A Coffin From Hong Kong (16 page)

Nothing happened and I began to calm down a little. Whoever was shooting at me was up on the hill. He was probably using a telescopic sight. From the sound of the rifle shot, he was a good quarter of a mile away.

I cursed myself for not bringing my .38, but I was wearing a short sleeved shirt and a pair of slacks: no outfit for carrying a gun. He knew where I was. All he had to do was to wait for me to show. Very cautiously, I lifted my head to look behind me to plan an escape route. A rifle cracked and a bullet flicked past my face. I flatttened out.

There were two of them! The last shot had come immediately behind me. The sniper was closer than the other one . . . too damn close!

They must know by the clothes I was wearing I wasn't armed There was nothing to stop them now they knew they had missed me with their opening shots to come down and make sure they didn't miss.

I looked at my strap watch. The time was twenty minutes past five. Would Stella come to meet me when I didn't show at the pier? Suppose she walked into these two? Would they kill her as they were trying to kill me?

I started a slow crawl away from the rock. My combat training was still alive in my mind. I slid through the long grass, snakelike, moving downhill. After five minutes of careful manoeuvring.

I was a hundred feet from where I had been. Then, inch by inch, I lifted my head to try to see where I was.

The hiss of the bullet by my face and then the crack of the rifle made me flatten into the ground. These two were either smarter than I thought they were or I was a lot less good as an infantry man.

I slowly shifted my position. It was as well that I did. Another shot cracked the silence and a bullet zunked into the earth just where I had been lying. I told myself it was a lucky shot. The guy had fired at where he imagined I was, but it was far too close for comfort.

I moved farther to my right, then I saw the long grass ceased to exist. Another four feet ahead of me would bring me to barren rocky ground which dipped sharply to a slope, probably to the side of the hill, running down into a valley.

I lay listening and waiting. I heard nothing. Without raising my head, I could see nothing.

I did the Indian trick of putting my ear down on the ground and listening intently. For several minutes I still heard nothing, then I heard him. I guessed he was about fifty yards to my right. He was crawling towards me, hidden in the long grass and he would be on me pretty soon if I didn't do something about it.

I tried to judge just where he was, but that wasn't possible. At least I knew from which direction he was coming. I waited a minute longer, then feeling naked and pretty scared, I rose out of the grass with a quick jinking movement, jumping first right, then left to throw the other joker's aim off. I was aware of a distant crack of a rifle shot. The bullet went wide by yards. I saw a movement in the grass six yards from me and I started for it.

A Chinese, wearing a blue coat and trousers with a baggy black cap rose out of the grass and grinned at me. He was small, thin and wiry. The sun flashed on the knife he held in his hand. I didn't give him a chance to get set. I dived for him, my right hand groping for the knife hand, my left hand for his throat.

I hit him in the chest with my shoulder and we went down into the high grass with a bone shaking impact. I had his wrist and him by the throat. He tried to get his fingers into my eyes, but I slammed the top of my head into his face. I heard him grunt. He didn't stand a chance. He was half my weight and half my strength. I got the knife away from him, then I fastened both hands around his throat. He squirmed under me, but not for long. I squeezed into his skinny throat until I saw his eves roll up and felt him go limp. Panting a little, I heaved myself off him, keeping flat, wondering if the other joker was on his way down.

I waited some minutes until the Chinese began to move. I crawled around him and sat him up by shoving against his shoulder blades, but keeping flat myself. His cap had fallen off in the struggle. From where the sniper lay my man could have been me and that's what the sniper thought or maybe he didn't care. A rifle cracked and suddenly my man's face was a mask of blood. It was good shooting. I let the limp body drop back into the grass, then I crawled backwards until I was about fifteen yards from the body.

I waited. From time to time I pressed my ear to the ground. It was a long wait. The hands of my watch showed half past six before the sniper lost patience and decided to come down and find out what had happened.

