The Golden Serpent

Chapter 11 The Net

Killmaster kept rolling like a barrel, hugging the side of the cavern. The huge lights blazing from the ceiling were stark, glaring, a blinding white that hurt his eyes. Later he knew that he owed his life to the suddenness of the lights; they had blinded everyone — the Chinese soldiers and The Bitch’s guards who poured into the cavern from two directions. They came out of the passage Nick had just left and they poured through great sliding steel doors at the far end of the huge cave. Even as he moved and fired and frantically sought shelter Nick knew what the woman had done — she had deliberately kept the power off until she was ready to attack. Harper must be dead. Or had joined forces with her. Either way she was out to wipe out the Chinese, to take over once and for all.

The AXEman sensed that for the moment he was of no great importance. Thank God! It gave him what little chance he was going to have. To cut and run for it. His job was over. His duty now was to get back alive, with what he knew, and let the CIA and the Mexican police take over.

No one seemed to be shooting directly at him at the moment. He was caught in a crossfire. He huddled in the lean shelter of a tall stack of paper — the Chinese must have shipped in tons of the stuff — and made a rapid survey of the battleground. No sign of Gerda von Rothe herself. Her guards were keeping a heavy and constant fire on the little band of Chinese soldiers now holed up on a far ledge of the lagoon. The light dimmed a bit as the Chinese shot out a cluster of bulbs. That figured. The Chinese were badly outnumbered and would have a better chance in the dark.

The AXEman lay with his nose pressed against dank stone and let his eyes rove. He was immobile for the moment and that wouldn’t do. Not at all. The harsh voice of his old sergeant rang in his ears — first law for survival in a fire fight: keep moving, keep moving, keep moving!

Bullets were ticking around him, whining off the wall over his head. He saw something he had missed before, a narrow opening in the cavern wall between himself and the vault with the combination lock on it. As he spotted it he saw a Chinese peer around the corner, snap off a burst with his Tommy gun, then disappear back into the passage.

A slug tugged at his bush jacket, now filthy and covered with blood. He had to move out. Any spot was better than this. He ran hard for the mouth of the passage, crouching almost double and zigzagging. As he came within five yards of the passage the Chinese soldier popped into view again. His arm came up and over as he lobbed something toward the guards around the rear tunnel. A grenade!

As the soldier was ducking back into the passage he saw Nick coming at him. His eyes widened and he tried to get his machine gun around, but not in time. Nick let go a burst that took his head half off. The grenade let go with a sullen whomp and he heard men screaming. Nick dove into the cover of the passage as a fusillade rattled off the walls just behind him. He breathed again.

The tunnel in the stone was high and narrow, wide enough for one man. At the far end was a blaze of light and even above the gunfire Nick heard the chattering of a wireless key being pounded at high speed. This was their radio room. The operator must be working the submarine, Sea Dragon, lurking somewhere off the coast. Asking for help. Nick Carter charged into the radio room. Nothing much was going to help the Chinese now.

There was only one operator, alone, pounding frantically at his key. He turned as Nick came blasting in, terror written on the pale yellow face. He was a small man. Nick shot him out of the chair. He fell across the key, which set up a continuous wail of high voltage agony.

Nick aimed his Tommy gun at the transmitter and pressed the trigger. Nothing. The damned thing had jammed. No. Empty. His clip was exhausted and he had no spare.

There was another Tommy gun hanging from a spike hammered into the wall. Nick grabbed it and was about to let go a burst when he caught himself. Fool! He had a little time. Seconds. Use it to advantage.

He sat down at the key and began to send in clear. Homer might be listening. Certainly the CIA monitors would be. It was worth the precious seconds he was spending.

His fingers tapped at the bug, sending it too fast, sending it any old way, sprawling and garbled, but getting it out: Carter — Carter — Carter — All Hell Loose El Mirador — Involves VIP Also Ivan, Cathay, Nazi — Send US and Mexican Cavalry Soonest — Most Urgent — Carter — Carter — Carter—

Nick draped the body of the Chinese operator over the key again, depressing it so it would continue to send out the squealing note. The DF boys should be able to get a hard fix on that! He slipped into the narrow tunnel again, pausing to scoop half a dozen grenades out of a wooden box. He stowed the grenades in various pockets as he made his way up the passage again. The cavern still sounded like the Battle of the Bulge. The Chinese were putting up a hell of a fight.

