The Defector

CHAPTER NINE

Nick waited in the sampan until darkness was complete. Lights glittered along the harbor, and across it he could see the lights of Kowloon. The junk was out of his view now. He had not seen any movement on it all day. But, to be sure, he waited until well past midnight.

He wrapped Wilhelmina and Hugo in the coolie clothes that had been tied around his waist. He had no plastic bag, so he would have to hold the clothes out of the water. Pierre, the tiny gas bomb, was taped just behind his left armpit.

The sampans around him were dark and quiet. Once again Nick lowered himself into the icy water. He moved with a slow side-stroke, holding the bundle above his head. He went between two sampans in the first row, then headed for open water. The going was slow and he made certain there was no splashing. When he was beyond the ferry landing, he turned right. He could see the dark silhouette of the junk now. There were no lights. Once he had passed the ferry landing, he headed directly for the bow of the junk. When he reached it, he hung onto the anchor chain and rested. He had to be very careful now.

Nick climbed up the chain until his feet had cleared the water. Then, using the bundle as a towel, he dried his feet and legs. Wouldn’t do to leave wet footprints on the deck. He climbed over the bow rail and dropped silently onto the deck. With cocked head, he listened. Hearing nothing, he quietly dressed, pushed Wilhelmina into the waistband of the pants, and kept Hugo in his hand. In a low crouch he made his way along the walkway on the port side of the cabin. He noticed the dinghy was missing. When he reached the afterdeck, he saw three sleeping forms. If Sheila and Ling were on board, Nick thought, they’d most likely be in the cabin. These three must be the crew. Nick stepped lightly between them. There was no door covering the front of the cabin, just a small, arch-shaped open space. Nick poked his head through, listening and looking. He heard no breathing except from the three behind him; he saw nothing. He went inside.

To his left were three bunks, one on top of the other. On his right were a wash basin and a stove. Beyond that was a long table with benches on each side. The mast came up through the center of the table. Two portholes were on each side of the cabin. Beyond the table was a door, probably the head. There was no place in the cabin he could hide himself. The storage lockers were too small. All open spaces along the bulkhead could easily be seen from the cabin. Nick looked down. There would be a space under the main deck. They’d probably use that for storage. Nick figured the hatch would be somewhere near the head. He moved cautiously along the table and opened the door to the head.

The toilet was mounted flush with the deck, Oriental fashion, and too small for a hatchway below. Nick backed into the main cabin, his eyes searching the deck.

There was just enough moonlight to pick out silhouettes. He bent over as he backed, sliding his fingers lightly over the deck. It was between the bunks and wash basin that he found the crack. He ran his hands over the square, found the finger-lift, and slowly pulled up. The hatch was hinged and well-used. It let out only a slight squeak as he opened it. The opening was about three feet square. Pitch blackness waited below. Nick knew the bottom of the junk couldn’t have been more than four feet down. He dropped his feet over the edge and lowered himself. He went down only as far as his chest before his feet touched bottom. Nick crouched, pulling the hatch shut above him. All he could hear now was the light lap of water against the sides of the junk. He knew that when they got ready to move they’d be loading supplies aboard. And they’d probably store them in this space.

Using his hands to guide him, Nick moved aft. The darkness was total; he had to go strictly by feel. All he found was a rolled spare sail. He doubled back. If there was nothing forward of the hatch he could roll himself into the sail. But they’d probably want to move it to store supplies. He had to find something better.

Forward of the hatch he found five boxes lashed down. Working as quietly as possible, Nick untied the boxes and arranged them so that there was an empty space behind them and enough space from the top of them to the overhead for him to crawl through. Then he lashed them down tight again. The boxes weren’t too heavy, and because of the darkness he couldn’t read what they contained. Probably foodstuffs. When they were lashed again, Nick crawled over them to his little space. He had to sit with his knees against his chest. He stuck Hugo into one of the boxes within easy reach, and lay Wilhelmina between his feet. He leaned back, his ears trying to pick up every noise. All he could hear was the water against the side of the junk. Then he heard something else. It was a light, scratching noise. A cold chill ran through him.

