The Defector

CHAPTER FOUR

Nick Carter closed the draperies across the window and turned the lights on in the room. Moving to the bathroom, he took a leisurely shower, then shaved carefully. He knew the worst hardship on the two men waiting for him outside would be time. Waiting for him to do something was the tough part. He knew this because he had been there once or twice himself. And the longer he kept them waiting, the more careless they would become.

When he was finished in the bathroom, Nick padded barefoot to the bed. He picked up the rolled cloth and fastened it around his waist. When he was satisfied, he hung his tiny gas bomb between his legs, then stepped into his shorts, pulling the waistband up over the padding. He checked his profile in the bathroom mirror. The rolled cloth did not look as real as the gelatin had, but it was the best he could do. Back by the bed, Nick finished dressing, attaching Hugo to his arm and Wilhelmina, the Luger, in the waist of his pants. It was time for something to eat.

Killmaster left all the lights on in his room. He figured one of the two men would probably want to search it.

There was no sense making it difficult for them. By the time he finished eating they should be done.

In the hotel dining room, Nick had a light meal. He expected trouble, and when it came he didn’t want to be handicapped by a full stomach. When the last dish had been cleared away, he leisurely smoked a cigarette. Forty-five minutes had passed since he left his room. When he had finished the cigarette, he paid the check and stepped once again into the cold night air.

His two followers were no longer under the street lamp. It took him a few minutes to get used to the cold, then he began walking briskly toward the harbor. Because of the late hour, the crowds along the sidewalks had diminished somewhat. Nick threaded his way through them without looking back. But by the time he reached the ferry landing he began to worry. The two men were obviously amateurs. Was it possible he had lost them already?

There was a small group waiting at the landing. Six cars were lined up almost to the water’s edge. As Nick approached the group, he could see lights of the ferry coming toward the landing. He joined the others, stuffed his hands in his pockets, and hunched his shoulders against the cold.

The lights drew closer, giving shape to the huge vessel. The low chug of the engine changed pitch. Water around the landing boiled white as the propellers were reversed. The people around Nick moved slowly toward the approaching monster. Nick moved with them. He went aboard and quickly climbed the ladder to the second deck. At the rail his keen eyes scanned the dock. Two of the cars were already aboard. But he could not see his two shadows. Killmaster lit a cigarette, keeping his eyes on the deck below him.

When the last car was loaded, Nick decided to leave the ferry and look for his two followers. It was possible they were lost. As he moved away from the railing to the ladder he caught a glimpse of two coolies trotting along the dock toward the landing. The smaller man leaped aboard easily, but the heavier, slow-moving one did no leaping. He probably hadn’t done any in a long while. He tripped coming aboard and almost fell. The smaller man helped him with difficulty.

Nick smiled. Welcome aboard, gentlemen, he thought. Now if this ancient tub could just get him across the harbor without sinking, he’d lead them a merry chase until they decided to make their move.

The huge ferry chugged away from the landing, rolling slightly as it moved into open water. Nick remained on the second deck, close to the rail. He could no longer see the two coolies but he felt their eyes watching him. The biting wind had moisture in it. Another rainstorm was coming. Nick watched the other passengers huddled together against the cold. He kept his back to the wind. The ferry creaked and bobbed, but it didn’t sink.

Killmaster waited on his second-deck perch until the last car rolled off into the Kowloon side of the harbor. As he left the ferry, he scanned the faces of the people around him. His two shadows were not among them.

On the landing, Nick hired a rickshaw, gave the boy the address of the Bar Wonderful, a small place he had been to before. He had no intention of going straight to the professor. There was a possibility his two followers didn’t know where the professor was, and hoped he would lead them to him. That didn’t make sense, but he had to consider all possibilities. Most likely they were following him to see if he knew where the professor was located. The fact that he came straight to Kowloon might have told them all they wanted to know. If so, then Nick should be eliminated quickly and without fuss. Trouble was coming. Nick could feel it. He had to be ready.

The boy pulling the rickshaw trotted without effort through the streets of Kowloon, his thin, tight-muscled legs showing the strength needed for his job. To anyone watching the passenger, he was a typical American tourist. He sat back in his seat smoking a gold-tipped cigarette, his thick glasses looking first to one side of the street, then the other.

