Fourteen Seconds to Hell (1968)

  (The fourth book in the Killmaster series)

  Version 0.9

  Dedicated to The Men of the Secret Services of the United States of America

  Chapter 1

  The man saw the two girls at the bar watching him as he crossed the lounge and walked out onto the small balcony, glass in hand. The taller one was obviously Eurasian, fine-boned and spare of frame; the other full Chinese, petite, perfectly proportioned. Their unabashed interest made him smile to himself. Tall, moving with the easy, controlled strength of a conditioned athlete, the man walked along the length of the balcony. Before him, lights twinkling in the purple of the early evening, lay the Crown Colony of Hong Kong and Victoria Harbor. He felt the eyes of the two girls still following him and he allowed himself a wry smile. There would be none of that now, Nick Carter told himself, at least not until he had made his contact and found out exactly what the immediate situation was. Too much depended on this and too little time was left to him. Agent N3, Killmaster, number one agent for AXE, felt restless in the heavy, humid Hong Kong night. But it wasn’t only because of the two girls at the bar, though God knows he could stand having a woman. No, it was the restlessness of the fighter who faces the toughtest fight of his career and wants to get at it for better or worse.

  He let his blue-gray eyes move across the harbor, pausing to watch the green and white Star Ferries that connected Kowloon with Victoria. They made over 400 crossings a day, dodging freighters, sampans, water taxis and junks. Beyond the lights of Kowloon he saw the flashing red and white beams of airliners as they took off from Kai Tak airport. Since the Communists took control of the no-longer-sleeping giant only 22½ miles from where he stood, hardly any western travelers entered Hong Kong by the Canton-Kowloon Railway. Now it was the Kai Tak airport that linked the teeming city with the western world—that and the sea lanes. In the three days he’d been here he had found out why this steaming, swarming place was often called the Manhattan of the Far East. It offered you anything you wanted and a lot you wouldn’t want. It was an industrial city, bursting at you with a vitality of its own, and at the same time a vast, almost unbelievable slum. It sparkled and stank. It was vibrant and vicious. The name fit well, Nick thought as he drained his glass and turned back into the lounge. The pianist was lazily making music. He got another drink and made for the dark-green lounge chair, noting the two girls still at the bar. He stretched his long, lean frame deeper into the chair and lolled his head back on the cushioned top. The lounge was filling up with people now, as it had on each of the three nights he had sat here waiting. The room was semi-dark, and encircled by settees. Larger tables dotted the floor and lounge chairs for lone men and women rimmed the tables.

  Nick half closed his eyes and a faint smile played over his lips as he thought how, only three short days ago, he had received the package from Hawk. The moment it arrived he knew that something far beyond the ordinary was afoot. Hawk had set up some unusual meeting spots in the past, always when he felt he was under heavy observation or when he wanted to make certain of absolute secrecy, but on this one he had outdone himself. Nick had put his head back and laughed out loud when he unwrapped the corrugated cardboard box to find the pair of work pants (his exact size, of course), a blue denim shirt, a bright yellow steelworker’s helmet and a gray lunchbox. The note inside simply said: Tuesday, 12 noon, 48th & Park. Southeast corner.

  And so, feeling slightly foolish, decked out in trousers, shirt, helmet and lunchbox, he arrived at the southeast corner of Forty-eighth Street and Park Avenue in Manhattan to find the towering skeleton of a new skyscraper being erected. Construction workers in various-colored helmets moved from place to place on the framework, looking like so many brightly crested birds on a giant tree. Then he saw the figure, dressed exactly as he was, moving up the street toward him. He couldn’t mistake the springy step and the determined bent of the shoulders. The figure, with a motion of its head, told Nick to join it as it sat down on a pile of wooden planking.

  “Hello, Chief,” Nick said with a twinkle in his eye. “Pretty ingenious, I must admit.”

  Hawk accepted the compliment with an almost imperceptible flicker of his eyes and opened up his lunchbox. He extracted a thick, overflowing roast beef sandwich and bit into it with gusto. He glanced at Nick.

