Dragon Flame

by Nick Carter

  She flared. "That is a lie! Our people will fight — if they are given weapons and properly led. We have only just started, it is true, but we are making progress. It is very dangerous and very slow. There are Peking agents everywhere — doubles and provocateurs." She sighed in the gloom. "If you are a Peking agent I am a dead woman."

  Nick's chuckle was grim. "That you are, honey! You'll just have to take my word that I'm not. Now go on. How are you tied in with Ludwell's killing?"

  "I'm not, really. But he was supposed to meet me last week, in China, and he did not come. It was a routine meeting at that time. He was to bring money and information."

  "Ludwell was the paymaster for this operation? The case officer?"

  "I suppose so, if that is what you call it. He was working alone with us, our only contact with the CIA."

  My God! thought Nick. No wonder the poor bastard was nervous. Trying to foment a revolution in Red China, build an underground apparatus, all by himself!

  "So he didn't show up last week. Then what?"

  "A lot happened," said Fan Su. "Very much happened and it happened very quickly. A top Red general defected and got in touch with us, with Undertong. He wants us to get him out of China. There was no time to get in touch with Ludwell. It was my decision to make and I decided to try it. Then I sent word into Hong Kong, to Ludwell, by our regular network. He sent word back that he would come and help me get the general out. And that he would bring the money, or some of it, that the general was demanding."

  This news did not surprise Nick. China was the land of the squeeze. "How much money?"

  "Half a million dollars. Ludwell was to bring a hundred thousand cash as an earnest."

  It was little enough, Nick thought, for a top Chinese general who was willing to talk freely. CIA never had to account publicly for money. Nor did AXE, for that matter.

  "Why did you come into Hong Kong, then? You had it all set up, or thought you did. Ludwell was coming to pick up the general. He would have the money. Why you?"

  A little silence. He saw her shrug her slim shoulders. "Coming into Hong Kong is nothing for me — I have perfect cover. Good papers. Sometimes I cross the border two or three times a week, bringing vegetables to market. I am supposed to work on a farm near the village of Paoan, on the China side. All the guards know me by now."

  He was not satisfied. "Yet you did not really have to come. I know of these things — every time you cross over you take a risk, use up a little luck. Why did you come this time? Don't lie to me."

  "I will not lie. I cannot afford to lie. I need your help too desperately. I came to check on your friend, on Ludwell. I… I had gotten not exactly to trust him. Not his motives, but his abilities. He drank a lot and — well, I know when a man is afraid."

  Granted what Nick knew of Bob Ludwell, it made sense. "You were right," he admitted. "Ludwell was a good man once, but he stayed too long. He paid for it."

  "I know. I saw them take him. I could do nothing."

  Nick leaned toward the bed. "Tell me about that."

  "I had strict orders," the girl continued, "not to try to contact Ludwell personally in Hong Kong. Not under any circumstances! I was not even to call him on the phone. So I followed him, watched him. It was all I could do. I was going to break security, disobey orders, if he did not keep his word and go after the general. More than anything I needed the money. The general will not come over until he has it."

  "We'll see about that," said Nick. He was thinking far ahead, already trying to spin a plan from his fertile brain.

  "You haven't got the money now," he said. "Maybe the Red Tigers have."

  "Yes." She sounded discouraged. "Jim Pok has the money. Or soon will have."

  "Maybe he won't live to enjoy it," Nick told her. "Never mind him now. You followed Ludwell? You saw the Tigers get him?"

  "Yes. I was never far behind. I was close by when he met you and when you went to the Cricket Club to the dance. I was following the ricksha coolie who was following you."

  The less said about that the better, Nick thought. He was on the verge of trusting her now — to a point and with certain reservations.

  "You followed Ludwell when he left the dance? What did he do? Where did he go?"

  "He left the dance about eleven. The ricksha man followed him. I followed both of them. Ludwell went to his home, an apartment near the university, and changed his clothes. While he was in the apartment the ricksha man made a phone call. Then he left, just trotted away."

  Back to the club to pick me up, Nick thought. They were already curious about me.

