by Nick Carter
The junk rolled very little crossing the harbor. Nick knew when they started up the Canton River. The movement forward seemed to slow, yet water sounded as though it was rushing along the sides of the junk. The pitching grew slightly more violent.
Nick knew he could not stay in his position much longer. He was sitting in a pool of his own sweat. He was thirsty, and his stomach growled with hunger. The rats were hungry, too, and they hadn’t forgotten him.
He had been hearing their scratching for more than an hour. At first there were the new crates to be inspected and chewed on. But it was too hard to get to the food inside. There was always him, warm with the smell of blood on his pants. So they came after him.
Nick listened as their scratchings grew higher on the boxes. He could just about tell how high they were getting. And he didn’t want to waste his lighter fluid. He knew he would need it. He felt them then, on top of the boxes, first one, then another. With Hugo in his hand, he flicked flame to his lighter. He raised the lighter and saw their pointed, whiskered noses in front of their black, shiny eyes. He counted five, then seven, and more kept making it to the top of the boxes. His heart raced. One would be bolder than the others, it would make the first move. He’d watch for that one. His wait wasn’t long.
One moved forward, its feet close to the edge of the box. Nick stuck the flame of the lighter to the whiskered nose, then jabbed with the point of Huso. The stiletto plucked out the right eye of the rat, and it fell back. The others leaped on it almost before it could get down the other side of the box. He could hear them fighting over it. The flame in Nick’s lighter flickered out. No more fluid.
Killmaster had to get out of that position. He was trapped there with no defense now that he was out of lighter fluid. There was no feeling in his legs; he couldn’t raise himself. Once those rats were done with their friend, he’d be next. There was one chance. He put Wilhelmina back in his waistband and stuck Hugo between his teeth. He wanted the stiletto within easy reach. Hooking his fingers over the top box, he pulled with all his strength. He got his elbows over the top, then his chest. He tried kicking his legs to get the circulation going, but they wouldn’t move. Using his hands and elbows, he crawled over the top of the boxes and down the other side. He could hear the rats close to him, chewing and scrapping. On the bottom of the hull now, Nick crawled to one of the food crates.
Using Hugo as a pry, he broke open one of the crates and reached inside. Fruit. Peaches and bananas. Nick pulled out a bunch of bananas and three peaches. He began scattering and tossing the rest of the fruit aft of the hatch between and around the grenade and ammunition cases. He could hear the rats scurrying after it. He ate hungrily but slowly; there was no sense in getting sick. When he finished, he started rubbing his legs. They tingled first, then felt pain in them. Feeling returned slowly. He stiffened and bent them, and soon they were strong enough to hold his weight.
Then he heard the powerful engine of another boat; it sounded like an old PT boat. The sound grew nearer, until it was alongside. Nick moved to the hatch. He put his ear close to it, trying to hear. But the voices were muffled and the idling engine drowned them out. He thought of lifting the hatch slightly, but some of the crew might be in the cabin. Must be a patrol boat, he thought.
He had to remember that, because he planned to come back this way. The patrol boat stayed alongside for more than an hour. Nick wondered if they were going to search the junk. Sure enough. Heavy footsteps clumped onto the deck above him. Nick had full use of his legs now. He dreaded the thought of getting back into the confined space, but it looked as if he’d have to. The heavy steps were on the afterdeck. Nick relieved himself on one of the ammunition crates, then crawled back over the top of the boxes to his little hiding place. He stuck Hugo into the box in front of him. Wilhelmina was back between his feet. He needed a shave and his body stank, but he felt much better.
There was a lot of conversation with the search, but Nick couldn’t hear the words. He heard what sounded like laughter. Maybe the Sheila woman was trying to con the searchers to keep them from seeing the grenades and ammunition. The junk was riding at anchor, and the patrol boat’s engines had been shut off.
Suddenly Nick’s hiding place was flooded with early-morning light as the hatch was opened. A flashlight beam played all around him.
“And what is down here?” A man’s voice asked in Chinese.
“Only supplies,” Sheila answered.