The streets were a bit warmer than the harbor had been. Ancient buildings and fragile-looking houses blocked most of the wind. But the moisture still hung in low, thick clouds waiting for release. Because traffic was light, the rickshaw made good time and soon stopped in front of a dingy door with a large neon sign blinking Bar Wonderful over it. Nick paid the boy five Hong Kong dollars and gestured for him to wait. He went into the bar.

Nine steps led down from the door to the bar itself. It was small. Besides the bar, there were four tables, all filled. The tables ringed a tiny open space where a lovely girl sang in a low, sexy voice. A colored cartwheel turned slowly in front of the spotlight, softly flooding the girl in blue, then red, then yellow, then green. It seemed to change with the type of song she sang. She looked best in red.

The rest of the place was dark except for occasional grimy lamps. The bar was crowded, and in one quick glance Nick knew he was the only non-Oriental in there. He took a position at the end of the bar, where he could see anyone coming in or out of the door. There were three bar girls, two already had their marks, the third circulated, sitting first on one lap, then another, allowing herself to be fondled. Nick was about to get the bartender’s attention when he noticed his heavily built follower.

The man emerged through a beaded curtain from a small private table. He was dressed in a business suit instead of the coolie outfit. But the changing of clothes had been hasty. His tie was crooked, and part of his shirt-front hung outside his pants. He was sweating. He kept wiping his forehead and mouth with a white handkerchief. He looked casually around the room, then his eyes locked onto Nick’s. His flabby jowls broke into a polite smile, and he came straight for Killmaster.

Hugo dropped to Nick’s hand. He quickly scanned the bar, looking for the smaller man. The girl finished her song and bowed to a sparse crackle of applause. She started speaking in Chinese to the audience. Blue light was splashing over her as the bartender came from Nick’s right. In front of him, the heavy man was four steps away. The bartender asked in Chinese what he was drinking. Nick delayed his reply, keeping his eyes on the man approaching him. The combo started playing, and the girl swung into another song. This one was lively. The cartwheel turned faster, the colors flashing over her, blending into a bright blur. Nick was poised on the balls of his feet, ready. The bartender shrugged and turned away. There was no sign of the smaller man. The heavier one took the last step, bringing him face-to-face with Nick. The polite smile remained on his face. He stuck out his pudgy right hand in a friendly gesture.

“Mr. Wilson, I am believing,” he said. “Allow me to be introducing myself. I am Chin Ossa. May I speak at you?”

“You may,” Nick replied softly, quickly replacing Hugo and taking the outstretched hand.

Chin Ossa gestured toward the beaded curtain. “It is more privately in there.”

“After you,” Nick said, bowing slightly.

Ossa led the way through the curtain to the table and two chairs. A thin, wiry man leaned against the far wall.

He wasn’t the small man who had followed Nick. When he saw Killmaster, he moved away from the wall.

Ossa said, “Please, Mr. Wilson, to allow my friend to be searching you.”

The man approached Nick and stopped as if undecided. He reached his hand out toward Nick’s chest. Nick gently pushed the hand away.

“Please, Mr. Wilson,” Ossa whined. “We must be searching you.”

“Not tonight,” Nick answered smiling slightly.

The man attempted once again to reach for Nick’s chest.

Still smiling, Nick said, “Tell your friend that if he touches me I’ll be forced to break his wrists.”

“Oh, no!” Ossa cried. “We do not wish for any violence.” He wiped sweat from his face with the handkerchief. In Cantonese he told the man to leave.

Flashes of colored light sprayed across the room. In the center of the table a candle burned in a wax-filled purple vase. The man silently left the room just as the girl wound up her song.

Chin Ossa sat heavily on one of the creaking wooden chairs. He wiped his face with the handkerchief again and waved toward the other chair for Nick.

Killmaster didn’t like the arrangement. The chair offered him had its back to the beaded curtain. His own back would be a nice target. Instead, he moved the chair away from the table to the side wall where he could see both the curtain and Chin Ossa; then he sat down.

Ossa flashed him a nervous, polite smile. “You Americans, always full of caution and violence.”

Nick removed his glasses and began cleaning them. “You were saying you wished to speak with me.”

Ossa leaned on the table. His voice took the tone of conspiracy. “Mr. Wilson, there is no need for us to be bouncing around the bush, right?”

