Midnight Never Comes - PC 04 (v5) (3 page)

McGuire stood at the side of the saloon with the albino, lighting a cigarette. He shook his head. 'You asked for this, friend, you really did. Okay, Terry, slice him up good.'

The albino stopped smiling. His hand came out of the pocket of his raincoat holding an old fashioned cut-throat razor. He opened it slowly and as he started forward, saliva dribbled from the corner of his mouth.

The blade of the razor flashed dully in the light of the lamp above the gate and somewhere a cry echoed flatly on the damp air, a strange, frightening sound, shattering the night with the force of a physical blow. The albino swung round and Yuan Tao walked out of the rain into the light.

He wore no coat and the jacket of the expensive gaberdine suit was soaked by the heavy rain and somehow, he seemed different. This was no ordinary man. Chavasse knew that in an instant. And that strange cry--he had heard it before somewhere or something very much like it. The fighting shout common to all Asian martial arts from
karate
to
kendo.

McGuire laughed harshly. 'Put him out of his misery, Charlie, for Christ's sake.'

The man with the iron bar released Chavasse. He darted round the car and ran at Yuan Tao, the bar swinging down viciously. The Chinaman actually took the blow on his left forearm with no apparent ill-effect. In the same moment, his right fist moved in a short forward jab that was unlike any boxing stroke Chavasse had ever seen. It landed high on his assailant's cheek, the bone splintered and the man spun round and fell on his face.

McGuire gave a growl of rage. He went round the car on the run and kicked Yuan Tao squarely in the stomach with all his force. What happened then would have seemed unbelievable if Chavasse hadn't seen it with his own eyes. The Irishman seemed to rebound backwards and amazingly, Yuan Tao moved in after him. As McGuire straightened, the little Chinaman hit him twice and the Irishman catapulted over the bonnet of the car and sprawled on his back moaning.

Yuan Tao moved round the car slowly, the same calm expression on his face, and the man who still held Chavasse gave a sudden cry of fear, released his grip and took to his heels.

The albino giggled horribly and held out the razor in front of him. 'Come on, fatty, let's be having you,' he said.

'What about me then, Terry?' Chavasse said and as the albino swung round, he put every last ounce of strength he had into one beautiful back-handed chop with the edge of his hand that caught him across the side of the neck.

The albino writhed in agony on the pavement and Chavasse hung on to the railings to stop himself falling down. Beyond the car, a shooting brake had turned the corner and the two waiters and the cook from the restaurant were already walking towards the dock gates, bringing the fourth man with them.

'I'd tell them to leave him in one piece if I were you,' Chavasse said to Yuan Tao. 'You'll need him to drive this little lot away.'

'A good point,' the fat man said. 'Are you all right?'

'Only just,' Chavasse grinned. 'I don't know what it was you used just now, but I'm beginning to understand why your niece was annoyed with me at the restaurant. Presumably you were just waiting for McGuire and his boys to show up.'

Yuan Tao smiled. 'I have flown in specially from Hong Kong just for that pleasure, my friend. Su-yin cabled for my help the moment these pigs first introduced themselves. I do not think they will bother us again although I intend to stay for a month or two to make sure.'

'I should imagine they'll take the point.'

By this time the three Chinese had arrived with the fourth man. Yuan Tao spoke to them rapidly in a low voice and then returned to Chavasse. 'And now we can leave. They will deal with things here. Su-yin is waiting in her car.'

Chavasse was aware of a strange feeling of elation. It was as if he had come alive again for the first time in months. As they approached the shooting brake, Su-yin got out and came to meet them.

She ignored her uncle and looked searchingly at Chavasse. 'You are all right?'

'Nothing that a drink and a hot bath won't cure.'

She put a hand on his arm. 'I am sorry for what I said earlier.'

'Nothing to be sorry about.'

At that moment a scream echoed through the rain. She turned to Yuan Tao, a frown on her face. 'What was that?'

'The little worm, the one with white hair. I was not pleased with the way he insulted you. I told them to cut off his right ear.'

