The man who sold death

CHAPTER 21

Sanuki Hakagawa knew very well where Tessa was. The two women had become friends in a short time, and when Tessa had been moved to Regent's Park it had been unthinkable that Sanuki should not be told. Not many people, and few of them are women, can bear to be alone as Loomis was alone. If Grierson had been in London when Loomis had moved Tessa to Regent's Park he would have told Loomis so, and asked for another woman, Sanderson perhaps, to go with her. But Grierson had been in Provence, and Loomis had had her moved out with dire warnings of what would happen to her if she told a living soul where she was. And of course she had told a living soul, just one. Sanuki. The only friend she had. Sanuki had to be told so that she could call Tessa up and Tessa could talk about Craig and how wonderful it all was.

When Sanuki telephoned that day, it was no surprise. Tessa had been going to call her anyway, to tell her that Craig was back and life was more wonderful than ever. Then suddenly it wasn't. Sanuki had news of the men who were hunting Craig. But she had hung up, and when Tessa had tried to call back, the line was busy. She had grabbed a coat, missed a taxi and run for the tube, and Sanderson had gone with her. Sanderson was good; a placid matron who exuded an air of domestic success, as if Yorkshire puddings rose for her at a snap of her capable fingers. She could follow anywhere because she belonged anywhere, and Tessa should have been easy. Yet she missed"her.

Tessa stood by the tube door throughout the journey and was out at South Kensington and running before Sanderson could move, and when Sanderson tried to follow, everything went wrong. The place was jammed solid, a fat man got in her way at the barrier, and she wasted seconds dancing around him, and Tessa caught the last taxi. It raced up the Cromwell Road and Sanderson went to a phone booth to hear Loomis swear.

When Craig went back to the flat in Regent's Park and found Tessa was gone, he told himself that it was stupid to worry. She might have gone shopping after all. When the phone rang, he scowled. He didn't want to talk to Loomis any more. He had enough on his mind. On the other hand, Loomis might have news. He picked up the receiver.

Duclos said, "She's here with us, Craig. Listen!"

And then Tessa's voice, shrill, hysterical, saying, "Don't listen to them, darling. Don't do anything-" The sound of a blow, a gasp of pain, and silence.

"You believe it was her?" Duclos asked.

"Yes," said Craig.

"We don't want her, we want you," Duclos said. Craig was silent. "If you don't do as we tell you, she will suffer," Duclos went on. "I promise you she will suffer. It all depends on how much you like her."

"I like her enough," said Craig.

"That's good. I have two other friends of yours too. Japanese friends. They would suffer too-if you-"

"What do you want?"

"Come and see us," Duclos said. "At your Japanese friend's house. Bring with you the money you stole from us. Come alone-or the girl will die. You realize that?"

"Yes."

"There are other things also that you must pay for. You know that, too?"

"Yes," said Craig. "But the girl has to go."

"You're all we want," Duclos said. "You and the money. Come now."

Craig hung up, then stiffened as the doorbell rang. He went to the door, unlocked it without opening it, and went into the bedroom. After a moment, he saw Grierson come in and look around the hall, then go into the dining room. Slowly, silently, Craig bent and put down the Woodsman on the bedroom carpet, where Grierson could see it. When he came into the bedroom, Grierson went to the gun at once, and stooped to pick it up. Craig struck, hard and accurate, with the edge of his hand. Grierson pitched forward on his face and Craig looked at him for a moment, took the suitcase containing the money, and left. Grierson would have been useful, but he was more interested in capturing Duclos and Pucelli than in saving Tessa. Grierson was a risk he could not justify. In the flat the phone rang seven times, then stopped. The caller was satisfied. Craig was on his way.

He took a cab, and got out at the end of Hakagawa's street. He walked down its quiet opulence, without thinking of anything at all except how to get Tessa out. What would follow, the torment and eventual death, was something that he had known would come. For a while once more there would be pain, searing, appalling pain, then nothing. Ever since he had started gun-running, there had been that possibility, and now it was fact. The taste of fear was like metal in his mouth, but he thought still only of Tessa and walked on. By his enemies' standards, he was a criminal coming at last to receive judgment; by their standards they themselves were righteous judges, punishing without bias and without hate. Yet of the two who thought themselves gentlemen, the two St-Cyriens, one had broken his pledged word, the other had cheated in a duel-they had failed the codes that bound them most strongly. And the two who survived were gangsters, sadists who wanted a Corsican revenge, and money. Always in the end they wanted money. Well, he had that for them at any rate. Ten thousand pounds. His own money, not theirs, but that wouldn't matter. It was what they wanted, and they wouldn't question its origins. The door was open. Craig looked around once at the street, then went inside. He was sweating with fear…

