Free Spy Killer by L. Ron Hubbard Page B

time, taisho .”
    “Be not so impatient,” replied Lin Wang irritably. “If I go now this woman may kill herself before I return.”
    Kurt chose a chair in the shadow and wrapped his cloak more tightly about him. A soldier handed him a glass of the hot red fluid.
    Lin Wang was looking at Anne again. He licked his flaky lips. “Come, there’s no need of wasting time. You have been brought here by my men. No one will ever know where you have gone. You might as well . . .” He stood up and came forward, moving one foot heavily along the floor, hitching himself along the edge of the desk, leaning heavily to the right.
    Rifles and soldiers. Guards outside. Kurt sat very still. The liquor gagged him. He was looking at Anne again. She was not standing in very good light and he could not clearly see her face. Something was oddly wrong about her, something Kurt could not understand.
    Rifles and soldiers. Kurt’s hand slipped casually to his thigh and touched the butt of his .45. It was certain death, but . . . surely he couldn’t do this thing and leave Varinka in the lurch. Once again he was confronted with the two women.
    Lin Wang reached out with his queerly lifeless hand and patted Anne’s cheek. She tried to wrench away, but the two soldiers held her securely. The men in the room were grinning.
    “And you said I was loathesome. Oh, but you did. And if you didn’t say it, I saw it in your eyes. It’s there now. You think I am ugly, but I can be very pleasant. Very pleasant.”
    He pulled down a strand of her hair and stroked it. He hitched himself a little closer, looking up at her, head on one side, chuckling. Kurt remembered Bonner’s fingernails. . . .
    Something else was in the room which Kurt thought should not be there. He looked about restively. A black satchel stood beside the door. Lin Wang looked past Anne. He also saw the bag.
    “And what did you bring for us there, my pretty?” said Lin Wang. He jerked his finger toward the bag, and a soldier stooped and picked it up. Lin Wang smiled at Anne. “Do not be impatient. We must get everything in order first.”
    Kurt froze. He felt dizzy.
    Lin Wang forgot about the satchel then. He reached out and took hold of the top of Anne’s cloak. With a quick jerk he ripped it away from her and threw it on the floor. Anne was wearing a blue tunic which was badly torn at the collar.
    Lin Wang chuckled again. The soldier opened the bag. “Money! Japanese yen!” cried the soldier.
    Lin Wang stared into the satchel and, then, with a roar wheeled about and, glared at Kurt. The money was there—and yet an officer had come to take him to a conference to give him the money. Lin Wang’s wits worked well on one theme—treachery.
    Kurt was up, back to the wall. “Duck!” he yelled.
    The .45 came level through the slit of his cloak. Flame stabbed from the jerking muzzle. Lead screamed from the walls only half stopped.
    Lin Wang took two shots through his stomach. His clawing fingers contracted as he collapsed, twisting to one side. Screaming orders, he fell to the floor, instantly swallowed up by the flame and smoke and turmoil.
    Kurt, without waiting for Lin Wang to go down, flung himself to the right. A rifle bullet missed him by fractions. He fired straight into a soldier’s face, blasting out the whole jaw. He caught the man before he could go down, and holding the corpse before him as a shield, turned to meet the others.
    He shot another. The room was a hell of deafening thunder and shrieks. The candles flickered serenely. A man rushed Kurt with a bayonet. Kurt dropped him.
    Suddenly Kurt saw that only one soldier was on his feet. The Chinese charged, steel glittering, face distorted. Kurt heaved the bullet-torn corpse of his shield onto the point of the bayonet, stepped aside and pistoled the Chinese through the skull.
    Anne turned Lin Wang over with her foot. She was smiling bitterly. Kurt snatched at her arm, but she would not go until she had grasped the