Temple of Fear

Chapter 3

It was a few minutes after eight in the morning. Nick Carter had left Murial Milholland's apartment an hour before, ignoring the curious glances of a milkman and newsboy, and cabbed back to his own suite in the Mayflower Hotel. He was, for him, a little beat. He and Murial had switched to brandy and, between lovemaking — they had eventually adjourned to the bedroom — he had put away a lot of the grape. Nick never got drunk and he had the capacity of a Falstaff; he never had hangovers. Yet, on this particular morning, he was feeling just a tiny bit fuzzy.

Thinking back, later, he was also to blame it on the fact that he was more than a little bemused by Dr. Murial Milholland. Plain Jane, with the sumptuous body, who had been such a demon in bed. He had left her snoring very softly, still attractive in the morning light, and as he left the apartment he knew he was coming back. Nick couldn't understand it. She just wasn't his type! And yet… and yet…

He was shaving slowly, pensively, wondering with half his mind what it would be like to be married to an intelligent, mature woman who also happened to be an expert in sex, off the lectern as well as on it, when the door buzzer rasped. Nick was wearing only a dressing gown.

He did glance at the big bed as he went through the bedroom to answer the door. He did think of the Luger, Wilhelmina, and of Hugo, the stiletto, concealed in a zipper opening in the mattress. They were resting for the moment. Nick did not like to walk around Washington loaded for bear. Nor did Hawk approve of it. At times Nick did carry a little Beretta Cougar, a .380 that packed wallop enough at close range. For the past two days, because the shoulder clip was being repaired, he had not carried even that.

The door buzzer went again. Insistent. Nick hesitated, glanced at the bed where the Luger was snuggled away, then thought to hell with it. At eight in the morning on an ordinary Tuesday? Anyway he could take care of himself, there was a safety chain and he knew how to approach a door. It was probably only Hawk sending a mass of briefing material by special messenger. The old man did that occasionally.

Buzzzzz— buzzzzzz— buzzzz

Nick approached the door from the side, close to the wall. Anyone firing through the door would miss him.

Buzzzzz— buzzzzzz— buzzzz zz— buz

"All right," he called in sudden irritation. "All right 1 Leave the buzzer on the wall. Who is it?"

Silence.

Then: "Is Kyoto Girl Scouts. You buy cookies, prease?"

"Who?" His hearing had always been acute. Yet he could have sworn…

"Is Girl Scouts from Japan, prease. Here for Cherry Festival. Sell cookies. You buy, prease?"

Nick Carter shook his head to clear it. Okay. He had had that much brandy! But this he had to see for himself. The chain was latched. He opened the door a crack, keeping to one side, and peered cautiously out into the corridor. "Girl Scouts?"

"Yis. Have very good cookies for sale. You buy, prease?"

She bowed. The other three bowed. Nick damned near bowed. Because damned if they weren't Girl Scouts. Japanese Girl Scouts.

Four of them. As pretty as though they had stepped right out of a silk print. Demure. Shapely little Japanese dolls in Girl Scout uniforms, with pert tarns worn jauntily on sleek dark heads, Mini-skirts and knee socks. Four pairs of luminous slant eyes watched him in anticipation. Four sets of perfect teeth flashed the old Oriental con at him. Buy our cookies. They were as cute as a litter of speckled pups.

Nick Carter began to laugh. He couldn't help it. Wait until he told Hawk about this — or should he tell the old man? Nick Carter, top man in AXE, Killmaster himself, being very much alert and tippy-toeing to the door to confront — a bunch of Girl Scouts selling cookies. Nick made a gallant effort to stop laughing, to keep a straight face, but it was too much. He broke up again.

The girl who had spoken — she was closest to the door and was carrying a stack of cooky boxes which she gripped with her chin, stared at the AXEman in.puzzlement. The other three girls, all carrying boxes of cookies, also stared in polite wonderment.

