Free Spy Killer by L. Ron Hubbard Page A

could not make out who that person was.
    They came from the opposite direction from that which Kurt had taken, dispelling his fears that it might be Varinka. The three went past the guards and a door clanged shut behind them.
    Kurt gripped his cloak tightly about him and with a purposeful stride, approached the two guards. His heart was hammering against his ribs, but he showed nothing of it in his face. He was too tall for a Japanese, he knew, but then some Japanese were tall.
    The guards leveled their rifles at him. He made his Chinese crisp. “I am Taicho Shimazu, to see General Lin Wang on business.”
    They saw his cap and red band then and dropped their guns to their sides. One of them said, “He expects you, Captain.”
    That was easy enough. But maybe getting out would be another matter. Kurt kicked the door open and shut and, for some reason, thought locking it would be a good idea. Silently he dropped the chains in place. A moment later he heard a motor rumble outside and a squeal of brakes. That puzzled him, but it was too late to turn back now. If this was a Japanese officer . . .
    He went on down the long, dimly lit hall, his boot-heels ringing and sending the echoes rocking emptily. He pushed open another door.
    Lin Wang sat in a puddle of yellow light, flanked by two sentries. The rest of the room was dim. Great shadows flickered along the walls like crawling monsters about to pounce. Lin Wang was looking through candle flame at two soldiers and a prisoner.
    Kurt was unnoticed. Something was familiar about the prisoner. Brown hair, slender shoulders. A military cape drooped down from the throat. The hair was disheveled.
    Kurt almost cried out. He swallowed the sound and sagged against the door. The prisoner was Anne Carsten!
    Lin Wang was speaking in English. His hands rattled before his twisted face. The black caverns criss-crossed his scaly visage and made his expression diabolical. His eyes were screwed up into black pinpoints, showing muddy blue flecks in the saffron light. When he spoke a small shower of scales fluttered to the desk.
    “I have wanted to see you for some little time,” said Lin Wang to Anne Carsten. “I once saw you coming out of a ballroom. You looked at me and shuddered and said to your companion that I was loathesome. Oh, I know how you felt. You are a beautiful woman. You could have the pick of men, but now the choice comes down to me. Tonight I am leaving China. As soon as a certain messenger—”
    Anne shuddered and the ragged cape whispered against the floor. She was very white, but she held her chin up and looked coldly at Lin Wang.
    Her voice was throaty. “Tonight you are leaving China. But I am not going with you. Try what you please, Lin Wang. I have ways of putting myself out of this world. In a necklace about my throat . . .” She clutched it. “I carry a swift poison.” She pried the cover off. “One move and it goes down.”
    She had spoken too soon. The soldier beside her whipped it out of her hand. The broken golden chain slinked musically on the floor.
    Lin Wang saw Kurt then. He looked up expectantly. “Pardon this, Captain. But a small side play. She is beautiful, don’t you think?” He spoke in Japanese, out of courtesy.
    “Kirei na,” said Kurt. “She is beautiful indeed—if you like white women. But this is not the time to speak of women.” He felt a cold sweat starting out against his palms. Anne Carsten looked dazedly at him without a trace of recognition. After that first glance he had not dared to look at Anne.
    “You have the money?” said Lin Wang. “Where is the taisho ?”
    “He is waiting for you. He was afraid to approach you direct. I will lead you to him.”
    “Very well, but here, sit down there in that chair and have a glass of sake. I drink sake, now that I am to become wholly Japanese.” He laughed at his joke and his fingers clattered against one another like a skeleton dancing. His hunched back shook.
    “There is little