Rats!

Disease-ridden, filthy, the larger ones had been known to attack men. Nick had no idea how many of them there were. The scratching sound seemed to be all around him. And he was enclosed in darkness. If only he could see! Then he realized what they were doing. They were scratching at the boxes around him, trying to get to the top. They were probably starved, coming after him. Nick had Hugo in his hand. He knew he was taking a chance but he felt trapped. He pulled out his cigarette lighter and struck a flame. For an instant he was blinded by the light, then he saw two of them on top of the box.

They were as big as alley cats. The whiskers on their long pointed noses quivered from side to side. They looked down at him with black slanting eyes glittering in the lighter flame. The lighter grew too hot to handle. It dropped to the deck and went out. Nick felt something furry drop to his lap. He swiped at it with Hugo, hearing the click of teeth on the blade. Then the thing was between his feet. He kept jabbing Hugo at it while his free hand searched for the lighter. Something pulled at his pant leg. Nick found the lighter and quickly lit it. The rat’s jagged teeth were caught on his pant leg. It shook its head back and forth, snapping its jaws. Nick stabbed it in the side with the stiletto. He stabbed it again. And again. The teeth came free, and the rat snapped at the blade. Nick plunged the stiletto into its stomach, then pushed it into the face of the other rat that was about to jump. Both rats went over the box and down the other side. The scratching stopped. Nick heard the others scurrying over to the dead rat, then squabbling over it. Nick shivered. One or two more may be killed during the fighting, but it wouldn’t be enough to last them for long. They’d be back.

He shut the lighter and wiped the blood from Hugo’s blade on his pants. He could see morning light through the crack of the hatchway.

It was two hours before Nick heard movement on deck. His legs had gone to sleep; he could no longer feel them. There was stomping above him, and the smell of cooking food sifted down. He tried to shift his position, but he couldn’t seem to move.

He spent most of the morning dozing. The pain along his spine was eased by his extreme power of concentration. He couldn’t sleep because even though they were quiet, the rats were still with him. He heard one now and then scurrying in front of one of the boxes. He hated to think of spending another night alone with them.

Nick figured it was around noon when he heard the dinghy bump against the side of the junk. Two more pairs of feet walked on the deck above him. There were muffled voices, but he couldn’t understand what was being said. Then he heard a slow-turning Diesel engine come alongside the junk. Props were reversed, and he heard heavy line thud on deck. Another boat had come alongside. Feet got busy on the deck above him. There was a loud clunk, like a board dropping. Then there were thuds being repeated every now and then. Nick knew what it was. They were laying in supplies. The junk was getting ready to move. He and the rats would soon have company.

It took the better part of an hour to get everything on board. Then the Diesel started again, revved, and the sound faded slowly away. Suddenly the hatch was thrown open, flooding Nick’s hiding place with bright light. He could hear the rats running for cover. The air felt cool and refreshing as it flowed in. He heard the woman speaking in Chinese.

“Hurry,” she was saying. “I want us to be on our way before dark.”

“Perhaps the police have him.” It sounded like Ling.

“Be still, stupid one. The police do not have him. He is on his way to the woman and boy. We must get there before he does.”

One of the crewmen was stationed a few feet from Nick. Another was outside the hatch, collecting crates from the third and handing them down. And what crates! The smaller ones were being placed around the hatch where they would be easy to reach. They contained foodstuffs and the like. But there weren’t many of those. The bulk of the crates were marked in Chinese, and Nick could read Chinese well enough to tell what they contained. Some were filled with grenades, but most held ammunition. They must have an army guarding Kathy Loo and the boy, Nick thought. Sheila and Ling must have gone out of the cabin; their voices had become muffled again.

The light had all but faded by the time the crew had lashed down all the crates. They stacked everything aft of the hatch. They hadn’t even come near Nick’s hiding place. Finally it was all done. The last crewman climbed out and slammed the hatch shut. Nick was once again in total darkness.

