Istanbul

Chapter 5 Council of War

They had spent all day talking and planning, Nick and Mousy and the girl, Mija Gialellis, and Nick had not yet begun to form an opinion about her. She had not been out of the Hole since Mousy brought her there, so that was no danger. They hadn't been tailed there, or probably hadn't, because the enemy would have hit them before now. These scum didn't fool around — as witnessed by the attack by the cruiser that morning.

N3 was relating all this now to Hawk on the scrambler phone. His boss, like Queen Victoria, had not been amused. He had, in fact, been most upset.

"I just wish to hell you hadn't dropped Tiny Tim in their Golden Horn," he said in the chipped ice voice he used for anger. "Especially right now! The Turks are a little testy with us right now as it is — the Cyprus thing, you know. I just got the poop this morning from State — one of their cookie pushers called and asked us please not to antagonize the Turks in any way. Not just us, of course — everybody is being warned — but anyway the striped pants boys are flapping about it. Seems the Turks are going to the second Bandung Conference pretty soon and they'll be our only friend there — if that. Orders are that everybody handles them with kid gloves — and now you drop a miniature atom bomb in their harbor! Did you have to?"

Nick was glad his chief could not see his expression of disgust. "You ever try to fight a thirty-eight-foot cruiser with a stiletto, sir?"

After a long moment Hawk sighed. "Well, I suppose you had to. But State isn't kidding! In their powder-puff fumbling way they usually know what they're doing — and if the Turks grab you I'm afraid it would be a long time before we could get you out of the clink. Unofficially, of course. Officially we never heard of you."

"No need to remind me of that, sir." Nick was dry. "I know the rules."

"Just thought I'd remind you. The Turks are a little on edge just now. Of course they've got Ivan to worry about, as usual, and now they seem to think the Red Chinese are trying to stir up trouble in the Balkans. Probably are, too, but that's not our worry."

"I hope not," Nick said. "I've got about all I can handle now, what with Mousy going bad and not being sure of the girl and Todhunter was the last Narcotics man on the spot! I…"

Hawk broke in. "About Todhunter again — you think they were after him? Not you or Mousy? Let me have that again."

Nick repeated what he had said earlier. "Mousy came up with this, and I think he's right. One of the other Narcotics men that was killed was Pete Todhunter, Jim's brother! They were very close, Mousy says. And Mousy thought Jim had been getting careless. I think I know why — Jim had forgotten his job and gone into the vengeance business! That's why he fought the cruiser this morning instead of going over the side."

Coldly, Nick added, "Too bad about him, sir, but be had only himself to blame. And he damned near got Mousy and me killed. Anyway Mousy is through — his nerves have gone. I'll have to use him tonight on this deal, but after that, no more. Better get him out as fast as you can, sir."

"I'll get him out," Hawk said. "I'll set it up right away. But that's going to leave you pretty much on your own."

"It won't be the first time," Nick reminded him. "Anyway I like it that way. I've decided that about the only way I'll get anywhere is to barge into the china shop and start breaking up the merchandise. That's what I'm going to do tonight — at the Cinema Bleu! That's spelled B-L-E-U, sir, and means…"

Hawk coughed. "I was born a long time before you were, boy! They were making those kind of movies then, too. Just see that you keep your mind on business!"

"I will, sir, I will." Nick added: "I never liked those blue movies very much anyway, sir. Not enough action for me."

A little silence. Hawk cleared his throat. Then, to Nick's surprise, he came right back with malice in his voice. "There have been certain prophecies, my boy, around here, that when you are found dead it will be in a whorehouse! I think a blue movie will suffice, though it's stretching a point! Now if there's nothing else to say get on with your job — and try to- stay out of trouble. Good luck, son."

"Thanks, sir. I'll need it. Goodbye." Nick hung up. He had been tempted to make one last sarcastic remark, but decided against it. He had been brash enough for one day. Still — to send a man to kill four people and then advise him to stay out of trouble! Brother!