The girl said: "We do not understand, sar. We are make something funny? If so we are solly. Not come to make joke — come to sell cookies for our fare back to Japan. You buy, prease. Help very much. We love your United States very much, have been here for Cherry Festival, but now with much sorrow must return to our own country. You buy cookies, prease?"

He was being rude again. As he had been with Murial Milholland. Nick wiped his eyes on the back of his dressing gown sleeve and slipped the chain. "I'm sorry, girls. Very sorry. It isn't you. It's me. This is one of my nutty mornings."

He sought for the Japanese word, tapping his temple with his finger. "Kichigai. That's me. Kichigai!"

The girls looked at each other, then back at him. None of them spoke. Nick pushed the door open. "It's all right, I promise. I'm harmless. Come in. Bring the cookies. I'll buy all of them. How much are they?" He would give Hawk a dozen boxes. Let the old man ponder that.

"One dolla box."

"That's cheap enough." He stood back as they trooped in, bringing the fragile odor of cherry blossoms with them. They were, he thought, all about fourteen or fifteen. Pretty. Nubile. All well developed for teeners, with their little breasts and buttocks bouncing and jouncing under the immaculate green uniform. The skirts, he thought as he watched them stack the cookies on a coffee table, appeared to be just a little mini for Girl Scouts. But maybe in Japan…

They were cute. So was the little Nambu pistol that suddenly appeared in the hand of the girl who had spoken. She pointed it directly at Nick Carter's flat, hard stomach.

"Put up your hands, please. Stand perfectly still. I do not wish to harm you. Kato — the door!"

One of the girls glided around Nick, keeping well away from him. The door closed softly, the lock clicked, the safety was slithered into the groove.

Well and truly conned, Nick thought. Taken. His professional admiration was genuine. It had been a masterful piece of workmanship.

"Mato — close all the drapes. Sato — you search the rest of the apartment. The bedroom especially. He may have a lady here."

"Not this morning," said Nick. "But thanks for the compliment, anyway."

The Nambu winked at him. It was a wicked little eye. "Sit down," the leader said coldly. "Sit down, please, and remain silent until you are told to speak. And do not try any tricks, Mr. Nick Carter. I know all about you. A great deal about you."

Nick went to the indicated chair. "Even to my ravenous appetite for Girl Scout cookies — at eight o'clock in the morning?"

"I said quiet! You will be permitted to talk all you like — after you have heard what I have to say."

Nick sat down. Under his breath he muttered, "Banzai!" He crossed his long legs, realized that the dressing gown was gaping and hastily closed it. The girl with the pistol noted it and smiled faintly. "No false modesty is necessary with us, Mr. Carter. We are not really Girl Scouts."

"If I were permitted to talk — I'd say that was beginning to dawn on me."

"Quiet!"

He shut up. He nodded wistfully toward a box of cigarettes and a lighter on a nearby taboret.

"No!"

He watched in silence. They were a most efficient little group. The door was checked again, the drapes, the room flooded with light. Kato came back to report that there was no back door. And that, Nick thought with some bitterness, had been to provide additional security. Well — nobody could win 'em all. But, if he got out of this one alive, his biggest problem was going to be keeping it quiet. Nick Carter taken in his own apartment by a bunch of Girl Scouts!

Things were quiet now. The girl with the Nambu sat opposite Nick on a sofa with the other three seated primly nearby. They were all staring at him gravely. Four little maids from school. This was a real weird Mikado.

Nick said: "Tea, anyone?"

She didn't tell him to keep quiet and she didn't shoot him. She crossed her legs, showing a fringe of pink panty under the mini-skirt. Her legs, all their legs — now that he really noticed — were a bit more developed and shapely than those usually found on Girl Scouts. He suspected they were wearing pretty tight bras, too.

'I am Tonaka," said the girl with the Nambu pistol.

He nodded gravely. "Pleased."

"And these," she indicated the others, "are…"

"I know. Mato, Sato and Kato. The cherry blossom sisters. Glad to know you, girls."

All three of them smiled. Kato giggled.

Tonaka frowned. "It pleases you to be facetious, Mr. Carter. I wish you would not. This is a very serious matter."

