Wrath of the Lion

CHAPTER NINE

lieutenant gregson paced nervously up and down, smoking a cigarette, trying to look as unconcerned as the half-dozen Malay soldiers who squatted in the long grass talking quietly. At the edge of the clearing the body of a man was suspended by his ankles above the smouldering embers of a fire, the flesh peeling from his skull.

The smell was nauseating, so bad that Gregson could almost taste it. He shuddered visibly and wondered what was keeping the Colonel. He was only twenty-two, slim with good shoulders, but the face beneath the red beret was fine-drawn, the eyes set too deeply in their sockets.

He heard the sound of the Land Rover coming along the track and snapped his fingers quickly. There was no need. The soldiers had risen as one man with the easy, relaxed discipline of veterans and stood waiting. A moment later Sergeant Tewak pushed his way into the clearing, followed by the Colonel.

Mallory wore a paratrooper’s beret and a camouflaged uniform open at the neck, no badges of rank in evidence. He stood staring at the body, dark eyes brooding in that strange white face, and restlessly tapped a bamboo swagger stick against his right knee.

When he spoke his voice was calm. “When did you find him?”

“About an hour ago. I thought you might want to see him exactly as they left him.”

Mallory nodded. “Leave Sergeant Tewak in charge here. He can bring the body into Maluban in your Land Rover. You can come back with me.”

He turned abruptly into the jungle and Gregson gave the necessary orders to Tewak and followed. When he reached the Land River Mallory was already sitting behind the wheel and Gregson climbed into the passenger seat.

The Colonel drove away rapidly and Gregson lit a cigarette and said carefully, “I hope you’re not blaming yourself in any way, sir?”

Mallory shook his head. “He was a good soldier, he knew the risks he was taking. If they’d accepted him we’d have learned a hell of a lot. Probably enough to have put them out of business in the whole of Perak. But they didn’t.”

Remembering the pathetic, tortured body, the stench of burning flesh, Gregson shuddered. “They didn’t give him much of a chance, did they, sir?”

“They seldom do,” Mallory observed dryly. “There are one or two chair borne flunkeys in Singapore who could have learned something this afternoon. Unfortunately they never seem to come this far in.” He took a cigarette from his breast pocket, one hand on the wheel, and lit it. “There was a signal from H.Q. while you were away. They’re sending me a plane Friday. There’s to be an enquiry.”

Gregson turned quickly. “The Kelantang affair?”

Mallory nodded. “Apparently the papers got hold of it back home.” He slowed to negotiate a steep hill. “I don’t think I’ll be coming back.”

“But that’s ridiculous,” Gregson said angrily. “There isn’t a guerrilla left in Kelantang. The Tigers have had more success in six months than any other unit since the emergency began.”

“They don’t like my methods,” Mallory said. “It’s as simple as that.”

“Neither did I, at first, but I know now that it’s the only way. If you don’t fight fire with fire you might as well pack up and go home.”

“And they won’t let us do either,” Mallory said. “Britain never likes to let go of anything. That’s my Irish father speaking and he had the best of reasons for knowing.”

The Land Rover went over a small rise as it emerged from the jungle, and beneath them, beside the river, was Maluban. There were perhaps forty or fifty thatched houses on stilts, the saw-mill and rubber warehouse on the far side of the jetty.

It was very still, the jungle brooding in that quiet period before night fell, and as Mallory took the ^Land Rover down into the village a whistle sounded shrilly and the workers started to emerge from the mill.

He braked to a halt outside his command post, a weathered, clapboard bungalow raised on concrete stilts, saluted the sentry and ran up the steps briskly. Inside, a corporal sat at a radio transmitter in one corner. He started to rise and Mallory pushed him down.

“Anything?” he asked in Malayan.

“Not since you left, sir.”

Mallory moved to the large map of the area which was pinned to one wall. He ran a finger along the course of the river. “Jack must be about there now. A good forty miles.”

Gregson nodded and indicated a small village to the southwest. “Harry should be at Trebu by nightfall. Between them they’ll have swept most of the western side of the river.”

“Without turning up a damned thing. What’s our effective strength here at the moment?”

“Including Sergeant Tewak and the six men bringing in the body, a dozen. Eight men in the sick-bay and all genuine.”

