by Anne Mather
‘Emma,’ she said falteringly. ‘Emma?'
Emma struggled wildly, and then the man spoke. ‘What's with this kid? Can't she see you?’ He removed his hand. ‘One sound, and she's had it!'
Emma rubbed her bruised arm, and ran to Annabel's side, uncaring of the danger. ‘Darling,’ she whispered, ‘it's all right. Just don't make a sound.'
Annabel whimpered, and clung to her, and Emma took a good look at their intruder. He was short, and thick-set, very black hair, and eyes which did not look wholly European. He wore a thin moustache, and looked a ruthless adversary. He waved the gun now and said:
‘Where's Thorne?'
Emma hesitated. ‘I… I don't know,’ she lied.
The man advanced upon her. ‘Don't give me that! You've been with him all evening. I've heard you. Where is he? Come on, come on… or the kid gets hurt.'
Emma swallowed hard, glancing around. Now that she had had time to notice she could see that this room had been thoroughly searched. It was in a dreadful mess, even the mattress ripped wide open, scattering its filling on the polished wood floor. The playhouse was stripped, its toy tables and chairs tumbled and broken. It was as well Annabel could not see this, she thought,
‘He… he's in the lounge,’ said Emma now, unable to risk Annabel's life for a lie. ‘But, please, what do you want? We have no valuables here. For goodness’ sake, take whatever you want and go. Just go!'
The man grunted, ‘Shut up!'
He turned and glanced along the corridor. All was silence, and as though guessing her thoughts, he said:
‘That blonde won't help you, lady, and I don't somehow think anyone else is likely to come rushing to your aid.'
‘Louisa? What have you done to her?'
‘Nothing, nothing. She's okay.’ He grinned maliciously. ‘She may have a nasty headache in the morning, but I don't go in for killing dames!'
Emma shook her head. It was like some crazy nightmare. But she knew there would be no awakening from this. Was this what had awakened Annabel? Surely their lives together were not going to be destroyed before they had begun.
The man waved the gun again. ‘Come here,’ he said, ‘both of you.'
Emma got up slowly. Annabel was trembling and her own legs felt terribly weak. What did he want of them?
‘Now,’ he said, ‘you two lead the way. And don't get any funny ideas, lady, ‘cos the kid gets this first, see?'
Emma drew Annabel beside her. ‘Come on, darling,’ she whispered encouragingly. ‘Let's go and find Daddy.'
Annabel squeezed her hand tightly. ‘Is… is this man going to kill my daddy?’ Her voice broke on a sob.
Emma shook her head violently. ‘No… No! of course not. He wants to talk to him, that's all.'
‘But he has a gun, hasn't he?'
Emma started. ‘How do you know that?'
‘I guessed. How else would he make us do what he wanted?'
‘You've been listening to too much television,’ said Emma shakily, but she did not deny it.
The lounge looked warm and inviting in the subdued lights. Damon was on the couch where they had left him, a glass of Scotch in his hand. He was idly flicking through the pages of a motoring magazine, and glanced round in surprise at their entrance.
‘Annabel! I thought… what the hell?’ He stopped abruptly, as the man appeared, the small but lethal weapon in his hand.
‘Oh, Damon,’ Emma whispered, swaying a little, but the man grabbed her arm roughly as Damon leapt to his feet.
‘Hold up, lady,’ he said. ‘Me and Mr. Thorne here have got some bargaining to do.'
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
THE soft balmy air of a warm evening drifted in through the open french doors, scented with perfumes of the flowers that grew in abundance all around the house; mimosa, hibiscus, periwinkle. It was a night for love, for the coming together of lovers lost in the all-enveloping world of their own making. It was certainly not a night for violence, and yet that was what it had turned into.
Emma felt a faint breeze fan her hot forehead, though, despite the heat, she was shivering. Annabel was close beside her as they huddled together on the couch, watching the intruder interrogate Damon. Damon's face was drawn with fatigue; it was five hours since their lives had been disrupted by the arrival of this man and his friends, for there could be no doubt that he had friends assisting him. He would not have come on such a mission alone, they realized that now that the facts had been revealed.
