by Neil Hunter
The way out of the dining room at the far end was by a pair of double doors. Brand eased one open and looked out on to a wide, spacious hall. To his left a staircase led to the upper floor. Off to the right was the house’s main door, flanked by high windows facing the rain-swept lawns he’d crossed. The hall appeared to be deserted and Brand slipped out of the dining room, leaving the door behind him open. Already he could hear the rising sound of the flames, and the scent of smoke was beginning to taint the air.
Brand started across the hall, tensing abruptly as a door opened on the far side. He turned quickly, stepping into the shadow of the staircase. He flattened himself against the embossed wood panel, the Colt once again in his hand, fingers gripping the butt tightly.
The shout when it came seemed loud enough to raise the dead. Panic edged the voice of the Chinese who had discovered the fire in the dining room. Brand could only see a dark shape outlined against the orange glare of the flames revealed by the open dining room door. It could have been no more than seconds, though it felt like minutes, before the cries of alarm drew others to the scene.
Sweat, cold and clammy, broke out on his face and he felt his body stiffen. This was the critical moment when he might be discovered.
Brand sank further back into the shadows as a door to his right was jerked open. Bright lamplight spilled out on to the hall floor. Two figures froze in the doorway, and Brand recognised the faces instantly. They were the two men who had been with Harvey Ruger at the gold cache back in New Mexico. Dwyer and Remo. Brand smiled coldly to himself. He couldn’t have chosen better for his purpose. He held back for a moment in case anyone else showed.
Remo stepped out of the room, staring wildly about. He held a bottle in one hand and from the way he moved it appeared as if he’d been drinking heavily. His partner, Dwyer followed him at a decidedly steadier pace. He was about to speak when he became aware of someone moving towards him out of the shadows. Dwyer glanced in the direction of the approaching figure. And then something warned him of danger. A yell began to form in Dwyer’s throat but it was cut off before it developed. Something hard smashed against the side of Dwyer’s skull. He felt a numbing pain explode silently inside his head. It was so intense that he didn’t feel the second blow. Darkness engulfed him and he was unconscious before he hit the floor.
As Dwyer dropped Brand reached out and grabbed Remo’s arm. He spun the man round, slamming him bodily against the wall, and rammed the muzzle of his Colt against Remo’s throat.
‘You remember me?’ Brand asked.
Remo stared at him. His face was pale, sickly. His eyes fixed themselves on Brand’s face. After a few seconds Remo nodded.
‘Keep remembering,’ Brand told him. ‘I’ve reason enough to blow the top of your damn head off right now. So give me the right answer when I ask a question.’
‘Ease off with that damn gun, Brand,’ Remo groaned. Sweat was oozing from his face.
‘Where’s the man Kwo Han had brought here today? Hunt.’
Remo gestured with a trembling hand. ‘Upstairs,’ he said.
‘You know where?’
‘Yeah, yeah. For Christ’s sake, Brand, I didn’t have anything to do with it. It was Han’s idea.’
Brand put his weight on the Colt, pressing it deeper into Remo’s throat. ‘I don’t care who’s idea it was. All I want you to do is to take me where he is. Now, mister, before I get tired of holding this hammer back.’
Remo turned as Brand shoved him towards the foot of the staircase. He knew the chance he was taking. Though most of the household seemed to be engaged in fighting the fire Brand knew he might easily walk right into any one of them. He just hoped that he could get himself and Remo up the stairs before anyone’s attention wandered from the flames. Luck seemed to be staying with him. As he shoved Remo towards the foot of the stairs a gush of flame and smoke rolled out from the dining room, filling the hall with its acrid fumes. For a second Remo hesitated but Brand poked the Colt’s muzzle into Remo’s ribs with a savage gesture, and kept the man on the move. They started up the stairs. Brand prodded Remo constantly. For himself he just wanted to keep moving. He knew that someone could spot him at any second. If that happened it was going to become distinctly uncomfortable.
‘You won’t get away with a fool stunt like this,’ Remo said suddenly.
They had reached the top of the stairs unseen. Brand indicated for Remo to keep on moving. He didn’t waste time arguing with the man. Even though Remo’s words held a possible truth. Just how was he going to get away with it? Until Remo had expressed the opinion Brand hadn’t given it a second’s thought.
