The Defector

by Nick Carter

  In the shadow of the warehouse, Nick grinned broadly. He permitted himself a deep sigh of satisfaction. The man on the junk was, of course, Ossa’s sidekick. Nick leaned against the warehouse and slid to a sitting position. Still grinning, he pulled out one of his cigarettes and lit it Then he chuckled. He cocked his handsome head to one side and roared with laughter. He’d just gotten his first break.

  Killmaster permitted himself this strange luxury for exactly one minute. He wasn’t worried about the man with the binoculars; the sun was in the man’s face. As long as Nick remained in the shadows, it would be almost impossible to see him from out there. No, Nick had something else to worry about. The police had undoubtedly found the body in his room and were probably looking for him now. They’d be looking for Chris Wilson, American tourist. It was time Nick became someone else.

  He stood up, put out his cigarette, and moved off toward the landing, staying within shadows. There would be no chance for him to get close to the junk in daylight, at least not as long as Binoculars was on deck. Right now he needed a place to change.

  The ferry landing was crowded when Nick got to it. He passed the people warily, keeping an eye out for police.

  When he’d crossed it he stepped onto the first finger of dock pointing into the harbor. He walked slowly past rows of sampans, watching them closely. They extended in lines like growing corn, and Nick continued until he found the one he wanted.

  It sat next to the dock in the second row from the harbor. Without hesitating, Nick stepped onto it and ducked under the small cabin roof. He noticed signs of abandonment right away, absence of any clothing, a roof that had leaked rain soaking the bunk and small stove, tin cans with a trace of rust on the lips. Who knew why or when the occupants had left? Maybe they had found a place to stay inland until the storm had passed. Perhaps they were dead. The sampan smelled musty. It had been abandoned for some time. Nick went through the crooks and crannies, coming up with a handful of rice and an unopened can of string beans.

  He could not see the junk from the sampan. There were about two hours of daylight left It was taking a chance, but he had to make certain that was the right junk. He stripped and removed the padding from around his waist. He figured that in four minutes he could swim under the first row of sampans and be well into the harbor before he had to come up for breath. If Binoculars was still on deck, he’d have to approach the junk from the bow or the starboard side.

  Naked except for Hugo, Nick slipped over the side of the sampan into the icy water He waited a few seconds until the first shock of cold left him; then he dipped under and began swimming. He passed under the first row of sampans and turned right toward the water side of the ferry landing. Then he surfaced just long enough for two deep breaths of fresh air. He caught a glimpse of the junk as he went under again. The bow was pointed toward him. He swam toward it, careful to stay about six feet under. He had to come up for air one more time before his hand touched the fat bottom of the junk.

  Edging along the keel, he let himself come up slowly on the starboard side, almost astern. He was in the shadow of the junk but there was no handhold, nothing to hang on to. The anchor chain lay over the bow. Nick placed his feet on the keel, hoping that would help hold him. But the distance from the keel to the surface was too far. He couldn’t keep his head out of the water. He moved to the stem on the starboard side of the basket-woven rudder. By holding the rudder he could stay in one position. He was still in the shadow of the junk.

  Then he saw a dinghy being lowered over the port side.

  The man with the bandaged wrist climbed into it and began rowing clumsily toward the dock. He favored the wrist and couldn’t get equal pull on the oars.

  Nick waited, shivering with cold, for about twenty minutes. The dinghy returned. This time there was a woman with the man. Her face had a hard beauty to it, not unlike that of a professional whore. The lips were full and a brilliant red. Her cheeks had rouge where the skin tightened over the bone. Her hair was raven black, tight, and pulled to a bun on the back of her neck. The eyes had the beauty of emeralds, and were just as hard. She wore a tight-fitting, flower-patterned lavender shift, slit along both sides well up her thighs. She sat in the dinghy with her knees together, her hands locked around them. From Nick’s position, he saw she wore no panties. In fact he doubted if she wore anything under that bright silk.

  When they reached the side of the junk, the man scurried on board, then reached a hand to help her.

