The Defector

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Nick moved around his cubicle, touching the walls.

There was no crack, no break, just solid concrete. And the floor was the same as the walls. The hinges on the steel door were outside and cast into the concrete. There would be no escaping the cell. The silence was so complete he could hear his own breathing. He squatted in a corner and lit one of his cigarettes. Since his lighter was out of fuel, he had taken a book of matches from the junk. There were only two matches left.

He smoked, watching the ember of his cigarette glow with each drag. Sunday evening, he thought, and he only had until Tuesday at midnight. He still hadn’t located Kathy Loo and the boy Mike.

Then he heard Sheila Kwan’s soft voice, sounding as though it came from the walls.

“Nick Carter,” she said. “You are not working alone. How many others are working with you? When will they be here?”

Silence. Nick mashed out the remains of his cigarette. Suddenly the cell brightened with light. Nick blinked, his eyes watering. There was a naked light bulb in the center of the ceiling protected by a small wire cage. Just as Nick’s eyes grew used to the brightness, the light went out. He judged it had been on maybe twenty seconds. Now he was in darkness again. He rubbed his eyes. A sound came from the walls again. It sounded like a train faraway whistle. Steadily it grew louder, as though the train came toward the cell. Louder and louder the sound came, growing in pitch until it was a screech. Just as Nick thought it would pass by, the sound was shut off. He figured that at about thirty seconds. Then Sheila spoke to him again.

“Professor Loo wants to join us,” she said. “There is nothing you can do to prevent it.” There was a click. Then, “Nick Carter. You are not working alone. How many others are working with you? When will they be here?”

It was a recording. Nick waited for the light to come on. But instead, he got the train whistle again. It was even louder this time. And the screech began to hurt his ears. As he put his hands over them, the sound stopped. He was sweating. He knew what they were trying to do. It was an old Chinese torture trick. They had used variations of it against the GIs in Korea. It was the mental break-down process. Make the brain like mush, then mold it as you wish. He could tell them he was alone until rice harvest time but they wouldn’t believe him. The irony of it was there was little defense against this type of torture. An ability to stand pain was useless. They by-passed the body and shot directly to the brain.

The light came on again. Nick’s eyes watered against the brightness. This time the light was on only ten seconds. It went out. Nick’s shirt was soaked with sweat. He had to come up with some kind of defense. Already he was anticipating, expecting, waiting. Would it be the light?

The whistle? Or Sheila’s voice? There was no way to judge, not what was coming or how long it would last. But he knew he had to do something.

The whistle didn’t come from far away any more. It was high-pitched and loud immediately. Nick got to work. His brain wasn’t mush quite yet. He tore a large strip from his shirt. The light came on and he shut his eyes tight. When it went off again, he took the torn portion of his shirt and tore it again into five smaller strips. Two of the strips he tore again in half then wadded them into tight little balls. He worked the four balls into his ears, two in each.

When the whistle came on he could barely hear it. With the three remaining strips, he folded two of them into loose pads and placed them over his eyes. The third strip he tied around his head to keep the pads in place. He was blind and deaf. He leaned back into his concrete corner, smiling. By feel, he lit another one of his cigarettes. He knew they could strip him of all his clothes, but right now he was buying time.

They increased the volume of the whistle, but the sound was deadened so much it didn’t bother him. If Sheila’s voice came on, he didn’t hear it. He had just about finished his cigarette when they came for him.

He didn’t hear the door creak open, but he smelled the fresh air. And he felt the presence of others in the cell with him. The blindfold was ripped from his head. He blinked, rubbing his eyes. The light was on. There were two soldiers, one standing over him, the other by the door. Both rifles were aimed at Nick. The soldier standing over Nick, pointed to his own ear, then at Nick’s. Killmaster knew what he wanted. He removed his ear plugs. With the rifle, the soldier motioned him to his feet. Nick stood, and, with prodding from the rifle barrel, walked out of the cell.

