Istanbul by Nick Carter Page A

move. Let the splendid body and the trained mind take over. Act now, think later!
    Nick had the Luger cold in his hand as he went around the corner and into the little
cul-de-sac.
He saw the dull glint of the Opel in the clotting tar shadows, heard the drum of rain on the metal roof, kept moving. Kept on moving — not to the car door, not to where something, or someone, sat hunched at the wheel, but on and beyond to the rear of the car. Now down — down flat in the filth and wet of the dirt alley and under the car and squirming back toward the front. Now stopping, listening, flat and making one with the ground near the door of the driver's seat.
    Waiting. Listening. Striving to feel and sense what was out there. Who was out there. Around him.
    Nick, his face in the mud, allowed himself a cold inward smile. They were there, all right! He knew it as surely as though they had greeted him with lights and shouts and a brass band. He knew who was out there, and why they were out there. What he didn't know was — how many and where hidden? Mousy and he had arrived in the dark and had parked the car and gone straight to
Le Cinema Bleu.
There had been no time, nor thought, to case the alley.
    So now N3 lay in the mud beneath the car and wondered about doorways and arches and windows and fences and recesses — any one of which might be concealing his death. But there was a remedy for that — draw fire! Anyway he wanted to know about Mousy. He already knew, to be sure, but he must be positive. And it was as good a way as any to draw fire.
    They were being remarkably patient. His swift reaction must have confused them a bit. Nick's lips twisted in something that was half snarl, half sneer. Had they really expected him to come sauntering up to the car and ask for a match?
    At that moment a siren wailed, a lost soul calling in the rainy night. Nearby its mate answered. Both were converging rapidly on the vicinity of
Le Cinema Bleu.
    Took them long enough, Nick thought, but this should do it.
They
don't want the police anymore than I do, so if trouble's coming it will come now. And it was coming.
    Nick rolled halfway out from under the Opel, reached up and twisted the knob on the driver's side, thrust clawing fingers until they felt cloth. He jerked hard, sliding back under the car as he did so. Something came tumbling out of the car to fall with a sullen
splot
into a puddle beside Nick. He reached, explored rapidly with his free hand — poor little Mousy had taken off that silly dress before they killed him!
    Three or four flashlights came on simultaneously. All were beamed from near the entrance of the alley or across the street from it. Two were from doorwavs there. The hard stalks of light slashed at the Opel. Nick had only time to see the great black gaping slash in Mousy's throat. See how the little man's head flopped. Another throat cut nearly to the backbone!
    Nick wriggled rapidly backward as the tommy gun let go from a doorway across from the alley entrance. The front of the Opel exploded in a storm of metal and glass.
    He reached the rear of the Opel and stood up, hugging the car. The machine gunner let go another burst from across the street. Slugs crawled over the battered car like leaden lice. Deadly biting lice. Nick held his fire, moulding himself to the car. using every inch of cover.
    The machine gunner appeared to be doing all the work. The others were handling the lights. Nick leaned out and fired rapidly four times with the Luger, liking the vicious kick of the weapon in his hand. Two of the lights went out. A man yelled in pain. Someone cursed in the dark not far from the alley entrance. Nick fired at the sound. The man screamed.
    The tommy gun raved again. He moved to the other side of the car and started firing at the lights again. They were nervous now, the lights, moving in erratic zigs and zags as they tried to spot him.
    Wilhelmina went empty. Nick reached into his coat pocket for another clip. He heard the