In a Tokyo bathhouse, the man had surrendered his Yogatrim body to a slim beauty who murmured that her name was Taka. Her fingers moved with an Oriental magic of the sublest sort…. 'San". "What is this, please?" Taka's delicate forefinger was pointing to the tiny tattoo on his inner right elbow--the design of a little blue axe--the insignia worn only by the highest exhelon of America's super-secret intelligence agency. A warning tingled through the nerves of the man they called Killmaster...

1964.