The Defector

CHAPTER EIGHT

Dawn came without the sun; it remained hidden behind dark clouds. The air still had a chill in it. Early morning people began appearing on the streets of Hong Kong.

Nick Carter leaned against the fence, listening. Hong Kong was opening its eyes, stretching, getting ready for a new day. All cities were noisy, but somehow the night noise seemed different from that of early morning. Smoke curled from rooftops, mingling with low clouds. The smell of cooking food filled the air.

Nick stepped on the butt of his seventh cigarette. There hadn’t been a sound from the window for more than an hour. Nick hoped the sailor and Mac left enough of the wiry man to follow. The man was a straw Nick was grabbing for. If he didn’t pay off, a lot of time would have been wasted. And time was something Nick didn’t have a lot of.

Where would the man go? Nick hoped that once he realized he’d lost the one he was supposed to be following, he’d report to his superiors. That would give Nick two straws.

Suddenly the man appeared. He sort of stumbled out the front door, not looking well at all. His steps were halting, staggered. The coat of his suit was torn across the shoulder. His face was discolored with bruises, both eyes had begun to swell. He stumbled about aimlessly for awhile, not seeming to know where to go. Then he started off in halting steps toward the harbor.

Nick waited until the man was almost out of sight, then started after him. The man moved painfully, slowly. Each step seemed to take great effort. Killmaster had wanted the man delayed, not beaten half to death. He could appreciate the sailor’s feelings though. Nobody likes to be interrupted. Especially twice. And he imagined the wiry man was totally without humor. He probably got belligerent, waving that .45 around. Yet, Nick sympathized with the man, but he could understand why the sailor did what he did.

Once out of the sailor’s playground, the man seemed to perk up a bit. His steps became more deliberate, quicker. It was as though he had just decided where he was going. Nick kept two blocks behind. So far, the man had not once looked back.

It wasn’t until they had reached the docks along the harbor that Nick realized where the man was heading. The ferry. He was going to cross back to Kowloon. Or was he? The man approached the early-morning crowd at the landing and stood on the fringe of them. Nick stayed against the buildings, keeping out of sight. The man didn’t seem to know what he wanted to do. Twice he took steps away from the landing, only to return. The beating seemed to have affected his mind. He looked at the people around him, then across the harbor where the ferry would be coming. He started back along the dock, halted, then walked purposely away from the landing. Nick frowned, puzzled, waited until the man was almost out of sight, then followed him.

The wiry man led Nick right to his own hotel. Outside, under the same street lamp where Ossa and the other man had met, he stopped and looked up at Nick’s window.

This guy just didn’t give up. The man’s actions on the ferry landing became clear to Nick then. He had to work it this way. If he reported what had actually happened to his superiors, they’d probably kill him. Was he really going to cross to Kowloon? Or was he headed somewhere on the dock itself? He had looked across the harbor, then started out along the dock. Maybe he knew Nick was on to him and he thought he’d try a little confusion.

One thing Nick was sure of — the man had stopped moving. And you couldn’t follow a man who didn’t lead you anywhere. It was time to talk.

The wiry man had not moved from the lamp post. He looked up at Nick’s room as though praying Killmaster would be in it.

The sidewalks had become crowded. People moved swiftly along them, dodging each other. Nick knew he’d have to be careful. He didn’t want a crowd around when he confronted the man. In the doorway of a building across the street from his hotel, Nick transferred Wilhelmina from the belt to his right-side coat pocket. He kept his hand in the pocket, his finger on the trigger, just like the old gangster movies. Then he started across the street.

The wiry man was so wrapped up in his own thoughts and watching the hotel window that he didn’t even see Nick approach. Nick walked up behind him, put his left hand on the man’s shoulder, and jammed the barrel of Wilhelmina into the small of his back.

“Instead of looking at the room, let’s go to it,” he said.

The man stiffened. His gaze shifted to the toes of his shoes. Nick could see the muscles twitching in the side of his neck.

“Move,” Nick said quietly, jamming the Luger harder into the man’s back.