Su-yin's face didn't alter. 'I see.' She smiled at Chavasse. 'We will go now. Conversation can come later.'

'If you have studied
judo
or
karate
at all, you will have heard of
kiai,
the power that makes a man perform apparent miracles of strength and force. Only the greatest of masters may acquire this and only after many years of discipline, both mental and physical.'

Yuan Tao squatted against the wall of the tiled bathroom dressed in an old terry towelling robe and peered through the steam at Chavasse who half-floated, submerged to his neck in water so hot that sweat broke from his face in great drops.

He nodded. 'Once in Japan I was taken to meet a master of
ninjutsu,
an old man of eighty, a Zen priest as a matter of fact. He had arms like sticks and weighed perhaps eight stone. The man who took me was a
judo
black belt and in a demonstration, he repeatedly attacked the old man who remained seated.'

'What happened?'

'Incredible as it may seem, the old man threw him effortlessly. He told me later that the power sprang from the seat of reflex control, what they called the
tanden
or second brain. Apparently the development of this faculty had nothing to do with physical exercising, but had been the result of many years spent in fasting and meditation.'

'That is true. All this is but a Japanese development of the ancient Chinese art of Shaolin Temple Boxing. We are told that it first came from India with Zen Buddhism in the sixth century and was developed by the monks of Shaolin Temple in Honan Province.'

'A martial art for priests surely?'

'A necessary accomplishment in those wild times. We have a saying in my province. A prudent man avoids warfare only by being prepared for it. In my own family the art has been handed down from father to son for seven centuries. There are many schools, many methods, but without
ch'i
they are all nothing.'

Chavasse frowned. '
Ch'i?
'

'
Ch'i
is the power which you in your Western world might term intrinsic energy. When it is accumulated in the
tan t'ien,
a point just below the navel, it has an elemental force, an energy which in application, is infinitely greater than physical strength alone.'

'Let me get this straight,' Chavasse said. 'Are you saying that when you strike, it isn't the weight of the blow which causes the damage, it's this inner energy.'

'Precisely. The fist is simply a focussing agent. There is no need for the tremendous punches used by your Western boxers. I strike, often from only a few inches away, punching against the internal organs, screwing my fist slightly on impact. This way one may rupture the liver or spleen with ease or break bones.'

Remembering the crunch of bone breaking back there on the wharf, Chavasse shuddered. 'Having seen it in action, I can believe you. But McGuire kicked you in the stomach with all his force and you were not affected. How do you explain that?'

Yuan Tao laughed gently. 'Practice, my friend. Forty years of practice.'

'I'm afraid I haven't got that long,' Chavasse said, getting to his feet.

Yuan Tao stood up and passed him a towel. 'One may accomplish a great deal in a month or two with discipline and application.'

Chavasse paused, the towel bunched in his hands. 'Are you saying you would be willing to teach me?'

Yuan Tao looked at him critically. 'You have been ill, my friend, your ribs show. The big scar--it was a knife, I am right?'

Chavasse nodded. 'It poisoned my whole system. I was in and out of hospital for months.'

'Forgive me, but I must ask this. The scars on your body, the gun you carried, speak of no ordinary man.'

'Until this evening I was employed by my country's intelligence service.'

'And now?'

'Pensioned off. They don't think I'm up to it any more.'

'And you would like to prove them wrong?'

He took another robe from behind the door and Chavasse pulled it on. 'I'd like to be a man again. I'd like to be able to sleep through the night, go for a walk without feeling like a broken down old hack after quarter of a mile and take a drink without being sick after it. That would be enough to start with.'

'And the other?'

Chavasse shrugged. 'I'll leave that to fate.'

Yuan Tao nodded. 'Good, you are a wise man.' He frowned and then seemed to come to a decision. 'I can help you, but only if you place yourself completely in my hands. You must obey me in everything. Is that understood?'

'Perfectly. When do we start?'

'Tomorrow. You are prepared to stay here?'

'What about Su-yin?'

'She will not object. I am the head of the family since her father died. I told her I would stay two months. I think that should prove sufficient. If I am not mistaken, you have already studied
judo
?'

