by Joanne Pence
She walked to the curb and was looking for a taxi when two Chinese men approached her. They were middle-aged, short, a little stout, and were dressed in dark blue business suits. They bowed.
“Miss Perkins?” one asked.
“Yes.”
“We understand you wish to meet Mr. Yeng. He would also like to speak with you.”
She looked from one man to the other in astonishment.
Their mouths were smiling, but their eyes were veiled. I should feel happy about this, she told herself. Yeng sent someone to find me, which must mean he’s interested in helping Alan. So why does my stomach feel as if it’s got a lead weight in it, while my knees are turning into instant pudding?
“Do not be afraid,” the other man said. “We can understand your surprise at seeing us, but, be assured, we come as friends. We offer you a ride, unless you prefer to go to Mr. Yeng’s residence on your own.”
“I’m sorry. Please don’t think I’m ungrateful. It’s just that I’m surprised by this.”
“Of course.” They smiled and bowed their heads in tandem, reminding her of Tweedledum and Tweedledee.
“I’ll come with you,” she said, suddenly decisive. After all, Alan trusted Mr. Yeng, and she trusted Alan.
They thanked her and led her to their car. Won’t Alan be pleased, she thought as she rode along, when he learns that Mr. Yeng wants to help him? She repeated the thought over and over like a mantra.
In no time, the car turned into Duncombe Alley. As they stepped out of it, someone opened the front door of Yeng’s building.
With Tweedledum on one side and Tweedledee on the other, C.J. entered what she thought would be an old warehouse but instead was an enormous home. From the front door she stepped into a long hallway. To her right, the living room was elaborately decorated with Chinese-style rosewood and black lacquer furniture, and a riot of vermillion and gold artifacts, chests and lamps. It made her head spin just to look at it.
“This way please,” a petite Oriental woman said to her.
The two men who had brought her there were no longer with her.
After the living room there was a more sedate but still impressive dining room; then, at the end of the hallway, she saw a long straight staircase with a door at the top of it.
After climbing the steps, the woman opened the door and beckoned C.J. to follow.
She entered an office. An enormous wooden desk took up most of the floor space. Behind it stood a small Oriental man, nattily dressed and wearing glasses.
“Greetings. I am Mr. Yeng,” he said, bowing slightly.
And Darius had said she should be afraid of him! She could kill him with a flyswatter.
“So nice to meet you,” she replied, shaking the hand he offered, then sitting on a yellow chair in response to his gesture.
“I understand your brother is being most unfortunately detained by the police in connection with the theft of the White Dragon.” He sat, his folded hands resting on the desk.
“Yes, but he’s completely innocent.”
“I am sure that is so. Do you know why the police believe otherwise?”
“No, but whatever their reason is,” she hurried to add, “Alan said you would know he’s innocent.”
“I?” A flicker of surprise showed in the man’s otherwise impassive eyes.
“Yes. You have a friend who can prove it. Chan Li.”
Yeng’s eyes narrowed. “My…friend?”
“That’s what my brother said. You will help him get out of jail, won’t you, Mr. Yeng?”
“Of course. There’s nothing for you to worry about. I’ll take care of everything.”
Relief filled her. Alan was right! She smiled broadly. “Thank you! You and Chan Li! I’ll never forget either one of you. Never. I can hardly wait to tell Alan.”
Yeng pushed a button beside his telephone, and in a moment the door to his office opened. A huge man walked into the room.
“My guest is through here, now,” Yeng said, then nodded.
He must be my escort, C.J. thought as she rose from her chair, still smiling. “Alan and I will never forget your kindness,” she added.
“Think nothing of it,” Yeng said.
The large man stepped toward her. A white handkerchief in his hand flashed before her eyes as he lifted it to her face.
“What—” she began.