He left the clammy little niche where the radio consoles had been set up and went back along the passage to the central cavern. Nick paused at the entrance to the low-domed cavern and inspected the scene. He had finally decided what he must do about the girl — and it had both pleasant and unpleasant aspects.

It was quiet in the cavern. Quiet and damp and cold. Nick could hear water trickling as he lit one of the American cigarettes Mousy had so thoughtfully brought along from the station in Pera. Mousy was sleeping now in one of the niches ringing the cavern, sleeping from sheer exhaustion and a little too much fiery Turkish raki supplied by the old Albanian. Bici?

Yes, that was it. Bici! AXE, it appeared, had in some way inherited him from the British. Mousy swore by him. He seemed okay. An old man of incredibly dirty and gnarled strength, he had fierce drooping moustachios and smoked a stinking cutty pipe. He was also sleeping now and his snores were the only audible sounds in the place.

No sound came from the niche where the girl slept. Nick made a slight move in her direction, then halted. He glanced at his watch. Plenty of time before the job tonight. Meantime he had some thinking to do.

His briefing from Mousy that afternoon had been as comprehensive as the little man could make it. He had acquired substantial dossiers on three of the four they were after — there was not much on Johnny Ruthless who, in any case, had dropped out of sight.

Nick, who had been briefed in Washington on these men, nevertheless went through the local dossiers. There might be something Washington had overlooked, though it was unlikely.

"That's one of the main difficulties," Mousy said. "These bastards must have a counter-intelligence setup that's a beauty. Professional! No matter what we try, how many electronic bugs we come up with, nothing works. They all go dead. Vanish. They know everything we know and how to guard against it. It's been driving us nuts! The only reason we ever tumbled to Defarge was that he visits the Cinema Bleu every now and then, and seems to be a friend of the woman who runs the place. Her name's Leslie Standish and the Turkish cops know she peddles dope. But she's small time and they're trying to use her. I talked them into letting us have a crack at her. We'll know more about that tonight, of course."

Mija Gialellis, sipping at a small glass of ouza, a resinous wine she said she preferred to the potent raki— "after all I am half Greek" — put in a word at this point. The girl had not spoken much at first, and when she did she used English. For practice, she explained.

Now she said: "I saw this man Defarge in the Cinema Bleu at one or two times when I go there. One time I see him come from office of Leslie Standish. I… I myself am just come out." She paused for a moment, her oval brown eyes meeting Nick's searching glance without turning away. "It was when I was — how you say it? Using the dope? I am sorry — my English is not good?"

"It's better than my Turkish," Nick told her. He had not yet decided what to do about Mija. It could wait.

He went on, "What do you think he was doing there? A man of his age? Probably not a user?"

The girl had sturdy expressive shoulders. She used them now. Her full red mouth crinkled in a rather weary smile. "I not concern myself to think. I… I have myself troubles, you understand? But — wait! There is one thing I remember I think — that he looks like a crooks in American movie. A fat crooks!"

Mousy, who had been at the raki bottle again, grinned at her. "We've got a lot of fat crooks in the States. Both in the movies and out! Come on, Mija. Think, girl!"

She ran a small hand through her cap of shining blue-black hair. "Ohh… dum it! I cannot now — wait, I remember now. Sidney Groundstreet! No?"

"Greenstreet," said Nick. He regarded her closely, thinking that if she were a plant she was playing the part well. He'd know about that soon enough now. He continued, "Don't you think he went there for the same reason most people do? For the show?"

Mija made a face. "Oh, that! The bad pictures. No, I do not think so. He was alone — and the Standish did not allow but couples. It is a — a policy." She waved her hands in a little gesture and Nick thought he saw a hint of amusement in her eyes. "It does not matter what couples, but must be couples!"

Mousy Morgan broke in again with a small leer. "Maybe the Standish dame was giving him a private show?"

Mija laughed shortly. "Not so. She is not like mans!"

Nick gave Mousy a look and the little man subsided. Nick had purposely allowed Mousy to get loaded because he knew how desperately the little guy needed a break, a chance to relax. Before the job tonight Nick was going to hold his head under one of the icy streams that trickled from the cavern's ceiling. Nick grinned at the thought. He had taken a bath and shaved in that water! Mousy would be sober tonight!

