Читать книгу Bamboo Terror - William Ross - Страница 9

4

The Hostage

MORNING came, and Hazzard lay half naked on his bunk, his eyes shut, the sweat running down his sides in tiny rivers, debating whether he could stand another smelly shower of sea water or not. He had just made up his mind not to move when a deadly silence engulfed the ship.

The engines had stopped, and the steady vibrations that fill a moving ship were suddenly gone. Hazzard opened his eyes. The electric fan above his head was revolving slowly to a halt. He listened carefully and only the faraway sound of water lapping at the sides of the freighter came to his ears.

All of his senses snapped alert, he felt a chill surge through his body like an electric shock. This feeling he had known before. He knew the meaning. Danger!

Standing up, he peered cautiously through the open port hole above his bunk. Nothing but the empty deck, the sun, the sea, and silence.

Hazzard remained motionless and waited. One minute, the water splashed lightly at the rusted plates—two minutes, a sea gull screamed above the ship—three minutes, the sound of someone walking on the deck outside his cabin. Hazzard lowered himself below the level of the port hole. When the footsteps had passed, he raised his head slowly and looked out again. One of the ship's crew was walking forward with his hands clasped behind his head. Behind him were two heavily armed Orientals with rifles pointing at his back.

Hazzard grabbed the money belt off the bunk and strapped it around his waist. Taking Sam from beneath the pillow, he checked the revolver, stuck it under the money belt, and quickly put on his shirt.

He had just finished with the last button when there was a knock on the door.

"Who is it?" Hazzard called out.

"Captain want see you Misser Hazzard. He say you come bridge," said a singsong Chinese voice.

"All right," said Hazzard. "Be right with you."

Quietly Hazzard stepped to the door, and in one motion unlatched and swung it open. Almost immediately a tough-looking Chinese sprang into the room with a wicked-looking automatic rifle.

Tripping the Chinese with his foot, Hazzard brought the edge of his right hand down behind the man's ear in a vicious karate chop. The Chinese slammed spread eagle to the floor and lay motionless.

Hazzard reached over to pick up the automatic rifle, then froze at the sound of Chang's voice.

"As you can see, these sea voyages get more exciting every day," said Chang.

He was standing in the door holding a pistol and smiling pleasantly. Glancing down, he nodded approvingly.

"Very efficiently excuted, Mr. Hazzard. It is a pity though, I had hoped to avoid bloodshed. I suppose the death of one or two men is to be expected. Someday we must compare notes on the deadly art of karate." He looked back at Hazzard. "Now, would you care to accompany me to the bridge? We must not keep the good captain waiting."

"I don't see where I have much of a choice," said Hazzard.

"Come, come, Mr. Hazzard, not so bitter," said Chang. "I assure you, nothing is going to happen to you—if you do as you are told."

Hazzard shrugged his shoulders and moved toward Chang.

"Stop where you are, Mr. Hazzard, or I shall be forced to place a bullet in your leg. I am an excellent shot. Please do not make me prove it," said Chang, and he moved backwards through the door. "I have also spent many years training under a very capable teacher of karate. Come through the door, turn left, and proceed to the bridge. I shall be far enough behind you to prevent any little act of violence that you may be contemplating. Now, please, Mr. Hazzard, we are wasting valuable time."

Chang was proving to be a formidable opponent. Now was not the time, thought Hazzard. Later it would come. It always did. That split second when overconfidence would turn into carelessness. Hazzard turned and walked ahead of Chang.

As they climbed the steel ladder to the flying bridge, Hazzard had a chance to look forward. The deck was crawling with activity. The crew was busily engaged in raising the loading booms and uncovering the hatches under the watchful eyes of a small group of heavily armed Chinese.

Hazzard stopped on the flying bridge and glanced over his shoulder at Chang.

"Inside please," said Chang, and he nodded toward the door of the wheelhouse.

Inside, the captain sat furiously puffing on his pipe. Behind him were two deadpan Chinese, each holding a Garand rifle.

"Well, I see the devils got you too," the captain said bitterly. "It beats me what they are up to, but you can bet it won't be pleasant. I've seen these coastal pirates in action before."

"Please, captain, we are not pirates," said Chang. "Now just be quiet and relax, and you shall soon be on your way again."

"Where are Redman and the German?" asked Hazzard.

"They are safely locked in their cabins, where they cannot get into any mischief. Do not worry about them, they are of no interest to us," answered Chang.

"But I am, huh?" said Hazzard.

Before Chang could answer, a sharp crashing sound echoed through the silent ship.

The captain stiffened in his chair. "What the devil are they doing now?" he said.

"Simply anchoring, my dear captain," explained Chang. "I needn't tell you that it would be dangerous to drift around helplessly in these waters."

The captain sat back heavily in his chair. "Bloody heathens," he growled.

Chang ignored the captain's remark. "It is just about time," he said, and turning to one of the guards he spoke in Chinese. "Signal them."