The man silently moved off. They entered the hotel and, like old friends, climbed the stairs, with Killmaster giving friendly smiles to everyone they passed. Nick already had the key in his left hand when they reached the door.

“Put your hands behind you and lean back against the wall,” Nick ordered.

The man obeyed. His eyes watched Killmaster’s moves closely.

Nick got the door open, then stood back. “Okay. Inside.”

The man moved away from the wall and went into the room. Nick followed, closing and locking the door behind him. He pulled Wilhelmina out of his pocket, leveled its barrel at the man’s stomach.

“Lock your hands behind your neck and turn around,” he ordered.

Again, the man silently obeyed.

Nick patted the man’s chest, pants pockets, the inside of both legs. He knew the man no longer had the .45, but maybe he had something else. He found nothing. “You understand English,” he said when he’d finished. “Do you speak it?”

The man remained silent.

“All right,” Nick said. “Drop your hands and turn around.” The sailor and Mac had worked him over pretty good. He looked in sad shape.

The look of the man made Nick relax a little. As the man turned to face him, his right foot lashed out, catching Nick between the legs. The pain raced like a brush fire through him. He doubled over, staggering back. The man took one step forward, and with his left foot, kicked Wilhelmina out of Nick’s hand. There had been the click of metal against metal when the foot hit the Luger. Filled with pain from his groin, Nick stumbled back against the wall. He silently cursed himself for not noticing the steel tips on the man’s shoes. The man was going for Wilhelmina. Nick took two deep breaths, then moved away from the wall, his teeth clenched in anger. The anger was aimed at himself for relaxing when he shouldn’t have. Obviously the man was not in as bad a shape as he looked.

The man was bent over, his fingers touching the Luger. Nick kicked him and he went down. He rolled over on to his side and lashed out with those vicious steel-tipped shoes. The blow caught Nick in the stomach, sending him back against the bed. The man again went for the Luger. Nick moved quickly away from the bed, kicked Wilhelmina into a corner, out of reach. The wiry man was on his knees. Nick slapped him on each side of his neck with the side of his open hand, then with his open palm threw a quick jab up to the man’s nose, ripping it open across the nostrils. The man cried out in agony, then slumped in a curl, both hands covering his face. Nick crossed the room and picked up Wilhelmina.

He said through clenched teeth, “Now you’re going to tell me Why you were following me and who you work for.”

The movement was almost too quick for Nick to see it. The man’s hand moved to his shirt pocket, pulled out a small round pill and stuck it in his mouth.

Cyanide, Nick thought He put Wilhelmina into his coat pocket and quickly went to the man. With the fingers of both hands he tried to keep the man’s jaws apart, to keep the teeth from crushing the pill. But he was too late. The deadly fluid had already started through the man’s system. In six seconds he was dead.

Nick stood looking down at the body. He staggered back and plopped down on the bed. There was an ache between his legs that would be there awhile. His hands were covered with blood from the man’s face. He lay back on the bed and covered his eyes with his right arm. This had been his straw, his one gamble, and he had blown it. Everywhere he went there seemed to be a blank wall. He hadn’t had one decent break since starting this assignment Nick closed his eyes. He felt tired and beaten.

Nick didn’t know how long he lay there. It couldn’t have been more than a few minutes. Suddenly he jerked to a sitting position. What’s the matter with you, Carter? he thought. There’s no time to be wallowing in self-pity. So, you’ve had a few bad breaks. That was part of the job. There were still possibilities open. You’ve had tougher assignments. Get on with it.

He began with a shower and a shave, while his mind chewed over the possibilities left. If he couldn’t come up with anything else, there was still the Bar Wonderful.

When he stepped out of the bathroom he felt much better. He fastened the padding around his waist. Instead of placing Pierre, the tiny gas bomb, between his legs, he taped it in the small hollow just behind his left ankle bone. There was a slight lump showing when he pulled on his sock, but it looked like a swollen ankle. He finished dressing, wearing the same business suit. He pulled the clip from Wilhelmina and replaced the four missing cartridges. He stuck Wilhelmina where it was before, in his belt. Then Nick Carter went back to work.

