They both crashed down on the path and slid down in a shower of stones. Hung Yan appeared out of the darkness. He caught the man’s wrist as the knife flashed. Girland released his hold and swung a punch at the man’s jaw. The blow connected and the man went limp. Before Girland could stop him, Hung Yan had driven his knife into the man’s body.
“There may be others,” Hung Yan said, his breath hissing between his teeth. “Come on!” He kicked the body off the path and turning, continued down the path.
Girland went after him.
They finally reached the main road without further alarm.
Hung Yan led the way across the road to a concrete garage built near a typical Chinese house.
It was as they drove out of the garage in a battered Volkswagen that one of Malik’s agents who had lost Girland, spotted the car.
He alerted Malik on his walkie-talkie.
“Subject heading for Aberdeen harbour,” he reported.
Malik looked at Branska and got quickly to his feet.
“Let’s go,” he said. “The chances are he’ll take us right to her.”
At the same moment, Wong Loo, the fat Chinese, also received a report. Girland with Hung Yan, he was told, were heading for the harbour. Wong Loo was quite happy about this. He had at least twenty good men in that district. As he sent out directives, he paused to light an American cigarette. Letting the smoke roll out of his thick nostrils, he thought that this was now only a matter of time.
As the wheezy motorboat chugged across the East Lamma Channel, Girland looked back at the hundreds of bobbing lights of the closely packed junks in Aberdeen harbour. He had an instinctive feeling that he was being watched. There was no sign of a following boat, but the feeling persisted.
Hung Yan steered the boat past a junk that was coming into the harbour, its huge brown sail outlined against the moon. The night was stiflingly hot and the sea oily and calm. The stench of humanity packed in the harbour hung in the air.
As Girland looked across the black expanse of the sea, he saw something moving in the water, close to the boat. He leaned forward, but the movement was gone. A minute later, it appeared again: the fin of a shark that made a swift ripple in the still water and was once again gone. He remembered, when patrolling in the police boat some years ago, the sinister triangle-shaped fins of the sharks that infested this Channel, and he grimaced.
The boat chugged on.
Girland was now aware of the problem facing him. How was he to get this woman out of Hong Kong and back to Paris? he asked himself. It had seemed an easy enough problem when he had accepted the assignment, but now, in this bobbing little boat, he was acutely aware that the Chinese were alert to any move he might make to get the woman out. He thought of Harry Curtis.
Harry would help, but then, if he did, Dorey would get to hear about the set-up, and that could only lead to more trouble.
Girland thought of the Black Grape . . . a half a million dollars for himself! He relaxed and grinned into the darkness. For that money, he should be able to solve the problem. It was wasting time to make plans until he had heard the woman’s ideas for escape.
Hung Yan said, “We are getting close,” and he reduced the speed of the motorboat. Girland looked around. There were a lot of junks anchored off Pak Kok. Apart from their riding lights, they were in darkness.
Five minutes later, Hung Yan brought the motorboat alongside a big, sail-less junk, moored about a half a mile from Pak Kok peninsula, isolated and in darkness.
He whistled softly, and then tied up by the side of the junk.
A shadowy figure appeared on the upper deck and peered down at them as they climbed over the side.
“It is all right,” Hung Yan called softly. “He is a friend of Carlota’s.”
The figure climbed down the narrow stairway. In the uncertain light Girland could just make out a tall woman, wearing black Chinese peasant clothes of a baggy coat and trousers and a mushroom-shaped hat.
“Erica Olsen?” he said, peering at her.
“Yes. Come below. Hung . . . you stay up here.”
The girl went down the five steps leading into the cabin and Girland followed her. It was stiflingly hot down there and dark.
She closed the door and then striking a match, she lit a small oil lamp.
Sitting at a small table, she took off her hat and shook out her blonde hair.
Girland sat opposite. They stared at each other. He could see the likeness between the sisters, but he saw that Erica was much more beautiful, although she was pale, thin and obviously nervous.
“Give me a cigarette,” she said. “I have run out.”
Girland pushed his pack across the table. With shaking fingers, she took a cigarette, lit it and then asked, “Did you get me a passport?”
“I got it.” Girland handed her the passport. She examined it, then looked up.
“Will it do, do you think?”
“With luck.” Girland also lit a cigarette. “Have you any ideas how you will get out?”
“If we can get to the airport, they daren’t stop me with you,” Erica said. “With any luck they won’t even spot me. Have you my ticket?”
“I have an open ticket for the two of us.”
She studied him.
“How did you meet Carlota?”
Briefly, Girland told her what had been happening in Paris.
She stiffened when he told her he was with the C.I.A.
“Don’t worry your head about that,” he said, smiling. “I’m only unofficially attached. They don’t know I am out here. I did a deal with your father. For a share in the pearl, I agreed to get you out of here.”
“The pearl?”
Girland nodded.
“The Black Grape.”
“Oh, for God’s sake!” she exclaimed impatiently. “You don’t believe that nonsense, do you?”
Girland stiffened, then leaning forward to stare intently at her, he said, “Nonsense? What do you mean?”
“Why do you imagine I am hiding here? Because I stole the Black Grape?”
