You Have Yourself a Deal

Chapter Eight

The man didn’t look particularly dangerous, but any man holding a Luger equipped with a silencer, was unpredictable and Girland was careful to make no sudden move.

“Come right in, Mr. Girland,” the man said. “I have been looking forward to meeting you.”

Girland studied him. He was tall, fattish, balding with a pronounced paunch. He would be around sixty years of age. His blue eyes, his broad features, his wide fixed smile revealing glittering white dentures, his immaculate lightweight suit and his expensive French tie gave him a solid and substantial personality. Girland saw he handled the gun expertly as if the gun was as familiar to him as his aftershave lotion. With his sharp perception, Girland decided this man was a smooth trickster, probably without funds, but dressing the part of a rich man to obtain credit from snob shopkeepers who couldn’t fail to be impressed by his appearance.

“How did you get in here?” Girland asked as he moved into the large airy bedroom.

“Carlota let me in while you were ordering that excellent dinner.”

“Carlota?”

Erica was now sitting on the bed. She looked faintly amused as she watched Girland walk over to the stool before the dressing table and sit on it.

“Mr. Girland,” the fat man said, leaning against the wall, “before we go any further, please don’t try anything heroic. I am an expert shot and I can, at this range, blow your right knee cap to pieces should you decide to be difficult. Since you are a very active man, I am sure you wouldn’t like that to happen.”

“Okay,” Girland said, and lifted his hands in mock surrender. “You have made your point. Is she Carlota? I was under the impression she was Erica Olsen.”

“She is Carlota Olsen... Erica’s sister. These two very handsome girls are my daughters,” the fat man said, beaming at Carlota. “Mr. Girland, I have been eavesdropping. I have been quite carried away by your persuasive sales talk. I have reached the conclusion that you are exactly the man we have been looking for. I think Carlota is of the same mind.” He looked at his daughter. “Aren’t you, my dear?”

“Oh, yes,” she said. “I think he could do very well.”

Without taking his eyes off Girland, the fat man bent to pick up a portable tape recorder that had been concealed behind a chair.

“Mr. Girland,” he said, “I have a perfect recording of your talk with my daughter. You were threatening to blackmail her. I am now in the happy position to be able to blackmail you. This small reel of tape would interest Mr. Dorey. I doubt very much if it would please him. I am under the impression that if he should ever listen to your recorded remarks, he would make life extremely unpleasant for you.”

Girland laughed. His amusement was so genuine that the fat man joined in while Carlota regarded them with an impatient frown.

“When you have finished amusing yourselves,” she said tartly, “suppose we get down to business?”

Girland ignored her.

“Your trick,” he said to the fat man. “Your name’s Olsen? Right?”

“Erich Olsen.”

Girland took a packet of cigarettes from his pocket.

“This fascinates me. Suppose you fill me in?”

“You do agree that the tape could embarrass you?”

“Of course. It wouldn’t do you any good either, but let’s skip that. Tell me what’s cooking.”

“My daughters and I,” Olsen said, “are like you, Mr. Girland. We are opportunists. We have been on the lookout for a big killing. We have been extremely patient and now we are in sight of our goal.

“Erica, who is a year older than Carlota, had a position as a badly paid secretary. She went with her boss on a trade mission to Pekin. There she met Feng Hoh Kung. Now, Erica is extremely attractive. Kung made a proposal and Erica accepted. This was quite a blow to Carlota and myself. We felt our little trio had broken up. However, Erica hadn’t forgotten us. After some months, she decided the life she had chosen wasn’t for her. She also discovered it was going to be very difficult for her to leave Pekin. However, she was fortunate enough to meet a Chinese youth who was to prove helpful. It was he who got her out of China. At this time, Carlota was in Stockholm.” Olsen flashed his white dentures at Girland, “I was in Paris. There was a little misunderstanding with the Swedish police, and it was wiser for me to live in Paris.” He shrugged. “You know how these things can happen. Carlota received a cable from her sister, asking her to come at once to Hong Kong. There was a hint in the cable that it would be worth Carlota’s time and trouble if she did so. She consulted me and I advised her to go. Erica had found Kung a disagreeable old gentleman and to compensate her for the various experiences she had been subjected to, she took with her when she left, the famous Black Grape pearl.” Again the white dentures flashed. “She was quickly missed and Kung’s agents were alerted in Hong Kong. Erica found herself in a trap and she was forced into hiding. She and Carlota conceived the idea that Carlota should impersonate Erica and draw off the hunt. It was a very brave thing to do. Erica’s Chinese boyfriend found a tattooist who copied the well-known Kung’s initials on Carlota and she returned to Paris. Erica had given her a Chinese drug that temporarily blots out the memory. We needed publicity and we wanted Kung to believe that Erica had reached Paris. Carlota took the drug. This was necessary as we knew that under examination — if she hadn’t taken the drug — she would be found to be faking and that, of course, would have led to complications. By the oddest chance, this unfortunate nurse was shot instead of Carlota. Fortunately for us, you had the idea of telling the press that it was Erica who had died. Now the pressure is off, but there are still a number of difficulties. We need your help, Mr. Girland. Would you have any objection to going to Hong Kong and bringing back the pearl?”

Girland stared at him.

“Why don’t you go?”

Olsen smiled.

“I am in a slightly unfortunate position. I am safe enough living in France, but in British territory, I could be embarrassed. It wouldn’t be wise for me to leave the country at the moment.”

“Let’s get this straight. You want me to go to Hong Kong, collect the pearl, bring it back here and fix the deal with Yew at three million dollars? Is that right?”

“You will also bring Erica with you. She wouldn’t part with the pearl to a stranger, Mr. Girland.”

“Why doesn’t she just come? Now the pressure’s off, she could come, couldn’t she?”

“Well, no. It hasn’t been possible to get her a false passport It is believed that at least two of the men at the police control are in Kung’s pay. I had hoped with your connections that you might get her a false passport.”

“Is she like you in appearance?” Girland asked Carlota.

“Yes, very much like me.”

“Dorey gave me a passport and also a marriage certificate in cage you needed convincing that I was your husband. I still have both documents. I see no reason why Erica couldn’t travel on this passport.”

Olsen beamed.

“You see, Mr. Girland, how wise we were asking for your help.”

“This will cost money,” Girland said after a moment of thought. “Have you got any?”

