The Sodden Sailor (A Nick Williams Mystery Book 11)

by Frank W. Butterfield

  I shook my head. "Not at all, Captain. We're almost there."

  Murphy nodded, "Yes, Danny, me boy..." He kissed the captain on the cheek. "We're almost there."

  Chapter 17

  The Peninsula Hotel

  Salisbury Road

  Friday, February 18, 1955

  Just past 8 in the morning

  I was snuggling next to Carter when I heard the front door of the suite open. I tried to jump out of bed but Carter held onto me. He whispered, "I bet this ain't nothin' new."

  There was a polite knock on the bedroom door. Carter said, "Yes?"

  Cheung opened the door and walked over to the window. He pulled back the drapes and said, "Good morning, gentlemen. Do you prefer breakfast first or to bathe?"

  Carter answered, "We'll shower."

  "Very good. Hot or not so hot?"

  "We'll take care of that."

  "Very good. What shall I order for you for breakfast?"

  Carter answered, "Three eggs over easy for me. Two for Nick. A large amount of chewy, not crispy, bacon. And then whatever else you think is good."

  "An English breakfast?"

  We both answered in unison, "No."

  Carter added, "No beans and none of that black stuff."

  "Very good. Breakfast in thirty minutes?"

  I replied, "Sounds good. Thank you, Cheung."

  "Yes, thank you, Cheung."

  He bowed, backed out of the bedroom, and closed the door.

  "Well, that wasn't so bad, was it?" asked Carter.

  "That was weird."

  "No weirder than the first time Gustav barged into our bedroom with me on top of you."

  I laughed at the memory. "Nope. That one tops everything else."

  Carter let me go and jumped out of bed. "Come on, son. Get a move on. There's chewy bacon in our future."

  . . .

  The breakfast was pretty good. The bacon was perfect. The eggs were good. As we were diving into it, Cheung walked up with a newspaper.

  Carter took it before I could say anything. We were sitting together at one end of the table. Carter put down his bacon and looked at the front page for a moment. He grinned and passed it over to me.

  At the bottom of the page, there was a photograph of the two us listening politely to one of the Chinese merchants. Captain O'Reilly was also in the picture, watching us as we leaned over in order to be able to understand the man we'd been introduced to.

  American

  Philanthropist

  Makes H. K. Stop

  On Pacific Tour

  C.W.W. Jones, of San Francisco, made a stop on a tour of the Pacific here in Hong Kong. Accompanied by friend, Nicholas Williams, and assistant, Captain Daniel O'Reilly, Mr. Jones has presented the Governor with a generous bequest towards the building fund of Queen Mary Hospital.

  Following a short stay in Honolulu, Mr. Jones and company flew in his privately-owned Lockheed Constellation airplane to Tokyo and then on to Kai Tak Airport. He was greeted with honour by a military band by Colonel J. W. Bonham on behalf of Governor Alexander Grantham, who was unable to attend due to a prior commitment.

  On Saturday, Mr. Jones will be escorted through a tour of Queen Mary Hospital along with Governor Grantham. Following, the governor will host a private reception for Mr. Jones at Government House.

  Mr. Jones and party are expected to remain in Hong Kong through Saturday, the 25th of this month. The next stop on his tour will be Sydney.

  "Did you ever make out what that man was saying?" asked Carter.

  "Nope."

  "Gimme your wallet?"

  "Why?"

  Under the table, he poked his finger in my ribs. "Just give it to me."

  I squirmed away, pulled it out of my pocket, and handed it over.

  He pulled out a ten dollar note, laid it on the table, and handed the wallet back to me. We went back to eating. Carter suspiciously said nothing while he read the paper.

  After a moment, Cheung appeared to refill our coffee.

  "Cheung?" asked Carter.

  "Yes, sir?"

  Carter handed the butler the ten. "When you have time today, could you go out and buy as many of these papers as you can with this ten?"

  Cheung nodded. "Very good, sir. That will be many newspapers."

  Carter replied, "Well, a nice big stack, anyway. And then could you bundle them together in a carton or a bag so we can take them with us? I want everyone at home to find out about the famous American philanthropist, Mr. C.W.W. Jones."