The dark air smelled strongly of the new crates. Nick heard feet pounding on deck. A pully creaked. The junk seemed to list to one side. Must be raising the sail, he thought. Then he heard the anchor chain clacking. The wooden bulkheads creaked. The junk seemed to ride lighter on the water. They were moving.

They would most likely head for Kwangchow. It was either there or somewhere along the Canton River they had the professor’s wife and son. Nick tried to visualize the area along the Canton River. It was a lowland rainforest type of terrain. That told him exactly nothing. As he recalled, Kwangchow lay in the northeast delta of the Hsi Chiang River. There was a maze of streams and canals running between small rice paddies in that area. Each was dotted with villages.

The junk rolled very little crossing the harbor. Nick knew when they started up the Canton River. The movement forward seemed to slow, yet water sounded as though it was rushing along the sides of the junk. The pitching grew slightly more violent.

Nick knew he could not stay in his position much longer. He was sitting in a pool of his own sweat. He was thirsty, and his stomach growled with hunger. The rats were hungry, too, and they hadn’t forgotten him.

He had been hearing their scratching for more than an hour. At first there were the new crates to be inspected and chewed on. But it was too hard to get to the food inside. There was always him, warm with the smell of blood on his pants. So they came after him.

Nick listened as their scratchings grew higher on the boxes. He could just about tell how high they were getting. And he didn’t want to waste his lighter fluid. He knew he would need it. He felt them then, on top of the boxes, first one, then another. With Hugo in his hand, he flicked flame to his lighter. He raised the lighter and saw their pointed, whiskered noses in front of their black, shiny eyes. He counted five, then seven, and more kept making it to the top of the boxes. His heart raced. One would be bolder than the others, it would make the first move. He’d watch for that one. His wait wasn’t long.

One moved forward, its feet close to the edge of the box. Nick stuck the flame of the lighter to the whiskered nose, then jabbed with the point of Huso. The stiletto plucked out the right eye of the rat, and it fell back. The others leaped on it almost before it could get down the other side of the box. He could hear them fighting over it. The flame in Nick’s lighter flickered out. No more fluid.

Killmaster had to get out of that position. He was trapped there with no defense now that he was out of lighter fluid. There was no feeling in his legs; he couldn’t raise himself. Once those rats were done with their friend, he’d be next. There was one chance. He put Wilhelmina back in his waistband and stuck Hugo between his teeth. He wanted the stiletto within easy reach. Hooking his fingers over the top box, he pulled with all his strength. He got his elbows over the top, then his chest. He tried kicking his legs to get the circulation going, but they wouldn’t move. Using his hands and elbows, he crawled over the top of the boxes and down the other side. He could hear the rats close to him, chewing and scrapping. On the bottom of the hull now, Nick crawled to one of the food crates.

Using Hugo as a pry, he broke open one of the crates and reached inside. Fruit. Peaches and bananas. Nick pulled out a bunch of bananas and three peaches. He began scattering and tossing the rest of the fruit aft of the hatch between and around the grenade and ammunition cases. He could hear the rats scurrying after it. He ate hungrily but slowly; there was no sense in getting sick. When he finished, he started rubbing his legs. They tingled first, then felt pain in them. Feeling returned slowly. He stiffened and bent them, and soon they were strong enough to hold his weight.

Then he heard the powerful engine of another boat; it sounded like an old PT boat. The sound grew nearer, until it was alongside. Nick moved to the hatch. He put his ear close to it, trying to hear. But the voices were muffled and the idling engine drowned them out. He thought of lifting the hatch slightly, but some of the crew might be in the cabin. Must be a patrol boat, he thought.