‘I’ll worry on that one,’ Brand said, scowling at the man. ‘You just show me where they’ve got Hunt.’
Remo led the way along a corridor. So far along he pointed to a door.
‘Anybody in there with him?’ Brand asked.
Remo shrugged. ‘I don’t know,’ he said. Both his eyes and his voice betrayed his attempted deceit.
The door before them was jerked open. The impassive features of Sung Shan stared out at Remo. ‘Remo? What is happening? All the noise …’
Brand saw Shan’s eyes flicker beyond Remo’s shoulder to where he stood. He didn’t wait any longer. Driving forward, his left hand planted between Remo’s shoulders, Brand lunged into the room. His push catapulted Remo against Sung Shan, both men staggering off balance. As Brand cleared the doorway he ducked off to one side, his Colt thrust forward, his eyes searching the room.
The first thing he saw was Chu. The huge Chinese, his scarred face gleaming with sweat, lumbered across the room, his powerful arms straining against his tunic. He was brandishing a long-bladed knife. Brand didn’t hesitate. His Colt blasted a gout of flame and smoke. The bullet punched a ragged hole in Chu’s massive chest. But the Chinese kept coming, seemingly oblivious to the blood streaming from the wound. Brand stepped aside, but his heel caught the edge of a raised floorboard. He fell back against the wall, sensing Chu’s closeness. The Oriental’s free hand reached out and Brand felt the thick fingers grip his shoulder, and then Chu was lifting him, swinging him round. The room spun sickeningly. Brand felt Chu’s fingers release their cruel grip. He was hurled across the room, his body brought to a brutal halt as he smashed against the wall. Pain burned across his back. Brand slumped to the floor, desperately trying to regain control of his senses. He rolled, twisting his body, blinking his eyes to clear away the red mist threatening to blind him.
‘For God’s sake, Jason.’
The shouted warning registered.
Hunt’s voice.
Brand lifted his head, and threw himself away from Chu’s grasping fingers. Bracing one hand against the wall he got his feet under him and shoved up off the floor. And then something closed around his throat, iron-hard fingers burying themselves in his flesh. Brand choked. His left hand came up and gripped Chu’s knife wrist, but even as he closed his fingers around it be knew he wasn’t going to stop Chu. He looked into Chu’s cold eyes and he was certain be could see an expression of pleasure there. The brutal face with its terrible scar began to blur.
‘Use the bloody gun, man.’
Brand had forgotten the Colt. Now he brought it up, his right hand thrusting it forward until the muzzle was against Chu’s massive torso, angling towards the heart. His thumb took the hammer back, his finger touching the trigger. The Colt exploded, the muzzle-blast scorching Chu’s tunic. Brand triggered again. The bullets ripped into Chu’s body. Chu took a faltering step back, his hand slipping from Brand’s throat. He turned away from Brand, his eyes settling on Sung Shan as the Chinese pushed Remo to one side. A slim-bladed knife appeared in Shan’s hand. He stepped round Chu’s bloody figure, his arm already raised. This time Brand shot him before he could release the knife. The bullet took Shan under the left eye, shattering the back of his skull on exit. Sung Shan gave a brief, high scream in the second before his life ended, his body hanging in the air for a moment. As Shan fell, Remo turned, lungi
ng for the door. He flung it wide, running out into the corridor. He started to yell a warning. Behind him Brand snapped off a single shot. The bullet caught Remo in the left hip, the heavy bullet shattering the bone. Remo lost control of his movement, crashing against the wall. He fell hard, his leg twisted under his body.
Brand kicked the door shut. He took note of the heavy bolts at the top and bottom. He slammed them into place, then leaned against the door while he reloaded the Colt.
‘Hope you don’t go without me, old chum.’
Brand raised his aching head. In the centre of the room, seated on a plain, hard, wooden chair was Richard Hunt. The man’s arms had been twisted behind him and his wrists tied with a length of cord. For once the Britisher had lost his elegant poise. Somewhere along the line he’d lost his coat. His shirt was ripped and blood-stained. Hunt’s face bore the marks of a recent beating. Dark bruises blotched his flesh. His lower lip had been split.
