pocket and pulled out his gun, sliding back the safety catch, aware that his heart was hammering and he had difficulty in breathing.
Khun remained where he was, his gun pointing in the direction of his last sight of Jaffe. A thought had dropped into his mind that had given him pause and badly shaken his confidence. Suppose, by ill chance, he thought, cold sweat starting out on his face, this big man he had fired at wasn’t the American, Jaffe? He had jumped to the conclusion the big shadowy outline of the man he had seen against the skyline could have been no one else but the wanted American, but suppose he wasn’t? Suppose he was some other American?
Jaffe lifted his head slowly and sighted along the rough ground. He couldn’t see anything except big grass and a few shrubs. He listened intently, wondering who could have fired at him.
Khun had decided to investigate. He couldn’t be certain that the man he had shot was dead. He might only be slightly wounded. If it was Jaffe, Khun knew he was armed. He didn’t intend to rise up and present a target of himself.
Jaffe suddenly saw him. The white uniform showed up against the blackness of the grass. The man was creeping forward like a snake, and he wasn’t more than fifteen yards from Jaffe.
Khun also spotted Jaffe. His khaki shirt was also visible against the dark grass. Khun stopped moving and stared at the dim outline of the fallen man, his gun thrust forward, sweat trickling down his face while he watched for the slightest movement.
Jaffe could just make out the gun in Khun’s hand. He guessed rather than saw it was pointing at him.
He doesn’t know if I am alive or not, Jaffe thought, trying to control the panic that gripped him. He’ll probably shoot again before coming any closer. If I make the slightest movement, he’ll fire. Even if I don’t he could still shoot.
He was holding his gun down by his side. He would have to lift it and aim. By lying flat in the grass, Khun had made himself an almost impossible target. Jaffe told himself he couldn’t afford to miss. He began to lift the gun, inch by inch.
Khun lay in the grass, staring at the man lying some fifteen yards in front of him. He didn’t know what to do. He wanted to shoot at the dim outline, and yet his mind kept warning him that if this wasn’t Jaffe, he might be tried for murder.
He lay there, trying to make up his mind. The minutes ticked by. Jaffe watched him. He had got his gun up and it was levelled in the direction of the peak cap Jaffe could just make out against the dark background, but it was still too tricky a shot. So he waited.
After what seemed to be an eternity and was actually five minutes, Khun began to relax. The man was dead, he told himself. No one badly wounded could lie so still for so long. He had to see if it was Jaffe.
Spurred on by the feeling of panic, he rose to his knees, then straightened up and began to walk cautiously towards the fallen man.
Jaffe raised the barrel of his gun, keeping the gun down by his side so the approaching man couldn’t see it against the skyline, and when Khun was within five yards of him, he gently squeezed the trigger.
The firing pin came down on the cap, making a loud click, but the gun didn’t fire. The three-year-old cartridge had betrayed Jaffe in his most urgent need.
Khun heard the sound and jumped aside, his breath whistling out of his open mouth. He saw a vast shape rise off the ground and come towards him in a lunging dive and he fired blindly.
The bullet scraped Jaffe’s arm. He felt the burning pain but it didn’t check his dive. Khun had no chance to fire directly at him again. Jaffe’s arms encircled his bony legs and his shoulder thudded into his groin. Khun felt as if he had been charged by a bull. IIe felt himself being flung up in the air and he pulled the trigger of his gun, the bullet whizzing into the night sky, the flash of the gun momentarily blinding Jaffe.
The two men crashed down on the grass. The gun flew out of Khun’s hand. He screamed out in terror as he felt an agonizing pain sweep through him. Jaffe struck him on the side of his head with his clenched fist and the little man, hopelessly outmatched, jerked upwards and then fell back]imply.
Jaffe knelt over him, breathing heavily. His hands rested lightly on Khun’s throat, ready to nip back a second scream. Khun mumbled something in Vietnamese which Jaffe couldn’t understand. Then from his throat came a curious dry rattling sound, like the rustle of dry leaves. The sound made Jaffe’s hair stand on end. Khun’s head flopped sideways, and Jaffe knew he was dead.
He remained kneeling over the little man for some minutes too stunned to move, then finally he made an effort and stood up.
Another one dead! he thought. These little people are as brittle as matchsticks. I guess I must have broken his spine. Well, at least, this was in self defence. If I hadn’t gone for him, he would have killed me.
Now what was he going to do? he asked himself. If they found this little man’s body here, they might set a trap at the temple. Blackie was coming back the day after tomorrow. He would have to move him.
Walking stiffly, his mind jumping with alarm, he went back to his bicycle. He groped around for several seconds before he found his gun. He shoved it into his hip-pocket. The gun was no good, he told himself. It had been just luck that it had fired the first time. He couldn’t trust it any more.
He straightened his bicycle and wheeled it over to where Khun lay. Without much trouble, he hoisted the dead man over his shoulder, then wheeling his machine, he started across the rough grass towards the main road.
Just before he reached the road, he came upon Khun’s bicycle. He couldn’t leave it where it was. Balancing the dead man over his shoulder, he started off again, wheeling the two machines, holding them in either hand. When he reached the road, he got on his bicycle and steering the other, he pedalled off down the road.
I only need to run into someone, he thought. That’s all it needs to round off a hell of a lousy night.
But he didn’t run into anyone. And after riding four or five miles, he dumped Khun’s body in a ditch and the bicycle on top of him.
Before leaving, he took Khun’s gun and cartridge belt.
As he rode back to Thudaumot, he hoped the police would think the little man’s death was yet another Viet Minh outrage.
2
Blackie Lee arrived back at the club at twenty minutes to one a.m. He parked his car, got out and stood for a moment breathing in the hot used-up air.
There was no movement in the street. Three rickshaws stood nearby along the kerb. The three rickshaw boys were sleeping in their vehicles. The neon lights that plastered the front of the club were out. They went out every night exactly at twelve. Looking up at the dark building, Blackie smiled to himself. In Hong Kong those lights would blaze until the early hours of the morning. There was no crippling curfew in Hong Kong.
He started towards the club, then paused as he saw a shadowy figure rise up out of a dark doorway and come towards him. He recognized the hard Mexican hat that Yo-Yo always wore and he frowned impatiently.
Yo-Yo sidled up to him.”
“Good evening, Mr. Blackie,” he said. “I wanted to speak to you.”
“Some other time,” Blackie said curtly. “It’s late. See me tomorrow,” and he walked across to the entrance of the club and fumbled in his pocket for his keys.
Yo-Yo followed him.
“It won’t wait until tomorrow, Mr. Blackie. I wanted your advice. It’s about the American, Jaffe.”
Blackie restrained a start of alarm with an effort. His agile mind worked swiftly. What a fool he had been! He had for-gotten he had sent Yo-Yo to follow Nhan. This little rat knew where Jaffe was hiding! He must have read about the reward in the newspapers.
“Jaffe?” he said, looking over his shoulder at Yo-Yo, his fat face expressionless. “Who’s Jaffe?”
“The American who was kidnapped, Mr. Blackie,” Yo-Yo said, a derisive sneer in his voice.
Blackie hesitated, then he said, “You’d better come up,” and he waved Yo-Yo to goon ahead.
As Blackie followed him up the stairs, his elation left him. If this little rat has put two and two together, he thought, and made it four, he can ruin the whole of our plans.
