A Korean Tiger

Chapter 10

She took the Luger and the stiletto and stepped back away from him. "Stay exactly as you are, Mr. Carter."

Nick stared out the window. Rain was clawing at it with gray blobby paws. The train ran through a tall stand of bamboo, then plunged into a tunnel. He watched her reflection in the window. She opened the door to the tiny bathroom, tossed the weapons inside, then removed the key and locked the door from the outside. She put the key in a pocket of her jacket.

She turned back to him. "You may turn around now. Go and sit over there." The gun indicated the long sofa-divan, along one wall, that made up into a bed. Nick sat down. The eye of the little pistol never left him.

Colonel Kalinski crossed her legs with a slither of nylon. The faille skirt was short, and what she displayed was impressive. Nick remembered the lisle stockings. She must have been wearing a hell of a lot of padding.

"I am presuming," she said, "that you still carry your little gas bomb between your legs, Mr. Carter? I know how lethal it is. We conducted an experiment on some of our undesirables. Condemned men. Your gas is most efficacious — but I believe I am safe as long as we are locked in here together."

Nick was careful not to dispel her illusions. The more secure she felt — the better. If he had to use the gas bomb he would. He could hold his breath a lot longer than she could. Meanwhile, to stall for time, he might as well try to set up a deal. She, her compatriots, even the Yellow Widow — none of them were of prime importance now. Raymond Lee Bennett, riding two cars back, was all that really mattered. Killmaster had to stay alive long enough to do his job. As simple as that.

"Colonel," he began, "I think…"

She interrupted him with a smile. "What you think, Mr. Carter, is no longer of any importance. And you will address me as Zoe, not as Colonel. For the time being, no matter how short, I am a woman. Not a Colonel in Soviet Intelligence. Is that understood?" She smiled again and this time he could detect something hungry in the glint of teeth. And there was something odd, speculative, in the stare of her wide green eyes. Nick Carter had seen that look before. So why not? Maybe sex could get him out of this! It had worked before. But he must be careful not to rush it.

She leaned toward him. She was sitting in a small leather chair that opened out of the wall. "Do you consider me an attractive woman, Mr. Carter?"

"Yes." No lie. "And I congratulate your makeup man, whoever he is."

She nodded. "One of our movie people. The best. In my country the best technicians must work for the State at times."

"He's a genius," Carter said truthfully. If he could worm the man's name out of her — and lived to tell it — he would see that the fellow was taken care of. He was entirely too good.

The woman shrugged. "It is a tiresome business. The makeup is heavy and takes many hours to apply. Padding, a harness, contact lenses, the bald wig — but you know. You were fooled."

Nick agreed with a nod. He certainly had been fooled. But now he put the spurs to her just a bit. "The makeup was perfect. But you also play the part well, Col… I mean, Zoe. The sadistic bit, of course. I am sure that torturing me must have hurt you as much as it did me? Or almost?"

The wide green stare did not waver. Behind those basilisk eyes he thought he could detect a hint of something warmer. Desire? Plain old-fashioned lust? Was this creature really so human?

Boldly he put it to the test. "We've got a long ride ahead of us, Zoe. You're in the driver's seat, for now at least. You've got the gun and I'm sure there are a couple of your goons on guard in the corridor. Must be, or you wouldn't be so sure of yourself. As long as we've got to pass the time — let's do it pleasantly."

Her smile was enigmatic. She moistened her wide mouth with a sharp pink tongue. Something flickered in the green eyes. But she said, "Perhaps we shall, Mr. Carter. Nick. But later. A little later. We shall see. I…"

Someone tapped on the door. She pointed the little gun at Nick's heart. "Quiet, please."

She went to the door and, without taking her eyes off Nick, spoke softly in Russian. He could not make out the words. She listened for a moment, then gave a soft command. When she took her seat again the high white forehead was creased in a frown.

Quietly Nick said, "Trouble, I hope?"

"Perhaps. Nothing I cannot handle. It appears that quite a few rough peasant types boarded the train at Pusan-Ju. They probably have weapons concealed in their luggage. It could turn out to be something of a problem." She sank her white teeth into her scarlet lower lip and stared at him, her eyes fuzzy with thought.

