Twelve Hours To Destiny (4 page)

Catching the other beneath the arms, he hauled him madly over the uneven ground, felt the yielding mass of a thorn bush at his back, kept moving in spite of the inch-long thorns which lacerated his battered flesh even more. Ten yards—fifteen. Then he felt the strength leave his body, falling forward, he dropped on top of the unconscious man, pulling his head down. Five seconds later, the petrol tank erupted with a belching of flame and smoke. Carradine felt the blast of heat on his face, recoiled instinctively. Sweat boiled out of his body, trickled down into his eyes. Slowly, agonisingly, he pulled Kellaway’s inert weight further into the brush. The burning car would make an excellent beacon and he knew it would not be long before someone came out from Kowloon to see what was wrong. He swore softly under his breath. The last thing he wanted right now was publicity of any kind.

Kellaway groaned, stirred weakly, then opened his eyes, staring up at Carradine for a moment uncomprehendingly. Then he put a hand feebly to his head.

“Just lie still for a minute,” Carradine said sharply. “Once you feel that you can walk, we’d better get the hell out of here. That blaze will be seen for miles.”

“What was it? A bomb?” muttered the other, clenching his teeth as a spasm of pain lanced through him.

“Something like that.” Carradine nodded grimly. “The enemy is evidently playing for keeps. Though how the hell they knew I was here...”

“They have men watching the port and airport.” With an effort, the other pushed himself up on to his hands. “They have their ways of knowing who comes into Hong Kong.”

“Then the sooner we get out of here, the better.” Bending, he helped Kellaway to his feet. “This is a damnably bad start. Now that they know I’m here it will make things a hundred times more difficult and dangerous.

“You’ll have to lie low once we get to Victoria,” gasped the other as he forced himself to keep pace with Carradine. The thorn bush was tearing at their arms and legs now with every stumbling step they took, but they were past caring. Their bodies were numbed from shock and pain and behind them they left drops of blood on the black earth.

Half an hour later, they entered the outskirts of Kowloon. Down by the docks, the last ferry to Hong Kong Island lay at the quayside, a smooth, sleek, modern bustle. Already, the decks were becoming crowded, mainly with Chinese. They both looked highly conspicuous, but there was nothing else for it but to mingle with the thronging crowd and hope that the enemy, whoever they were, had taken it for granted that the bomb had done its work and their charred, unrecognisable bodies now lay in the smouldering wreckage of the burnt-out car.

The journey across the channel to Victoria was a nightmarish one. Carradine stood by the rail, feeling the cool, salty air touch his stretched body like a balm. He sucked in great gasping lungfulls of air and tried to divorce his mind from his body, to ignore the pain. He was conscious of the packed crowd all around him, hemming him in. He was thankful that, so far, none of the enemy had put in any appearance. In this crowd it would have been utterly impossible to move an inch and he and Kellaway would have been sitting targets. But the journey passed without incident. Scarcely anyone gave them a second glance.

For the time being, he was entirely in Kellaway’s hands. He knew nothing of this country. Here, there could be danger every minute, every inch of the way and he would not recognise it before it was too late. Kellaway on the other hand had lived out here long enough to be familiar with the scene and he had readily fallen in with the other’s plan to get him into Victoria and under cover for the next two or three days until he found his feet and had been able to formulate a plan to get into China. Whatever happened, it was of the utmost importance that he should make his move as soon as possible; before the tenuous trail which might lead him eventually to Chao Lin grew too cold to follow.

*

Standing under the shower, Carradine hesitated for a moment, gazing down at the dark purple bruises and the long, red weals on his naked body, then he reached out for the valve and turned the water on, gasped as the needle jets struck his body, stinging every muscle and limb. He could just hear Kellaway rummaging around in the other room, pulling open drawers and closing them again.