Now he said, rather harshly, "Let's get on with it!"

Nick looked at Mousy. The little man was smoking silently, staring at the ceiling of the cave. Now he said, "It's pretty obvious that this broken down pelota player is the straw boss, so to speak. We think he organizes the smuggling trains that take the opium across the border into Syria and Iran. Never been able to prove a damned thing, naturally. Can't catch him at it — I mean the border patrols never have! All they ever get after a raid, or a trap, is a lot of dead Kurds and even if they do get some live ones they never talk! Hot irons won't make a Kurd talk if he don't want to! We think maybe Gonzalez uses terror — you know, their families back home will get hurt if they talk. But Kurds are crazy wild bastards anyway — perfect for smuggling. Kurds hate everybody but Kurds! And it's been hard to get much on this Basque bastard because he hardly ever comes into civilization — stays out in the wilderness all the time. And there's plenty of that out there, believe me!"

Mousy reached for the raki jug.

"No!" Nick's voice was sharp. "Lay off the popskull for now, Mousy. Let's get this over with and get some sleep. What about this Dr. Six — Joseph Six? Washington says he was a Nazi — worked as a doctor in a concentration camp! That right?"

Mousy reluctantly took his hand away from the jug. Old Bici, the Albanian, took the opportunity to seize it and put away a drink of terrifying proportions. Mousy stared at him in fascination while Bici wiped his moustachios on the back of a dirty hand. "My God," said Mousy in a reverent tone. "That would have killed me."

Nick was tolerant. "Mousy! Dr. Six?"

The little agent shrugged his thin shoulders. "Same old story. Can't prove a damned thing. He is a doctor, all right. Doktor. Arzt. Medicine, that is. At least I think it is — anyway I'd hate to know what he specialized in those concentration camps!"

N3's face was usually impassive. Never did it betray an emotion he did not wish it to. But someone who knew him intimately — and there were very few — would have noticed a slight hardening of his face now. He hated no one in the accepted sense of the word. In his job he could not afford to hate. It got you involved emotionally. Ruined your judgment. You made mistakes. No — N3 did not hate. But if he had a preference for killing it would be those who ran concentration camps — no matter when or where or for what dictatorship.

Nick said now, "Odd the Turks would let a character like that hang around."

"They need doctors," Mousy said. "How they need them! They're building a whole new country and every little bit helps. Anyway it's sort of like the opium — our problems aren't exactly their problems! They need us and they cooperate, but the viewpoints are different. And nothing can be proven against this Six. They had to let him go in Germany, after the war, and if they couldn't hang him…!"

Nick stared at Mousy, but for the moment hardly saw the little man. Mousy had compiled the dossiers, but then Mousy was vastly inexperienced compared to Nick. N3 thought he saw how a man like Dr. Six could be useful. Sometimes the enforcers of the Syndicate wouldn't want to kill a man, at least not at first. They would want to question him! What better place than a sanitarium with its operating table and its truth serums and its sharp little knives?"

"I think I can guess the capacity," Nick said. For some reason Mousy found himself shivering at the chill in his chief's voice. Then the moment passed. Nick said, "And now we get to the last — but I've got an idea not least — Johnny Ruthless! From all I hear we don't know much about him?"

"You hear right," Mousy admitted. He took off his horn rims and polished them. Nick, without particular compassion, noted how pale and fatigued the little guy was, how the purple shadows beneath the weak eyes were rapidly becoming pouches. This was a nasty job and it had moved in suddenly and Mousy wasn't the man for it. After tonight he would be on his way back to the States and a nice long rest.

"We don't even know his name," Mousy said, replacing his glasses. He peered through the candle-guttering gloom at Nick. "Just that everybody clams up the minute you mention Johnny Ruthless! We know so little that I didn't even try to compile a dossier on him. I'll just give it to you first hand, shall I? What we think, what we know, what we suspect — anyway you look at it it's not much."

