waiting for you. He was afraid to approach you direct. I will lead you to him.”

“Very well, but here, sit down there in that chair and have a glass of sake. I drink sake, now that I am to become wholly Japanese.” He laughed at his joke and his fingers clattered against one another like a skeleton dancing. His hunched back shook.

“There is little time,
taisho
.”

“Be not so impatient,” replied Lin Wang irritably. “If I go now this woman may kill herself before I return.”

Kurt chose a chair in the shadow and wrapped his cloak more tightly about him. A soldier handed him a glass of the hot red fluid.

Lin Wang was looking at Anne again. He licked his flaky lips. “Come, there’s no need of wasting time. You have been brought here by my men. No one will ever know where you have gone. You might as well . . .” He stood up and came forward, moving one foot heavily along the floor, hitching himself along the edge of the desk, leaning heavily to the right.

Rifles and soldiers. Guards outside. Kurt sat very still. The liquor gagged him. He was looking at Anne again. She was not standing in very good light and he could not clearly see her face. Something was oddly wrong about her, something Kurt could not understand.

Rifles and soldiers. Kurt’s hand slipped casually to his thigh and touched the butt of his .45. It was certain death, but . . . surely he couldn’t do this thing and leave Varinka in the lurch. Once again he was confronted with the two women.

Lin Wang reached out with his queerly lifeless hand and patted Anne’s cheek. She tried to wrench away, but the two soldiers held her securely. The men in the room were grinning.