Cambodia Read online

  Annotation

  SILVER SHAKE SOCIETY

  Cambodian terrorists — fanatic, lethal and primed to

  STRIKE PATROL

  American Ranger-Raiders — specially trained, totally armed and primed to kill…

  NICK CARTER

  AXE's top agent — officially assigned to penetrate the Cambodian jungles, accidentally aligned with a sensuous native guide, and, by the very nature of his Killmaster rating primed to kill…

  They're all in a cold-blooded international death game that begins in a small corner of Cambodia — and could end in a global war.

  * * *

  Nick Carter

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Eleven

  Twelve

  Thirteen

  Fourteen

  Fifteen

  * * *

  Nick Carter

  Killmaster

  Cambodia

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

  OCR Mysuli: [email protected]

  One

  We were almost an hour out of Saigon. The big, noisy C-47 had just passed over Xuan Loc and was heading toward Vo Dat. I was sitting on a short bench looking out the open doorway. It was a moonless night. I was going to go through that doorway soon, into the blackness and down to a hostile jungle. Somewhere over the Long Khanh Province I was to bail out. I started checking my gear.

  The pack was strapped to my back. It contained all the items Special Effects thought I would need. The parachute felt bulky across my chest, and I rested my chin on the top of it, smelling the canvas. The map and pen light were in my shirt pocket. Under my left armpit, Wilhelmina, my stripped Luger, rested. Hugo, the stiletto, was in its sheath along my left arm. The tiny, deadly gas bomb, Pierre, was between my legs.

  I wasn't convinced that my disguise as an Asian peasant would work. I was too tall. I could wear the costume, have my eyes and cheeks altered, but nothing would change my size.

  I heard the engines cut back slightly. It was almost time. The co-pilot came back to where I was sitting. He held up the fingers of one hand. Five minutes. I stood and checked the leg straps of the chute. The co-pilot watched me. The red fights inside the plane gave his young face a ghostly glow. I guessed his age at under 25. Youth showed in every feature except his eyes. They looked weary with age, as though he had seen 50 years of frustration within a very short time. It was the face most young American fighters had in Vietnam. Maybe the eyes would look young again when they went home. But now they looked tired of it all, weary with the thoughts of an endless war.

  America had come to Vietnam in naive arrogance. What was American was right. We could do no wrong. But now the fighting men were tired of it. The war was going nowhere, accomplishing nothing and showing no signs of ending.

  But we didn't think of that, the co-pilot and I. He held up two fingers. Two minutes. He was concerned only with getting me out that door and on target. I was concerned with completing an assignment. One minute.

  I moved close enough to the open doorway for the warm wind to whip at my clothes. I looked out and down into total blackness. I knew the jungle was down there and that it would be crawling with enemy patrols. I had the handle of the ripcord in my hand. I felt the co-pilot touch my shoulder, and I fell forward through the open door. The wind caught me at once, pushed me past the tail of the C-47. I counted, my eyes closed. Three, four… I was tumbling through the air, falling. I could hear nothing but a loud hiss against my ears. Five. I pulled the ripcord. I kept falling for a few seconds as the straps played out above me. Then I felt the jerk against my shoulders as the chute puffed. My legs rocked back and forth. The hissing against my ears stilled. I was floating down now, slowly. I opened my eyes and saw nothing.

  My target was supposed to be a small clearing. I didn't know how I was going to find it in the black night. They had told me I wouldn't have to. The wind, the rate of descent, had all been prejudged by the pilot. All I had to do was ride down. That's what they had told me.

  The drone of the C-47 engines faded from earshot. Now there was only silence. There were no fights below me, no outline of the clearing. I pictured myself smashing through heavy-limbed trees, entangling the chute lines and hanging while an enemy patrol used me for target practice. I could see shadows darker than the night below me now. Treetops. I was moving forward as I floated down. The treetops came toward my feet rapidly. I grabbed the chute straps tightly and waited. I knew the treetops stood above dense jungle growth. And it looked like I was going right into it.

