The Defector

CHAPTER SEVEN

Hawk’s unmistakable voice came at Nick over the scrambler. “Well, Carter. From what you’ve told me, it looks like your assignment has changed.”

“Yes, sir,” Nick said. He had just brought Hawk up to date. He was in his hotel room on the Victoria side of Hong Kong. Outside his window the blackness of night was beginning to fade a little.

Hawk said, “You know the situation there better than I do. I’ll handle the woman and boy on this end. You know what has to be done.”

“Yes,” Nick said. “I’ve got to find some way to find the professor’s wife and son, and get them out of China.”

“Take care of it any way you can. I’ll get to Hong Kong sometime Tuesday afternoon.”

“Yes, sir.” As always, Nick thought, Hawk was interested in results, not methods. Killmaster could use any method he needed, as long as it brought results.

“Good luck,” Hawk said, ending the conversation.

Killmaster had changed into a dry business suit. Since the pad of clothing around his waist hadn’t got wet, he left it there. It seemed a little ridiculous to be still wearing it, especially since he was almost certain he’d blown his cover. But he planned to change into the clothing as soon as he knew where in China he was going. And around his waist was a convenient way to carry it. He knew the clothes would be a bit tattered when he got ready to put them on because of the dagger cuts on his stomach. If he hadn’t had the padding, his belly would have been sliced open like a fresh-caught fish’s.

Nick doubted if Hawk would learn anything from the woman in Orlando. If she was as well-trained as he thought, she’d kill both herself and the boy before she told anything.

Killmaster rubbed his bruised throat. Already it was beginning to discolor. Where could he start looking for the professor’s wife and son? He might go back to the house and make the slick-dressed man talk. But he’d already put John Loo in enough danger. If not the house, then where? He needed a place to begin. Nick stood by the window looking down at the street. Few people were on the sidewalk now.

He suddenly felt hungry. He hadn’t eaten since checking into the hotel. A melody kept haunting him, as some songs do. It was one of the numbers that girl had sung. Nick stopped rubbing his throat. It was a straw, meaning probably nothing. But at least it was a place to start. He’d have something to eat, then go back to the Bar Wonderful.

Ossa had changed clothes there, which might mean he knew someone. Even so, there was no guarantee anyone would help him. But again, it was a place to start.

In the hotel dining room Nick had a glass of orange juice, followed by a heaping plate of scrambled eggs with crisp bacon, toast, and three cups of black coffee. He lingered over the last cup of coffee, giving the food time to settle, then leaned back in his chair and lit a cigarette from a fresh pack. It was then that he noticed the man watching him.

He was outside, just to the side of one of the hotel windows. Now and then his head peeked around to make sure Nick was still there. Killmaster recognized him as the wiry man who’d been with Ossa in the Bar Wonderful. They certainly wasted no time.

Nick paid his check and went outside. The blackness of night had turned to dark gray. Buildings were no longer huge dark forms. They had shape and could be seen with doors and windows. Most of the cars on the streets were taxis that still needed their headlights on. The wet curbs and streets were easier to pick out now. Heavy clouds still hung low, but the rain had stopped.

Killmaster started walking toward the ferry landing. Now that he knew he was once again being followed there was no need for him to go to the Bar Wonderful. At least not yet. The wiry man could tell him a great deal, if he could be made to talk. The thing to do first was to reverse positions. He had to lose the man momentarily so he could follow him. It was a gamble. Nick had a hunch the wiry man was not the amateur follower the other two had been.

Before he reached the ferry landing, Nick cut down a side street. He trotted to the end of it and waited. The wiry man rounded the corner at a run. Nick walked rapidly, hearing the man close the gap between them. At another street corner Nick did the same thing, rounded the corner, trotted quickly to the end of the block, then slowed to a brisk walk. The man stayed with him.

Soon Nick came to the district of Victoria he liked to call the sailor’s playground. It was a section of narrow streets with brightly lit bars on each side. Usually the area was noisy with jukebox music, and streetwalkers stood on each corner. But the night was ending now. The lights still shone brightly, but the jukeboxes were quiet. The streetwalkers either already had their marks or had given up. Nick was looking for a certain bar, not one he knew but one that would suit his purpose. These sections were the same in every large city of the world. The buildings were always two-story. The main floor contained the bar, the jukebox and the dance floor. The girls floated here, letting themselves be seen. When a sailor showed interest, he asked her to dance, bought her a few watered drinks, and haggled over price. Once the price was set and paid, the girl took the sailor upstairs. The second floor looked like a hotel hallway with rooms spaced evenly on each side. The girl usually had her own room, where she lived and worked. It didn’t contain much — a bed, of course, a closet, and a dresser for her few trinkets and belongings. Each building was laid out in basically the same manner. Nick knew them well.

If his plan was going to work, he had to widen the gap between him and his follower. The section covered maybe four square blocks, which didn’t give him much area to work with. It was time to start.

Nick rounded a corner and ran full speed. Halfway down the block he came to a short alley blocked by a wooden fence at the other end. Trash cans lined each side of the alley. Killmaster knew he no longer had the cover of darkness. He’d have to use his speed. He ran quickly to the fence, judged its height at about ten feet. From the side, he pulled one of the trash cans over, climbed on it and scrambled over the fence. Down on the other side, he took off for the end of the block, rounded the corner and found the building he was looking for. It sat on the point of a triangle-shaped block. From across the street it would be easy to see anyone coming out or going in. A lean-to shed was connected to the side, its roof just under one of the second-story windows. Nick made a mental note of where the room would be as he ran toward the bar.

