Twelve Hours To Destiny

by John Glasby

  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.

  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 pulle
d 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 Carrad
ine 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.