  I felt limbs slapping at my feet. I bent my knees and felt a stinging along my legs as the limbs scraped them. My grip tightened on the straps. I braced myself, fully expecting to crunch into those trees. Then suddenly the trees and growth were behind me. I was falling free again close to the ground. I let my body relax. I had reached the clearing and it looked like I was going to hit at dead center. My heels rammed the soft ground. I rocked forward over my toes then rolled head-first. The earth pounded at me as I tumbled. The chute came down and dragged me almost four feet. Once again there was silence.

  It seemed to me that I had made a lot of noise. I knew I had to move quickly now. I jumped to my feet and shrugged out of the chute harness. I checked the luminous dial of my watch-I was running five minutes late. I looked around the clearing. Directly to my right there should have been a path through the jungle growth. I moved toward the point pulling the chute with me. When I reached the edge of the clearing, I had the chute rolled into a large ball. I shoved it in the growth until I could no longer see it. The night heat was muggy, and my clothes were sticking to me with sweat. Mosquitoes buzzed around my ears. I moved along the clearing edge, my eyes searching. There was no path.

  I dropped to one knee. From my shirt pocket I pulled out the plastic-covered map and small pencil flash. I played the flash over the map and kept looking up to get my bearings. In the fall I had gotten twisted around. The path was on the other side of the clearing. I moved swiftly across and along the opposite side of the clearing. I almost passed the path in my haste. When I spotted it, I paused. One hour along the path. I checked the watch again. I quickly calculated the time lost and figured I would have to move at a half-run to make it up. But at least I was on the path. So far so good. I moved off.

  There would be two forks ahead. I would need the map to know which one to take. The path wound like one large S after another. On each side of me jungle growth towered like huge walls. I could no longer see the sky. The ground under my feet was dirt packed as hard as concrete. The path seemed well used. I had to slow at every curve of the S. I knew there would be traps. I slowed, speeded, slowed again, keeping my eyes on the floor of the path.

  I had traveled 20 minutes when I came to the first fork. It was three pronged. I knelt down and pulled out the map and flash. The middle road was well worn, the other two slightly overgrown with brush. But I had picked up enough time to put me right on schedule. The map was hand drawn with crudely sketched landmarks. The three-pronged fork was shown. I was to take the one to the right.

  I started along it at a quick walk. It was smooth going for about 50 yards, but then the jungle started closing in ahead of me.- Elephant-ear leaves slapped at me as I pushed through. I could no longer see where I was stepping. The path continued making S curves. At times the growth was so thick I had to move through it sideways. I was losing time. Insects were sticking to my neck and face. The heat was unbearable. I fought my way for 15 minutes when I came upon the second fork. This one was five pronged. I knelt and pulled out the map and flash once again. I was to
take the middle path.

  The path was wide and fairly straight. My feet slapped the concrete surface as I trotted. I rounded a long lazy curve and suddenly pulled up. Ahead of me there was brush lying across the path. It looked like a square patch stretching almost five feet. The brush wasn't high and that made me suspicious. It was the same level as the path. I moved up to it cautiously and knelt at the edge. My toe touched a string stretching across the path. I heard a swish above me and saw the branch of a tree straighten suddenly. At the end of the branch were tiny, sharpened bamboo spikes. If I had been standing, those spikes would have struck me full in the face. I nodded grimly. The branch had been bent and tied loosely with the string. If the string were touched, the branch would have straightened quickly and smacked those bamboo spikes into my face. But that still didn't tell me what was under the brush. I pulled the branch to the side a piece at a time, half expecting something to jump out in front of me. I then discovered that the brush covered an open pit.

  The sides and bottom of the pit were dotted with the sharpened trunks of bamboo trees. Stubby and lethal, they were spaced about a foot apart. If the branch didn't get you, then you'd fall into the pit. Either way it would be messy and painful.

