Ник Картер - Death Island

The man cried out, then swore loudly in French.

Carter stepped back, kneed the man in the groin, then drove a right hook into his jaw that sent him flying backward onto the ground. The man was out cold.

All of that took less than five seconds, and Carter was sure the scuffle had not alerted the helicopter crew. Nevertheless he grabbed the automatic and crouched by the side of the path, waiting for any signs that an alarm had been sounded.

But there was nothing other than the soft, jungle sounds of insects and birds.

Carter retrieved his stiletto from the downed man, and with the manacles that had been used to hold him in the back seat of the helicopter, he manacled the Frenchman to a small tree. He stuffed a handkerchief into the man’s mouth and used his belt to hold it in place.

On the path he looked down toward where the yacht was tied, then up in the direction of the helicopter. If he went back to the helicopter to take care of the two crewmen, there was a very good chance he would have to use the Beretta. Someone from the yacht would hear it, and his element of surprise would be lost.

On the other hand, the crewmen would be coming down to the yacht within a very short time. Unless he was finished with what he wanted to do, they would be on top of him.

The latter was the more easily acceptable risk to Carter, and he headed quickly down the path toward the governor’s yacht.

Rondine was intelligent. He had apparently expected his little island kingdom to come to an end sooner or later, and he had prepared for it with this yacht as his escape hatch.

In all likelihood he had another place picked out and ready for him, probably with the help of the Chinese.

The yacht was the Mariposa , Spanish for butterfly. She lay at anchor in the middle of the narrow channel. A couple of small motor launches were pulled up to the shore.

Carter held back within the protection of the jungle as he looked out at the activity. A couple of crewmen had gone over the side near the stem of the yacht, evidently to check on the propellers or the rudder. Several crewmen were visible on deck, and the ship’s radar antenna was slowly spinning.

They were alert and ready for intruders.

Closer, two crewmen waited by the pair of motor launches pulled up to the river bank. Carter, his captor, and the two helicopter crewmen were evidently expected. The boatmen kept looking at their watches and glancing up the path.

His only way aboard would be by one of the motor launches. If he could lure the two crewmen out of sight of the yacht, he might be able to take them out.

He pulled out his gas bomb and started to edge around to the left, when the barrel of an automatic touched his cheek.

“Straighten up very slowly, Monsieur Carter.”

Carter did as he was told, very slowly, the gas bomb in his left hand, the Beretta in his right.

There was only one of them... one of the crew from the helicopter. Carter figured if the noise could be kept down, he would still have a chance.

At that moment, however, the other crewman came up the path with the big Frenchman whom Carter had knocked out. The man did not appear to be happy.

“Louis! Jean!” he shouted. The two men from the motor launch jumped up and came running.

Carter let himself relax as one of them pulled his gas bomb and the Beretta out of his grasp.

Claude, the big Frenchman with the broken wrist, backhanded Carter, knocking him backward but not off his feet.

“Salaud,” the man hissed.

Carter was smiling. “Send your pals away, and I’d be glad to break your other wrist,” he said in French.

The big man was barely able to control his anger as he shoved Carter around and down the path. “The governor will have a few things to say to you, Monsieur Carter. But afterward you will be mine!”

They boarded the two motor launches, and within a minute or so they were climbing aboard the Mariposa , a couple of officers and several crewmen watching from the rails.

Carter was taken immediately aft and then into the main salon.

Governor Rondine, wearing a light gauze shirt and white trousers, a gold chain around his immense neck, lounged in a chaise. Gabrielle was seated next to him. She wore a very brief white bikini that was stunning against her tanned olive skin.

There were a dozen other men and similarly dressed women. They were having a light snack and were drinking champagne.

“Ah, Monsieur Carter. Welcome aboard,” Governor Rondine boomed jovially.

One of the helicopter crewmen had gone out on deck. He came back with a nylon-webbed deck chair and placed it in the middle of the salon, in front of the governor and his guests.

“You know, I kept asking myself who you were and what you were,” the governor said. He waved his hand. “Oh, we knew that you were an investigator sent from Washington. Like the others. But you...” he hesitated. “You were different. You caused us much pain.”

The crewman had cut away the webbing from the chair’s seat.

“The colonel is most unhappy. I’m told that Peking is not happy. You have created a very large problem for us. One, really, that has no solution.”

The governor nodded, and several of the ship’s crew crowded into the salon and forcibly shoved Carter into the chair, tied him in place, and then stepped aside.

“But I asked myself,” the governor continued, “what was it I needed to help alleviate the situation... salve the wound, so to speak.”

Gabrielle looked very uncomfortable, but most of the other guests seemed to be enjoying this.

“I told myself that I would need information. Who you are, who you work for, and just how you found out about the operations center on Natu Faui. With such information I would have at least something to offer the colonel.”

Again the governor nodded. One of the crewmen flipped out a straight razor and came to Carter’s side, where he quickly and efficiently cut off Carter’s shirt and then his trousers, pulling the rags away from his body until he was seated completely nude, his rear end and testicles exposed by the bottomless chair.

A couple of the women tittered as the crewman put away his blade and stepped aside.

“He dallied with my wife. Most unfortunate... for Monsieur Carter,” the governor said, and again he nodded.

The crewman went over to a sideboard where the food had been set up.

“Your island kingdom is gone, and you expect the Communists to give you another. Is that it?” Carter asked.

The governor smiled. “He speaks. There is some hope for the poor devil.”

Carter could not see what the crewman was doing at the sideboard. But he could feel the sweat running down his chest.

“How far do you expect to get in this toy? Our submarine is still—”

“Is a thousand miles from here. There will be no rescue, Monsieur Carter. You will be tortured until you give us the information we require. And then, mercifully, I will kill you.”

The crewman at the sideboard turned around. He was holding the fire ring from a chafing dish. He brought it over and set it beneath Carter, then lit the alcohol flame.

Almost immediately Carter could feel the heat on his anus and testicles. He tried to lift himself up, but he could not move more than an inch or so. He started to scoot the chair to one side, but two of the crewmen grabbed the back of the chair and held him in place.

The heat rose.

“Take it away and I’ll tell you what you want to know,” Carter said, the pain already beginning.

The governor chuckled. “Yes, I think I will do just that, Monsieur Carter.” He turned to Gabrielle. “But first, my dear, would you pour me a glass of champagne?”

The pain was rising sharply. Every muscle in Carter’s body was straining.