The Albanian had banished into his niche some time before. Now Mija Gialellis stood up with a graceful motion. She was wearing black stretch pants that moulded her long legs beautifully. She looked at Nick.

"A ffedersiniz?"

Nick nodded curtly. "Excused. I'll want to talk to you later, alone."

The girl nodded and went to her niche and disappeared. They heard cot springs squeak.

Nick looked at Mousy. "Now tell me about our Johnny."

"Okay. I hope you won't be disappointed. First — no pix of any sort. By the time we knew we needed pictures he wasn't around any more. That was about three months ago, when this thing started to get hot. But his description, from all we've been able to get since, is that he's young — about thirty, maybe. Slim. Good looking, with a little pencil moustache. Black hair slicked down close to his head. One thing — he seems to like to wear evening clothes. You know, a dinner jacket. A tux."

"Eyes?"

Mousy nodded. "Now that's one thing we got pretty universal agreement on — coal black. Sort of a staring look."

Nick rubbed his chin. "I thought you said you couldn't get people to talk about this guy? You seem to have done pretty well."

"Not really." Mousy lit a cigarette. "All that stuff is what we got from joints around town, mostly high class night clubs and so on, after we got interested in the guy. We got it from headwaiters, bartenders, people like that, who didn't really know him. Just vaguely remembered him. But every time we got a lead to someone who had actually known him — that was different! For one thing…" and Mousy sighed — "a lot of them just weren't around any more! Vanished. We did find one guy who admitted having known Johnny Ruthless — he had the nerve to tell us he thought it was the guy's right name — and I think maybe he slipped a little. He said he thought Ruthless was from Chicago…"

"Chicago?"

"Yeah — then the guy got so scared at what he'd said that he clammed up. Not even the Turkish police could make him talk — and if they can't, no one can. Later they found out he had a phony passport and deported him. Anyway he claimed mat he hadn't known Johnny very well, just around the gambling clubs and such. And didn't know where he lived. Nobody we talked to had the faintest idea where Johnny lived. It was like the guy didn't have a home!"

Nick was thoughtful. "It's hard to see how anyone could be so evasive. The Turkish police are supposed to be pretty good."

"They are. But this character was like a ghost."

"You make him sound like one, I'll admit. But even ghosts have to live somewhere."

Mousy shrugged. "I told you — it's a bastard!"

"Most cold trails are," Nick agreed. "Now, from Washington I got it that the first Narcotics man was murdered about six months ago?"

"Right. Fished out of the Bosphorus with his throat cut. All of his identification on him. They wanted us to know — of course it wasn't our job then!"

Nick nodded. "Of course. It was a warning. Three months ago another Narcotics man was killed. Right?"

"Yes. Same thing. Pulled out of the Bosphorus with his throat cut."

Nick fit a cigarette. "And it was then, after this second murder, that you started looking for Johnny Ruthless and he had vanished?"

Mousy looked at the raki bottle. Nick pushed it away. "Yes," said Mousy. "We — the Narcotics people — had one vague tip that the second murdered guy had been seen talking to someone who might have been Johnny Ruthless. Anyway when they started looking for him he had dropped out of sight. No report of him since."

Nick pondered, remembering his Washington briefing. "Then in recent weeks Narcotics lost two more men — one of them being Pete Todhunter, Jim's brother?"

Mousy was beginning to look miserable.

"Right. Both with their throats cut. Only difference being that one of them was found in the Golden Horn instead of in the Bosphorus."

"We've got a razor man on our hands," Nick Carter said, almost to himself. "The good old fashioned straight edge razor. A nasty weapon."

Mousy stared at him. "How do you know? The Turkish MO said he couldn't be sure."

Mousy happened to be looking straight into Nick Carter's eyes as he spoke. He could never quite remember the color of this big man's eyes. They changed. Now he thought they were green, a deep sea green, and for a moment a shark swirled and turned in the depths. Mousy shivered.

"I know," said Nick Carter softly. "It's got the feel. A razor man is a sadist — loves his work." He looked at Mousy and grinned and suddenly the little man felt better.

