The Defector

by Nick Carter

  At the tiller now, Nick kept the junk to the center of the canal. He figured he was slightly more than a hundred miles from Hong Kong. Moving downriver would be quicker than the trip up had been, but he knew he wasn’t through with trouble yet. He lashed down the tiller and threw a line over the side. The junk had moved out of sight from the village, he heard only an occasional crack as more ammunition exploded. The land on the starboard side of the junk was low and flat, mostly rice paddies.

  Nick searched the darkness along the port side bank, looking for Kathy and Mike. Then he spotted them, slightly ahead of him, swimming for the junk. Mike reached the line first, and when he had climbed high enough, Nick helped him aboard. Kathy was right behind him. As she climbed over the rail, she tripped and grabbed Nick for support. His hand caught her waist and she fell against him. She clung to him, her face buried in his chest. Her body was slick with wetness. She had a womanly smell about her, unhampered by cosmetics or perfume. She clung to him as though desperate. Nick stroked her back. Her body was slight and frail against him. He realized that she must have been through hell.

  She didn’t sob or cry, she just held onto him. Mike stood awkwardly beside them. After about two minutes had passed she slowly moved her arms from around him. She looked up into his face, and Nick saw that she was truly a lovely woman.

  “Thank you,” she said. Her voice was soft, and almost too low for a woman.

  “Don’t thank me yet,” Nick said. “We’ve still got a long way to go. There might be some clothes in the cabin, and some rice.”

  Kathy nodded, and with her arm around Mike’s shoulders, went into the cabin.

  Back at the tiller, Nick thought of what lay ahead. First there was the delta. Sheila Kwan had needed a chart to get across it in daylight. He had no chart, and he’d have to make it at night. Then there was that patrol boat and, finally, the border itself. For weapons he had a Tommy gun, a Luger, a stiletto, and a box of grenades. His army consisted of a lovely woman and a twelve-year-old boy. And now he had less than twenty-four hours.

  The canal began to widen. Nick knew they’d be into the delta soon. Ahead and to his right he could see tiny dots of light. He had watched Sheila’s direction carefully that afternoon; his mind had recorded every turn, every change in course. But at night his moves would be general, not exact. One thing was going for him—the current of the river. If he could find it somewhere in that delta where all canals met, it would take him in the right direction. Then the port and starboard banks fell away and he was surrounded by water. He had entered the delta. Nick lashed the tiller and moved around the cabin to the bow. He studied the dark water beneath him. Sampans and junks were anchored throughout the delta. Some had lights but most were dark. The junk creaked through the delta.

  Nick dropped to the main deck and unlashed the tiller. Kathy came out of the cabin carrying a bowl of steaming rice. She had put on a bright red shift which clung tightly to her curves. Her hair was freshly combed.

  “Feel better?” Nick asked. He began eating the rice.

  “Much. Mike went right to sleep. He couldn’t even finish his rice.”

  Nick couldn’t get over her beauty. The photo John Loo had shown him didn’t do her justice.

  Kathy looked up at the bare mast. “Is anything the matter?”

  “I’m waiting for a current.” He handed her the empty bowl. “How much do you know about all this?”

  She froze, and for an instant the fear she’d had in the cell showed in her eyes. “Nothing,” she said softly. “They came to my home. Then they grabbed Mike. They held me while one of them give me a shot. The next thing I remember was waking up in that cell. That was when the real horror began. The soldiers . . .” She hung her head, unable to speak.

  “Don’t talk about it,” Nick said.

  She lifted her head. “They told me John would soon be with me. Is he all right?”

  “As far as I know.” Then Nick told her everything, leaving out only his encounters with them. He told her about the compound, about his conversation with John, and he wound up by saying, “So we only have until midnight to get you and Mike back to Hong Kong. And it will be daylight in a couple of hours . . .”

  Kathy was silent for a long while. Then she said, “I’m afraid I’ve been a lot of trouble for you. And I don’t even know your name.”

  “The trouble was worth it to find you safe. And my name is Nick Carter. I’m an agent of the government.”