Nick knew that. He could tell by the way she held the little pistol. Most professional. But he needed time. Badinage got you time — sometimes. He was trying to figure the angles. Who were they? What did they want with him? He hadn't been in Japan for over a year and as far as he knew he was clean. What then? He kept drawing blanks.

"I know," he told her. "I know it's serious. Believe me I do. It's just that I have this gallant manner in the face of certain death, and…"

The girl called Tonaka spat like a wildcat. Her eyes narrowed and she was not at all pretty. She pointed the Nambu at him like an accusing finger.

"You will be quiet again, please! I have not come all this way to make stupid jokes."

Nick sighed. Flunked again. He wondered what had ever happened to "prease?"

Tonaka fumbled in a pocket of her Girl Scout blouse. It concealed what the AXEman could see, now he could see, was a very well-developed left breast.

She spun a coin-like object at him, "Do you recognize that, Mr. Carter?"

He did. Instantly. He should. He had had it made in London. Had it made by an expert workman in an East End curio shop. He had given it to a man who had saved his life in an alley fight in that same East End. Carter had been very near to cashing in that night in Limehouse.

He hefted the heavy medallion in his hand. It was of gold, the size of an old-fashioned silver dollar, and inset with jade. The jade was worked into letters, forming a scroll beneath a tiny green hatchet. AXE.

The letters were: Esto Perpetua. Let it endure forever. The it had been his friendship for Kunizo Matu, his old friend and long time judo-karate teacher. Nick frowned at the medallion. That had been a long time ago. Kunizo had returned to Japan long ago. He would be an old man now.

Tonaka was watching him narrowly. The Nambu was doing the same.

Nick tossed the medallion and caught it. "Where did you get this?"

"My father gave it to me."

"Kunizo Matu is your father?"

"He is, Mr. Carter. He has spoken of you often. Since I am a child I have heard the name of the great Nick Carter. Now I come to you to ask for help. Or rather my father sends for help. He has great faith and trust in you. He is sure that you will come to help us."

Suddenly he needed a cigarette. Badly needed it. The girl permitted him to light up. The other three, solemn as owls now, stared at him with unblinking dark eyes.

Nick said: "I owe your father a debt. And we were friends. Of course I will help. I will do anything I can. But how? When? Is your father in the States?"

"He is in Japan. In Tokyo. He is old and sick now and cannot travel. That is why you must come with us at once."

He closed his eyes and squinted against the smoke, trying to get the thing straight in his mind. Ghosts from the past could be disconcerting. But a debt was a debt. He owed his life to Kunizo Matu. He would have to do everything he could. But first…

"All right, Tonaka. But first things first. One thing at a time. The first thing you can do is put away that gun. If you're Kunizo's daughter you don't need it…"

She kept the gun on him. "I think maybe I do, Mr. Carter. We will see. I will put it away when I have your promise to come to Japan to help my father. And Japan."

"But I've already told you! I will help. That's a solemn promise. Now let's stop playing cops and robbers. Put that gun away and tell me all about the trouble your father's in. I'll figure out what to do and do it as soon as I possibly can. I…"

The gun remained on his belly. Tonaka was looking not pretty again. And most impatient.

"You still do not understand, Mr. Carter. You are coming to Japan now. This minute — or at least very soon. My father's trouble will not wait. There is no time for channels or for officials to confer for the various services to consult on steps to be taken. You see that I understand something of these-matters. So does my father. He has long been in the Secret Service of my country and he knows that red tape is the same everywhere. That is why he gave me the medallion and told me to find you. To ask you to come at once. This I intend to do."

The little Nambu winked at Nick again. He was beginning to tire of the flirtation. The unholy thing about it was — she meant it. She meant every damned word of it! Now!

