He struck a match, noting that he only had three left. It should be enough. He dragged the bed mat over near the door, and stood on it and began ripping it to pieces with his left hand. His right was useless.
When he had enough cotton out of the thin pad he pushed it into a pile near the crack beneath the door. Not enough. He pulled more cotton from the pad. Then, to conserve his matches in case the stuff did not catch at once, he reached into his pocket for the money, meaning to twist a bill into a spill and use that. The money was gone. The match went out.
Nick cursed softly. Johnny Chow had taken the money when he slipped in with Kato's head on the tray.
Three matches left now. New sweat broke out on him and he could not keep his fingers from trembling as he carefully lit another match and held it to the cotton. A tiny flame flickered, wavered, nearly went out, caught again and began to grow. Smoke began to curl upward.
Nick wriggled out of the old trenchcoat and began to fan the smoke with it, directing it out under the door. The cotton was blazing now. If this didn't work he just might kill himself by asphyxiation. It was easy to do. He held his breath and kept waving the trenchcoat. sweeping the smoke under the door. That was enough. Nick started yelling at the top of his voice. "Fire! Fire! Help — help — Fire! Help me — don't let me burn. Fire!"
Now he would know.
He stood away from the door, flattened against the wall to one side. The door opened outward.
The cotton was blazing merrily now and the room was filling with acrid smoke. He didn't have to fake the coughing. He screamed again: "Fire! Help — tasukete! Tasuketel Hi — Hi!"
Slip-slop-slip-slop-slippety-slop-slop. The guard was running down the corridor. Nick let out a wail of terror. "Tasuketel"
The heavy bar dropped with a bang. The door opened a few inches. The smoke billowed out. Nick had tucked his useless right hand into the pocket of his jacket, to keep it out of the way. Now he snarled deep in his throat and rammed his big shoulders at the door. He was like a massive spring that has been coiled too long and is at last released.
The door slammed outward with a bang, knocking the guard backward and off balance. It was the Ainu he had seen earlier. He had the Tommy gun in front of him, at the ready, and as Nick ducked in under it the man squeezed off a burst by reflex. Flame seared the AXEman's face. He put everything he had into a short left hand to the man's gut. He bulled him back against the wall and put a knee in his groin and butted him in the face. The guard let out a bubbling groan and began to fall. Nick slashed him across the Adam's apple with his hand and butted him again. Teeth broke and blood gushed from the man's ruined mouth. He let go the Tommy gun. Nick grabbed it before it hit the floor.
The guard was still only halfway down, leaning drunkenly against the wall. Nick kicked his legs from under him and he went crashing down.
The machine gun was heavy even for Nick, with his one good hand, and it took him a second to get it balanced. The guard tried to get up. Nick kicked him in the face.
He stood over the man and put the muzzle of the Tommy gun within an inch of his head. The guard was still conscious enough to look past the muzzle and up the barrel to the clip where the heavy .45's waited with deadly patience to tear him apart.
"Where is Johnny Chow? Where is the girl? One second and I kill you!"
The guard did not doubt it. He kept very quiet and stammered out the words in a bloody froth.
"They go Toyo — go Toyo! Go for make riots, fires, I swear. I tell — you not kill!"
Toyo must mean central Tokyo. Downtown. He'd guessed right. He had been out over twenty-four hours.
He put a foot on the man's chest. "Who else is around here? Other men? Here? They did not leave you to guard me alone?"
"One man. One man only. Now sleep in office, I swear." Sleep. Through all this? Nick slammed the guard over the skull with the butt of the Tommy gun. He turned and ran down the corridor toward the office where Johnny Chow had shot the Russian, Dimitri.
There was a spurt of flame from the office door and a slug made a nasty noise past Nick's left ear. Sleeping, hell! The bastard was awake now and he had Nick cut off from the yard. There was no time to go exploring, to try to find another way out.
Blam-BLAM…
A hornet sound, too close. A slug gouged the wall just beside him. Nick turned, shot out the single dim light in the corridor and ran back toward the stairs that led down to the dungeons. He vaulted the body of the unconscious guard and kept running.
Silence now. Silence and darkness. The man in the office was reloading and waiting.
Nick Carter stopped running. He fell to his belly and crawled until he could look up and see, barely see, the lighter rectangle of an open skylight above him. A waft of cool air came down and he saw a star, a single faint star, glittering in the center of the square. He tried to remember how high up the skylights were. He had noted them yesterday when they brought him in. He couldn't remember and knew it didn't matter. He had to try it anyway.
He tossed the Tommy gun up through the skylight. It hit and bounced and made a hell of a racket. The man in the — office heard it and opened fire again, pouring lead down the narrow corridor. Nick hugged the floor. One of the bullets ticked through.his hair without touching the scalp. He exhaled silently. Christ! That was close.
The man in the office emptied his magazine. Silence again. Nick stood up, tensed his legs and leaped, reaching with his good left hand. His fingers locked over the coaming of the skylight and he hung swaying for a moment, then began to pull himself up. His arm tendons cracked and complained. He grinned bitterly in the dark. All those thousands of one-arm chin-ups were paying off now.
He got his elbow over the coaming and swung his legs out. He was on the roof of the warehouse. Around him the shipyards were silent and desolate, but here and there lights were on in warehouses and the docks. One especially bright light glittered like a constellation from the top of a crane.
No blackout yet. Over Tokyo the sky was brilliant with reflected neon. A red warning winked from the top of Tokyo Tower and far to the south searchlights were radiating over the International Airport. Some two miles to the west was the Imperial Palace. Where was Richard Philston at this moment?
He found the Tommy gun and cradled it in the crook of his good arm. Then, running softly, the way a man runs over freight cars, he went down the length of the warehouse. He could see well enough now to leap each skylight as he came to it.
After the last skylight the building widened and he knew he was over the office and near the loading dock. He went on tiptoe, making very little sound on the tar paper. A single dim light gleamed on a standard in the yard where the rusty oil drums marched like globular phantoms. Something near the gate caught the light and reflected it and he saw that it was a jeep. Painted black. His heart leaped and he felt the beginning of real hope. There might yet be a chance to stop Philston. The jeep meant a way into town. But first he had to get across the yard. That wasn't going to be easy. The single light gave just enough illumination for that bastard in the office to see him. He didn't dare try to shoot out the light. Might as well send in his calling card.
There was no time to ponder. He just had to barge ahead and take his chances. He ran on, over the roof extension that covered the loading dock, trying to get as far from the office as possible. He reached the end of the roof and looked down. There was a stack of oil drums directly under him. They looked rickety.