A Korean Tiger (8 page)

It also meant, beyond doubt, that the Russians had also picked up the scent and were in full cry. He hadn't time to worry about that just now. He would face that trouble when it came — which would be soon enough. But now...

He went to the door. The girl followed.

"I'll have to find a way of getting into the Hotel Dom," Nick said. He flicked a hand at his clothes. "I can't do it dressed like this — they wouldn't let me past the desk. That means I'll have to sneak in, and to do it without being caught as a thief I'll need to know the layout of the place. Do you know anyone who works at the Dom? Anyone at all? Servants? Kitchen people? It is very important — and for it I will pay extra."

He did not really expect anything — these girls had very few contacts in the daylight world — but he took a 100-mark note from his battered wallet and let her see it.

To his surprise she nodded instantly. "I know a porter there. He comes to me sometimes. His name is..."

"I don't want to know his name!" Nick spoke curtly. "Can you get in touch with him? Now! At once?"

Again she nodded. "I think so. Frit — he works nights. This I know because he always comes here early, in the afternoons. I could call him in the service quarters at the hotel."

Killmaster was thinking rapidly. His orders were clear enough. Kill Raymond Lee Bennett. To hell with Avatar, the Berlin man. Something had gone wrong there. Who needed him, anyway? If he could buy this porter he could get the job done and be out of Cologne before dawn. It was worth a chance.

He handed her the 100-mark note. "Call him. Is there an alley behind the Dom? An areaway or parking lot? Any place that will be deserted now?" He was not familiar with Cologne.

She took the note and put it in a pocket of her robe. "There is an alley. It is narrow and dark and I do not think the police patrol it well. The Dom is a
luxe
hotel — they would not think it necessary. Only
der Klasse
stay at the Dom."

Nick glanced at his watch again. A few minutes after one. Plenty of time yet. If only the bird had not flown.

"Call him," he ordered. "Be very sure you speak only to him and that he is not overheard. He is clever, this porter? Not dumb?"

The girl smiled. She put a hand on Nick's arm, fingering the huge bicep. "He is clever enough. And he does not like the
polizei.
He has had trouble with them before now."

Nick grinned at her. "Good. I need someone a little shady for this job. Okay — you call your friend as soon as I leave. Here is what you will tell him — be sure you get it exactly right. Exactly! That is important.

"Tell him to be in the alley in an hour. Be sure he is not seen, or missed. He should be able to arrange that. Say that he is to smoke
two
cigarettes at once and, when he has smoked them, to flip the butts in opposite directions. He is not to say anything. Not to speak to me. I will see him before he sees me. I will identify myself with one word —
Feldwebel.
Got that?"

"Feldwebel?
You will speak so? He is to say nothing until you speak first?"

"Good girl. When he hears me say
Feldwebel
he is to answer:
'Das Wasser ist kalt.'
The water is cold. Got that now?"

"Ja.
I have it all. But he will want money, this one. Perhaps much money."

Killmaster gave her a steely glance. "He will be well paid. Tell him that. Tell him also that if he double-crosses me, makes trouble for me in any way, he will also be paid. But not in marks. Do not tell him this until after he agrees to meet me, then make sure he understands it. And be sure
you
understand it."

"Ja, schon Mann.
I know. You must not worry." Her fingers stroked timidly at the stubble on the AXEman's cheek. "Perhaps — you can stay just for a moment or two longer?" She took the 100-mark note from her pocket and let it drift to the floor. "I... I would not need that."

Nick gave her a sweet and knowing smile that was nearly genuine. To spare her feelings he said, "It would be nice, Helga. Thank you, but I cannot. There is no time. Maybe later, when this is over. Goodbye."

As he felt his way down the dark staircase he remembered what she had called him.
Schön Mann.
Beautiful man! Killmaster shook his head a little sadly. Somewhere within the diamond-hard casing of him there was a twinge of pity. She must know a loneliness that exceeded even his own.

Then he shook it off and stepped out into Ladenstrasse. There was work to do. Killing, if all went well. It would be nice to end this thing tonight and be back in the States tomorrow.