  I burst out laughing as Cheung pocketed the ten and didn't even crack a smile.

  . . .

  I put the phone down and turned to Carter. "There's something I need to tell you."

  He looked over from the sofa where he was reading the paper. "What?"

  I walked over and sat next to him. Before I could say anything, the phone rang again. Cheung picked it up. "Yes?"

  He nodded as he listened. "One moment." He put his gloved hand over the mouthpiece and looked at Carter. "It's the Fire Chief. Would like to give you a tour of Terminus Fire Station and honorary luncheon."

  I looked at Carter and nodded.

  He said, "Sure. What time?"

  Cheung asked that question over the phone and then relayed the answer, "Meet you in lobby at 11."

  "Fine."

  Cheung confirmed and hung up the phone.

  I stood. "You'd better change." I pulled on his hand. "Come on, I'll help you pick out the right tie."

  We walked into the bedroom. I closed the door behind me and locked it. Then I walked over and pulled Carter's head down between my hands. We kissed deeply and passionately for a few minutes. Finally, he stood up and asked, "What's that for?"

  I tightened my lips as I felt a knot in my stomach forming. "We've decided to go in today. I won't see you until we get back."

  Carter's eyes widened in shock. "When did you make that decision?"

  "I just confirmed it with O'Reilly. He came by last night while you were out with the doctor. He said his boat contact was getting nervous so he went ahead and bought the boat outright."

  "How'd he do that?"

  "Murphy took the briefcase of cash and used that. It was a thousand bucks now and a thousand on delivery. American."

  Carter's eyes narrowed. "Is that why we didn't talk about the plan last night after dinner?"

  I nodded. "And because we're suspicious of Newland."

  "What?"

  I shrugged. "O'Reilly and Morris got to talking about the timing of the hire while we were in Tokyo. It kinda reminds me of that kid that the Bureau set Robert up with."

  Carter nodded thoughtfully. "OK. I can see that. But, why didn't you want to tell me about the change in the plane, son?"

  "Because I didn't want you to worry about me."

  He frowned. "But I'm gonna worry like hell about you. I really should go." He reflexively moved away from me.

  I held onto his arm. "I want you to go but O'Reilly is right. This is a five-man mission and, for the first and last time in my life I have to agree with him. You're just too tall."

  He sighed and pulled me in close. "Don't be an idiot, Nick."

  Into his shirt, I muttered, "When have I ever been an idiot?" I laughed. "Wait. Don't answer."

  "You know what I mean. Don't be a hero. Don't get yourself shot at. Come home as soon as you can." He held me for a long moment. "Oh my God, this must be what Mike must've felt."

  I nodded. I had no reply to that other than to say, "But I'll be back tomorrow. We'll be standing at the stupid reception together, dealing with all their nasty looks and little barbed jabs and, as usual, I won't give a damn because we'll be together even if we can't hold hands."

  . . .

  Once I was in the elevator, I stood behind the kid in the white uniform who was running the car and let the tears fall. When the doors to the lobby opened, I pulled out my handkerchief and blew in it.

  I saw the others standing next to one of the white pillars an
d walked over to meet them. Tony took one look at me and asked, "You OK, Nick?"

  I shook my head but didn't reply. Tony put his hand on my shoulder. "We'll be back tomorrow."

  "I know."

  O'Reilly added, "You don't have to go with us. You can stay here. Might be better."

  I shook my head. "You're family, Captain. Mai and Jerry are family." The tears started again. "Let's go get our family."

  . . .

  Murphy had found, or maybe bought, an old Ford panel van with the steering wheel on the wrong side. It was on the right side for Hong Kong but the wrong side for my head to wrap around. The thing had once been painted white but the paint was faded and rust was the predominant color. Murphy and O'Reilly sat up front. Tony, Lee, and myself crowded in the back. We were all dressed like American tourists with baggy trousers and lightweight shirts. Even though it was February, the weather was warm. Murphy had packed a couple of bags of extra gear in case it rained and to make it easy for us to move around at night. He'd also somehow found a sawed-off shotgun and a pistol. I didn't ask because I didn't want to know.