Chavasse shook his head. 'I concentrated on
karate.
'

'What grade?'

'Black belt, fifth
dan.
'

'This means nothing unless gained under the tutelage of a Japanese master.'

'It was. Yamakura.'

Yuan Tao's eyes widened with respect. 'A master indeed.' He smiled. 'I have a feeling we shall accomplish much, my dear Paul. But now we must eat. It is necessary to put flesh back upon your bones again.'

They left the bathroom and he led the way along a narrow corridor into the living-room at the far end. It was superbly furnished, a mixture of Chinese and European that was strangely attractive.

Su-yin was sitting by the fire and rose to greet them. She was wearing another
cheongsam
in green silk this time, embroidered with red poppies. Two discreet vents at each side of the skirt gave a glimpse of slender legs as she moved to meet them.

'I have news for you, my child,' Yuan Tao said. 'Mr. Chavasse will be staying with us for a while. I trust this will be convenient?'

'But of course, uncle.' She bowed her head slightly. 'And now I will bring the supper.'

She moved to the door, opened it and glanced back quickly over her shoulder at Chavasse and for the first time since he had known her, she was smiling.

3

In motion, be like water
...

Chavasse came awake easily from a deep dreamless sleep, aware at once of pale evening sunlight filtering in through the curtained window. He was alone and he turned to touch the pillow beside him for a moment before throwing back the single sheet which covered him. He padded across to the window and looked out through half-drawn curtains to the green vista of Hyde Park on the other side of Knightsbridge.

It was a beautiful evening, a slight breeze stirring the branches of the trees, sunlight glinting on the waters of the Serpentine in the distance and he turned and moved across to the wardrobe feeling calm and relaxed, alive and whole again.

His eyes sparkled, his head was clear and the slight ache in the pit of his stomach had one cause only--honest hunger. He stood in front of the dressing-table mirror and examined himself in the same slightly incredulous manner that had become something of a habit with him during the past three months. He looked younger, fitter in every way. The angry weal of the knife scar had faded into a thin white line and there was flesh on his bones again.

He could hear the sound of running water from the bathroom and when he opened the door, Su-yin was standing in the glass shower stall, her face turned up in ecstasy, hot water cascading over her shoulders and breasts, steam curling from the warm flesh.

She turned with a gay smile, gasping for breath. 'So you're awake at last.'

'No thanks to you. Why didn't you give me a shake?'

'You looked so peaceful, just like a baby.'

He grinned. 'Want me to scrub your back?'

'Not likely, you've caught me that way before and I'm supposed to be at the restaurant by nine o'clock.'

'But I thought we were having dinner together?'

She shook her head. 'Not tonight, Paul. Don't forget I have a business to run.' She smiled and dismissed him with a wave of one graceful hand. 'I shan't be long. Go and do one of your exercises or something.'

He closed the door and went back into his bedroom. It was cool and rather pleasant with the faint evening sunlight falling across the Indian carpet, bringing the colours vividly to life and the traffic outside sounded muted and unreal as if it was coming from another world.

He could almost hear the silence and stood there for a moment, relaxing completely, remembering the lines of the ancient Taoist verse that Yuan Tao had constantly repeated to him.

'In motion, be like water

At rest, like a mirror

Respond, like the echo

Be subtle as though non-existent.'

The ability to relax completely--this was the most important gift of all, a faculty retained by all other animals except Man. And cultivated, it could be the well-spring of a power that at times could be positively superhuman, for out of the quiet places, created by rigorous discipline and a system of training more than a thousand years old, sprang that intrinsic energy which the Chinese had named
ch'i.
The life force which in repose gave a man the pliability of a child and in action the explosive power of a tiger.

He sat down on the floor, relaxing completely, breathing in through his nose and out through his mouth slowly. He closed his eyes and covered his right ear with his left hand. He varied this after five minutes by covering his left ear with his right hand and after a further five minutes, covered both ears, arms crossed.