He heard the generator as soon as he stepped outside the building. The two soldiers were behind him, their rifles pushed into his back. They walked under the naked light bulbs between the huts and straight to the end hut, closest to the concrete building. As they entered, Nick noticed it was partitioned into three sections. The first was a sort of foyer. To his right a doorway led to another room. Although Nick couldn’t see it, he heard the squawk and screech of a short-wave radio. Directly ahead of him, a closed door led to still another room. He had no way of knowing what was there. Two smoky lanterns hung from bamboo rafters above him. The radio room glowed from more lanterns. Nick realized then that most of the juice from the generator was used to run the radio, the lights running between the huts, and all the equipment in the concrete building. The huts themselves were lit by lanterns. While the two soldiers waited with him in the foyer, he leaned against the hut wall. It creaked against his weight. He ran his fingers over the rough surface. Splinters of bamboo came away where he rubbed. Nick smiled slightly. The huts were tinder boxes waiting for a match.

The two soldiers stood on each side of Nick. Next to the door leading into the third room, two more soldiers sat on a bench, their rifles between their legs, their heads nodding, trying to fight sleep. At the end of the bench, four boxes were stacked on top of each other. Nick remembered them from the hold of the junk. The Chinese symbols stenciled across them stated that they were grenades. The top box was opened. Half of the grenades were missing.

A voice came over the radio. It spoke Chinese in a dialect Nick didn’t understand. The radio operator answered in the same dialect. One word was spoken that he did understand. It was the name Loo. The voice over the radio must be coming from the house Professor Loo was being held in, Nick thought. His mind absorbed, digested, discarded. And like a computer spitting out a card, a plan came to him. It was rough, but, like all his plans, flexible.

Then the door to the third room opened and Ling appeared holding his trusty .45. He nodded a greeting to the two soldiers, then motioned for Nick to enter the room. Sheila was waiting for him. As Ling followed Nick in, shutting the door behind him, Sheila ran to Nick, wrapping her arms around his neck. She kissed him passionately on the mouth.

“Oh, darling,” she whispered huskily. “I just had to have you one last time.” She still had on the same silk shift she’d worn on the junk.

The room was smaller than the other two. There was a window in this one. It contained a cot, a table, and a basket-weave chair. There were three lanterns, two hanging from the rafters, and one on the table. On the floor next to the chair lay Hugo and Wilhelmina. Two Tommy guns were with them. The table was next to the cot, the chair against the wall just to the right of the door. Nick was ready any time they were.

“I kill,” Ling said. He sat in the chair, the ugly snout of the .45 zeroed on Nick.

“Yes, pet,” Sheila cooed. “In a little while.” She was unbuttoning Nick’s shirt. “Are you surprised we found out your real identity?” she asked.

“Not really,” Nick answered. “You got it from John, didn’t you?”

She smiled. “It took a little persuasion, but we have ways.”

“Did you kill him?”

“Of course not. We need him.”

“I kill,” Ling repeated.

Sheila pulled the shift over her head. She took Nick’s hand and placed it on her bare breast. “We have to hurry,” she said. “Ling is anxious.” She removed Nick’s pants. Then she backed to the cot, pulling him after her.

The familiar fire was already burning inside Nick. It began when his hand touched the warm flesh of her breast. He released the bun on the back of her head, letting the long black hair fall around her shoulders. Then he gently pushed her down on the cot.

“Oh, baby,” she cried when his face was close to hers. “I will truly hate to see you die.”

Nick’s body pressed down on hers. Her legs were wrapped around his. He could feel her passion building as he worked with her. There was little enjoyment in it for him. It saddened him slightly to use this act she loved so dearly against her. His right arm was wrapped around her neck. He reached under his armpit and pulled at the tape holding Pierre. He knew that once the deadly gas was released, he would have to hold his breath until he could get out of the room. That gave him slightly more than four minutes. He had Pierre in his hand. Sheila’s eyes had been closed. But the jerking movement he made releasing the deadly gas opened her eyes. She frowned, then saw the tiny ball. With his left hand, Nick rolled the gas bomb under the cot toward Ling.

“What did you do?” Sheila cried. Then her eyes opened wide. “Ling!” she shouted. “Kill him, Ling!”

Ling jumped to his feet.

Nick rolled to his side, pulling Sheila with him, using her body as a shield. If Ling had fired into Sheila’s back, he might have got Nick. But he moved the .45 from side to side trying to get a clear shot. And that delay killed him. Nick was holding his breath. He knew it would take just seconds for the odorless gas to fill the room. Ling’s hand went to his throat. The .45 thudded to the floor. Ling’s knees buckled, and he sank down. Then he fell face forward.