He started with the dead man. Carefully he went through the man’s pockets. The wallet looked as though it had been gone through before recently. The sailor, most likely. Nick found two pictures of Chinese girls, a laundry ticket, ninety Hong Kong dollars in cash, and a business card from the Bar Wonderful. That place popped up everywhere he turned. He looked on the back of the card. Scribbled in pencil were the words, Victoria-Kwangchow.

Nick left the body and walked slowly to the window. He stared outside without really seeing. Kwangchow was Chinese for Canton, the capital of Kwangtung Province. Canton was a little over a hundred miles from Hong Kong, inside Red China. Was that where they had the wife and boy? It was a big city. It sat on the north bank of the Pearl River, which flowed south into Hong Kong harbor. Maybe the wife and boy were there.

But Nick doubted if that’s what was meant on the card. It was a Bar Wonderful business card. He felt that whatever Victoria-Kwangchow meant was right here in Hong Kong. But what? A place? A thing? A person? And why was this man carrying such a card? Nick retraced in his mind every event that had happened since he saw the man peeking through the dining-room window. One thing stood out — the man’s queer actions on the ferry landing. Either he was going to take the ferry but was afraid to report his failure to his superiors, or he knew Nick was there and he didn’t want to tip off where he was going. And he had started out along the dock.

Killmaster could see the harbor from his window, but not the ferry landing. He brought a mental picture of the area to his mind. The ferry landing was lined on each side by a floating community of sampans and junks. They were side-by-side almost to the landing itself. To get Kathy Loo and Mike to Canton, they’d fly them from the States to Hong Kong, then—

But of course! It was so obvious! From Hong Kong they’d take them up the Pearl River to Canton by boat! That’s where the man was heading when he started away from the landing — to a boat somewhere along that community of boats. But there were so many in that area. It had to be big enough to make the hundred or so miles to Canton. A sampan would probably make it, but that didn’t seem likely. No, it had to be bigger than a sampan. That in itself narrowed the field, since ninety percent of the boats in the harbor were sampans. It was another long shot, straw, gamble, whatever. But it was something.

Nick drew the curtain across the window. He packed his extra clothes in the suitcase, shut off all the lights and left the room, locking the door behind him. He’d have to find someplace else to stay. If he checked out, there would be someone to clean the room right away. He figured it would be sometime in the afternoon before the body was discovered. That might be enough time. In the hallway Nick dropped the suitcase down the laundry chute. He climbed through the window at the end of the hall, went down the fire-escape ladder. At the bottom he dropped six feet from the ladder and found himself in an alley. He brushed himself off and walked quickly to the street, now bustling with people and heavy traffic. At the first mailbox he passed, Nick dropped in the hotel room key. Hawk would straighten things out with the police and the hotel when he got to Hong Kong. Nick blended with the sidewalk crowd.

The air was still crisp. But the heavy clouds had thinned, and the sun shone brightly through breaks in them. The streets and sidewalks had started to dry out. People scurried around and past Nick as he walked. Occasionally sailors came out of tailor shops looking hung-over, their uniforms wrinkled. Nick thought of the redheaded sailor and wondered what he was doing at this hour; probably still banging away at Vicki. He smiled, remembering the scene as he had crashed into the room.

Nick reached the docks and headed directly for the ferry landing, his expert eyes searching the multitude of sampans and junks connected like links of a chain in the harbor. The boat wouldn’t be in this section, but on the other side of the landing. If there was a boat at all. He didn’t even know how he’d be able to pick it out.

The huge ferry was just chugging away from the landing as Nick approached it. He crossed the landing to the docks on the other side. Nick knew he had to be careful. If the Reds caught him poking around their boat, they’d kill first and find out who he was later.

Killmaster stayed close to the buildings, his eyes studying closely every boat that looked larger than a sampan. He spent all morning and part of the afternoon at it with no results. He went almost as far along the docks as the boats did. But when he reached the section where large ships from all over the world were either loading or offloading cargo, he doubled back. He had covered almost a mile. The frustrating thing was there were just too many boats. Even eliminating the sampans still left a large number of them. He might have already passed it; he had nothing to identify it with. And again, the business card might not mean a boat at all.

