Sad Wind from the Sea. Jack Higgins
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serious when she said: ‘You’ve been very kind to me. It’s just that I don’t want to see you get mixed up in something that isn’t your concern.’
‘I suppose this all ties in with your being on the waterfront at such a peculiar hour?’
She nodded. ‘I had to see a friend. He telephoned and asked me to meet him at a certain warehouse. The taxi-driver wouldn’t wait and then those men…’
‘I still think it was a funny hour to see a friend and if he knows this town he shouldn’t have asked you to come to a quarter like this at such a time.’ Hagen was surprised to discover that he really felt angry about the whole thing. ‘If I hadn’t arrived you’d probably have ended up in the harbour.’
She turned away, desperation on her face again. ‘But don’t you see,’ she said, ‘it wasn’t that kind of an assault. Those men wanted some information and they’ll try again. If you are seen with me…’
She left the sentence unfinished and shrugged her shoulders. Hagen considered the point for a moment and then he went over to his bed and felt under the pillow. When he straightened up he was holding an American service issue Colt automatic. He checked the action of the weapon and slipped it into his pocket. He grinned and, opening the door, motioned her out. ‘I love trouble, angel,’ he said. ‘It makes life so much more exciting.’ For a brief moment she stared at him and then her face relaxed into a smile and she went through the door without a word.
It took about forty minutes to reach her hotel. The girl hardly spoke a word on the way. Hagen guessed that she was almost on the point of collapse and finally slipped a hand under her arm. She leaned heavily on him and a faint, delicate perfume tingled in his nostrils. For a moment he savoured its sweetness pleasantly and then impatiently shrugged it aside and concentrated on keeping alert in case of trouble.
At the foot of the steps leading up to her hotel they halted. Hagen said, ‘Well, this is it.’
She nodded sleepily. ‘Will I see you again?’
For a moment he considered the question and doubts raced through his mind. The girl meant trouble—big trouble. He was sure of that and he had enough troubles of his own at the moment. He made his decision suddenly as she swayed forward tiredly and bumped against him. ‘Yes, you’ll see me again, angel,’ he said. ‘I’ll drop in around noon.’
He smiled reassuringly and patted her on the shoulder. ‘Noon,’ she said and suddenly warmed into life. A deep smile bloomed on her face. She reached up and pulling down his head, kissed him lightly on the mouth, and then turned and ran up the steps and into the hotel.
For a moment Hagen stood there, her fragrance still with him, then he turned away and began to walk briskly back towards the waterfront. He smoked a cigarette and thought about her and now and then a tiny smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. As if he didn’t have enough trouble. ‘You never learn,’ he said, half-aloud, and as he bent his head to sniff again at the fragrance on his shoulder where her head had rested, a bullet dunted the wall beside him.
As he ran for the shelter of a warehouse doorway, a car engine started up, and a large limousine appeared through the fog like a menacing monster and hurtled towards him. Hagen scrambled into the safety of the doorway and, turning, pulled out his automatic and loosed three shots in rapid succession at the car. It swerved wildly and scraped a fender as it rounded the corner of the street and disappeared. The whole thing had happened in a matter of seconds. Only the reflex action of several years of hard living had saved him.
He kept to the wall for the rest of the way to his hotel and held the automatic at the ready, but nothing happened. When he entered the hall the night-clerk was still asleep, head propped between his hands. Hagen had reached the foot of the stairs before a thought struck him. He turned back to the desk and shook the sleeping man by the shoulder. It was several moments before he awakened. Hagen was intrigued. Only a short time before the man had been awakened by the faint sounds made by two people quietly crossing the hall. Now it took several moments of hard shaking to wake him. The man raised his head and looked at him in surprise and said politely: ‘Ah, Captain Hagen. You are back.’
Hagen leaned on the desk and said casually, ‘Has anyone been asking for me?’
‘At this time in the morning?’ The clerk was trying to sound surprised and failing badly. ‘You joke me?’
Hagen lifted the flap and was on the other side of the desk in one smooth movement. ‘No, I don’t joke you,’ he said and grabbed the terrified man by the lapels. ‘Now start talking. Who enquired after me?’
‘No! Please. I have nothing to say.’
Hagen produced the automatic. ‘That’s a pity,’ he said, ‘because you’ve got about ten seconds to change your mind before I start wiping this across your face.’
He chucked the man under the chin with the barrel by way of encouragement and the clerk cried out suddenly. ‘I talk! I talk!’ His voice was cracked and high-pitched like an old woman’s and he was sweating with fear. ‘Just after you and lady leave, two men come in. Very nasty, very rough. They ask about you. One have knife. He say I not talk, they cut my throat. What I do? I tell what they want to know and they leave.’
The sing-song voice finished mangling the English language and he stood shaking like a frightened little bird looking for some place to hide. Hagen thought for a moment and said, ‘Were these men white men?’
‘No! They Chinese.’
Hagen nodded. ‘Do you know them? Have you ever seen them around here before?’
The night-clerk’s eyes dropped and he looked more afraid than ever. ‘Not from Macao. Me think they from mainland.’
Hagen left him there, frightened and whimpering, and went slowly upstairs. He took all the time in the world to enter his room. He kicked open the door and went in at ground level with the automatic at the ready, but there was no one there. He poured himself a drink and lay on the bed in the dark, smoking and thinking about the whole affair. Men from the mainland. So the Commies were mixed up in this thing, were they? He felt sorry for Rose Graham. It didn’t pay to cross those people. He’d had dealings with them before. Anyway, why was he worrying about the girl so much? He had his own worries. Getting his boat back was the only thing that mattered at the moment. To hell with her. He’d saved her life. That was enough.
He stubbed out his cigarette and lay back and as sleep pulled its dark cloak over him, he chuckled quietly, because he knew damned well that he would keep the appointment at noon. He seemed to feel her lips pressed against his and his last conscious thought was of her face glowing in the darkness and she was smiling at him.
Noon of that day found Hagen entering the swing door of her hotel. He was immaculately dressed in a white shark-skin suit, specially pressed for the occasion. He crossed the spacious lounge to the desk and the receptionist, an aristocratic-looking White Russian, glanced up from a letter he was reading. His eyes flickered over the expensive suit and a smile appeared on his mouth. ‘Good morning, sir. What can I do for you?’
Hagen asked for the girl and there was an immediate drop in the temperature. The smile was replaced by a slight frown and the Russian told him coldly that she was in, but that it was a rule of the hotel that visitors must first be announced on the internal telephone before proceeding upstairs. He lifted the receiver and asked to be put through to her room. Anger and instinctive dislike stirred in Hagen. He waited until the man had Rose Graham on the phone and then reached across and twisted the receiver from his grasp. The Russian stalked away, an outraged expression on his face. Hagen turned his back and said: ‘Hello, angel! Did you sleep well?’
Her voice sounded clear and sweet as a ship’s bell across water. ‘Captain Hagen! But I’ve only just awakened.’
He laughed pleasantly. ‘As you’ve obviously missed breakfast,