Twelve Hours To Destiny (5 page)

Padding across the floor, he pulled on his clothes, flinching a little as the rough cloth touched his lacerated flesh. Going over to the window, he looked out. The broad sweep of the bay was a deep blue in the early morning light, crowded with junks and sampans, with larger vessels tied up at the quay. One of the largest and most important harbours in this part of Asia, it had first come to significance during the Opium Wars more than a century before; had been chosen as a base for British warships by a young naval officer who had been dismissed for having dared to suggest such a place. Looking at it now, it was difficult to believe that only a little time before Hong Kong had been only a small settlement. Now they were building on a tremendous scale, great concrete blocks rising to the heavens. Almost all of the capital had been built up by the Chinese here. They were perhaps the best businessmen in the world, knocking down five-storey buildings before they had even been completed, because a ten-storey block of offices would bring in far more profit, then perhaps going on to add a further ten storeys before the building was finally completed. For fifteen minutes, he stood taking in all of the scene which lay stretched out below him, looking out over the barrier of blue water which lay between Hong Kong and the vast mainland of Communist China.

He washed and shaved methodically, then made his way downstairs. Kellaway put in an appearance a few minutes later, still unshaven. “I’ll arrange for breakfast as soon as the servant gets here.

“How long have you had the servant?”

“Who? Amra Min? About a year. Why?”

“Just naturally suspicious, I guess.” Carradine moved to the window, glanced out into the street. The whole city seemed to have come alive in spite of the early hour.

“You think she may have been the one to give away information?” asked the other unemotionally.

“It’s possible. Unless there was anyone close to Chao Lin who knew of his movements. Somehow, I don’t think this is possible. If he kept them from you as much as he could, I doubt if he would trust anyone else.”

“I see.” Kellaway shrugged. “I hadn’t thought of that. She may be working with the Red Dragon.”

Carradine raised his brows in mute interrogation.

The other grinned faintly. There was a trace of amusement in his voice as he said: “That’s the name the Chinese Secret Service goes by in this part of the world. It’s derived in some way from Mao Tse Tung. They believe that he is the Red Dragon who will come to liberate China from all of the old ways and make her the greatest military and cultural power on earth.”

“It’s certainly a nice thought,” Carradine said dryly. He narrowed his eyes as he caught a glimpse of a slight figure on the opposite side of the street. The girl stood in the shadows made by the grey morning light. She was too far away for him to be able to see her face clearly, but she seemed to be taking a more than normal interest in the house. “Come over here,” he said sharply. Carefully he pulled the curtain to one side. “That girl over there in the shadows. Do you know her at all?”

The other peered out, studied the girl for a moment, then shook his head positively. “I’ve never seen her before,” he stated.

“She seems to be watching the house.”

“I doubt it.” The other dismissed the idea as though it was not worth considering seriously. “Probably waiting for someone.” He walked back into the room.

Carradine remained at the window, keeping an eye on the girl. There was something about her pose which struck a responsive chord in his mind. An attitude of patient waiting as though she was there to watch for something and was quite prepared to remain in that one position all day if necessary. The tight feeling of uneasiness increased in his mind and there was a tiny warning bell ringing in his brain. It looked as if the enemy were already beginning to close the net a little tighter after their abortive attempt on his life the previous night.

Over breakfast, they discussed his plan for getting across the frontier and into China. As they talked, Carradine realised that Kellaway had not wasted the time he had spent in Hong Kong. He was a mine of information about the place, suggested the best spots where it might be possible to cross the frontier without being seen. Gradually, it emerged that it was not going to be as easy as he had thought. Although tension had been relaxed appreciably during the past year or so, border checks were stringent and the frontier was well patrolled. The chances of slipping across anywhere in the vicinity of Kowloon were virtually nil. The other possibility which held any hope of success was by sea.

After the Chinese servant had cleared away the breakfast things, Kellaway said softly: “I think I can manage to find someone who will land you on the Chinese mainland some miles north of Kowloon. There will be the usual enemy patrols, of course and the risk is still pretty high that you will be spotted before you manage to get ashore.”

“That’s a chance I’m prepared to take.”

“Very well. That’s settled.” Pushing back his chair, the other rose to his feet. “We will have to wait until after dark. In the meantime, you want to see what is left of Chao Lin’s offices. I’ll take you there myself.”

“No.” Carradine shook his head. “That would be far too conspicuous. I’ll go alone if you’ll give me the necessary directions.”