Nick got the picture immediately. The train had made a brief stop at Pusan-Ju, the suburb of Pusan, to pick up third class coaches from a siding. And now the Widow and Bennett had help if they needed it. The "peasants" were undoubtedly guerrillas recruited from the mountains and acting under direct orders from Peking. The Widow had not, after all, placed all her eggs in one basket.

"Things could hot up pretty fast," he told the woman. "Once you make your move, Zoe. Those guerrillas are along as watchdogs, just in case you try to take Bennett and the Widow off this train. Which you must do — you can't afford to let them get to Seoul. It's too big. You'll lose them. They'll be over the 38th in a matter of hours. Think fast, Miss Moto!"

Zoe Kalinski was not amused. She bit her full lower lip and frowned at him. The little gun moved in her hand and for a moment he thought she was going to pull the trigger. Then she appeared to relax.

"It is not, as you Americans say, all that bad. My men will handle the guerrillas. I have a dozen aboard, all good men."

"Plus the porter boy," said Nick, remembering. "The little bastard."

She laughed. The diesel hooted far ahead as it labored up a grade. They were getting into wild mountainous country now. Outside it was growing dark. Rain pelted silver arrows at the windows.

"Yes," she said. "You were easily tricked, Mr. Carter. Bok Yong has been working for us since he was six. It was he, and his father who also works for the railroad, who smuggled us aboard this car while it was still in the yards. It was very expensive, but worth it. You see, Nick, I came straight to Pusan as soon as I heard you were here. We have been watching you — hoping you would lead us to the Widow and Bennett. As you have. We spotted your man as he followed them to the train. We tried to have Bok Yong check them out, to be sure, and when they wouldn't open their compartment door we were pretty sure. Then you put in an appearance, you take this train and, again as you Americans say, it is open and shut. No? That couple in Car 1066, in Compartment B, are the Yellow Widow and Raymond Lee Bennett!"

"Q.E.D.," said Nick softly. "Point proven. You think. But now you've got a fight on your hands, Zoe, old girl." He smiled his sweetest and let the banter slip into his voice. It would be hard to kid this one along, but he had to make the effort. She no longer was worried. He thought he knew why. She had an ace up her sleeve — and he thought he knew what it was. What it had to be.

"Whether you know it or not," he went on, "there's a military car on this train. Full of tiger hunters. ROK and Yank brass and a whole slew of MPs. About now they'll all be getting drunk. They've got rifles, shotguns, even machine guns. One yell from me, or from anyone for that matter, one hint of trouble, and you've got a real battle on your hands. Think it over, Zoe. Maybe we can come to some agreement."

One finger of that so delicate little hand whitened on the trigger. For one instant the old Colonel Kalinski was back, the balding horror that liked to hurt people. Watching her face intently now, Nick could see it as tie makeup expert must see it just before he applied the rubber pads, the wax, the putty and wig. An absurdity struck him and he grinned at her. "Which is the real Kalinski? Which is the real Zoe, eh? The old bag who likes to torture people — or this beautiful woman who would like to kill me right now?"

Her lovely face relaxed. The finger eased on the trigger. She smiled. "Thank you for telling me about the tiger hunters. I did not know. The boy slipped up there. But it doesn't matter. I have planned for everything."

He stared hard at her. "Would you by any chance be interested in finding out if the data in your dossier about my sex life is true? As you say — we have a long ride ahead of us. You could keep the gun at my head, you know. If nothing else, it will be a novel experience."

For a moment there was silence. Rain slashed at the window. The Seoul Express was running fast now, slashing through the narrow cuts and tunnels, the whistle howling like the ghosts of Korean dead who lay buried on their sere khaki mountain tops.

Something very strange glittered in her green eyes. The red mouth pursed as she examined him. Nick Carter had the feeling that he was being surveyed, assessed, viewed as a slave on a block might be viewed. She was, he knew, weighing him as a possible instrument of pleasure. The lady had her weaknesses, after all! Weakness. One was enough. It would allow him to get close to her. Not even the Russians could claim to have discovered a method of long distance lovemaking.

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.