“You don’t need to tell me.” Mallory picked up his swagger stick. “Mr. Li's giving a dinner party tonight. I’ll probably be there till midnight. Call me if anything turns up.”

“Something special?”

Mallory nodded. “He’s got a journalist staying with him for a few days. A woman called Mary Hume.”

“Isn’t she the one who used to be an M.P.?”

“That’s right. One of these professional liberals who spend their time visiting the trouble spots and kicking the poor old army up the backside in print.”

“Never mind/ Gregson said. “Old Li’s food is always interesting.”

“Some consolation.” Mallory moved to the door, turned and, for almost the first time since Gregson had known him, smiled. “Friday – that’s just three days. Not much time to clean up Perak, eh?”

When he had gone Gregson went back to the map. There was a hell of a lot of country and he knew in his bones that the patrols they had out along the river were wasting their time. There were perhaps sixty Chinese guerrillas in Perak, certainly no more. And yet they were enough to terrorise an entire state, to fill the people themselves with such fear that all hopes of co-operation were impossible.

And on Friday the Colonel was to fly to Kuala Lumpur to face an enquiry that could well lead to his court-martial and disgrace. Gregson cursed softly. If only Mallory could have flown out with the news that he and his Tigers had done it again. Had destroyed the last effective guerrilla band in the north. That would have given them something to think about at H.Q.

He went into the bedroom at the rear, poured himself a drink and stood on the verandah looking across the small strip of rough grass that was the garden. A loose board creaked and he turned and saw Suwon, Mr. Li’s secretary, coming up the steps.

She was perhaps twenty and her skin had that creamy look peculiar to Eurasian women, her lips an extra fullness that gave her a faintly sensual air. Her scarlet dress was of heavy red silk, slashed on either side above the knee, and moulded her ripe figure.

He grinned crookedly and raised his glass. “Surprise, surprise. I thought you’d be at the party.”

“I will be later,” she said. “But I wanted to see you.”

“Now that’s most flattering.”

He moved close and she held a hand against his chest. “Please, Jack, this is serious. The wife of Sabal, the ferryman, has just been to see me. She’s scared out of her wits.”

“What’s the trouble?”

“They’ve been hiding a wounded terrorist at their house for three days now, under the usual threats. He was shot in that patrol clash on the other side of the river last week. His friends took him to Sabals house because of its isolation. You know where it is?”

Gregson's stomach was hollow with excitement and when he put down his glass his hand was shaking. “About half a mile upriver. So they’ve decided to hand him over?”

She shrugged. “If the man doesn’t have medical treatment soon he’ll die. Sabal is a Buddhist. He couldn’t let that happen.”

"You’ve told no one else?”

She shook her head. “I’ve no desire to become a target. You know how easily these things leak out. That’s why I came the back way.”

He buckled on his belt and revolver. "No one will know who tipped me off, I promise you that.”

“It’s Sabal and his family I’m really worried about.”

“No need to be. I’ll only take a couple of men with me. Make it look like a routine call.” He kissed her lightly on the mouth. “You’d better get going. They’ll be looking for you at dinner. And not a word about this to anyone. I’d like to surprise the Colonel.”

He went out through the other room and she heard his voice raised as he called to the duty corporal, A few moments later the Land Rover drove away. She stood there, a shadow slanting across her eyes like a mask. It was as if she were waiting for something. Only when the sound of the engine had finally died into the distance did she turn and walk away.

A moth fluttered despairingly beside the oil lamp and shrivelled in the heat. What was left of it fluttered to the table. Mr. Li brushed it away and reached for the decanter. It was obvious that he had European blood in him. His eyes lifted slightly at the corners, but they were shrewd and kindly, the lips beneath the straight nose well formed and full of humour.

“More brandy, Mrs. Hume?”

She was in her early forties, her greying hair cut short in the current fashion, still attractive in her simple print dress, a kashmir shawl around her shoulders against the cool of the evening.

She pushed her glass across and Mr. Li continued, “You have no idea of the pleasure it gives me to entertain a British Member of Parliament in my own home.”

“I’m afraid you’re a little out of date, Mr. Li,” she answered lightly as Suwon came in with the coffee. “I’m no longer interested in politics. Simply a working journalist on an assignment.”