Stepping away from the door Brand picked up the knife Sung Shan had dropped. Chu had curled up beside Shan’s body, his great bulk now still. Brand automatically put his hand to his throat, wincing as his fingers came in contact with the bruised, tender flesh.
‘For a minute I thought the big chap had you,’ Hunt remarked. He flexed his arms as Brand cut through the cord around his wrists. ‘Thanks, Jason. I’m afraid those chaps just didn’t play fair.’ The British agent crossed over to where Sung Shan lay. Reaching under the dead man’s tunic he yanked a heavy revolver from the top of his pants. ‘Ah, that’s better.’
Brand was at the room’s single window. He was vainly trying to open it. The window refused to budge. Brand swore softly under his breath. He turned and snatched up the chair Hunt had been sitting on and smashed it through the glass. Cold rain drove in from the darkness beyond. Brand leaned out of the window, feeling the wind slap at his face, the rain cooling his temper a little. Narrowing his eyes he peered down and saw that there was a ten-foot drop to the sloping roof of a long, narrow wing of the house extending from the main part of the building.
‘Not the way out I’d choose normally,’ Hunt commented. He grinned at Brand. ‘But we’re not exactly in a position to call a carriage to the door.’
Without further delay the Britisher swung his long legs over the sill. As he did there was a sudden pounding on the locked door. Hunt threw a quick glance in Brand’s direction.
‘They sound annoyed. Just what did you do? Set fire to the damn place?’
It was Brand’s turn to grin. ‘Yeah.’
Hunt’s laugh was whipped away by the wind. The Britisher lowered himself by his hands and then let himself drop. Brand saw him hit the sloping roof. The wet slates gave him no purchase and Hunt rolled to the edge of the roof and out of sight. Brand jammed his Colt into his belt and climbed out through the window. The wind buffeted him cruelly, trying to tear his fingers loose from the sill before he was ready, and when he did let himself go he found he had no control over the way he landed. The roof came up to meet him and he hit it hard, the breath knocked from his body. He made a vain attempt at slowing his slide down the roof. But then there was no roof beneath him. He hit the ground hard, managing to relax his body enough to absorb most of the impact. Even so he felt a sharp stab of pain across his left side.
Chapter Fifteen
‘Jason.’ Hunt’s voice reached out from the darkness.
Brand struggled to his feet. ‘Here.’
The pale oval of Hunt’s face appeared. He had a fresh cut above his left eye but seemed otherwise unhurt.
‘I suggest we beat a hasty retreat,’ he said.
Brand nodded. ‘Good thinking.’
For a moment Hunt hesitated. ‘Did you bring Rumboy?’
‘He’s over on the far side of the house,’ Brand said. ‘I told him to give me a half hour then get back to Agua Verde and get help. I hope to hell he’s got sense enough to go sooner.’
‘If I know Rumboy, he’ll have heard all the racket and be well on his way. He has a unique sense of timing.’
‘Let’s hope it hasn’t run out,’ Brand said. ‘Best thing we can do is head away from the house. Won’t be long before Kwo Han works out where we are.’
They broke into a run, cutting across a paved terrace which gave way to wide lawns. Beyond the lawns rose the dark mass of thick foliage and trees. Brand had no way of knowing what lay beyond the trees, or even where their way was taking them. It didn’t seem to make much difference. The prime objective was to get away from Kwo Han and his men. There was no doubt in Brand’s mind now that as far as he and Hunt were concerned it had become a simple matter of staying alive. Kwo Han’s order to his men would be short and direct.
Kill them both.
The Tong Master’s existence in Mexico was threatened as long as Brand and Hunt were alive and capable of striking back.
With only yards to go before they reached the cover of the dense foliage a rattle of gunshots broke through the steady sound of the wind and rain. Brand heard the sodden thump of a bullet kicking up a chunk from the smooth lawn close by. He didn’t waste time returning the fire. In this darkness it was unlikely he’d hit anything, and he didn’t have the ammunition to spare. Trying to ignore the uneasy feeling that had developed in the pit of his stomach he ran on, following Hunt into the dark mass of foliage.
They paused for a moment to catch their breath. Hunt touched Brand’s shoulder.