  I left the pit uncovered. I moved back six paces, and with a good run jumped over it. I had lost a lot of time. But I wasn't going to kill myself trying to make it up. I moved off as quickly and carefully as I could. I had to get to the stream, and I knew I was going to be late.

  I kept moving at a half-run, slowing at every curve. The trail was almost ten feet wide, and the going was easy. Twice I came to landmarks I was supposed to watch for. I checked them against the map, found them correct and continued on. By the time I reached the stream, I was a half hour late.

  There was a wooden walk bridge across the stream, although the bubbly water itself was only about three feet wide. But the banks on each side were marshy. The foot bridge began and ended at the edge of the marshes. I knelt beside the bridge and listened. All I could hear was the gurgling of the stream. Jungle growth grew right up to the edge of the marsh, then the space was open across the stream and the opposite marsh where thick growth began again. I knew I was close to the village, but I didn't know how close. I was just supposed to get to the stream. I waited.

  Something might have gone wrong. I waited for five minutes. The marsh was thick with mosquitos. They buzzed in front of my eyes and seemed to be flying inside my ears. I thought I might have to try to find the village myself. If something were wrong, I would need an alternative plan. Across the bridge there was bound to be another path. Maybe that would lead to the village. Then suddenly I heard a voice whisper my name.

  "Mr. Carter," the voice said. "Remain where you are. Do not move."

  It was coming from behind me. I heard movement as someone came through the brush. I shrugged my left shoulder, and Hugo my stiletto fell into my hand.

  "Turn around slowly," the voice said. It was close to me now, just behind my left shoulder.

  I twirled and leaped to my feet with Hugo stuck out in front of me. I checked my lunge for one second before I would have killed the unarmed man.

  He stood without moving, a vague shadow in the darkness. His head bobbed as he looked from my face to the stiletto and back again. He was a Vietnamese peasant, and the flowing white beard made him look ancient. His body was small and thin. He waited with his head bobbing to see what I was going to do with Hugo.

  When seconds had passed and neither of us had moved, he said, "I am Ben-Quang. I am your contact."

  "How do I know this?" I asked.

  "You jumped from an American plane into a clearing. You used a map that I made to guide you here. I am to take you to the village. You were to meet me at the stream and you are late."

  "You also are too large to pass as a peasant. I had thought they would send someone smaller."

  "All right," I said, replacing Hugo in his sheath. "I am large. I thought you would be someone younger. Can you take me to the village or can't you?"

  For the first time he moved. He walked past me to the bridge and then turned. "I will take you to the village. We must move carefully. There is a Vietcong patrol in the area. It passed through the village two hours ago. Follow me. I am an old man. Keep up if you can."

  He moved off in a quick shuffle. He was halfway across the bridge before I started after him. There was no path on the other side. When Ben-Quang left the bridge, he plunged into the jungle out of sight. I pushed after him, trying to catch up. The brush stung my legs and slapped at my face. He still wasn't in sight. I followed more by sound than sight. But his wiry body made less noise than mine. Three times I went off in the wrong direction, only to hear his faint thrashing to my left or right. I had to stop and listen now and then to make sure exactly where he was. I climbed over tree trunks and snapped branches but kept plowing after him.

  Then I stopped to check his location, and I couldn't hear him. I seemed to be trapped in a maze of underbrush. The sweat poured from my face. I listened carefully, but I couldn't hear him. I had lost him. In anger I pushed through in the direction I thought he had gone. I keep myself in top physical condition. Yet this old man was making me feel as though I were 40 pounds overweight and on an exercise program of beer and TV. But I kept at it, hoping I was going in the right direction. When five minutes had passed and I still saw no sign of him, I stopped. I looked in every direction. I could have sworn I heard him breathing.

  Ben-Quang took one step out toward my right, and he was standing directly in front of me. "Mr. Carter," he said in his soft voice, "you make a great deal of noise."

