Nick Carter: The Terrible Ones

“Quite impossible,” Nick agreed. “Perhaps you are just as glad”

“Why should I be?” The slight softening of her features gave way instantly to the tight-mouthed hardness that seemed to be her normal expression. “We asked for help, and if you intend to give it there should be a mutual trust. I will not name a name I am unsure of. When we get to Santo Domingo I will ask about this man. If he is alive, then he is not the one, yes? But if he has disappeared, then I will tell you about him.”

He almost admired her for the moment. She was being so fair and square, so old-school-tie. And perhaps she was even being honest.

“All right,” he said quietly. “Next question. Who are you? You are obviously not Paolo, whom I was led to believe that I would meet. Somebody lied. Was it you?”

“There was no lie!” she flared. “It is no fault of mine if there was a misunderstanding!”

“What misunderstanding?” He almost spat the words at her. “Who and where is Paolo? And who are you?”

She seemed to shrink away from him. Then she drew her chin up defiantly and spat words back at him.

“There is no Paolo. There never was and no one ever said there was. I sent the messages that brought you here. And I did not lie. The name is Paula. Paula! If there was a mistake in the transcription it was none of my doing! Besides, what difference does it make?”

“And what about The Terrible Ones?” he said icily. “You are not going to tell me that a band of freedom fighters chose a woman to do a man’s errand?”

She laughed at him, but there was no humor in her laughter.

“What men? There are few men left to do the errands of a man. I chose myself. Why should I not? I am their leader.”

He stared at her. It seemed to be getting to be a habit with him. But the tiny doubt that had been kindled by the first sound of the whispered voice was growing into a fire of suspicion.

“I see. You are their leader. And what is the male strength of your company? You may as well tell me now; I’ll find out soon enough — if I decide to stay. And, as you said, there should be a mutual trust.” He waited.

She looked at him defiantly. “You know now, do you not? We have no men. The Terrible Ones are women. All of them.”

“And aptly named,” he said, and thoughtfully scratched his chest. The little switch that connected him with Jean Pierre flicked to the Off position. When he knew more, he’d tell, but Papa Hawk was not going to get a blow-by-blow account of his dealings with this hard-eyed woman.

Nick peeled off his bloodied shirt. The sewn-in radio came off with it.

“Well, I’ve had a hard day’s night,” he said. “I don’t know what entertainment you’ve planned for the rest of it, but I’m going to get some sleep. You can keep watch if you think its necessary.”

“But what about the rest?” she said, and he was glad to see that she was looking puzzled. “Surely you will need to make contact with your men?”

“Surprise, surprise,” he said amiably, making a pillow of his shirt and pack and sliding Wilhelmina underneath the bundle. “I’ve had one; now here’s one for you. There are no other men. I am all you’re going to get. Goodnight, Paolo baby, and please turn off the light.”

“You’re what?” She started toward him, her slim body galvanized by fury. “I ask for help, and I get—?”

“Be quiet!” he hissed. His hackles were crawling and he reached for the Luger as he bounded to his feet.

Her mouth opened angrily and he clamped a hand over it.

“I said be quiet! ” He cocked his ears and listened. He felt her slight movement and saw that she understood. At least she was quick on the trigger, this bitch of a girl.

There were movements outside. Not loud, not yet close, but coming closer. Twigs crackled and leaves rustled.

“So no one ever comes this way,” he whispered bitterly. “Your friends?”

She shook her head emphatically behind his restraining hand.

“Then keep your mouth shut and turn out the light.”

He released her and watched her swift movement toward the glow on the rocky shelf.

Moves well, he thought to himself, and then the light went out. He crept toward the entrance of the cave and fingered Wilhelmina.

The sounds were soft but distinct. They became careful footfalls, and there were many of them. And they were right outside.

Nick stiffened. There was another sound that was somehow infinitely more menacing than the footfalls of men. It was a heavy, eager panting that swelled into a low growl. A soft voice whispered a command in barely audible Creole. The growling stopped, but the bushes at the outer mouth of the cave began to rustle and snap as though clawed by some giant animal.

The girl sucked in her breath. Nick felt her lips lightly touch his ear. They felt much softer than they looked.

“Haitian dog patrol,” she whispered almost soundlessly. “Usually six men and one dog. If they take us we are finished.”

Nick nodded grimly in the darkness. He knew about the mad dictator’s secret police and the devilish tortures they had devised for their boss’s viewing pleasure. Yet even if he could shoot his way through six armed men, the idea did not appeal to him. It was not only the knowledge that the shots would bring others running that made him hesitate. It was also that he recoiled from gunning down six men who were not necessarily his enemies but soldiers on guard duty. Maybe he could outtalk them, bargain with them…. He dismissed the idea. It was too much of a long shot. His mind worked busily.

The snuffling grew louder and more eager. Nick’s nerve ends tingled unpleasantly.

“I also have a gun,” the girl whispered. “We can shoot them one by one as they come in after the dog. There is only space for one at a time—”

“Hush,” Nick breathed at her. Christ! she was coldblooded, although she might be right. Except that the patrol was hardly likely to stay around to be picked off one by one. Return fire, one to race for help, and they would have had it. End of Mission Treasure. “Too noisy. Last resort.”

“Do you have a first resort?” She sounded scornful and bitter.

He drew her face toward him and turned her head so that her ear brushed against his mouth. There was a lingering touch of perfume on the tiny lobe, and her hair was silky-soft.

“What is the local superstition?” he murmured. “Something we can use?”

She made an impatient little clicking sound and then said softly, “Oh. It is djuba, fear of dead souls returning to snatch the lives of others. But—”

“Ah!” It was one he knew something about, and he felt a glimmer of hope. Anything was worth trying.

The makeshift blackout curtain of dark cloth and shrubbery billowed inward near their feet. The snuffling became a snarl. Nick drew the girl away in a swift and silent movement and felt a pounding in her chest that was oddly pleasing to him. He sensed rather than saw the curtain dropping back into place at a quiet command. Then there was a whispered consultation outside. He could not hear the words but he could guess what was being said.

“I suppose you plan to let them come in here and then you’ll frighten them to death?” the girl whispered, a little too loudly.

“Quiet!” he hissed urgently. “Get as far back into the cave as you can — climb onto a ledge if you can find one. Then keep your mouth shut and your gun still until I fire the first shot. Understand?”

He felt her head nodding against his lips and on impulse he took a quick nibble of soft ear. He grinned to himself at her little intake of breath and pushed her firmly toward the back of the cave.