“To discover for yourself the state of things in the border country?” Mr. Li smiled. “How fortunate that Colonel Malory agreed to accept my hospitality during his stay. I am sure there can be no greater authority on the troubled times through which we are passing.”

“I’ve already seen something of Colonel Mallory’s methods,” Mary Hume said coldly, and turned to Mallory. who sat at one end of the long table in a beautifully tailored drill uniform, the medal ribbons and S.A.S. wings above his left pocket a splash of colour in the lamplight. “I drove through a village called Pedak about ten miles south of here on the way in. Every house burned to the ground on your orders. Women and children homeless and the rains due.”

Suwon leaned over Mallory’s shoulder to pour coffee into his cup and he was aware of her fragrance. “One of my patrols was ambushed in Pedak two days ago. Four men killed and two wounded. The villagers could have warned them. They didn’t.”

“Because they were afraid,” she said angrily. “Surely that’s obvious. The Communist guerrillas must have forced them to keep silent with threats.”

“Quite right,” Mallory replied calmly. “That’s why I burned their houses. Next time they’ll think twice.”

“But you’re giving them an impossible choice,” she said. “To betray their own countrymen.”

“Something people like you never seem to get straight. The men who were ambushed and killed, my soldiers, were Malays. The guerrillas who killed them are Chinese.”

“Not all of them.”

“Some are Malayan Chinese, I wouldn’t argue on that point, but the majority are Chinese Communists, trained and armed by the Army of the People’s Republic and infiltrated into Malaya from Thailand.”

“What Colonel Mallory says is quite true, Mrs. Hume,” Mr. Li put in. “These terrorists are bad people. They have made things very difficult for us in this area.”

“For business, you mean,” she said acidly.

“But of course.” Mr. Li was not at all put out. “Many of the great rubber estates have virtually gone out of business and things will soon be as bad in the timber trade. At the mill my workers are already on half-time. These are the people who really suffer, you know. Two weeks ago the Catholic mission at Kota Banu was attacked. The priest-in-charge was away at the time, but two nuns and thirteen young girls were killed.”

“You’re wasting your time, Li,” Mallory said. “That isn’t the sort of story Mrs. Hume wants to hear. That rag of hers usually prints items like that in the bottom left-hand comer of page seven.”

He picked up his brandy and walked out on the open verandah, aware of Li’s voice raised in apology behind him. In the gathering darkness beyond the river the jungle started to come alive, tree-frogs setting the air vibrating, while howler monkeys challenged each other, swinging through the trees, and through it all the steady, pulsating beat of the crickets.

At his shoulder Mary Hume said in a dry, matter-of-fact voice: “They’re saying in Singapore that you executed your prisoners during the Kelantang operation. Is it true?”

“I was hard on the heels of another gang. I needed every man I had.” Mallory shrugged. “Prisoners would have delayed me.”

“And now there’s to be an enquiry. They’ll kick you out, you know.”

He shrugged. “Isn’t that what you want?”

She frowned. “You don’t like me, do you, Colonel Mallory?”

“Not particularly.”

“May I ask why? I’m only doing my job.”

“As I remember, that was the excuse you offered in Korea when you and one or two choice specimens like you accepted an invitation from the Chinese to see what things were really like over on that side.”

“I see now,” she said, and her voice died away in a long sigh.

"You wrote some excellent articles on how good the prison camps were,” Mallory said. “How well we were all treated. I read them after I was released. Of course, they never showed you over my camp, Mrs. Hume, which is hardly surprising. Around about the time you were starting your conducted tour I was doing six months in a rather small bamboo cage. As a matter of fact, about twenty of us were. A salutary experience, particularly as winter was just beginning.”

“I reported the facts as I saw them/ she said calmly.

“People like you always do.” He swallowed about half of his brandy and went on: “One thing really does interest me. Why has it always got to be your own country? Why is it never the other side? I mean, what exactly is eating away at your guts?”

She was obviously only controlling her anger by a supreme effort of will, and when she replied her voice vibrated slightly. “Where a moral principle is involved I refuse to be hampered by a spurious nationalism.”