Sheila struggled against Nick, but he held her close to him. Her eyes were wide with fear. Tears came to them and she shook her head as though she couldn’t believe this was happening. Nick pressed his lips over hers. Her breathing came in pants, then suddenly stopped. She went limp in his arms.

Nick had to move fast now. Already his head was growing light from lack of oxygen. He rolled off the cot, quickly gathered Hugo, Wilhelmina, one of the Tommy guns, and his pants, then bolted through the open window. He staggered ten steps away from the hut, his lungs aching, his head becoming a black blur. Then he sank to his knees and sucked in the welcome air. He stayed on his knees for awhile, breathing deeply. When his head had cleared, he pushed his legs into his pants, stuck Wilhelmina and Hugo into the waistband, picked up the Tommy gun, and in a low crouch made his way back to the hut.

He filled his lungs with air just before he reached the open window. No soldiers had entered the room yet. Standing just outside the window, Nick pulled Wilhelmina from his waistband, took careful aim at one of the lanterns hanging from the rafters, and fired. The lantern splattered, spreading flaming kerosene all over the wall. Nick fired at the other one, then at the one on the table. Flames licked across the floor and climbed two walls. The door opened. Nick ducked, and, in a crouch, circled the hut. There was too much light in front of the huts. He laid the Tommy gun down and removed his shirt. He buttoned three buttons, then tied the sleeves around his waist. Shaping and working with it, he ended up with a nice little sack on his side.

He picked up the Tommy gun and headed for the front door. The rear of the hut roared with flames. Nick knew he had only seconds before other soldiers started running toward the fire. He reached the door and stopped. Down the row of naked light bulbs, he saw groups of soldiers moving toward the burning hut, slowly at first, then faster, their rifles at the ready. Seconds raced by. With his right foot, Nick kicked open the door; he sent a spray from his Tommy gun, first from the right then from the left. The two soldiers had been standing by the bench, their eyes heavy with sleep. When the spray of bullets cut across them, they bared their teeth, their heads bounced twice against the wall behind them. Their bodies seemed to wiggle, then their heads smashed together, the rifles clanged to the floor, and like two lumps joined at the arms, they fell on their rifles.

The door to the third room was open. Flames were on all the walls now, the rafters were already black. The room crackled as it burned. Two more soldiers were with Sheila and Ling, dead by the poisoned gas. Nick saw Sheila’s skin curling from heat. Her hair had already been burned away. And the seconds became one minute and kept on. Nick crossed to the grenade boxes. He began stuffing his homemade sack with grenades. Then he remembered something — almost too late. He twirled just as the bullet creased his collar. The radioman was about to fire again when Nick cut him from the crotch to his head with a Tommy gun spray. The man’s arms went straight out, hitting both sides of the doorway. They stayed straight out as he staggered back and went down.

Nick cursed to himself. He should have taken care of the radio first. Since the man had still been at the controls, chances were that he had already contacted the patrol boat as well as the house where they had the professor. Two minutes went by. Nick had ten grenades. That would have to be enough. Any second the first wave of soldiers would come bursting through the door. There wasn’t much chance the poisoned gas would have any affect now, but he wasn’t going to be doing any deep breathing. The front door was out. Maybe the radio room. He went through the doorway at a run.

Luck was with him. The radio room had a window. Heavy feet clumped outside the hut, growing louder as the soldiers approached the front door. Nick made it through the window. Just under it he crouched and pulled one of the grenades from his little sack. The soldiers were milling around in the foyer, with no one giving orders. Nick pulled the pin and counted slowly. When he reached eight, he tossed the grenade through the open window and ran in a crouch away from the hut. He hadn’t taken more than ten steps when the force of the explosion knocked him to his knees. He turned to see the roof of the hut rise slightly, then the unburned side seemed to puff out.

As the sound of the explosion reached him, the sides of the hut split down and across the middle. Orange light and flames spit through open windows and cracks. The roof settled, slightly cockeyed. Nick got to his feet and kept running. He could hear gunfire now. Bullets chewed up the still-damp dirt around him. He ran full speed toward the concrete building and around it to the back. Then he stopped. He had been right. The generator chugged away inside a small, boxlike bamboo shack. A soldier stationed at the door was already reaching for his rifle. Nick cut him down with the Tommy gun. Then he pulled a second grenade from his sack. Without hesitating, he pulled the pin and counted. He tossed the grenade into the open doorway leading to the generator. The explosion immediately darkened the area around him. Just to be sure, he pulled another grenade and lobbed it inside.