He had to remember that, because he planned to come back this way. The patrol boat stayed alongside for more than an hour. Nick wondered if they were going to search the junk. Sure enough. Heavy footsteps clumped onto the deck above him. Nick had full use of his legs now. He dreaded the thought of getting back into the confined space, but it looked as if he’d have to. The heavy steps were on the afterdeck. Nick relieved himself on one of the ammunition crates, then crawled back over the top of the boxes to his little hiding place. He stuck Hugo into the box in front of him. Wilhelmina was back between his feet. He needed a shave and his body stank, but he felt much better.

There was a lot of conversation with the search, but Nick couldn’t hear the words. He heard what sounded like laughter. Maybe the Sheila woman was trying to con the searchers to keep them from seeing the grenades and ammunition. The junk was riding at anchor, and the patrol boat’s engines had been shut off.

Suddenly Nick’s hiding place was flooded with early-morning light as the hatch was opened. A flashlight beam played all around him.

“And what is down here?” A man’s voice asked in Chinese.

“Only supplies,” Sheila answered.

A pair of legs dropped down through the hatch. They were clad in the uniform of the Chinese Regular Army. Then the rifle came in, followed by the rest of the soldier. He played the flashlight around Nick, then turned his back. The beam fell on the opened food crate. Three rats scattered from the crate when the light hit them.

“You have rats,” the soldier said. Then the beam hit the grenade and ammunition cases. “Ah-ha! What have we here?” he asked.

From above the open hatch, Sheila said, “That is for the soldiers in the village. I told you about them…”

The soldier moved around in a crouch. “But why so much?” he asked. “There are not that many soldiers there.”

“We are expecting trouble,” Sheila answered.

“I will have to report this.” He crawled back through the open hatch. “The rats have opened one of your food crates,” he said, just before the hatch was slammed shut again.

Nick could no longer hear what the voices were saying. His legs were beginning to go to sleep again. There were a few more minutes of muffled conversation, then the pulley squeaked, and the anchor chain started clacking again. The junk seemed to strain against the mast The powerful engines fired up and the patrol boat pulled away. Water rushed along the sides and bottom of the junk. They were on their way once again.

So they were expecting him in some village. He felt as if he was being tossed tiny bits and pieces of information. He had already learned a great deal since coming aboard the junk. But the all important “where” still eluded him. Nick pulled himself to his chest on top of the boxes so that his legs would be straight. He worked them until the feeling returned. Then he sat back down. It he could do that every so often, it might keep his legs from falling asleep. For the time being the rats seemed to be content with the opened food crate.

He heard steps coming toward the hatch. It was opened and daylight flooded in. Nick had Hugo in his hand. One of the crewmen dropped down. He had a machete in one hand and a flashlight in the other. In a crouch, he crawled toward the opened food crate. His light hit two rats. When they tried to escape, the man cut them both in half with two swift blows. He looked around for more rats. Not seeing any, he began stuffing the fruit back into the crate. When he had cleaned up the area around him, he reached for the splintered board Nick had pried off the crate. He started to replace it, then stopped.

He ran the light beam along the edge of the board. There was a deep frown on his face. He ran his thumb along the edge, then looked at the two dead rats. He knew the rats hadn’t opened that crate. The light beam flashed all around. It stopped on the ammunition cases where Nick had relieved himself. The man began checking the crates. He poked around the grenade and ammunition cases first. Not finding anything, he untied the food crates, pushed them closer together, then retied them. And then he turned to Nick’s boxes. Working quickly, his fingers untied the knots holding the boxes down. Nick had Hugo ready. The man got the lines free from the boxes, then pulled the top box down. When he saw Nick his eyebrows went up in surprise.

“Ayee!” he screamed, and brought the machete back for a swing.

Nick lunged forward, driving the point of the stiletto into the man’s throat. The man gurgled, dropped both flashlight and machete, and staggered back, blood rushing from the open wound.

Nick started over the boxes. The junk listed to one side, and the boxes toppled over knocking him to the bulkhead. He looked up to see a feminine hand holding a small-bore automatic pointed at him through the hatch opening.

In excellent American, Sheila said, “Welcome aboard, sweetheart. We’ve been expecting you.”