Emma's mind drifted back over all that had been said, remembering the bewildering truth with difficulty. Damon had unknowingly become the pawn in the game, but this man would not believe him.
At first the intruder had been persuasive, asking Damon where the film might be, but as Damon revealed his ignorance he became more violent, threatening Damon with a knife, held in his other hand, while the gun remained menacingly pointed at the girls.
‘Mr. Thorne,’ he said, his face contorted with anger, ‘I am not a patient man. Do not persist in this or you will find I can be very persuasive in an entirely different way. Would you like to see your daughter's face scarred for life? Or perhaps the young lady means more to you.'
Damon had shaken his head, as much in helpless rage as indifference. ‘I've told you,’ he said, ‘I don't know what the hell you're talking about.'
The man lost his temper, bringing the butt of the gun down heavily on Damon's shoulder, throwing him off balance so that he fell, saving himself against the couch. Emma pressed a hand to her mouth to prevent an involuntary cry, and Annabel said:
‘What happened? What did he do? Is Daddy hurt?'
‘Shut up!’ snarled the man, turning on them, and Emma clasped Annabel close against her, trying to protect her if she could.
The man started again, as Damon staggered to his feet, and again Damon denied any knowledge of what he was talking about.
‘Look,’ said Damon, trying to reason with him. ‘Don't you think if I knew anything I would tell you? I don't want my daughter or my fiancée to get hurt.'
The man scoffed. ‘Grow up, Thorne. This is common practice for me. I've met dozens of guys like you, and they all think they can get away with that “I'm telling the truth” routine. It won't work! Take my word for it. One way or the other, I'm going to get that film, and when I do…'
He came close to Damon, pressing the blade of the knife against his throat. ‘Feel that?’ he asked. ‘Cold, isn't it? Well, that's how you'll all be unless you come to your senses.'
Damon lifted his chin, brushing the sharp blade, and a tiny spurt of blood ran down to his collar. ‘Oh, God!' groaned Emma, feeling sick.
The man took the blade away. It was obvious he had no intention of killing Damon until he told him where the film was. But what film? Emma was puzzled. Was it possible that Damon was working for some government organization without her knowledge? It hardly seemed likely. But stranger things had happened.
The interrogation went on, with Emma and Annabel helpless to help Damon. They were forced to sit and witness Damon's persecution, and for the first time Emma was glad Annabel could not see. It would have hurt her, as it was hurting Emma, to see her father beaten and cuffed, and threatened with a knife, without the power to retaliate because of them.
Once the man knocked Damon unconscious, and uncaring, Emma ran to his side, cradling his head in her lap, and stroking his cheek passionately.
‘You swine!’ she exclaimed, staring up at the man. ‘Why don't you go? Can't you see he doesn't know anything? Can't you see you're only killing him?'
The man wrenched her up, her arm behind her back cruelly. ‘Get over there,’ he muttered, flinging her across the room. ‘Bring me that water siphon.'
Emma rubbed her wrist, and collected the siphon obediently. She thought of turning the siphon on him, but she doubted whether even in his anger he would drop the gun and when it was over one or all of them might be dead. She dared not risk it.
She handed him the siphon, and he turned it
on Damon, the cold shock arousing him from unconsciousness. He sat up, a hand to his head, then realizing the circumstances, stood up swiftly, his eyes going first to Emma and Annabel to see whether they were still all right.
And so it went on, until at last, the man said: ‘So, my fine friend, we will take the facts, one by one, and then if you can satisfactorily deny them we will see what can be done, yes?'
Damon stared at him tiredly. It was already three o'clock. ‘What facts?’ he muttered. ‘I've told you, I don't know what the hell you're talking about. I'm a businessman, not a spy!'
‘It is all the same to me,’ said the man, straddling a chair, the gun still pointed menacingly at the girls. ‘Whether you are a paid agent, or simply doing this one operation, it is immaterial to me. You will pay for it, one way or the other. And your pretty friends will pay also, unless you decide to tell the truth at last. Until now I have concentrated my persuasive powers on you. Soon it is their turn. I have wasted enough time, but we have all the time in the world. How convenient, Mr. Thorne, that you should live on such a lonely island! It could not be better for our purposes.'
