Sad Wind from the Sea (1959)

by Jack Higgins

  He yawned and ran his fingers through his hair. 'Hell, I feel foul. My mouth tastes of mud.'

  'I came to warn you,' she said. 'Dinner is at six and Clara says no excuses accepted. You've got about twenty minutes.'

  He got off the bed and opened the suitcase and took out his razor. 'I'm going to have a quick shower and shave,' he told her. 'Shan't be long.'

  The stinging lances of water invigorated him and by the time he had dressed again his body was glowing and alive. When he came back into the room she was sitting on the edge of the bed examining a photo in a leather case. He cursed softly at his clumsiness in leaving the suitcase open. She looked up and smiled apologetically. 'I'm sorry. I saw it on top of the other things. I couldn't resist peeking.'

  Hagen shrugged. 'It doesn't matter.' He hadn't looked at the photo in a long time. The man on it was a stranger. A good-looking, clean-cut young naval officer who had died a long time ago.

  'You looked different then,' she said. 'About the eyes and the mouth. Now you seem bitter.'

  He nodded. 'Only a little, though. It's something life does to you.' He looked again at the photo as he adjusted his tie. 'Ah, halcyon days.'

  She said, very quietly, 'What happened?'

  For a second he was tempted to cut her off sharply, to tell her, to mind her own business, and then he suddenly realized that he wanted her to know and to understand. He walked over to the window and stood looking out, trying to get it clear in his own mind. 'It was one of those things. You never know when they start. Perhaps the day you're born - I don't know. When I finished college my father sent me to finish my education in Europe. I was at Oxford when the war broke out in 1939. I joined the British Navy. My old man was hopping mad. After Pearl Harbor I transferred into the American Navy. Finished the war as a lieutenant-commander. The trouble was that I liked the Navy but my father couldn't see it. Wanted me to be a stockbroker in the family firm. I refused, so he cut the cash.'

  'Was that important?' Rose said.

  He turned and smiled at her. 'I'm afraid it was. I had expensive tastes, particularly in women. The pay didn't stretch far enough. I was in charge of a messing account. I borrowed some cash against my next pay cheque and unfortunately the auditors arrived.' He laughed harshly. 'You know, it's damned funny, but in cases like mine the auditors always seem to come early.' He lit a cigarette, suddenly tired of the story, and added: 'I was asked to resign. Of course everyone got to know. The Navy is just one big, happy family. My old man gave me a thousand dollars and told me to vanish.'

  'And so you came to Macao?'

  He nodded. 'By way of Africa, India and various other places. I've been here about four years now.' He looked moodily out of the window. 'It's bloody funny how one little mistake can mean so much.' Abruptly he swung round and laughed brightly. 'But that was in another country, as the playwright said.' He picked up his jacket. 'Come on. Let's get something to eat.' He held open the door for her. For a moment she stood gazing steadily at him and then she walked out, an expression of puzzlement on her face.

  Dinner wasn't a success. Clara had little to say and Rose Graham sat wrapped in her own thoughts. Hagen wished he hadn't told her about himself. It was as if she had built up a picture of him in her mind and he had spoiled it for her.

  After dinner he slipped into Clara's office and telephoned Charlie Beale. When he replaced the receiver after a short conversation he was satisfied. Everything had apparently gone without a hitch and the boat was already on its way to the private inlet near Charlie's beach-house. As he turned to leave the room Clara entered. 'Just using your phone,' he said.

  'Are you still going through with it?'

  He nodded. 'Yes, everything's fixed. I've got the boat back, supplies, everything I need.'

  'What about the kid?'

  He suddenly felt really angry. 'For God's sake, Clara, why must you keep harping on that? I've told you she'll be well taken care of. Isn't that enough?'

  'Is it?' she said. 'Do you really think that yourself?'

  He pushed past her and wrenched open the door. 'I don't want to discuss it any more. And don't worry - we'll be off your hands soon enough. We're leaving in the morning.'

  He went up to his room and lay on the bed in the dark, smoking furiously and hating Clara and the world, but, most of all, hating himself. There was a click and then a shaft of light moved across the floor as the door opened. He lay there waiting as she crossed to the bed and then he could smell the fragrance of her hair and she sat down on the edge of the bed and took his hand. 'Are you all right?' she said.