The darkness enfolded him like velvet and when he finally opened his eyes and straightened, his mouth was sharply cool, the tongue rigid. He took a long shuddering breath and stared into the shaft of sunlight from the window without blinking. When he got to his feet and walked to the wardrobe, his limbs seemed to be filled with power.

If he had gone to Mallory or anyone else and had spoken of this three months ago after his first meeting with Yuan Tao, they would have smiled pityingly. And yet the result was visible for all to see. A hand that no longer trembled, a clear eye and the kind of strength he would never have believed possible.

He took out an old tracksuit and as he pulled it on, Su-yin came in from the bathroom. She wore slacks and a Spanish shirt in vivid orange tied at the waist. Her dark hair swung loosely to her shoulders, framing the calm, beautiful face.

'You look pleased with yourself,' she said. 'Any special reason?'

He grinned. 'I've spent the afternoon in bed with a supremely beautiful woman and I still feel like Samson. That's reason enough.'

She started to laugh helplessly. 'Oh, Paul, you're quite hopeless. Ring for a taxi, will you? I'm going to be late.'

He phoned the porter quickly, replaced the receiver and moved towards her. 'You're not going until you agree to have dinner with me later. They can't need you all night. We could eat late and catch the midnight show at Twenty-one.'

He pulled her close and she sighed. 'It's quite impossible, I assure you.'

'Then I shan't let you go.'

He swung her up into his arms and carried her across to the bed. There was a brief struggle, punctuated by laughter and then his mouth found hers and they kissed.

She drew away with a sigh and looked up at him as he leaned over her. 'You're so different, so very different. Are you happy, Paul?'

'In spades. Thanks to Yuan Tao and you.'

'You have missed him since he returned to Hong Kong?'

'A great deal.'

'And would you miss me as much?'

He stopped smiling and sat up at once, frowning slightly. 'What is it? What's happened?'

'I'm going home, Paul,' she said simply.

'To Hong Kong?'

'That's right. I had a letter from my uncle this morning. My sister and her husband are opening a night club on Repulse Bay. They need me to help things get started.'

'What about the Red Dragon?'

She shrugged. 'It can continue quite adequately under management. I came to England for the experience, Paul, nothing more.'

'And what about me?'

'What are you trying to say? That you are in love with me?'

Chavasse hesitated, staring down at her and she shook her head. 'No, Paul, we've had a lot of fun together, but now it's time for me to go home.'

He took one of her hands and held it tight. 'It's going to take a little getting used to.'

She stood up. 'It'll take me two or three weeks to arrange things. This isn't the end.'

But she was wrong, they were both conscious of that as they went down in the lift and from now on, every meeting, every kiss would be coloured by the fact of her going.

They passed the porter at his desk and moved out through the swing doors. The taxi was waiting at the kerbside and Su-yin paused on top of the steps, a hand on his sleeve.

'No need to come down, Paul.' She kissed him briefly. 'You'll call me?'

'Of course.'

But he wouldn't, not again. He knew that suddenly and she knew it too, he could tell by the way she paused before getting into the taxi, turning to look up at him as if she was aware that it was for the last time, one hand raised in a brief little gesture that carried its own finality.

He was in the shower when the door-bell rang. He grabbed a towel, wrapped it around his waist and padded across to the front door, leaving damp footprints on the parquet floor.

When he opened the door a maid stood there wearing a blue nylon overall that was obligatory for all female staff. She was young and rather pretty with dark brown hair and hazel eyes.

'Mr. Chavasse, sir?' she said enquiringly, 'I've come to change the bed linen.'

'It's a hell of a funny time for that, isn't it?' Chavasse said.

'It should have been taken care of this afternoon, sir, but I believe you left word that you weren't to be disturbed.'

He grinned suddenly. 'I was forgetting. You're new, aren't you?'

She moved past him into the flat and nodded. 'That's right, sir.'

Chavasse closed the door. 'And what might your name be?'

'Peggy, sir.'

She had a faint Irish accent and smiled, colour staining her cheeks. Chavasse was suddenly aware of his nakedness and grinned. 'Sony, but you caught me in the shower. I'll leave you to it.'