  "Did another tong man pick up Ludwell when he left the apartment?"

  "Yes. I followed them both again. I was beginning to get very worried. I thought that Ludwell must have the money with him now, and I knew the Tigers. Yet there was nothing I could do. The Tiger never let Ludwell out of his sight. I couldn't warn him without blowing myself."

  Nick agreed. "Did Ludwell appear to know he was followed?"

  "No. He acted as though he were in the clear. I still don't understand it."

  "I can." He thought of the drinks the man had had at the club. God knew how many others he had had at home. For his nerves, of course. And there was his fatalistic state of mind. He probably hadn't cared much, one way or the other.

  Now N3 said, "Ludwell must have been blown for weeks, the way I see it. And didn't know it. The Chicoms knew he was CIA. But it was Tiger Tong who killed him, not Chinese counterintelligence. I don't quite get that. How does Tiger Tong get into the act?"

  Her little chuckle was mirthless. "That's simplest of all, Mr. Harrington. The Society of the Red Tiger is a gangster organization. They work for anyone who pays them. The Chinese Reds pay them well. It is easier, and probably cheaper, for the Chinese to hire the Tigers to do their dirty work in Hong Kong than it would be to set up a complex apparatus. As simple as that."

  "But they knew exactly when to kill Ludwell. Just before he was going into China, and when he had all that money on him."

  "They are not fools in Peking," she said dryly. "They get what they pay for. Jim Pok is very efficient."

  "I believe it. He's also a lot richer today. But go on. When and how did they get Ludwell?"

  "He took a ferry to Kowloon. There was a little wait before the ferry left and the Tiger made a phone call. Then he followed Ludwell aboard the ferry. I also. When we reached the Kowloon side Ludwell went to the Peninsula Hotel for a drink. Or so I suppose. He went into the bar. A few minutes later he came out and walked to the railroad station. Not the passenger, but the freight station…"

  "Freight?"

  "Yes. That is a dark and lonely district at night. He made it easy for them. Too easy. I saw it all from the shadow of a godown. A big car screeched up beside him and he was hauled in. He tried to fight and they knocked him out with clubs. I knew he was as good as dead then and there was nothing I could do. But I had to follow them. I took a chance and got a taxi and went after them — it was breaking my cover badly as a poor beggar woman, but I had to do it. The driver of the taxi thought I was crazy. He would not move until I showed him money."

  "Where did they take him?"

  "Not very far. That puzzled me a little, until I saw that the building was one owned by Jim Pok. It is in the freightyards. I waited then, knowing what was happening inside, until some of Pok's men, Tigers, came out carrying a basket."

  For the first time her voice broke. "I…I knew what was in the basket. I know the work of the Tigers well. I followed them again, saw them leave the basket in the old godown on Shanghai Street. Then they drove off. I did not follow them this time. I was desperate and frightened. I didn't know what to do without Ludwell and the money. I…"

  "And then," Nick interrupted softly, "you thought of me. Right?"

  He heard her gasp in the dark. Her cigarette glowed as she inhaled. "Yes. B… but how did you know?"

  "I didn't exactly know," admitted Nick. "I guessed. You were desperate and you had seen
me meet Ludwell on a deserted pier. Did you think I was CIA too?"

  "I thought you might be. I got a pretty good look at you and, well, you looked more capable, stronger and tougher than Ludwell. Anyway, I thought it had to be more than just a social meeting, under the circumstances."

  "You were wrong," Nick told her gently. "It was purely social. Or nearly so. He wanted me to do him a personal favor, that's all."

  "As you say, Mr. Harrington." She sounded unconvinced.

  Nick lit another cigarette for both of them. He could have done with a drink but he decided to skip it. He had a nasty feeling that the work was just beginning. As he handed the cigarette to her he said, "So you called the police and tipped them about the body? You mentioned me. You wanted to see what would happen. Why?"

  "I couldn't chance speaking to you cold. You might be CIA and you might not. You might have been working for Peking, or Jim Pok, and you might have been the one to blow Ludwell. You might even have set him up to be killed. I just didn't know!"