Carefully, he soaped himself down, washing off the grime and congealed blood. When he had finished and was rubbing himself dry with the large, rough towel, he felt a little better. Pain still suffused his body, but the sharp, blistering agony had now subsided to a dull ache and he was able to think more clearly. He recalled a little of the long walk from the quayside to Kellaway’s residence, remembering only that he had protested weakly that, once the enemy suspected that he might still be alive, this would be the first place they would think of looking for him. But the other had evidently overruled his objections and now as he slipped into pyjamas, feeling the soft, cool touch of silk against his skin, he was strangely glad that he had given in. He had needed that shower to shock some of the feeling back into him.

“You ready?” Kellaway called.

“Yes.” He came out of the shower. The other poured a stiff drink, handed it to him. “Better get this down you. You look as though you need it.”

“Thanks.” Carradine tossed the raw whisky down in a single gulp, twisted his lips as the liquor started a fire on its way down into his stomach.

“What now?” asked the other, lowering himself gingerly into a chair. “If the enemy do know you are here—and why, they won’t wait to have another try at you once they realise you’re still alive.”

Carradine nodded. “We’ve got a busy day ahead of us tomorrow. If possible I’d like to take a look at Chao Lin’s office, just in case there is some clue that was missed. Then the sooner I get across to the mainland and over the frontier, the better. My guess is that the trail will stop dead this side of the Chinese border.”

“The chances are a million-to-one against you picking it up on the other side.”

“I know,” muttered Carradine morosely. “You don’t have to rub in how difficult it’s going to be… Now, first of all, I shall need papers. Some identity.”

“I think I can get something for you. Anything else? Remember that once you’re inside China, you’ll be completely on your own. You can trust no one.”

“You don’t have to tell me that,” muttered the other grimly. “I’ve been in one or two Communist countries in Eastern Europe, but that was child’s play compared with this. I’d sooner take my chances inside the Kremlin than in there.” That little affair on the road into Kowloon had told him just how high the dice were stacked against him. God, but the Chinese Intelligence must be far more efficient than they had ever realised back in London. If he did succeed in getting back, he should be able to put the Chief wise on a few points. Up until now, they had considered the Chinese Communists as a rather backward lot where military intelligence was concerned. At that very moment, he had a far different picture of how they operated.

He refilled his glass, sipped his drink more slowly this time, savouring each mouthful. Gradually, the whisky made him feel sleepy, a deep lethargy seeping over him in waves so that he could scarcely keep his eyes open.

“You must be all in,” said Kellaway apologetically. He rose to his feet. “Forgive me. I’m afraid I’m not being much of a host tonight. Too many things have been happening. I’ll show you to your room.”

*

The Headquarters of the Chinese Counter-Intelligence Organisation was housed in a large modern building on the outskirts of Canton, an ugly erection of six stories standing head and shoulders above all of the neighbouring buildings as though certain of its own importance. The two lower floors housed the typists and cypher clerks, the third floor contained the communication centre while on the fourth, behind locked rooms were the Records Section. At the far end of the Records Section, a narrow stairway led up to the floor above. Here, behind doors guarded by men armed with submachine-guns, were the conference rooms in which the devious operations were planned and set in motion. The top floor, reached by an express lift operating directly from the ground floor, housed the secret headquarters of General Lung Chan, head of the Counter-Intelligence Service.

On that particular morning, there were five men seated in the large room on the topmost floor. In the red plush chair beneath the large portrait of Mao Tse Tung, sat General Lung Chan. In spite of the gross hugeness of his body, the yellow khaki tunic hung loosely on him with no hint of neatness. His cap rested on the polished table in front of him, beside the small pile of dossiers, the topmost one of which was open at the front page.

The four other men were the respective heads of the various sections who worked under Lung Chan. They sat forward in their stiff, hard chairs and watched him impassively, waiting for him to give some sign that the conference was to begin.

For a long moment, there was a deep silence in the room, then Lung Chan reached out a carefully manicured hand and placed it, palm downward on the open page of the dossier.