  “I didn’t bring anything,” Nick said. Hawk’s look was bland but not enough to hide the disapproval behind it.

  “We’re supposed to be construction workers eating on our lunch hour,” Hawk said between bites. “I thought that was pretty obvious.”

  “Yes, sir,” Nick answered. “I didn’t think it through far enough, I guess.”

  Taking another bite of the roast beef sandwich, Hawk reached into his lunchbox and handed Nick another wax-paper-wrapped package.

  “Peanut butter?” Nick said, opening the wrapping.

  “Position carries its privileges,” Hawk said tartly. “Besides, next time you’ll perhaps think things through.”

  While Nick ate his sandwich, Hawk began to talk, never raising his voice, never giving a sign that he was not discussing the latest baseball score or the price of new cars.

  “In Peking,” Hawk said carefully, “they have a plan and a time schedule. We have obtained solid information on it. The plan is to attack America and the entire free world with their A-bomb arsenal. The time schedule is two years, give or take a month or two. Of course, they will try nuclear blackmail first. They will try to extract a price. Peking’s psychology is simple. We care very much what a nuclear war would do to our population. They couldn’t care less what it would do to theirs. In fact, it would help them solve their overpopulation problem. In two years they feel they will be politically, industrially and atomically ready.”

  “Two years,” Nick mused. “Not a long time—but still a lot can happen in two years. Governments can fall, revolutions can occur, new leaders with different ideas can emerge.”

  “That’s exactly what Doctor Hu Tsan is afraid of,” Hawk countered.

  “Who the hell is Doctor Hu Tsan?”

  “Their absolutely top A-bomb scientist and rocket expert. He’s so valuable to them that he operates practically on his own. He’s the Red Chinese Wernher von Braun, only more so. He controls what they’ve done this far—more than they even know. But Doctor Hu Tsan is also something else. He’s a maniac, a man whose obsession is his hatred of the western world. Doctor Hu Tsan isn’t going to take a chance on two years from now.”

  “You’re saying, if I read you right, that this Hu Tsan character wants to put the show on the road earlier? Like when?”

  “Like two weeks from now.”

  Nick gagged on his last bite of peanut butter sandwich.

  “That’s right,” Hawk said, neatly putting the wrapping paper back in his lunchbox and closing it. “Two weeks—fourteen days. He isn’t waiting for Peking’s schedule. He isn’t going to risk a change in the international climate or some internal problem delaying the schedule. And this is the clincher, N3— Peking doesn’t know what he’s about to do. But he can do it. He has the equipment and the material ready to go.”

  “This is all solid info, I take it,” Nick commented.

  “Absolutely solid. We have an informant over there who is excellent at his trade. Not only that, the Russians have come onto it too. Maybe the same informant we use also deals with them. You know the ethics of much of this business. Anyway, they’re as horrified as we are and they’re assigning an agent to work with whomever we send, on the theory that we’d better work together on this one—or else. In fact, though I don’t like to add to your already insufferable ego, they suggested we try to put you on the job.”

  “How about that.” Nick grinned. “I’m touched. Then this helmet and lunchbox bit is not because of our usual Moscow friends.”

  “No,” Hawk said, gravely. “You know that there are very few complete secrets in this business. The Chinese have gotten wind that something is up— probably because of the unusual activity among both the Russian agents and our men in transmitting bits and pieces of information. But they only suspect the action is aimed at them. We don’t want them lousing us up for the wrong reasons.”

  “Why not try contacting Peking with the truth about their hopped-up Hu Tsan, or am I being naive?”

  “Extremely,” Hawk said blandly. “First, he has them eating out of the palm of his hand. They’d swallow any denial he made. Secondly, they’d suspect it was all a wild plot on our part to discredit their ace scientist and expert. Thirdly, we’d be revealing how much we’ve learned about their long-range plans and the extent of our intelligence penetration.”

  “Okay, I’m naive,” Nick said, pushing back the helmet. “Just what am I—excuse me, my Russian comrade and I—supposed to do in fourteen days?”