The neon sign over the front door read Club Delight. It was bright but not blinking. The door was open. Nick went in. The place was dark. To his left the bar stretched half the length of the room, with stools cockeyed at different angles. A sailor occupied one of the stools, his head in his folded arms on the bar. To Nick’s right the jukebox sat silent, encased in bright blue light. The space between the bar and jukebox was used for dancing. Beyond that, the booths sat empty, except for the last one.

It contained a fat woman leaning over paperwork. Thin, rimless glasses rested at the end of her bulbous nose. She smoked a long cigarette stuck into a holder. As Nick came in, she glanced at him without moving her head, just rolled her eyes to the top of their sockets and looked at him over the glasses. All this was seen in the time it took Nick to get from the front door to the stairs, which were located to his left just at the end of the bar. Nick did not hesitate. The woman opened her mouth to speak, but by the time the word came out Nick was already on the fourth step. He continued up, taking the steps two at a time. When he reached the top, he was in the hallway. It was narrow, with one light halfway down, deeply carpeted, and smelled of sleep, sex and cheap perfume. The rooms weren’t rooms exactly, but partitions blocked off on each side. The walls were about eight feet high, whereas the ceiling of the building stretched more than ten feet. Nick figured the window he wanted would be the third room down on his right. As he started for it, he noticed the doors separating the rooms from the hall were cheap plywood painted bright colors with tinseled stars taped to them. The stars had the names of girls, each different. He passed Margo’s and Lila’s door. He wanted Vicki’s. Killmaster planned to be as polite as he had time for, but he wouldn’t be able to dally about giving explanations. When he tried Vicki’s door and found it locked, he stood back and with one hard kick splintered the lock. The door swung open, banged noisely against the wall and rested at an angle with its top hinge broken.

Vicki was busy. She lay on the small bed, her plump, smooth legs wide-spread, matching the thrusts of the big, redheaded man on top of her. Her arms were circled tightly around his neck. The muscles contracted in the man’s naked buttocks and his back glistened with sweat. His big hands completely covered her ample breasts. Vickie’s skirt and panties lay in a crumpled ball by the bed. The sailor’s uniform was neatly draped over the dresser.

Nick was already to the window, trying to get it open before the sailor noticed him.

He raised his head. “Hey!” he shouted. “Who in the hell are you?”

He was muscular, big and good-looking. Now he was up on his elbows. The hair on his chest was thick and glowed bright red.

The window seemed to be stuck. Nick couldn’t get it open.

The sailor’s blue eyes flashed with anger. “I asked you a question, sport,” he said. His knees were coming up. He was about to leave Vicki.

Vicki shouted, “Mac! Mac!”

Mac must be the bouncer, Nick thought. At last he got the window free. He turned to the couple, giving them his widest, boyish grin. “Just passing through, folks,” he said.

The anger left the sailor’s eyes. He started to smile, then he chuckled and finally laughed out loud. It was a hearty, loud laugh. “This is kinda funny when you think about it,” he said.

Nick bad his right leg through the open window. He paused, reached into his pocket, pulled out ten Hong Kong dollars. He wadded it and tossed it gently to the sailor. “Enjoy yourself,” he said. Then, “Is it any good?”

The sailor glanced down at Vicki, then up at Nick, grinning. “I’ve had worse.”

Nick waved, then eased himself down the four feet to the roof erf the shed. At the end of it, he dropped to his knees and rolled over the edge. It was an eight-foot drop to the street. He rounded the corner of the building, out of sight of the window, then darted across the street and started back. He stayed in the shadows, sticking close to bar fronts until he’d worked his way back opposite the window. He was now directly across the street from the bar where he could see three sides of the building. Keeping his eyes on the window, he stepped into an ally, put his back against the fence across it, and stopped.

It was just light enough to see the window clearly. Nick saw the wiry man’s head and shoulders poke through it. In his right hand he held an Army .45. This group sure had a passion for Army .45s, Nick thought. The man took his time looking up and down the street.

Then Nick heard the sailor’s voice. “All right, now. This is gettin’ to be too much. Fun is fun — one guy, okay, but two is just too damned many.” Nick saw the sailor’s arm reach around the man’s chest, yanking him back into the room. “Damn it, clown. Look at me when I’m talkin’ to you.”

“Mac! Mac!” Vicki shouted.

Then the sailor said, “Don’t point that gun at me, buddy-boy. I’ll cram it down your throat and make you eat it.”

There was scuffling, the sound of splintering wood, the crack of a doubled fist striking a face. Glass broke, heavy things fell to the floor. And Vicki screamed, “Mac! Mac!”

Nick smiled and leaned against the fence. He shook his head, reached into his coat pocket and lit one of his gold-tipped cigarettes. The noise from the window went on without letup. Nick calmly smoked his cigarette. A third voice came from the window, deep, demanding. The Army .45 crashed through the upper part of the window and landed on the roof of the shed. Must be Mac, Nick thought. He blew smoke rings into the air. As soon as the wiry man came out of the building, he’d follow him. But that looked as though it was going to take quite a while.