  In Cantonese dialect, the woman asked, “Do you have any word from Yong yet?”

  “No,” the man answered, same dialect. “Perhaps tomorrow he will complete his mission.”

  “Perhaps nothing,” the woman snapped. “Perhaps he has gone the way of Ossa.”

  “Ossa . . .” the man began.

  “Ossa was a fool. You, Ling, are a fool. I should have known better than to head an operation surrounded by fools.”

  “But we are dedicated!” Ling cried.

  The woman said, “Louder, they cannot quite hear you in Victoria. You are an imbecile. A newborn babe is dedicated to feeding itself, but it does not know how. You are a newborn babe, and a crippled one at that.”

  “If ever I see that . . .”

  “You will either run or die. He is but one man. One man! And all of you are like frightened rabbits. Right now he may be on his way to the woman and boy. He cannot wait much longer.”

  “Yong will . . .”

  “He has probably killed Yong. I thought that out of all of you, at least Yong would be successful.”

  “Sheila, I . . .”

  “So, you want to put your hands on me? We will give Yong until tomorrow. If he does not return by tomorrow night, we load up and leave. I would love to meet this man who has you all frightened. Ling! You paw me like a puppy dog. Very well. Come into the cabin and I will at least make you half a man.”

  Nick had heard what was to follow many times before. There was no need for him to freeze in icy water to hear it again. He dipped under and moved along the bottom of the junk until he reached the bow. Then he filled his lungs with air and pushed off back toward the sampan.

  The sun had almost set when he came up for another lungful of air. Four minutes later he had passed once again under the first row of sampans and was back to his borrowed one. He climbed aboard and dried himself with his business suit, rubbing the skin vigorously. Even after he was dry, it took quite a while for him to stop shivering. He stretched out almost the full length of the small boat and closed his eyes. He needed sleep. Since Yong was the dead man in Nick’s room, it wasn’t likely he would show up tomorrow. That gave Nick until tomorrow night at least. He’d have to figure some way to get on that junk. But right now he was tired. That cold water had sapped his strength. He drifted away from himself, letting the rocking sampan carry him. Tomorrow he would begin. He would be well rested and ready for anything. Tomorrow. Tomorrow was Thursday. He had until Tuesday. Time raced quickly.

  Nick woke with a jerk. For an instant he didn’t know where he was. He heard the light lap of water against the side of the sampan. The junk! Was the junk still in the harbor? Maybe the woman, Sheila, had changed her mind. The police knew about Yong now. Maybe she had found out.

  He sat up, stiff from his hard bed, and looked toward the other side of the ferry landing. The big Navy ships had again changed positions in the harbor. They sat lengthwise, their bows pointed toward Victoria. The sun sat high, glimmering in the water. Nick saw the junk, its stern swung out toward the harbor. There was no sign of life aboard.

  Nick boiled a handful of rice. He ate the rice and a can of green beans with his fingers. When he had finished, he placed the ninety Hong Kong dollars he’d removed from his suit into the empty can, then put the can where he’d found it. Chances were the occupants of the sampan wouldn’t return, but if they did, he would have at least paid for his room and board.

  Nick leaned back in the sampan and lit one of his cigarettes. The day was almost half o
ver. All he had to do was wait for nightfall.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Nick waited in the sampan until darkness was complete. Lights glittered along the harbor, and across it he could see the lights of Kowloon. The junk was out of his view now. He had not seen any movement on it all day. But, to be sure, he waited until well past midnight.

  He wrapped Wilhelmina and Hugo in the coolie clothes that had been tied around his waist. He had no plastic bag, so he would have to hold the clothes out of the water. Pierre, the tiny gas bomb, was taped just behind his left armpit.

  The sampans around him were dark and quiet. Once again Nick lowered himself into the icy water. He moved with a slow side-stroke, holding the bundle above his head. He went between two sampans in the first row, then headed for open water. The going was slow and he made certain there was no splashing. When he was beyond the ferry landing, he turned right. He could see the dark silhouette of the junk now. There were no lights. Once he had passed the ferry landing, he headed directly for the bow of the junk. When he reached it, he hung onto the anchor chain and rested. He had to be very careful now.