  As we made our way north, we were moving at a crawl. At one point, O'Reilly asked, "Won't this rust-bucket go any faster, Murphy?"

  "No, me love, tops out at twenty-five. Best I could do with no questions asked."

  Lee leaned forward and asked Murphy, "We're going to San Tin, right?"

  Murphy nodded. "After we secure the boat. Like we discussed. Then we go to San Tin to wait for nightfall. Your guy will meet us at the cove, right?"

  Lee nodded. "Yeah. I hitched a ride up there last night after dinner and talked to him. He knows this gal and wants to help." He clapped O'Reilly on the shoulder. "You should be proud of your sister. She's doing a lot of good for the refugees on the border."

  O'Reilly nodded and patted Lee's hand. "Thank you, lad."

  Lee sat back and slouched in his seat. He looked at me. "You sure you wanna be part of this?"

  I nodded. "Sure."

  He shrugged. "I dunno what a millionaire is doin' here but fine by me."

  O'Reilly turned around and glared at Lee. "Don't you be talkin' to Nick like that." I was surprised to hear him use my first name. "He was never no spy but I know his work and if he says he can do something, he can do something. Believe you me, boyo."

  Lee raised his hands. "Fine."

  "I'm an accidental millionaire, Lee." I explained how I'd inherited the trust from my Great-Uncle Paul. "I've done my share of private investigating."

  "Ever kill anyone?"

  I shook my head. "I've wanted to a couple of times but never had to do it."

  He nodded. "You might have to tonight."

  I shrugged but didn't reply.

  Tony leaned over to his friend. "Cut it out, Lee."

  Lee looked over at me. "Sorry, Nick. Just wanna make sure we're ready for this." He offered his hand.

  I shook it and said, "That's fine. I'll tell you this. I rely on the experts so I mostly see my job as staying out of everyone else's way. I can shoot a gun as good as most but if there's someone better, then I say he should have at it. I'm not looking for a pat on the back."

  He nodded but still looked doubtful. I couldn't blame him.

  . . .

  We'd finally left the city traffic and were making our way up a hill when Murphy slammed on the brakes, pulled off to the side of the road, and killed the ignition. "Duck in the back."

  The three of us hit the floor and waited. After a moment, I asked, "What is it?"

  "Dunno, Nick. I'd swear we was being followed. I just let the fellow go round. He didn't as much as glance over. Even though there's no windows back there, I didn't want him to see anything but Danny and me."

  "What'd he look like?" I asked as we got back in our seats.

  "Thick. Don't think he was British. I'd say Eastern European. Or maybe Italian." He started the van back up and pulled back onto the road.

  As we continued, I told everyone the full story about meeting Dr. Rice-Harris, including her suspicion of being tailed by a spy. I'd left that part out the night before.

  Lee said, "She's right. But not all the spies in Hong Kong are Chinese. Some are Soviets. Some are Czechs. But no Italians. Not that I've heard of."

  O'Reilly added, "There are some Russians I've seen who could pass for Italian."

  We drove in silence for a long while.

  . . .

  We came to a stop in a small village. There was a ramshackle roadside stand where a man was selling dumplings and tea. The place was hopping. Several cars, vans, and trucks were pulled over and a small line of customers curled around the right side of the stand.

  Lee jumped out of the van and went to get us some lunch. While we waited, I asked Tony, "What's Lee's story?"

  Tony grinned. "Hell if I know. He's done little odd jobs all over the Pacific. I've met a few guys who are in his line of work but he's the only one I've met who's in the life."

  O'Reilly added. "Me, too. Never heard of such a thing before I met him."

  Murphy laughed. "They exist but they're rare."

  "Is he going with anyone?" I asked.

  Before Tony could reply, O'Reilly turned in his seat and said, "Be careful, boyo, or he'll have you and Lee shacking up together." He paused. "If you aren't already."

  Tony laughed. "Nah. We're just friends." He licked his lips. "Most of the time."

  We all laughed.

  . . .

  Lee came back laden with two round bamboo containers. I opened the side door and took them from him. He ran back inside and came back with an iron kettle and five round tea cups. He jumped in the van and said, "It's the cook's variety. Nothing they make here is bad. Been here before. Dig in."

