He carried no weapon. His body was bigger and taller than most Japanese, his shoulders enormous and his arms thick as oak limbs. But his hands were the definitive giveaway. They were Karate hands. Their knuckles had been broken in childhood to force them to grow into flat-surfaced, ramming destroyers that could slam through twenty-seven tiles of roof slate in one chopping blow.

  Nick and the iron giant locked glances.

  "Aahhhhh," the giant said softly, and glided forward. His feet moved deftly.

  Nick stayed where he was, all senses focused on this viciously armed threat to his safety. Wilhelmina nosed into view, her black snout centered on the giant's belly.

  He stopped, scorn twisting his face.

  "Are you a woman that you face me with that?" His voice was curiously flat, monotonous. "Come, fight me in the manner of men!" He raised his hands, palms outward, and his big chest heaved with breathing.

  "I did not come here to fight," Nick said. Wilhelmina pointed unwaveringly at the giant. "Who are you? Why is there murder in your eyes?"

  "I come to avenge the honor of my family. I come for vengeance, and vengeance is not murder."

  "Vengeance!" Nick laughed. "What do you pretend to be avenging?"

  "I do not pretend! You have the axe symbol on your arm — do not lie, my sister saw it. My father was killed by the Tong in your Chinatown years ago. You wear their mark, and I will beat you with my bare hands. I have been waiting for this."

  His eyes narrowed to slits and his great hands reached out.

  Nick raised the Luger higher.

  "Now wait a minute! The mark I wear has nothing to do with the Tong. It's a personal thing, a tattoo. Lots of Americans have tattoos. They don't mean a thing. Stay where you are! I don't want to hurt you. One more move toward me…"

  Nick rose in a fluid motion and stepped away from the wooden bench.

  "You lie," the giant rumbled at him. "Taka knows the tattoos that men wear. She saw the symbol. You are a hatchetman of Chinatown. And I will kill you."

  It was an impossible situation. Nick could not bring himself to shoot a misdirected man. Nor could he submit to a contest of strength with this bulldozer of a man with the battering-ram hands. Taka had certainly flung him into hot water. When this big ape had described the tattoo, he had said "axe" instead of hatchet. Nick had carefully avoided the word "axe," and Taka had not used it. At least she had not used it to him.

  "Now listen. I've got nothing to do with Chinatown. I'm not even Chinese, and neither are you. So what could either of us possibly have to do with the Tongs? Better tell me the true story or get out, fast. I could shoot you before you reached me."

  But he was wrong.

  With all the agility of a great ape the giant flicked into motion and slapped the Luger out of Nick's hand.

  Wilhelmina skidded on the damp tiles and came to a halt against the far wall of the stall.

  "Now," the giant thundered. "Prepare yourself!"

  The Karate hand chopped down savagely at Nick Carter's face.

  Assignment Death

  The blow would have killed Nick — had it landed. That destructive right hand would have caved in the temple, crushing delicate bone into splintering fragments.

  But the art of self defense was one of the primary concerns of Nick Carter's life and one of his major talents.

  The broad, flat face of the giant registered surprise as Nick back-flipped like a gymnast on a training mat, jack-knifing away from danger. He snapped erect a full two yards from the giant, and stood poised on the balls of his naked feet.

  The intruder charged. He came at Nick — a roaring bull of strength, arms flailing with the vigor of the samurai, but with none of the traditional chivalry.

  Nick side-stepped lightly and shot a blow into the man's side. His hands might as well have encountered a stone wall. The giant's body was hard and bony, its flesh solid and unyielding. Nick back-pedaled swiftly, keeping his eyes glued to his antagonist but getting distance between them.

  The time for argument was past.

  The giant circled Nick warily, his eyes gleaming, his great flat hands sawing the air in wide, rhythmic gestures. Nick moved with him. There was no defense against this muscle-machine but escape or attack. And he had no weapon for attack. Wilhelmina lay tantalizingly out of reach.

  Nick restrained a curse. What a helluva way to go. Trapped in a Nipponese bathhouse by a treacherous beauty and an ugly giant, and the assignment not even begun.