  "But why the police?"

  "I thought I would watch and see how they treated you. If they gave you the pukka treatment, and let you go soon, and then you went to the American Consulate to make a report — well, I thought it would be pretty sure that you were also CIA. That maybe you were even Ludwell's boss that he hadn't told me about. He wouldn't have, naturally. But there was something about you, when I watched you and Ludwell, that made me think you were in command. I took a chance."

  "You sure did, girl. But your luck is good. I think I'm going to get your general for you. Where is he now?"

  She was off the bed and on her knees before him. She put her arms on his knees and buried her face in them. "You will? You will really help me bring him out? Oh, God! I'm so glad. So glad. It — it's so terribly important, and since Ludwell was killed it has all been on my shoulders. I've been scared half to death." She was crying.

  Nick patted her smooth head. "I know. Cry it out, Su, And stop worrying. My shoulders are just a little bigger than yours. But where is the general?"

  He heard her fumbling in the darkness. The soap and woman smell of her was sweet in the gloom. Her hair gave off a delicate fragrance.

  "Damn it," she told him. "What a fool I am. And no handkerchief."

  Nick crossed the room in the dark and got a handkerchief from Swee Lo's vanity table. He came back and handed it to her. She got up and went back to the bed. "I'm sorry. I won't do that again."

  "You've been under a strain," he said. "You'll be under more. Saying isn't doing, and we've got a hell of a job before us. Now, damn it, where is the general?"

  "He's hiding in a deserted Buddhist temple near the village of Hengkanghau. It's not far from the railroad, but of course that's no good to us."

  "None at all. How far is this village from the border?"

  "About ten miles in a straight line, but the terrain is bad. There are mountains and then a lot of swampland just before you get to the border. It will be very dangerous trying to get him over the Sham Chun. I was hoping that perhaps with your yacht, or even a junk, we could…"

  "That's out," he told her curtly. "We could never do it. I've got my reasons for saying that."

  No use telling her that Smythe would probably arrest him the moment he tried to move Corsair. Smythe would probably arrest him anyway, on sight, if he caught him in Jim Pok's house. And there was the Tiger junk; it would dog Corsair every mile, even if he could sail. He didn't want to stage a sea battle in Hong Kong harbor. He was in enough trouble as it was.

  "There's just one little thing you haven't mentioned," he told her a bit slyly. It amused him in a way. You couldn't blame her for trying to put the best face on things.

  "What?"

  "That the Chicoms know, or suspect, that your general is somewhere close to the border. That's why they've sealed off the border and moved in so many troops, isn't it? Everyone in Hong King knows that. The Reds stand to lose a lot of face if the general gets away and writes his memoirs in Washington. They can't stand to lose more face. They've had a lot of rotten luck lately, in Africa and Indonesia and even in Pakistan. If your general gets away it could blow things sky high. All that is true, isn't it?"

  "Yes," Fan Su admitted. "And that isn't the worst of it. The general's wounded. Badly hurt. He and two men with him ran into a patrol on the way down from Canton. The men were Undertong workers. They were both killed, I think. I hope so. But if one of them lived he would be made to talk and the Chinese will know that the general is in the vicinity. He was badly hurt in the shooting, but he got away and hid in the Buddhist temple. If they suspect he's anywhere near they'll search everything. It's only a matter of time till they find him. We've got to hurry."

  "Well hurry a little slowly right now. I said I'd get him out and I will, but first things first. Before we get out of China we've got to get in. You got any ideas on that?"

  "No. I won't have any trouble, but a white man couldn't do it. Not now. Not as a white man. Ludwell said he had a foolproof way of getting in, but he never told me what it was."

  Nick had to admit that he could never pass as a Chinese. Not with such tight security in effect.

  "You're much too big and powerful," Fan Su agreed. "They would spot you in a minute. And they search everything now, coming and going. I couldn't hide you under my vegetables."

  Nick's brain was working at high speed. There had to be an answer. Getting in was the tricky part — he figured to bulldoze his way out if necessary.

  Slowly he said, "You could get in alone okay?"