A pair of legs dropped down through the hatch. They were clad in the uniform of the Chinese Regular Army. Then the rifle came in, followed by the rest of the soldier. He played the flashlight around Nick, then turned his back. The beam fell on the opened food crate. Three rats scattered from the crate when the light hit them.
“You have rats,” the soldier said. Then the beam hit the grenade and ammunition cases. “Ah-ha! What have we here?” he asked.
From above the open hatch, Sheila said, “That is for the soldiers in the village. I told you about them . . .”
The soldier moved around in a crouch. “But why so much?” he asked. “There are not that many soldiers there.”
“We are expecting trouble,” Sheila answered.
“I will have to report this.” He crawled back through the open hatch. “The rats have opened one of your food crates,” he said, just before the hatch was slammed shut again.
Nick could no longer hear what the voices were saying. His legs were beginning to go to sleep again. There were a few more minutes of muffled conversation, then the pulley squeaked, and the anchor chain started clacking again. The junk seemed to strain against the mast The powerful engines fired up and the patrol boat pulled away. Water rushed along the sides and bottom of the junk. They were on their way once again.
So they were expecting him in some village. He felt as if he was being tossed tiny bits and pieces of information. He had already learned a great deal since coming aboard the junk. But the all important “where” still eluded him. Nick pulled himself to his chest on top of the boxes so that his legs would be straight. He worked them until the feeling returned. Then he sat back down. It he could do that every so often, it might keep his legs from falling asleep. For the time being the rats seemed to be content with the opened food crate.
He heard steps coming toward the hatch. It was opened and daylight flooded in. Nick had Hugo in his hand. One of the crewmen dropped down. He had a machete in one hand and a flashlight in the other. In a crouch, he crawled toward the opened food crate. His light hit two rats. When they tried to escape, the man cut them both in half with two swift blows. He looked around for more rats. Not seeing any, he began stuffing the fruit back into the crate. When he had cleaned up the area around him, he reached for the splintered board Nick had pried off the crate. He started to replace it, then stopped.
He ran the light beam along the edge of the board. There was a deep frown on his face. He ran his thumb along the edge, then looked at the two dead rats. He knew the rats hadn’t opened that crate. The light beam flashed all around. It stopped on the ammunition cases where Nick had relieved himself. The man began checking the crates. He poked around the grenade and ammunition cases first. Not finding anything, he untied the food crates, pushed them closer together, then retied them. And then he turned to Nick’s boxes. Working quickly, his fingers untied the knots holding the boxes down. Nick had Hugo ready. The man got the lines free from the boxes, then pulled the top box down. When he saw Nick his eyebrows went up in surprise.
“Ayee!” he screamed, and brought the machete back for a swing.
Nick lunged forward, driving the point of the stiletto into the man’s throat. The man gurgled, dropped both flashlight and machete, and staggered back, blood rushing from the open wound.
Nick started over the boxes. The junk listed to one side, and the boxes toppled over knocking him to the bulkhead. He looked up to see a feminine hand holding a small-bore automatic pointed at him through the hatch opening.
In excellent American, Sheila said, “W
elcome aboard, sweetheart. We’ve been expecting you.”
CHAPTER TEN
It took a while for Nick to get full feeling back into his legs. He paced the afterdeck, breathing deeply of the fresh air, while Sheila followed his every move with her tiny automatic. Ling stood next to the woman. Even he had an old Army .45. Nick figured the time to be around noon. He watched as the two other crewmen hoisted their comrade through the hatch and tossed the body overboard. He smiled. The rats were out a good meal.
Then Nick turned to the woman. “I’d like to clean up and shave,” he said.
She had been watching him with a gleam in her cold emerald eyes. “Of course,” she said returning his smile. “Would you like something to eat?”
Nick nodded.
Ling said, “We kill,” in less than perfect English. There was hatred in his eyes.
Nick figured Ling didn’t like him much. He entered the cabin and poured water into the wash basin. The pair stood behind him, both guns aimed at his back. Hugo anilhelmina were on the table. The junk bobbed up and down as it headed up the river.