In any case the AXEman had never been much of a one for prostitutes. And when he did consort with them it was only with the most beautiful and the most expensive.

When he left Ladenstrasse Nick Carter went, by back streets and narrow by-ways, to Cathedral Square. His manner was not furtive; he hunched his shoulders and shambled, hands in pockets, weaving now and then, a workman who was a little drunk and did not give a damn who knew it. The few passers-by paid him no attention. He did not encounter another policeman. He found a shadowed bench in the lee of the Erzbischofliches Museum, the length of the gardens from the cathedral, and waited. The Hotel Dom was a short two blocks away. He would allow himself ten minutes for the walk.

The alley running behind the Dom was narrow and dark. Nick went cautiously, as stealthily as the shadows themselves, avoiding the garbage cans and dustbins of the shops adjoining the Dom. He interrupted a conclave of cats and was soundly hissed. "Quiet, grimalkins," Nick told them. "Beat it. Take off. Your men friends are waiting."

He found a niche in the rear of a garage across the alley from the back area of the Dom. It was well after two now, but lights still burned in some of the rooms. Night lights glowed dimly in the kitchens and other service areas on the ground floor. Directly across from where he stood was a sizable parking area, asphalted and lined on one side with cans and trash receptacles. There was a small unloading dock. Three cars, two Volkswagens and a Mercedes, glinted beneath a single dull arc light.

Killmaster had been waiting barely two minutes when he heard a door softly open and close somewhere across the way. His keen eyes caught movement in the heaviest shadows clotting near the line of garbage cans. A match flared yellow for an instant, went out. Two red dots punctured the gloom. Nick waited patiently while the man smoked. Then, at last, one butt was flipped to the left, the other to the right.

Nick moved across the alley into the darter part of the parking lot. He spoke softly:
"Feldwebel?"

"Das Wasser ist kalt."
The voice was rough, deep, a gravely basso.

Nick went a bit closer. "
Ja
. The water
is
cold. The woman told you what I want?"

He was close enough to the shadow now to see it shrug. It was short and squat. It said, "You wish to enter the hotel without being seen,
Herr.
And I suppose you wish to get out the same way,
nein?
It can be arranged — for money."

"How much money?"

A moment of hesitation. Nick took another step forward and stopped abruptly. That breath — a powerful blend of tobacco, onions, alcohol and just plain halitosis! The man's friends, if he had any, had just never told him.

"Five hundred marks,
Herr?
And I must know, you must tell me, something of what you plan to do? I must protect myself, you understand? The
polizei...
"

"A thousand marks," Nick told him sternly. "And you will ask no questions. None! You will answer questions. The less you know the better for you. If you do your part well and keep your mouth shut you will not get in trouble with the police. When we part you will forget that you ever saw me or that the woman ever called you. You will forget it instantly and forever! Do you understand?"

"
Ja
,
Herr.
What is it you wish? I mean other than entrance to the hotel? That part is easy enough and..."

"I know," Killmaster said brusquely. "I would not need you for that! Here is what I want." And he leaned closer to the man, trying his best to avoid that terrible breath.

A quarter of an hour later Nick Carter left the freight elevator at the seventh floor of the Dom. He took the fire stairs up two flights to the ninth floor. The corridors were empty, thickly carpeted underfoot and dimly lit. He went up the fire stairs like a ghost. His workman's clothes were in a locker in the basement. He now wore a green porter's uniform with shiny silver buttons. He had changed in a laundry room while his guide and mentor kept watch outside, thus giving Nick both a respite from the breath and a chance to transfer his weapons without arousing suspicion. That the porter was a rogue he had no doubt — but murder was something else again.

Nick cracked the door on the ninth floor and peered cautiously into the long corridor, a faint grin on his rough-stubbled face. He had neither the time nor the inclination to explain to the porter about AXE executions. To him the killing of Raymond Lee Bennett would be plain murder.

Nick stepped quietly out into the corridor. So be it. After the fact, if he brought it off, it would be too late. The man dare not talk then.