When Sanderson called, Loomis had no time to waste in swearing. Grierson had failed, that was obvious; otherwise he would have phoned in. It was equally obvious that Tessa was going to Hakagawa's. He sent Sanderson to watch there for Craig, and then called Linton at Scotland Yard. He didn't want to, but he had no choice; his own people weren't available. There were never enough of them. For aU its excellences, the Welfare State didn't produce many Craigs. Grierson, for instance. Careful, competent, marvelous with women, perhaps the best Loomis had, but even he lacked the iron drive that had kept Craig going for so long. Then there was his inside knowledge too. The poacher turned gamekeeper, the expert who'd seen his job from every angle. He couldn't let Craig be killed. He'd have to get him away from his woman, of course…

Tessa wasn't in Hakagawa's house, nor was Sanuki. Shenju was there, tied viciously to a chair, and Craig cut htm free, using the samurai knife, razor sharp and five hundred years old.

"They kept a gun on Sanuki," Shenju said. "Otherwise I would have killed them. But with a gun pointed at her – Then they made her phone Tessa-or, they said, they would kill me. You have a pistol. You must leave it with me, then I will tell you where to meet them."

"No pistol," said Craig.

"I'm sorry. I must search you."

Craig raised his arms and Shenju patted his body, slowly, carefully. Craig had put the Woodsman in the waistband of his trousers, at the back, where the bulge wouldn't show, but Shenju was thorough. His fingers touched the hard metal, and he sighed. Then he sensed the tightness in Craig's body, and sprang away, poised.

Shenju said, "No, John, you can't beat me. Not with a broken finger."

Slowly Craig relaxed, and there was an overwhleming agony in his face.

"Do you want me to beg?" he asked. "I'll beg. On my knees if you like."

Shenju said, "You have seen these men before-with women?" Craig nodded. "If Sanuki dies, I shall die too.

People always think that death is not important to a Japanese. They are wrong, John. It is very important… But I cannot allow myself to live if I fail her. And I cannot allow those men to harm her"

Craig said, "They may do that anyway. One of them enjoys it."

"There is always a chance that they may not," Shenju said, "if I do exactly what I am told."

"I want my girl to have a chance too," Craig said. He looked into the dark, fathomless eyes of the Japanese, waiting his fate, and Tessa's.

"All right," Shenju said. "Go to Knightsbridge station. They will be waiting for you there. They know this house has been watched."

Craig stood up.

"When you go to them, Tessa will be allowed to walk away. If you try to cheat them, she will die."

"I won't risk her," Craig said. "They know that. Thanks, Shenju. I'm sorry I had to get you mixed up in this. I don't bring my friends much joy, do I?"

"In a year or so, you would have beaten me," the Japanese said. "The man who could do that and remain my friend has a right to what I have." His hand touched Craig's arm. "Remember all I taught you," he said. "I gave you great skill. Use it."

"If I can," said Craig. "But I'll have to wait until the women are out of it. Goodbye, Shenju."

For the only time since Craig had known him, the Japanese hissed and bowed in ceremony.

Craig went to look for a taxi, and Linton, his sergeant, and Sanderson followed him to Knightsbridge. It wasn't easy; Craig was as wary as a cat, but Sanderson was more alert this time. It was impossible, it was downright unnatural, to think of Sanderson as a secret agent.

Craig went into the station. Duclos was there, standing very close to Tessa, and Pucelli waited a little farther off. He looked pale, and moved his shoulder stiffly. Both men had their right hands in their pockets. When he saw Craig, Duclos signaled to Pucelli to watch Tessa, then walked over to him and took the case containing the money.

"You will follow us down," he said. "We have your ticket."

Craig followed them on to the escalator, past Berlei and Little X and Jantzen and Gossard; all the aloof and gorgeous girls in impeccable foundations, following another girl who looked ill and sloppy and needed him so much that he had to die. In the taxi he had transferred the Woodsman back to his shoulder holster. He needn't have bothered. There was no hope of using it if Tessa was to be freed.

Pucelli and Duclos took her to the westbound platform and stood at its farthest end, waiting. Slowly Craig followed, his hands open, by his sides.

Pucelli said, "You can go now."

Behind her, Tessa could hear the distant rumble of a train, the train that would take him away from her to torment and death. They had told her in detail what was going to happen to Craig. Duclos had enjoyed that, very much. The rumble of the train grew to a muted roar.