Without waiting for the explosion, he took off into the underbrush growing just behind the huts. He passed the first burning hut and went on to the second. He was panting as he crouched along the edge of the brush. There was a slight open space to the open window at the rear of the second hut. He still heard gunfire. Were they killing each other? There were shouts; someone was trying to give orders. Nick knew that once somebody took command the advantage of confusion would no longer be his. He wasn’t moving fast enough! A fourth grenade was in his hand, the pin pulled. He ran in a crouch, and as he passed the open window, tossed in the grenade. He kept on running to the third hut sitting next to the canal. The only light now came from the flickering lanterns through windows and doorways of the remaining three huts.

Already he had a fifth grenade in his hand. A soldier loomed in front of him. Without stopping, Nick sprayed bullets from the Tommy gun in a circle. The soldier jerked back and forth all the way down to the ground. Nick cut between the exploding second hut and the third. Fire seemed to be everywhere. Men’s voices shouted, cursing each other, several trying to give orders. Gun shots echoed in the night, mingled with the crackling of burning bamboo. The pin was pulled. As Nick passed the open side window of the third hut, he tossed the grenade inside. It hit one of the soldiers on the head. The soldier bent to pick it up. It was the last movement of his life. Nick was already under the string of darkened light bulbs, crossing to the remaining two huts, when the hut puffed with explosion. The roof slid down the front.

Nick was bumping into soldiers now. They seemed to be everywhere, running aimlessly, not knowing what to do, firing at shadows. The two huts on the other side couldn’t be handled like the last three. It was possible Kathy Loo and Mike were in one of them. No lanterns glowed in these huts. Nick reached the first one and, just before going in glanced down at the second. The three soldiers were still at the door. They hadn’t been confused. A wild bullet kicked up the dirt at his feet. Nick entered the hut. Flames from the other three huts gave out just enough light for him to make out the contents. This one was used for arms and ammunition storage. Several of the cases were already opened. Nick went through them until he found a fresh clip for his Tommy gun.

He had five grenades left in his homemade sack. He would need only one for this hut. One thing was sure, he’d have to be far away when this one went up. He decided to save it for later. He went back outside. The soldiers were beginning to get organized. Someone had taken control. A pump was set up by the canal, and hoses sprayed water over the last two huts he had hit. The first had burned almost to the ground. Nick knew he had to get through those three soldiers. And there was no time like the present to get started.

He stayed close to the ground, moving quickly. He shifted the Tommy gun to his left hand and pulled Wilhelmina from his waistband. At the corner of the third hut, he stopped. The three soldiers stood with their rifles ready, their legs slightly apart. The Luger jumped in Nick’s hand as he fired. The first soldier spun, dropped the rifle, clutched his stomach, and went down. Rifle shots still cracked from the other end of the huts. But confusion was leaving the soldiers. They were beginning to listen. And Nick seemed to be the only one using a Tommy gun. That was just what they were listening for. The other two soldiers were turning toward him. Nick fired twice, quickly. The soldiers jerked, bumped into each other, and went down. Nick heard the hiss of water quenching flames. There was little time now. He rounded the corner to the front of the hut and kicked open the door, his Tommy gun ready. Once inside, he gritted his teeth and cursed. It had been a decoy — the hut was empty.

He could no longer hear rifle shots. The soldiers were beginning to gather into one force at the dock. Nick’s mind raced. Where could they be? Did they take them somewhere else? Was all this for nothing? Then he knew. It was a chance, but a good one. He left the hut and cut directly across to the first one he’d hit. The flames had died to a glimmer here and there. A charred skeleton remained of the hut. Because the fire had been so advanced, the soldiers did not even attempt to put it out. Nick went directly to where he thought Ling had fallen. There were five charred bodies, looking like mummies in a tomb. Smoke still curled up from the floor, which helped hide Nick from the soldiers.