The burly guard put his rifle against the bulkhead and opened a long wooden box that was laying by the door. Hazzard immediately recognized the portable U.S. Army signal lamp. The guard aimed the long tube through the window and began to send a series of flashes as he slowly moved it back and forth to sweep along the shore line.

Hazzard moved his eyes away from the guard and studied the shore. Then he quickly glanced about the room. Chang was looking out of the window, but the other guard was watching Hazzard intently. No, it was not the time yet. He relaxed and began to watch the shore again.

They all saw the answering flash at the same time. Chang grunted something in Chinese, and the guard replaced the signal lamp in the box. Taking the captain's binoculars from the chart table, Chang became absorbed in studying the shore line.

"Well, captain," said Chang as he looked through the glasses. "We are right on schedule. It shouldn't be very long now and we shall be leaving you."

Chang handed the glasses to Hazzard. "Would you like to see, Mr. Hazzard. I am sure you will find the view interesting, if not a little exciting?"

Taking the binoculars, Hazzard focused them on the distant land. Coming out from small lagoons among the rocks were fifteen to twenty small, low, fast fishing boats. Each one had a large sail ballooning from its mast, and the stiff offshore breeze was pushing them quickly toward the "Queen Wilhelmina III." Beneath the colorful sails Hazzard could make out the forms of four or five men in each boat. This, he mentally figured, would give Chang a force of more than sixty men when the small boats arrived. All of them armed to the teeth, and all of them ruthless, emotionless killers. If he was going to do anything, it must be done before the small boats reached the ship. At the most, he judged, there would be ten minutes left. No more, maybe less.

He handed the glasses back to Chang. "Very pretty," he said, and leaned back against the window. "So what happens now?"

"Now, you remain here and keep the captain company," said Chang. He nodded his head to the two guards and went out on the flying bridge to supervise the transfer of cargo. The hatches were open now, and lines trailed down into the hold of the ship from the loading booms.

Hazzard shot a glance over his shoulder to make sure that Chang's back was toward the wheel house, then turned to study the guards. One of the Chinese had relaxed. He was peering through the forward windows at the activity on the deck below. The time to move could not be delayed much longer. The other guard was standing to Hazzard's left, his rifle hanging carelessly in the crook of his elbow.

The captain seemed to sense the tenseness in Hazzard. "Mr. Hazzard," he said in a low voice. "Don't do anything foolish. To these men, life is nothing. Let them take what they want, and they will soon leave. Resist, and they will kill you as quickly as I would slap a mosquito."

Hazzard smiled at this. He remembered the countless times he had slapped at mosquitoes himself. They usually got away. Slowly he began to inch his way toward the guard on his left. The distance between them began to narrow. Three feet. The sweat was running down his back and legs from the tensed muscles. Two feet.

The guard jerked his head up. Hazzard reacted instantly. Feigning a look of surprise, he raised his arm and pointed behind the guard. As the guard spun around, Hazzard lunged, snatched the rifle from the man's hands and brought it up in a sweeping vertical butt stroke. The Chinese tried to dodge, but the stock of the rifle cut across his temple and snapped his head back to crash against the bulkhead.

Hazzard did not wait for the man to hit the floor. He whirled around and leveled the Garand at the surprised guard behind him.

"Shh . . .," said Hazzard. The meaning is the same in all languages, and the guard kept silent.

Hazzard took the man's rifle, and handing it to the captain, he motioned the guard to squat on the floor. A glance through the window showed him that Chang had not moved.

"Watch this one," he said to the captain. "I'm going out after Chang. You get ready to get this tub underway the second that anchor starts coming up."

"But . . ."

"No buts—do what I say!" Hazzard looked toward the shore and the small boats. "We've only got about four minutes left."

Then leaning the Garand against the bulkhead, he put his hand inside of his shirt, quietly opened the door, and slipped out onto the flying bridge.

Chang was leaning on the rail watching the approach of the fishing boats as Hazzard moved up beside him. Grabbing Chang's right arm at the elbow in a vicelike grip, he pushed Sam's muzzle into the rib cage of the tall Chinese.

"Don't move, and be careful with your breathing," said Hazzard. "If I feel one tense muscle, I'll blow you in half." Chang relaxed. "Now, Mr. Chang, you do just what I say and we'll get along fine. Tell those flunkies of yours down there to haul up the anchor."

Chang looked coldly into Hazzard's eyes, the hint of a cynical smile at the corners of his mouth. He could feel the revolver pressing against his side, but Chang felt no fear. To him fear was a luxury he had lost years before. This was just another problematic situation rising for a few moments in the path of his life. He had underestimated the resourcefulness and daring of Michael Hazzard. Here facing him were the cold slate blue eyes of unrelenting determination. Eyes that held the promise of death.

Calmly Chang turned to look below him. "Take up the anchor," he called out loudly in English, then turned to stare once more into Hazzard's eyes.