Nick Carter - Double Identity

As it turned out he needn’t have worried. They weren’t going anywhere for the moment. He watched them climb into the car. The back seat! Curtains were pulled. The English still put curtains or shades in some of their cars!

In a few moments the little car began to rock gently. N3 could hear the faintest whisper of springs. Just like the good old States, he told himself with a hard little smile. Every car a traveling boudoir!

He made his decision without hesitation, praying that Bannion would not show up now with the noisy jeep. It would spoil everything. What they were doing in there shouldn’t take them long — then they would be off to somewhere, perhaps to the arms cache, and Nick Carter was going to be with them. Bannion would just have to look out for himself.

N3 tiptoed carefully across the parking lot. The car was still swaying gently and he could hear the low mumble of voices. They wouldn’t have heard the Trump of Doom!

Carefully, slowly, with each movement carefully gauged in advance, he climbed on top of the Ford and flattened himself. He accomplished it in utmost silence, as stealthy as Death creeping. Not once did the couple within break their lubricious rhythm.

It was pitch dark now and rain was slanting down in black wet ropes. In such visibility Nick thought he had a good chance of going undetected as they drove through the streets of Peshawar. The rain would drive people inside.

The test came sooner than expected. The scrabbling within the car ceased and Nick heard them talking. In Chinese! His last doubts about the woman, about Beth Cravens, vanished. She was a traitor.

The door opened and the man got out. He stopped to kiss the woman and said, still in Chinese, “I’ll see you later, Beth. At your place. I want to check with my people who are watching that bastard’s camp.”

“All right, my love. Oh, Nick, how marvelous you are! I am so happy. You will be careful? This man is dangerous. Even for you, Nick. He may be in Peshawar right now!”

“Maybe,” said the man. “Maybe, but I doubt it. These Chinese agents are stupid. He’ll run pretty true to form, I think Anyway my men are watching the camp and the jeep is still there, I hear. This fake Nick and the redhead will have to go back for it, and to make their plans. That’s one reason why I want to stay around the hotel for a time — he may even have the gall to come in and register as me. As Nick Carter! I hope not, it would cause complications, but at least I would like to study him for awhile. Figure out how best to kill him.”

There was an odd note of command in the woman’s voice as she spoke, “You’re forgetting again, darling! You’re not going to kill him. The plans were changed, remember? You’re going to take him prisoner, take him back to the States for questioning. Try to remember, my love.”

For a moment the man hesitated. He appeared to be thinking, to be struggling to get something clear in his mind. Then, “Of course. I did forget. Capture, not kill! New orders from Washington. All right, then — I’ll see you at your place later. Goodbye.”

“Goodbye, sweetheart, I’ll be counting the minutes. If I’m not there wait for me. I must go to the fort and talk to Mohammed Cassim. He says the tribesmen are becoming impatient for action.”

“Handle him gently,” said the man. “Remember he’s Number One with all the tribes, the Wali. We need him right now. Later it won’t matter.”

“I will, love. I know what to say. But now that they’ve got the guns they’re fighting the bit. I’ll be so glad, Nick, when this is all over and we can go back to the States and get married.”

“And me, Beth, love! Goodbye now.”

The big man, Nick Carter’s double, stalked away into the rain without looking up or glancing back. Nick kept his face against the roof of the car. The man turned the corner and was gone. Rain still slatted down.

Nick could hear the swish and rustle of feminine garments being adjusted. A faint curse. An impatient tug. When she got out of the back and climbed behind the wheel N3 noted a briskness, an alertness, about her actions which belied the dreamy after-love mood she was supposed to be in. She was humming to herself. When the Saints Come Marching In. It hardly seemed to fit the occasion.

The car started with a lurch. She was a poor driver. Nick clung precariously to the rails of the luggage rack.

She found a narrow alley, deep in mud, and slid the car through it onto a deserted street. Good. She was not going through the main part of town after all. She appeared to be avoiding it as much as possible.

Nick Carter wondered, for just a fraction of a second, about his own sanity. Or at least his hearing. Then he smiled in the rain and shook his head— he was all right. The man had said those things and the woman — playing along with the gag? — had been right with him.

Nick Carter. Chinese agent. The bastard’s camp. New orders from Washington. Not kill but capture. Back to the States and get married.

The car hit a nasty bump and Nick hung on for life. He let the whole conversation he had just heard swirl about in his brain. One thing he was beginning to understand— this phony didn’t know he was a phony. Not at the moment, anyway. The guy thought he really was Nick Carter.

Somebody, thought the man from AXE, is crazy. And it isn’t me. But wait a minute! Just a minute — maybe not so crazy after all. He recalled the odd moment when the man had been confused and the woman’s voice had changed, had been both wheedling and hard.

Nick grinned in the rain. It could be. It just could be. You had to hand it to the clever rat bastards!

The man was hypnotized!

Today there are three routes through the Khyber Pass, a modern blacktop road with two lanes, a railroad, and the caravan trail which has been there for thousands of years. Shortly after Beth Cravens left Peshawar she swung off the blacktop and down a steep, rutted decline to the ancient trail. The going was rugged and Nick Carter’s big frame was battered unmercifully. He comforted himself with the thought that the lady couldn’t be going far.

He was right. The Ford swung off the caravan trail and began to climb a winding drive. Gravel crunched beneath the tires. The darkness was total except for rain-filled tunnels of light cast by the car; Nick got a fleeting impression of stunted trees and dense undergrowth and a bald, flat-topped hill.

The little Ford toiled around the last spiral and stopped. The lights went out. Nick huddled in the rain, fighting a sneeze, and heard the door open and slam. She was not humming now.

Footsteps going away. Another door opened and shut. The moment he heard the door close Nick was off the car and running for a blob of shrubbery he had noted before the lights went out. He crouched in the wet bushes and waited.

Lights flicked on in the house. Nick saw a small stone patio, a water tank, metal awnings, a neat wooden fence. The Peace Corps lady lived pretty well! By reflected light he saw that the house was of stone, long and low and comfortable looking. Another light came on and he saw her move across a window. Bedroom? He crouched and ran softly through the pelting rain.

A damp raincoat lay across the bed. The girl was in the act of pulling her damp, rumpled dress over her head as N3 peered in the window.

He saw immediately why Mike Bannion had been so impressed. She was a stunning creature. Rather tall, with long legs and large hard breasts. She dropped the dress to the floor and stared at herself for a moment in the mirror over the vanity. She leaned to lipstick her wide mouth, then ran a strong, capable-looking hand through her damp blonde hair. She was wearing only long beige stockings, gartered nearly to her hips, and black bra and panties. N3 noted the play of the good muscles in her smooth pale back and shoulders. A big, strong girl. Fine body. Lovely face. Too bad she was a Red. A traitor. She wasn’t going to look so well in prison garb!