Olsen shook his head.

“Money is something I seldom have, but it did occur to me that your friend Mr. Yew might be persuaded to finance the trip to Hong Kong.”

Girland laughed.

“You certainly are an opportunist. Yes, I should think if he were definitely promised the pearl, he would advance the necessary cash. I’ll talk to him.”

“Then there’s Carlota,” Olsen said. “I imagine the French police won’t let her out of France until they are convinced that she has had nothing to do with Kung. Carlota should return to Stockholm. There are rather pressing affairs for her to attend to. Can you help her to leave quickly, Mr. Girland?”

“Shouldn’t be difficult.” Girland turned to Carlota. “You will have to see Dorey. He may keep you a few days asking all kinds of questions, but if we have our story set up, you should be free to travel by the end of the week.”

“Well, then...” Olsen pushed himself away from the wall. “We seem to have had a very useful meeting, Mr. Girland. The sooner we get Erica back the better. What will your first move be?”

“I’ll see Yew and raise some money. Tomorrow morning, Carlota and I will fly to Paris. I will talk to Dorey, leave her with him and get off to Hong Kong. Where do I find Erica?”

“Carlota will give you the address.”

Girland turned on his charm.

“Now we are partners, Olsen, let me have the tape.” He got to his feet, but paused as Olsen lifted the gun and pointed it at him. With a flash of his dentures, Olsen said, “I’m sorry, Mr. Girland, but I am keeping the tape as insurance. You are far too great an opportunist for me to trust you entirely. Although it would be difficult for you to get the pearl away from Erica, it would not be impossible, and from what I have seen of you, you can achieve the impossible. So long as I keep the tape, then I feel fairly certain of getting my money. If by any chance you attempt a double-cross, I will not only send the tape to Dorey, but I will send a copy to the Press Association. I will make absolutely sure no one will benefit from the pearl except the Olsen family.”

Girland grinned.

“It was worth a try,” he said. He looked at Carlota who was watching him. “Your father deserves to prosper, doesn’t he?”

“He hasn’t up to now,” Carlota said. “But he keeps trying.”

“Excuse me for not shaking hands, Mr. Girland,” Olsen said, waving the gun apologetically. “I will be expecting a telephone call from you. Carlota will give you the number.”

He walked around Girland, carrying the tape recorder in his left hand, the gun pointing at Girland.

“So long,” Girland said.

The bedroom door closed, then the front door slammed and Girland looked at Carlota with a quizzical smile. “You are quite a family. I can’t wait to meet Erica.”

“She isn’t as nice as I am,” Carlota said. “She is prettier, but she hasn’t my charm.”

“That is sad for her.” Girland looked at his watch. “I wonder if I can get hold of Yew. It’s getting late, but he might be in. My life seems to be spent haggling about money.”

He crossed the room and opened the door.

Carlota said, “Haven’t you forgotten something?”

He turned and looked at her, raising his eyebrows.

“Have I?”

“I thought we had come in here to get to know each other better.”

Girland laughed.

“I must be getting old.” He closed the door. “I can talk to Yew tomorrow morning.”

Staring at him, her violet-blue eyes dark and inviting, Carlota slowly zipped open her dress.

Mavis Paul, Dorey’s new secretary was dark, beautifully built and very assured. She had fought her way up to this position from the typist pool. She was efficient, pretty, diamond hard and determined to make good. She regarded Girland unfavourably as he wandered into her office. This sloppily dressed man in an open neck sports shirt and faded blue jeans made her hackles rise. This was no way for an American to dress in Paris, she thought as she regarded him with a cold, hostile stare.

“Well?” she snapped.

“Apart from a slight hangover, I’m not too bad, thank you,” Girland said. He placed his large suntanned hands on the desk and leaned towards her, smiling. “You must be the new recruit. Ever get lonely, baby? I take care of all the lonely chicks in Paris.”

Mavis stiffened.

“How...”

“... dare you make such a remark,” Girland broke in, beating her to it. “Sorry. You are so lovely and you have lonely eyes. How’s the old square? Is he busy?”

Mavis looked helplessly around the office, but there was no one to help her cope with this man who was smiling at her, and she had to admit he did have a charming smile.

“Mr. Dorey is busy right now,” she managed to say and then was horrified when Girland reached over her desk, flicked down the switch that connected the desk intercom with Dorey’s office and said in a loud, sinister sounding voice, “The Russians have landed. I advise immediate surrender.”

She sat petrified. Then Dorey’s cold, dry voice came out of the intercom box. “Is that you, Girland? Come in.”

“See? Simple,” Girland said as he flicked up the switch. He leaned forward and kissed Mavis on her cheek. “Let’s have a date, baby.” He took her solid slap on his face without flinching. He straightened, felt his jaw and grimaced. “Phew! That could have laid Clay on the canvas. You pack a mean punch, honey.”

“Get in there before I throw my typewriter at you!” Mavis said furiously.

“Did anyone tell you that when you are in a rage, sparks fly out of your eyes?” Girland asked, moving away from the desk. “Sparks like brilliant little stars. Quite the most attractive phenomenon I have ever seen from any woman.” He blew her a kiss. “Bye for now and don’t pine for me. We’re sure to meet again.” He crossed the room and entered Dorey’s office.

Dorey, behind his desk, glared suspiciously at him as he came in.

“What’s happened? Why are you in Paris? Don’t tell me you’ve lost her again!”

“Oh no.” Girland sat down and reached for one of Dorey’s expensive cigarettes in the box on the desk. “Nothing like that.”

“What’s happened to your face?” Dorey said, staring at the bright red mark on Girland’s cheek.

“Collision with an irresistible force,” Girland explained and laughed. “It’s an occupational hazard.”

“You haven’t been interfering with my secretary, have you?” Dorey asked, frowning at Girland.

“No... actually she interfered with me.” Girland lit his cigarette, then went on, “Dorey, prepare for the worst. We have laid an addled egg.”

Dorey stiffened.

“What does that mean?”

