Jack Higgins - Year Of The Tiger

It was unbelievably cold and rain drifted in a fine spray between the bars of the small window set high in the wall. Chavasse got to his feet, stepped over one poor wretch who huddled in a tattered robe, face beaded with fever, and pulled himself up to look outside.

One adobe wall of the courtyard had crumbled away and he could see down into the town. The wind which howled across the flat rooftops of Changu came from the steppes of Mongolia, bringing winter with it, touching his face with cold fingers. He shivered despite himself, a wave of greyness running through him as if somewhere, someone had walked over his grave.

A door opened on the other side and light flooded out into the courtyard, framing a Chinese soldier in the entrance. He turned and spoke to someone inside. There was a sudden burst of laughter and then the soldier closed the door and ran across the yard, head bent against the rain.

Chavasse dropped down from the window. The man with fever was moaning steadily like some animal in pain, lips drawn back, teeth tightly clenched together. Chavasse picked his way cautiously between the sleeping bodies towards a vacant corner near the door and withdrew hurriedly as the appalling stench of human excrement filled his nostrils.

He returned to his original place and sank down into the sodden straw. A few feet away, a huge Tibetan in tattered robe and conical felt hat crouched against the wall and stared at him unwinkingly, one hand scratching for lice. After a moment, he produced a lump of tsampa mixed with butter from somewhere about his person, broke it in two and offered Chavasse half. Chavasse managed a smile and shook his head. The man shrugged and started to chew the tsampa .

Chavasse started to turn away, his limbs shaking uncontrollably as the cold ate into them. He folded his arms tightly and closed his eyes, concentrating on what had happened, wondering how the hell he was going to get out of this one. But there was no answer. After a while he drifted into an uneasy sleep.

He was conscious of the sound of the key in the lock and of the door opening, but it was the blow to the face that really brought him awake. A hand gripped him by the front of his jacket, jerking him to his feet, and he was pushed across the cell and out through the door.

Two privates and a sergeant waited for him in the stone-flagged corridor, all dressed alike in quilted drab uniforms, the Red Star of the army of the People’s Republic on their peak caps the only splash of colour. The sergeant, a small man, turned away without a word and started along the corridor. Chavasse followed, the two privates bringing up the rear, their automatic rifles at the ready.

They mounted a flight of stone stairs to an upper corridor and halted outside a door. The sergeant knocked, listened for a moment and then led the way in.

The room had obviously once been the living quarters of a person of some importance. The wooden walls were beautifully painted, sheepskin rugs covered the floor and logs burned in the large stone fireplace. The green filing cabinet in one corner and the desk in the centre of the room looked somehow incongruous and out of place.

Colonel Li sat behind the desk, a typewritten report in one hand which he now continued to read. Chavasse stood beside a chair a foot away from the desk, his body sagging with fatigue, and examined himself in the narrow gold-framed mirror which hung on the wall behind Li.

The handsome, aristocratic face was haggard and drawn, the eyes dark pools set too far back in their sockets, and blood trickled sluggishly from a cut in his forehead. As he raised a hand to wipe it away, Colonel Li grunted, dropped the report on his desk and looked up.

An expression of immediate concern appeared in his eyes, and he frowned.

“But my dear chap, what have they been doing to you?” he demanded in impeccable English.

“Your concern is so touching,” Chavasse told him.

Li leaned back in his chair, a slight smile tugging at one corner of his mouth. “So, you speak English. You see, already we have made progress.”

Chavasse cursed silently. He was tired – more tired than he had been for a long time, and because of that he’d fallen for the oldest trick in the book.

He shrugged. “Your round.”

“Naturally!” Li said calmly, and nodded to the sergeant and two privates, who immediately withdrew.

The warmth of the room was beginning to make Chavasse feel a little light-headed. He swayed slightly, groping for the edge of the desk to steady himself. Colonel Li rose to his feet at once. “I think you’d better sit down, my friend.”

Chavasse slumped into a chair and Li crossed to a lacquered cabinet in one corner, opened it, took out a bottle and two glasses and returned. He filled the glasses quickly and pushed one across the desk. Chavasse waited for the Chinese to drink first.

Li smiled faintly and emptied his glass. “Drink up, my friend,” he said. “I think you will be surprised.”

It was the finest Scotch and Chavasse coughed a little as it caught at the back of his throat. He reached for the bottle and filled his glass again. “I’m glad you approve,” Li said.

Chavasse toasted him silently and took it down in one quick swallow. As the liquor flooded through him, he felt better. He leaned back in the chair and said, “All the comforts of home, eh? You guys certainly have it rough working for the proletariat. By the way, you haven’t got such a thing as a cigarette, have you? Your boys cleaned me out. From the look of them, I’d say you don’t pay them very often.”

Colonel Li produced a packet of American cigarettes from his pocket and threw them across the table with a quick flip of his fingers. “You see, I can supply all your requirements.”

Chavasse took out a cigarette and leaned across the table for a light. “What’s the matter with your own brands?”

Li smiled pleasantly. “But Virginia cigarettes are extremely good. When our time comes, we will undoubtedly take them all for home consumption.”

“Careful, comrade,” Chavasse warned him. “In Peking they’d call that treason.”

Colonel Li smiled and adjusted a cigarette in his elegant jade holder. “But we are not in Peking, my friend. Here, I am in complete control.”

The voice was still pleasant, the mood tranquil, but Chavasse was beginning to recognize the technique, and he grudgingly admitted that it was being carried out by an expert.

“What happens now?” he said.

Colonel Li shrugged. “That depends entirely on you, my friend. If you cooperate, things can be made easier for you.”

Chavasse was interested. There was still a suggestion that a deal could be made, that much was obvious; but then, it was all part of a familiar pattern. He smiled at the colonel through smoke. “So there’s still a chance for me?”

“But of course,” Li said. “All you have to do is tell me who you really are and what your mission is here in Changu.”

“What happens if I do?” Chavasse said.

Li shrugged. “We can always make use of those who freely admit their errors.”

Chavasse laughed harshly and stubbed his cigarette out in the jade ashtray. “If that’s the best you can do, I’m not buying.”

The Chinese tapped the desk with one elegant hand and said reflectively, “It’s a very great pity.”

He sounded genuinely sorry, and Chavasse listened to him in a curious, if detached, sort of way. “What is?”

“The fact that we are on opposite sides. I am not a political idealist or fanatic. I’m quite simply a man who has always adjusted himself to the prevailing circumstances.”

“I hope it works out for you,” Chavasse said, an edge of irony in his voice.

“Oh, but it will, I assure you.” Li smiled gently. “You see, I have chosen the winning side, make no mistake about that.” He adjusted the papers on his desk into a neat pile. “There is still time for you to change your mind.”