  "How much farther is the village?" I panted. I knew he was mocking me, and enjoying it.

  "Not far. This way." He struck out again.

  But this time I stayed right on his tail. I knew he was playing a little game, trying to lose me so he could surprise me again. But I watched what I could see of him closely. I stepped where he stepped, moved my body as he moved his. Even though I was larger, in an area I didn't know, and carrying a heavy back pack, I was still right behind him when he stepped out of the jungle into a large clearing.

  We were in the village. It was very small. There were nine thatch-roofed huts arranged in a circle. Without a word Ben-Quang moved off toward the second hut to our right.

  There was no sign of movement, no fires, no people that I could see. I followed Ben-Quang into the hut. There was a glowing lantern hanging from the arched ceiling. The floor was made of dirt, brushed and packed hard. The only furniture was a single table with no chairs and two mats on one side of the hut. There was one uncovered window. Insects buzzed around the lantern. Dead ones that had been too close to the heat dotted the dirt floor. I eased the pack off and put it on the table. Then I faced Ben-Quang.

  In the lamplight he looked over a hundred years old. His face was gnarled like the trunk of an oak tree. He stood just a few inches over five feet. The white beard looked less white in the lantern glow. The thin mouth was blotched with brown. His narrow dark eyes squinted at me.

  "What happens now?" I asked.

  Ben-Quang motioned to one of the mats. "You will rest. When it is daylight Nam Kien will be here. He will guide you to the ruins."

  I nodded and sat cross-legged on the mat. Ben-Quang gave me one last look then turned and walked out of the hut. I pulled out one of my cigarettes and stretched out on the mat. When my lighter flame had touched the cigarette, I blew smoke toward the ceiling. With the cigarette between my lips, I locked my hands behind my neck and watched the insects die against the lantern.

  Another leg of my journey had been completed. The hardest part lay ahead. It would take me to the ruins of Angkor Thorn in Northwestern Cambodia. But the journey had begun over a week ago in Hawk's office.

  Two

  The call from Hawk couldn't have come at a worse time. I was in my New York apartment, in bed, not alone, when the jangling of the phone sounded.

  Janet groaned as I untangled myself from
her and I snatched the receiver. The apartment heater hadn't been turned on and the nip of the night before lingered in the bedroom. It gave a comfortable warmth to be between the sheets and blankets, the kind of warmth you tell yourself war wouldn't drive you out of. And Janet had her own little built-in heater.

  I grumbled something into the phone.

  Then I heard Hawk's unmistakable voice. "The weather in Washington is very good this time of year, Mr. Carter."

  Hawk wanted me in Washington. When? "I understand the mornings are kind of nippy," I said.

  "Not the late mornings. Shall we say just before lunch?"

  "Today?"

  I wasn't sure but I thought I heard Hawk chuckle to himself. "No," he said. "Tomorrow will be fine."

  When I'd hung up I felt Janet's slender arm around my neck. I scooted myself down between the warm sheets and gathered the slender flesh heater in my arms.

  "Darling," she mumbled sleepily. "It's so early."

  My hand was doing something to her. At first she was passive, then slowly she started to move against my hand.

  "I'm still asleep," she whispered. "I'm doing it in my sleep."

  Janet was one of New York's top fashion models. Like most of them she had a boyish, small-breasted body. Her skin was paper smooth and flawless, her brown hair thick and long. She had spent a great deal of time in Florida, and her bronzed body showed that she had spent a lot of that time in the sun. I let my hand move lightly between her legs.

  "Men are awful," she cried. "In the morning, yet. Do you all like it in the morning?"

  "Shh." I pressed my lips to hers. I moved my body to where my hand had been. I heard a loud insuck of breath from her as I entered.

  "Oh, Nick!" she cried. "Oh, darling!"

  As always with Janet the first time was quick. Her long fingernails clawed at me while she hissed between clenched teeth. We moved together and apart slowly, knowing that the second time would be for the both of us and it would take some time.