Twelve Hours To Destiny (10 page)

While the act preceding them went through their routine, he spent the time studying the other’s face, filing the details away inside his brain. The porcine eyes were almost lost in the flabby mountain of flesh, the mouth a thin gash below the nostrils, opening and closing spasmodically as he watched the stage. Almost casually, as he watched this dreadful man, he wondered just how much longer he would remain alive—how much longer the man would remain in his job, even if he were not assassinated by some fanatic. Naturally, like all others in high positions, Lung Chan would possess a tremendous will to survive, a desperate need to reach the top of his murderous profession. Undoubtedly, he would have been one of the men who had lived and fought with the communist clique when they had driven out the Nationalists forces under Chaing-Kai-Chek; a man who could be trusted to carry out all orders passed on to him, a man who held human life extremely cheaply, who would murder to gain his own ends. The pudgy hands rested lightly on the edge of the box, clasped almost in prayer; blood-stained hands with the deaths of God alone knew how many victims on them. As he watched the other closely from beneath lowered lids, Carradine knew that of all of the men he had met in this deadly Cold War game, General Lung Chan was one he would kill without compunction, without a qualm on his conscience if ever the need and the opportunity arose. Such a man would have found an ideal place working with Hitler, Stalin or Tojo, he reflected idly; a man for whom mass murder was a common, everyday occurrence.

Without turning his head, he said softly: “Does he return to their Headquarters after the performance?”

“Almost invariably.” Ts’ai Luan smiled tightly. “Perhaps he realises as no one else does, that it is not safe for him to be out in the city after dark. There are too many shadows from which a bullet or a knife could come.”

The act on the stage finished their performance. There was polite clapping from the audience. Once again, Carradine experienced the momentary tightness in his chest as if his breath was stopped up somewhere between his lungs and his throat. Then they were out on the stage and there was no time to think of the watching audience or of Lung Chan up there in the box, staring down at them. He forced himself only to concentrate on what was happening immediately around him, knowing that he had to devote all of his attention to following the actions of the various members of the troupe. For the first time, he was thankful for the grounding in gymnastics which he had been forced to carry out during his training.

All in all, he found it easier than he had imagined. On the way to the theatre the girl had given him some idea of their routine which consisted, for the most part of individual or double acts, somersaulting over the huge flag which Tai Fan waved across almost the entire length and breadth of the stage, timing one’s movements with those of the others. The climax of the act was the most difficult as far as he was concerned, a human pyramid in the very centre of the stage with twin spotlights playing over them.

Ts’ai Luan moved quickly to him, whispered: “Stand quite still.”

Before he could reply, she had grasped his hands and vaulted up onto his shoulders. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw that the others had done the same, were moving slowly towards the giant figure of Tai Fan. He advanced with them from one side, stood unmoving beside the other while Ts’ai Luan scrambled lightly upward, was caught by the arms of two other members balanced seemingly precariously on Tai Fan’s huge shoulders. Seconds later, his right hand was caught in a grip of steel and he felt himself swung off his seat as the latter held them all off the ground.

There came a tumult of applause from the audience. For perhaps ten seconds, the pose was held, then Ts’ai Luan dropped lightly to her feet in front of him and he found himself lowered to the ground, with Tai Fan grinning hugely all over his round, moon face. As he followed the others off the stage, into the dimness of the wings, Carradine threw a quick, furtive glance up towards the box, saw that Lung Chan was politely clapping his hands. He let his breath go from his lungs in a soundless side of relief. There had been no suspicion on the other’s part. We’ve made it, thought Carradine. I really think we have made it with no trouble. The tense lines around his eyes and mouth relaxed.

Ts’ai Luan was smiling broadly as she took his arm. “There, that wasn’t too difficult, was it?”

“Not really. Although there were moments when I thought someone might become suspicious.”

“We should have you in the act always,” murmured one of the others in slow, deliberate words, so that Carradine was able to understand.

“I think I’ll stay in my own particular kind of business. I find it less precarious.”

They made their way down to the row of shabby dressing rooms. There was half an hour before the show ended and it would look extremely suspicious of they were to leave before it was over. Until then, they simply had to kill time and remain inconspicuous.

Carradine spent almost a quarter of an hour going over the map which Tai Fan had drawn of the interior of the Red Dragon Headquarters. This was indeed a great help to them, he thought inwardly, studying it closely, having someone who knew the inside of that place, even if he knew nothing of the topmost floor. With a man such as Tai Fan with them, how could they possibly fail, he reflected? A mountain of a man, strong, seemingly indestructible, he was going to be invaluable.

“As you will see,” said Ts’ai Luan, glancing over his shoulder at the map spread out on the cheap dressing table, “the window I told you about opens into this corridor here. At the end of it, there are stairs leading down through the remaining floors to the basement. At this time of night, it is unlikely that these corridors will be patrolled. They will have men, and possibly dogs, in the grounds. The building itself is situated well away from any others for obvious reasons.”

Carradine tightened his lips. He could well imagine what some of these reasons were. Not only those of security, although they would figure high on the list, but also so that the screams of the tortured would not disturb other people in nearby houses. “But there will be some sort of staff still working there?” he said, looking up.

She nodded. “They work twenty-four hours a day there,” she said harshly. “That is one place in Canton which never sleeps. The business of security and espionage goes on all the time.”

“So we shall have to be prepared to silence anyone who may come along,” Carradine said the words half to himself, expecting no answer. “I suppose it could be worse if, as you say, they will not be expecting us to get in this way.” He prodded the drawing with his forefinger, pointing out the window to the rear of the building.

He folded the map carefully, stuffed it into his voluminous pocket. The weight of the Luger, nuzzling against his stomach reminded him that he was still carrying the weapon. He took it out, checked the clip, then thrust it back into the butt of the gun, clicking the safety catch on. He was about to replace a pistol in his belt when the girl caught his hand.