  The giant made a sudden leap.

  Nick swerved, but not far enough or quickly enough. A long arm clamped on to his. He felt himself being reeled in like a fish on a line. The giant anchored his feet and squeezed. Nick was bear-hugged, trapped in the savage embrace.

  Their contorted faces were only inches apart. Nick felt the enormous power of the Karate hands applying yet another art: the Grecian wrestling hold, meant to paralyze and crush. He sucked in his breath and hooked a leg behind the giant's hamstring and snapped a bone-cracking twist.

  It worked.

  The giant lost balance and staggered, but kept his crushing hold on the lean body.

  At last, Nick's towel fell away. Its falling was a gift from the gods.

  It covered the knee he raised and planted solidly into the giant's abdomen. There was a gasp of pain, and the crushing hold eased. It was the barest change — but it was just enough for Nick to lock his hands and bring them up in a bonny blow.

  Air whistled through the giant's teeth. Spittle flew. A tooth cracked with the suddenness of a pistol shot.

  Nick chopped Judo-fashion at the broad, distorted face. The punch fell just above the rubbery lips and jerked the flat nose upward. Before his huge attacker could adjust, Nick fanned both arms out like wings and swiftly brought them back together in the head area. The palms of his hands closed with a twin thunderclap of violence over the giant's ears, like great steel doors.

  The giant, his senses reeling, roared with excruciating pain. His arms released their crushing hold on Carter.

  Rage and agony consumed the giant. Shrieking incomprehensible Japanese obscenities, he lowered his head and battered like a ram. Nick threw a half-Nelson on the thick neck. His feet flat on the tiles, he exerted all his weight and strength on the giant's neck.

  The giant wheezed.

  Nick held fast, with every ounce of strength and all the concentration of his being. The giant strained desperately. His eyes bulged and his lips drew back over his teeth in his yearning effort to be free.

  Nick was merciless.

  He did not release his hold until the awful snapping sound came. Then he lowered his antagonist to the tiled floor.

  The bat's wing door was motionless. No one was visible beyond it.

  Nick stepped over his victim and swiftly pulled on his clothes. Even this simple process was one that he had practiced endlessly during his apprenticeship with Hawk. They had timed him relentlessly, until Nick had worked it down to the irreducible minimum of fifty-five seconds. Nick had discovered in the course of years that being caught without clothes on was one of the most dangerous things that could happen to an agent. There was no telling, in terms of personal safety, just what the ability to dress so rapidly could mean to AXE's trouble-shooting specialists.

  He slid Wilhelmina back into her accustomed bed and bent over the giant. The eyes glared sightlessly up at the ceiling. Nick's fingers flew through the imitation-American clothes.

  The wallet, the small amount of yen, the keys and the crumpled pack of American cigarettes meant nothing. And there was nothing to indicate that the giant's weird story about avenging Tong murders was anything but the fable Nick had suspected it of being. Nick uncovered the torso and bared a massive, hairless chest.

  Tattooed over the heart and roughly resembling a third nipple was a crude representation of the letter "C." No doubt the Chinese character would have been too difficult for most people to recognize. For it was probably meant to be seen, when necessary; meant to be recognized; meant as a warning.

  It was a brand, a crude one. It had probably been administered at about the same time as the dim brain had been washed — rinsed of reason and ready to receive instructions to kill on cue.

  Nick had heard of this "C." Badly wounded, sometimes horribly disfigured western agents and even civilians had seen men who flaunted this mark while torturing them. And the mark had been discerned on corpses found in the alleys and dock areas of the East. Most people thought it had something to do with one of the Orient's secret societies. Some intelligence agencies felt it had a much broader significance. And now Nick was sure that it had.

  It was hardly likely, any more, that "C" stood for anything but CLAW, that curiously specialized intelligence arm of Red China dedicated to fermenting war between the U.S.A. and the U.S.S.R. And, undoubtedly, Russian-American hostilities would be the prelude to Red China's assumption of world power. Naturally they would make every effort to get rid of foreign spies. But how could they know about the tattooed axe…?