“Just that... the egg is addled.” Girland made himself more comfortable. “Our subject has her memory back, and guess what? She isn’t Erica Olsen. She is Carlota Olsen, Erica’s sister. How do you like that? From what she tells me, she was the smoke screen behind which Erica could disappear. As Carlota will tell you, Erica got bored with Kung and ran off. She managed to reach Hong Kong, but Kung’s agents, breathing fire, caught up with her. She had to go into hiding. She persuaded her sister to come out to Hong Kong and then talked her into impersonating her. A tattooist faked Kung’s initials on Carlota’s derrière and then Carlota returned to Paris. She took some drug that wiped out her memory and she was then planted for you and the gendarmes to find. While the Chinese were trying to knock her off and the Russians trying to kidnap her, Erica got out of Hong Kong and has got lost. Just where she is is anyone’s guess. Carlota has no idea. So that’s the sad story.”

Dorey leaned back in his chair. His thin lips tightened.

“Where is this woman?”

“Carlota? Right outside. I told her you would want to talk to her. She’s ready to cooperate. She did this to help her sister. She had no idea that there were any political implications. She was just giving her sister time to get away from Kung.” Girland shook his head. “Quite a brave thing for a girl to have done.”

“I’ll talk to her,” Dorey said grimly.

“I’ll shoo her in.” Girland got to his feet. “Well, I guess this lets me out, doesn’t it? I’m sorry it didn’t work out the way you hoped it would. I did what you wanted... it’s just one of those things.” He smiled at Dorey. “Let me see now, you owe me ten thousand francs... right?”

“Wrong!” Dorey snapped. “I gave you twenty thousand francs. So you owe me ten thousand francs and I’m going to have it!”

Girland looked sad.

“You have no idea what it cost me to rent an apartment in Monte Carlo. Then there was the fare up for the two of us. As Carlota was a little nervous, I thought we had better travel first-class. Anyway, I’ll let you have an account. I think you will find you owe me rather than I owe you. Anyway, you talk to Carlota.” Girland’s smile widened. “You’ll like her... she’s quite a girl.”

“I want that passport back, Girland.”

Girland stared blankly at him.

“What passport?”

“The passport I had faked for this woman.”

“Of course.” Girland clapped his hand to his forehead. “I remember. Well, for Pete’s sake, I’m getting forgetful. I left it in the right hand top drawer of your desk in your villa. I’m sorry... I should have brought it with me... clean went out of my mind.”

“It’s all right. I’ll get Diallo to mail it to me.” Dorey regarded Girland thoughtfully. “I have an idea you are up to something. What are you going to do now?”

“I might take a little vacation. I have saved a little money and before returning to my job, I think I deserve a vacation.”

Dorey wasn’t fooled for a moment.

“Listen to me, Girland, if I find you have been untrustworthy, I’ll make it my business to fix you, and believe me, I could fix you.”

Girland looked innocently at him.

“That’s not very friendly. Just because you get landed with an addled egg, Dorey, you can’t blame me... now can you?”

“Just remember what I’ve said. I don’t think I am going to employ you again. Whenever you have an assignment it goes wrong, but somehow you benefit.”

“Just chance,” Girland said, moving to the door. “You might still need me, Dorey, old pal. If I can put up with you, I can’t see why you can’t be big-minded and put up with me. Bye now,” and he went out of the office.

Mavis Paul was typing, making the machine sound like a quick-fire machine gun. She didn’t look up nor pause as Girland came to rest by her desk.

Girland studied the little plaque bearing her name that stood on her desk. He picked up a scratch pad and pen and wrote the name down.

“Pretty name... pretty girl,” he murmured. He put the slip of paper into his shirt pocket and went out into the anti-room where Carlota was waiting.

“Go on in,” he said. “He’ll talk a lot, but the foundation is laid for you. I’ll get off. See you sometime soon.”

They touched hands, smiled at each other, then Girland went down to where he had parked his Fiat 600.

The following morning Girland arrived by taxi at Orly airport to catch the 9 a.m. flight via Rome to Hong Kong. He was carrying a lightweight suitcase and he wore a well-worn, slightly crumpled tropical blue suit. He handed his suitcase to an elderly porter, and followed him to the Air France reception desk. He tipped the porter and paid the airport dues. He was told his flight was A.F. 632 and there might be a slight delay in Rome.

Jean Redoun, the porter, listened long enough to register these facts, then he walked quickly to the nearest telephone booth. He remembered Girland by his photograph, and he knew the Soviet Embassy was more than interested in him. He put through a call and spoke briefly to Kovski.

After the call, Kovski sat for a long moment, frowning into space. Malik, somewhat in disgrace, had been sent to Rome to check on a British agent who seemed ready to defect. Why was Girland going to Hong Kong? Kovski asked himself. The woman was dead. They were certain of that. Then why Hong Kong. He didn’t hesitate for more than a few seconds. He reached for the telephone and called Rome.

... Girland believed in luxury at other people’s expense. He had decided to travel first-class, but he did have some difficulty in persuading Jacques Yew to advance the fare. Yew couldn’t see what was wrong with travelling Economy Class, but eventually Girland talked him out of this way of thinking.

Girland enjoyed the trip. The first-class section on the aircraft wasn’t crowded, and the air hostess, a pretty little thing with a lively smile and flirtatious eyes, didn’t hold his shabby suit against him. She thought he could be an eccentric millionaire, and besides, he had a charming smile. She was continually pampering him with caviar, champagne and snacks.

At Rome, Girland left the aircraft and had two quick double Scotches in the airport bar. He stretched his legs, bought the latest Hadley Chase paperback and returned to the aircraft.

Three minutes before the aircraft took off, Malik, slightly out of breath, hurried across the tarmac and climbed the stairs into the Economy Class compartment. As he fastened his safety belt, he congratulated himself on the speed of his driving and his luck to find an empty seat on the plane.

Kovski had been very emphatic. Malik was not to lose Girland. Girland would not be travelling to Hong Kong unless Erica Olsen had given him some important information before she had died. That, Kovski felt, was certain. The Soviet Security wanted this information. Malik’s instructions were to get it at all cost. The Soviet Agents in Hong Kong had been alerted. They would work under Malik. This was Malik’s opportunity to make good on his reputation.

Malik had sneered to himself, but he had made frantic efforts to get on the plane, and by three minutes to spare, he had succeeded.

While he and Girland were being shot through space towards Hong Kong, Yet-Sen at the Paris Chinese Embassy was making a report in code that was to be cabled to Pekin. Yet-Sen was satisfied with himself. Admittedly, he had lost three promising agents, but after all, agents were expendable. The point was he had carried out his instructions. The woman was dead.