  "Yes. No trouble there. They're used to me and my oxcart. But I wouldn't dare try to smuggle…"

  "No. We won't try that. But you can go in separately and join me. Question is — how do I get in?"

  An idea glimmered in N3's brain and began to grow. Ludwell must have had it all worked out, must have had some sort of trick or gimmick. Maybe he could pick a dead man's brains.

  "You say Ludwell was at the freight shed in the yards?" Nick rubbed at the stubble on his chin. Ludwell must have had a very good reason for going to the freightyards at night. "Think hard," he told Fan Su now. "Everything you can remember. Everything!"

  Silence. He could hear her light breathing. Then: "Well, he didn't go to the main freight shed. A smaller one — I remember now, it is where they keep perishable goods. I could hear the refrigeration machinery."

  "Hmmm… not much there. That would be all incoming stuff, anyway. Hong Kong doesn't ship food out. And Ludwell was going out. He would need…"

  "Wait!" There was excitement in her tone. "They do keep something else in that shed — corpses!"

  Nick snapped his fingers. "Of course. That's it, Su! Bodies waiting to go back to China to be buried. They come from all over the world. They must ship them back every day. By God, I think we've got it. Ludwell was going over the line in a coffin!"

  "You are going to try it?" She sounded doubtful.

  "That depends." Nick was cautious now, weighing all the angles. Ludwell had had his own organization. Everything had been set up. He was running a spur or the moment, free-lance operation, with time pressing. There was a big difference.

  "It depends on you, Su. Everything at this stage depends on you. How well is your Undertong organized in Hong Kong? Is it efficient — can you get things done in a hurry?"

  "We are efficient, I think. There is a cadre only, as yet, but if you do not ask too much perhaps we can do it. But I will have to do it alone, you understand. I cannot reveal…"

  Nick broke in with a hard laugh. "Don't trust me yet, huh? Good girl. Now listen — can you get a cheap coffin brought up here, with air holes" that can't be spotted? Can you get clearance papers from the Chicom agency here to take your poor old grandfather back to China? That's most important, the papers."

  "I can have them forged. It will take an hour or so."

  "Do it. Get some burial clothes. Isn't there a custom of painting the faces of the dead to make them look young again?"

&nbs
p; She thought a second. "Not so much any more, but it used to be done."

  "My face will be painted. I was an old-fashioned grandfather. A death request, you know. That should work. What do you know about train schedules?"

  "That is easy. There is only one train a day. It leaves the terminus in Hong Kong at noon and gets to Lo Wu about one. Everyone must walk across the border and have their papers inspected."

  "What about freight cars?"

  "If they are going into China they are inspected at the border and then sealed. That is a difficulty in your plan. I think the first stop after the border would be Camphor Head Junction. I would have to send the coffin there. The trains will not stop at small villages. So I will have to come to Camphor Head Junction to get you out."

  Smart girl. She was already thinking ahead, going along with the plan. It might just work, Nick told himself. It was audacious enough. And his luck had been running strong and good.

  "How far back from this junction to the temple where the general is hiding?"

  "Twenty miles or so. We will have to walk it, and the country is rough."

  "It's nothing. We'll do it at night and get to the temple around daybreak. That'll give me a whole day to think things out while we lay up. Be sure you bring a good map and a compass — if you can do it without danger. Otherwise skip them."

  "They have not searched me or my cart for a long time. I play up to some of the border guards — they are stupid turtles and think they are going to coax me into their barracks one day."

  Nick got up and paced the bedroom. "That does it, then. At least we'll start this plan. You leave now and start things moving. I'll stay and take care of Swee Lo when she comes home. If she does. We're taking a hell of a gamble, but we have to do it. We have to bet that Jim Pok won't come barging in, that the servants won't come back, and that Pok's men won't figure out where we are. That's a lot of ifs. Now you go. You'll have to walk down to the cable car — better not take a taxi from this neighborhood — and get the coffin and the papers back here before dawn, if you possibly can. Be sure to use people you can trust. We'll work out the timing later. I don't want to spend any more time in that coffin than I have to."