Nick Carter - A Korean Tiger

"I don't want to know his name!" Nick spoke curtly. "Can you get in touch with him? Now! At once?"

Again she nodded. "I think so. Frit — he works nights. This I know because he always comes here early, in the afternoons. I could call him in the service quarters at the hotel."

Killmaster was thinking rapidly. His orders were clear enough. Kill Raymond Lee Bennett. To hell with Avatar, the Berlin man. Something had gone wrong there. Who needed him, anyway? If he could buy this porter he could get the job done and be out of Cologne before dawn. It was worth a chance.

He handed her the 100-mark note. "Call him. Is there an alley behind the Dom? An areaway or parking lot? Any place that will be deserted now?" He was not familiar with Cologne.

She took the note and put it in a pocket of her robe. "There is an alley. It is narrow and dark and I do not think the police patrol it well. The Dom is a luxe hotel — they would not think it necessary. Only der Klasse stay at the Dom."

Nick glanced at his watch again. A few minutes after one. Plenty of time yet. If only the bird had not flown.

"Call him," he ordered. "Be very sure you speak only to him and that he is not overheard. He is clever, this porter? Not dumb?"

The girl smiled. She put a hand on Nick's arm, fingering the huge bicep. "He is clever enough. And he does not like the polizei. He has had trouble with them before now."

Nick grinned at her. "Good. I need someone a little shady for this job. Okay — you call your friend as soon as I leave. Here is what you will tell him — be sure you get it exactly right. Exactly! That is important.

"Tell him to be in the alley in an hour. Be sure he is not seen, or missed. He should be able to arrange that. Say that he is to smoke two cigarettes at once and, when he has smoked them, to flip the butts in opposite directions. He is not to say anything. Not to speak to me. I will see him before he sees me. I will identify myself with one word — Feldwebel. Got that?"

"Feldwebel? You will speak so? He is to say nothing until you speak first?"

"Good girl. When he hears me say Feldwebel he is to answer: 'Das Wasser ist kalt.' The water is cold. Got that now?"

"Ja. I have it all. But he will want money, this one. Perhaps much money."

Killmaster gave her a steely glance. "He will be well paid. Tell him that. Tell him also that if he double-crosses me, makes trouble for me in any way, he will also be paid. But not in marks. Do not tell him this until after he agrees to meet me, then make sure he understands it. And be sure you understand it."

"Ja, schon Mann. I know. You must not worry." Her fingers stroked timidly at the stubble on the AXEman's cheek. "Perhaps — you can stay just for a moment or two longer?" She took the 100-mark note from her pocket and let it drift to the floor. "I… I would not need that."

Nick gave her a sweet and knowing smile that was nearly genuine. To spare her feelings he said, "It would be nice, Helga. Thank you, but I cannot. There is no time. Maybe later, when this is over. Goodbye."

As he felt his way down the dark staircase he remembered what she had called him. Schön Mann. Beautiful man! Killmaster shook his head a little sadly. Somewhere within the diamond-hard casing of him there was a twinge of pity. She must know a loneliness that exceeded even his own.

Then he shook it off and stepped out into Ladenstrasse. There was work to do. Killing, if all went well. It would be nice to end this thing tonight and be back in the States tomorrow.

In any case the AXEman had never been much of a one for prostitutes. And when he did consort with them it was only with the most beautiful and the most expensive.

When he left Ladenstrasse Nick Carter went, by back streets and narrow by-ways, to Cathedral Square. His manner was not furtive; he hunched his shoulders and shambled, hands in pockets, weaving now and then, a workman who was a little drunk and did not give a damn who knew it. The few passers-by paid him no attention. He did not encounter another policeman. He found a shadowed bench in the lee of the Erzbischofliches Museum, the length of the gardens from the cathedral, and waited. The Hotel Dom was a short two blocks away. He would allow himself ten minutes for the walk.

The alley running behind the Dom was narrow and dark. Nick went cautiously, as stealthily as the shadows themselves, avoiding the garbage cans and dustbins of the shops adjoining the Dom. He interrupted a conclave of cats and was soundly hissed. "Quiet, grimalkins," Nick told them. "Beat it. Take off. Your men friends are waiting."

He found a niche in the rear of a garage across the alley from the back area of the Dom. It was well after two now, but lights still burned in some of the rooms. Night lights glowed dimly in the kitchens and other service areas on the ground floor. Directly across from where he stood was a sizable parking area, asphalted and lined on one side with cans and trash receptacles. There was a small unloading dock. Three cars, two Volkswagens and a Mercedes, glinted beneath a single dull arc light.

Killmaster had been waiting barely two minutes when he heard a door softly open and close somewhere across the way. His keen eyes caught movement in the heaviest shadows clotting near the line of garbage cans. A match flared yellow for an instant, went out. Two red dots punctured the gloom. Nick waited patiently while the man smoked. Then, at last, one butt was flipped to the left, the other to the right.

Nick moved across the alley into the darter part of the parking lot. He spoke softly: "Feldwebel?"

"Das Wasser ist kalt." The voice was rough, deep, a gravely basso.

Nick went a bit closer. " Ja . The water is cold. The woman told you what I want?"

He was close enough to the shadow now to see it shrug. It was short and squat. It said, "You wish to enter the hotel without being seen, Herr. And I suppose you wish to get out the same way, nein? It can be arranged — for money."

"How much money?"

A moment of hesitation. Nick took another step forward and stopped abruptly. That breath — a powerful blend of tobacco, onions, alcohol and just plain halitosis! The man's friends, if he had any, had just never told him.

"Five hundred marks, Herr? And I must know, you must tell me, something of what you plan to do? I must protect myself, you understand? The polizei… "

"A thousand marks," Nick told him sternly. "And you will ask no questions. None! You will answer questions. The less you know the better for you. If you do your part well and keep your mouth shut you will not get in trouble with the police. When we part you will forget that you ever saw me or that the woman ever called you. You will forget it instantly and forever! Do you understand?"

" Ja, Herr. What is it you wish? I mean other than entrance to the hotel? That part is easy enough and…"

"I know," Killmaster said brusquely. "I would not need you for that! Here is what I want." And he leaned closer to the man, trying his best to avoid that terrible breath.

A quarter of an hour later Nick Carter left the freight elevator at the seventh floor of the Dom. He took the fire stairs up two flights to the ninth floor. The corridors were empty, thickly carpeted underfoot and dimly lit. He went up the fire stairs like a ghost. His workman's clothes were in a locker in the basement. He now wore a green porter's uniform with shiny silver buttons. He had changed in a laundry room while his guide and mentor kept watch outside, thus giving Nick both a respite from the breath and a chance to transfer his weapons without arousing suspicion. That the porter was a rogue he had no doubt — but murder was something else again.