J.A. Johnstone - The Loner - Crossfire

He climbed painfully to his feet. Having spent so much time in the dark, almost airless chamber he was able to find the door much easier, guided to it by some instinct. Working by feel, he wedged the point of one of the nails firmly against the bottom of the pin in the uppermost hinge and tried to force it up.

Putting pressure on the board wasn’t enough to loosen the pin, Conrad realized after a few minutes. He set the board down and took off one of his boots. When he had the nail back in place, he used the boot as a makeshift hammer and began striking blows against the board.

Hitting upward was awkward, but the jolts finally had an effect. Conrad thought the pin had moved. When he felt it to check, he found the top of the pin sticking up half an inch above the hinge. He tried to wiggle it out the rest of the way, but it wouldn’t come loose. He went back to using the nail, the board, and the boot.

A couple minutes later, the pin was in his hand. He clutched it in triumph.

There were still two hinges holding the door in place, he reminded himself. After drawing in a couple deep breaths, he went to work on the second one. In the back of his mind, he was still aware of the aches and pains in his body, but he didn’t pay much attention to them anymore.

His freedom beckoned, and beyond that, his children. Those goals were more than enough to make him forget about how badly he hurt.

Besides, when he got out of there he was going to deal out some pain of his own ... and that made him feel better.

The fog rolled in before the sun went down, cloaking the city in gloom. Once night fell, visibility shrank to almost zero. From an alley between two warehouses along the Embarcadero, Frank couldn’t see the ships docked at the other end of the long wharf.

The big hatchet man called Ling Yuan waited patiently next to him. Behind them were a dozen more of Diamond Jack’s men.

The tong leader had remained in his stronghold. As he had explained to Frank, he was an executive. He gave orders to warriors. He didn’t take up a hatchet himself.

That was all right with Frank. From what he had seen of Ling Yuan and the other hatchet men, they could handle themselves just fine in a fight. He wouldn’t have to worry about them, only about rescuing Conrad.

“The ship is supposed to sail in less than an hour,” Ling Yuan said quietly. “Before then, three Woo Sing soldiers will swim around to the other side and use grappling hooks and cords to get on board. While they cause a distraction, the rest of us will go up the gangplank.”

“Do you have any idea where my son is being held?”

Ling Yuan shook his head. “Somewhere belowdecks. Wong Duck’s agents have watched the ship all day. There has been no sign of Conrad Browning. But you and I will find him. The others will keep the crew busy while we search. We must be quick, so we can get away before the police come.”

“I figured your boss would have the police paid off to look the other way.”

Ling Yuan grunted disdainfully. “This is possible with some of the authorities, but an annoying number of them are honest.”

“You speak English really well.”

“A missionary lady from England taught me, while I was still in China. Before I came to this country.”

“Is she still over there teaching?”

Ling Yuan sighed. “No. A local warlord saw the missionary teachings as a challenge to his rule. He had warned the lady and the other missionaries to leave. When they didn’t his soldiers raped the women and killed them, then tortured all the men to death.”

“What did you do?” Frank asked.

“What could I do? I was only one man.” Ling Yuan looked off into the fog. “A month later the warlord was found in his fortress, choking on his own entrails. The heads of all his guards had been cut off. He died moments later.”

Frank looked at the big man and slowly nodded. “Somehow that doesn’t surprise me.”

“Our men will be on board soon,” Ling Yuan said briskly. “Be ready.”

Frank was ready, all right. He had slipped a sixth bullet into his Colt, into the chamber he usually kept empty so the hammer could rest on it.

Ling Yuan had his arms crossed over his chest. Without looking at Frank, he said, “Since I came to this country, I have learned to read English. I have read stories about you, Mr. Morgan.”

“Dime novels?” Frank guessed.

“Yes. Do they exaggerate your exploits?”

“By a whole heap.”

“But you are a gunfighter?”

Frank sighed. “I never set out to be. But a fella pushed me until I didn’t have any choice but to draw on him. He thought he was fast, but I was faster. After him there was another man, and another, and almost before I knew what was happening, I had a reputation. I had to leave the place where I’d grown up”—his voice grew wistful for a second—“had to leave behind a girl. Since then I’ve never settled for very long in any one place. Tried a few times, but something always happened to make me think it was better to move on.”

“The life of a true warrior,” Ling Yuan said. “Trouble finds him, wherever he goes.”

Frank nodded. “That’s about the size of—”

A sudden shout from the ship, followed a split second later by the crack of a gun, interrupted him.

Ling Yuan pulled his hatchet from under his jacket. “We go!”

Chapter 24

Using the nail and his boot, Conrad worked at the other two hinges until he had the pins out. But the door still sat squarely in its frame, and the lock on the other side held it shut.

The gap between door and jamb on the hinged side was too narrow for him to get his fingers in it and pull the door loose. He tried prying it out with the nails and made a little progress, but the door was well-fitted and stubborn.

An idea occurred to him as he stepped back into his boot. He felt his way over to the crate with the broken lid and stuck his hand through the small opening he had made.

His hand delved through a layer of excelsior, then touched canvas shrouding. He pressed against the canvas to see if he could tell what was underneath it. He felt a long, narrow shape.

It took a moment for Conrad to realize he was touching what felt like a rifle barrel.

Excitement leaped through him. He grabbed the piece of board that had broken off and pried up the remaining section still nailed to the crate. With that bigger opening created, he was able to remove another board. He pulled out handfuls of excelsior and threw it behind him until he had uncovered more of the cargo.

Using the nails in the broken board, he poked a hole in the canvas, then ripped it larger. He cut through the next layer of protection—oilcloth—then plunged his hands into the grease coating the rifles in the crate. He pulled out one of the weapons.

Of course it was empty, and he had no ammunition. But even so, the feel of a gun in his hands made his heart leap. He set it on the crate, tore off a piece of canvas, and starting wiping the grease off the rifle, as well as from his hands. He had to tear off more canvas, but eventually he had the rifle fairly clean. It felt like a Winchester repeater. He checked the action, and it worked smoothly and easily. The rifle was probably new.

Conrad wondered if all the crates in the hold contained rifles. He had a hunch they did, and he suspected there was something shady about shipping them to China.

That wasn’t any of his business, though. He just wished he had a boxful of cartridges.

That could make all the difference in the world.

Maybe he could use the rifle to bluff his way past some of the sailors once he got out, he thought. They wouldn’t have any way of knowing for sure the weapon was unloaded.

He took the rifle with him and leaned it against the wall beside the door as he went back to work trying to pry it loose with the nails in the piece of board he held. The nails were small enough to go in the gap around the door, but when he used them to lever the door out of its frame, they bent. Biting back a curse, he tried to straighten them. He still needed that blasted crowbar ...