by John Glasby
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 Headqua
rters 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.
“Tai Fan will take care of the guards,” said Ts’ai Luan in a soft murmur.
“What about the dogs?”
“Don’t worry about them. We have something which will stop them in their tracks.” She nodded towards one of the other men who placed a hand inside the voluminous folds of his tunic and drew out a long, bamboo pipe. Holding out his left hand he showed the three tiny, feathered darts to Carradine. “These are tipped with a quick-acting poison which completely paralyses the muscular system,” Ts’ai Luan explained. “It works within two seconds.”
“You seem to have thought of everything,” he said in admiration. “The more I know about you, Ts’ai Luan, the more I’m certain that London should have put you in command of the station.”
She flashed him a quick smile, lowered her head to peer through the windscreen, then caught his arm, her fingers tightening convulsively. “The guards have just gone around the rear of the corner. We have less than three minutes to get into position. Quickly!”
Carradine slid out of the truck and followed her across the empty street, onto the rough stretch of ground which separated the Red Dragon Headquarters from the road. The other men were vaguely seen shadows, flitting soundlessly forward, the huge form of Tai Fan easily discernible until he had melted from sight among the bushes. Within two minutes of leaving the truck, they had all crept out of sight. Carradine held his breath in his lungs. The haft of the knife was hard against his palm as he steadied himself.
The moon-flooded silence held for what seemed an eternity. Then it was broken by the sound of heavy footsteps approaching from the front of the building. The guards were returning on their monotonous circuit. Cautiously, Carradine lifted his head. He felt a tiny prickle of sweat on his forehead. There came the faint hiss of breath near his right ear. “They’re coming! Just keep out of sight and leave this to the others.”
The dark shapes of the men emerged from the corner of the building. The dogs were just visible a little distance behind them. They continued forward at the same steady pace, oblivious of the fact that both would be dead before they had drawn another five breaths into their lungs. Carradine tensed himself. Death, when it came, was swift and sudden and unexpected. There was a twin flash of quicksilver in the pale moonlight. The two guards jerked as though struck by invisible fists. Swaying, they put up their hands towards their throats where the hafts of the knives protruded from the exposed flesh. Then they went down on to their knees, almost in unison, toppling on to their faces without a moan.
Now for the dogs, thought Carradine tensely. Get those dammed dogs! Now that the long chains had been released from the dead fingers of the guards, the hounds leapt forward, sprinting across the open stretch of ground, ears lying back on their heads, teeth showing whitely in the gaping jaws.
Get them, his mind screamed. They’ll scent us within seconds and then it will all be over. Even as the thought crossed his mind, the nearest of the three brutes suddenly swerved, came bounding directly towards him. Instinctively, he cringed back, gripped the knife tightly in his fist, the blade thrust out, his legs twisted beneath him in the hope that he might get in a death thrust before those bared fangs sank into his throat.
From somewhere close at hand there came a faint hiss, a half-heard sound above the thumping of his heart and the pounding of the blood through his temples. Then the dog lurched sideways, clawed ineffectually at the air for a moment before collapsing on to its side. The claws scrabbled feebly for a second. Then it lay absolutely still.
Carradine looked away from the sprawling animal on to the dirt. The other two dogs had been stretched out near at hand and the girl had caught his arm, was half-dragging him towards the sheer wall at the back of the building. Hell, but that solitary, small window seemed a long way up from the ground. The others came running in from all sides. Tai Fan stood against the wall, legs braced apart, his hands pressed hard against stone. Carradine saw then how they were going to reach the window.
Within moments, there was a human ladder against the wall. “I will go up first,” said Ts’ai Luan. “Then you must follow quickly. The window will not be locked.”
Before he could ask any further questions, the girl had shinned up the tower of men until she stood balanced on top, some five feet below the window. Damn, thought Carradine, what was he expected to do now? Tai Fan grunted hoarsely, jerked his head slightly. Drawing a deep breath into his lungs, Carradine took a tight grip on himself and began to climb, pulling himself up with his hands, trying to shut his mind to the strain these men must surely be under. Eventually, he was standing on the shoulders of the topmost man, immediately behind Ts’ai Luan, holding on to her shoulders to steady himself.
“What now?” he asked through tightly-clenched teeth.
“The window,” she said harshly. “You must reach it. Hurry!”
“But how—?”
“Climb on to my shoulders.” There was a note of urgency in her voice.
Carradine hesitated for only a fraction of a second. The girl bent her knees slightly, took his weight on her shoulders, then straightened up until his fingertips hooked around the ledge of the window. Carradine tried not to think of the human ladder beneath, concentrated all of his energies on opening the window. The breath was harsh and painful in his throat. By using all of his strength, he succeeded in levering it open and hauling himself inside, dropping lightly on the balls of his feet into the dim corridor. Reaching down, he caught the girl’s wrists and pulled her inside. Seconds later, the rope which Tai Fan carried coiled about his middle came snaking up towards the window. On the second attempt, he caught it, drew it in. There was an iron grille set in the far wall. Working swiftly, he looped the rope through it, knotted it firmly, then held on to it as the others came climbing up the sheer wall, the mountainous bulk of Tai Fan bringing up the rear.
CHAPTER 6
THE FEMALE OF THE SPECIES
The kn
ife held loosely in his right hand, only dimly aware of the feel of cold metal against his fingers, Carradine padded softly forward. Slowly, but not with the ultra-cautious movements of a man anticipating trouble, more with the dream-like slowness, the half-belief of having accomplished something he had never thought possible. Here they were, in the stronghold of the Red Dragon and somewhere here was Chao Lin, the man he had come to find. The building was not silent. There was a strange subdued murmur of sound which seemed to come from all around them. Carradine recognised it as a blend of humming dynamos providing the lighting and heating, the muffled clatter of typewriters from the floor below, and other indefinable noises which went to make up the heartbeat of this dreadful place.
The train of thought was lost abruptly. Tai Fan took his arm, motioned with his head towards the far end of the corridor, then moved one finger across his throat in a universal gesture. There might be guards. If so, they would have to be killed silently. He nodded to indicate that he understood.
They started moving again. Carradine’s face grim at the prospect of what lay ahead. Ten yards from the end of the corridor, the girl paused, caught his arm. There came the sound of voices from somewhere around the corner. The clatter of booted heels on the stairs came a moment later. Long dancing shadows, thrown by the light behind the men appeared across the floor of the passage. Carradine closed his fingers around the hilt of the knife. There were three shadows, grotesquely elongated; first the bodies and then the long legs.