“Now wait a minute,” Girland said, trying to speak calmly. He had a sudden presentiment of disaster. “Carlota told me you had the pearl. She said that was why they were hunting for you.” He stabbed his finger at her. “Have you the pearl?”
“Of course not.” She flicked ash from her cigarette onto the floor. “My dear man, that was a story I told my sister to get her to cooperate.” Her mouth twisted into a bitter smile. “You don’t seem to know much about my father and sister. They are two of the most worthless people alive. All they can think about is money. I mean to them as much as a fly on the wall. When I got into this mess, I was desperate as I am desperate now. You can’t imagine what it means to be surrounded by Chinese, not knowing if one of them will come out of the crowd and kill you. I was lucky to get this far. Without Hung Yan’s help I could never have managed it. Then I found I was trapped. Hung Yan has no influence. I had to get a faked passport. The only two people who could get it for me were my father and sister, but I knew if I didn’t offer them a tempting bait they wouldn’t do a thing for me. So I told them the story of the Black Grape.” She gave a hard little laugh. “The Black Grape is in Kung’s museum. An armed guard stands beside the glass case where it is exhibited day and night. There is no possible chance of stealing it. But I didn’t tell Carlota this. She swallowed the bait. I had hoped that if she impersonated me in Paris, these thugs hunting for me would give up, but it didn’t work out. Do you imagine a woman like Carlota would agree to be tattooed, agree to risk her life unless she was offered an enormous fortune? It was the only possible way I could persuade her to try to save me.”
Girland sat back. He crushed out his cigarette as he studied Erica.
“You could be lying, of course,” he said without much hope.
“You could have the pearl and you’re trying to gyp me out of my share.”
She met his searching eyes and she shook her head.
“I haven’t the pearl . . . no one could possibly steal it. It was a story I had to tell Carlota to get me out of here. I am sorry you are disappointed, but I still hope you will help me. You will, won’t you?”
“Then if you haven’t the pearl, why are they hunting for you? Why are they trying to kill you?”
“Because I know something. You don’t sleep with a man for nearly a year without finding out something about him.”
“What do you know, Erica?”
She smiled at him.
“Get me out of here and I will tell you, but I am not talking until we are on a plane and out of Hong Kong.”
Girland drew in a long deep breath. His rainbow had suddenly vanished into a black cloud. He had been so sure that he was going to be rich. He was now convinced she was telling the truth.
It took him a moment or two to shake off the feeling of depression.
Then accepting the situation, he shrugged. At least she had some information. So Dorey had been right after all, he thought. That Dorey!
“Well, okay, I’ll get you out,” he said. “There’s no plane before 3 p.m. tomorrow. Have you any clothes?”
“The suitcase I have with me.”
“Ah! That solves the mystery of the two suitcases. They told me Carlota had two suitcases when she was in Hong Kong, but only one when she reached Paris. You had the other one?”
“Yes.”
Girland thought for a moment.
“As there is no plane until tomorrow afternoon, we had better stay here for the night,” he said finally. “We can . . .”
He broke off as Erica, staring behind him, suddenly gave a gasping scream. His hand reaching for his knife, Girland whirled around.
“Don’t move,” Malik said, peering down into the cabin. He held an automatic in his big fist. “Just stay where you are.”
He came down the stairs and into the cabin. His huge frame threw a menacing shadow on the wall.
“Oh, for Pete’s sake!” Girland exclaimed in disgust. “Can’t you keep your long snout out of my business for five minutes? I thought you were safely in Paris.”
Malik looked evilly at him.
“It needs very little encouragement for me to put a bullet in you,” he said, “so shut up!” He looked at Erica Olsen who was crouching against the far wall, terror in her eyes. “You needn’t be frightened of me, Miss Olsen,” he went on quietly. “You can regard me as your friend. I overheard what you were saying. I represent the Russian Government. We are very interested in the information you have about Kung. We can give you far better protection than the American Government. I can assure you there will be no trouble nor risk getting you safely out of Hong Kong and to Moscow. I have a fast motorboat here and a helicopter on the island. There is a chartered aircraft waiting at the airport. Within an hour you will be in complete safety.”
Girland looked quickly at Erica. He saw she was getting over her fright and was now studying Malik with a calculating expression in her eyes.
“Don’t believe a word of it,” he said. “You would be crazy to go to Moscow.”
Malik backhanded Girland across his face, sending him staggering against the wall of the cabin.
“I told you to shut up!” he snarled, then to Erica. “He has nothing to offer you, Miss Olsen. He can’t help you. He’s bluffing. If he is stupid enough to take you on a passenger flight, you will be dead before you even get on the plane.”
Erica moved away so she was between Girland and Malik. She studied Malik, then looked at Girland. It was as if she were trying to choose between the two men.
“How do I know you have a chartered plane?” she asked finally.
Malik took a leather folder from his hip pocket and tossed it on the table.
“We fly to Tokyo, avoiding China. From Tokyo we go on to Moscow. If you want proof, here are the plane’s papers and the log book.”
Erica glanced through the papers, then she nodded.
“All right, I will come with you.” She regarded Malik, her eyes shrewd. “I expect to be paid for my information and I expect the price to be high.”