  The junk moved faster. The current caught it and moved it along, helped by the light breeze. Nick settled back with the tiller. Kathy leaned against the starboard rail, deep in her own thoughts. She had held up fine so far, Nick thought. But the toughest part was yet to come.

  The delta was far behind them. Ahead, Nick could see the lights of Whampoa. The big ships were anchored on each side of the river, leaving a narrow channel between. Most of the city was blacked out, waiting for dawn, which was not far away. Kathy had gone into the cabin for some sleep. Nick stayed at the tiller, his eyes watching everything.

  The junk moved on, letting the current and wind take it toward Hong Kong. Nick dozed at the tiller, a nagging worry in the back of his mind. It was going too smoothly, too easily. Surely all the soldiers in the village hadn’t been killed. Some of them must have escaped the fires to give an alarm. And the radioman must have gotten through to someone before he fired at Nick. Where was that patrol boat?

  Nick jerked awake to see Kathy standing in front of him. She had a hot cup of coffee in her hand. The dark night had faded to a point where he could see the thick rainforest on both banks of the river. The sun would be up soon.

  “Take this,” Kathy said. “You look as if you need it.”

  Nick took the coffee. His body felt cramped. There were dull aching pains in his neck and ears. He was unshaven and dirty, and he still had about sixty miles to go.

  “Where’s Mike?” He sipped the coffee, feeling the warmth all the way down.

  “He’s on the bow, watching.”

  Suddenly he heard Mike shout.

  “Nick! Nick! There’s a boat coming!”

  “Take the tiller,” Nick told Kathy. Mike was on one knee, pointing just starboard of the bow.

  “There,” he said. “See, just coming up the river.”

  The patrol boat was coming fast, its bow high in the water. Nick could barely make out two soldiers stationed at the gun on the foredeck. There wasn’t much time. The way that boat was coming, they knew he had Kathy and Mike. The radioman had gotten to them.

  “Good boy,” Nick said. “Now let’s go make some plans.” Together they jumped off the cabin to the main deck. Nick broke open the case of grenades.

  “What is it?” Kathy asked.

  Nick had the top of the case open. “Patrol boat. I’m sure they know about you and Mike. Our little boat trip is over; we’re going to have to move on land now.” He had his shirt-bag filled with grenades again. “I want you and Mike to swim for shore right now.”

  “But . . .”

  “Now! No time to argue.”

  Mike touched Nick’s shoulder, then dove over the side. Kathy waited, looking into Nick’s eyes.

  “You’ll be killed,” she said.

  “Not if it works out the way I want. Now move! I’ll meet you downriver some place.”

  Kathy kissed his cheek, then dove over the side.

  Nick could hear the powerful engines of the patrol boat now. He climbed onto the cabin and dropped the sail. Then he jumped down to the tiller and threw it violently to the left. The junk lurched and began to turn sideways across the river. The patrol boat was closer now. Nick saw orange flame spit from the bow gun. The shell whistled through the air and exploded just in front of the junk’s bow. The junk seemed to shudder from the shock. The port side faced the patrol boat. Nick positioned himself behind the starboard side of the cabin, the Tommy gun resting on top. The patrol boat was still too far away to fire on.

  The bow gun fired again. And again the
shell whistled through the air, only this time the explosion ripped a cavity at the water line just aft of the bow. The junk jerked violently, almost knocking Nick off. The bow began immediately to sink. Still Nick waited. The patrol boat was close enough now. Three more soldiers opened fire with machine guns. The cabin all around Nick was being cut and chipped by the bullets. Still he waited.

  The junk was listing badly to starboard. It wouldn’t stay afloat much longer. The patrol boat was close enough for him to see the expressions on the soldiers’ faces. He was waiting for a certain sound. The soldiers stopped firing. The boat began to slow down. Then Nick heard the sound. The patrol boat was drawing alongside. The engines were cut while the props were reversed. Nick raised his head just high enough to sight. Then he opened fire. His first spray killed the two soldiers on the bow gun. He was firing in a crisscross pattern, without stopping. The three other soldiers jerked back and forth bumping into each other. Deck hands and soldiers hit the deck for cover.