As Nick started to shave, Sheila said, “I suppose we should get the formalities over with. I am Sheila Kwan. My stupid-looking friend here is called Ling. You, of course, are the infamous Mr. Wilson. And what is your first name?”
“Chris,” Nick said. He kept his back to them while he shaved.
“Ah, yes. Friend of Professor Loo. But we both know that isn’t your real name, don’t we?”
“Do we?”
“It isn’t important. We’re going to have to kill you anyhow. You see, you’ve been a naughty boy, Chris. First Ossa, then the big one, and then Yong. And poor Ling here will never have the full use of his hand again. You’re a dangerous man, you know that?”
“We kill,” Ling said with feeling.
“Later, pet. Later.”
Nick asked, “Where did you learn to speak American like that?”
“You did notice,” Sheila said. “How nice. Yes, I was educated in the States. But I’ve been away for so long, I thought I had forgotten some of the phrases. Do they still say words like fabulous, and cool, and dig?”
Nick finished with the wash basin. He turned to face the pair and nodded. “West Coast, isn’t it?” he asked. “California?”
She smiled with amusement in her green eyes. “Very good!” she said.
Nick pressed it. “Wouldn’t be Berkeley, would it?” he asked.
Her smile broadened into a grin. “Excellent!” she said. “I can certainly see why they sent you. You’re sharp.” Her eves swept approvingly over him. “And very good to look at. It’s been a long time since I’ve had a big American man.”
Ling said, “We kill, we kill!”
Nick nodded toward the man. “Doesn’t he know anything else?”
In Chinese, Sheila told Ling to leave the cabin. He gave her a small argument, but when she told him it was an order, he reluctantly left. One of the crewmen set a bowl of hot rice on the table. Sheila gathered Hugo and Wilhelmina and handed them outside the cabin to Ling. Then she motioned Nick to sit down and eat.
As Nick ate he knew another question was about to be answered. Sheila sat on the bench on the opposite side of the table from him.
“What happened between you and John?” Nick asked.
She shrugged. The automatic was still pointed at him. “I guess you might say I wasn’t his type. I enjoyed college, absolutely loved American men. I slept around too much for him. He wanted someone more permanent. I guess he got what he wanted.”
“You mean Kathy?”
She nodded. “She’s more his type—quiet, reserved. I’ll bet she was a virgin when they got married. I’ll have to ask her.”
Nick asked, “How long did you go with him?”
“I don’t know, probably a month or two.”
“Long enough to learn that he was toying with the idea of the compound.”
She smiled again. “Well, I was sent there to get an education.”
Nick finished his rice and pushed the bowl away. He lit one of his gold-tipped cigarettes. Sheila took the one offered her, and as he was about to light her cigarette, he knocked the small automatic out of her hand. It slid off the end of the table and bounced on the deck. Nick reached over to pick it up but stopped before his hand touched it. Ling stood in the opening to the cabin with the .45 in his hand.
“I kill,” he said, cocking the hammer.
“No!” Sheila cried. “Not yet.” She moved quickly to stand between Nick and Ling. To Nick she said, “That wasn’t very bright, baby. You aren’t going to make us tie you up, are you?” She tossed Ling her small automatic and in Chinese told him to wait just outside the cabin. She promised him that very soon he would be allowed to kill Nick.
Ling, grunted and stepped out of sight.
Sheila stood in front of Nick smoothing her tight lavender shift. Her legs were slightly apart and the silk clung to her body as though it was wet. Nick knew now that she wore nothing under it. In a husky voice, she said, “I don’t want him to have you until I’m finished with you.” She cupped her hands just under her breasts. “I’m supposed to be pretty good.”
“I’ll just bet you are,” Nick said. “But what about your boy friend? He’s already eager enough to see me dead.”
Nick was standing against one of the bunks. Sheila moved close to him, pressing her body against his. He felt the fire building inside him.
“I can handle him,” she said in a husky whisper. She moved her hands under his shirt to his chest. “I haven’t been kissed by an American in a very long time.”
