Nick Carter - The Defector

“Not really,” Nick answered. “You got it from John, didn’t you?”

She smiled. “It took a little persuasion, but we have ways.”

“Did you kill him?”

“Of course not. We need him.”

“I kill,” Ling repeated.

Sheila pulled the shift over her head. She took Nick’s hand and placed it on her bare breast. “We have to hurry,” she said. “Ling is anxious.” She removed Nick’s pants. Then she backed to the cot, pulling him after her.

The familiar fire was already burning inside Nick. It began when his hand touched the warm flesh of her breast. He released the bun on the back of her head, letting the long black hair fall around her shoulders. Then he gently pushed her down on the cot.

“Oh, baby,” she cried when his face was close to hers. “I will truly hate to see you die.”

Nick’s body pressed down on hers. Her legs were wrapped around his. He could feel her passion building as he worked with her. There was little enjoyment in it for him. It saddened him slightly to use this act she loved so dearly against her. His right arm was wrapped around her neck. He reached under his armpit and pulled at the tape holding Pierre. He knew that once the deadly gas was released, he would have to hold his breath until he could get out of the room. That gave him slightly more than four minutes. He had Pierre in his hand. Sheila’s eyes had been closed. But the jerking movement he made releasing the deadly gas opened her eyes. She frowned, then saw the tiny ball. With his left hand, Nick rolled the gas bomb under the cot toward Ling.

“What did you do?” Sheila cried. Then her eyes opened wide. “Ling!” she shouted. “Kill him, Ling!”

Ling jumped to his feet.

Nick rolled to his side, pulling Sheila with him, using her body as a shield. If Ling had fired into Sheila’s back, he might have got Nick. But he moved the .45 from side to side trying to get a clear shot. And that delay killed him. Nick was holding his breath. He knew it would take just seconds for the odorless gas to fill the room. Ling’s hand went to his throat. The .45 thudded to the floor. Ling’s knees buckled, and he sank down. Then he fell face forward.

Sheila struggled against Nick, but he held her close to him. Her eyes were wide with fear. Tears came to them and she shook her head as though she couldn’t believe this was happening. Nick pressed his lips over hers. Her breathing came in pants, then suddenly stopped. She went limp in his arms.

Nick had to move fast now. Already his head was growing light from lack of oxygen. He rolled off the cot, quickly gathered Hugo, Wilhelmina, one of the Tommy guns, and his pants, then bolted through the open window. He staggered ten steps away from the hut, his lungs aching, his head becoming a black blur. Then he sank to his knees and sucked in the welcome air. He stayed on his knees for awhile, breathing deeply. When his head had cleared, he pushed his legs into his pants, stuck Wilhelmina and Hugo into the waistband, picked up the Tommy gun, and in a low crouch made his way back to the hut.

He filled his lungs with air just before he reached the open window. No soldiers had entered the room yet. Standing just outside the window, Nick pulled Wilhelmina from his waistband, took careful aim at one of the lanterns hanging from the rafters, and fired. The lantern splattered, spreading flaming kerosene all over the wall. Nick fired at the other one, then at the one on the table. Flames licked across the floor and climbed two walls. The door opened. Nick ducked, and, in a crouch, circled the hut. There was too much light in front of the huts. He laid the Tommy gun down and removed his shirt. He buttoned three buttons, then tied the sleeves around his waist. Shaping and working with it, he ended up with a nice little sack on his side.

He picked up the Tommy gun and headed for the front door. The rear of the hut roared with flames. Nick knew he had only seconds before other soldiers started running toward the fire. He reached the door and stopped. Down the row of naked light bulbs, he saw groups of soldiers moving toward the burning hut, slowly at first, then faster, their rifles at the ready. Seconds raced by. With his right foot, Nick kicked open the door; he sent a spray from his Tommy gun, first from the right then from the left. The two soldiers had been standing by the bench, their eyes heavy with sleep. When the spray of bullets cut across them, they bared their teeth, their heads bounced twice against the wall behind them. Their bodies seemed to wiggle, then their heads smashed together, the rifles clanged to the floor, and like two lumps joined at the arms, they fell on their rifles.

The door to the third room was open. Flames were on all the walls now, the rafters were already black. The room crackled as it burned. Two more soldiers were with Sheila and Ling, dead by the poisoned gas. Nick saw Sheila’s skin curling from heat. Her hair had already been burned away. And the seconds became one minute and kept on. Nick crossed to the grenade boxes. He began stuffing his homemade sack with grenades. Then he remembered something — almost too late. He twirled just as the bullet creased his collar. The radioman was about to fire again when Nick cut him from the crotch to his head with a Tommy gun spray. The man’s arms went straight out, hitting both sides of the doorway. They stayed straight out as he staggered back and went down.

Nick cursed to himself. He should have taken care of the radio first. Since the man had still been at the controls, chances were that he had already contacted the patrol boat as well as the house where they had the professor. Two minutes went by. Nick had ten grenades. That would have to be enough. Any second the first wave of soldiers would come bursting through the door. There wasn’t much chance the poisoned gas would have any affect now, but he wasn’t going to be doing any deep breathing. The front door was out. Maybe the radio room. He went through the doorway at a run.

Luck was with him. The radio room had a window. Heavy feet clumped outside the hut, growing louder as the soldiers approached the front door. Nick made it through the window. Just under it he crouched and pulled one of the grenades from his little sack. The soldiers were milling around in the foyer, with no one giving orders. Nick pulled the pin and counted slowly. When he reached eight, he tossed the grenade through the open window and ran in a crouch away from the hut. He hadn’t taken more than ten steps when the force of the explosion knocked him to his knees. He turned to see the roof of the hut rise slightly, then the unburned side seemed to puff out.

As the sound of the explosion reached him, the sides of the hut split down and across the middle. Orange light and flames spit through open windows and cracks. The roof settled, slightly cockeyed. Nick got to his feet and kept running. He could hear gunfire now. Bullets chewed up the still-damp dirt around him. He ran full speed toward the concrete building and around it to the back. Then he stopped. He had been right. The generator chugged away inside a small, boxlike bamboo shack. A soldier stationed at the door was already reaching for his rifle. Nick cut him down with the Tommy gun. Then he pulled a second grenade from his sack. Without hesitating, he pulled the pin and counted. He tossed the grenade into the open doorway leading to the generator. The explosion immediately darkened the area around him. Just to be sure, he pulled another grenade and lobbed it inside.

Without waiting for the explosion, he took off into the underbrush growing just behind the huts. He passed the first burning hut and went on to the second. He was panting as he crouched along the edge of the brush. There was a slight open space to the open window at the rear of the second hut. He still heard gunfire. Were they killing each other? There were shouts; someone was trying to give orders. Nick knew that once somebody took command the advantage of confusion would no longer be his. He wasn’t moving fast enough! A fourth grenade was in his hand, the pin pulled. He ran in a crouch, and as he passed the open window, tossed in the grenade. He kept on running to the third hut sitting next to the canal. The only light now came from the flickering lanterns through windows and doorways of the remaining three huts.