“Do you think that would be wise? After all, you’re not familiar with the city and—”

Carradine shook his head. “I’m not an old woman. This is my kind of business. All I want you to do is get me a set of clothes that will make me inconspicuous.” He glanced into the mirror on the wall. “And the sooner we get around to changing this face of mine, the better. My guess is that they have a picture of me by now and there may be a hundred men looking for me in Hong Kong.”

“There is a man I know, who would be willing to do that,” Kellaway said slowly. “He worked for us on one or two occasions in the past—always for money, but I think he can be trusted.”

“Good. Then get in touch with him and arrange it for this afternoon.” Carradine felt a little easier in his mind now that decisions had been made and things were about to be set in motion. He disliked physical or mental inactivity, was irked by having to sit and twiddle his thumbs while events were passing him by. There was the sensation of inexorable time urging him to a climax, the knowledge that time itself was perhaps the one commodity which was running at a high premium as far as he was concerned. He admitted to himself that, in spite of the dangers and difficulties which undoubtedly lay ahead, he was looking forward to this mission; to being in the middle of trouble and intrigue once again. Those soft days spent in the south of France now lay behind him, were already half-forgotten. Before him lay the kind of work for which he had been chosen and trained. Mystery and an utterly ruthless enemy who would stop at nothing.

Once the non-descript clothing had been procured for him, he went up into his room and changed into them, paused in front of the full-length mirror, satisfied with the transformation. Once that make-up expert got to work in the afternoon, it was possible that at a cursory glance he might pass for a Chinese. But would it be a sufficiently expert job to fool the enemy?

CHAPTER 3

THE HARBINGERS OF DEATH

The sweet, sickly smell of smoke still hung over the burnt-out shell of the office block as Carradine climbed the stairs. The blackened walls were dotted with shreds of paper and blistered paint and as he reached the top and stood before the door with its splintered glass, the floor creaked ominously beneath his weight. Gaping holes in the roof revealed the sky and here and there, among the fallen, charred beams, were pieces of metal which he recognised as filing cabinets. Going forward gingerly, testing the way with each step, he wrenched open one of the steel drawers. There was nothing inside. Evidently the kidnappers had also taken the opportunity of burning all of the records which had been kept here at the Hong Kong station.

Brushing aside two of the fallen beams, he entered the inner room behind the concealed entrance, now merely a gaping hole in one wall. The powerful transmitter was a shambles. Every valve had been slashed by some heavy instrument, the main cable wrenched from the wall socket, and burnt ash in the middle of the room testified to where confidential and secret papers had been burned in the fire.

Sooner or later, possibly sooner, London would have to start up another station here. This part of Asia was a hotbed of intrigue and tension and it was absolutely essential that they should have their eyes and ears here, watchful for any sign that the Communists were preparing to foment more trouble. In the meantime, he had his own job to do. A quick, all-embracing glance around the empty shell was sufficient to tell him he would learn nothing of value here, the enemy had been far too thorough in their work of destruction.

Picking his way through the debris, he made his way back to the door. He was less than three feet from it when he heard the faint sound. At first, his mind did not register the direction from which it came. There had been no one in the room, he was sure of that – so there could be only one direction from which danger would come. He threw his head back, glanced up at the gaping hole where the roof had once been. The head and shoulders of a man were just visible near the edge of the hole. He caught a fragmentary glimpse of a snarling face, lips thinned back over yellow teeth. Then a heavy piece of masonry toppled forward as the other heaved it savagely. Scarcely pausing to think, Carradine acted instinctively, his legs moving almost of their own volition, hurling him forward. Arms ahead of him, he crashed through the splintered doorway. Something scraped the back of his heel and there was a shuddering crash behind him as the hundredweight of stone and concrete smashed into the floor. Giving a final thrust with his legs, he dropped flat on to his face, sucking air down into his heaving lungs.

Seconds later, a dark figure rose from behind one of the charred desks and came towards him. The sunlight, streaming down through the hole in the roof glinted bluely off the blade of the knife in the other’s hand.

Half-lying on the floor, Carradine tensed. There was no time to go for the heavy Luger in its holster. By the time his fingers closed around the butt, there would be a knife-blade between his ribs. He caught the glitter of vicious eagerness on the Oriental face, the snarling grin. Getting his left leg under him, he waited, not once moving his gaze from the other’s eyes. When a man was moving in for the kill, especially one who firmly believed he held all of the cards, it was his eyes that would give away the moment when he intended to make his move.