  Nick laid the Tommy gun down and pulled out the first grenade. He pulled the pin and threw it, then took out another, pulled the pin and threw it, and took out a third and pulled the pin and threw it. He picked up the Tommy gun and dove backward into the river. The first grenade exploded just as he hit the water, which was icy cold. He kicked his powerful legs against the weight of the Tommy gun and the remaining grenades. He came straight up and surfaced beside the wounded junk. His second grenade had ripped the patrol boat’s cabin apart. Nick hung onto the side of the junk while he pulled another grenade from the sack. He yanked the pin with his teeth and lobbed it over the junk’s rail in the direction of the opened case of grenades. Then he let go and let the weight of his weapons carry him straight to the bottom of the river.

  His feet hit slushy mud almost immediately; the bottom was only eight or nine feet down. As he started to move toward shore, he dimly heard a series of small explosions, followed by a huge one that knocked him off his feet and somersaulted him over and over. His ears felt as though they were popping apart. But the concussion had knocked him close to shore. A little further and he would be able to raise his head above water. His brain felt jarred, his lungs ached, there was a pain along the back of his neck; still his tired legs plodded on.

  He first felt coolness on top of his head, then he lifted his nose and chin out of the water and sucked in the sweet air. Three more steps brought his head up. He turned to look at the scene he had just left. The junk had already sunk, and the patrol boat was well on its way. Fire covered most of what was visible and the water line was now along the main deck. Even as he watched, the stern began to sink. There was loud hissing as water reached the fire. Slowly the boat settled, water bubbling over it, filling all compartments and cavities, hissing against fire that diminished as the boat sank. Nick turned his back to it and blinked his eyes against the morning sun. He nodded with a grim knowledge. It was dawn of the seventh day.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Kathy and Mike were waiting among the trees as Nick climbed onto the bank. Once he was on dry land, Nick took several deep breaths of air, trying to clear his ringing head.

  “Can I help you carry something?” Mike asked.

  Kathy took his hand. “I’m glad you’re all right.”

  For an instant their eyes locked, and Nick almost said something he knew he’d regret. Her beauty was almost too much for him. To keep his mind off her, he checked his tiny arsenal. He had lost all but four grenades in the river; there were about one-fourth of a clip left in the Tommy gun and five shots left in Wilhelmina. Not good, but it would have to do.

  “What happens now?” Kathy asked.

  Nick rubbed the stubble of his chin. “There are railroad tracks somewhere close by. It would take too long for us to get another boat. Besides, the river would be too slow. I think we’ll try to find those railroad tracks. Let’s head out in this direction.”

  He led the way through forest and bush. The going was slow because of the thickness of growth, and they had to stop many times for Kathy and Mike to rest. The sun was hot, and insects pestered them. They walked all through the morning, moving farther and farther away from the river, down small valleys and over short peaks until finally, shortly after noon, they came to the railroad tracks. The tracks themselves seemed to cut a wide path through the growth. The land was clear for at least ten feet on each side of them. They glistened in the afternoon sun, so Nick knew they were well used.

  Kathy and Mike flopped to the ground at the edge of the deep growth. They stretched out, panting. Nick walked up and down the tracks a short distance, studying the area. He was wet with sweat. There was no way of telling when the next train would come by. It could be any minute, or it could be several hours. And he didn’t have many hours left. He walked back to join Kathy and Mike.

  Kathy was sitting with her legs tucked under her. She looked up at Nick, shielding her eyes from the sun with her hand. “Well?” she said.

  Nick knelt and picked up a few of the pebbles scattered on both side of the tracks. “Looks pretty good,” he said. “If we can get a train to stop.”

  “Why does it have to stop?”

  Nick looked up and down the tracks. “It’s fairly level along here. When and if a train comes by it’s going to be moving along at quite a clip.”

  Kathy stood, brushed off the clinging shift, and put her hands on her hips. “Okay, how do we stop it?”

