Desperately the AXEman sought for some ploy, for some way to exploit the situation. Sex and Death were the yin and yang of existence — in his case he just might be able to change Death to Life. But first, time — he must gain a little time!
“Have I spoiled it?” He managed a faint grin. “Can’t we start over, Gerda? I’ve had enough. I can’t take any more. I’ll do anything you say — be anything you say. I’ll help you fight off El Tigre when he comes next week. Only don’t let her whip me any more. Please!”
Again the reluctant shrug. She tore her eyes away from his body. “It is too late. I cannot trust you.”
“All right, but don’t torture me. Kill me quickly.” He was “acting” desperately now. Somehow he had to keep her interest, keep her aroused, goad her into the fantastic act of which, he was betting, her twisted mind was capable. Then, and only then, he might have a chance.
“I... I can tell you some things, Erma! Things you don’t know — that you should know. I did overhear Chung Hee and Harper talking after you left.”
She was in her chair again, lounging, the machine gun on her lap. Erma was at the tall windows, her back to them, pulling the bloody lashes slowly through her fingers. Nick realized that she was not missing a word.
Gerda von Rothe patted back an artificial yawn. Nick thought it was feigned boredom, for her eyes never left his body.
“What could you possibly tell me about Harper and Chung Hee that would be of any interest? The Chinese is dead and Harper soon will be. He is hiding somewhere around the castle now, but he cannot get away. Anyway I know all about them. Not that it matters now. They are finished.”
“Maybe not,” said Nick. “Did you know that Harper was a Russian agent? A double! The Kremlin knows about this little setup, Gerda. They were trying to toss a monkey wrench into the Peking machinery — you don’t think they’re going to let you new Nazis get away with anything. The Russians hate Nazis a lot worse than they do the Chinese — that’s only a matter of politics. With you people, with the Nazis, it’s a deep blood hatred.”
He had shocked and surprised her. The green eyes broke off their avid devouring of his middle and swiveled to meet his own. “You seem to know and understand a great deal. Certainly you do not talk like a bandit. But this claim of yours — that Harper is a Russian agent. Why should I believe you?”
This part was easy. “You saw Chung’s body, or Hurtada, or whatever. Harper killed him. I saw it, remember. He had to. Chung was going to kill him, on orders from Peking. They had found out the truth about Harper. He was a Russian agent, all right.”
A soft flow of obscenity oozed from her red mouth. “I think I believe you, Jamie, whoever you are. The clever bastard! All the years he has worked for me and I did not suspect. I did not even know that he was working for the Chinese until he and Chung moved in and took over.”
From the window Erma said, “You are talking too much, Gerda.”
“Shut up,” said The Bitch. “What matter if he is going to die anyway? And it amuses me to talk just now. So shut up — and bring me some whiskey and soda. Hurry up.”
Erma shot a malevolent glance at the AXEman as she left the room. The message in the yellow eyes was plain. You might be fooling her, they said, but you are not fooling me.
Nick said, “You see — I did tell you something you didn’t know. Shouldn’t it buy me something? Like an easier death? I can’t stand any more torture — I’ll go out of my mind.”
The Bitch laughed at him. “I do not really care one way or the other. But whipping you gives Erma pleasure, you see. Real sexual pleasure. Poor thing. She does not have much fun these days. It is a pity.”
“My heart hurts for her.”
She laughed again. “You would not understand. You are too normal. So beautifully normal, Jamie. I think I shall continue to call you that until — well, until it is over. It is a nice name. I really wish it were your own, and that things were different. You are a superb man, Jamie. The best I ever had — and I have had many.”
He had to keep her talking. “One thing I would like to know before you kill me — are you really seventy years old? It can’t do any harm to tell me now.”
The Bitch came to the bed. With the cold nose of the Tommy gun she poked around at his private parts, a lascivious grin on her wide red mouth.
“No harm at all,” she agreed. “I will, in fact, my Jamie, give a boon to you who are going to die. I will answer any of your questions. It does not matter.”
“Well, then? Are you really seventy?”
She was enjoying herself. She poked him hard with the Tommy gun and he winced.
“Of course I am not seventy, you poor fool. I am thirty-six. It was all a hoax to promote the sale of White Lily creams. My name is not even Gerda. It is Gretel. Gerda was my mother’s name. When she died I buried her secretly and took her place. It was all Harper’s idea — he is a clever bastard and very good at his work. It was he who handled all the publicity, who built up the legend that I was seventy and had been preserved by my creams. It was good — it made us rich and it was good cover for my real work.”
Her eyes had left his flesh now and there was a fanatic glow in them.
“Der Tag?” Nick kept his tone soft and low.
Her eyes burned down into his. She flung her right arm up in the Nazi salute. “Yes! The day! It will come again. Be sure of that. Not the old ones, but the new. The Hitler Youth, as I was, will come into their own. Hitler is not dead. Hitler will never die. Heil Hitler!”
“Heil Hitler!” It was Erma. She came toward them, a tray of drinks balanced on one huge hand, the other raised in the salute. “Heil Hitler! And now, Gerda, I think it is time we killed this one. After a little more whipping, of course.”
The Bitch smiled in amusement. “You do not have to pretend any longer, Erma. He knows I am not Gerda. I have told him the truth.” She poured herself half a glass of whiskey and drank it neat. Nick moistened his lips. She saw the movement and poured more whiskey in her glass, then held it to his lips. Nick choked and sputtered as the fiery stuff flowed down his gullet.
As The Bitch took the glass away she patted Nick’s head and looked at Erma. “I am not sure I want to kill him just yet. Perhaps I will give him a choice, my good Erma. A chance, perhaps I should say. There are still the cells, you know. After all, the stupid Americans have one song that makes a great deal of sense — a good man is hard to find!”
“Not the cells, please,” said Nick. “I saw them. And what was in them. I hate rats. And I hate starving.”
Gerda von Rothe — he was always to think of her so — half filled her own glass again and drank. This time she chased the spirit with soda. Nick felt a micro-inch of hope grow in him. If she got drunk enough — but that was a toss up, too. She might just blast him with the Tommy gun.
Erma had been staring at her mistress with open mouth and wide eyes. “You are a fool, Gretel. You would risk everything just to have sport with this carrion! This man.” There was venom in the word. “When there is so much to be done — such a terrible mess to be cleaned up, so much to be hidden, buried. And the man Harper has not yet been found.”