As an afterthought, he added a description of Girland to his report.

“This man,” he wrote, “is dangerous and should be in our files. A photograph and details of his method of operations will follow in the diplomatic bag.”

This cable arrived in Pekin eighteen hours before Girland landed in Hong Kong. A warning about Girland, with his description, was flashed to every airport in Asia. Not that they were expecting Girland, but the Chinese are thorough and it was part of their system to take no chances.

So without being aware of it, Girland was heading for a wasps nest. He not only had Malik on his plane, but now a certain Chinese Customs official at the Kai Tak airport had his description.

Eating an excellent sauté of chicken, washed down with a very presentable Bordeaux wine, Girland at that moment hadn’t a care in the world. He was heading towards riches, and about to arrive at the foot of his rainbow.

Girland was no stranger to Hong Kong. This, he thought as he walked out of the airport into the blistering sunshine, would be his fourth visit. Once he had met a young, American heiress on a world tour. She had insisted that he should be her bodyguard. Since her body was exceptionally inviting, Girland had raised no objections. They had spent four exciting and somewhat erotic weeks in Hong Kong. Later, he had been assigned by the C.I.A. to help to break up an opium ring and Hong Kong had been the centre of operations. He and Harry Curtis, the resident Agent, had spent days in a police boat and Girland had got to know the various outer islands around Taipang Wan, Tathong and in the East Lamma Channel.

Curtis was the last person Girland wanted to run into at this moment, and knowing Curtis had the habit of meeting aircraft from Europe, he kept a sharp eye out for him. He was so occupied watching for Curtis’s burly figure that he failed to notice Malik trailing along behind him.

The Chinese Customs officer at the barrier studied Girland’s passport and then looked thoughtfully at him. Then he returned the passport, saluted and motioned Girland through the barrier. As soon as Girland began walking towards a row of taxis, the Customs officer jerked his thumb in his direction and a fat Chinese, wearing a well-worn black business suit, went after Girland.

All this wasn’t lost on Malik whose sharp eyes had seen the signal and the fat Chinese wander after Girland. Malik glanced around.

Branska, the resident Soviet agent, came out of the crowd and shook Malik’s hand. Branska was a short, heavily-built man with sandy, thinning hair and freckles.

“It’s all right,” he said. “He’s taken care of. I have three men covering him. Let’s go to the hotel. We’ll get a report as soon as they find out where he is going.”

Malik nodded and the two men walked over to a waiting car.

Girland told the taxi driver to take him to the Star Ferry. He relaxed back in the cab as it rushed him along the crowded waterfront with its hordes of trotting coolies, carrying enormous burdens, slung on bamboo poles, the rickshaws, the overladen trucks, the big American cars driven by sleek rich-looking Chinese, bicycles making suicidal dashes through the traffic and every now and then a lovely Chinese girl, her cheongsam slit to four inches above her knees, in a rickshaw, her legs crossed, her hands demurely in her lap.

Girland loved Hong Kong. This was a town, he thought, teeming with life and energy where anything could happen and where money could be made.

He paid off the taxi at the ferry, then passing through the turnstile, he got on board the waiting boat.

Two of Malik’s agents and the fat Chinese also got on the boat.

Ten minutes later, Girland left the boat station on the Hong Kong side and took a taxi to a small hotel on the Wanchai waterfront where he had stayed previously.

By this time he had become aware that he was being followed. Girland had a strongly developed sense of self-preservation. He had quickly spotted Malik’s agents during the crossing, but he had foiled to spot the fat Chinese who was sitting near him, reading the Hong Kong Times.

As Girland paid off his taxi, he saw a car drive past. The two thickset men were in the car and they looked studiously away from him as the car went on up the waterfront. Girland grinned. Well, he would have to be careful, he told himself. He paid no attention to a fat Chinese in a shabby black suit who was standing near him, buying a pack of cigarettes from a street vendor.

Girland climbed the steep steps to the hotel lobby. He was greeted with a wide smile of welcome by an elderly Chinese with a wispy beard. Wan See had been the owner of the hotel for many years and he had an excellent memory for faces.

After greeting him, Girland went up more stairs to a small clean room that overlooked the waterfront. He took a shower, changed into a sports shirt and jeans, and then went down to Wan See.

The owner of the hotel was in the pay of the American Embassy and he could be relied on. Girland warned him that he was on official business and he must be careful no one got into his room while he was out.

Wan See had housed a number of American Agents over the years and he knew his business.

“That is okay,” he said. “No one comes here unless I know him.”

“I have a telephone call to make.”

Wan See waved to a booth.

Carlota had given Girland a telephone number to call when he arrived. This number, she had explained, was to a villa on the Peak where Erica was in hiding. He dialled the number and waited.

There was a brief delay, then a man’s voice said, “Who is that, please?”

“A friend who comes from Paris,” Girland said, using the phrase Carlota had given him.

He heard a quick hiss of breath.

“I hope you had a good journey.” This was the counter password Carlota had given him and Girland relaxed.

“Well, I’m here. I am at the Lotus Hotel, Wanchai. Do I come to you or will you come to me?”

“It would be better if you come to me,” the man said. “The situation is difficult. It is safer not to talk now. I will send a woman to bring you to me. She will be wearing a red cheongsam and a diamond in her left ear.”

“She sounds charming,” Girland said as the line went dead.

He again consulted Wan See.

“There is a girl coming. The hotel is being watched. She and I will be leaving and it is important we won’t be followed.”

Wan See giggled.

“There is no trouble. Every half-hour girls come here. The lower rooms are rented for love. There is a staircase to the roof. You can leave that way. You cross two roofs, descend by a fire escape to an alley that leads to the waterfront.”

Girland returned to his room and waited. He thought longingly of an air conditioner as the heat flowed through the open window, turning the small room into an oven.

An hour and five minutes later, there came a tap on the door.

Girland got off the bed and opened the door. A slim Chinese girl, wearing a scarlet cheongsam, a diamond sparkling in her left ear lobe, smiled at him.

“You expect me?”

Girland liked Chinese girls. During his previous stays in Hong Kong he had slept with a number of them. They had technique and they took lovemaking seriously. This girl was not only pretty: she was sensationally sensuous.

“Who are you?” he asked, moving back so she could come in.