“Is that a fact?” Mallory said. “Well, I’ve got news for you, Mrs. Hume. I’d rather have that lot out there in the jungle than you and your kind any day. At least they fight for what they believe in. I can respect them for that.”

“Even when they butcher nuns and young girls?” she taunted.

“We managed things like that on a much more impressive scale during the war. After all, for a purist like yourself there can’t be much difference between the terrorist’s grenade and the bombs released at the touch of a button from forty thousand feet.” She was suddenly very still and he said softly: “But then I was forgetting. Wasn’t your husband a bomber pilot during the war? I’m sure his opinion would be most interesting.”

“My husband is dead, Colonel Mallory. He was killed in the war.”

“I know, Mrs. Hume,” Mallory said softly.

She turned abruptly and went back inside and Mallory took out a cigarette, striking a match against the verandah rail.

There was a rustle in the bushes below and Sergeant Tevvak said quietly: “Colonel, there is bad news at the command post. It would be well for you to come.”

Mallory glanced over his shoulder quickly. Mr. Li and Mary Hume sat at the table, talking earnestly, heads together, and Suwon busied herself preparing drinks at the sideboard. He vaulted over the rail and followed Tewak through the bushes.

The little Malay hurried along without speaking, leading the way out through the rear gate and down the hill to the village. The streets were quiet, but outside the command post Mallory found what seemed to be the whole detachment standing in twos and threes, each man armed and in marching order.

As Tewak led the way round to the store hut at the side of the bungalow Mallory was aware of the emptiness that snatched at the pit of his stomach. The Malay opened the door, switched on the light and led the way in.

The body was covered by a groundsheet and lay on a trestle table in the centre of the room. Mallory knew it was Gregson at once because of the American Paratrooper’s boots which he had bought at a second-hand shop in Singapore three months previously. Tewak pulled back the ground-sheet and waited, his face like stone.

The teeth were clenched, lips drawn back in the death-agony. His hands had been tied behind him, the eyes gouged out, quite obviously while he was still alive. The rest of him was like a piece of raw meat.

Mallory took a deep breath and turned away. “When did it happen?”

“About half an hour ago. He was tipped off that a wounded terrorist was hiding at the house of Sabal the ferryman. I arrived back about an hour after he’d left. He only took two men. When he didn’t return I thought I’d better investigate.”

“Are they all dead?”

“Also Sabal and his wife and their four children.”

Mallory nodded slowly, a slight frown on his face. He looked down at the body on the table, once more covered with the groundsheet.

“Go to Mr. Li’s bungalow. There’s an Englishwoman there, a Mrs. Hume. Tell her I want to see her. If she refuses to come use force.”

The door closed softly and Mallory took out a cigarette and lit it, thinking about Gregson, about the senseless, needless cruelty of his going. It had been intended as a threat, so much was obvious, and had been directed at him personally. Whoever controlled the sixty or so terrorists in Perak had simply used Gregson as a calling card.

A few minutes later the door opened and Mary Hume was pushed inside. Behind her Mallory was conscious of Li’s troubled face in the doorway.

She was trembling with anger, her face very white as she moved forward. Mallory cut in quickly before she could speak.

“So sorry to trouble you, Mrs. Hume, but one of my young officers was very anxious to meet you.”

As the frown deepened across her forehead, he pulled the groundsheet away quickly. She stood staring at the table, an expression of wonderment frozen into place, and then her head started to move from side to side, the lips trembling. Mr. Li took her gently in his arms and held her close.

“This was not a good thing to do, Colonel.”

“You go to hell,” Mallory said, “and you can take her with you,” and he turned and covered Gregson carefully.

In the distance thunder rumbled and then lightning flared. In the split second of its illumination Mallory saw each item of furniture in his bedroom clearly. He tossed his swagger stick and beret on the bed and opened the shutters. As he stepped on to the verandah the rain came with a sudden, great rush, filling the air with its voice.

He breathed deeply, taking the air into his lungs, and a quiet voice said, “The night air is not good when the rains start, Colonel.”

Suwon stood a few feet away by the rail and as lightning flared again her face seemed to jump out of the darkness, the embroidered dragon on the scarlet dress coming alive like some strange night creature.

“I was hoping you’d come,” he said.