Nick restudied each boat larger than a sampan as he made his way back to the ferry landing. The clouds had broken up; they hung high in the sky looking like scattered popcorn over a deep blue tablecloth. And the afternoon sun warmed the docks, steaming moisture out of the asphalt. Some of the boats were connected to sampans; others were anchored a little farther out. Nick noticed water-taxis chugging to and from the huge ships of the American fleet at regular intervals. Because of the afternoon tide, the big ships had swung around on their anchor chains so that they sat sideways across the harbor. Sampans were gathered like leeches around the ships, their occupants diving for nickels being thrown by sailors.

Nick saw the junk just before he reached the landing. He had missed it earlier because its bow had been pointed into the dock. It was anchored just away from a row of sampans, and because of the afternoon tide, it too sat sideways. From where Nick stood, he could see the port side and the stern. And in bold yellow block printing across the stern was the word: Kwangchow!

Nick stepped back in the shadow of a warehouse. A man stood on the deck of the junk looking up and down the dock through a pair of binoculars. His right wrist was heavily wrapped in white bandage.

In the shadow of the warehouse, Nick grinned broadly. He permitted himself a deep sigh of satisfaction. The man on the junk was, of course, Ossa’s sidekick. Nick leaned against the warehouse and slid to a sitting position. Still grinning, he pulled out one of his cigarettes and lit it Then he chuckled. He cocked his handsome head to one side and roared with laughter. He’d just gotten his first break.

Killmaster permitted himself this strange luxury for exactly one minute. He wasn’t worried about the man with the binoculars; the sun was in the man’s face. As long as Nick remained in the shadows, it would be almost impossible to see him from out there. No, Nick had something else to worry about. The police had undoubtedly found the body in his room and were probably looking for him now. They’d be looking for Chris Wilson, American tourist. It was time Nick became someone else.

He stood up, put out his cigarette, and moved off toward the landing, staying within shadows. There would be no chance for him to get close to the junk in daylight, at least not as long as Binoculars was on deck. Right now he needed a place to change.

The ferry landing was crowded when Nick got to it. He passed the people warily, keeping an eye out for police.

When he’d crossed it he stepped onto the first finger of dock pointing into the harbor. He walked slowly past rows of sampans, watching them closely. They extended in lines like growing corn, and Nick continued until he found the one he wanted.

It sat next to the dock in the second row from the harbor. Without hesitating, Nick stepped onto it and ducked under the small cabin roof. He noticed signs of abandonment right away, absence of any clothing, a roof that had leaked rain soaking the bunk and small stove, tin cans with a trace of rust on the lips. Who knew why or when the occupants had left? Maybe they had found a place to stay inland until the storm had passed. Perhaps they were dead. The sampan smelled musty. It had been abandoned for some time. Nick went through the crooks and crannies, coming up with a handful of rice and an unopened can of string beans.

He could not see the junk from the sampan. There were about two hours of daylight left It was taking a chance, but he had to make certain that was the right junk. He stripped and removed the padding from around his waist. He figured that in four minutes he could swim under the first row of sampans and be well into the harbor before he had to come up for breath. If Binoculars was still on deck, he’d have to approach the junk from the bow or the starboard side.

Naked except for Hugo, Nick slipped over the side of the sampan into the icy water He waited a few seconds until the first shock of cold left him; then he dipped under and began swimming. He passed under the first row of sampans and turned right toward the water side of the ferry landing. Then he surfaced just long enough for two deep breaths of fresh air. He caught a glimpse of the junk as he went under again. The bow was pointed toward him. He swam toward it, careful to stay about six feet under. He had to come up for air one more time before his hand touched the fat bottom of the junk.

Edging along the keel, he let himself come up slowly on the starboard side, almost astern. He was in the shadow of the junk but there was no handhold, nothing to hang on to. The anchor chain lay over the bow. Nick placed his feet on the keel, hoping that would help hold him. But the distance from the keel to the surface was too far. He couldn’t keep his head out of the water. He moved to the stem on the starboard side of the basket-woven rudder. By holding the rudder he could stay in one position. He was still in the shadow of the junk.