Nick had a thought. He and Hawk had a voice code which they sometimes used. Maybe he could warn the old man. Then they could get these Japanese cowgirls under control, get them to talk and make sense, and start the ball rolling to help his friend. Nick sighed deeply. He would just have to admit to Hawk that he had been captured by a band of nutty Girl Scouts and ask his compatriots in AXE to get him out of it. Maybe they couldn't do it. It might take the CIA. Or the FBI. Maybe the Army and Navy and Marines. He just didn't know…

He said: "All right, Tonaka. Have it your way. At once. As soon as I can get dressed and pack a suitcase. And make a phone call."

"No phone calls."

For the first time he considered taking the gun away from her. This was getting ridiculous. Killmaster should be able to take a gun away from a Girl Scout! That was the trouble — she wasn't a Girl Scout. None of them were. Because now each of the others, Kato, Sato and Mato, had reached under those trim skirts and come up with Nambu pistols. All pointed insistently at Carter.

"What's the name of your troop, girls? Death's Angels?"

Tonaka wiggled the pistol at him. "My father told me that you would have many tricks, Mr. Carter. He is sure that you will honor your promise, your friendship to him, but he warned me that you would insist on doing it in your own way. This cannot be done. It must be done our way — in absolute secrecy."

"But it can be," said Nick. "I have a great organization at my command. Many such, If, I need them. I did not know that Kunizo was in your Secret Service — my felicitations to him for a well-kept secret — but then he surely must know the value of organization and cooperation. They can do the work of a thousand men — and security is no problem and…"

The pistol halted him. "You are very eloquent, Mr. Carter.. And very wrong. My father understands all those things, naturally, and they are exactly what he does not want. Or need. As for channels — you know as well as I that you are always watched, even if routinely, and so is your organization. You cannot make a single move without someone observing and passing it on. No, Mr. Carter. No phone calls. No official help. This is a job for one man, a friend who can be trusted and who will do as my father asks without asking too many questions. You are the perfect man for the thing that must be done — and you owe a life to my father. May I have the medallion back, please."

He tossed her the medallion. "All right," he conceded. "You seem determined and you have the gun. All of you have the guns. So it looks like I go to Japan with you. Right now. I drop everything, just like that, and take off. You realize, of course, that if I just disappear there will be a worldwide alert in a matter of hours?"

Tonaka allowed herself a tiny smile. He noticed that she was almost beautiful when she smiled. "We will worry about that later, Mr. Carter."

"What about passports? Customs?"

"No problem, Mr. Carter. Our passports are in perfect order. I'm sure that you have many passports — my father assured.me that you would have. Most certainly you have a diplomatic passport that will suffice for this. Any other objections?"

"Passage? There are such things as tickets and reservations."

"All taken care of, Mr. Carter. Everything is arranged. We will be in Tokyo in a very few hours."

He was beginning to believe it. Really believe it. They probably had a space ship waiting out on the Mall. Oh, brother! Hawk was going to love this. A big mission upcoming — Nick knew the signs — and Hawk keeping him on tap until the thing was ripe and now this. There was also the minor matter of the lady, Muriel Milholland. He had a date with her tonight. The least a gentleman could do was call and…

Nick looked pleadingly at Tonaka. "Just one phone call? To a lady? I don't want to stand her up."

The little Nambu was adamant. "No."

NICK CARTER VANISHES — POTOMAC DRAGGED…

Tonaka stood up. Kato, Mato and Sato stood up. All the little guns blinked at Nick Carter.

"We will now," said Tonaka, "go into the bedroom, Mr. Carter."

Nick blinked at them. "Huh?"

"In the bedroom, please. At once!"

Nick stood up and tightened the dressing gown around him. "If you say so."

"Hands up, please."

He was getting a little tired of the Wild West bit. "Now look, Tonaka! I am cooperating. I am a friend of your father and I'll help, even if I don't like the way we're going about things. But let's cut out all this crazy…"

"Hands up! Keep them high in the air! March into the bedroom."

He marched. Hands high in the air. Tonaka followed him into the room, keeping at a professional distance. Trooping in behind came Kato, Mato and Sato.

He visualized another headline: Carter Gang-raped by Girl Scouts…

Tonaka moved the pistol toward the bed. "You will please to get on the bed, Mr. Carter. Drop your robe. You will lie face up."