“Better not to take that along with you,” she said softly, warningly. “This will have to be a silent affair. That will make far too much noise. A knife will be the best weapon to use; quick and quiet.”

Carradine hesitated for a moment. He hated to be parted with the gun. It had been his constant companion for as long as he could remember, he was used to it, felt oddly naked without it. Yet he was forced to see the logic of her words. If they did run into trouble, it would almost certainly be fighting at close quarters and the heavy pistol was useless for that. But what if they had to silence a man at long range?”

Almost as if she was divining his thoughts, Ts’ai Luan said: “Tai Fan is an expert knife-thrower, Steve. He can kill a man without a sound at forty paces. Make no mistake about that. Leave the gun in the truck.”

“Very well. Anything you say.”

Now it was just a question of sitting out the minutes, listening to the occasional bursts of applause in the distance, the sounds of the other artists on the programme returning to their rooms. Sitting in that small, dingy room, Carradine tried to imagine what had happened during the day to Chao Lin. Had they already finished with him? Was he dead even at that moment, his body being quickly and professionally disposed of so as to arouse no suspicion? Somehow, he doubted it. In spite of his age, Chao Lin was a professional man, knew the risks he had been facing when he had been given the job as head of the Hong Kong station and the fact that he had proved so useful to the British, had discovered so much about the Communists, was a telling reflection on his capabilities as a spy. It was unusual for the rough kind of torture meted out by men of the Red Dragon would have much effect on such a man at the beginning. One who knew all of the tricks could keep the pot boiling for a long time, giving many pieces of information, some true, some false, and all having to be verified before the enemy could be sure.

One thing was certain. Chao Lin would not reveal the secrets he had discovered, knowing that once news of his kidnapping had reached London, another agent would be sent out immediately to try to pick up the threads. Whether Chao Lin guessed that anyone might be so rash as to attempt to take him from the Red Dragon Headquarters was another matter, but he was certainly hold on for as long as he possibly could in the hope that a miracle might happen.

He concentrated on getting as many details of the inside of the Headquarters into his mind as possible during the last few minutes. He discovered that the palms of his hands were wet and wiped them on the silken trousers he was wearing. Then he got up and stretched.

How Ts’ai Luan could possibly look so unconcerned at the prospect of the night’s work, he did not know; yet there was not a line of worry on her calm glowing features. The rest of the troupe made their preparations with care. Tai Fan had a trio of long-bladed throwing knives in his belt and at intervals, he took them out and ran the ball of his thumb along the keen blades, nodding in satisfaction,

There came a sudden chant from the distance. It was impossible to make out the individual words but the whole audience seemed to be repeating the name Mao Tse Tung over and over again in an endless rhythm.

“That’s it,” said Ts’ai Luan softly. She came over to his side, looked up at him. “Now we must go.”

They left by the small side door of the theatre, walking slowly. No hurry now! There was a small knot of people waiting outside, and a sprinkling of men in uniform among them. Carradine felt his heart jump, hammering, into the base of his throat. But the small crowd was evidently not waiting for them and a few moments later they were through and making their way towards the waiting truck. He did not relax until they were driving slowly through the dark streets with the three-quarter moon riding over the tops of the building.

The truck was parked fifteen minutes later in a small alley, with the lights switched off. Now that they were on the outskirts of Canton, the streets were almost deserted. There was scarcely any traffic at all in sight and the few people who were out hurried by and did not give them a second look. Carradine guessed that with the huge squat building just in sight on the other side of the street, they knew from past experience that it was not wise to stop and ask questions of anyone in a car or truck. Only the Army, or the Red Guard, a newly-formed organisation inside China, or a few important people possessed vehicles of any kind.

“Now we must wait for a while,” murmured the girl. “We made a wide detour to get here so it is possible that the general’s car has already arrived.”

Carradine leaned forward and peered through the wide windscreen. There were still a great many lights still showing yellowly in the windows of the Headquarters building, but on the topmost floor, only pale glimmers where thick shutters had been drawn over the windows.

“There!” said one of the men in a sibilant hiss.

Carradine had been taking too much notice of the faint gleams of light on the top floor, wondering inwardly what went on there, to notice what might be happening down below. He lowered his hand swiftly, followed the direction of the man’s pointing finger.

Two dark figures had come into sight around the far corner of the building. Guards with rifles over their shoulders. They were followed by three other shapes; huge, loping animals with flat skulls and powerful legs. Some kind of hunting dog very similar to a German Shepherd, he reflected. Hell, it would be the end if they were caught by any of those. A knife would be of little use against such a creature. They looked as if they could savage a man within seconds of attacking him.

“They must have doubled the guards,” whispered the girl. “Usually they have only one man and a dog. We will watch and check their movements before going in.”

Carradine nodded. It was only to be expected. Chao Lin was perhaps the biggest fish they had netted for some time and they would be taking no risks with him. Taking out the heavy Luger, he placed it in front of the truck, then sat back, only to feel something being thrust into his right hand. There was a touch of cold steel against his palm and fingers and he knew, without looking down, that it was one of Tai Fan’s throwing knives. He grinned at the other, feeling the coldness in his face. It was some time since he had killed with a knife. He hoped that he had not lost all of his former skill.

Fifteen minutes past; then half an hour. Carradine felt the tension beginning to grow until it stretched his nerves to breaking point. They had watched as the Chinese guards had circled the building and Carradine had noticed that they moved warily, kept well away from the shadowy bushes which dotted the grounds. There wasn’t anything sloppy about the way in which these two men kept watch. Almost certainly had been specially briefed, had been warned to look out for trouble and were taking no chances on being jumped from the shadows.