Sad Wind from the Sea. Jack Higgins
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by coloured seamen. It wasn’t the sort of establishment that kept a receptionist. They entered a dark and gloomy hall and before them stretched a flight of dangerous-looking wooden stairs. Hagen groped his way upwards and Rose followed behind, gripping his belt. The smell was appalling and a brooding quiet hung over the place. Hagen held the automatic in his right hand against his thigh and, with his left, held a flickering match, by which light he attempted to read the numbers on the room doors. Number eighteen was the last door in the corridor on the left-hand side and it swung open to his touch.
The room was in darkness. He paused for a moment and listened. There was utter silence everywhere. He decided to risk it and struck a match. There was a man sitting in a chair in the centre of the room. His hands were bound behind him and he was completely naked. Hagen gazed in fascinated horror at the scores of cuts and slashes that covered the body, and then his gaze travelled lower down and he shuddered with disgust as he saw what had been done. He heard Rose move into the room behind him and even as he turned to warn her to stay out she cried, ‘Tewak!’, and then she screamed. At that moment the match burned Hagen’s fingertips and he hurriedly dropped it, plunging the room into darkness again.
The girl sagged against him, half-fainting, and he quickly walked her from the room. He stood in the hall holding her close to him for a minute and then said, ‘Are you all right?’
She straightened up. ‘Yes, I’ll be fine. Really I will. It was just the shock.’
‘Good girl.’ He handed her the automatic. ‘You know how this thing works, I suppose. The safety is off. If anyone comes near you just pull the trigger. I’ll only be a short while, I promise.’
He went back into the room and closed the door behind him. He struck another match and the light was reflected in gruesome fashion from the eyes of the dead man which had turned up so that only the whites were visible. Hagen moved to the window and tore down the blanket that had been improvised as a curtain. He began to examine the room. It was not pleasant moving around with that macabre horror sitting in the centre, but he had to see if anything of interest had been left.
The room was devoid of furniture except for an old iron bedstead and the chair. There was a cupboard but it contained only a few odds and ends of clothes left there by previous occupants. Hagen finally steeled himself to examine the body closely. In any Western country the murder would have been considered the work of a lunatic, but Hagen, familiar with the Oriental mind and its refinements in cruelty and contempt for human life, drew no such conclusion. The men who had done this thing had wanted information badly. Torture was to them the obvious key to a stubborn tongue. The final mutilation looked as though it had been committed in a fit of rage after death. Hagen decided that Tewak had probably refused to talk. Sweat stung his eyes and as he wiped it away he realized why the building was so unnaturally quiet. With their usual sixth sense for trouble he knew there wouldn’t be a single seaman left in the place. He opened the door with a final glance round and stepped outside.
The girl tried to smile but only succeeded in looking sick. Hagen took the gun from her and slipped it into his pocket. ‘You need a drink,’ he said and, taking her by the arm, he hurried her from the building.
He took her to a little bar he knew nearby and they sat in the privacy of a booth cut off from the noisy world by a bead curtain. He lit a cigarette and put it into her mouth. She inhaled two or three times and seemed to be a little better. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘It was the most horrible thing I’ve ever seen.’ She shuddered.
The drinks came at that moment and Hagen pushed hers across. ‘Drink up,’ he said. ‘It’ll do you good. I’m not exactly soft myself but it’s one of the worst things I’ve ever seen.’
She smiled tightly. ‘You seem to have done nothing but rush me into quiet bars while I cry,’ she said. He smiled and gripped her hand tightly. ‘What am I going to do?’ she moaned.
‘Do you still want to go after that gold?’ he demanded. She nodded. ‘Then that’s settled. Now, the best thing for you this afternoon would be to go back to your hotel and lie down.’ She started to protest. ‘No buts,’ Hagen added. ‘I’m in command. Anyway, I’ve got a lot to arrange and you’d only be in the way.’
They left the bar and he hailed a taxi. When he paid it off at the hotel he was left almost penniless. He was going to leave her at the entrance but she begged him to come up for just a moment. The lift took them to the third floor. Her room was at the end of the corridor and she gave him the key. When he opened the door the room was a shambles. Clothing and personal effects were strewn about the place and most of the drawers had been taken out completely. ‘But why?’ she said. ‘What did they expect to find?’
Hagen pushed his hat back from his forehead. ‘The directions for finding the launch, angel. They were hoping you might be stupid enough to leave them lying around.’
‘The fools,’ she exploded. ‘What do they take me for? I know the position by heart.’
Hagen said in a satisfied tone: ‘One thing it proves. Tewak didn’t talk.’ Suddenly Rose began to curse in the same fluent manner in which she had blasted the Russian clerk. ‘Heh, hold on,’ Hagen said.
‘Oh, damn them!’ she said. ‘I’m beginning to get annoyed.’
‘No tears?’ he said.
‘They’re all used up.’
He grinned and took off his jacket. ‘Let’s get started packing your things.’
‘Why the hurry?’ she said in surprise.
‘You can’t stay here. I think I’d better take you to visit a friend of mine.’
She shrugged her shoulders and started to pack the things in her cases as he handed them to her. Within twenty minutes they were leaving the room preceded by a couple of boys carrying the luggage. The Russian was scrupulously polite and remote when making out the bill. As they turned away from the desk Hagen suddenly shouted, ‘Here, boy!’ and tossed a coin which the man instinctively caught. He stood glaring after them in fury and several people laughed. Hagen decided that the coin had been worth it.
As the taxi headed up into the residential part of Macao on the hill, Rose said curiously, ‘What is this friend of yours like?’
Hagen said casually, ‘All right, I think you’ll like her.’
‘Oh, a woman.’ There was a faint edge to her words. ‘An old friend?’
He laughed. ‘Yes, in both senses of the phrase.’ He patted her hand. ‘Don’t worry. She’s very well known. All the best people go to her house. All the best men do, anyway.’
It took several moments for the implication of his words to sink in. Rose gasped. ‘You don’t mean she keeps…’—she fumbled for words—‘a house!’
‘She certainly does,’ Hagen said. ‘The best house in Macao.’ Even as he spoke and Rose sank back in her seat, crimson with embarrassment, the taxi turned into a side road and braked to a halt outside a pair of beautiful and intricate wrought-iron gates set in a high stone wall.
Hagen told the taxi-driver to wait, and he and the girl walked up to the ornate iron gates. He pulled on a bellrope and after a while a huge, misshapen figured shambled up to the other side of the gates. A flat, Mongolian face was pressed against the ironwork as the owner peered short-sightedly at them. Hagen reached through and pulled the man’s nose. ‘What the hell, Lee,’ he said. ‘Don’t you remember old friends?’
The face split into a grin and the gate was hurriedly unlocked. As they passed through Hagen punched him lightly in his massive chest and said, ‘Bring the luggage in when I tell you, Lee.’ The Mongolian nodded vigorously, his smile fixed firmly in position.
As they walked up the drive towards the imposing-looking house, Rose said: ‘He’s