‘Look at that,’ he said.
Brand turned and saw the rising orange glow over the house. A writhing mass of flame gouging a ruddy hole in the black sky. Showers of bright sparks exploded every so often, and over it all hovered a pall of smoke.
‘One way and another, old chum, we’ve pushed our Mr. Han into a position where he’s got to do something drastic.’
‘I just want to be there when he does it,’ Brand said. ‘And I’d prefer to be alive as well,’ he added, reminding Hunt about their pursuers.
The thick undergrowth made progress slow. The near-complete darkness didn’t make it any easier. Brand glanced skywards and spotted a pale moon fighting to shine through the dark, massed clouds. He cursed the foul weather, hating the unceasing lash of the rain as much as the heavy wind. The ground underfoot was waterlogged, the earth turned to a sticky, clinging mud that caught at his boots and seemed reluctant to let go. The only consolation to it all came from the knowledge that Kwo Han’s men were having to endure the same conditions.
Gradually the undergrowth thinned out. Brand noticed there seemed to be more water on the ground than seemed natural. The fact came home with a vengeance. As he put his foot down he realised there was nothing beneath it. Unable to stop himself he plunged waist deep in cold, dirty water. He heard a heavy splash close by and knew that Hunt had done the same.
‘Watch your step,’ Hunt called. ‘Seems as if we’ve wandered into a blasted stretch of swamp. There could be quicksand. If you do get caught in some don’t struggle. Only helps to bury you quicker.’
‘That’s a comforting thought.’
Testing the slimy bed of the swamp at each step Brand and Hunt slowly waded through the scummy water. Tall weeds grew high above the surface, their roots buried deep in the black mud below. Many of the trees had their roots below water too and their trunks were covered in an oozing fungus. Pungent gas, trapped beneath the mud, was disturbed by their passing. It rose to the surface in great bubbles, bursting as it came into contact with the air. The resultant odour was strong enough to make their eyes water.
‘Hold it,’ Brand called.
Hunt froze and they both listened to the not too distant voices calling back and forth in agitated Spanish. Brand eased his body round as he heard the rustle of weeds being disturbed. At that moment the moon broke through the cloud. Pale light silvered the gloom. A dark figure rose out of the weeds, the moonlight glinting on the barrel of a revolver. Brand saw the revolver swinging its muzzle towards him. He whipped his Colt round and fired. His shot threw a lance of flame into the darkness, t
he sound of the shot echoing out across the water. Somewhere a disturbed bird rose into the air, wings flapping in alarm, its shrill cry seeming to mimic the scream of the man hit by Brand’s bullet.
‘The bastards are closer than I thought,’ Brand snapped. He plunged ahead of Hunt, his eyes straining to see through the shadows ahead, suspecting every movement, no matter how slight. He was on edge now, keyed up, and trusting no one except himself.
Yards to his right he heard the splash of someone jumping into the water. He caught sight of the widening rings of displaced water. Behind him he heard the click of Hunt’s gun going on to full cock. Then the blast of a shot filled his ears. Hunt fired again and a man grunted. There was a frenzied splashing and then silence.
In the distance they heard more shouting. Some in Chinese, more in Spanish. Brand’s limited vocabulary allowed him to pick up some of the Spanish. Simply translated Kwo Han’s men were still searching for Brand and Hunt. The storm was making it hard for them and there was a degree of resentment at being out in the wind and rain and stuck in the swamp.
Brand felt no pity for the men. They were on a death hunt, searching for the two men who had escaped Han’s clutches. Given the chance the pursuers would shoot down Brand and Hunt without a thought. So any discomfort they experienced was well deserved as far as Jason Brand was concerned.
Brand felt the water becoming shallower. The soft mud beneath his feet started to turn solid and after a few more minutes he gratefully waded onto firm ground, Hunt close behind. They didn’t stop, but simply moved on, through the dense foliage and trees.
Another shot filled the night with its ugly sound. The bullet embedded itself in a tree only a foot from Brand’s head. He dropped to his knees, crawling to the cover of a rotted log. Hunt stretched out beside him. The air was suddenly full of bullets. A ragged volley of shots ripping through the foliage and tearing white gashes in the tree bark.