His search was a short one. All the clothes, of course, had been burned from Ling’s body. The .45 lay next to Ling’s corpse. Nick pushed at the body with his toe. It crumbled at his feet. But as he moved it around, he found what he was looking for — the ash-colored key ring. It was still hot to the touch as he picked it up. Some of the keys had melted. More soldiers had gathered at the dock. One of them was giving orders, calling others to the group. Nick moved away from the hut at a low run. He ran along the string of burned-out lights until they ended. Then he cut to the right and slowed when he reached the low, concrete building.

He descended the cement steps. The fourth key unlocked the steel door. It creaked open. Just before Nick went inside, he glanced toward the dock. The soldiers had fanned out. They were beginning their search for him. Nick entered the dark hallway. At the first door, he fumbled with the keys until he found one that unlocked the door. He pushed it open, the Tommy gun ready. He could smell the stench of dead flesh. A body lay in the corner, the skin pulled tightly over the skeleton. It must have been there quite a while. The next three cells were empty. He passed the one he’d been in, then he noticed one of the doors was open down the hall. He went to it and stopped. He checked the Tommy gun to be sure it was ready, then went inside. A soldier lay just inside the door, his throat cut open. Nick’s eyes scanned the rest of the cell. He almost missed them at first; then the two forms became clear to him.

They were huddled in a corner. Nick took two steps toward them, then stopped. The woman had a dagger at the boy’s throat, point piercing his skin. The boy’s eyes showed fear, the woman’s horror. She wore a shift, not unlike the one Sheila had worn. But it was ripped up the front and across her breasts. Nick looked down at the dead soldier. He had probably tried to rape her, and now she thought Nick was there to do the same. Nick realized then that in the darkness of the cell, he looked as Chinese as the soldier. He wore no shirt, his shoulder was bleeding slightly, there was a Tommy gun in his hand, a Luger and a stiletto in the waistband of his pants, and a sack of hand grenades hanging from his side. No, he didn’t look like the United States Army come to rescue her. He had to be very careful. If he made the wrong move, said the wrong thing, he knew she would slice the dagger across the boy’s throat, then plunge it into her own heart. He was about four feet from them. Gently he knelt to a crouch and laid the Tommy gun on the floor. The woman shook her head and pressed the point of the dagger harder against the boy’s throat.

“Kathy,” Nick said softly. “Kathy, let me help you.”

She made no move. Her eyes watched him, still filled with fear.

Nick formed his words carefully. “Kathy,” he said again, even more softly. “John is waiting. Are you about ready to leave?”

“Who… who are you?” she asked. A trace of the fear had left her eyes. She didn’t press quite so hard with the point of the dagger.

“I’m here to help you,” Nick said. “John sent me to take you and Mike to him. He’s waiting for you.”

“Where?”

“In Hong Kong. Now listen carefully. There are soldiers on their way here. If they find us they’ll kill all three of us. We have to move quickly. Will you let me help you?”

More of the fear left her eyes. She took the dagger away from the boy’s throat. “I… I don’t know,” she said.

Nick said, “I hate to push you like this, but if you delay much longer it won’t be your decision to make.”

“How do I know I can trust you?”

“You have only my word. Now, please.” He held his hand out to her.

Kathy hesitated for a few precious seconds longer. Then she seemed to have made her decision. She handed him the dagger.

“Good,” Nick said. He turned to the boy. “Mike, can you swim?”

“Yes, sir,” the boy answered.

“All right; here is what I want you to do. Follow me out of the building. Once we get outside, both of you head directly toward the rear. When you get to the back, go into the brush. Do you know where the canal is from here?”

Kathy nodded.

“Then stay in the brush. Don’t show yourself. Move at an angle toward the canal so that you get to it downstream from here. Hide yourselves and wait until you see a junk going down the canal. Then swim for the junk. There will be a line over the side for you to grab onto. Can you remember that, Mike?”

“Yes, sir.”

“You take good care of your mother, now. Be sure she makes it.”

“Yes, sir, I will,” Mike answered. A slight smile worked on the corners of his mouth.

“Good boy,” Nick said. “Okay, let’s go.”

He led them out of the cell and along the dark hallway. When he reached the door leading out he held his hand for them to stop. Alone, he went outside. The soldiers were spread out in a staggered line between the huts. They were coming for the concrete building and were now less than twenty yards away. Nick motioned for Kathy and Mike.