She moved very close until their bodies touched and her scent was warm in his nostrils, the sharply pointed breasts hard against him. She placed one hand behind his neck, her mouth slack with desire, and he said softly, “Why did you tell Gregson that a wounded terrorist was hiding out at Sabal’s house?”

As his hands slid round to the small of her back her body tensed, taut as a bow-string. She gave a terrified gasp, turned and stumbled down the steps to the lawn. As she started across, lightning exploded again and in that brief moment of illumination Sergeant Tewak and half a dozen men moved forward in a semicircle. As Tewak reached her the sky seemed to split wide open with a crash of thunder that made the earth tremble, drowning her cry of terror as she was turned roughly and pushed towards the steps.

In his room Mallory lit the lamp, pulled out a chair and sat down. Suwon’s dress was saturated, clinging to her like a second skin, and her face was very white as Tewak brought her forward.

“Earlier this evening you visited the command post by way of the garden. You told Lieutenant Gregson there was a wounded terrorist at Cabal’s house.” She started to shake her head weakly in denial and Mallory went on: “Don’t waste time in stupid lies. The duty corporal overheard the entire conversation.”

Tears started to roll down her face and he said: “Gregson is dead, but I don’t blame you for that. Only the person who gave you your orders. Who was it? You indent be afraid. I’ll see you’re protected."

She shook her head desperately and tried to pull free from Tewak's iron grip. She was wasting her time. The Malay raised his eyebrows. Mallory nodded and Tewak smashed his clenched fist into her mouth, sending her staggering across the room on to the bed.

When Mallory pulled her forward her lips were crushed and bleeding and a couple of teeth were missing.

“Two weeks ago your friends burned down a Catholic mission and butchered thirteen little girls,” he said calmly. “Last July they derailed a train and killed or injured nearly a hundred peasants. As far as I’m concerned you’re expendable. Now either you tell me what I want to know or I’ll let Tewak really go to work on you, and one thing I can promise – you’ll never want to look in a mirror again.”

Tewak started to take off his belt and she shook her head weakly, the breath bubbling out through her broken mouth.

“Mr. Li,” she moaned. “It was Mr. Li.”

Li examined himself in the bathroom mirror, a pair of tweezers in one hand. Very carefully he plucked a couple of gold hairs from his upper lip, then opened a large, gold-capped bottle of perfumed astringent and poured some into his palms. He carefully massaged his face, wincing slightly at the stinging coldness, turned and moved into his bedroom.

Mallory was standing by the open window that led to the verandah. He wore his red beret and the swagger stick in his right hand beat restlessly against his thigh. It was the eyes which told Li his fate, those strange, unfathomable eyes like holes in the white face, staring through and beyond him.

There was nothing to say, nothing at all. He stood there, a slight, careful smile on his face, hands thrust into the pockets of his silk-dressing-gown, and Mallory made a slight gesture with his hand that brought Tewak and his men into the room.

Mr. Li moved to a small coffee table, selected a cigarette from a jade box and lit it. “Who told you?”

Mallory shook his head. “Suwon was a mistake. Girls like her value their looks too much. They haven’t got anything else to trade with.”

The bookcase against the far wall came down with a splintering crash and three of the soldiers rammed the butt ends of their rifles against the wooden panelling. A moment later a large segment fell out, revealing a cupboard, perhaps three feet square, containing a wireless transmitter and several files.

Mallory examined the find, nodded and turned quickly. “So far, so good. Now let’s get down to business. According to our intelligence reports you have between sixty and seventy guerrillas operating in Perak. I’d like to know where they are.”

“You’re wasting your time, my dear Mallory,” Li said. “And that’s something you can’t really spare, isn’t it? When is it they’re coming for you – Friday? Thirty-six hours, that’s all.”

He started to laugh and Tewak raised a hand. Mallory shook his head. “No sense in wasting time on the preliminaries. Bring him into the living-room, there’s a fire there.”

Li was aware of a coldness clutching at his inside. The stories he had heard about this man Mallory, of his Tigers and the way they operated. No one really believed it because the English didn’t fight in this way. Didn’t use such methods, which was their greatest weakness. Brainwashing and psychological pressures he had been prepared for, but this…!