“You have all read the reports concerning the traitor, Chao Lin. Since it was found necessary to bring him here to Canton, there has been the expected activity in the British Intelligence Service. One of their agents was flown to Hong Kong two days ago to look into Chao Lin’s disappearance.” The voice was flat, lacking emotion. “My recommendation was that this agent was to be eliminated before he reached Kowloon. His name and record are in our files and it was not anticipated that there would be any difficulty, particularly since we received the fullest possible information as to his movements from our agent in Hong Kong.

“However.” He paused significantly. “The attempt was a dismal failure.” The bland features did not change but there was a subtle alteration in the silky voice. “This is the kind of mistake which cannot be tolerated. Those responsible have already been removed.” The narrowed eyes lifted, rested on the face of the man directly opposite him at the far end of the table. Chin Wang, Section Head of the State Security division forced himself to meet the inscrutable gaze without flinching, knowing that the thinly-veiled threat was directed at him and his group.

“They were two of my most trusted men,” he said defensively. “It was pure chance that this British agent escaped. He must have been warned.”

“It is not a question of whether or not he was warned. Every enemy agent knows that there will be danger when he is assigned to a mission. It should have been obvious that he would be prepared for an attempt on his life.”

There was no answer to that from the men around the table. Each of them was glad he was not in Chin Wang’s shoes. There were bound to be certain repercussions because of this unfortunate failure. Men who made mistakes suddenly discovered that they were expendable as far as the state was concerned.

“It is indeed fortunate that we can get information on every move that he makes. His name is—” Lung Chan consulted the dossier before him, although there was no necessity for him to do so since he knew almost everything about the enemy. “—Carradine. Age twenty-nine. Has been a member of the British Secret Service for almost five years, the last three of them in their specialist espionage branch serving overseas. You will all find his photograph in the folder in front of you. Expert in karate and judo, a crack shot with the Luger, the gun which he seems to prefer. Has a high pain threshold and we can also assume that he knows nothing of the secrets of the British organisation. He will have been given merely the bare facts of this case and it will then be up to him to act accordingly.”

“Then torture will get nothing from him?” inquired the head of Records.

Lung Chan bowed his head slightly in the acquiescence. “That is so. We are not interested in anything he may be able to tell us concerning the enemy’s organisation. The directive we have received is that he must be killed. Our latest information is that he intends to enter China to follow the trail of Chao Lin. He will almost certainly attempt to cross the border somewhere here.” The massive bulk heaved itself from the chair and crossed the room to where a large map hung on the wall. Lung Chan prodded it with a stubby finger. “The order is that he must be allowed to enter China. He must not be killed until he is on Chinese territory. I want that perfectly understood by every department. The time—and the method—will be chosen by a higher authority.”

A faint, half-heard sigh eddied through the room. For a moment, the eyes of the men seated around the table brightened perceptibly.

Lung Chan paused, turned from his deliberation of the map. “This mission has the approval of our beloved Mao Tse Tung himself. From this, you will all realise that failure cannot be contemplated, nor tolerated. The world has thought little of our Intelligence services. They consider that we are a backward race when it comes to international espionage. Very soon, they will see how wrong they have been. We have all been waiting for this moment. Our scientists have given us some of the most powerful weapons of destruction ever dreamed up by mankind. Once they have been perfected, we can begin the revolution which will eventually end in world conquest for Chinese communism.”

*

Carradine stirred, groaned, then forced himself up from the depths of sleep. Painfully, he eased his long body more comfortably in the bed, the feel of the cool sheets soft on his bruised limbs. It would have been so easy to simply lie there for another hour or more, drift back into the deep sleep in which there was no nagging pain, no rush of thoughts through his mind. But there was work to be done and the thin cries of the street vendors outside his window and the dull roar of traffic told him that Hong Kong was wide-awake even at this early hour of the morning. Lazily, he lifted his hand, peered closely at the watch on his wrist. It was still only six-thirty.