Nick Carter - The Defector

He shut the lighter and wiped the blood from Hugo’s blade on his pants. He could see morning light through the crack of the hatchway.

It was two hours before Nick heard movement on deck. His legs had gone to sleep; he could no longer feel them. There was stomping above him, and the smell of cooking food sifted down. He tried to shift his position, but he couldn’t seem to move.

He spent most of the morning dozing. The pain along his spine was eased by his extreme power of concentration. He couldn’t sleep because even though they were quiet, the rats were still with him. He heard one now and then scurrying in front of one of the boxes. He hated to think of spending another night alone with them.

Nick figured it was around noon when he heard the dinghy bump against the side of the junk. Two more pairs of feet walked on the deck above him. There were muffled voices, but he couldn’t understand what was being said. Then he heard a slow-turning Diesel engine come alongside the junk. Props were reversed, and he heard heavy line thud on deck. Another boat had come alongside. Feet got busy on the deck above him. There was a loud clunk, like a board dropping. Then there were thuds being repeated every now and then. Nick knew what it was. They were laying in supplies. The junk was getting ready to move. He and the rats would soon have company.

It took the better part of an hour to get everything on board. Then the Diesel started again, revved, and the sound faded slowly away. Suddenly the hatch was thrown open, flooding Nick’s hiding place with bright light. He could hear the rats running for cover. The air felt cool and refreshing as it flowed in. He heard the woman speaking in Chinese.

“Hurry,” she was saying. “I want us to be on our way before dark.”

“Perhaps the police have him.” It sounded like Ling.

“Be still, stupid one. The police do not have him. He is on his way to the woman and boy. We must get there before he does.”

One of the crewmen was stationed a few feet from Nick. Another was outside the hatch, collecting crates from the third and handing them down. And what crates! The smaller ones were being placed around the hatch where they would be easy to reach. They contained foodstuffs and the like. But there weren’t many of those. The bulk of the crates were marked in Chinese, and Nick could read Chinese well enough to tell what they contained. Some were filled with grenades, but most held ammunition. They must have an army guarding Kathy Loo and the boy, Nick thought. Sheila and Ling must have gone out of the cabin; their voices had become muffled again.

The light had all but faded by the time the crew had lashed down all the crates. They stacked everything aft of the hatch. They hadn’t even come near Nick’s hiding place. Finally it was all done. The last crewman climbed out and slammed the hatch shut. Nick was once again in total darkness.

The dark air smelled strongly of the new crates. Nick heard feet pounding on deck. A pully creaked. The junk seemed to list to one side. Must be raising the sail, he thought. Then he heard the anchor chain clacking. The wooden bulkheads creaked. The junk seemed to ride lighter on the water. They were moving.

They would most likely head for Kwangchow. It was either there or somewhere along the Canton River they had the professor’s wife and son. Nick tried to visualize the area along the Canton River. It was a lowland rainforest type of terrain. That told him exactly nothing. As he recalled, Kwangchow lay in the northeast delta of the Hsi Chiang River. There was a maze of streams and canals running between small rice paddies in that area. Each was dotted with villages.

The junk rolled very little crossing the harbor. Nick knew when they started up the Canton River. The movement forward seemed to slow, yet water sounded as though it was rushing along the sides of the junk. The pitching grew slightly more violent.

Nick knew he could not stay in his position much longer. He was sitting in a pool of his own sweat. He was thirsty, and his stomach growled with hunger. The rats were hungry, too, and they hadn’t forgotten him.

He had been hearing their scratching for more than an hour. At first there were the new crates to be inspected and chewed on. But it was too hard to get to the food inside. There was always him, warm with the smell of blood on his pants. So they came after him.

Nick listened as their scratchings grew higher on the boxes. He could just about tell how high they were getting. And he didn’t want to waste his lighter fluid. He knew he would need it. He felt them then, on top of the boxes, first one, then another. With Hugo in his hand, he flicked flame to his lighter. He raised the lighter and saw their pointed, whiskered noses in front of their black, shiny eyes. He counted five, then seven, and more kept making it to the top of the boxes. His heart raced. One would be bolder than the others, it would make the first move. He’d watch for that one. His wait wasn’t long.

One moved forward, its feet close to the edge of the box. Nick stuck the flame of the lighter to the whiskered nose, then jabbed with the point of Huso. The stiletto plucked out the right eye of the rat, and it fell back. The others leaped on it almost before it could get down the other side of the box. He could hear them fighting over it. The flame in Nick’s lighter flickered out. No more fluid.

Killmaster had to get out of that position. He was trapped there with no defense now that he was out of lighter fluid. There was no feeling in his legs; he couldn’t raise himself. Once those rats were done with their friend, he’d be next. There was one chance. He put Wilhelmina back in his waistband and stuck Hugo between his teeth. He wanted the stiletto within easy reach. Hooking his fingers over the top box, he pulled with all his strength. He got his elbows over the top, then his chest. He tried kicking his legs to get the circulation going, but they wouldn’t move. Using his hands and elbows, he crawled over the top of the boxes and down the other side. He could hear the rats close to him, chewing and scrapping. On the bottom of the hull now, Nick crawled to one of the food crates.

Using Hugo as a pry, he broke open one of the crates and reached inside. Fruit. Peaches and bananas. Nick pulled out a bunch of bananas and three peaches. He began scattering and tossing the rest of the fruit aft of the hatch between and around the grenade and ammunition cases. He could hear the rats scurrying after it. He ate hungrily but slowly; there was no sense in getting sick. When he finished, he started rubbing his legs. They tingled first, then felt pain in them. Feeling returned slowly. He stiffened and bent them, and soon they were strong enough to hold his weight.

Then he heard the powerful engine of another boat; it sounded like an old PT boat. The sound grew nearer, until it was alongside. Nick moved to the hatch. He put his ear close to it, trying to hear. But the voices were muffled and the idling engine drowned them out. He thought of lifting the hatch slightly, but some of the crew might be in the cabin. Must be a patrol boat, he thought.

He had to remember that, because he planned to come back this way. The patrol boat stayed alongside for more than an hour. Nick wondered if they were going to search the junk. Sure enough. Heavy footsteps clumped onto the deck above him. Nick had full use of his legs now. He dreaded the thought of getting back into the confined space, but it looked as if he’d have to. The heavy steps were on the afterdeck. Nick relieved himself on one of the ammunition crates, then crawled back over the top of the boxes to his little hiding place. He stuck Hugo into the box in front of him. Wilhelmina was back between his feet. He needed a shave and his body stank, but he felt much better.