“You’ll have to hurry,” he whispered to them. “Remember, stay deep in the forest until you get to the canal. You’ll hear some explosions, but don’t stop for anything.”

Kathy nodded, then followed Mike around the side of the building and toward the rear.

Nick gave them thirty seconds. He heard the soldiers drawing closer. The fires were burning low in the last two huts, and because of the clouds there was no moon. The darkness was on his side. He pulled another grenade from the sack and took off at a low run across the clearing. Halfway across, he pulled the pin then hurled the grenade over his head toward the soldiers.

He already had another grenade pulled when the first one exploded. Nick noticed by the flash that the soldiers had been closer than he had thought. The explosion took out three of them, leaving a gap in the center of the line. Nick reached the skeleton of the first hut. He pulled the pin of the second grenade and threw it where he’d thrown the first. The soldiers were shouting now and firing at shadows again. The second grenade exploded toward the end of the line, taking out two more. The remaining soldiers started running for cover.

Nick circled the burned-out hut to the opposite side, then he took off across the clearing to the ammunition hut. He had another grenade in his hand. This would be the big one. At the door of the hut, Nick pulled the pin and lobbed the grenade into the hut. Then he felt movement to his left. A soldier rounded the corner of the hut and fired without aiming. The bullet creased Nick’s right earlobe. The soldier cursed and swung the butt of the rifle toward Nick’s head. Nick swung his body to the side and kicked his left foot into the soldier’s stomach. He completed the swing by bringing his half-closed fist down on the soldier’s collarbone. It cracked under the blow.

Seconds had ticked by. Nick bad to move. He started running back across the clearing. A soldier blocked his way, the rifle aimed straight at him. Nick hit the ground, rolling. When he felt his body hit the soldier’s ankles, he swung for the groin. Three things happened almost at the same time. The soldier grunted, falling on top of Nick, the rifle fired into the air, and the grenade in the ammunition hut went off. The first explosion set off a chain of larger explosions. The sides of the hut blew out. Flames rolled up like a huge, orange, bouncing beach ball, lighting up the whole area. Pieces of metal and wood scattered as though fired from a hundred shotguns. And the explosions kept coming, one after another. Soldiers cried out in agony as debris struck them. The sky was bright orange, with sparks falling everywhere, starting fires.

The soldier lay heavily on Nick. He had absorbed most of the shock, and pieces of bamboo and metal were imbedded in his neck and back. The explosions weren’t as frequent now, and Nick heard the groans of wounded soldiers. He pushed the soldier off him and picked up the Tommy gun. There seemed to be no one left to stop him as he moved toward the dock. When he reached the junk, he noticed a case of grenades next to the plank. He picked it up and carried it aboard. Then he dropped the plank and cast off all lines.

Once aboard, he hoisted the sail. The junk creaked and slowly moved away from the dock. Behind him, the tiny village was ringed with small fires. Burning ammunition fired now and then. With the skeletons of huts almost waving in the orange light of the flames, the village looked ghostly. Nick was sorry for the soldiers; they had their job to do, but he had his also.

At the tiller now, Nick kept the junk to the center of the canal. He figured he was slightly more than a hundred miles from Hong Kong. Moving downriver would be quicker than the trip up had been, but he knew he wasn’t through with trouble yet. He lashed down the tiller and threw a line over the side. The junk had moved out of sight from the village, he heard only an occasional crack as more ammunition exploded. The land on the starboard side of the junk was low and flat, mostly rice paddies.

Nick searched the darkness along the port side bank, looking for Kathy and Mike. Then he spotted them, slightly ahead of him, swimming for the junk. Mike reached the line first, and when he had climbed high enough, Nick helped him aboard. Kathy was right behind him. As she climbed over the rail, she tripped and grabbed Nick for support. His hand caught her waist and she fell against him. She clung to him, her face buried in his chest. Her body was slick with wetness. She had a womanly smell about her, unhampered by cosmetics or perfume. She clung to him as though desperate. Nick stroked her back. Her body was slight and frail against him. He realized that she must have been through hell.

She didn’t sob or cry, she just held onto him. Mike stood awkwardly beside them. After about two minutes had passed she slowly moved her arms from around him. She looked up into his face, and Nick saw that she was truly a lovely woman.