They hustled him into the other room and across to the wide stone fireplace in which he had ordered the servants to light a log fire against the dampness of the rains. Mallory nodded and Li’s dressing-gown and pyjama jacket were ripped away, baring him to the waist. His hands were jerked roughly behind his back and lashed with a length of rope.

There was a disturbance outside the door and Mallory heard Mary Hume’s voice raised shrilly. He crossed the room and moved past his men into the corridor. The dark circles under her eyes accentuated the paleness of her face and she had obviously been crying.

“What’s going on in there?” she said. “I demand to know.”

Tm questioning Mr. Li,” Mallory told her. “We’ve just discovered that he’s not quite what he seems to be.”

“I don’t believe you,” she said.

“Well, that’s just too bad. At a later date I’ll be happy to show you the transmitting set he had hidden in his room, but right now I’m busy.” He turned to the corporal on his left. “Escort Mrs. Hume to her room and see that she doesn’t leave it.”

He went back into the living-room, slamming the door on her sudden, indignant outburst, and crossed to the fire. He sat down in the chair opposite Li, took out a cigarette and lit it.

“Have you ever been tortured?” Li made no reply and Mallory continued: “In 1943 I was working under cover in France. I was only twenty. The Gestapo got hold of me. The first two days I didn’t do too bad, but by the end of the week I was telling them everything they wanted to know. Of course, by that time London had changed everything round, so it didn’t really matter.”

“How very interesting,” Li said.

“I thought you might say that.” Mallory picked up a poker and inserted it into the fire. Tm afraid I can’t wait for a week, you understand that, but I don’t think I’ll have to. I’ve had the extra advantage of two years in a Communist prison camp. They taught me a lot, those friends of yours.”

Li gazed at the poker in fascinated horror and his throat went dry. He moistened his lips and croaked: “You wouldn’t dare. The marks would be on my body for all to see. Mrs. Hume would be a witness to all that had taken place.”

“They told me to clean out Perak," Mallory said, “and I’ve only got till Friday morning to do it. That means cutting a few corners. You understand, I’m sure.”

He took the poker from the fire. It was white hot and he turned and said gently, “Tell me where your men are, that’s all I want to know.”

“You’re wasting your time,” Li said. “You might as well shoot me and get it over with.”

“I don’t think so.” Mallory considered him carefully and shook his head. “I’d say you might last two hours, but I doubt it.”

It was perhaps three hours later when Li regained consciousness on his bed in the cool darkness of his room. His hands had been roughly bandaged and pain coursed through his entire body, sending his senses reeling.

And he had talked. That was the shameful thing. He had poured out everything to the terrible Englishman with the white face and the dark eyes that pierced straight through to the soul.

He pushed himself upright and slowly hobbled across the floor, grinding his teeth together to keep from crying out. He paused at the window and peered outside. The verandah was deserted. There was no one in sight. He pushed the window open and crossed to the steps. He stood there for a moment, inhaling the freshness of the rain, a faint excitement stirring inside him, driving the pain from his mind. He would win. He would beat Mallory in the end and that was the important thing.

He stumbled down the steps and started across the lawn. He was perhaps half-way across when he heard the click of a bolt as a weapon was cocked. He turned, mouth opening to cry out, conscious that even now Mallory had won.

The line of fire erupting from the bushes spun him around twice and drove him down against the earth. For a moment only there was the scent of wet grass in his nostrils, then nothing.

In his office at the command post Mallory heard the rattle of the sub-machine-gun clearly. He paused for a moment, head raised, then returned to the map in front of him. A few minutes later the door opened and Tewak entered, shaking rain from his groundsheet.

Mallory sat back. "What happened?”

“The sentry got him as he was crossing the garden. Mrs. Hume’s outside. Apparently she ran out of the house when she heard the shooting. She saw his condition.”

“Bring her in,” Mallory said.

She was wearing an old Burberry that was far too big for her, the shoulders soaked by the rain. Tewak led her forward and she slumped into a chair and sat looking at Mallory, her face old and careworn.

“I saw Mr. Li,” she said dully. “I saw what you’d done to him.”

