by Jack Higgins
'Now we sit tight and go like a bat out of hell for about an hour and a half and then look for a light to starboard. Thank God for this weather. It really gives us a sporting chance.'
The engines throbbed steadily and the rain continued to spatter against the windows. After a while Rose dozed off, her head lolling against his shoulder. Hagen continued on the alert, his eyes piercing the darkness until they were sore and he had difficulty in keeping them open. At six-fifteen he prodded her into life and told her to watch for a light on the starboard side. Within five minutes she had found it, a tiny pin-point piercing the dark. 'That's Cape Kami light,' he told her. 'We're nearly through. We should pass Lamko Point light to port in about ten minutes and then our troubles will be over.'
It was as though everything was happening according to a predestined plan. Lamko Point winked at them through the rain right on schedule and Hagen altered course at once. For another twenty minutes they ploughed on through the darkness and then he reduced speed and leaned back with a sigh of relief. 'That's it, angel,' he said. 'We're through.'
She squeezed his arm and said, 'What happens now?'
He laughed shortly. 'Now, we just take it easy all day and pray nobody spots us before nightfall.'
The rain gradually stopped and dawn began to seep into the sky. Quite suddenly it was daylight with a slight mist on the sea and a chill wind but Hagen hardly noticed the cold. He opened one of the windows and the day had a sweetness like sharp wine and he felt drunk with its beauty. He looked at Rose and was suddenly aware, with a sense of shock, of the tiredness and strain that showed in her eyes. 'Are you all right?' he asked.
She tried to smile and then her face cracked into despair and fear. 'Oh, Mark, I'll be glad when it's over. Oh, God, make it be over soon.' She turned quickly and wrenched open the door and disappeared along the deck. For a moment Hagen stood staring at the open door that swung to and fro as the boat dipped into the waves and then the cold morning wind cut into him and he was afraid. For the first time he was really and truly afraid.
Mason relieved him at eight o'clock and Hagen went down to his cabin and turned in. He slept well without dreaming and didn't even raise his head until O'Hara came to wake him at three o'clock. O'Hara did his trick at the wheel while Rose gave Hagen and Mason a meal. She didn't have a great deal to say and still looked very tired. Hagen noticed Mason following her with his eyes as she passed in and out of the cabin. The bitter and sardonic lines on his face were momentarily wiped away until he caught Hagen looking at him and he flushed angrily.
It was after the meal, when Hagen had relieved O'Hara, that Mason came to the wheelhouse. He closed the door and leaned against it, a cigarette smouldering between his lips. Hagen had been expecting such a visit. He waited for the big man to make his proposition and found that he didn't hate Mason half as much as he had imagined. Mason said, 'I think it's time you and I had a little chat, don't you?'
'What's on your mind?' Hagen said.
Mason blew out a perfect smoke ring. 'When Charlie told me I was going on this trip I wasn't very cheerful at first and then I heard the details and got interested. You see I began to realize that there were very distinct possibilities.' Hagen laughed harshly and Mason said, 'What's so funny?'
'You are. Let me finish for you. You'll now point out to me what fools we would be to ever go back to Charlie at all. Why not go to Saigon, you'll say, and keep all the profits.'
Mason relaxed again. 'So you're a mind-reader? What's wrong with the idea? You're going to twist the girl, aren't you?'
Anger ran hotly through Hagen's veins and then he pulled himself up sharply. Mason was only telling the truth. 'That's nothing to do with it,' he told Mason. 'We need Charlie to dispose of the gold for us. In Saigon it would take time. He'd be breathing down our necks within twenty-four hours.'
Mason straightened up and said coldly: 'I don't give a damn for Charlie or you or anybody. Everything I've ever done has gone sour on me. This is my last chance. I warn you, if that gold comes out of the marshes, I want a share.' He ground his cigarette viciously into the floor and said: 'If we don't get out of the marshes - then we lose. It's as simple as that. I might as well be dead as end up another drifter on the Macao waterfront.' He opened the door and went out.