  The thing to do now was to get out of the bathhouse with a whole skin, leaving the giant for his playmates to collect. The only good AXE agent was a live AXE agent.

  But there was still Taka to take care of. He could use her.

  Nick padded over the tiled floor and eased through the door. There was no one in sight. They must have been very sure of their pet giant. Still, he was convinced that there must be other Clawmen somewhere on or near the premises.

  Nick stole silently down to the next landing, keeping a wary eye open for shadows and movement of any sort. The landing was clear. Taka could be expected to double back sooner or later to check on the murder in the private stall. And God knows who else was liable to pop up. One thing was certain: Hawk's intelligence reports were checking out: Carter was a western agent; Carter had been attacked in a Tokyo bathhouse.

  He wondered again about the axe symbol and why it had brought CLAW down upon him. Even his closest friends had never seen it. Who in the world had…?

  Nick turned a corner and entered a wide, dimly-lit corridor. The end of the corridor broadened out into the entrance foyer. A lean, hard-faced man occupied the registration desk. His head was turned away from Nick and he was talking in low, intense tones to the guardian of the door, a beefy Japanese clad in kimono and sandals. Something about their manner was far from reassuring.

  They were waiting for him.

  He flattened himself against the passage wall and cast his mind about for another means of exit. In through one of the stalls, perhaps, and out a window? His mind formed a picture of the layout. Not the stalls behind him; they had no windows. Opposite, perhaps. Wilhelmina slid into his right hand and he glided silently across the passage. The first door was locked.

  The lightest of footfalls approached. Nick's hand lightly but firmly held the Luger… Small feet. A breath of perfume. He stood — and waited.

  Taka glided down the passageway toward him.

  He detached himself from the wall and put one hand on her shoulder, gently. Wilhelmina's nose tilted upward.

  Taka gasped.

  "You left me high and not very dry, didn't you, Taka," Nick said easily.

  "The San must not speak here," she whispered, her eyes wide and startled.

  Both of them heard heavy footsteps in the corridor leading to the entrance foyer.

  "I did not expect the San to be finished so soon." Her lovely lips trembled. "You will come this way, please." She reached toward a door and clicked it open.

  The heavy footsteps clattered down the stairs.

  "Do I get to meet more of your friends in there, Taka? Those nice gentlemen who want to show me wrestling holds?"

  She tugged at his arm. "Please, San! This is the only way. They are looking for you, and there are more of them waiting for you outside. Please, San!"

  The urgency in her voice could not be denied. He gripped her tightly, holding her in front of him. Almost as one, they moved through the open doorway.

  No one was waiting for him in the tiny room. It could scarcely have held three people. Nick pushed the door shut behind them. Taka twisted free, turned the long key in the lock, then slipped it down the front of the mandarin-style dress with which she had replaced her bath towel. She looked at Nick with something like defiance. Footsteps clattered past. They met others in the center of the landing. There was a muffled conference. Then the footsteps separated and faded into the distance on either side.

  Taka looked at Nick.

  "So Ka Tanaki failed. I am glad."

  Nick looked at her. "Are you?"

  Her eyes were strangely bright, her subtle beauty enhanced by the straight-cut dress of purple hues. There was an indefinable something about her face that intrigued Nick in spite of his precarious position.

  The small room seemed to be a storeroom, lit only by a kerosene lamp. Shelves held towels, linens, soap and oils. There were no windows and no other door.

  "If you are glad, Taka, why did you send the man to kill me? I have not hurt you in any way. But I can hurt you now." His eyes were cruel. "I could kill you before you could utter a sound." Carter's voice tightened with menace. His left hand reached out and caressed her throat with terrible gentleness. "Who are you working for? And who is waiting outside for me? Someone that you sent for? And why did you bring me in here?"

  Taka's breath came in short, uneven gasps. Her head moved as if she were a cat being stroked by a loving master. But Carter knew how treacherous cats can sometimes be.

  "Too many questions, San. Too much at once."

