James Chase - You Have Yourself a Deal

The fat Chinese had seen Tan-Toy arrive at the hotel. He knew about the villa on the Peak and had been watching it now for three or four days. He also alerted his men by short wave radio that Girland might be heading towards the villa.

There was a considerable amount of traffic going up to the Peak and as Tan-Toy drove Girland in an Austin Cooper up the winding road, he kept looking back to see if they were being followed.

She said, “It is all right. The lady is not there any longer. It is Hung Yan you are going to see.”

“Is he the guy I spoke to on the telephone?”

“Yes.”

“If she’s not there, where is she?”

“I don’t know.” Tan-Toy gave him a flashing smile.

“Who are you? How do you get muddled up in this?”

“Hung Yan is my friend. He helped me once when I was ill. I like to help people when they help me.”

Eventually the car pulled up outside a small, dark villa, perched on the edge of the mountain with a fine view of Hong Kong and distant Kowloon.

“Go right in,” the girl said as Girland got out of the car. “When you have finished your business, we might meet.”

“Where do I find you?” Girland asked, bending down to look at her through the car window.

“Wan See knows... ask him.” She waved her hand, looked again into his eyes, then reversing the car, she drove away.

Girland looked down the long dark winding road, watching the red tail lights of her car disappear. No other car moved on the road.

He walked quickly down a path that led to the villa and rang the bell. The front door immediately opened.

“Please come in.”

A shadowy figure let him into a small, stiflingly hot room lit by a small table lamp.

The two men looked at each other. Hung Yan was a slightly built, young Chinese wearing a black, baggy, Chinese coat and trousers. His glittering eyes were feverish and when he shook hands, his skin felt dry and hot.

Girland introduced himself.

“The situation is very bad,” Hung Yan said. “They know I am here. I don’t think they can make up their minds whether she is dead or alive. Otherwise they would have got rid of me before now. Have you a passport for her? That is what she wants.”

“I have it. Where is she?”

“I will take you to her. She is on a junk, anchored off Pak Kok.”

“How do you come to be here?” Girland asked curiously.

“This villa belongs to my father who is in America. I brought Erica here a week ago, but she didn’t feel safe. She is very frightened. The junk belongs to my cousin’s fishing fleet. It is old and he is not using it. Erica thought she would be safer there than here.”

“Is she alone?”

“Yes, she is alone and frightened. I am sorry for her.” Hung Yan made a helpless movement with his hands. “We are in love. She is in a very dangerous situation and it worries me very much.”

“I’m not absolutely sure I haven’t been followed,” Girland said. “When do we go?”

Hung Yan shrugged.

“It doesn’t matter. They know I am here. They hope I will lead them to her.” He went to a cupboard. Opening it, he took from it two long knives in leather scabbards. “Can you use a knife? It is better than a gun.”

“Oh, sure,” Girland said. He took the knife from Hung Yan, pulled it from its scabbard, regarded it and nodded his approval. He clipped the scabbard to his belt. “When do we go?”

“Now... there is a footpath from here down the mountain to the main road,” Hung Yan told him. “There I have a car in a friend’s garage. There is a motorboat waiting at Aberdeen harbour.”

The two men left the villa by the rear door, and a few minutes later, Girland found himself on a narrow, dangerously steep path that was shrouded in a damp mist that had come up from the mainland and now blotted out the view.

He moved cautiously, following closely behind Hung Yan. There were moments when he could see nothing, then the mist cleared a little and he caught a glimpse of the Hong Kong lights far below.

Suddenly a stone rattled down behind him, hitting his ankle and he reached out and caught hold of Hung Yan’s arm.

“Someone’s behind us,” he whispered. “You go on... I’ll wait here.”

Hung Yan nodded. He continued on down the path. Girland moved off the path down the slope and crouched behind a shrub, his ears pricked, his eyes peering into the half-darkness.

There was a long pause, then he heard the sound of scuffling feet. Peering up, he could make out a small black figure coming cautiously down the path. He waited, tense. The man came on and moved past where Girland was concealed: a small Chinese, his head bent, his movements quick and silent.

Girland pulled himself back onto the path. The man was now ten yards ahead of him. He turned as swiftly as a striking snake when he heard Girland behind him. A knife flashed. Girland went into a low, flying tackle, his arms gripping the man’s legs below the knees.

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.