Damon clenched his fists. If he could gain possession of the gun they might have a chance. Even with a gang of them outside the villa, there was the telephone. His eyes must have strayed in that direction for the man said:
‘It is dead, Mr. Thorne. Naturally we take all precautions.'
Damon's shoulders sagged. They hadn't a chance. But he wouldn't give up without a fight, if he had an opportunity.
‘So,’ went on the man. ‘Shall I tell you what we know?'
Damon shrugged. ‘What can you know? There's nothing to know.'
‘Be patient, Mr. Thorne. There is plenty to know.
First of all, can you deny that you knew a very attractive Chinese girl called Tsai Pen Lung?'
Damon's eyes narrowed. He had known it all along, of course. Here was merely confirmation.
‘Yes, I knew her,’ he said. ‘She's dead, isn't she?'
‘Unfortunately, yes. A most unhappy affair. She was such a beautiful girl!'
‘You killed her?'
‘We had to. Unfortunately, as it turned out, she was clean. She had guessed our intention and got rid of the film before she died.'
‘Ah, I get it,’ muttered Damon. ‘You think she passed it on to me. You think I was the contact.'
‘We don't think, Mr. Thorne. We know. You are the only person she made contact with, and not once, I might add, but several times. It is conceivable that your… shall we say… charming manner blinded her to the dangers she was running.'
Damon gnawed at his lower lip. ‘But don't you see?’ he exclaimed. ‘If I had been her contact she would have known better than to draw attention to the fact.'
The man frowned. ‘That thought had crossed our minds, but it was dismissed again. After all, she was not aware we were on to her at once. And she did go to San Francisco to meet an Englishman.'
Damon stared at him angrily. ‘The other killing; was that your doing too? The Englishman?'
‘Yes. We thought we had successfully disposed of her contact. It appears we were wrong.'
‘But what if you were right?’ cried Emma, breaking in on their conversation. ‘What if the other man was her contact? Maybe she contacted Damon because she wanted his help. But she didn't get it.'
‘My dear young lady, you know nothing about this affair whatsoever, of that I am certain. After all, Tsai Pen Lung was a very attractive girl. It is hardly likely that Mr. Thorne would tell you of his intentions, whatever they might be.'
Emma's cheeks suffused with colour. ‘Don't listen to him, Emma,’ muttered Damon imploringly, seeing the disturbed expression in her eyes.
Emma shook her head, and remained silent.
The man smiled, as though pleased at having found another method of baiting them. ‘So your fiancée did not know about Tsai Pen Lung,’ he said mockingly to Damon. ‘I guessed she would not. Tell me, Mr. Thorne, did you sleep with her?'
Emma's eyes widened with horror, and Damon felt an intense hatred assail him. How dared this man insinuate such arrant lies in front of Emma, and Annabel. It was insufferable!
He did not answer the man's question, but the man apparently decided to return to the matter in hand, for he went on:
‘At some time during your relationship with the girl, you became her contact. Whether willingly, which I believe, or unwillingly, it is immaterial. I want that film!'
‘What film? Good God, you've searched here, you've searched my London apartment; if I had it you would have found it.'
‘Talk sense, Mr. Thorne,’ the man ground out furiously. ‘This film is minute, a microfilm, no bigger than that.’ He held his forefinger and thumb closely together. He smiled maliciously. ‘Make no mistake about it, Mr. Thorne. I do not intend to leave here without it.'
Emma gasped, and then went numb again. It could not be happening; not really. It must be a nightmare.
But it was not. The man kicked the chair away violently, and stood up.
‘You have the film, Mr. Thorne. Shall I tell you how I know that? Because our agents in Hong Kong are still safe. If you had already handed the film to the authorities they would have been arrested by now. They would try to escape, naturally, but it would be no good. They would be known. But as yet they are not, so you must have it. When we searched your apartment in London we felt sure we would find it. It was inconceivable that you should leave the country again, taking it with you. That would be too stupid! It had not been handed over, so that was where it must be. But it was not there. We are very thorough, you understand. If it had been there we would have found it. So that leaves you, Mr. Thorne, and this house. But living in the house, I somehow do not think you would leave it lying around. So therefore it must be on your person.’ He sighed. ‘But this is most unpleasant. I have no desire to search you myself, but if I must, I must.'
