Nick Carter - The Defector

The man was bent over, his fingers touching the Luger. Nick kicked him and he went down. He rolled over on to his side and lashed out with those vicious steel-tipped shoes. The blow caught Nick in the stomach, sending him back against the bed. The man again went for the Luger. Nick moved quickly away from the bed, kicked Wilhelmina into a corner, out of reach. The wiry man was on his knees. Nick slapped him on each side of his neck with the side of his open hand, then with his open palm threw a quick jab up to the man’s nose, ripping it open across the nostrils. The man cried out in agony, then slumped in a curl, both hands covering his face. Nick crossed the room and picked up Wilhelmina.

He said through clenched teeth, “Now you’re going to tell me Why you were following me and who you work for.”

The movement was almost too quick for Nick to see it. The man’s hand moved to his shirt pocket, pulled out a small round pill and stuck it in his mouth.

Cyanide, Nick thought He put Wilhelmina into his coat pocket and quickly went to the man. With the fingers of both hands he tried to keep the man’s jaws apart, to keep the teeth from crushing the pill. But he was too late. The deadly fluid had already started through the man’s system. In six seconds he was dead.

Nick stood looking down at the body. He staggered back and plopped down on the bed. There was an ache between his legs that would be there awhile. His hands were covered with blood from the man’s face. He lay back on the bed and covered his eyes with his right arm. This had been his straw, his one gamble, and he had blown it. Everywhere he went there seemed to be a blank wall. He hadn’t had one decent break since starting this assignment Nick closed his eyes. He felt tired and beaten.

Nick didn’t know how long he lay there. It couldn’t have been more than a few minutes. Suddenly he jerked to a sitting position. What’s the matter with you, Carter? he thought. There’s no time to be wallowing in self-pity. So, you’ve had a few bad breaks. That was part of the job. There were still possibilities open. You’ve had tougher assignments. Get on with it.

He began with a shower and a shave, while his mind chewed over the possibilities left. If he couldn’t come up with anything else, there was still the Bar Wonderful.

When he stepped out of the bathroom he felt much better. He fastened the padding around his waist. Instead of placing Pierre, the tiny gas bomb, between his legs, he taped it in the small hollow just behind his left ankle bone. There was a slight lump showing when he pulled on his sock, but it looked like a swollen ankle. He finished dressing, wearing the same business suit. He pulled the clip from Wilhelmina and replaced the four missing cartridges. He stuck Wilhelmina where it was before, in his belt. Then Nick Carter went back to work.

He started with the dead man. Carefully he went through the man’s pockets. The wallet looked as though it had been gone through before recently. The sailor, most likely. Nick found two pictures of Chinese girls, a laundry ticket, ninety Hong Kong dollars in cash, and a business card from the Bar Wonderful. That place popped up everywhere he turned. He looked on the back of the card. Scribbled in pencil were the words, Victoria-Kwangchow.

Nick left the body and walked slowly to the window. He stared outside without really seeing. Kwangchow was Chinese for Canton, the capital of Kwangtung Province. Canton was a little over a hundred miles from Hong Kong, inside Red China. Was that where they had the wife and boy? It was a big city. It sat on the north bank of the Pearl River, which flowed south into Hong Kong harbor. Maybe the wife and boy were there.

But Nick doubted if that’s what was meant on the card. It was a Bar Wonderful business card. He felt that whatever Victoria-Kwangchow meant was right here in Hong Kong. But what? A place? A thing? A person? And why was this man carrying such a card? Nick retraced in his mind every event that had happened since he saw the man peeking through the dining-room window. One thing stood out — the man’s queer actions on the ferry landing. Either he was going to take the ferry but was afraid to report his failure to his superiors, or he knew Nick was there and he didn’t want to tip off where he was going. And he had started out along the dock.

Killmaster could see the harbor from his window, but not the ferry landing. He brought a mental picture of the area to his mind. The ferry landing was lined on each side by a floating community of sampans and junks. They were side-by-side almost to the landing itself. To get Kathy Loo and Mike to Canton, they’d fly them from the States to Hong Kong, then—

But of course! It was so obvious! From Hong Kong they’d take them up the Pearl River to Canton by boat! That’s where the man was heading when he started away from the landing — to a boat somewhere along that community of boats. But there were so many in that area. It had to be big enough to make the hundred or so miles to Canton. A sampan would probably make it, but that didn’t seem likely. No, it had to be bigger than a sampan. That in itself narrowed the field, since ninety percent of the boats in the harbor were sampans. It was another long shot, straw, gamble, whatever. But it was something.

Nick drew the curtain across the window. He packed his extra clothes in the suitcase, shut off all the lights and left the room, locking the door behind him. He’d have to find someplace else to stay. If he checked out, there would be someone to clean the room right away. He figured it would be sometime in the afternoon before the body was discovered. That might be enough time. In the hallway Nick dropped the suitcase down the laundry chute. He climbed through the window at the end of the hall, went down the fire-escape ladder. At the bottom he dropped six feet from the ladder and found himself in an alley. He brushed himself off and walked quickly to the street, now bustling with people and heavy traffic. At the first mailbox he passed, Nick dropped in the hotel room key. Hawk would straighten things out with the police and the hotel when he got to Hong Kong. Nick blended with the sidewalk crowd.

The air was still crisp. But the heavy clouds had thinned, and the sun shone brightly through breaks in them. The streets and sidewalks had started to dry out. People scurried around and past Nick as he walked. Occasionally sailors came out of tailor shops looking hung-over, their uniforms wrinkled. Nick thought of the redheaded sailor and wondered what he was doing at this hour; probably still banging away at Vicki. He smiled, remembering the scene as he had crashed into the room.

Nick reached the docks and headed directly for the ferry landing, his expert eyes searching the multitude of sampans and junks connected like links of a chain in the harbor. The boat wouldn’t be in this section, but on the other side of the landing. If there was a boat at all. He didn’t even know how he’d be able to pick it out.

The huge ferry was just chugging away from the landing as Nick approached it. He crossed the landing to the docks on the other side. Nick knew he had to be careful. If the Reds caught him poking around their boat, they’d kill first and find out who he was later.

Killmaster stayed close to the buildings, his eyes studying closely every boat that looked larger than a sampan. He spent all morning and part of the afternoon at it with no results. He went almost as far along the docks as the boats did. But when he reached the section where large ships from all over the world were either loading or offloading cargo, he doubled back. He had covered almost a mile. The frustrating thing was there were just too many boats. Even eliminating the sampans still left a large number of them. He might have already passed it; he had nothing to identify it with. And again, the business card might not mean a boat at all.