Nick Carter - The Defector

Kathy nodded.

“Then stay in the brush. Don’t show yourself. Move at an angle toward the canal so that you get to it downstream from here. Hide yourselves and wait until you see a junk going down the canal. Then swim for the junk. There will be a line over the side for you to grab onto. Can you remember that, Mike?”

“Yes, sir.”

“You take good care of your mother, now. Be sure she makes it.”

“Yes, sir, I will,” Mike answered. A slight smile worked on the corners of his mouth.

“Good boy,” Nick said. “Okay, let’s go.”

He led them out of the cell and along the dark hallway. When he reached the door leading out he held his hand for them to stop. Alone, he went outside. The soldiers were spread out in a staggered line between the huts. They were coming for the concrete building and were now less than twenty yards away. Nick motioned for Kathy and Mike.

“You’ll have to hurry,” he whispered to them. “Remember, stay deep in the forest until you get to the canal. You’ll hear some explosions, but don’t stop for anything.”

Kathy nodded, then followed Mike around the side of the building and toward the rear.

Nick gave them thirty seconds. He heard the soldiers drawing closer. The fires were burning low in the last two huts, and because of the clouds there was no moon. The darkness was on his side. He pulled another grenade from the sack and took off at a low run across the clearing. Halfway across, he pulled the pin then hurled the grenade over his head toward the soldiers.

He already had another grenade pulled when the first one exploded. Nick noticed by the flash that the soldiers had been closer than he had thought. The explosion took out three of them, leaving a gap in the center of the line. Nick reached the skeleton of the first hut. He pulled the pin of the second grenade and threw it where he’d thrown the first. The soldiers were shouting now and firing at shadows again. The second grenade exploded toward the end of the line, taking out two more. The remaining soldiers started running for cover.

Nick circled the burned-out hut to the opposite side, then he took off across the clearing to the ammunition hut. He had another grenade in his hand. This would be the big one. At the door of the hut, Nick pulled the pin and lobbed the grenade into the hut. Then he felt movement to his left. A soldier rounded the corner of the hut and fired without aiming. The bullet creased Nick’s right earlobe. The soldier cursed and swung the butt of the rifle toward Nick’s head. Nick swung his body to the side and kicked his left foot into the soldier’s stomach. He completed the swing by bringing his half-closed fist down on the soldier’s collarbone. It cracked under the blow.

Seconds had ticked by. Nick bad to move. He started running back across the clearing. A soldier blocked his way, the rifle aimed straight at him. Nick hit the ground, rolling. When he felt his body hit the soldier’s ankles, he swung for the groin. Three things happened almost at the same time. The soldier grunted, falling on top of Nick, the rifle fired into the air, and the grenade in the ammunition hut went off. The first explosion set off a chain of larger explosions. The sides of the hut blew out. Flames rolled up like a huge, orange, bouncing beach ball, lighting up the whole area. Pieces of metal and wood scattered as though fired from a hundred shotguns. And the explosions kept coming, one after another. Soldiers cried out in agony as debris struck them. The sky was bright orange, with sparks falling everywhere, starting fires.

The soldier lay heavily on Nick. He had absorbed most of the shock, and pieces of bamboo and metal were imbedded in his neck and back. The explosions weren’t as frequent now, and Nick heard the groans of wounded soldiers. He pushed the soldier off him and picked up the Tommy gun. There seemed to be no one left to stop him as he moved toward the dock. When he reached the junk, he noticed a case of grenades next to the plank. He picked it up and carried it aboard. Then he dropped the plank and cast off all lines.

Once aboard, he hoisted the sail. The junk creaked and slowly moved away from the dock. Behind him, the tiny village was ringed with small fires. Burning ammunition fired now and then. With the skeletons of huts almost waving in the orange light of the flames, the village looked ghostly. Nick was sorry for the soldiers; they had their job to do, but he had his also.

At the tiller now, Nick kept the junk to the center of the canal. He figured he was slightly more than a hundred miles from Hong Kong. Moving downriver would be quicker than the trip up had been, but he knew he wasn’t through with trouble yet. He lashed down the tiller and threw a line over the side. The junk had moved out of sight from the village, he heard only an occasional crack as more ammunition exploded. The land on the starboard side of the junk was low and flat, mostly rice paddies.

Nick searched the darkness along the port side bank, looking for Kathy and Mike. Then he spotted them, slightly ahead of him, swimming for the junk. Mike reached the line first, and when he had climbed high enough, Nick helped him aboard. Kathy was right behind him. As she climbed over the rail, she tripped and grabbed Nick for support. His hand caught her waist and she fell against him. She clung to him, her face buried in his chest. Her body was slick with wetness. She had a womanly smell about her, unhampered by cosmetics or perfume. She clung to him as though desperate. Nick stroked her back. Her body was slight and frail against him. He realized that she must have been through hell.

She didn’t sob or cry, she just held onto him. Mike stood awkwardly beside them. After about two minutes had passed she slowly moved her arms from around him. She looked up into his face, and Nick saw that she was truly a lovely woman.

“Thank you,” she said. Her voice was soft, and almost too low for a woman.

“Don’t thank me yet,” Nick said. “We’ve still got a long way to go. There might be some clothes in the cabin, and some rice.”

Kathy nodded, and with her arm around Mike’s shoulders, went into the cabin.

Back at the tiller, Nick thought of what lay ahead. First there was the delta. Sheila Kwan had needed a chart to get across it in daylight. He had no chart, and he’d have to make it at night. Then there was that patrol boat and, finally, the border itself. For weapons he had a Tommy gun, a Luger, a stiletto, and a box of grenades. His army consisted of a lovely woman and a twelve-year-old boy. And now he had less than twenty-four hours.

The canal began to widen. Nick knew they’d be into the delta soon. Ahead and to his right he could see tiny dots of light. He had watched Sheila’s direction carefully that afternoon; his mind had recorded every turn, every change in course. But at night his moves would be general, not exact. One thing was going for him — the current of the river. If he could find it somewhere in that delta where all canals met, it would take him in the right direction. Then the port and starboard banks fell away and he was surrounded by water. He had entered the delta. Nick lashed the tiller and moved around the cabin to the bow. He studied the dark water beneath him. Sampans and junks were anchored throughout the delta. Some had lights but most were dark. The junk creaked through the delta.

Nick dropped to the main deck and unlashed the tiller. Kathy came out of the cabin carrying a bowl of steaming rice. She had put on a bright red shift which clung tightly to her curves. Her hair was freshly combed.

“Feel better?” Nick asked. He began eating the rice.

“Much. Mike went right to sleep. He couldn’t even finish his rice.”

Nick couldn’t get over her beauty. The photo John Loo had shown him didn’t do her justice.