Nick stared. The words he had spoken to Hawk only yesterday came back and he repeated them. "You've got to be kidding!"

No smile on any of the pale lemon-brown faces. Dark slant eyes all attentive on him and his big body.

"No kidding, Mr. Carter. On the bed. At once!" The pistol moved in her small hand. Her trigger finger was white around the knuckle. Nick understood, for the first time during all these fun and games it really percolated down, that she would shoot him unless he did exactly as he was told. Exactly.

He dropped the robe. Kato hissed. Mato smiled darkly. Sato giggled. Tonaka gave them a nasty glance and they got back to business. But there was approval in her own dark eyes as they swept briefly up and down his trim two hundred pounds. She nodded. "A magnificent body, Mr. Carter. As my father said it would be. He remembers well how much he taught you and how he conditioned you. At another time, perhaps — but that is not important now. On the bed. Face up."

Nick Carter was embarrassed and self-conscious. He was not a liar, especially to himself, and he admitted it. There was something so unnatural, even a little obscene, in lying fully exposed to the probing eyes of four Girl Scouts. Four pairs of epicanthoid eyes that were not missing a thing.

One thing for which he was thankful — it was not a sexy situation, far from it, and he was in no danger of having a physical reaction. He shuddered inwardly. A slow rising to crest in front of all those eyes. It was unthinkable. Sato would have giggled.

Nick watched Tonaka steadily. She kept the pistol on his belly, so fully exposed now, and her mouth twitched in a beginning smile. She fought it back successfully.

"I only regret," said Nick Carter, "that I have but one virtue to give for my country."

Suppressed mirth from Kato. Tonaka glared at her. Silence. Tonaka glowered at Nick. "You, Mr. Carter, are a fool!"

"Sans doute."

Beneath his left buttock he could feel the hard metal of the zipper set into the mattress. Therein lay the Luger, that nasty hot rod of a gun, a stripped-down 9mm of murder. Also the stiletto. Thirsty Hugo. Death's needlepoint. Nick sighed and forgot it. He could probably get to them, so what? What then? Shoot down four little Girl Scouts from Japan? And why did he keep thinking of them as Girl Scouts? The uniforms were authentic but that was all. They were four female maniacs from some Tokyo yo-yo academy. And he was in the middle. Grin and suffer.

Tonaka was. snapping orders. "Kato — look in the kitchen. Sato, in the closets. Mato — ah, that is it. Those ties will be just the thing."

Mato had a handful of Nick's best and most expensive ties, among them the Sulka he had worn only once. He sat up in protest. "Hey! If you've got to use ties use old ones. I just…"

Tonaka rapped him smartly across the forehead with the pistol. She was fast. In and out before he could snatch at the gun.

"Lie down," she snapped. — "Quietly. No more talking. We must get on with our work. Already there has been too much foolishness — our plane leaves in an hour."

Nick lifted his head. "I agree about the foolishness. I…"

Another rap across the forehead. He lay sullen as they tied him to the bedposts. They were very good at knots. He could have broken the bonds at any time, but again to what purpose? That was part of this whole crazy deal — he found himself more and more not wanting to hurt them. And, since he was already so deep in Goofyville, he now had a genuine curiosity to find out just what they were up to.

It was a picture he would carry to the grave. Nick Carter tie.d with his own ties, spread-eagled on his bed, mother naked and exposed to the dark stares of four little maidens from the Orient. A snatch of a favorite old song drifted through his mind: they'll never believe me.

He could hardly believe what he saw next. Feathers. Four long red feathers produced from somewhere under the miniskirts.

Tonaka and Kato were on one side of the bed, Mato and Sato on the other. If they all get close enough, Nick thought, I can snap these ties and bash their stupid little heads together and…

Tonaka dropped her feather and stepped back, the Nambu back in position on his flat stomach. Professionalism had reasserted itself. She nodded curtly at Sato. "Gag him."