Nick said: "Better get some sleep now, Mousy. Remember I got a date to take you to the movies tonight!"

The little agent made a face. "The things I do fot AXE! Letting myself be dressed as a girl and taken to see feelthy moving peectures!" But he laughed. "You promised you would never tell anyone back in Washington about this?"

"I know," said Nick. "Now beat it. I'll call you when it's time to begin the beguine."

The tall anvil shouldered man who had been standing so long in the chill shadows stirred at last. He took a deep breath and peered around and for a moment his eyes were vacant and unfocused.

Nick glanced at his wrist watch. He had been standing motionless for nearly an hour. He flexed the big, long smooth running muscles and took a few deep breaths, did a few knee bends. Then he glanced toward the niche where the girl slept. Best get on with it.

Nick took a large and powerful flash from a clammy ledge and went to the niche. Mija Gialellis was sleeping on her side, her cheek cushioned on her arms. Her breathing was slow and peaceful. If she's got a bad conscience, Nick thought, she doesn't let it bother her. But then maybe she's a pro — or a junky!

Nick wasted no time. He directed the powerful beam full into her face. The girl came awake with a frightened little cry — "Uhhhh!"

"Don't be afraid," Nick said. "I'm not going to hurt you. But I've got to do this. Take off your clothes!"

"What!" Her red mouth was a round red O of astonishment as she stared into the light, her smoky brown eyes narrowed. She was fully clothed, yet instinctively she clutched the single sleazy blanket to her breasts.

"Look," said Nick Carter patiently. "I'll explain it once. No more. Then if you don't cooperate I'll take off your clothes myself. Okay. You say you're a cured addict! You say you want to help us! Maybe it's true, I hope it is. But I can't take your word for it — surely you can see that? So take off your clothes, please, so I can look for fresh needle marks. If you're clean — fine. If not — well, then we'll know, won't we? Now start undressing. I won't touch you. I'm working, Mija! This isn't pleasure for me." Nick couldn't help wondering if that last statement was a hundred percent true?

"Yok!" The Turkish NO that really means NO! She sat up on the cot, still clutching the blanket to her. "This is a horrible thing you do to me! I will not! You cannot make me!"

Smiling to reassure her, keeping his own voice low, Nick said: "Evet! Yes I can! I will if you force me. Now!"

Her mouth began to tremble. In a voice of entreaty she whispered, "Rica ederim?"

Nick firmed his voice. "Begging won't help, Mija. Now start undressing. Right now!" N3's voice cracked like a whip.

The girl glanced wildly around. "No use screaming for help," Nick told her. "You don't need it — and it won't do any good. I give the orders."

She hesitated. Nick reached a hand for the blanket. In the angled light she saw the planes of his face as hard as stone. She twisted away. "Yok! I… I will do it!"

"Good." He stepped back and directed the flash on her. "That will save everybody a lot of trouble. Take off all your clothes and then stretch out on the cot face down."

Mija Gialellis sat on the edge of the cot and began to undress, her lovely face distorted by a scowl of rage. "I am to hate you for this," she spat. "Forever I hate you! If I am live to be many years I shall hate you and…"

"Shut up," Nick told her. "You talk too much. Just keep quiet and get on with it. It'll be over just that much sooner."

Mija unbuttoned her blouse and shrugged out of it. She put it on the cot and bent forward to begin sliding off the black stretch pants.

"Your brassiere, too," Nick commanded. "I said everything. I meant everything!"

She gave him a look of pure hatred. "You are filthy! You want the peeps show!"

Nick gave her a look. "What I don't want is to lose patience with you! But…" He took a step toward the cot.

"Yok!"

She craned behind her to unsnap the black brassiere and slide it down slim arms. Mija tossed it on the floor with a gasp of frustrated rage. She glared at him, making no effort to cover her small melon sized breasts. "You are; satisfy now?"

Nick repressed a grin. She was working up a full head of steam. Sternly he said, "No. I'm not. Now the pants, please."