For some reason, the other seemed strangely hesitant about coming in now. He hung back, the knife still gripped in his hand, the blade pointed directly at Carradine. Now what the hell—?

A brief moment later something whistled past his head, stuck quivering in the wooden floor a couple of inches from his left hand. The knife had been aimed at him from above. He had completely forgotten about the man on the roof. Before he could turn to meet this new danger, the other had dropped lightly into the room. A hand caught Carradine around the mouth, and jammed hard into the small of his back and he could smell the dirt and grime on the other’s body as the man began to haul back on his head so that his unprotected chest was presented to the Chinaman in front of him. The other drew back his hand with the knife balanced delicately between finger and thumb.

Drawing a gasp of air through his tightly clenched teeth, feeling his senses reel beneath that stranglehold on his throat, Carradine exerted all of his strength, his legs jerking upward as he pulled hard on his attacker. With a wild, thin cry the man flew over his shoulders at the same moment that the other killer hurled the knife. Retaining his grip, Carradine held the killer in front of him, going down on one knee at the same time.

He felt the man shudder convulsively as the knife thudded home into his attacker’s back, knew from the sudden limpness that it had struck home to the heart. The fingers loosened around his throat. Desperately, he drew in a deep breath, forced his head to clear. There was no time to think of his own aches and bruises if he was to stay alive.

Pushing the dead man away from him, he heaved himself to his feet, moved in on the other man. Stronger fingers, with long, but splintered nails, flicked out for his eyes, seeking to gouge and blind. Carradine side-stepped, used a savage karate chop against the other’s neck, but the man was already rolling sideways and the blow did not have the effect he had intended. Dirty nails scratched a bloody line down his cheek. A knee caught him in the groin. Biting down on the yell of pain, he gritted his teeth, took a firm grip on the man’s arm and whirled him off his feet. With a shrill scream, the other stumbled sideways, fell with a crash against a wall.

Almost as if his body had been made of rubber, the other bounced back, his head lowered. The top of his skull caught Carradine squarely in the pit of the stomach, knocking him backward off his feet. The edge of one of the desks hit him between the shoulder blades, knocking all of the air out of his lungs. Carradine’s only reaction was to drop his knees as the other dropped on top of him hoping to pin him down with his weight. The body of the second killer lay only a few inches away and it was evidently his enemy’s intention to lean over and pull the knife from the man’s back in order to use it on Carradine.

A red mist hovered in front of his vision as he attempted to defend himself. He felt a foot hammer into his stomach, then the other had an iron grip on his throat, was squeezing inexorably with all of his strength, that eyes glinting with a killing fever. For a second, panic threatened to take hold of Carradine’s mind, was on the point of directing his actions. Then, swiftly, his mind orientated himself, he felt as cold as ice inside. Panic was no good at a time like this. He had to act coolly and calmly and allow his rigid training to take over. He allowed the other to retain his grip on his throat, concentrating instead on tensing the muscles of his thighs and legs as he got them beneath the man’s body. His eyes were bulging and it seemed that the throbbing, hammering pressure inside his head must surely burst it asunder before very long.

Desperately, he heaved upward with all of his remaining strength. For a moment, he thought sickeningly, that it would not be enough. Then the claw-like hold on his throat was gone. He had a vague impression of the other hurtling backward, taken completely by surprise, caught off-balance. For a moment, the Chinaman hunger poised in front of the smoke-black and window which overlooked the street more than twenty feet below. His arms flailing futilely as he struggled ineffectually to keep his balance. Then, with a wild, high-pitched scream, he was gone.

Dazedly, Carradine pushed himself to his knees, stayed there for a long moment as he fought to rid his mind of the blackness of unconsciousness. Slowly, he got to his feet, stood swaying for a few seconds, then staggered towards the window, feeling the cool air flow against his face. Glancing down, he saw the sprawled figure on the pavement below, arms and legs outflung. A small crowd had already begun to gather.

It was time to leave, even here in Hong Kong where life was cheap, there could be awkward questions to answer. Already, he seemed to have attracted far too much unwelcome publicity. How the enemy knew of his whereabouts and his actions, he was not sure. As he made his way down towards the offices on the lower floors where the fire had not reached, he recalled the girl he had seen standing in the shadows opposite Kellaway’s house that morning. Was she the informer? It was just possible that, in spite of all the precautions he had taken against being followed, she had somehow managed to trail him here, had warned two of her confederates, resulting in this attempt on his life.