“Mr. Li was directly responsible for the murder by torture of Lieutenant Gregson and his men,” Mallory said. “He was responsible for the deaths of thirteen schoolgirls two weeks ago and very many more innocent people during the past two years.”

"You tortured him,” she said. ““Tortured him in cold blood, then shot him down.”

“If he’d gone to Singapore he’d have been tried and very probably sentenced to ten years at the most as a political offender,” Mallory said. “His friends would have got him out before then, believe me.”

“You fool,” she whispered. “You’ve lost everything. Everything. Don’t you see that?”

Mallory leaned forward. “There are sixty-three Communist guerrillas in Perak, Mrs. Hume. That’s something I got out of Li. About thirty of them are camped at this moment on an abandoned rubber estate near Trebu. I’ve got a large patrol in that area now. They’ll be in position to attack at 2 a.m. The rest are going to pass downriver hidden in two fishing boats within the next hour. Apparently, they’d intended to destroy the railway bridge at Peg at dawn. I’m afraid they’ll be disappointed.”

She frowned slightly, as if finding difficulty in taking in* what he had said. “But you’ve only got a handful of men. You can’t possibly hope to defeat such a large group.”

“Solicitude for my welfare at this stage, Mrs. Hume? You’re slipping.” He got to his feet and buckled on his revolver. “Don’t worry, we have our ways.” He crossed to the door, opened it and turned. “Stay here, and this time I mean it.”

Mary Hume opened her mouth to protest, but no sound came, and suddenly she was afraid. Afraid of this terrible young man. There was nothing she could do, nothing to prevent the tragedy that was taking place. Out of some strange, inner knowledge she knew that Neil Mallory, in the process of destroying the evil that he hated, was also destroying himself. The most surprising thing of all was that she cared.

Mallory moved across to the jetty and paused beside the two men who squatted behind the heavy machine-gun. Another was positioned on top of a small hill fifty yards away and between them they covered the river with an arc of fire.

At the end of the jetty Tewak waited with the rest of the men. Two of them crouched behind the narrow wall, the heavy tanks of their flame-throwers bulging obscenely.

The rain rushed into the river with a heavy, sibilant whispering, and Mallory was aware of a strange, aching sadness. It was as if he had done all this before in another time, another place. As if life were a circle turning endlessly. Everything that had happened during the previous few hours lacked definition, like a dream only half remembered.

And then Tewak grunted. There was the slapping of water against a keel, a sensation of an even darker mass moving through the darkness, and Mallory tapped Tewak lightly on the shoulder.

The little sergeant picked up a portable spot and switched it on. The white beam lanced through the night, picking out two large fishing boats as they slipped downstream, side by side, sails furled, a man in each stern working a sweep.

There was a cry of alarm and the first boat half lifted out of the water as it collided with the ferry hawser which Tewak and his men had suspended across the river an hour earlier.

The boat spun round, crashing into its fellow, and there was another cry, followed by a burst of small-arms fire directed towards the jetty.

Mallory called out and the men with the flame-throwers stood up. Liquid fire arched through the night, splashing across the two boats. Immediately their superstructure and sails started to burn and men poured on to their decks from below.

The two heavy machine-guns opened up, raking the decks, chopping down the guerrillas as soon as they appeared. Tewak dropped the spot, picked up his sub-machine-gun and joined in with the rest of the men.

It was over within a few minutes. A handful jumped from the blazing inferno and struck out desperately for safety, but the flame-throwers searched them out, the fire licking hungrily across the surface of the water, catching them one by one.

By this time the river and the village were brilliantly illuminated and Mallory stood there watching, taking no part in what was happening. He glanced at his watch. It was just after 2 a.m. and he wondered how Harrison was getting on.

He turned and found Mary Hume standing a few yards away. When he walked towards her he saw that she was crying.

“You butcher,” she said. “You butcher. I’ll see you hang for this night’s work.”

Tm sure you will, Mrs. Hume,” he said calmly and went past her along the jetty.

Twenty-four hours left now till that plane arrived, that was all, but it was enough. If he moved fast along the river bank to meet up with Harrison and his men coming south they’d be certain to sweep up any survivors of the clash at the rubber estate. Another twenty-four hours and after that…

As he went up the bank towards the command post the first fishing boat sank beneath the surface with a hiss of steam.