Nick Carter - A Korean Tiger

There was a hint of excitement in her voice when she said, "I have had that in mind from the first. I told you — I am being a woman for a little while. My government will not like it — but then they will never know. You will not tell them!" The gun moved in her hand.

Killmaster's grin was a trifle forced. It hurt his mouth a little. "So that's it? You're going to use me, enjoy me, and then kill me?" But he was content. If he could get that close to her he could take her, gun and all. He might even have some pleasure in the doing.

"You find that strange — that I should use you for my pleasure? Have you not used many women for yours?"

He nodded. "I have. But I have always tried to give them something in return. Perhaps not love — I don't know much about that — but at least affection. Companionship. I am a believer in mutual enjoyment."

"Then you are a fool! One's own pleasure is paramount. I shall show you what I mean — I will use you for my pleasure exactly as — " she thought a moment — "exactly as a Nazi officer would, did, use our Russian peasant girls for his pleasure." He knew, then, at least one reason why she was so warped.

Slowly, very cautiously, Nick tensed his leg muscles. Maybe he would have to jump that gun after all. But he would wait — see what happened. The odds were a hundred to one against him at the moment.

None of his tension was apparent in his voice. "And afterward? You will kill me?"

"I will kill you. As you no doubt know, my orders, were to kill you in Germany. You made me look very bad there, Nick. There is a blot on my file that can only be removed by your death. But do not feel so bad about it — you have had a good long run for your money, Carter. Much longer than most agents of your caliber. You know the hazards of this profession as well as I do."

Nick stood up. Very slowly. Keeping his hands well in sight and away from his body. He stretched his sleek muscles, his hands itching for that white throat, but knowing it was not yet the time.

"Yes," he admitted. "I've had a long run. So now we make love. I think I'm going to enjoy it. But there is just one thing…"

"What is that?"

Nick grinned at her. "How do we do this, make love, without me getting close enough to kill you? I will, you know, if you give me a chance. You figured that out?"

"I have. Go over there in the corner and stand for a moment. Keep your eyes to the wall."

The imp in Nick Carter could never be completely repressed. With death at his elbow now he could chuckle and say, "Don't tell me you've invented a way of doing it long distance!"

"Not exactly. You may turn around now. Be very careful. I will shoot the moment you disobey a command."

Nick turned from the wall. She was seated on the divan. Her skirt was rucked up high. The black elastic of a garter belt made twin dark roads on her firm plump thighs. Her sturdy legs were flung wide.

The gun jabbed at Nick like a finger of doom.

"You will get on your hands and knees and crawl over here to me. Now! Immediately. If you hesitate I will kill you. It is your choice — die right now or die afterward. Move!"

Nick Carter fell to his hands and knees. He felt sweat begin to pop out on him. He knew he must be pale. His jaw muscles hurt. Yet he fought down the rage. Not yet — not just yet. Play along. The odds were still too long.

He began to crawl to where she waited.

Her voice was unsteady now. The glint in her green eyes was hot. "There is a certain manner of making love that I have heard about, that I have seen photos of, but have never experienced. We do not do such things in my country! But I understand that you Americans, being of course decadent and degenerate, are fond of making love in this manner. You will make such love to me now. At once." The little gun moved in admonishment. "At no time will you get off your knees — and you will never raise your hands. One false move and I will kill you at once."

He was before her now, keeping his eyes low. He did not want her to see the rage in them. She would understand and kill him at once. And he understood — what she was really doing! This was a symbolic as well as a physical act. Her sick, perverted psyche would take pleasure in the physical act, but her real pleasure would be in making him perform it! Make him crawl and indulge in a degrading act. This would be sweet triumph indeed. It made a slave of him. It was a projection of what she worked for, and hoped for — the surrender and humbling of decent men before the iron boot of the totalitarian hordes.

Nick Carter knelt before her. He made his voice abject. "I am going to enjoy this," he said. He sounded calm. She would not understand what he meant. Until too late.

He touched her ankles. "Is this permitted? I must have some support."

"Just there. Only there. No higher. And do not look up. I have the gun to your head. Now begin at once." Her voice was husky with strain, with a tremendous excitement.

He knew then who the real Zoe Kalinski was. The beast! It did not matter. Nothing mattered now but killing her. He felt the cold muzzle of the gun on the crown of his head. His hands closed slowly, ever so slowly, over her ankles. A convulsive tremor ran through her.

Nick came up with the released fury of a gigantic steel spring. He butted her under the chin as he rose. The pistol roared in his car and he felt the fire across his scalp, the long burn of a white hot poker tormenting him. But she had missed her first shot and he knew that he had won.

He smashed at her face with his head again, felt the crunch of breaking bone. He was erect now, swinging her around by her ankles, pivoting in place and swinging her body as easily as a hammer thrower spins his hammer. The gun flew from her hand and smashed into the window, breaking it.

Killmaster stepped into the exact center of the compartment and kept swinging her around and around. Her body was up and level with his shoulders now, her skirt high up around her middle. She was screaming — screaming — screaming.

He had meant to knock her brains out against the sharp corner of the bath, where it projected a little into the room. Now, as he took one step that would bring him close enough to kill her on the next swing, the compartment went berserk. It turned into a segment of hell before it became hell — when all was chaos. Everything that was not secure: Nick, the woman, furniture, pillows from the divan, everything soared through the air and slammed into the forward wall of the compartment.

Nick smacked the wall with his skull and felt new pain. He was conscious of blood on his face and ignored it. What the hell was going on? The woman, inert, was heavy across his legs. A lamp, its bulb smashed, had its cord wound around his neck like a snake.

He fought to his feet. There was another slamming, grinding crash and the long train finally slid to a halt. The Seoul Express had stopped. Suddenly. Very suddenly!

Killmaster began to function as only he could when the chips were really down. It was a barricade, of course. The tracks were blocked. Her ace in the hole. The Russians had their own guerrillas, bandits was more like it, working in the mountains. They were here to take Bennett and the Widow.

He picked her up by the throat and held her as easily as though she were a doll. She was unconscious, her face smeared with blood.

Nick held her out away from him, dropped her, and in that moment forgot her. From now on it was going to be a rat race through hell. He had to start now and keep on going and never look back. There was chaos and confusion and hell to pay — and he might just have a chance.

He kicked the door of the bathroom down and got his weapons. With the stiletto in his left hand and the Luger in his right he shot away the lock on the compartment door and gave it a savage kick. It flew open, one hinge breaking away. Like a bulldozer gone berserk Nick Carter charged out into the corridor.