James Chase - You Have Yourself a Deal

As an afterthought, he added a description of Girland to his report.

“This man,” he wrote, “is dangerous and should be in our files. A photograph and details of his method of operations will follow in the diplomatic bag.”

This cable arrived in Pekin eighteen hours before Girland landed in Hong Kong. A warning about Girland, with his description, was flashed to every airport in Asia. Not that they were expecting Girland, but the Chinese are thorough and it was part of their system to take no chances.

So without being aware of it, Girland was heading for a wasps nest. He not only had Malik on his plane, but now a certain Chinese Customs official at the Kai Tak airport had his description.

Eating an excellent sauté of chicken, washed down with a very presentable Bordeaux wine, Girland at that moment hadn’t a care in the world. He was heading towards riches, and about to arrive at the foot of his rainbow.

Girland was no stranger to Hong Kong. This, he thought as he walked out of the airport into the blistering sunshine, would be his fourth visit. Once he had met a young, American heiress on a world tour. She had insisted that he should be her bodyguard. Since her body was exceptionally inviting, Girland had raised no objections. They had spent four exciting and somewhat erotic weeks in Hong Kong. Later, he had been assigned by the C.I.A. to help to break up an opium ring and Hong Kong had been the centre of operations. He and Harry Curtis, the resident Agent, had spent days in a police boat and Girland had got to know the various outer islands around Taipang Wan, Tathong and in the East Lamma Channel.

Curtis was the last person Girland wanted to run into at this moment, and knowing Curtis had the habit of meeting aircraft from Europe, he kept a sharp eye out for him. He was so occupied watching for Curtis’s burly figure that he failed to notice Malik trailing along behind him.

The Chinese Customs officer at the barrier studied Girland’s passport and then looked thoughtfully at him. Then he returned the passport, saluted and motioned Girland through the barrier. As soon as Girland began walking towards a row of taxis, the Customs officer jerked his thumb in his direction and a fat Chinese, wearing a well-worn black business suit, went after Girland.

All this wasn’t lost on Malik whose sharp eyes had seen the signal and the fat Chinese wander after Girland. Malik glanced around.

Branska, the resident Soviet agent, came out of the crowd and shook Malik’s hand. Branska was a short, heavily-built man with sandy, thinning hair and freckles.

“It’s all right,” he said. “He’s taken care of. I have three men covering him. Let’s go to the hotel. We’ll get a report as soon as they find out where he is going.”

Malik nodded and the two men walked over to a waiting car.

Girland told the taxi driver to take him to the Star Ferry. He relaxed back in the cab as it rushed him along the crowded waterfront with its hordes of trotting coolies, carrying enormous burdens, slung on bamboo poles, the rickshaws, the overladen trucks, the big American cars driven by sleek rich-looking Chinese, bicycles making suicidal dashes through the traffic and every now and then a lovely Chinese girl, her cheongsam slit to four inches above her knees, in a rickshaw, her legs crossed, her hands demurely in her lap.

Girland loved Hong Kong. This was a town, he thought, teeming with life and energy where anything could happen and where money could be made.

He paid off the taxi at the ferry, then passing through the turnstile, he got on board the waiting boat.

Two of Malik’s agents and the fat Chinese also got on the boat.

Ten minutes later, Girland left the boat station on the Hong Kong side and took a taxi to a small hotel on the Wanchai waterfront where he had stayed previously.

By this time he had become aware that he was being followed. Girland had a strongly developed sense of self-preservation. He had quickly spotted Malik’s agents during the crossing, but he had foiled to spot the fat Chinese who was sitting near him, reading the Hong Kong Times.

As Girland paid off his taxi, he saw a car drive past. The two thickset men were in the car and they looked studiously away from him as the car went on up the waterfront. Girland grinned. Well, he would have to be careful, he told himself. He paid no attention to a fat Chinese in a shabby black suit who was standing near him, buying a pack of cigarettes from a street vendor.

Girland climbed the steep steps to the hotel lobby. He was greeted with a wide smile of welcome by an elderly Chinese with a wispy beard. Wan See had been the owner of the hotel for many years and he had an excellent memory for faces.

After greeting him, Girland went up more stairs to a small clean room that overlooked the waterfront. He took a shower, changed into a sports shirt and jeans, and then went down to Wan See.

The owner of the hotel was in the pay of the American Embassy and he could be relied on. Girland warned him that he was on official business and he must be careful no one got into his room while he was out.

Wan See had housed a number of American Agents over the years and he knew his business.

“That is okay,” he said. “No one comes here unless I know him.”

“I have a telephone call to make.”

Wan See waved to a booth.

Carlota had given Girland a telephone number to call when he arrived. This number, she had explained, was to a villa on the Peak where Erica was in hiding. He dialled the number and waited.

There was a brief delay, then a man’s voice said, “Who is that, please?”

“A friend who comes from Paris,” Girland said, using the phrase Carlota had given him.

He heard a quick hiss of breath.

“I hope you had a good journey.” This was the counter password Carlota had given him and Girland relaxed.

“Well, I’m here. I am at the Lotus Hotel, Wanchai. Do I come to you or will you come to me?”

“It would be better if you come to me,” the man said. “The situation is difficult. It is safer not to talk now. I will send a woman to bring you to me. She will be wearing a red cheongsam and a diamond in her left ear.”

“She sounds charming,” Girland said as the line went dead.

He again consulted Wan See.

“There is a girl coming. The hotel is being watched. She and I will be leaving and it is important we won’t be followed.”

Wan See giggled.

“There is no trouble. Every half-hour girls come here. The lower rooms are rented for love. There is a staircase to the roof. You can leave that way. You cross two roofs, descend by a fire escape to an alley that leads to the waterfront.”

Girland returned to his room and waited. He thought longingly of an air conditioner as the heat flowed through the open window, turning the small room into an oven.

An hour and five minutes later, there came a tap on the door.

Girland got off the bed and opened the door. A slim Chinese girl, wearing a scarlet cheongsam, a diamond sparkling in her left ear lobe, smiled at him.

“You expect me?”

Girland liked Chinese girls. During his previous stays in Hong Kong he had slept with a number of them. They had technique and they took lovemaking seriously. This girl was not only pretty: she was sensationally sensuous.

“Who are you?” he asked, moving back so she could come in.

“My name is Tan-Toy. I work along the waterfront. I make professional love.”

“You do?” Girland laughed. “That is something we might discuss later. Right now, let’s go.”

They climbed the staircase to the roof and moving cautiously, they crossed two other roofs and descended by the iron fire escape into the alley below.

They were watched by one of Malik’s agents who knew all about Wan See’s escape route. He had been posted on a nearby roof for the past two hours. Using a walkie-talkie, he alerted Malik that Girland with a Chinese woman was leaving his hotel.