“You certainly said it, baby,” Girland said. “And it won’t be the price you will expect.”
She ignored him, still looking at Malik.
“We always pay well for information,” Malik said smoothly. “Now please go up on deck. We are leaving immediately. There is a boat waiting with one of my men. Get into the boat.”
“Just a moment,” Girland said. “What have you done with Hung Yan? Cracked his skull for him?”
“Where is he?” Erica said. “He has helped me. I am not leaving without him.”
“He’s waiting in the boat,” Malik said, his face expressionless. He jerked his thumb to the stairs. “We are wasting valuable time. Please go.”
“I have a suitcase.”
“I will bring it. Please go!”
Girland said, “He wants you to go because he doesn’t want a witness when he murders me.”
Erica paused, her eyes searching Malik’s face.
“It’s all right,” he said. “I have no reason to kill him. I will leave him here. Will you please go?”
She hesitated no longer and ran up the stairs onto the deck.
Malik backed to the foot of the stairs, then paused, his green eyes glittering.
“I have had enough of your interference, Girland,” he said. “I warned you if we ever should meet again I would get rid of you for good. This is an excellent place to leave you.” He lifted the automatic. “By the time they find you, we will be in Moscow.”
Girland eyed the gun. He felt his mouth suddenly turn dry.
“Don’t do anything you might regret later,” he said, annoyed his voice sounded husky. “You have the girl. You . . .”
The sudden sound of an approaching motorboat coming at high speed made Girland stop. The two men stared at each other in the dim light, both listening. Then there came a crash of gunfire. Malik half-turned, looking up the stairway of the cabin.
Girland sprang forward and with a chopping blow on Malik’s wrist, sent the gun flying.
Cursing, Malik turned and as he was about to launch himself at Girland there came more gunfire. This was immediately followed by the violent noise of machine gun fire and the junk rocked under a hail of bullets.
Malik bent to grab his gun, but Girland kicked it into a far corner. Both men stood glaring at each other as more machine gun fire shook the junk. They heard a thin, wailing scream. Then the motorboat engine roared and began to diminish.
Malik sprang up the stairs and reached the deck. His long knife in his hand, Girland followed him. Both men paused, then Malik raised his clenched fists about his head and cursed.
Erica Olsen was lying flat on her back on the deck, her chest torn open by machine gun bullets. Already disappearing into the night was a low, fast-moving motorboat heading back to Hong Kong.
Malik spun around and started towards Girland, then seeing the knife in Girland’s hand, he paused.
“Come on, Comrade,” Girland said quietly. “It will give me a lot of pleasure to slit your throat.”
Malik cursed him, then he turned and bent over Erica’s body.
“She’s dead,” he said, straightening. He bent over the side of the junk and looked down at his boat. The crumpled figure of Branska, half-in and half-out of the water told him the machine gun had also caught him.
“We’ll have to do something about the Chinese, Malik,” Girland said. “While we are fighting each other, they’re winning all the tricks.” He looked down at Erica’s body and grimaced. “I wonder if she did know anything worthwhile about Kung. Maybe she was bluffing. I know the family . . . they are great bluffers.”
Malik glared at him, his eyes glittering with fury.
“From now on, keep out of my way. If we ever meet again . . .”
“Oh, go frighten the Chinese,” Girland said impatiently. “Your dialogue’s pure ham.”
Malik climbed over the side of the j
unk and lowered himself into the motorboat. He caught hold of Branska and tipped him into the sea, then he started the motorboat engine and not looking back, he headed the boat towards the lights of Hong Kong.
Girland watched him go, then he went to the other side of the junk and made sure his boat was still there. He looked around for Hung Yan, but could see no sign of him. He peered into the moonlit water and saw something move. The long black body of a shark slid by and Girland grimaced. Malik, he thought, had probably knocked the Chinese boy over the head and dumped him in the sea.
Girland stood hesitating, then he went down into the stifling cabin. After a quick search, he found Erica’s suitcase. He dumped the clothes and the various articles on the cabin floor and went through them carefully. He found nothing of interest. Still hoping he might just be lucky and find the Black Grape, he slit the lining of the suitcase and eventually took the case to pieces, but he didn’t find the pearl.
He wondered if Erica had hidden it in the cabin, but decided she wouldn’t have left without it. The only other possible hiding place would be in the clothes she was wearing.
He went up on deck and stood looking down at her body. She was lying in a wide pool of blood. In, the moonlight, her chest looked like a big, black hole.
He grimaced. He couldn’t bring himself to touch her.
No, the hell with it! he thought. She had been telling the truth.
He wasn’t going to look further. The whole operation had been a flop from start to finish.
He climbed over the side of the junk into his motorboat, started the engine and headed back to Aberdeen harbour. It was a long and depressing trip and his only companions were the sharks.
An hour later, he shut himself in a telephone booth and put a call through to the Aberdeen Police Station.
A voice with a Scottish accent answered.
“I’m reporting a murder,” Girland said. “Junk anchored off Pak Kok. You can’t miss it. It isn’t carrying a sail. The woman. . .”
1966 - You Have Yourself a Deal Page 18