"Go," said Pucelli.

She still didn't move, and Craig stopped, waiting, wary. Behind him, Linton and the sergeant waited also.

Pucelli said again, "Go!" and pushed her from him. Tessa grabbed his arm and swung him with all her strength into Duclos. For a moment the two men had Craig unmarked. Tessa screamed "John! Run!" and hung on to Pucelli. He struck at her, and still she hung on. She could see Craig coming toward her and her heart leaped with love for him even as she screamed for him to go. Duclos hit her and she screamed for the last time as she fell into the path of the oncoming train and there was nothing in the world but its roar and the jarring squeal of its brakes.

Duclos ran, clutching the case, and Pucelli hesitated, torn by the need to get away and the need to kill Craig. The gun was half out of his pocket when Craig hit him the terrible once-only blow that Shenju had made him swear never to use unless the enemy were so evil and so strong that nothing else would do. There was a thin crack as Pucelh's spine snapped. Then his body slammed against the train and Craig was running after Duclos, the

Woodsman in bis hand. Linton swore aloud and ran after him as Duclos dodged through the maze of archways and leaped the barrier to the escalator, racing up its empty steps. Craig seemed to shrug off the porter who tried to hold him. Then he too was at the bottom of the steps. Duclos turned and fired at him, and the bullet slammed into the barrier. Craig didn't move. He stood, feet apart, weight evenly balanced, arm extended, the way he had been taught at pistol practice. Up, up went Duclos, racing to where the escalator's climb crested into a straight step to freedom. He had almost reached it when Craig shot him. His body arched and twisted under the impact of the bullet, and he seemed to fling the case into the air. It burst open and banknotes fluttered down like leaves as Duclos slid face downwards-until the momentum of the escalator caught and held him, bore him back up toward the top, and the silent, terrified people who watched as his toes bump-bumped into the metal slots, and his body recoiled each time and each time was borne in again as the escalator rolled.

"What I'd like to know," Loomis snarled, "is what the hell you were playing at-and you-and you."

He swiveled around in his chair and glared separately at Sanderson, at Linton, at Grierson, then pushed the chair back so that he could glare at them collectively.

"Don't tell me," he said. "I've heard all about it. Well, at least you can find the Japanese fellow's wife."

"We've done that, sir," Linton said.

"So I should bloody well think," said Loomis. "Was she hurt?"

"No, sir."

Loomis grunted. "No thanks to you," he said. "Well, what are we going to do now? You stand by like stone images and watch a girl shoved under a train and Craig fighting a private war. What are you going to do?"

"I take it they're both dead, sir?" Linton asked.

"What do you think?" Loomis snarled. "They killed his girl. Bloody fools. Just like that duel business. If they'd let well enough alone, he was going to give himself up. Did you know that? He must have been very fond of her."

"Yes, sir," said Grierson, and rubbed bis neck.

"That's why he clobbered you," Loomis said, "and I don't blame him. He did better on his own. Trouble is, he killed a couple of blokes. One might be self-defense. The other was murder."

"No, sir," said Linton. "Duclos was shooting at him."

"Ah," said Loomis. "Was he now? A bloke running amok, shoving girls under trains, charging at the great British public with a loaded pistol, and along comes a hero and knocks him off. Very public-spirited."

"It was his girl who was killed," said Linton.

"Whosegirl?",….

Sanderson said, "Craig's, of course." She sounded bewildered.;

"Craig's'dead," said Loomis. "I keep telling you. I've seen the death certificate. This bloke's name is Jameson. He's in nuts and bolts. Doesn't go in for girls. His hobby's pistol-shooting. He's got a gun licence too. I saw it made out myself."

"You're going to let him go then?"

"He's gone," said Loomis. "Visiting a pal in Corfu. Another businessman. An American. Name of Turner. He met fiim on the Riviera. Got a couple of girls with him. Singers or something. Very interested in culture is Jameson." He glared for the last time at Linton and Sanderson.

"You can shove now," he said.

They shoved.

"We've had word from France. Officially, they take a dim view. Unofficially, they're grateful-and so they should be. St. Briac and his pals were raving loonies, and they knew it. Well, it's nice to know they owe us a favor."

He settled back in his chair and leered at Grierson.

"I sent Craig to Corfu myself," he said. "I thought he was entided to a bit of a holiday. I don't want him to overdo it."

"You mean he's coming back to us?" Grierson asked. "Well of course he's coming back to us," said Loomis. "He's got nowhere else to go."