  He allowed his hand to remain in hers. 'Yes,' he said. 'I'm fine.'

  There was a small silence and she said: 'What happened today? Did you have any luck?'

  He told her about Charlie Beale, omitting the fact that Charlie wanted a cut of the gold for his help. 'Charlie owes me a few favours,' he told her. 'Naturally he'll have to be reimbursed out of the proceeds of the gold, and the two men I'm taking as deck-hands - they'll have to be well paid.'

  She accepted his explanations without argument. 'And you,' she said. 'What payment will you expect?'

  For a moment time stood still as they both waited there in the darkness and then Hagen pulled his hand gently from her grasp and said: 'Better go to bed. Get all the sleep you can. You'll be needing it, believe me.'

  He knew that she stood up and then he was aware of her walking away towards the door. She paused and her voice said softly: 'I want you to know that I understand. Truly I do.' The door opened briefly and closed again.

  He lay in the darkness and after a while he stubbed out his cigarette and then there was no light at all and the nothingness pressed in on him and suddenly coldness spread through his body and he was afraid. He turned and buried his head in the pillow.

  6

  They left shortly before noon on the following day. The problem of getting to the beach-house unobserved was solved when Hagen noticed a laundry van parked outside the kitchen. A quiet chat with the driver and a liberal tip ensured that, when the van left, Hagen and the girl were safely hidden in the back amongst the bundles of dirty washing.

  At the last moment they had missed Clara and she was nowhere to be found. Hagen wasn't surprised. She had treated him pretty coldly and for a while he had wondered whether she might tell Rose the truth about the whole scheme. He heaved a sigh of relief as the van jolted out of the side entrance and turned into the road. 'Well, we're really on the way now,' he said.

  Rose nodded. 'Do you think all this secrecy is necessary?'

  He considered the point for a moment before replying. 'Yes, it's worth it if only because it will keep Kossoff guessing. I don't think he's in Macao. I wouldn't be surprised if he's in China. Remember, he knows that whatever happens we've got to arrive at the Kwai Marshes at some time or other.'

  'Then what chance have we got?' Rose said.

  He laughed grimly. 'We've got one chance,' he said, 'and that's to get into those marshes and out again before he realizes it. That's why I want to leave tonight if we can possibly manage it.' He lit a cigarette and added: 'It all depends on what shape the boat's in. I hope that swine Herrara hasn't knocked her about at all.'

  'You love that boat, don't you?' she said. 'You spoke about her then as if she was a woman.'

  He grinned. 'Yes, I do think quite a lot about Hurrier.'

  'Hurrier,' she said. 'What a peculiar name. What made you choose it?'

  'Because that's exactly what she is. She belonged to a dope smuggler who was shot dead in a fight with the Customs near Java. I happened to be in Sourabaya when she was auctioned off. I had a pocketful of money and bought her. She's forty-five feet long, diesel engines. Ex-Japanese Navy, though what they used her for is anybody's guess.' He smiled to himself. 'Just about the fastest thing in these waters.'

  Rose chuckled softly. 'I wonder if you'll ever think as much about a woman as you do about that boat,' she said, and then suddenly coloured and lapsed into silence.

  The
van jolted to a standstill and they opened the doors and scrambled out. They were standing in a small enclosed courtyard. Hagen paid off the driver and said to Rose, 'How do you like it?'

  She looked at the gardens which could be seen through an archway in the wall, and at the rear of the cool, pleasant-looking house. 'It's nice.'

  'You haven't seen anything yet,' he said. At that moment two Chinese house-boys emerged from the rear door and fought for possession of their luggage. Finally they had things sorted out to their satisfaction and led the way into the house and along a narrow, dark passage, which led into a spacious sun-trap of a lounge.

  The lounge jutted out from the rest of the house and the three outside walls were almost entirely constructed of glass. The view was breath-taking and Rose stood in the middle of the floor and clapped her hands like a small child. 'Oh, Mark,' she sighed. 'It's wonderful.' She opened one of the french windows and ran out on to the terrace.