Hagen watched him walk along to the prow where Rose was sunning herself lying on a blanket. He dropped down beside her and they began to talk. Hagen was disturbed at the curious parallel between Mason and himself. In many ways they were identical and now they were both at the end of the road. The last big chance.
He stayed at the wheel until six o'clock when Mason came to relieve him and he went below for some food. Rose looked considerably better and a lot of the strain had disappeared from around her eyes. There was no sign of O'Hara. 'Where's the old man?' Hagen asked her.
She looked surprised. 'I thought you must have given him a job to do in the engine-room. I haven't seen him for ages.'
Hagen sighed wearily and stood up. What a crew, he thought. A girl, a deserter and a rum-soaked old has-been. He cursed savagely and went along to the engine-room. He found O'Hara huddled against the bottom of the ladder, dead to the world. The stink of rum was appalling and there were two empty bottles lying at the old man's feet. Hagen lifted him like a sack of potatoes and pushed him up through the hatch on to the deck. Rose looked concerned. 'Is he sick?' she said anxiously.
'He's sick all right,' Hagen said. He threw a bucket on a line overboard and doused the old man with sea water. After a few moments he seemed to be coming round. 'Watch him for a minute, angel,' Hagen said and slipped down into the engine-room. He had the overdeveloped cunning of the habitual drunk to overcome, but long practice in dealing with O'Hara now came to his aid. He checked all the unlikely places and finally found an oil drum that sounded hollow. He pulled off the lid and discovered a large cardboard box lined with bottles.
He carried the heavy box up the ladder and dropped it down by the stern rail. He lifted a couple of bottles out and examined them. A cheap rot-gut masquerading under a fancy name and guaranteed to produce cirrhosis of the liver in half the usual time. He began to drop the bottles overboard one by one. O'Hara came to his senses enough to realize what was happening and struggled to his feet. 'No, lad! Not that! Not all of them.'
Hagen turned and said coldly: 'I warned you about this. Now you'll have to suffer. I'll keep two bottles and you'll have a swig when I say so. The rest goes over.' He handed two bottles to Rose and then lifted the box and dropped it overboard.
O'Hara jumped at his back, screaming something unintelligible, his gnarled old fingers clawing at Hagen's throat. Hagen swung round and jerked the old man away. He slapped him several times across the face. 'Now less of it and pull yourself together,' he said.
O'Hara was blubbering like a baby and when Hagen released his grip on his shirt front he slid to the deck, his body shaking convulsively. Rose dropped to her knees and put an arm around him. She looked up at Hagen, pain on her face. 'Was that necessary? He's an old man you know.'
As Hagen tried to think of a suitable reply the engines were cut and the boat began to slow down. Mason's voice rang through the unaccustomed stillness. 'Yes, he's an old man, Hagen. Why don't you try someone a little nearer your own age?'
The challenge was unmistakable. He looked big and competent and very sure of himself with the sun glinting in his fair hair. Hagen waved a hand invitingly at the open deck between them and Mason moved forward, lightly, like a cat poised for action. He looked supremely confident.
Hagen pulled off his cap and wiped the sweat from his brow and stood waiting. He felt curiously detached from the affair. The challenge had to be met, he realized that. The success of everything depended on it. It wasn't a chivalrous action on Mason's part in defence of an old man. It was a heaven-sent opportunity to destroy Hagen that he had seized on as it presented itself.
The man looked like a boxer and as he approached he lifted his balled fists and assumed a classic pose. Hagen had no fear. He
almost welcomed the fight. This was something concrete to deal with, not abstract. As Mason swung the first punch, Hagen grabbed his wrist and twisted in one of his favourite Judo throws. The next moment he found himself flying through the air to land with terrible force on the deck. His throw had been expertly countered.
Mason stood back, a smile on his face, and flexed his hands. 'Get up, you bastard,' he said. 'I'm just beginning to enjoy myself.'