  “We know these facts,” Hawk explained. “Somewhere in Kwangtung Province Hu Tsan has amassed seven A-bombs and seven rocket launchers. He has an elaborate installation there and is presumably working on perfecting further weapons. You are to detonate those seven launching pads and their missiles. Tomorrow, you be in Washington. Special Effects is waiting for you. They will outfit you with the special equipment you’ll need to blow up the installation. Believe me, it’s very special. You’ll find out more when you get there. In two days I want you in Hong Kong, where contact procedures have been set up for you to meet the Russian. Their agent is supposed to be very good on background assistance in that a rea. At Special Effects they’ll also brief you on the procedures we’ve set up for you in Hong Kong. I’ll tell you now, they’re not too great, but they’re the best we could do on short notice. The Russians say their agent will be of real help here.”

  “I appreciate the honor, Chief,” Nick said with a wry smile. “If I can pull this one off I have a feeling I’m going to want a nice long vacation.”

  “You do this,” Hawk answered, the hint of a twinkle in those impassive eyes, “and it’ll be roast beef next time.”

  That’s how they’d met that day and now here he was, in a hotel lounge in Hong Kong, waiting. He watched the people in the lounge—many of them hardly visible in the darkened lights—through slitted, relaxed eyes, when suddenly his muscles hardened involuntarily. But he didn’t move and anyone watching would not have seen the sudden alertness of the tall, handsome, relaxed man in the lounge chair. The pianist was playing a song, “In The Still Of The Night.” Nick waited till he had finished and then casually sauntered over to the man, a small, husky-voiced Oriental, perhaps a Korean.

  “Very nice,” Nick said pleasantly. “My favorite song. Did you just happen to play it or did someone request it?”

  “A request,” the pianist said, idly backgrounding a series of diminished fifth chords. “That young lady over there.”

  Damn! Nick grimaced inwardly. It would be a false lead. Just one of those damn coincidences that happen. Still, his training made him follow through. One never knew when some sudden switch in plans came up. He followed the direction of the piano player’s nod and saw the girl in the shadows of one of the lounge chairs, shoulder-length hair outlined by the soft glow of a tinted bulb. He walked over and saw that she was indeed blond, very blond, in a simple black sheath cut low in front. Her breasts pushed upward, half spilling out of the gown. She looked up at him with wide-set blue eyes in a pretty but determined little face.

  “Lovely song, that,” he said. “Thanks for asking for it.” He waited, and then it came, and he was surprised.

  “In the still of the night,” she said, “lots of things happen.” She spoke with just the trace of an accent and the faint smile that crossed her face revealed that she knew he was surprised. Nick eased himself atop the wide arm of the chair.

  “Zdrahvstvooite, N3,” she said sweetly. “Welcome to Hong Kong. My name is Alexi Lubova. It seems we are to do some work together.”

  “Zdrahvstvooite,” Nick grinned. “Okay, I’ll admit it out loud. I’m surprised. I never figured on a girl, not for this job.”

  “Are you only surprised?” the girl asked, a very female slyness creeping into her eyes. “Or are you disappointed?”

  “I wouldn’t know about that yet,” Nick commented laconically.”

  “You won’t be,” Alexi Lubova said crisply. She stood up and smoothed her dress. Nick took in her full-bodied figure, wide shoulders and wide hips, softly rounded, with full, curving thighs and graceful legs. She stood with hips slightly thrust forward, a stance which Nick always found most provocative. Alexi Lubova .was quite an advertisement for Mother Russia, he concluded.

  “Where can we go and talk?” she said.

  “Upstairs, in my room,” Nick suggested. She shook her head. “It could be, how you say in America, bugged? They do it as a matter of course to the rooms of foreigners, just in case they might pick up something interesting.”

  Nick didn’t tell her that he’d examined the room with a fine-tooth comb. He had been gone for a few hours and they could have installed a bug.

  “They do it,” Nick smiled. “Or do you mean your men do it?” He knew he was baiting her. She fastened him with a cold-blue stare.

  “They—the Chinese,” she said. “They bug our agents’ rooms too, if they have them under surveillance.”

  “That doesn’t include you, I take it,” Nick said.