  "Try one at a time," Nick's voice lashed at her. His fingers tightened almost imperceptibly around her soft, smooth throat.

  Her hand clutched at his. "You are marked for death. I was told to look for you. And I did not want to tell them you had come. Deep inside I was afraid, but I had to tell them."

  "Tell who?"

  "The men of Claw. And there are more outside, four more with cars and guns. I want to help you, San. I want to help you!"

  "Help me!" His voice was bitter. "So you surround me with killers and you trap me in a closet!" He laughed. "You expect me to believe that?"

  Her eyes misted and her lush lips trembled.

  "I could have let you walk outside. All I had to do was turn away. They are looking for you inside and they are waiting for you on the street. I made you come in here, and for the moment you are safe. You must believe I want to help you!"

  Wilhelmina was unconvinced. Her uncompromising nose was pointing at Taka. Nick's hand stayed at Taka's throat.

  "Trap me first and help me afterwards! Why should you do that?"

  Taka sighed. The sound was almost a sob.

  "I have touched you," she said softly, "and I have touched beauty. No, do not move your hand away. To you I would give myself most gladly. All else in my life is dirt beneath your feet." Her hand tightened on his while his mind flashed: Careful! Trap! "I am surrounded always by the fat and ugly, by the blasphemy that some men can bring their bodies to. You, San, are the image of my dreams." The hand pulled his down and stroked it over a softly pointed breast. "When you came into my stall, my heart fluttered. I saw your body and stroked it with my eyes and hands. There was goodness in your face. I felt a closeness with you. It was a dream come true."

  Her hold upon his fingers loosened. Nick's ears could scarcely credit what he heard. Her dark lashes lowered.

  "My sadness was very great" — the voice was low — "when I saw the blue axe-hatchet on your elbow. I had been instructed to look for it and report to my superiors. No one can say that I did not follow orders. But I cannot harm you any more. I want to be yours alone, San."

  "Then take out that key," said Nick, "and put it back in the lock, where I can use it when I need to."

  Now the voice was almost inaudible. "Take it yourself. You will know for yourself that I am yours."

  "Give me the key, Taka."

  "Take it, San." Taka closed her eyes and wilted beneath his hand.

  Nick's deft fingers flicked open the buttons of the high collar. His hand went down between her breasts and found nothing but firm, rounded flesh.

  "Taka…"

  "Not there, San. It is heavy."

  His pulse quickened. This was a game, and a dangerous one, but there was something to be said for it. His hand inspected the beautiful young body. It was his for the taking.

  He found the key where the scanty lace of her single undergarment had caught and held it. He drew it out and thrust it into his pocket. Taka gave a quivering sigh.

  "And now you will leave me and go to your death." Tears welled up in her eyes. "I am sorry. I am sorry, San. I would do anything I could to help you. Stay with me. They will never think of looking here."

  "Why not?" he asked sharply. "You thought of coming here. In a moment I will open the door and you will go ahead of me. But first you will tell me who you work for and where I can find him."

  Suddenly, unexpectedly, her eyes flashed fire. "I will tell you and it will do you no good. They will kill you anyway. If you know anything, then you have heard of CLAW. I belong to CLAW and I belong to the Mandarin. I came here from Peking. A man named Judas spoke of you. I will gladly walk in front of you and they will kill us both. Come, open the door and let us go!"

  Nick stared at her. He knew this was the truth.

  She saw his change of expression and her eyes softened.

  "There is no one in the passage now. I can lead you to a door that is seldom used. Perhaps they will not think of watching it thinking you would not know about it."

  "Where is this door?"

  "Downstairs. It is like a trapdoor into the side street. We go back along this landing, then go down. Come, it is quiet now."

  Taka plucked at his sleeve, her eyes eager. Nick was shaking his head.

  "You still do not trust me," she whispered.

  His mind worked swiftly, weighing chances, considering the probability of further betrayal. But he was not in business just to keep alive. He was on to something here, and he had to find out more. On the other hand, the life history of CLAW and a roadmap to its headquarters wouldn't do him much good in a closet.

 

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17