Her firm breasts, red-ochre tipped, rippled as she leaned to obey. She did not look at him now. Her flesh was a tawny shade, a trifle lighter than olive and smooth with a fine texture. The top of her head, in the blaze of the flashlight, glistened like a black helmet. Nick heard her choke back a sob, whether in rage or hurt modesty he did not know. Or care. They were getting on with the job. Soon he would know at least part of the truth about her.

The stretch pants were on the floor. She was wearing a pair of very skimpy white panties. Nick waited. She did not move.

"Off with them," he commanded.

She stared sullenly at the floor. "I will not. It is too much!"

"Damn it!" Nick moved.

"Hayir!" The more gentle no this time. "I… I will do myself." A stretch and slither of elastic and nylon and the panties were on the floor.

"That's fine," said Nick. He smiled at her, trying to ease things a bit. "You could make a good living striping in the States, you know. You take long enough. Now turn over on the cot."

Mija scowled. "Y… you promise you will not touch me?"

"I promise. Now turn over!"

The girl turned over and lay face down. Nick took a step forward and saw her tense. "Relax," he said cheerfully. "This won't hurt a bit."

Beginning at her ankles he moved the flash up along the splendid body. Her legs were longer than he had thought at first, the ankles sturdy but clean boned, the flesh behind the knees taut flexured. Nick realized that Mija had the body of a fine girl athlete. He saw that she was trembling ever so slightly. To put her at ease he asked, casually, if she had ever been an athlete. To his surprise she answered.

"Yes. Since I am a little girl until… you know…"

Nick nodded savagely. He knew. Until she got the monkey on her back! Until life became a desperate stretch of time from one fix to another!

Nick took the light up over fine lean hips and buttocks that were just rounded enough. A waist amazingly small. Strong column of spine, lying sinuous under muscles that rippled beneath tawny velvet smooth skin. Her shoulders were wide for a girl.

So far Nick had not detected a blemish, not even a mole. But he knew what he would find when she turned over. Just so none of them were fresh!

"Okay," he told her. "You can turn over now."

He had expected another argument, but instead Mija rolled docilely over on her back. She kept her eyes tightly closed.

Nick saw them then. Little white stipples, countless tiny scars around her shoulders and the inner upper arms. Both shoulders. Both arms. This kid had been a mainliner. It was a marvel she had ever made it back. If she had!

He could not find a fresh scar. One possible spot remained.

"Raise your breasts," he told her.

The girl's long brown eyes flew open. "What?"

"Raise your breasts with your hands so I can see under to the ribcage. Come on, now, Mija! It's almost over."

She closed her eyes again. She took one solid breast in each hand and lifted it. No scars. Nick turned away. "Fine. You can get dressed now."

"You will turn the light away, please?. I can dress in the dark." Nick did so. He heard a rustle and slide of clothing. Then she stopped dressing. "You trust me now?"

"Not exactly," he said. "But it's a big point in your favor. Ready for the light?"

"Yes, please." There was a subtle change in her tone of voice. Softer? Certainly no longer the tones of anger or outrage. He clicked on the flash and faced her. "I'm sorry I had to do that, Mija. But you of all people should understand! You know what we're up against, what we must do. We've got to destroy those people — I couldn't take a chance that you were a plant for them!"

There was a look of curious tenderness in the eyes of Mija Gialellis as she looked at Nick. Moisture sparkled on her lashes. "I do know," she said softly. "And I thank you — Nick! For being with me so gentle. B… But you say you still do not trust me?"

If there was any softness about him she could not find it. Nick regarded her levelly for a moment, then said, "That will have to wait, Mija. Trust — and perhaps other things. Come on, now. I've got to get Mousy made up to something reasonably like a woman. At least in a dark alley. You can help."

But for a moment neither moved. Their eyes clung, his somber and hard, hers softened now even in the harsh light.

N3 knew then that there was going to be something between them. Inshallah! As Mousy would say.

"Come on," he commanded. "It's getting late."

Mija smiled at him. She knew.

They both knew.