He came with plenty of confidence, knowing I was either dead or harmless. By parting the grass a little I was able to see the hillside from where the last shot had come. I caught sight of him coming down the hill, a rifle under his arm, squat, powerfully built, incongruous in his black city suit . . . the man who had been watching me in the Enright villa and who I had seen on the ferry-boat.

Watching him come, I had a creepy sensation. It had been Stella's idea for me to come to this lonely island. I had been invited to the Enright villa, and this squat Chinese, walking so confidently towards me, had been there to take a look at me. It seemed to me as I lay in the long grass that I had walked into a prepared trap from which I wasn't supposed to escape. At the rate he was moving, he would be with me in less than ten minutes. I crawled through the grass to collect the long-bladed knife. It didn't give me a lot of confidence. A knife against a rifle isn't fair odds. I looked around and found a flat, heavy stone larger than my hand. I collected that too.

By now the squat Chinese was walking along the path. He had slowed his pace and was moving more cautiously, but he still seemed to have plenty of confidence because he carried the rifle under his arm.

By now I had squirmed farther from the body . . . twenty yards of high grass separated us. The squat Chinese would come on the body before he came on me.

He was now too close for me to watch him. I lay flat, gripping the stone in my right hand and the knife in my left.

I could hear him. I heard him give a little grunt. Cautiously I lifted my head. He had found his pal and was standing over him, staring. He jerked his head up and we looked at each other. The rifle slid from under his arm into his hands. As I threw the stone, he squeezed the trigger. The flying stone spoilt his aim but it wasn't all that bad a shot. The bullet scraped the top of my shoulder. My stone was luckier. The edge of the stone caught his right hand, splitting the skin. He dropped the rifle, and as he bent to pick it up, I was on him.

It was like charging against the side of a house. He had twisted i sideways, his legs spread to take the shock of my charge. His hand flashed up and grabbed my wrist. He had fingers like steel. I went flying over his head to land on the ground with a jar that shook the breath out of my body. I was dimly aware I had lost the knife. I was also aware that my fall had brought me to the side of the hill. Letting myself go limp, I started to roll. I heard him coming after me. After I had rolled fifty yards or so, I dug my heels into the soft ground and stopped. I was dizzy and breathless. I saw him coming, a vicious grin on his fat, yellow face, but without the gun.

I was on my feet as he reached me, below him and at a disadvantage, but he was coming too fast to stop. I swerved aside at the moment of impact. He tried to grab me, but his hooked fingers slid off my arm as he went careering past. I swung around and planted my shoe in his fat behind. He pitched forward and slid down the hill on his face.

I found another flat, heavy stone which I snatched up and threw after him. The stone caught him on the back of his head and blood flew. He went on down the hill, kicking up the dust, but limp. Maybe I had smashed his skull. I didn't care. All I knew he wouldn't worry me for some time ... if ever.

Breathing heavily, feeling a burning in my shoulder, I set off down the path, walking unsteadily, towards the Silver Mine Pier.

The bar was full. There were about twenty American sailors drinking and dancing and some thirty Chinese girls, all wearing Cheongsams, crowding around the bar or dancing. There were a few Chinese businessmen in the booths, drinking whisky and talking earnestly. The juke-box was blaring jazz loud enough to break a sensitive eardrum. I stood just inside the door, looking around. The Chinese Madame came out of the noise and the cigarette smoke, smiling. She led me to one of the few vacant booths and sat me down.

"What will you drink?" she asked, standing over me, her hard glittering eyes avoiding my stare.

"A Scotch . . . and you?"

"I'll get you a Scotch."

She went away and I lost sight of her behind the screen o/ dancers. After a five-minute wait, a waiter come to my table and put down a Scotch and soda. I waited. It was another ten minutes before the Chinese woman came back to my table and sat down. She looked a little worried.

"Mu Hai Ton will see you," she said, "but not here. She wants you to go to her apartment."