Hagen got to his feet and leaned against the deck-house. There was a mist before his eyes and he had no strength left in him at all. As Mason moved towards him he turned and staggered away along the side of the deck-house. He felt sick and faint and behind him he could hear the roar of anger from Mason. He knew if he didn't do something drastic he'd be pounded into the deck within the next few seconds. He stumbled round the corner of the deck-house and suddenly flung himself down so that Mason, who was following hard behind, tripped over him and crashed to the deck. Hagen stood up and began to kick him methodically in the stomach and suddenly there was a great roaring in his ears that deafened him to everything except the one purpose. To smash Mason into the deck.
Through the roaring he heard a voice screaming: 'Stop it, Mark! You'll kill him!' And then hands dragged him away. He remembered staggering into the cabin and holding on to the table in an effort to retain his senses, and then the cabin floor heaved towards him and he dived into darkness.
His head was in her lap and she was crying and cleaning his face gently with a damp cloth. As he stirred and lifted his head she said frantically: 'Oh, Mark. Are you all right? Say something, please.'
Surprisingly he discovered that his mouth retained its original shape but one side of his face was considerably swollen where it had met the deck. He tried to grin. 'I bet I look a hell of a sight.'
She sobbed with relief. 'Thank God! For the last half hour I've been nearly out of my mind.'
He struggled to his feet and stood swaying, supporting himself on the table. 'I'm sorry you had to see that,' he said.
'I thought you were going to kill him.'
He raised an eyebrow. 'What do you think he was trying to do to me?'
He stumbled out on to the deck in time to see Mason struggle to his feet and vomit. The big man stood swaying for a moment, as if he might topple over again, and then he tossed the canvas bucket, on its line, into the sea and washed away the vomit with a vigorous spray of water. 'Always the gentleman,' Hagen said.
Mason turned towards him. His face wasn't too good and his lips were split. He grinned without rancour. 'Another time, Hagen.' He stripped his shirt away, exposing the livid bruises on his stomach and chest, and dived cleanly over the rail and broke into an effortless crawl.
Hagen pulled his sweat shirt over his head and followed him over the rail. The water was warm but refreshing and the salt got into his cuts and grazes stinging him into life again. After a few minutes he shouted to Mason and then returned to the boat and pulled himself back over the rail. Rose handed him a towel and he dried himself briskly and pulled on his shirt. 'Your pants are still wet,' she pointed out.
He grinned and suddenly felt very tender towards her. 'You can never stop acting like a woman,' he said. 'You're all the same.' She pouted and as Mason climbed over the rail, Hagen added, 'I'll get the boat moving again now the performance is over.'
Mason grinned at him and went below and Rose said, 'I'll bring you a cup of coffee in a few minutes.' Hagen nodded and went back to the wheelhouse. Within a few moments Hurrier was sliding rapidly through the water again.
It was exactly ten o'clock when he cut the engines and the boat glided forward silently for a little while before coming to a halt. The other three were all on deck and Mason had one of the sub-machine-guns cradled in his arms ready for action. Not more than a quarter of a mile through the darkness the Kwai Marshes waited for them and Hagen's palms began to sweat a little as he prepared for the most difficult part of the journey.
He had charted a course into the marshes by a little-known channel he had once used when running guns in to the Reds. He was banking on the fact that Kossoff would be waiting for him at the river mouth if indeed he was waiting at all. He would never imagine that a boat could enter the marshes by any other route. Fog was rolling from the land in patches and he could smell the foetid odour of the marshes that was carried towards them on the stiff, off-shore breeze. They all waited, poised and tense, ears strained for every sound.
There was only the lapping of the water against the hull and the sighing of the wind. Hagen pressed the starter and the engine roared into life, shattering the stillness of the night. He hurriedly throttled down until they were moving in towards the marshes at a steady five knots, the engine rumbling protestingly on a low note.
There was sweat trickling down his face now as the shape of the land moved out of the night towards them, but there were no shots fired, no alarms. Nothing to indicate that Kossoff was anywhere within a thousand miles. Hagen took the boat through several twisting channels and cut the engines and ran her gently in amongst the giant reeds. He emitted a slow whistle of relief and went out on deck. 'Well, what now?' Mason said.
'So far so good. We've got in - let's hope we can get out as easily when the time comes. We've a big day tomorrow. I think everybody should turn in.'
'What about a guard?' Mason said.