On his belly he peered around the corner of the tunnel. The scene was in semi-darkness now. Most of the ceiling lights had been shot out. The Chinese were still on their ledge on the far side of the lagoon and the guards were keeping them pinned down. The Bitch’s men seemed in no great hurry to rush the Chinese and in a moment Nick saw why. They were going to use rifle grenades. Nick watched as one of the guards near the rear tunnel jammed a stick grenade in his rifle barrel and aimed at the ledge over the lagoon. The man pulled the trigger. A soft Phoooom.

The rifle grenade fell short, bursting in the water but close enough to send a wave of spray over the trapped Chinese soldiers. The next grenade would be closer. After that the soldiers had had it. They must either surrender or die. Somehow Nick doubted that The Bitch intended taking prisoners. She was out for a clean sweep.

It was time for him to move again. He inched forward on his belly. He had not been spotted yet. Just ahead of him, maybe thirty feet from where he lay, he could see another ledge running along the lagoon. This ledge had duckboarding laid along it — he could see the gleam of wet wood in the dim light. It must lead toward the entrance of this underground cavern, this grotto, and that meant a way out to the Pacific. For him it was the only way out. Nick tensed and got ready to make the run for it. Those thirty odd feet looked like a mile.

A sudden storm of lead hailed around him. He cringed, feeling naked. He was half silhouetted in the light from the tunnel behind him. Dumb bastard! He rolled over, firing down the tunnel, and knocked out the light in the radio room. He kept rolling. Then he leaped to his feet and ran for the duckboarding and the ledge. At that moment the Chinese shot out the last ceiling light. No doubt it saved N3’s life.

A dozen bloodshot eyes were winking at him. Lead streamed past on all sides. He made the ledge and zipped around the corner and fell sprawling on the wet duckboards, conscious of sweat leaking from every pore. Sweet Christ Almighty! He would never be any closer to death!

He got up and ran down the slippery duckboarding that hugged the wall of the lagoon. There was one light here, high up, and it revealed everything he needed to know.

Pilings had been put down and two crude piers erected, pushing into the limpid waters of the lagoon like wooden fingers. At each pier bobbed a midget submarine. So that was it! Nick had no doubt that their mother ship was the Sea Dragon. It was how Chung Hee and his men had been distributing the counterfeit. All up and down the western coast of the United States the midgets could come and go nearly at will, leaving the mother sub and creeping into remote coves and desolate beaches where they would be met by the bad money pushers. It was little wonder the T-men and the Secret Service had been unable to cope.

The hatches of both midget subs were open as Nick ran toward them. Lights streamed from both and as he came abreast the first sub he saw a swirl of water at the stem. Were they running for it? If so — and his smile was that of a wolf who sees a strayed lamb — if so, no dice! So solly. He ran out on the pier, pulling the pin of a grenade as he did so. He tossed the grenade down the open hatch of the first sub and, without waiting for the explosion, tossed another. He ran for the other sub. Behind him he heard the roaring of the grenades in the enclosed space. Goodbye, little sub.

A face appeared in the hatch of the second sub. Nick let go a blast with his Tommy gun and the face vanished in a welter of shredded flesh and blood. He dumped two more grenades down the hatch and kept running, fleeing the ripping explosions.

As he ran Nick admitted to himself that he was tiring. His lungs were on fire and every breath was agony. His legs were made of wet rope. He was bleeding in half a dozen places. He was gasping, sobbing, moving on will power and instinct. If he couldn’t rest soon, he knew, he would just have to lie down and die.

The grotto narrowed and lowered just here. The ledge ceased to be. Nick halted, clinging to the wall and panting, and examined the scene with a calm eye. His body was nearly done for, but his brain was still working well.

The entrance, and outlet, of the lagoon was under water. That wouldn’t matter to the midget subs. It mattered to him. It meant that, in his condition, he was going to have to submerge and swim for it. How far? How long? He felt sickness move in his gut. It was a hell of a death — drowning in some rocky tube, blind and trapped and struggling.