  Nick climbed up the chain until his feet had cleared the water. Then, using the bundle as a towel, he dried his feet and legs. Wouldn’t do to leave wet footprints on the deck. He climbed over the bow rail and dropped silently onto the deck. With cocked head, he listened. Hearing nothing, he quietly dressed, pushed Wilhelmina into the waistband of the pants, and kept Hugo in his hand. In a low crouch he made his way along the walkway on the port side of the cabin. He noticed the dinghy was missing. When he reached the afterdeck, he saw three sleeping forms. If Sheila and Ling were on board, Nick thought, they’d most likely be in the cabin. These three must be the crew. Nick stepped lightly between them. There was no door covering the front of the cabin, just a small, arch-shaped open space. Nick poked his head through, listening and looking. He heard no breathing except from the three behind him; he saw nothing. He went inside.

  To his left were three bunks, one on top of the other. On his right were a wash basin and a stove. Beyond that was a long table with benches on each side. The mast came up through the center of the table. Two portholes were on each side of the cabin. Beyond the table was a door, probably the head. There was no place in the cabin he could hide himself. The storage lockers were too small. All open spaces along the bulkhead could easily be seen from the cabin. Nick looked down. There would be a space under the main deck. They’d probably use that for storage. Nick figured the hatch would be somewhere near the head. He moved cautiously along the table and opened the door to the head.

  The toilet was mounted flush with the deck, Oriental fashion, and too small for a hatchway below. Nick backed into the main cabin, his eyes searching the deck.

  There was just enough moonlight to pick out silhouettes. He bent over as he backed, sliding his fingers lightly over the deck. It was between the bunks and wash basin that he found the crack. He ran his hands over the square, found the finger-lift, and slowly pulled up. The hatch was hinged and well-used. It let out only a slight squeak as he opened it. The opening was about three feet square. Pitch blackness waited below. Nick knew the bottom of the junk couldn’t have been more than four feet down. He dropped his feet over the edge and lowered himself. He went down only as far as his chest before his feet touched bottom. Nick crouched, pulling the hatch shut above him. All he could hear now was the light lap of water against the sides of the junk. He knew that when they got ready to move they’d be loading supplies aboard. And they’d probably store them in this space.

  Using his hands to guide him, Nick moved aft. The darkness was total; he had to go strictly by feel. All he found was a rolled spare sail. He doubled back. If there was nothing forward of the hatch he could roll himself into the sail. But they’d probably want to move it to store supplies. He had to find something better.

  Forward of the hatch he found five boxes lashed down. Working as quietly as possible, Nick untied the boxes and arranged them so that there was an empty space behind them and enough space from the top of them to the overhead for him to crawl through. Then he lashed them down tight again. The boxes weren’t too heavy, and because of the darkness he couldn’t read what they contained. Probably foodstuffs. When they were lashed again, Nick crawled over them to his little space. He had to sit with his knees against his chest. He stuck Hugo into one of the boxes within easy reach, and lay Wilhelmina between his feet. He leaned back, his ears trying to pick up every noise. All he could hear was the water against the side of the junk. Then he heard something else. It was a light, scratching noise. A cold chill ran through him.

  Rats!

  Disease-ridden, filthy, the larger ones had been known to attack men. Nick had no idea how many of them there were. The scratching sound seemed to be all around him. And he was enclosed in darkness. If only he could see! Then he realized what they were doing. They were scratching at the boxes around him, trying to get to the top. They were probably starved, coming after him. Nick had Hugo in his hand. He knew he was taking a chance but he felt trapped. He pulled out his cigarette lighter and struck a flame. For an instant he was blinded by the light, then he saw two of them on top of the box.