Nick pressed his lips to hers. He worked his mouth against hers. His hand went to her back, then slid slowly downward. She moved closer to him.
“How many others agents are working with you?” she whispered in his ear.
Nick kissed her neck, her throat. His hands moved up to her breast. “I didn’t hear the question,” he answered in an equally low whisper.
She stiffened and tried weakly to push herself away. Her breathing was heavy. “I . . . have to know,” she said.
Nick held her close. His hand moved under her shift, touching bare flesh. Slowly he started lifting the shift up.
“Later,” she said hoarsely. “You’ll tell me later after you find out how good I am.”
“We’ll see.” Nick laid her gently on the bed and finished removing the shift.
She was good, all right. Her body was blemish-free and thin-boned. She arched it against him and groaned in his ear. She writhed with him and pushed her firm, well-shaped breasts against his chest. And when she reached the pinnacle of satisfaction, she scratched her long fingernails along his back, almost raising herself off the bunk, her teeth biting the lobe of his ear. Then she fell limp under him, her eyes closed, her arms at her sides. As Nick was about to climb out of the bunk, Ling entered the cabin, his face red with rage.
He spoke not a word but went straight to his work. The .45 was aimed at Nick’s belly. He uttered profanity in Chinese at Nick.
Also in Chinese, Sheila ordered him from the cabin. She had come alive again and was pulling the shift over her head.
“What do you think I am?” Ling protested in his Cantonese dialect.
“You are what I say you are. You do not own or control me. Get out.”
“But with this . . . spy, this foreign agent.”
“Out!” she ordered. “Get out! I will tell you when you may kill him.”
Ling tightened his lips over his teeth and stomped out of the cabin.
Sheila looked at Nick, smiling slightly. She had a flush on her cheeks. Her emerald eyes still held the glaze of satisfaction. She smoothed the silk shift and straightened her hair.
Nick sat at the table and lit a cigarette. Sheila came to sit opposite him.
“I enjoyed that,” she said. “It’s a pity we have to kill you. I could easily get used to having you around. However, I can’t play games with you any longer. Again, how many agents ar
e working with you?”
“None,” Nick answered. “I’m alone.”
Sheila smiled, shaking her head. “It’s hard to believe one man has done everything you have. But let’s say you’re telling the truth. What did you hope to accomplish by smuggling yourself aboard?”
The junk had ceased its bobbing. It was running over smooth water. Nick couldn’t see outside the cabin but he figured they were about to enter the small harbor at Whampoa or Huang-pu. They would pass big ships here. This was as far upriver as the big ships could go. He judged they were roughly twelve miles from Kwangchow.
“I’m waiting,” Sheila said.
Nick said, “You know why I smuggled aboard. I told you I’m working alone. If you don’t believe me, then don’t.”
“Surely you can’t expect me to believe your government would send one man to rescue John’s wife and boy.”
“You can believe what you will.” Nick wanted to be out on deck. He wanted to see where they were heading from Whampoa. “You think your boyfriend would shoot me if I tried to stretch my legs?”
Sheila tapped her fingernail against her front teeth. She was studying him. “Probably,” she said. “But I’ll go with you.” As he started to rise, she said, “You know, sweetheart, it would have been much more pleasant if you had answered my questions here. Once we get where we are going, it won’t be pleasant.”
The late-afternoon sun was ducking in and out from dark rain clouds as Nick went on deck. The two crewmen were forward checking the depth of the river. The ugly eye of Ling’s .45 followed Nick closely. He was on the rudder.
Nick went to the port side, flipped his cigarette into the river and watched the passing bank.
They were moving away from Whampoa and the big ships. They overtook small sampans loaded with families, the men sweating as they worked against the current. Nick figured at this pace it would take another full day to get to Kwangchow, if that was where they were heading. That would be tomorrow. And what was tomorrow? Sunday! He had slightly more than forty-eight hours to locate Kathy Loo and Mike and get them back to Hong Kong. That meant he’d have to cut this traveling time in half.