Then he saw a dinghy being lowered over the port side.

The man with the bandaged wrist climbed into it and began rowing clumsily toward the dock. He favored the wrist and couldn’t get equal pull on the oars.

Nick waited, shivering with cold, for about twenty minutes. The dinghy returned. This time there was a woman with the man. Her face had a hard beauty to it, not unlike that of a professional whore. The lips were full and a brilliant red. Her cheeks had rouge where the skin tightened over the bone. Her hair was raven black, tight, and pulled to a bun on the back of her neck. The eyes had the beauty of emeralds, and were just as hard. She wore a tight-fitting, flower-patterned lavender shift, slit along both sides well up her thighs. She sat in the dinghy with her knees together, her hands locked around them. From Nick’s position, he saw she wore no panties. In fact he doubted if she wore anything under that bright silk.

When they reached the side of the junk, the man scurried on board, then reached a hand to help her.

In Cantonese dialect, the woman asked, “Do you have any word from Yong yet?”

“No,” the man answered, same dialect. “Perhaps tomorrow he will complete his mission.”

“Perhaps nothing,” the woman snapped. “Perhaps he has gone the way of Ossa.”

“Ossa…” the man began.

“Ossa was a fool. You, Ling, are a fool. I should have known better than to head an operation surrounded by fools.”

“But we are dedicated!” Ling cried.

The woman said, “Louder, they cannot quite hear you in Victoria. You are an imbecile. A newborn babe is dedicated to feeding itself, but it does not know how. You are a newborn babe, and a crippled one at that.”

“If ever I see that…”

“You will either run or die. He is but one man. One man! And all of you are like frightened rabbits. Right now he may be on his way to the woman and boy. He cannot wait much longer.”

“Yong will…”

“He has probably killed Yong. I thought that out of all of you, at least Yong would be successful.”

“Sheila, I…”

“So, you want to put your hands on me? We will give Yong until tomorrow. If he does not return by tomorrow night, we load up and leave. I would love to meet this man who has you all frightened. Ling! You paw me like a puppy dog. Very well. Come into the cabin and I will at least make you half a man.”

Nick had heard what was to follow many times before. There was no need for him to freeze in icy water to hear it again. He dipped under and moved along the bottom of the junk until he reached the bow. Then he filled his lungs with air and pushed off back toward the sampan.

The sun had almost set when he came up for another lungful of air. Four minutes later he had passed once again under the first row of sampans and was back to his borrowed one. He climbed aboard and dried himself with his business suit, rubbing the skin vigorously. Even after he was dry, it took quite a while for him to stop shivering. He stretched out almost the full length of the small boat and closed his eyes. He needed sleep. Since Yong was the dead man in Nick’s room, it wasn’t likely he would show up tomorrow. That gave Nick until tomorrow night at least. He’d have to figure some way to get on that junk. But right now he was tired. That cold water had sapped his strength. He drifted away from himself, letting the rocking sampan carry him. Tomorrow he would begin. He would be well rested and ready for anything. Tomorrow. Tomorrow was Thursday. He had until Tuesday. Time raced quickly.

Nick woke with a jerk. For an instant he didn’t know where he was. He heard the light lap of water against the side of the sampan. The junk! Was the junk still in the harbor? Maybe the woman, Sheila, had changed her mind. The police knew about Yong now. Maybe she had found out.

He sat up, stiff from his hard bed, and looked toward the other side of the ferry landing. The big Navy ships had again changed positions in the harbor. They sat lengthwise, their bows pointed toward Victoria. The sun sat high, glimmering in the water. Nick saw the junk, its stern swung out toward the harbor. There was no sign of life aboard.

Nick boiled a handful of rice. He ate the rice and a can of green beans with his fingers. When he had finished, he placed the ninety Hong Kong dollars he’d removed from his suit into the empty can, then put the can where he’d found it. Chances were the occupants of the sampan wouldn’t return, but if they did, he would have at least paid for his room and board.

Nick leaned back in the sampan and lit one of his cigarettes. The day was almost half over. All he had to do was wait for nightfall.