Ник Картер - Butcher of Belgrade

I was surprised that he had asked his questions and then left us unharmed. But I wasn’t about to complain. My problem was to get us out of here.

“Ursula,” I said. “Wake up, Ursula.”

The girl didn’t move. I wriggled over to the bunk, my progress slow and awkward. Then I got up on my knees and spoke to Ursula again. Her eyelashes fluttered slightly.

She was a pretty picture, fresh and inviting. I leaned over and touched her nipple with my tongue. It was one way of waking her up.

Ursula smiled instinctively. Then she stirred on the bunk. Her eyes flew open. “Nick!”

“Surprise,” I said.

I tongued the nipple again. I hated to stop.

“This is no time for that,” she chided me. “How did you get here?”

“A stocky man brought me. A cheerful fellow with a camera hanging around his neck. What’s your side of the story?”

“I was watching the compartment in Voiture 5 while you went about your business, whatever it was. The man came out. Carrying that blasted radio of his as usual. He was in such a hurry that I was sure he was going to meet someone. I decided to follow and see what it was that he felt was so urgent. He must have spotted me. He led me through the day coach where that cheerful fellow, the one with the camera, was sitting. They must have exchanged signals in some way. The two of them trapped me out on the platform. I was forced to come here. Then I was slugged behind the ear.”

“I see a lovely little goose egg there, but you’re in fine shape just the same.”

Ursula blushed a little. “You have me at a definite disadvantage.”

“I wish I could figure out a way to capitalize on it.”

“Try to keep your mind on business. What do we do next?”

“I’ll think of something,” I assured her.

Already my mind was reviewing the events of the afternoon. Something didn’t fall into place and I was annoyed that I couldn’t pin it down.

I tried to arrange the conclusions I’d reached in a logical order. The man with the radio was Richter, Ursula’s fugitive Nazi. He had a malformed knuckle like Richter and his behavior was that of a man accustomed to being on the run. After he got wise to Ursula, it was only natural that he would try to find out who I was. He had seen me with the German girl.

Richter had slugged me as I struggled with his confederate, Mr. Cheerful. He was the man who’d told Mr. Cheerful to determine my identity. But why would a man as careful as Richter leave the questioning to a companion? For that matter, why was Richter traveling with a companion who appeared to be a skilled agent? Maybe Herr Richter was in the spy business these days.

“Move over, Ursula, and make room for me. I’m going to get on the bed with you,” I said.

“Nick!” she scolded. “Not now.”

“You misunderstand, baby. I’m going to get on the bed so I can try to untie your hands.”

We sat back to back and I worked at the tight knots in the cords that bound her. The task was so difficult I cursed Mr. Cheerful a half-dozen times.

“Nick, why did they take off my clothes?”

“Not just for the view, lovely though it is. Mr. Cheerful wanted to search your clothing.”

“Did anything, well, happen while I was knocked out?”

“Nothing you’d have minded missing,” I grinned.

As I worked at the knots in the cord, my hands occasionally brushed against Ursula’s naked back and buttocks. “There are some fringe benefits to this job,” I told her.

“Did they find anything when they searched me, Nick?”

“Your ID card. Richter knows who you are.”

At that moment, I saw Mr. Cheerful’s camera. He had left it behind in the compartment.

“What’s the matter?” asked Ursula.

“He left his camera.”

“You mean he may be coming back for it?”

“Not on your life,” I said. “A man that careful doesn’t forget something like a camera.”

Not unless he intended to forget it.

I wormed off the bed and dropped to the floor. I rolled to the camera because that was the fastest way to get there.

“Ursula, get off the bed and put your back to the window and raise it.” I said.

She had her wits about her. From my tone of voice, she knew she shouldn’t waste time. I heard her bare feet hit the floor.

I lay on my stomach and examined the camera at close range. If I was right, I was risking getting a blast right in the face, but that couldn’t be helped.

“I can’t see any timing device and I can’t hear a ticking, but I think there’s an explosive device inside.”

“The man left it behind on purpose?” said Ursula. She was at the window now.

“Having found out who you are, why should Hans Richter leave you alive? This compartment is supposed to become our tomb, baby.”

I heard Ursula breathing hard. She was getting hold of the window, yanking it up.

“Mr. Cheerful looked at his watch before he left us. I’ve got to assume he activated the timing device by pushing down the lever on the camera. I may set it off if I pick up the camera, but I’ve got to take the chance.”

I turned my back to the camera and grabbed hold of it with both hands. I was sweating. I didn’t tell Ursula, but I figured that if the explosive did go off when I moved the camera, at least my body would shield part of the blast and perhaps save her life.

“Move away from the window,” I told her.

She spoke my name in a soft voice and then she moved, and I stood up.

No explosion.

I hopped toward the train window. I didn’t want to take the risks involved in rolling across the floor. I turned my back to the window and leaned against it and gave the camera a flip with my tied hands.

The train churned onward and I looked at Ursula and we smiled at each other, our relief showing.

Then we heard the explosion back along the tracks. It sounded like a hand grenade going off on the other side of a hill.

“I’m glad you saw that camera when you did,” Ursula said.

“Yeah, a few minutes more and we’d have been finished.”

“I’m sorry, Nick. Because of me, your life is in danger. Richter will be out to get both of us now.”

Ursula saw only the tip of the iceberg. Hans Richter and his lieutenant, Mr. Cheerful, were but a minority among the killers riding this train.

I managed to free Ursula’s hands by the time the Orient Express stopped at Venice. She got rid of the cords around her ankles and donned a couple of key pieces of clothing before she unbound me.

“Don’t be shy,” I teased her. “By now I know everything about you.”

“No, Nick. You only know what I look like. A man never knows everything about a woman.”

We left the compartment and mingled with the crowd leaving the train. Ursula dashed for sandwiches while I took up a post that permitted me to watch for the faces that meant something to the two of us.

I didn’t see Hans Richter and his companion and I didn’t spot Sheng Tze, the Chinese Communist agent. I did catch a glimpse of Eva Schmidt. Like Ursula, she was picking up sandwiches.

“Eva,” I called as she passed me, headed back for the train with a bag of food in her hand.

She paused. “You gave me until tonight, remember?”

“Just checking in, that’s all.”

“I will make contact with Horst and relay your message about being interested in the monitor. But I won’t make that contact until I’m sure the moment is right. In other words, I have no intention of giving his identity away to you or to anyone else who might be watching me.”

Then she drifted off with the crowd and I turned my attention to Ursula, who had come up behind me with our sandwiches.

“I thought you were trying to pick up another playmate,” she said, “until I heard a bit of your conversation. Who is Horst?”