There were several people in the corridors as he made his way quickly towards the rear of the building. A few glanced curiously at him but no one made a move to stop him. As he reached the rear exit, there came the thin wheep of a whistle from the street at the front. The police had arrived on the scene of violence. There was a narrow alley at the back of the office block and he walked swiftly along it, thankful to see that it was deserted. From close by came various sounds and echoes. He could hear the roaring beat of the traffic which never seemed to stop.

At the end of the alley he found himself in a broader street lined with shops and a wide variety of traders. It was packed with a jostling sea of humanity. Shrill voices argued and bargained for food at the rickety stalls. Here and there were old men seated drinking tea, their faces staring vacantly at the stream of life which milled around them.

On an instinct, he felt the weapon in his belt. The metal was cold and hard and reassuring against his shirt. He shouldered his way through the crowd. Here, at least, he felt temporarily safe. In this seething mass of humanity, it was doubtful if he could be followed. There seemed scarcely any room in which to move. At first sight, it was as if the whole of Hong Kong’s Chinese population had decided to come to the market that morning and were agglomerated here in this short stretch of road. The shrill cries of the hawkers lifted on all sides. Here and there, he noticed the fortune tellers seated in front of their curtained recesses, broadcasting their abilities to all and sundry. There was also a sprinkling of Europeans and he deliberately gave them a wide berth in case he was recognised as one of them and someone tried to draw him into conversation.

He had almost reached the end of the line of stalls when his eyes caught a glimpse of someone standing in the doorway of one of the tall buildings. His breath rasped sharply between his teeth. He could not be absolutely certain, but he felt almost sure that it was the girl he had noticed a few hours before. There was something disturbingly familiar about the attitude of watchful waiting and even as he halted in his tracks, he saw that she was eyeing him with more than normal curiosity.

Very well, he thought grimly, it was time he had a showdown with her, whoever she was, even if it ended up with him having made a mistake about her identity and a fool of himself.

A knot of milling women interposed themselves between him and the doorway and he thrust his way half-angrily through them, muttering apologies under his breath. For a brief moment, he lost sight of the girl. When he lifted his head once more, the doorway was empty. Grunting an oath, he walked swiftly to the end of the street. There was no sign of her whatever.

He began walking slowly along the street, almost empty in comparison to that which he had just left, eyes roving along either side, alert for trouble. He no longer needed any further warning that since arriving here he had been a marked man. Too many people knew who he was and were interested in his demise. Twenty yards further on, he came to a narrow side street which opened out to his left. Perhaps the girl had gone down there, he decided. A quick glance about him reveal that no one appeared to be watching him. The stink in the alley was overpowering. He wrinkled his nostrils, then forced his attention to the ramshackle buildings which sprouted on either side. Most of them had been abandoned, were boarded up—and yet in spite of this outward appearance, he gained the impression that, at times, they were quite fully occupied. There were so many Chinese in Hong Kong that no house which offered even the most menial shelter was left empty for long.

The scent of danger was all about him. He had the unmistakable impression that his feet were leading him into a trap and he fingered the butt of the pistol instinctively.

A sudden sound broke in on his thoughts. It came from behind him. Whirling swiftly, his body balanced on his toes, he saw the big truck which had nosed its way into the alley. The bumpers scraped the walls on either side. The engine was suddenly revved up as the vehicle lurched forward, wheels spinning in the dust, throwing white clouds up on either side.

He could just see the face of the man crouched over the wheel as the truck came straight for him. There was no doubting the other’s intention. Turning, he began to run as the vehicle came after him, gaining with every second. So the enemy had not lost his trail. They had simply been biding their time, waiting until he was clear of the milling crowd, where they could take care of him with little or no trouble.

The end of the alley lay two hundred yards ahead of him, was blocked by a high wall. One glimpse of its smooth surface, the fact that it was at least twelve feet in height told him it would be out of the question to try to scale it. Even if he succeeded in getting a grip on the top by jumping for it, the front of that truck would ram him into it before he was able to clamber over it to safety, crushing him to death against the solid concrete. Wildly, he peered at the buildings on either side as he ran, his breath harsh in his throat, burning in his chest. The roar of the powerful engine was like a growing thunder in his ears.