Another trap? I wondered. I was still a little shaky after my experience of the afternoon. I was now wearing a suit and had my .38 police special in its holster out of sight but ready for business.

"Where is she?"

"It is not far. I can arrange a taxi for you."

I hesitated, then nodded.

"Okay . .. but how do I know she is the right girl?"

"She has her papers. She will show them to you. She is the right girl."

"Do I go now?"

"She is waiting."

I finished my drink and got to my feet. "After I've talked to her and after I am satisfied she is the right girl I will pay you fifty Hong Kong dollars."

She smiled stiffly. "That's all right. I will get you a taxi."

I waited. After a few minutes she returned.

"He knows where to take you. The apartment is on the top floor. You will have no difficulty in finding it."

I said I would be seeing her and I went out into the hot night. The taxi-driver grinned cheerfully at me as I opened the cab door. I got in and he drove off. It was a six-minute drive through the crowded back streets of the Chinese quarter. The taxi pulled up outside a jeweller's shop. The driver pointed to a side door, grinning happily. I paid and over tipped him and watched him drive away before I pushed open the door and began to mount steep , stairs that brought me to a landing. Facing me was an elevator. I took it to the top floor. As it came to rest, I slid my hand inside my jacket and eased the gun a little in its holster. Then I stepped across the landing to a red-painted door. I rang the bell.

There was a slight delay, then the door swung open. A Chinese girl looked inquiringly at me.

She was tall and slim and very pretty. She wore a cream silk, heavily embroidered Cheongsam and scarlet sandals. Her black hair was adorned with two lotus blossoms. "I'm Ryan," I said. "I think you're expecting me."

She smiled, showing brilliantly white teeth. "Yes . . . come in."

I moved into a large room full of flowers and furnished with modern light oak furniture.

The big windows had a view of the sea.

"You're Mu Hai Ton?" I asked as she closed the door and walked with easy grace to an armchair.

"That is my name."

She sat down, resting her slim hands in her lap, her eyebrows slightly raised, the smile in
place. 

"How do I know that?"

The question seemed to amuse her. She waved a hand to the table. "My papers are there."

I checked her identity card. She had arrived in Hong Kong five years ago. Her age was twenty-three. Her profession was that of a dancer. I relaxed a little and sat opposite her. "You knew Herman Jefferson?" I asked.

She nodded, continuing to smile."Yes, I knew him. He died two weeks ago."

"You knew his wife?"

"Yes, of course. I was a witness when they married."

"Do you know what Jefferson did for a living?"

"Perhaps now I have answered some of your questions, you will tell me who you are and why you have come here," she said, still not losing the friendly smile.

"I'm making inquiries for Jefferson's father," I told her. "He wants to know more about how his son lived out here."

She lifted her eyebrows inquiringly. "Why?"

"I don't know. He's paying me to get the information so I'm trying to get it. I'm willing to pay you for any information you can give me."

She cocked her head on one side. "How much will you pay?"

"It depends on how much you can tell me."

"You want to know how he made a living?" She grimaced. "He didn't make a living. He took money from Jo-An."

"Ever know a girl called Leila?"

"Yes ... she lived with Jo-An."

"Leila told me Jefferson rented a luxury villa out at Repulse Bay."

She threw her head back and laughed. She had a nice laugh and her throat was very beautiful.

"He couldn't even afford to pay the rent at the Celestial Empire. He was no good ... a bum." "I heard he was tied up in the drug trade," I said casually.

That got a reaction. She stiffened and her smile went away. She stared at me, recovered herself, and shrugged. "I know nothing about the drug trade."

"I didn't say you did. Did you ever hear he was running heroin from Canton into Hong Kong?"

"No."

"Frank Belling did it."

"I don't know anything about that." She was watching me closely now, a little frown furrowing her forehead.

"You knew Belling, didn't you?"

"I met him once ... at the wedding."

"He was Jefferson's friend?"

"I suppose so. I don't know anything about him."