Nick Carter - Hood of Death

He straightened, stroked and kicked upward. Even his trained, mighty lungs were exhausted from the strain. He surfaced gently. Breathed gratefully. The schooner was masked by the cruiser, and he was certain that everyone on both ships must be looking at each other, not at a blob of darkness on the surface that moved slowly toward the bow of the schooner, keeping out of range of the lights.

The larger vessel had reversed her engines to stop. He decided that was part of the rumble he had heard. Now the cruiser reversed, made gentle contact. He heard calls in Chinese. Lines were secured. People clambered from the smaller craft to the larger. Evidently they were going to lay to for awhile. Good! They could have left him helplessly behind, perfectly able to swim home but feeling completely stupid.

Nick swam in a wide loop until he was bow-on to the big schooner, then slipped underwater and swam toward her, listening for the rumble of her big engines. He would be in trouble if she suddenly started forward, but he counted on greetings, talk, perhaps even a period of laying-to by both craft for talks or… what? He had to discover that what.

The schooner had no canvas up. She had been running on her auxiliaries. His quick glances had noted only four or five men on her, which would be enough to handle her in a pinch, but she might have a small army aboard.

He peeked down her port side. The cruiser had been secured. Under the dim deck lights of the schooner a man who looked like a Lascar sailor lounged on the low metal-and-chain rail, gazing at the smaller vessel.

Nick swam silently around the starboard bow, searching for a stray anchor line. Nothing. He went back a few yards and eyed the bowsprit rigging and chains. They were high above him. He could no more reach them then a cockroach swimming in a bathtub could reach the showerhead. He swam along the starboard side, passed her widest beam point and found nothing but smooth, well-cared-for hull. He went farther aft — and got his biggest break of the evening, he decided. A yard above his head, neatly secured against the schooner by bridle lines, was hooked an aluminum ladder. The type used for many purposes — docking, entering small boats, swimming, fishing. Evidently the ship had been at a dock or anchorage down the bay and they had not felt it necessary to secure her for sea. That indicated that a rendezvous between the cruiser and the schooner might be a frequent occurrence.

He dove, came up like an aqua-show porpoise leaping for a fish, caught the ladder and climbed up, lying against the ships side to let at least some of the water drain from his sodden clothes.

Everyone seemed to have gone below except the sailor on the other side. Nick climbed aboard. He slurped like a wet sail and shed water from both feet. Regretfully he took off his coat and pants, transferred his wallet and a few items to the pockets in his special shorts, and dropped the garments into the sea, after buttoning them into a dark ball.

Standing like a modern Tarzan, in shirt and shorts and socks, festooned with a shoulder holster and a slim knife strapped to his forearm, he felt more exposed — but somehow free. He crept aft along the deck, toward the cockpit Near a port, secured open but with a screen and drape blocking his view, he heard voices. English, Chinese and German! He could catch only a few words of the multilingual conversation- He slit the screen and tipped aside a drape very cautiously with Hugo's needlepoint tip.

In the big main cabin or saloon, around a table covered with glasses and bottles and cups, sat Akito, Hans Geist, a huddled form with gray hair and a bandaged face and the thin Chinese. Nick studied the Chinese. It was his first really good look at him. There had been a glimpse in Maryland, when Geist had called him Chick, and in Pennsylvania. The man had alert eyes, sat confidently like a man who thought he could handle what came up.

Nick listened to odd chatter until Geist said, "… the girls are cowardly babies. There cannot be a connection between the Englishman Williams and the stupid notes. I say we continue with our plan."

"I saw Williams," Akito said reflectively. "He reminded me of someone else. But who?"

The man with the bandaged face spoke with a guttural accent. "What do you say, Soong? You are the buyer. With most to gain or lose because you need the oil."

The thin Chinese smiled briefly. "Do not believe we are desperate for oil. The world markets are glutted with it In three months we will pay less than the dollar-seventy a barrel in the Persian Gulf. Which by the way gives the imperialists a profit of a dollar-fifty. Just one of them pumps three million barrels a day. You can forecast the surplus."

"We know the world picture," the bandaged man said gently. "The question is do you still want the oil shipments now."

"Yes."

"Then the cooperation of only one man is needed. We will get it."

"I hope so," Chick Soong replied. "Your plan for obtaining cooperation by the use of fear, force and fornication hasn't worked too well so far."

"I have been around much longer than you, my friend. I have seen what makes men move… or not move."

"I admit your experience is immense." Nick got the impression that Soong had large reservations; like a good back he'd do his part in the play, but he had connections in the office so look out. "When will you put the pressure on?"

"Tomorrow," said Geist.

"Very well. We should know quickly whether it is effective or not. Shall we meet day after tomorrow at Shenandoah?"

"A good idea. More tea?" Geist poured, looking like a weightlifter trapped at a girl's party. He was drinking whiskey himself.

Nick thought. You can learn more at windows today than with all the bugs and taps in the world. Nobody discloses anything on a phone any more.

The talk became boring. He let the drape close and crept along past two portholes which opened onto the same room. He came to another which was the master stateroom, open and covered with a screen and chintz curtain. Girls* voices came through it. He slit the screen and cut a tiny opening in the curtain. My, he mused, how naughty.

Seated fully clothed and looking quite prim were Ruth Moto, Suzi Quong and Anne We Ling. On the bed, stark naked, were Pong-Pong Lily, Sonya Ranyez and the man called Sammy.

Nick noted that Sammy looked fit, no belly. The girls were luscious. He inspected the deck both ways for a moment so that he could devote a few seconds to scientific observation. Wow, that Sonya! You could just click a camera from any position and you'd have a Playboy foldout.

What she was doing you couldn't put in Playboy. You couldn't use it anywhere except in steel-core pornography. Sonya was devoting her attention to Sammy, who lay with his knees drawn up and a delighted expression on his face while Pong-Pong supervised. Every time Pong-Pong said something to Sonya in a low tone that Nick could not catch, it had a reaction seconds later on Sammy. He would smile, jump, twitch, moan or gurgle with pleasure.

School is in session, Nick decided. His mouth felt a little dry. He swallowed. Wooh! Who thought that one up? He told himself he shouldn't be so surprised. A true expert always had to learn somewhere. And Pong-Pong was a great teacher — she was making an expert out of Sonya.

"Oooh!" Sammy arched his back and emitted a gasp of pure enjoyment.

Pong-Pong smiled at him like a tutor proud of her pupil. Sonya didn't look up and couldn't speak. She was an apt student.

A chatter of Chinese on deck toward the stern alerted Nick. He withdrew his eye from the curtain with regret. You can always learn. Two sailors were on his side of the ship, probing the water with a long boathook. Nick retreated into the spacious cockpit. Damn! They hoisted up a limp black bundle. His discarded clothes! The weight of the water hadn't sunk them after all. One sailor took the bundle and disappeared down a hatch.