The handkerchief covered her nose and mouth, nearly smothering her. She flung her arms out, trying to push the man away, but she might as well have been trying to stop a truck. She needed air, fresh air, but she couldn’t breathe, couldn’t even scream. She tried to pull his hand from her face, but he seemed impervious to pain. A terror worse than anything she had ever known filled her as the room began to spin, then turn varied shades of purple. He bent closer to her, until she thought she was looking into the eyes of death.
Then everything went black.
Chapter 8
She opened her eyes and saw nothing but blackness. She squeezed them shut again, her heart pounding, too frightened to move, to speak, to scream. She was on the ground, a cold, hard, rough surface…it felt like cement. The sense that a long, long time had passed, that she had been asleep for hours, filled her.
When she felt a little calmer, she opened her eyes again. Everything, still, was pitch black. My God, she thought, why can’t I see? She sat up, reaching out in the dark to see if anything was near, but felt nothing. She blinked several more times, willing herself to see, but it did no good. Her breathing was rapid, and cold sweat beaded on her skin. What happened to her? What had that man done?
Not until she turned all the way around did she notice a small, faint bit of light, and nearly wept with, relief. Her sight was fine; it was the room that was black. The light was at floor level. It must be a door, she thought, with light from outside shining underneath.
On hands and knees, she crawled toward the light.
When she reached it, she felt around above the light and discovered that it was indeed a door. A way out. She stood, grabbed hold of the doorknob, turned it and pulled. The door wouldn’t budge.
She pushed and pulled, trying to shake the door off its hinges.
“Help!” she cried, pounding on the wood. “Let me out of here. Please! There must be some mistake. I’m a friend. I’m not here to harm anyone.”
Again, she tugged on the doorknob and pounded the door. “Please!” Her voice cracked with tears and fright. “Please, somebody! Help me!”
Hot tears fell down her face as she kicked at the door, hit it, then threw herself against it. What was this about? She shook her head, unwilling to acknowledge the obvious answer, fighting to calm herself so she could think.
But all she could think was that Darius had been right. Not Alan. Tears filled her eyes.
She slid her hands over the rough wall next to the door, hoping to find a light switch. She found one, flipped it up. To her amazement, the light came on.
Her gaze swept over the room. It appeared to be a small cellar with shelf-lined walls, the shelves packed with everything from auto parts and tools to old books. At least she could read to pass the time!
There were no windows.
The door had no keyhole, which had to mean it was padlocked or bolted from the outside, in the way of most cellar doors.
What now? Her eyes leaped to the door hinges.
She checked out the tools on the shelves. As she did, her eye caught the spines of the books. It figures, she thought. They were all in Chinese.
She rummaged through the tool boxes until she found a thin file. All she needed to do now was to pop the pins out of the hinges and she’d be free. She joyfully reflected on the idiocy of her captors to lock her in a room with a tool box.
The bottom hinge would be the first to go. She held the file against the top lip of the pin and pried. Even after several attempts it wouldn’t budge. Looking closely at it, she saw that the hinge had not only gotten rusty with age, but was slightly bent.
Sh
e returned to the tool box for a chisel, a hammer and pliers, and soon was back at work. Every so often she would pound on the door for good measure, but her cries only echoed back at her.
The pins were stubborn. When she finally got one to move about a quarter of an inch she thought she should cheer.
It seemed that hours passed. No one came for her. Not only did her stomach feel empty, but thirst began to really bother her. Her arms ached, and blisters were beginning to form on her hands. Maybe her captors weren’t such idiots after all.
One pin was about halfway out.
She threw down the pliers in frustration and sat on the ground, her back to the door. Tears streamed down her face.
I shouldn’t let myself cry, she thought, I’ll dehydrate faster. She envisioned someone opening the door in about forty years and finding a dried out corpse clutching a chisel.
She had no real sense of how much time went by before the bottom pin finally sprang free.
C.J. picked it up off the floor and kissed it. Then she looked at the other one. The top hinge meant no more sitting on the floor. She’d be stretching, trying to work with her arms above her head. The mere thought was painful.