“Right,” Nick answered. He replaced his glasses, lit one of his cigarettes. He didn’t offer one to Ossa. This would hardly be a friendly discussion.

“We are both of us knowing,” Ossa went on, “that you are in Hong Kong to see your friend Professor Loo.”

“Maybe.”

Sweat ran down Ossa’s nose and dropped to the table. He wiped his face again. “There is to be no maybe about it. We have followed you, we know who you are.”

Nick raised his eyebrows. “Do you?”

“Of course.” Ossa leaned back in the chair looking pleased with himself. “You are working for the capitalists on the same project as Professor Loo.”

“Of course,” Nick said.

Ossa swallowed hard. “It is my saddest of duties to inform you that Professor Loo is no longer in Hong Kong.”

“Really?” Nick feigned mild shock. He didn’t believe anything this man said.

“Yes. Last night Professor Loo has been en route to China.” Ossa waited to let the statement sink in. Then he said, “It is shameful that you have wasted a trip here, but there is no further need for you to remain in Hong Kong. We will, of course, be reimbursing you for any spending you have done in coming over.”

“That would be swell,” Nick said. He dropped his cigarette to the floor and crushed it out.

Ossa frowned. His eyes squinted and he looked at Nick suspiciously. “This is not a thing to be making jokes about. Am I to think you are not believing me?”

Nick stood. “Of course I believe you. 1 can see by looking at you what a good honest fellow you are. But if it’s just the same to you, I think I’ll stay in Hong Kong and do a little poking around on my own.”

Ossa’s sweating face reddened. His lips tightened. He struck his fist on the table. “There will be no poking around!”

Nick turned to leave the room.

“Wait!” Ossa cried.

At the curtain Killmaster stopped and turned.

The heavy man smiled weakly, rubbing the handkerchief violently over his face and neck. “Please to be forgiving my outburst. As a man I am not well. Please sit, sit.” His pudgy hand indicated the chair against the wall.

“I’ll be leaving,” Nick said.

“Please,” Ossa whined. “I have an offer I wish to be making you.”

“What kind of offer?” Nick made no move toward the chair. Instead he took one side step so his back was against the wall.

Ossa gave up on getting Nick back to the chair. “You helped Professor Loo to work on the compound, no?”

Nick suddenly became interested in the conversation. “What is your offer?” he asked.

Ossa squinted his eyes again. “You are having no family?”

“None.” Nick knew that from the file at headquarters.

“Money, then?” Ossa asked.

“For what?” Killmaster wanted him to say it.

“For to work with Professor Loo once again.”

“In other words, to join him.”

“Exactly.”

“In further words, to sell out, defect.”

Ossa smiled. He wasn’t sweating quite as much. “To be bluntly, yes.”

Nick crossed to the table, placing both his palms on it. “You’re not getting the message, are you? I’m here to persuade John to come home, not join him.” Standing at the table with his back to the curtain was a mistake. Nick realized it as soon as he heard the beads rustle.

The wiry man came up behind him. Nick whirled and jabbed the fingers of his right hand into the man’s throat. The man dropped the dagger and staggered back against the wall clutching his throat. He gagged several times while sliding down the wall to the floor.

“Get out!” Ossa screamed. His chubby face was red with rage.

“That’s us Americans,” Nick said softy. “Just full of caution and violence.”

Ossa narrowed his eyes, his pudgy hands balled into fists. In Cantonese he said, “I will show you violence. I will show you violence such as you have never known.”

Nick felt he had worn out his welcome. He turned and left the table, ripping down two strings of beads as he passed through the curtain. In the bar the girl was splashed with red, just finishing her song. Nick crossed to the steps, took them two at a time, half-expecting to hear a gunshot or a knife being thrown at him. He reached the top step as the girl ended her song. The audience applauded as he went through the door.

Icy wind slapped his face when he got outside. There was a mist in the wind now, the sidewalks and streets glistened with wetness. Nick waited by the door, letting the tension ease slowly out of him. The sign above him flashed brightly. The wet wind felt refreshing on his face after the smoky heat of the bar.

One isolated rickshaw was parked at the curb, the boy crouched in front of it. But as Nick studied the crouched form, he realized it was not the boy at all. It was Ossa’s partner, the smaller of the two men who had been following him.

Killmaster sighed deeply. There would be violence now.