Room 946 was at the far end of the corridor, near the front of the hotel. Nick walked the distance rapidly, noiselessly, his fingers probing the pocket of the green monkey jacket for the passkey. That in itself was worth the thousand marks. He might have jiggled the lock with his pick, but it would have taken time, made noise and kept him standing in the hall too long.

Here it was. A white door with the bronze numerals 946. The faintest of smiles touched his firm mouth as he saw the "Do Not Disturb" sign on the door. It might, Killmaster thought sardonically, just be possible that he could kill Bennett without disturbing him. If he did it fast enough. While the man slept.

He glanced back along the corridor. It shimmered in the subdued night lighting, a dim tunnel of silence. Carefully, very slowly, Nick slipped the passkey into the lock. If Raymond Lee Bennett was indeed in the room — and Nick had no way of knowing for sure — then this was the most dangerous part of the operation. Bennett might be a nut, but he was no fool. He enjoyed playing espionage games and he probably knew a lot of tricks, if only from his reading. He might be sitting in the dark, waiting with a .38 Magnum. He might have rigged a gun trap to the door, or scattered bottles and cans around as noisemakers — anything. Nick Carter told himself that he would hate to get it from a crazy amateur like Bennett. He also prepared his apologies if he got caught by some fat German businessman and his wife:
"Verzeihung, mein Herri
A thousand pardons. The wrong room, you understand!
Falsch Zimmer!
I have come to repair the plumbing,
Herr.
I was told this room was empty and —
Ja, mein Herr.
I am going at once!"

He turned the key. The lock gave with the faintest of oily
clucks.
Nick waited, listening, not breathing. He had been too long in the corridor. He must get in, out of view, prepared for anything. He moved his wrist and the stiletto dropped down into his palm. He put the blade between his teeth, transferred the Luger to his right hand, and with his left slowly turned the knob. The door swung inward without a sound. The room was dark. Killmaster slipped in and closed the door softly behind him. Prepared for anything.

Prepared for anything but the smell that met his nostrils. A rank powder smell. Guns had been fired in this room. Quite recently.

Nick acted on instinct, not conscious thought. He dropped to his hands and knees and moved away from the door, to his right along the wall, feeling cautiously ahead of him. He breathed softly through his mouth. And listened. Listened with every ounce of intensity he could muster, his face a few inches off the carpet. After a moment he took a deep noiseless breath and held it until his ears began to pop and his lungs hurt. He held his breath for nearly four minutes; at the end of that time he was sure that there was nothing, no one, in the room with him. No live thing.

Nick let himself collapse softly on the carpet, relaxing the tension. The Luger was in his left hand, the stiletto in his right. There was no danger in the room. Not now. He was sure of it. But there was something else in the room — he could feel its presence — and in a moment or two he would have to face it.

He breathed deeply, listening to faint outside sounds, letting his nerves come back to normal. A tug bleated somewhere on the Rhine — the great river was close by — and a car whirred through lonely streets. From far off a police klaxon sounded. He heard the faint rustle and stir of heavy drapes and at the same moment felt a waft of breeze on his cheek. There was a window open someplace. The breeze smelled faintly of the river, of docks and quays, of coal and oil and gasoline. Then the breeze was gone and he could smell the gunpowder again.

His body was safe for the moment and his brain took over. Racing like the fine computer it was. Guns had been fired in this room; there had been no alarm, no police — the porter would have told him — so that meant the guns had been silenced. Silencers meant a particular sort of trouble, his kind, the kind he understood best. The police, hoodlums, ordinary robbers, they did not use silencers. Sometimes Nick did. So did his opposite numbers in the service of other countries.

Nick Carter made a wry face in the dark. It wasn't going to be as easy as he had begun to hope. It never was, of course. It had been crazy to dream of getting Bennett and getting out of Cologne by dawn! He sighed and pushed himself off the carpet. Best get on with it.

He put his hand squarely into a man's face. The flesh was still faintly warm. Nick ran his hand down the man's arm to the wrist, picked it up and flexed it. No rigor yet. Could it be Raymond Lee Bennett? Had the Berlin man, had Avatar, seen a chance and taken it? Done the job and gone? Or was this Avatar now cooling on the floor?