‘You've already searched me once,’ said Damon wearily.
‘You think that was a thorough search?'
‘What the hell do you mean?'
‘Only that the search you have had was superficial. Next time it will be necessary to look everywhere; do you understand, Mr. Thorne? Everywhere!' He laughed spitefully. ‘I am sure you do not wish these young ladies to witness such indignities. But they will!'
‘Oh, God!’ Damon bent his head. ‘I can't tell you anything else. I don't know where it is. I swear to God, I haven't got it.'
The man shrugged. ‘Begin to take off your clothes, Mr. Thorne.'
Damon shook his head. ‘No.'
‘I think you will, Mr. Thorne.’ He advanced towards Damon slowly. Then he laughed and turned aside, approaching instead the two girls on the settee. He produced the knife and put it tantalizingly close to Emma's throat. ‘I think you will, Mr. Thorne,’ he repeated, smiling.
Damon clenched his fists until his knuckles were white. With reluctant fingers he unloosened his tie and drew it off slowly. He held it momentarily in his hands weighing his chances. If he did not act now, he would never act at all. What was the use? This man would kill them all anyway. He saw the naked fear on Emma's face, the terrified bundle that was Annabel, and knew he could not let this go on.
With a superhuman lunge, he threw himself across the room at the man, knocking him sideways. He fell across Emma; Annabel screamed and ran wildly across the room.
Damon wrenched him up, off Emma, and saw the knife sticking out of her shoulder where the force of the man's fall across her had plunged it. She was mercifully unconscious, but blood was pouring from her shoulder, causing a brilliant pool of red on the pale rug below.
If anything could have strengthened his resolve it was to see Emma's injury, and to know that unless that wound was staunched soon she would die.
The intruder still had the gun, and the second Damon took in a dazed way to study Emma was sufficient for him to turn it on Damon again. Clasping his hands together Damon brought them down with all the force he c
ould muster on to the man's head before he had time to pull the trigger.
But the man was strong, and he merely grunted furiously like some wild animal, and shaking his head, came on again. Damon closed with him, knowing he hadn't a chance at a distance with the lethal gun in the other man's hand.
They fought savagely, with no holds barred. But although Damon was taller than his adversary, the man was thick-set and muscular, and much more used than Damon to fights of this kind.
He kneed Damon in the stomach, sending him flying back against the far wall, where he slumped, then skidded behind the settee, as a bullet flew past, shattering the window behind him. The standard lamp had turned over and was no use as illumination, but the sun was rising and the room was filling with light.
Damon slid along the floor hastily, before the man had a chance to move, and caught his legs, bringing him down heavily. He fell across him, imprisoning the hand which held the gun against the floor. With his whole weight he gripped the man's wrist, shaking it violently so that the gun fell to the floor sliding across the polished wood to Annabel's feet.
‘Annabel,’ said Damon grimly, trying to keep the man down with difficulty. ‘The gun! It's at your feet; give me the gun!'
Annabel shook her head bewildered. ‘Daddy?’ she said. ‘Daddy? Where are you?'
‘Here, here!’ said Damon, hanging on for grim death. ‘Annabel, get the gun! Hurry, Annabel!'
Annabel bent and lifted the gun with trembling fingers. ‘Daddy? Daddy? Where are you?'
‘I'm here, darling.’ Damon groaned. If only she could see! ‘Annabel, here!'
The man was gradually getting free, rolling from under Damon, his hand pressing back Damon's chin. Damon held out a hand helplessly, and to his horror, the man held his hand out too.
If Annabel came too close, she might give the gun to the wrong man. How could she know?
‘Annabel,’ said Damon desperately, ‘be careful. For goodness’ sake, don't give it to him!'
Annabel stared at them sightlessly, a hand to her mouth, the other hand clutching the gun pitifully.