  Hagen told one of the house-boys that they were going down to the boat and to ask Charlie to join them when he arrived, then he followed Rose out on to the balcony. He leaned on the balustrade beside her so that their shoulders touched, and looked out over the blue-green China Sea. Beneath the terrace, the cliffs dropped a good hundred feet down into a small, funnel-shaped inlet. From that height they were able to see quite clearly the different shades of green in the waters of the inlet caused by the coral ledges at varying depths. The boat floated motionless beside a stone jetty that pushed out from the bone-white sand. There was no sign of life. Hagen said: 'O'Hara should be on board. Let's go down and have a look.'

  The beach was reached by a series of stone steps that zigzagged in a haphazard, lazy sort of way across the face of the cliff. Hagen was sweating when they reached the bottom. They walked along the jetty, the heat from the stones striking up through the soles of their shoes, and as they neared the boat they could hear a muffled banging. 'These stones are almost red-hot,' Rose said.

  He nodded. 'Yes, and be careful not to touch any metal when you get on the boat. You'll probably burn yourself.'

  They dropped down on to the deck and Hagen led the way into the wheelhouse. Everything seemed in perfect order and he ran his fingers over the brass-mounted compass with deep and conscious pleasure. The windows were grimy and smeared and, as he picked up a rag and wiped them, Rose chuckled deep down in her throat. He suddenly felt awkward and she smiled and touched his arm impulsively. 'I'm sorry. I wasn't making fun. It's just that you make it so obvious how much you think of this boat.'

  He grinned. 'I know, I'm like a fussy old woman.' He led the way out on to the deck again and said, 'You'd better meet O'Hara.'

  She followed him down the short steel ladder that led into the cramped, stifling engine-room. It was so hot that sweat suddenly poured from his face in tiny rivulets and he turned to her and pointed upwards. Rose, who was already looking faint, clambered back on deck.

  The noise was deafening and he could see O'Hara in a corner banging a cylinder casing back into position with a heavy hammer. Hagen touched him on the shoulder and O'Hara turned and smiled and stopped banging. The reverberations died away. 'So you got here at last.' He was wearing only a greasy pair of shorts and a sweat rag.

  'What shape is she in?' Hagen asked.

  'Perfect, lad. Just a few odd jobs and she'll be ready for anything. The tanks are brimfull. Charlie saw to that.'

  Hagen patted him on the shoulder. 'Good man! I knew I could depend on you. Now come on deck and meet the girl.'

  They found Rose sitting on a coil of rope fanning herself with Hagen's panama. He introduced her to O'Hara and the old man's eyes gleamed approval. 'It's the first time I've known this one here to show any taste at all,' he told Rose and she glanced at Hagen and smiled.

  They sat down on the deck, their backs resting against the bulkhead, and Rose and Hagen smoked cigarettes and O'Hara his foul old pipe. They didn't talk about the trip or the sea. In fact, their conversation seemed to touch on nothing connected with the Orient at all. O'Hara reminisced about his boyhood in Ireland, about the fishing and of going out with a gun in the early morning, and Hagen found himself remembering his early years in Maine and Connecticut. Summers sailing with the fishermen off Cape Cod and the excitement of returning home to a New England white Christmas. It was a lazy, happy sort of conversation of the kind one only has in the company of good friends. The talk ebbed and flowed like the tide and occasionally there were short periods of silence and these periods were more marked because of the stillness of the hot afternoon when the sea was like a mirror - still and resting in the heat.

  It was during such a period of silence that it occurred to Hagen that he had not fully explained the situation to O'Hara. It was only by good fortune that the journey ahead of them and the eventual disposal of the gold had not been mentioned. He stretched himself lazily and said, 'I think we'd better have a look at that cylinder casing.'

  O'Hara looked at him in surprise and then he nodded. 'All right, lad.'

  Hagen told the girl to stay on deck and she nodded sleepily and stretched out in the slight shadow of the bulwark and he and O'Hara went below. Going into the engine-room was like diving into a pool of water. The heat was so tremendous that he had to make a distinct physical effort to force a passage through. He stripped off his shirt and squeezed into the narrow space beside the engine and began to screw the casing into place. O'Hara held it steady for him and as they worked Hagen explained the situation. When they had finished they backed out to the foot of the ladder and stood there for a moment trying to catch a breath of comparatively cool air. 'There is an unpleasantness to the whole affair,' the old man said slowly.