"Now look here," said Nick Carter. "I… guli… ummm… phummmp…" A clean handkerchief and another of his ties did the trick.

"Start," said Tonaka. "Kato, you take his feet. Mato, you work on his armpits. Sato — the genitals."

Tonaka stepped back another few paces and kept the gun steady on Nick. She permitted herself a smile. "I am rather sorry, Mr. Carter, that we must do it — this way. I know it is undignified and ridiculous."

Nick nodded vigorously. "Hummmmpffj— guuuu— noggle-uuppp…"

"Try to bear up, Mr. Carter. It should not take long. We are going to drug you. you see, and one of the propensities of this drug is that it maintains and extends the mood of the person to whom it is given, at the time it is given. We want you happy, Mr. Carter. We want you laughing all the way to Japan!"

He had known all along that there was method in this madness. The ultimate perception changed nothing. They would still kill him if he resisted. This Tonaka kid was just crazy enough to do it. And now it was getting past the point of resistance. Those feathers! It was an old Chinese torture and he had never realized how efficacious it was. It was the sweetest agony in all the world.

Sato was running the feather ever so gently around his privates. Nick convulsed. Mato worked industriously on his armpits. Ohhhhaaahaaaaa…

Kato was using a long expert stroke on the soles of his feet. Nick's toes began to curl and cramp. He couldn't, goddam it, stand much more of this. Anyway he had played along with this nutty quartet far enough. Any second now he was just going to have to — ahhhhooo— eeeeee— bust loose and let the stuff hit the fan and maybe hurt some of these cute little — ehhhyaaaaaaa— crazies and maybe get shot with that little Nambu and eeeyaahoooaaaaa…

Her timing was perfect. He had been distracted just long enough for her to get down to the real business. The needle. The long shining needle. Nick saw it, and then he didn't see it. Because it was buried in the relatively soft tissue of his right buttock.

The needle went deep. Deeper. Tonaka was staring down at him as she jammed the plunger home. She smiled. Nick arched and laughed and laughed and laughed.

The drug hit him hard, almost instantly. His bloodstream picked it up and raced it along to his brain and motor centers.

They had stopped tickling him now. Tonaka smiled down and patted his face with a soft hand. She put the little pistol away.

"There," she said. "How do you feel now? All happy?"

Nick Carter smiled. "Never better in my life." He laughed.. "You know something — I feel like having a drink. Like having a lot of drinks. What do you say, girls? Let's all go out and get blasted."

Tonaka clapped her hands. How demure and sweet she was, Nick thought. How nice. He wanted to make her happy. He would do anything she wanted to — anything.

"I think that will be splendid fun," said Tonaka. "Don't you, girls?"

Kato, Sato and Mato all thought it would be splendid. They clapped their little hands and giggled and they all, each one, insisted on kissing Nick. Then they stood back, giggling and smiling and talking. Tonaka did not kiss him.

"You had better get dressed, Nick. Quickly. You know we have to get to Japan."

Nick sat up as they untied him. He laughed. "Of course. I was forgetting. Japan. But are you sure you really want to go, Tonaka? We could have a lot of fun right here in Washington."

Tonaka came close to him. She bent and kissed him, pressing her mouth to his for a long time. She smoothed his cheek. "Of course I want to go to Japan, Nick, darling. Hurry now. We'll help you get dressed and packed. You just tell us where things are."

He felt like a king as he sat naked on the bed and watched them scurry around. Japan was going to be a lot of fun. It had been a long time, too long, since he had had a real vacation like this. Without any responsibilities at all. Free as air. He might even send Hawk a post card. Or maybe not. To hell with Hawk.

Tonaka was riffling through a dresser drawer. "Where is your diplomatic passport, Nick, darling?"

"In the closet, honey, in the lining of the Knox hat box. Let's hurry, shall we! Japan is calling."

And then, suddenly, he wanted that drink again. Wanted it worse than he had ever wanted a drink in his life. He snatched a pair of white boxer trunks from Sato, who was packing a suitcase, and went into the living room and took a bottle of Scotch from the portable bar.