“Thank you,” she said. Her voice was soft, and almost too low for a woman.

“Don’t thank me yet,” Nick said. “We’ve still got a long way to go. There might be some clothes in the cabin, and some rice.”

Kathy nodded, and with her arm around Mike’s shoulders, went into the cabin.

Back at the tiller, Nick thought of what lay ahead. First there was the delta. Sheila Kwan had needed a chart to get across it in daylight. He had no chart, and he’d have to make it at night. Then there was that patrol boat and, finally, the border itself. For weapons he had a Tommy gun, a Luger, a stiletto, and a box of grenades. His army consisted of a lovely woman and a twelve-year-old boy. And now he had less than twenty-four hours.

The canal began to widen. Nick knew they’d be into the delta soon. Ahead and to his right he could see tiny dots of light. He had watched Sheila’s direction carefully that afternoon; his mind had recorded every turn, every change in course. But at night his moves would be general, not exact. One thing was going for him — the current of the river. If he could find it somewhere in that delta where all canals met, it would take him in the right direction. Then the port and starboard banks fell away and he was surrounded by water. He had entered the delta. Nick lashed the tiller and moved around the cabin to the bow. He studied the dark water beneath him. Sampans and junks were anchored throughout the delta. Some had lights but most were dark. The junk creaked through the delta.

Nick dropped to the main deck and unlashed the tiller. Kathy came out of the cabin carrying a bowl of steaming rice. She had put on a bright red shift which clung tightly to her curves. Her hair was freshly combed.

“Feel better?” Nick asked. He began eating the rice.

“Much. Mike went right to sleep. He couldn’t even finish his rice.”

Nick couldn’t get over her beauty. The photo John Loo had shown him didn’t do her justice.

Kathy looked up at the bare mast. “Is anything the matter?”

“I’m waiting for a current.” He handed her the empty bowl. “How much do you know about all this?”

She froze, and for an instant the fear she’d had in the cell showed in her eyes. “Nothing,” she said softly. “They came to my home. Then they grabbed Mike. They held me while one of them give me a shot. The next thing I remember was waking up in that cell. That was when the real horror began. The soldiers…” She hung her head, unable to speak.

“Don’t talk about it,” Nick said.

She lifted her head. “They told me John would soon be with me. Is he all right?”

“As far as I know.” Then Nick told her everything, leaving out only his encounters with them. He told her about the compound, about his conversation with John, and he wound up by saying, “So we only have until midnight to get you and Mike back to Hong Kong. And it will be daylight in a couple of hours…”

Kathy was silent for a long while. Then she said, “I’m afraid I’ve been a lot of trouble for you. And I don’t even know your name.”

“The trouble was worth it to find you safe. And my name is Nick Carter. I’m an agent of the government.”

The junk moved faster. The current caught it and moved it along, helped by the light breeze. Nick settled back with the tiller. Kathy leaned against the starboard rail, deep in her own thoughts. She had held up fine so far, Nick thought. But the toughest part was yet to come.

The delta was far behind them. Ahead, Nick could see the lights of Whampoa. The big ships were anchored on each side of the river, leaving a narrow channel between. Most of the city was blacked out, waiting for dawn, which was not far away. Kathy had gone into the cabin for some sleep. Nick stayed at the tiller, his eyes watching everything.

The junk moved on, letting the current and wind take it toward Hong Kong. Nick dozed at the tiller, a nagging worry in the back of his mind. It was going too smoothly, too easily. Surely all the soldiers in the village hadn’t been killed. Some of them must have escaped the fires to give an alarm. And the radioman must have gotten through to someone before he fired at Nick. Where was that patrol boat?

Nick jerked awake to see Kathy standing in front of him. She had a hot cup of coffee in her hand. The dark night had faded to a point where he could see the thick rainforest on both banks of the river. The sun would be up soon.

“Take this,” Kathy said. “You look as if you need it.”

Nick took the coffee. His body felt cramped. There were dull aching pains in his neck and ears. He was unshaven and dirty, and he still had about sixty miles to go.

“Where’s Mike?” He sipped the coffee, feeling the warmth all the way down.

“He’s on the bow, watching.”

Suddenly he heard Mike shout.

“Nick! Nick! There’s a boat coming!”