She was so tired, sore and hungry that nothing really mattered at the moment but to rest. The blisters on her hands had broken already, causing blood to ooze from the torn skin. She tried not to think about how much they hurt.
She stood slowly, her body stiff and creaking from sitting on the cold cement ground. Her hands had already begun to swell and throb. She wasn’t hungry anymore, but she was thirsty; her mouth felt like sand paper. She tried to lick her dry lips, but that provided no relief.
Yeng had done this. How could Alan have sent her here? He couldn’t have known what kind of a man Yeng was. But Darius knew, so why didn’t Alan?
“Darius,” she whispered. “Darius, find me. Please.”
She turned onto her side and curled up, miserable, but knowing that lying there and doing nothing was foolish. She walked around to loosen up, her muscles complaining with every step. Time to start on the second hinge. She picked up the chisel and hammer, but her hands ached so badly that when she tried to clasp the tools her eyes teared from the pain. She removed her half-slip and, using the file like a knife, tore it into strips. She wrapped those around her hands so she could hold the tools, then began to work again.
This pin was as stubborn as the first, and her progress was even slower, because of her awkward angle. She was beyond caring how she felt, but worked on and on, unwilling to give up and await her destiny without a fight.
“C.J.?” A slight tap on the door and the soft sound of a familiar voice caused her to freeze. Was it real, or a hallucination?
The whispered question came again. “C.J.?”
“Yes! Yes! Darius, I’m here.” She threw herself against the door.
“Okay.” She heard the rattle of a key, and in a minute the door was open and she was in his arms.
She held him tightly, burying her face against his neck. “I knew you’d come. I knew it.”
He rubbed his cheek against her hair. “It’s good to see you, kid,” he said, his voice a little husky. “We have to get out of here. Be very quiet.”
She stepped back from him and nodded.
He reached for her hand, then saw her makeshift bandages. With eyes full of concern as he looked at her, he asked, “What’s happened?”
“Look,” she told him, nodding in the direction of the hinges.
He said nothing for a moment, then looked at her with admiration. “Seems you didn’t need me after all.”
“I certainly did!” she said.
He led her to a staircase. They needed to get out of the basement, to go up to the ground floor. Once there, the area appeared to be clear. He had managed to get in through a small window in the back porch, but leaving that way would have involved a jump that he doubted C.J. could handle. He was going to try to get her out the front door. They headed down the hallway walking as quietly as they could.
At the sound of a footstep, Darius whisked C.J. into the dining room, hoping whoever was near would pass them by. The room was unlit, but the light from the hall and kitchen were bright enough that everything was visible. He hurried to the window to see if it offered any escape. They were about eight or nine feet up from the sidewalk. He could hold her until she was close enough to drop the rest of the way without breaking or spraining anything.
He pushed open the window when two men rushed him. “Run, C.J.!” he ordered, then stepped back to meet them.
All she saw was a mad tangle of arms and legs as the two men jumped Darius. She couldn’t just leave him there.
She spotted a large Chinese gong at the entrance to the dining room, its wooden mallet on a stand beside it. She edged along the wall, keeping out of the men’s reach, then picked up the mallet. It was surprisingly heavy. She lifted it high in the air as she stepped back into a shadowy corner.
The three men kicked and punched at each other, and she watched them, awaiting her chance. Then, as Darius fought one man, the second one stood straight, reached into his pocket and pulled out a knife. With a flick, an enormous blade appeared.
Without hesitation, C.J. stepped behind him and swung the mallet down toward his head. The swishing sound it made as it ripped through the air caused him to look over his shoulder. C.J. saw his utter surprise as he spied her towering over him, wild-eyed, her brown hair flying, huge white bandages on her hands and swinging a Chinese mallet. He stared, slack-jawed, as the weapon hit its target perfectly.
The man’s whole body seemed to vibrate, then crumpled to the floor.
