Nick Carter - The Defector

Nick woke with a jerk. For an instant he didn’t know where he was. He heard the light lap of water against the side of the sampan. The junk! Was the junk still in the harbor? Maybe the woman, Sheila, had changed her mind. The police knew about Yong now. Maybe she had found out.

He sat up, stiff from his hard bed, and looked toward the other side of the ferry landing. The big Navy ships had again changed positions in the harbor. They sat lengthwise, their bows pointed toward Victoria. The sun sat high, glimmering in the water. Nick saw the junk, its stern swung out toward the harbor. There was no sign of life aboard.

Nick boiled a handful of rice. He ate the rice and a can of green beans with his fingers. When he had finished, he placed the ninety Hong Kong dollars he’d removed from his suit into the empty can, then put the can where he’d found it. Chances were the occupants of the sampan wouldn’t return, but if they did, he would have at least paid for his room and board.

Nick leaned back in the sampan and lit one of his cigarettes. The day was almost half over. All he had to do was wait for nightfall.

Nick waited in the sampan until darkness was complete. Lights glittered along the harbor, and across it he could see the lights of Kowloon. The junk was out of his view now. He had not seen any movement on it all day. But, to be sure, he waited until well past midnight.

He wrapped Wilhelmina and Hugo in the coolie clothes that had been tied around his waist. He had no plastic bag, so he would have to hold the clothes out of the water. Pierre, the tiny gas bomb, was taped just behind his left armpit.

The sampans around him were dark and quiet. Once again Nick lowered himself into the icy water. He moved with a slow side-stroke, holding the bundle above his head. He went between two sampans in the first row, then headed for open water. The going was slow and he made certain there was no splashing. When he was beyond the ferry landing, he turned right. He could see the dark silhouette of the junk now. There were no lights. Once he had passed the ferry landing, he headed directly for the bow of the junk. When he reached it, he hung onto the anchor chain and rested. He had to be very careful now.

Nick climbed up the chain until his feet had cleared the water. Then, using the bundle as a towel, he dried his feet and legs. Wouldn’t do to leave wet footprints on the deck. He climbed over the bow rail and dropped silently onto the deck. With cocked head, he listened. Hearing nothing, he quietly dressed, pushed Wilhelmina into the waistband of the pants, and kept Hugo in his hand. In a low crouch he made his way along the walkway on the port side of the cabin. He noticed the dinghy was missing. When he reached the afterdeck, he saw three sleeping forms. If Sheila and Ling were on board, Nick thought, they’d most likely be in the cabin. These three must be the crew. Nick stepped lightly between them. There was no door covering the front of the cabin, just a small, arch-shaped open space. Nick poked his head through, listening and looking. He heard no breathing except from the three behind him; he saw nothing. He went inside.

To his left were three bunks, one on top of the other. On his right were a wash basin and a stove. Beyond that was a long table with benches on each side. The mast came up through the center of the table. Two portholes were on each side of the cabin. Beyond the table was a door, probably the head. There was no place in the cabin he could hide himself. The storage lockers were too small. All open spaces along the bulkhead could easily be seen from the cabin. Nick looked down. There would be a space under the main deck. They’d probably use that for storage. Nick figured the hatch would be somewhere near the head. He moved cautiously along the table and opened the door to the head.

The toilet was mounted flush with the deck, Oriental fashion, and too small for a hatchway below. Nick backed into the main cabin, his eyes searching the deck.

There was just enough moonlight to pick out silhouettes. He bent over as he backed, sliding his fingers lightly over the deck. It was between the bunks and wash basin that he found the crack. He ran his hands over the square, found the finger-lift, and slowly pulled up. The hatch was hinged and well-used. It let out only a slight squeak as he opened it. The opening was about three feet square. Pitch blackness waited below. Nick knew the bottom of the junk couldn’t have been more than four feet down. He dropped his feet over the edge and lowered himself. He went down only as far as his chest before his feet touched bottom. Nick crouched, pulling the hatch shut above him. All he could hear now was the light lap of water against the sides of the junk. He knew that when they got ready to move they’d be loading supplies aboard. And they’d probably store them in this space.

Using his hands to guide him, Nick moved aft. The darkness was total; he had to go strictly by feel. All he found was a rolled spare sail. He doubled back. If there was nothing forward of the hatch he could roll himself into the sail. But they’d probably want to move it to store supplies. He had to find something better.

Forward of the hatch he found five boxes lashed down. Working as quietly as possible, Nick untied the boxes and arranged them so that there was an empty space behind them and enough space from the top of them to the overhead for him to crawl through. Then he lashed them down tight again. The boxes weren’t too heavy, and because of the darkness he couldn’t read what they contained. Probably foodstuffs. When they were lashed again, Nick crawled over them to his little space. He had to sit with his knees against his chest. He stuck Hugo into one of the boxes within easy reach, and lay Wilhelmina between his feet. He leaned back, his ears trying to pick up every noise. All he could hear was the water against the side of the junk. Then he heard something else. It was a light, scratching noise. A cold chill ran through him.

Rats!

Disease-ridden, filthy, the larger ones had been known to attack men. Nick had no idea how many of them there were. The scratching sound seemed to be all around him. And he was enclosed in darkness. If only he could see! Then he realized what they were doing. They were scratching at the boxes around him, trying to get to the top. They were probably starved, coming after him. Nick had Hugo in his hand. He knew he was taking a chance but he felt trapped. He pulled out his cigarette lighter and struck a flame. For an instant he was blinded by the light, then he saw two of them on top of the box.

They were as big as alley cats. The whiskers on their long pointed noses quivered from side to side. They looked down at him with black slanting eyes glittering in the lighter flame. The lighter grew too hot to handle. It dropped to the deck and went out. Nick felt something furry drop to his lap. He swiped at it with Hugo, hearing the click of teeth on the blade. Then the thing was between his feet. He kept jabbing Hugo at it while his free hand searched for the lighter. Something pulled at his pant leg. Nick found the lighter and quickly lit it. The rat’s jagged teeth were caught on his pant leg. It shook its head back and forth, snapping its jaws. Nick stabbed it in the side with the stiletto. He stabbed it again. And again. The teeth came free, and the rat snapped at the blade. Nick plunged the stiletto into its stomach, then pushed it into the face of the other rat that was about to jump. Both rats went over the box and down the other side. The scratching stopped. Nick heard the others scurrying over to the dead rat, then squabbling over it. Nick shivered. One or two more may be killed during the fighting, but it wouldn’t be enough to last them for long. They’d be back.