“Take the tiller,” Nick told Kathy. Mike was on one knee, pointing just starboard of the bow.

“There,” he said. “See, just coming up the river.”

The patrol boat was coming fast, its bow high in the water. Nick could barely make out two soldiers stationed at the gun on the foredeck. There wasn’t much time. The way that boat was coming, they knew he had Kathy and Mike. The radioman had gotten to them.

“Good boy,” Nick said. “Now let’s go make some plans.” Together they jumped off the cabin to the main deck. Nick broke open the case of grenades.

“What is it?” Kathy asked.

Nick had the top of the case open. “Patrol boat. I’m sure they know about you and Mike. Our little boat trip is over; we’re going to have to move on land now.” He had his shirt-bag filled with grenades again. “I want you and Mike to swim for shore right now.”

“But…”

“Now! No time to argue.”

Mike touched Nick’s shoulder, then dove over the side. Kathy waited, looking into Nick’s eyes.

“You’ll be killed,” she said.

“Not if it works out the way I want. Now move! I’ll meet you downriver some place.”

Kathy kissed his cheek, then dove over the side.

Nick could hear the powerful engines of the patrol boat now. He climbed onto the cabin and dropped the sail. Then he jumped down to the tiller and threw it violently to the left. The junk lurched and began to turn sideways across the river. The patrol boat was closer now. Nick saw orange flame spit from the bow gun. The shell whistled through the air and exploded just in front of the junk’s bow. The junk seemed to shudder from the shock. The port side faced the patrol boat. Nick positioned himself behind the starboard side of the cabin, the Tommy gun resting on top. The patrol boat was still too far away to fire on.

The bow gun fired again. And again the shell whistled through the air, only this time the explosion ripped a cavity at the water line just aft of the bow. The junk jerked violently, almost knocking Nick off. The bow began immediately to sink. Still Nick waited. The patrol boat was close enough now. Three more soldiers opened fire with machine guns. The cabin all around Nick was being cut and chipped by the bullets. Still he waited.

The junk was listing badly to starboard. It wouldn’t stay afloat much longer. The patrol boat was close enough for him to see the expressions on the soldiers’ faces. He was waiting for a certain sound. The soldiers stopped firing. The boat began to slow down. Then Nick heard the sound. The patrol boat was drawing alongside. The engines were cut while the props were reversed. Nick raised his head just high enough to sight. Then he opened fire. His first spray killed the two soldiers on the bow gun. He was firing in a crisscross pattern, without stopping. The three other soldiers jerked back and forth bumping into each other. Deck hands and soldiers hit the deck for cover.

Nick laid the Tommy gun down and pulled out the first grenade. He pulled the pin and threw it, then took out another, pulled the pin and threw it, and took out a third and pulled the pin and threw it. He picked up the Tommy gun and dove backward into the river. The first grenade exploded just as he hit the water, which was icy cold. He kicked his powerful legs against the weight of the Tommy gun and the remaining grenades. He came straight up and surfaced beside the wounded junk. His second grenade had ripped the patrol boat’s cabin apart. Nick hung onto the side of the junk while he pulled another grenade from the sack. He yanked the pin with his teeth and lobbed it over the junk’s rail in the direction of the opened case of grenades. Then he let go and let the weight of his weapons carry him straight to the bottom of the river.

His feet hit slushy mud almost immediately; the bottom was only eight or nine feet down. As he started to move toward shore, he dimly heard a series of small explosions, followed by a huge one that knocked him off his feet and somersaulted him over and over. His ears felt as though they were popping apart. But the concussion had knocked him close to shore. A little further and he would be able to raise his head above water. His brain felt jarred, his lungs ached, there was a pain along the back of his neck; still his tired legs plodded on.

He first felt coolness on top of his head, then he lifted his nose and chin out of the water and sucked in the sweet air. Three more steps brought his head up. He turned to look at the scene he had just left. The junk had already sunk, and the patrol boat was well on its way. Fire covered most of what was visible and the water line was now along the main deck. Even as he watched, the stern began to sink. There was loud hissing as water reached the fire. Slowly the boat settled, water bubbling over it, filling all compartments and cavities, hissing against fire that diminished as the boat sank. Nick turned his back to it and blinked his eyes against the morning sun. He nodded with a grim knowledge. It was dawn of the seventh day.