  Nick had to smile. “Sure you feel up to it?”

  Kathy put one leg slightly in front of the other, striking a very fetching pose. “I’m no frail little flower to be kept in a teapot. Neither is Mike. We both come from good stock. You’ve shown me you’re a violent man of ingenious invention. Well, I’m pretty good stuff myself. The way I see it we’ve got one goal, to get to Hong Kong before midnight. I think you’ve carried us long enough. I don’t see how you’re still on your feet the way you look. It’s time we started carrying our own share of the load. Do you agree, Mike?”

  Mike jumped to his feet. “You tell him, Mom.”

  Kathy winked at Mike, then looked at Nick, her hand shielding her eyes again. “So I have only one question for you, Mr. Nick Carter. How do we stop that train?”

  Nick chuckled softly to himself. “Tough as nails, aren’t you? Sounds, like mutiny to me.”

  Katby walked up to him, her hands at her sides. There was an earnest, pleading look on her lovely face. Softly, she said, “Not a mutiny, sir. An offer of help, out of respect, admiration and devotion to our leader. You destroy villages and blow up boats. Now show us how you stop trains.”

  Nick felt an ache in his chest that he didn’t fully understand. And there was a feeling growing inside him, a deep feeling for her.

  But it was impossible, he knew that. She was a married woman with a family. No, it was just that he was sleepy, hungry and thirsty. Her loveliness had hit him at a time when he was not his strongest.

  “All right,” he said, matching her stare. He pulled Hugo from his waistband. “As I cut branches and bushes, I want you to pile them on the railroad tracks. We’ll need a big pile, one they can see from quite a distance.” He walked back to the heavy growth with Kathy and Mike following him. “They may not stop,” he said as he began cutting. “But maybe they’ll slow enough for us to jump on.”

  It took almost two hours before Nick was satisfied with the height. It looked like a green, sappy mound, about four feet around and almost six feet tall. From a distance it looked as though it would completely block any train.

  Kathy stood after placing the last branch on the pile and wiped her brow with the back of her hand. “Now what happens?” she asked.

  Nick shrugged. “Now we wait.”

  Mike began picking up pebbles and pitching them into the trees.

  Nick walked up behind the boy. “You’ve got a good arm there, Mike. You play Little League?”

  Mike stopped pitching and started shaking the pebbles in his hand. “Pitched four shutouts last year.”

 
“Four? That’s good. How did you end up in the league?”

  Mike threw the pebbles down with disgust. “Lost in the playoffs. We ended up in second place.”

  Nick smiled. He could see the father in the boy, the way the straight black hair lay over one side of the forehead, the piercing black eyes. “Well,” he said. “There’s always next year.” He started to walk away. Mike held his arm and looked into his eyes.

  “Nick, I’m worried about Mother.”

  Nick shot a glance at Kathy. She sat with her legs under her, pulling weeds from between the pebbles, just as though she were in her front yard. “Why are you worried?” he asked.

  “Give it to me straight,” Mike said. “We aren’t going to make it, are we?”

  “Of course we’re going to make it. We’ve got a few hours of daylight plus half the night. The time to start worrying is ten minutes to midnight if we’re not in Hong Kong. We’ve only got sixty miles to go. If we don’t get there, then I’ll worry with you. But until then, keep saying we’ll make it.”

  “What about Mother? She’s not like you and me—I mean being a woman and all.”

  “You and me, Mike,” Nick said with feeling. “We’ll take care of her.”

  The boy smiled. Nick walked over to where Kathy was sitting.

  She looked up at him and shook her head. “I wish you’d try to get some sleep.”

  “I don’t want to miss my train,” Nick said.

  Then Mike shouted. “Listen, Nick!”

  Nick whirled. Sure enough, the tracks were buzzing. He grabbed Kathy’s hand and yanked her to her feet. “Come on.”

  Kathy was already running beside him. Mike joined them and all three began running along the tracks. They ran until the pile they had built was almost out of sight behind them. Then Nick pulled Kathy and Mike about five feet into the forest. Then they stopped.