“My name is Tan-Toy. I work along the waterfront. I make professional love.”

“You do?” Girland laughed. “That is something we might discuss later. Right now, let’s go.”

They climbed the staircase to the roof and moving cautiously, they crossed two other roofs and descended by the iron fire escape into the alley below.

They were watched by one of Malik’s agents who knew all about Wan See’s escape route. He had been posted on a nearby roof for the past two hours. Using a walkie-talkie, he alerted Malik that Girland with a Chinese woman was leaving his hotel.

The fat Chinese had seen Tan-Toy arrive at the hotel. He knew about the villa on the Peak and had been watching it now for three or four days. He also alerted his men by short wave radio that Girland might be heading towards the villa.

There was a considerable amount of traffic going up to the Peak and as Tan-Toy drove Girland in an Austin Cooper up the winding road, he kept looking back to see if they were being followed.

She said, “It is all right. The lady is not there any longer. It is Hung Yan you are going to see.”

“Is he the guy I spoke to on the telephone?”

“Yes.”

“If she’s not there, where is she?”

“I don’t know.” Tan-Toy gave him a flashing smile.

“Who are you? How do you get muddled up in this?”

“Hung Yan is my friend. He helped me once when I was ill. I like to help people when they help me.”

Eventually the car pulled up outside a small, dark villa, perched on the edge of the mountain with a fine view of Hong Kong and distant Kowloon.

“Go right in,” the girl said as Girland got out of the car. “When you have finished your business, we might meet.”

“Where do I find you?” Girland asked, bending down to look at her through the car window.

“Wan See knows... ask him.” She waved her hand, looked again into his eyes, then reversing the car, she drove away.

Girland looked down the long dark winding road, watching the red tail lights of her car disappear. No other car moved on the road.

He walked quickly down a path that led to the villa and rang the bell. The front door immediately opened.

“Please come in.”

A shadowy figure let him into a small, stiflingly hot room lit by a small table lamp.

The two men looked at each other. Hung Yan was a slightly built, young Chinese wearing a black, baggy, Chinese coat and trousers. His glittering eyes were feverish and when he shook hands, his skin felt dry and hot.

Girland introduced himself.

“The situation is very bad,” Hung Yan said. “They know I am here. I don’t think they can make up their minds whether she is dead or alive. Otherwise they would have got rid of me before now. Have you a passport for her? That is what she wants.”

“I have it. Where is she?”

“I will take you to her. She is on a junk, anchored off Pak Kok.”

“How do you come to be here?” Girland asked curiously.

“This villa belongs to my father who is in America. I brought Erica here a week ago, but she didn’t feel safe. She is very frightened. The junk belongs to my cousin’s fishing fleet. It is old and he is not using it. Erica thought she would be safer there than here.”

“Is she alone?”

“Yes, she is alone and frightened. I am sorry for her.” Hung Yan made a helpless movement with his hands. “We are in love. She is in a very dangerous situation and it worries me very much.”

“I’m not absolutely sure I haven’t been followed,” Girland said. “When do we go?”

Hung Yan shrugged.

“It doesn’t matter. They know I am here. They hope I will lead them to her.” He went to a cupboard. Opening it, he took from it two long knives in leather scabbards. “Can you use a knife? It is better than a gun.”

“Oh, sure,” Girland said. He took the knife from Hung Yan, pulled it from its scabbard, regarded it and nodded his approval. He clipped the scabbard to his belt. “When do we go?”

“Now... there is a footpath from here down the mountain to the main road,” Hung Yan told him. “There I have a car in a friend’s garage. There is a motorboat waiting at Aberdeen harbour.”

The two men left the villa by the rear door, and a few minutes later, Girland found himself on a narrow, dangerously steep path that was shrouded in a damp mist that had come up from the mainland and now blotted out the view.

He moved cautiously, following closely behind Hung Yan. There were moments when he could see nothing, then the mist cleared a little and he caught a glimpse of the Hong Kong lights far below.

Suddenly a stone rattled down behind him, hitting his ankle and he reached out and caught hold of Hung Yan’s arm.

“Someone’s behind us,” he whispered. “You go on... I’ll wait here.”

Hung Yan nodded. He continued on down the path. Girland moved off the path down the slope and crouched behind a shrub, his ears pricked, his eyes peering into the half-darkness.

There was a long pause, then he heard the sound of scuffling feet. Peering up, he could make out a small black figure coming cautiously down the path. He waited, tense. The man came on and moved past where Girland was concealed: a small Chinese, his head bent, his movements quick and silent.

Girland pulled himself back onto the path. The man was now ten yards ahead of him. He turned as swiftly as a striking snake when he heard Girland behind him. A knife flashed. Girland went into a low, flying tackle, his arms gripping the man’s legs below the knees.

They both crashed down on the path and slid down in a shower of stones. Hung Yan appeared out of the darkness. He caught the man’s wrist as the knife flashed. Girland released his hold and swung a punch at the man’s jaw. The blow connected and the man went limp. Before Girland could stop him, Hung Yan had driven his knife into the man’s body.

“There may be others,” Hung Yan said, his breath hissing between his teeth. “Come on!” He kicked the body off the path and turning, continued down the path.

Girland went after him.

They finally reached the main road without further alarm.

Hung Yan led the way across the road to a concrete garage built near a typical Chinese house.

It was as they drove out of the garage in a battered Volkswagen that one of Malik’s agents who had lost Girland, spotted the car. He alerted Malik on his walkie-talkie.

“Subject heading for Aberdeen harbour,” he reported.

Malik looked at Branska and got quickly to his feet.

“Let’s go,” he said. “The chances are he’ll take us right to her.”

At the same moment, Wong Loo, the fat Chinese, also received a report. Girland with Hung Yan, he was told, were heading for the harbour. Wong Loo was quite happy about this. He had at least twenty good men in that district. As he sent out directives, he paused to light an American cigarette. Letting the smoke roll out of his thick nostrils, he thought that this was now only a matter of time.

As the wheezy motorboat chugged across the East Lamma Channel, Girland looked back at the hundreds of bobbing lights of the closely packed junks in Aberdeen harbour. He had an instinctive feeling that he was being watched. There was no sign of a following boat, but the feeling persisted.

Hung Yan steered the boat past a junk that was coming into the harbour, its huge brown sail outlined against the moon. The night was stiflingly hot and the sea oily and calm. The stench of humanity packed in the harbour hung in the air.