  “No, I don’t think so,” the girl replied. “I have a very good cover. I have been living for almost nine months now as an Albanian art student in the Wai Chan district. Come, we can go to my place and

  talk. At least it will be a good view of the city for you.”

  “The Wai Chan district,” Nick mused aloud. “Are you living as one of the rooftop people?” He knew of Hong Kong’s famous rooftop colony, over 70,000 people living on rooftops in houses put together with packing case wood and flattened oil drum tins.

  “Yes,” she answered, “as one of the rooftop people. That is why we are more successful than you people, N3. One of your agents here would live in a western-style apartment or hotel, something fairly comfortable. He would do his job but he’d never reach into their people as we do. We go into their midst, become part of their lives and their problems. Our agents are not just agents but missionaries. That is the way of the Soviet Socialist Republic.”

  Nick looked down at her, eyes narrowed ever so slightly and, putting one finger under her chin, he tilted her face upward. Again he noted that it was really a very pretty face, with a small upturned nose and an attractive pugnaciousness about it.

  “Look, honey,” he said, a quiet edge to his voice. “We’re supposed to work together, right? Then let’s cut out the chauvinistic propaganda, okay? You’re living on that rooftop because you got the idea it’d make a swell cover; and I agree with you, it’s a great gimmick. Just don’t try to feed me that ideological crap and we’ll get along fine. Me, I know better. You’re up there not because you’re so in love with the poor Chinese people and their problems but because it suits your purpose. So let’s be honest, okay?”

  Her brows were knitted together in a deep frown and her lower lip held just the suggestion of a pout. Then she broke into a deep-throated laugh.

  “I’m going to like you, Nick Carter,” she said and he found her arm in his. “I heard so much about you that I was apprehensive, a little afraid maybe. But now I’m not. Okay, Nick Carter, no propaganda. It’s, how you say, a deal.”

  Nick looked down at the smiling, happy blond girl holding his arm as they walked down Hennessey Road and thought of how they could be a fellow and his girl out for a night stroll in Elyria, Ohio. But it was not Elyria, Ohio and he was not just a fellow out for a walk with his girl. It was Hong Kong and he was a specialist in killing, highly trained, conditioned to violence, a man wedded to danger, and this bright-eyed creature beside him was essentially no different. Or she had better not be, he thought grimly. But every once in a while, and this was one of those moments, he wondered what it would be like to be that fellow with his girl in Elyria, Ohio. They’d be making plans to face life while he and Alexi were planning to face death. But then, if it weren’t for Alexi and himself, the nice couple in Ohio wouldn’t have much life left to face. Maybe, maybe someday, Nick mused, it would be someone else carry the ball. But not yet. He pulled Alexi’s arm tighter against his and they walked on.

  The Wai Chan sector of Hong Kong overlooks Victoria Harbor as a teeming, sprawling refuse dump overlooks a nice clean lake. Crowded, crushed, bulging with stores and houses and street vendors, the Wai Chan area was Hong Kong at its worst and best. Alexi led Nick up a leaning building which would make a Harlem tenement look like the Waldorf-Astoria.

  Emerging on the roof, Nick found himself in another world. Stretching before him from rooftop to rooftop were thousands and thousands of shacks, literally a sea of shacks. They bulged and overflowed with humanity as Alexi led the way to one, about eight by twelve feet, and opened the door, which was little more than a side of a pine crate hinged with wire.

  “Most of my neighbors consider this luxury,” Alexi said as they entered the shack. “They usually have from four to six people in one of these.”

  Inside, Nick sat down on one of two cots and glanced about. A small hibachi-style stove and a decrepit dresser filled most of the room. An overhead rack held suitcases and clothes. Alexi sat down beside Nick on the cot, curling her legs under her. Despite its crude primitiveness, or perhaps because of it, the little shack had a coziness he would have thought impossible.

  “Now,” Alexi began, “I’ll tell you what we know and then you fill me in on what we are to do. Da?”

  She shifted her body slightly and exposed a lovely, smooth expanse of thigh. If she caught Nick’s glance she did nothing to cover up.

 

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