The other man noticed the commotion and turned his head just long enough for Darius to land a crushing blow to his momentarily unprotected jaw.
Darius and C.J. backed toward the window. He raised his eyebrows and looked at her. She raised hers and returned his glance. Slowly, a smile crept across his face, her lips curving upward in response. How astounding, she thought, as she looked at her captors lying on the floor.
Then, grinning smugly, she and Darius crawled out the window and escaped.
Chapter 9
Darius unlocked the door to C.J.’s hotel room and walked in. She was sitting in her bed, leaning against a pile of pillows, with the covers pulled up around her neck. A short while earlier she had cleansed the blisters on her hands and had changed into a very unsexy cotton nightgown—the only kind she owned.
“Room service will bring up your order as soon as possible,” he said, broad smile on his face. “And I found some ointment and bandages for your hands.”
He perched on the edge of the bed, dipped two fingers into the jar of the greasy, healing balm and held her hands as if they were fragile porcelain while he smeared ointment on them.
“I think you could use a little of that yourself,” she said, eyeing a red mark on his jaw and his slightly scraped knuckles.
“No, I’ll be fine. And you will, too.” He covered not only the areas of her hands with blisters, but her entire palm and fingers. She wasn’t about to complain or correct him. No one had ever tried to help her that way since she was a little kid, and even then, her mother usually just handed her Bactine when she had a scrape or cut.
“At least I learned what ‘C.J.’ stands for,” he said as he meticulously covered both hands.
She looked puzzled. “You did?”
“Yep. Calamity Jane.”
She laughed. “Very funny! I don’t even know how many days I was there, and you make jokes about it!”
“Days?” It was his turn to chuckle as he finished his ministration. “Four or five hours are more like it.”
“That’s all? I thought it was an eternity!” Her eyes softened as she looked at him. “Thank you for finding me. I was dumb to go there, and deep down, I knew it even as I got into the car with those two men. I should learn to listen to my gut reaction.”
“Or mine. As I recall, I did warn you.” With a feather-soft touch h
e brushed her hair away from her brow, and tucked a lock of it behind her ear.
“Saying ‘I told you so’ is not an admirable characteristic, Mr. Kane. I feel bad enough already.”
“You’re right.” He nodded. “Enough said.”
“But how did you find me?”
He scowled. “It wasn’t hard. When I couldn’t find you, I figured Alan had talked you into going back to Yeng’s. Your brother’s a bigger menace than I thought!”
“He wouldn’t knowingly send me into danger.”
Darius shut his eyes for a moment, as if to stop the retort he was ready to give. “Let’s hope you’re right. Anyway, there was quite a bit of activity around Yeng’s place. Then, late in the afternoon, he and most of the others left, which gave me a chance to sneak in.”
She gasped as he suddenly grabbed her shoulders. “If you ever do anything so dangerous again,” he shouted, “it won’t be Yeng you’ll have to worry about! It’ll be me. Why won’t you listen to me?”
The timbre of his voice told her how hurt he had been by her lack of trust in him. She longed to take his hands, but she couldn’t—hers were too greasy. Instead, she proceeded to tell him the whole story of her conversation with Alan, of meeting the two men outside the city prison, and then of telling Yeng about Chan Li.
Room service arrived. A bacon, lettuce and tomato club sandwich with a cup of clam chowder helped her to feel considerably more at peace with the world. She wiped some of the ointment off her fingertips so she could eat. Darius didn’t say anything else until her meal had ended and she was sipping a cup of coffee.
“Alan was released today,” he said finally.
“Released? Really?” She stared at him and he nodded. “That’s wonderful! But now I’m even more confused. Yeng said he was going to see that Alan was released, and it seems he did. But why would he lock me up?”
“I’m not so sure it was Yeng, C.J. I doubt he has any influence with British Intelligence, and they’re the ones who were holding Alan.”
“Why, then, was he released?”
“I don’t know. All I can say is that the next step is Alan’s.”