As Girland looked across the black expanse of the sea, he saw something moving in the water, close to the boat. He leaned forward, but the movement was gone. A minute later, it appeared again: the fin of a shark that made a swift ripple in the still water and was once again gone. He remembered, when patrolling in the police boat some years ago, the sinister triangle-shaped fins of the sharks that infested this Channel, and he grimaced.

The boat chugged on.

Girland was now aware of the problem facing him. How was he to get this woman out of Hong Kong and back to Paris? he asked himself. It had seemed an easy enough problem when he had accepted the assignment, but now, in this bobbing little boat, he was acutely aware that the Chinese were alert to any move he might make to get the woman out. He thought of Harry Curtis. Harry would help, but then, if he did, Dorey would get to hear about the set-up, and that could only lead to more trouble.

Girland thought of the Black Grape... a half a million dollars for himself! He relaxed and grinned into the darkness. For that money, he should be able to solve the problem. It was wasting time to make plans until he had heard the woman’s ideas for escape.

Hung Yan said, “We are getting close,” and he reduced the speed of the motorboat. Girland looked around. There were a lot of junks anchored off Pak Kok. Apart from their riding lights, they were in darkness.

Five minutes later, Hung Yan brought the motorboat alongside a big, sail-less junk, moored about a half a mile from Pak Kok peninsula, isolated and in darkness.

He whistled softly, and then tied up by the side of the junk. A shadowy figure appeared on the upper deck and peered down at them as they climbed over the side.

“It is all right,” Hung Yan called softly. “He is a friend of Carlota’s.”

The figure climbed down the narrow stairway. In the uncertain light Girland could just make out a tall woman, wearing black Chinese peasant clothes of a baggy coat and trousers and a mushroom-shaped hat.

“Erica Olsen?” he said, peering at her.

“Yes. Come below. Hung... you stay up here.”

The girl went down the five steps leading into the cabin and Girland followed her. It was stiflingly hot down there and dark. She closed the door and then striking a match, she lit a small oil lamp.

Sitting at a small table, she took off her hat and shook out her blonde hair.

Girland sat opposite. They stared at each other. He could see the likeness between the sisters, but he saw that Erica was much more beautiful, although she was pale, thin and obviously nervous.

“Give me a cigarette,” she said. “I have run out.”

Girland pushed his pack across the table. With shaking fingers, she took a cigarette, lit it and then asked, “Did you get me a passport?”

“I got it.” Girland handed her the passport. She examined it, then looked up.

“Will it do, do you think?”

“With luck.” Girland also lit a cigarette. “Have you any ideas how you will get out?”

“If we can get to the airport, they daren’t stop me with you,” Erica said. “With any luck they won’t even spot me. Have you my ticket?”

“I have an open ticket for the two of us.”

She studied him.

“How did you meet Carlota?”

Briefly, Girland told her what had been happening in Paris. She stiffened when he told her he was with the C.I.A.

“Don’t worry your head about that,” he said, smiling. “I’m only unofficially attached. They don’t know I am out here. I did a deal with your father. For a share in the pearl, I agreed to get you out of here.”

“The pearl?”

Girland nodded.

“The Black Grape.”

“Oh, for God’s sake!” she exclaimed impatiently. “You don’t believe that nonsense, do you?”

Girland stiffened, then leaning forward to stare intently at her, he said, “Nonsense? What do you mean?”

“Why do you imagine I am hiding here? Because I stole the Black Grape?”

“Now wait a minute,” Girland said, trying to speak calmly. He had a sudden presentiment of disaster. “Carlota told me you had the pearl. She said that was why they were hunting for you.” He stabbed his finger at her. “Have you the pearl?”

“Of course not.” She flicked ash from her cigarette onto the floor. “My dear man, that was a story I told my sister to get her to cooperate.” Her mouth twisted into a bitter smile. “You don’t seem to know much about my father and sister. They are two of the most worthless people alive. All they can think about is money. I mean to them as much as a fly on the wall. When I got into this mess, I was desperate as I am desperate now. You can’t imagine what it means to be surrounded by Chinese, not knowing if one of them will come out of the crowd and kill you. I was lucky to get this far. Without Hung Yan’s help I could never have managed it. Then I found I was trapped. Hung Yan has no influence. I had to get a faked passport. The only two people who could get it for me were my father and sister, but I knew if I didn’t offer them a tempting bait they wouldn’t do a thing for me. So I told them the story of the Black Grape.” She gave a hard little laugh. “The Black Grape is in Kung’s museum. An armed guard stands beside the glass case where it is exhibited day and night. There is no possible chance of stealing it. But I didn’t tell Carlota this. She swallowed the bait. I had hoped that if she impersonated me in Paris, these thugs hunting for me would give up, but it didn’t work out. Do you imagine a woman like Carlota would agree to be tattooed, agree to risk her life unless she was offered an enormous fortune? It was the only possible way I could persuade her to try to save me.”

Girland sat back. He crushed out his cigarette as he studied Erica.

“You could be lying, of course,” he said without much hope. “You could have the pearl and you’re trying to gyp me out of my share.”

She met his searching eyes and she shook her head.

“I haven’t the pearl... no one could possibly steal it. It was a story I had to tell Carlota to get me out of here. I am sorry you are disappointed, but I still hope you will help me. You will, won’t you?”

“Then if you haven’t the pearl, why are they hunting for you? Why are they trying to kill you?”

“Because I know something. You don’t sleep with a man for nearly a year without finding out something about him.”

“What do you know, Erica?”

She smiled at him.

“Get me out of here and I will tell you, but I am not talking until we are on a plane and out of Hong Kong.”

Girland drew in a long deep breath. His rainbow had suddenly vanished into a black cloud. He had been so sure that he was going to be rich. He was now convinced she was telling the truth. It took him a moment or two to shake off the feeling of depression. Then accepting the situation, he shrugged. At least she had some information. So Dorey had been right after all, he thought. That Dorey!

“Well, okay, I’ll get you out,” he said. “There’s no plane before 3 p.m. tomorrow. Have you any clothes?”

“The suitcase I have with me.”

“Ah! That solves the mystery of the two suitcases. They told me Carlota had two suitcases when she was in Hong Kong, but only one when she reached Paris. You had the other one?”