  A sudden flash of irritation surged inside Hagen. Was everyone against him? 'Don't be a bloody fool,' he said. 'The girl won't suffer, I promise you. She'll get a full and equal share. Enough to keep her in luxury for years. When the time comes I'll explain things to her. She'll come round to my way of thinking.'

  O'Hara sighed. 'Aye, we'll have to hope that she will. But I can't say I like it at all.'

  They mounted the ladder to the deck and as they went towards Rose she made an exclamation of disgust. 'Look at your trousers,' she said to Hagen. He glanced down and saw a large smear of grease where he had been kneeling. 'Why can't you put on some working clothes?'

  He grinned amiably and retreated to the main cabin. He changed quickly into a pair of faded blue denims, sweat shirt and rope-soled shoes. The outfit was completed by a battered and salt-stained cap, a relic of his Navy days. When he came out on deck again she clapped her hands and said approvingly: 'That's much better. You look like something out of a Hemingway novel.'

  He didn't find time to reply because, with a great roaring that fractured the afternoon stillness in a thousand places, a small motor boat swept into the inlet through the narrow passage that led from the sea. The motors cut suddenly and the boat drifted against the jetty with a gentle bump. Charlie Beale came towards them, a genial smile on his face. 'Hello there!' he called.

  Hagen was watching the man who was busy securing the motor boat to the jetty. How can one explain the inexplicable? He wondered. He had liked Rose from the moment he had seen her without knowing anything about her. In that same positive way he disliked the man who followed Charlie along the jetty and jumped down on to the deck of Hurrier. 'Meet Steve Mason, the other member of your crew,' Charlie said, waving a hand. Hagen shook hands briefly and Mason looked at him quizzically, a peculiarly mocking expression in his blue eyes. He was a large man, heavily built, with sun-bleached, fair hair and a red, slightly freckled face.

  As Hagen assessed the man, introductions took place automatically all round. Charlie was very impressed with Rose and she seemed to take to him at once. They led the way back up the steps towards the house and Hagen and Mason followed. Half-way up the cliff Mason offered him a cigarette and they stopped to light up. As he flicked the match away Mason said, 'You don't remember me, do you?'

  Hagen looked at hi
m in puzzlement and then suddenly something rose to the surface of his consciousness. 'I knew you in the Navy, didn't I?'

  Mason nodded. 'Correct! Only a short time - two weeks to be precise. I was an ensign on the Johnson and you were "Exec.". I didn't like you at all, Hagen. The white-haired boy with the medals and all the combat experience with the British. I was Gunnery Officer and during our trials at Pearl you were never off my neck. You told the old man I was incompetent and had me transferred to H.Q. I finished the war in a desk job.'

  Hagen forced a smile and began to climb the steps again. 'Then I did you a good turn,' he said. 'You know what happened to the Johnson. There were only eighteen survivors.'

  'I notice you managed to be one of them,' Mason said with a sneer.

  Hagen tried to keep the conversation on an even keel. 'What made you shoot that M.P. in Tokio?' he said.

  Mason laughed bitterly. 'What a bloody mess that was. I had a damn good job when Korea started and they called me back. I was a lieutenant-commander in charge of a supply depot in Japan. I was doing all right for myself on the side, working the black-market and giving contracts to the right people. Unfortunately some nosy bastard found out about my three bank accounts.' He laughed harshly. 'I didn't want to shoot that guy but if I hadn't done I'd have been in a cell now. It was him or me.' In some strange way there was real regret in his voice.

  'Charlie explained about this job, didn't he?' Hagen said.

  'You mean about the girl not knowing what's going to happen to the gold? Oh, sure. It's a neat scheme. Congratulations.'

  There was again a sneer in his voice and Hagen restrained himself forcibly and ground his nails into the palms of his hands. 'Just remember one thing, Mason. You're simply a hired hand on this trip. You do what I say and when I say. Understand?'

  Mason's hand swung up in a mocking salute. 'Aye aye, Captain.' He grinned wickedly and added: 'That's a nice girl. It should prove an interesting trip.'