  They were as big as alley cats. The whiskers on their long pointed noses quivered from side to side. They looked down at him with black slanting eyes glittering in the lighter flame. The lighter grew too hot to handle. It dropped to the deck and went out. Nick felt something furry drop to his lap. He swiped at it with Hugo, hearing the click of teeth on the blade. Then the thing was between his feet. He kept jabbing Hugo at it while his free hand searched for the lighter. Something pulled at his pant leg. Nick found the lighter and quickly lit it. The rat’s jagged teeth were caught on his pant leg. It shook its head back and forth, snapping its jaws. Nick stabbed it in the side with the stiletto. He stabbed it again. And again. The teeth came free, and the rat snapped at the blade. Nick plunged the stiletto into its stomach, then pushed it into the face of the other rat that was about to jump. Both rats went over the box and down the other side. The scratching stopped. Nick heard the others scurrying over to the dead rat, then squabbling over it. Nick shivered. One or two more may be killed during the fighting, but it wouldn’t be enough to last them for long. They’d be back.

  He shut the lighter and wiped the blood from Hugo’s blade on his pants. He could see morning light through the crack of the hatchway.

  It was two hours before Nick heard movement on deck. His legs had gone to sleep; he could no longer feel them. There was stomping above him, and the smell of cooking food sifted down. He tried to shift his position, but he couldn’t seem to move.

  He spent most of the morning dozing. The pain along his spine was eased by his extreme power of concentration. He couldn’t sleep because even though they were quiet, the rats were still with him. He heard one now and then scurrying in front of one of the boxes. He hated to think of spending another night alone with them.

  Nick figured it was around noon when he heard the dinghy bump against the side of the junk. Two more pairs of feet walked on the deck above him. There were muffled voices, but he couldn’t understand what was being said. Then he heard a slow-turning Diesel engine come alongside the junk. Props were reversed, and he heard heavy line thud on deck. Another boat had come alongside. Feet got busy on the deck above him. There was a loud clunk, like a board dropping. Then there were thuds being repeated every now and then. Nick knew what it was. They were laying in supplies. The junk was getting ready to move. He and the rats would soon have company.

  It took the better part of an hour to get everything on board. Then the Diesel started again, revved, and the sound faded slowly away. Suddenly the hatch was thrown open, flooding Nick’s hiding place with bright light. He could hear the rats running for cover. The air felt cool and refreshing as it flowed in. He heard the woman speaking in Chinese.

  “Hurry,” she was saying. “I want us to be on our way before dark.”

  “Perhaps the
police have him.” It sounded like Ling.

  “Be still, stupid one. The police do not have him. He is on his way to the woman and boy. We must get there before he does.”

  One of the crewmen was stationed a few feet from Nick. Another was outside the hatch, collecting crates from the third and handing them down. And what crates! The smaller ones were being placed around the hatch where they would be easy to reach. They contained foodstuffs and the like. But there weren’t many of those. The bulk of the crates were marked in Chinese, and Nick could read Chinese well enough to tell what they contained. Some were filled with grenades, but most held ammunition. They must have an army guarding Kathy Loo and the boy, Nick thought. Sheila and Ling must have gone out of the cabin; their voices had become muffled again.

  The light had all but faded by the time the crew had lashed down all the crates. They stacked everything aft of the hatch. They hadn’t even come near Nick’s hiding place. Finally it was all done. The last crewman climbed out and slammed the hatch shut. Nick was once again in total darkness.

  The dark air smelled strongly of the new crates. Nick heard feet pounding on deck. A pully creaked. The junk seemed to list to one side. Must be raising the sail, he thought. Then he heard the anchor chain clacking. The wooden bulkheads creaked. The junk seemed to ride lighter on the water. They were moving.

  They would most likely head for Kwangchow. It was either there or somewhere along the Canton River they had the professor’s wife and son. Nick tried to visualize the area along the Canton River. It was a lowland rainforest type of terrain. That told him exactly nothing. As he recalled, Kwangchow lay in the northeast delta of the Hsi Chiang River. There was a maze of streams and canals running between small rice paddies in that area. Each was dotted with villages.