“Yes.”

Girland thought for a moment.

“As there is no plane until tomorrow afternoon, we had better stay here for the night,” he said finally. “We can...”

He broke off as Erica, staring behind him, suddenly gave a gasping scream. His hand reaching for his knife, Girland whirled around.

“Don’t move,” Malik said, peering down into the cabin. He held an automatic in his big fist. “Just stay where you are.”

He came down the stairs and into the cabin. His huge frame threw a menacing shadow on the wall.

“Oh, for Pete’s sake!” Girland exclaimed in disgust. “Can’t you keep your long snout out of my business for five minutes? I thought you were safely in Paris.”

Malik looked evilly at him.

“It needs very little encouragement for me to put a bullet in you,” he said, “so shut up!” He looked at Erica Olsen who was crouching against the far wall, terror in her eyes. “You needn’t be frightened of me, Miss Olsen,” he went on quietly. “You can regard me as your friend. I overheard what you were saying. I represent the Russian Government. We are very interested in the information you have about Kung. We can give you far better protection than the American Government. I can assure you there will be no trouble nor risk getting you safely out of Hong Kong and to Moscow. I have a fast motorboat here and a helicopter on the island. There is a chartered aircraft waiting at the airport. Within an hour you will be in complete safety.”

Girland looked quickly at Erica. He saw she was getting over her fright and was now studying Malik with a calculating expression in her eyes.

“Don’t believe a word of it,” he said. “You would be crazy to go to Moscow.”

Malik backhanded Girland across his face, sending him staggering against the wall of the cabin.

“I told you to shut up!” he snarled, then to Erica. “He has nothing to offer you, Miss Olsen. He can’t help you. He’s bluffing. If he is stupid enough to take you on a passenger flight, you will be dead before you even get on the plane.”

Erica moved away so she was between Girland and Malik. She studied Malik, then looked at Girland. It was as if she were trying to choose between the two men.

“How do I know you have a chartered plane?” she asked finally.

Malik took a leather folder from his hip pocket and tossed it on the table.

“We fly to Tokyo, avoiding China. From Tokyo we go on to Moscow. If you want proof, here are the plane’s papers and the log book.”

Erica glanced through the papers, then she nodded.

“All right, I will come with you.” She regarded Malik, her eyes shrewd. “I expect to be paid for my information and I expect the price to be high.”

“You certainly said it, baby,” Girland said. “And it won’t be the price you will expect.”

She ignored him, still looking at Malik.

“We always pay well for information,” Malik said smoothly. “Now please go up on deck. We are leaving immediately. There is a boat waiting with one of my men. Get into the boat.”

“Just a moment,” Girland said. “What have you done with Hung Yan? Cracked his skull for him?”

“Where is he?” Erica said. “He has helped me. I am not leaving without him.”

“He’s waiting in the boat,” Malik said, his face expressionless. He jerked his thumb to the stairs. “We are wasting valuable time. Please go.”

“I have a suitcase.”

“I will bring it. Please go!”

Girland said, “He wants you to go because he doesn’t want a witness when he murders me.”

Erica paused, her eyes searching Malik’s face.

“It’s all right,” he said. “I have no reason to kill him. I will leave him here. Will you please go?”

She hesitated no longer and ran up the stairs onto the deck.

Malik backed to the foot of the stairs, then paused, his green eyes glittering.

“I have had enough of your interference, Girland,” he said. “I warned you if we ever should meet again I would get rid of you for good. This is an excellent place to leave you.” He lifted the automatic. “By the time they find you, we will be in Moscow.”

Girland eyed the gun. He felt his mouth suddenly turn dry.

“Don’t do anything you might regret later,” he said, annoyed his voice sounded husky. “You have the girl. You...”

The sudden sound of an approaching motorboat coming at high speed made Girland stop. The two men stared at each other in the dim light, both listening. Then there came a crash of gunfire. Malik half-turned, looking up the stairway of the cabin. Girland sprang forward and with a chopping blow on Malik’s wrist, sent the gun flying.

Cursing, Malik turned and as he was about to launch himself at Girland there came more gunfire. This was immediately followed by the violent noise of machine gun fire and the junk rocked under a hail of bullets.

Malik bent to grab his gun, but Girland kicked it into a far corner. Both men stood glaring at each other as more machine gun fire shook the junk. They heard a thin, wailing scream. Then the motorboat engine roared and began to diminish.

Malik sprang up the stairs and reached the deck. His long knife in his hand, Girland followed him. Both men paused, then Malik raised his clenched fists about his head and cursed.

Erica Olsen was lying flat on her back on the deck, her chest torn open by machine gun bullets. Already disappearing into the night was a low, fast-moving motorboat heading back to Hong Kong.

Malik spun around and started towards Girland, then seeing the knife in Girland’s hand, he paused.

“Come on, Comrade,” Girland said quietly. “It will give me a lot of pleasure to slit your throat.”

Malik cursed him, then he turned and bent over Erica’s body.

“She’s dead,” he said, straightening. He bent over the side of the junk and looked down at his boat. The crumpled figure of Branska, half-in and half-out of the water told him the machine gun had also caught him.

“We’ll have to do something about the Chinese, Malik,” Girland said. “While we are fighting each other, they’re winning all the tricks.” He looked down at Erica’s body and grimaced. “I wonder if she did know anything worthwhile about Kung. Maybe she was bluffing. I know the family... they are great bluffers.”

Malik glared at him, his eyes glittering with fury.

“From now on, keep out of my way. If we ever meet again...”

“Oh, go frighten the Chinese,” Girland said impatiently. “Your dialogue’s pure ham.”

Malik climbed over the side of the junk and lowered himself into the motorboat. He caught hold of Branska and tipped him into the sea, then he started the motorboat engine and not looking back, he headed the boat towards the lights of Hong Kong.

Girland watched him go, then he went to the other side of the junk and made sure his boat was still there. He looked around for Hung Yan, but could see no sign of him. He peered into the moonlit water and saw something move. The long black body of a shark slid by and Girland grimaced. Malik, he thought, had probably knocked the Chinese boy over the head and dumped him in the sea.