Hagen told him then that he would take first watch and Mason nodded, and he and O'Hara went below. Rose lingered for a brief moment. Hagen held her hand for a little while without saying anything and then she kissed him quickly and followed the others.
He sat back in the wheelhouse, smoking and nursing a sub-machine-gun, and he smelled the marsh all around and heard the crickets singing through the night, and for the first time he began to think that there might be a chance - just a chance - that everything would go off without a hitch.
8
He was awakened shortly before seven the next morning by Mason who told him he had just been relieved by O'Hara who was keeping a sober, if rather bleary, eye on their surroundings. Rose was up and already preparing breakfast. Hagen swallowed a cup of coffee and went on deck and told O'Hara to go below and get some breakfast. He climbed on top of the wheelhouse and looked around him.
As he considered the wide expanse of reeds, he reflected with satisfaction that nowhere could there be a better place in which to play hide-and-seek. Some distance away the China Sea was hazy in the morning sun and inland the reeds seemed to continue unbroken as far as the eye could see.
Hagen knew that this was not so. Interlaced among the reeds was a network of waterways and lagoons - some deep, some shallow. He also knew that somewhere deep in the marshes people lived. Primitive fishermen who built their houses either on piles or the occasional islands. He had met some of these people on previous visits, simple and hard-working, wresting a living from their difficult surroundings. For them there was no Nationalist or Communist Government; the outside world had no meaning for them and they continued to live in the fever and the heat, toiling for their living as they had done for a thousand years.
A flight of wildfowl lifted from the reeds nearby and curved away towards the sea. He dropped down on to the deck and shouted for the others. They all came up from the galley and followed him into the wheelhouse. He pulled out the chart and gave them the full picture. 'From now on it's going to be tough,' he said. 'We've got to be on our toes and ready for trouble at any time of the day or night. There may be scouts out looking for us and we're pretty certain to bump into some of the primitive fishermen who live in the marshes. I don't think we need worry about them. They don't know a Communist from a tax-collector.'
Mason interrupted impatiently. 'Okay, Hagen! But what about the gold? How long will it take us to get to it?'
Hagen frowned and said: 'That's the trouble. According to the cross-bearing Rose has given me we're only eight miles from the lagoon in which the launch sank. As you can see from this chart all the waterways in the marshes aren't marked. In o
ther words, we might have to go through twenty miles of waterway to get to our destination.'
Mason snorted his disbelief. 'Hell, it can't be that bad.'
Hagen smiled grimly. 'I know this place. You'll be up to your waist in mud and pushing before we're through.' Mason still looked unconvinced and Hagen rolled up the map and said, 'The sooner we get started the sooner we'll be there.'
The rest of the morning was a nightmare. The stench from the marshes coupled with the furnace heat of the sun sapped their strength and for the first two or three miles they had to push and haul the boat through what could only be described as liquid mud. At two o'clock, after five hours of sweat and agony, they came out into a broad waterway and Hagen called a halt for rest and food.
Tempers had noticeably frayed and nobody seemed to have much appetite. The mosquitoes were beginning to be a nuisance and the repellent cream which Rose had discovered in the first-aid box didn't seem to affect them much. Rose looked particularly washed-out. All morning she had toiled with the rest of them and the labour had obviously affected her frail body. Mason's face was blotched with insect bites and the cuts and bruises left by the fight looked particularly unhealthy. 'How much longer of this?' he demanded. 'It's bloody murder.'
Hagen shrugged. 'I warned you,' he said. 'Anyway, with luck things may be easier. Let's hope this channel goes in the right direction.' He went into the wheelhouse and pressed the starter and took the boat forward at a slow speed.
He carefully steered along the winding course, occasionally turning into tributaries to keep the correct compass bearing. It was almost with surprise that he took the boat into a broad lagoon one and a half hours later and cut the engines. 'This is it,' he announced.
There was an excited babble of sound from his three companions. Rose stood at the rail, a hand shielding her eyes from the sun, and slowly pivoted, her eyes covering the entire lagoon. Her shoulders drooped. 'This isn't it,' she said.