He saw the net start to descend. The light was bad and for a moment he squinted to make sure. Yes. It was a tightly woven net of steel mesh, coming down now like a garage door to seal off the lagoon. It was now or never. Without thinking, even as he jettisoned the Tommy gun and the old Webley and ripped off the bush jacket and shirt, he knew whose finger had pressed the button that activated the net. The Bitch was back with a bang!

Nick would need the hunting knife to summon Homer if he got out of this. He went into the lagoon in a long flat dive, then reared up and kicked his way down. He had to beat that net to the bottom!

There had been no chance to aerate his lungs. He doubted he could do more than four minutes at the bottom. It should be long enough if he could beat the net — and if the tube leading out to the sea wasn’t too long. He went down and down, his eyes open, and could see nothing. The darkness was stygian. He would have to work by feel.

Killmaster was too late. As he touched bottom, slimy mud, he felt the leading edge of the steel net crunch down across his wrist. For a moment he struggled in panic, terrified of being trapped on the bottom, then calmness came back and he dug a little into the soft mud and extricated his hand. But he was on the wrong side of the net.

Nick began to paw at the mud, digging like a dog after a bone, to see if he could tunnel under the steel mesh. He knew it was a lost cause, still he kept digging, hurling the thick, viscous mud to both sides of him. Pain began gnawing at his lungs. Hardly two minutes had passed. He was in no shape to take this sort of punishment.

The shallow hole he had managed to dig was filling again as fast as he scooped it out. It was just no use. Torture in his lungs now. He would have to go up soon. That meant certain capture. Maybe a quick death. Maybe not. In any case it was not going to be pleasant.

His superb brain was still working — near to death from lack of oxygen — but still clicking over. Nick fumbled for the knife in his belt and slashed at the AXE tattoo on his arm. The Bitch hadn’t noticed it in bed — she had been far too concerned with her own pleasure — but now it would be different. He was going to have to start lying and keep on lying, and hope for a miracle, but if she knew he was AXE it was over before it started.

Again he slashed at his arm, careful not to cut the artery. And again. That should do it. He might be able to pass it off as just another wound. He felt no pain but for the terrible flame in his lungs. He kicked upward.

Nick Carter came up to a new and instant peril that he could not have foreseen. The shark was possibly as shocked and frightened as was Killmaster. It had come in from the sea to explore the grotto, quietly minding its own business, and had been trapped by the netting. Then there had been the blood in the water and the shark knew it was hungry. It opened its maw and turned over, making for the lump of tired bait that was kicking around in the water nearby.

Nick saw the shark come for him and knew real terror. The man does not live who does not have, and conceal, some special night terror. The AXEman had started awake many times, sweat drenched, from dreams of being devoured by sharks.

He still had the knife. He waited. The water roiled in a miniature storm as the sleek long brute came at him with glinting rows of teeth. Nick struck out, despairing now, but also filled with a cold hatred for the brute fish. He felt the knife slide in deep. It was wrenched from his grasp. Gone.

He heard the shot only faintly. A strong white light was being trained on him. The shark was threshing about in its death throes. Nick trod water and shielded his eyes from the blinding beam, staring in the direction of the ledge.

“Come on, Jamie,” said Gerda von Rothe. She waved the rifle at him. “The next one will be for you.”

At her side were the two Dobermans. Behind the dogs, holding them on leash, was the squat Erma. It might have been a trick of his fatigued brain, but Nick thought he could see a glower of hate in the yellow eyes even at that distance.

Nearby were three or four of The Bitch’s uniformed guards. All had machine guns trained on Nick. He was beaten. He began to swim toward the ledge.

With as much insouciance as he could muster Nick looked up at The Bitch and said, “Where you been, woman? What in hell’s been going on, anyway? I damned near got killed. I was trying to get out of here — I didn’t sign up for any war!”

He was too weak to pull himself out of the water. Two of the guards did it. Gerda von Rothe’s green stare never left him. Nick, looking into those eyes, had the thought that emeralds were jello by comparison.