Girland stood hesitating, then he went down into the stifling cabin. After a quick search, he found Erica’s suitcase. He dumped the clothes and the various articles on the cabin floor and went through them carefully. He found nothing of interest. Still hoping he might just be lucky and find the Black Grape, he slit the lining of the suitcase and eventually took the case to pieces, but he didn’t find the pearl.

He wondered if Erica had hidden it in the cabin, but decided she wouldn’t have left without it. The only other possible hiding place would be in the clothes she was wearing.

He went up on deck and stood looking down at her body. She was lying in a wide pool of blood. In, the moonlight, her chest looked like a big, black hole.

He grimaced. He couldn’t bring himself to touch her.

No, the hell with it! he thought. She had been telling the truth. He wasn’t going to look further. The whole operation had been a flop from start to finish.

He climbed over the side of the junk into his motorboat, started the engine and headed back to Aberdeen harbour. It was a long and depressing trip and his only companions were the sharks.

An hour later, he shut himself in a telephone booth and put a call through to the Aberdeen Police Station.

A voice with a Scottish accent answered.

“I’m reporting a murder,” Girland said. “Junk anchored off Pak Kok. You can’t miss it. It isn’t carrying a sail. The woman...”

“Just a moment,” the policeman barked. “Who’s this talking?”

“The woman’s name is Erica Olsen,” Girland went on. “The Central Intelligence Agency must be informed. They know about her. She was murdered by Chinese agents acting on orders from Pekin.”

“Is that so?” the policeman sneered. “If you think I haven’t better things to do than to listen to a crackpot...”

“Shut your fat mouth and listen!” Girland snapped. “Get someone out to that junk if you value your small job,” and he hung up.

Leaving the booth, he called a taxi and told the driver to take him to the Lotus Hotel, Wanchai.

Two chattering, giggling Chinese girls were coming out of the hotel as Girland paid off the taxi. They looked invitingly at him, but he didn’t notice them. He went up to his room, took a shower and then stretched out on the bed. He thought for some time. The frown on his face showed that his thoughts weren’t happy ones. He was blaming himself for Erica’s death. Although he had taken precautions, they hadn’t been good enough. He had led the Chinese and Malik to the junk. While Malik had been acting out his little scene, the Chinese must have drifted up to the junk, caught Malik’s man off guard, spotted Erica on the deck and had let fly at her with a machine gun. At least, they had done their job whereas both Malik and he had failed.

Finally, unable to stand the heat in the little room any longer, his conscience still nagging him, he put on his shabby tropical suit and went downstairs. He took a taxi to the Star Ferry and the steamer to the Kowloon City station and then another taxi to the Hilton Hotel. There he told the receptionist he wanted to put a call through to Monte Carlo. She said there would be a three-hour delay. Girland nodded and went to the bar. After three very dry martinis, he felt less depressed and discovered he was hungry. He went down to the grillroom where he ordered a melon with black figs, a blue point steak and a salad with Roquefort dressing. He loitered over the meal, still thinking. The idea of returning to Paris and fooling around with his Polaroid camera was unthinkable. He had Dorey’s twenty thousand dollars and the two single air tickets to Paris which he could convert into cash. Not much, but enough and he felt inclined to remain in Hong Kong for a while. Who knows? he thought, cheering up slightly, this is a city of opportunity. I might even find a job out here.

Leaving the restaurant, he returned to the bar. An hour later he was paged and he shut himself into one of the telephone booths.

Olsen came on the line.

“Did you find her?” the voice came faintly over the miles that separated them.

“I found her. I have bad news, Olsen.” Girland spoke slowly and distinctly. He wasn’t in the mood to have to repeat himself. “She’s dead. The Chinese got her first.”

“Have you got the Black Grape?” Olsen demanded.

Girland smiled wryly. So Erica had been speaking the truth. This fat man was only interested in money. The fact that his daughter was dead meant nothing to him.

“I haven’t got it. She never took it. It was a come-on to get Carlota out here. All Erica wanted was to get your cooperation to get her out and she used the Grape as bait.”

There was a moment’s silence, then Olsen said, his voice rising, “You’re lying! You have the pearl and you’re trying to gyp me!”

“Oh, relax! She never got near it. It’s guarded night and day. She found out some top secret stuff about Kung and they silenced her.”

“Do you expect me to believe that?” Olsen screamed. “You’re lying! Now listen, you cheap crook, you either hand me the pearl in exactly three days’ time or that tape goes to Dorey and he’ll then learn what a goddamn crook you are. Do you hear me?”

“Get your mind off money,” Girland said, his own voice rising. “Do you realise your daughter’s dead?”

“Do you think I care about that little bitch!” Olsen yelled. “You give me the pearl in three days’ time or the tape goes to Dorey,” and he slammed down the receiver.

Girland stared at himself in the tiny mirror above the telephone. He grimaced, shaking his head at himself. This time, he felt, Olsen wasn’t bluffing. He shrugged and walked back to the bar. He sat down, ordered a large whisky on the rocks and stared bleakly out of the big window, overlooking the busy waterfront.

Well, that settles it for me, he thought. If Dorey gets that tape, he’ll blow his stack. I’ll have to stay here until Paris cools off... if it ever cools off.

He paid for his drink, sipped it and relaxed back in his chair. Maybe he had better keep one of the air tickets, he said to himself. Sooner or later, he would want to return to Paris. The Lotus Hotel was very cheap. He could remain in Hong Kong if he were careful for a couple of months. He felt himself relaxing. He had the facility of shedding unpleasant experiences very quickly. He suddenly found himself looking forward to those two months. He suddenly didn’t want to sit in this luxury bar for the rest of the evening with his thoughts. Carrying his glass he went back to the telephone booths. He gave the telephonist the Lotus Hotel number. When Wan See came on the line, Girland said, “There’s a girl I’m interested in. Her name’s Tan-Toy. Where can I contact her?”

“Is that Mr. Girland?”

“Who else did you think it was?”

“Yes, I know her. She has a room on Jaffe Road.”

“Is that near you?”

“A hundred yards.”

“Would you send someone round there? Tell her I’m at the Hilton, and I want to see her. Will you do that?”

“Yes, with pleasure.”

“The pleasure will be mine I hope, but thanks.”

Girland carried his glass back to the bar and sat down. He believed that life should never be wasted. It was short enough as it is, he reasoned. The trick of living a full life was to make good use of every hour.

Crossing his long legs, he settled down to wait for Tan-Toy to come to him.