He returned to the bathroom and stepped back into the shower. His stomach was aching for food and he faced the rest of the evening with pleasant anticipation, wondering where to eat, going over the possible choices one after the other in his mind.

He turned off the shower, stepped out of the stall and was at once aware of a strange sound in the living-room. He paused, frowning, then wrapped a towel about his waist and went through quickly.

Peggy was in the act of closing the front door and in the centre of the room stood a large laundry basket on rubber wheels. She turned and catching sight of Chavasse, smiled.

'Oh, there you are, sir.'

Chavasse nodded at the basket. 'What on earth's that thing doing in here?'

'The basket, sir?' She smiled and put a hand on it. 'Oh, the basket's for you, sir.'

The man who stepped in from the bedroom was of medium height and at least fifty with a kindly, wrinkled face. He wore white overalls and carried a Webley with a silencer fitted to the end of the barrel.

'Just lie down on the couch, hands behind your head, sir,' he said briskly.

'For God's sake,' Chavasse said. 'What is this?'

Peggy produced a flat black case from one pocket of her overalls. She opened it, took out a hypodermic and primed it briskly.

'Much better to do as he says, Mr. Chavasse.'

Chavasse took another look at the Webley and lay down on the couch. She came close, bending over him so close that for a moment he was aware of her perfume and then she pulled the towel away with a quick gesture and he felt the needle enter his right buttock.

Whatever it was, it was good, he had to give them that. It had roughly the effect of a rather soft blow from a hammer and he dived into dark waters.

He drifted up from a well of darkness and something exploded inside his head as a hand slapped him across the face. He felt no pain, that was the extraordinary thing. It was as if his body no longer belonged to him. Each sound seemed to come from somewhere in the middle distance and yet he could hear everything with the most astonishing clarity.

He opened his eyes slowly. The room was festooned with giant grey cobwebs that stretched from one wall to the other, and undulated slowly. He closed his eyes, breathing deeply, fighting back the panic that rose inside him. When he opened them again, the cobwebs had almost disappeared.

He was lying on a single bed against one wall of a large, square room. A shaded light hung down from the ceiling and curtains were drawn across the window. The only other furniture was a small table and a single chair which stood in the centre of the room.

Peggy, the Irish girl, was deep in conversation with a large man in an ill-fitting blue suit whose snow-white hair was close-cropped to the skull. They were speaking in Russian, and the girl's accent, while not wholly perfect to the trained ear, was still extremely good. The man was obviously Russian born, Georgian from the sound of him. Another man stood at the open door. He was of medium height, but heavily built with fair hair and an impassive face. He wore a neat white jacket of the type affected by medical orderlies in hospitals.

'You're sure he's all right?' the man in the blue suit said. 'Eight hours is a long time.'

'There's nothing to worry about,' the girl said. 'The dose was an exact one. There are individual variations in response, that's all. He could be out for another hour or two.'

'He must receive further sedation for the flight. We don't want any trouble.'

She nodded. 'It'll be taken care of. When will the plane leave?'

'I'm not sure. This damned fog might make things difficult and the pilot can't leave the airport without an official clearance. Whatever happens, his touchdown here can't last for longer than five minutes. We should be ready to go at any time during the next three hours.'

'I'll see to it,' she said.

He went out and she turned and walked across to the bed, immediately aware of Chavasse's fixed stare. She looked down at him calmly. 'So you're awake at last, are you? How do you feel?'

He moistened dry lips and managed a smile. 'Terrible.'

'A little coffee will soon fix that.' She spoke to the man at the door. 'See to it, Karl.'

He went out and the girl sat on the edge of the table and crossed one slim leg over the other. She was wearing a hip-length suede jacket and a neat skirt in Donegal tweed and, in any other circumstances, would have struck him as being extremely attractive.

Chavasse pushed himself up, discovering in the same moment that he was wearing his old tracksuit. Peggy immediately produced a Walther .32 from her pocket and held it in her lap. 'Just relax, Mr. Chavasse.'

'You know, you're good,' Chavasse said. 'Very good. A Dublin accent, suspiciously good Russian and legs to thank God for.'