  Only Lee and Tony could use chopsticks, so the rest of us carefully picked up the steaming dumplings with our fingers. The tea was strong and perked me up more than any coffee ever had. By the time we'd polished off all the dumplings, I was stuffed. I had another cup of the tea before we left the place, just for the hit.

  . . .

  About fifteen minutes after we left the roadside shack, the paved road ended. We followed a gravel road that turned into a single-lane dirt road all the way down to what looked like an abandoned marina.

  Murphy parked the van a few feet from the main dock and said, "Wait here."

  He hopped out and made his way gingerly along the rotting pier until he came to one of the three boats that were tied up. The place stank. It smelled like we were close to where sewage was being dumped into the bay.

  After about ten minutes, he returned with a wary-looking Chinese man. Leaving the man in front of the van, he walked over to the driver-side door, opened it, and took an envelope that O'Reilly handed him.

  Murphy gave the old man the envelope and watched as he counted it. Finally the old man nodded and walked around the van and up the road.

  Murphy banged on the van. "OK, lads. Let's go."

  I opened the side door and jumped out. Lee handed me the two bags that had been on the floor in front of me. He and Tony then jumped out of the van and walked around to the back door. Opening it, they grabbed two more bags apiece. I had no idea what they contained and, again, didn't want to ask.

  We made our way, single file, along the pier, keeping an eye open for loose planks and rotten spots.

  "What kind of boat is this?" I asked.

  "Sampan," answered Lee as I handed the bags to him. He stowed them in the center, under an odd covering that reminded me of a bamboo Quonset hut.

  I laughed. "I thought that was a Hollywood word from a Charlie Chan movie."

  "Nope. This is a sampan. That's a Cantonese word. It means three planks. A long time ago, that's what they were. They've become more sophisticated over time. This one is in pretty good shape, considering where we are."

  "Where are we?"

  "The backwater, quite literally, of the New Territories. No one comes over here anymore." He looked around and then sniffed. "You can smell why."


  "What is that?" I asked.

  "Sewage pipe from across the border. Raw sewage they're dumping into the bay here."

  "Where are we headed?"

  "Right into where it's coming from, of course."

  . . .

  We made our way up the coast and, as we did, the smell got worse. Captain O'Reilly and Murphy were handling the sails. They were rectangular and brown. One was smaller and in the forward part of the boat. The other was larger and sat just about midships. There was a light breeze coming from the south-southwest and it was propelling us against the current pretty steadily.

  After about thirty minutes, we came to a small cove where the water was much cleaner than out in the larger bay. O'Reilly beached the boat on a small strip of sand. Murphy jumped out into the shallow water and pulled the boat up.

  The rest of us climbed out, leaving our gear stowed, and made our way up the sandy beach to a small strip of grass along the edge of a forest. A Chinese man emerged from behind a grove of trees with big, broad leaves and said something I didn't understand. He stood about 5'7" and was slender. His black hair was cut straight across his forehead. He had a hard look to him with intense dark black eyes and an ugly scar that ran from the left side of his mouth to his ear. When he smiled, as he did when he saw Lee, the scar folded back into his skin and his face softened.

  Lee laughed, walked up to the man, and shook his hand. The man pulled him into an embrace for a moment and then pushed him away with a laugh and said something to Lee that made him kiss the man on the cheek.

  Turning to face us, Lee said, "Everyone, this is Hu. He's gonna drive us up to San Tin. He has a house there where we'll wait until it gets dark."

  He didn't bother to introduce us. Instead, we followed Hu through the trees and to a spot where he'd parked a truck. Hu got in behind the wheel. Tony and Lee slid in on the passenger side. O'Reilly, Murphy, and I jumped in the back. I sat on the left wheel well while the two of them sat together on the truck bed.

  . . .

  The house was surprisingly large. Captain O'Reilly called it, "traditional Chinese." There was an outer courtyard with a small fountain. Beyond that were several rooms that we passed through, one of which contained a large statue I didn't recognize, in front of which were several burning sticks of incense. I liked the aroma. It was nice and clean after the reek of the sewage in the bay.