Aritsu sniffed the air suspiciously as he climbed over the side of the junk to join Mihoro and the boarding party. Ignoring the three prisoners, he slowly walked down the length of the deck and examined the serried rows of barrels. The last doubts vanished from his mind by the time he had completed his inspection. Much as he would have liked to seize the junk as a prize and bring the captured oil back to Whampoa in triumph, it would interfere with his other plans, and after a short pause, he ordered Kino to unseal the barrels and tip the fuel into the sea. Better to destroy the stuff and leave himself a free agent, he decided. He turned to the Korean sub-lieutenant.
‘Bring the prisoners to me.’
Prodded forward by the bayonets of the guards, the Chinese sailors shuffled their way down from the poop to the well deck amidships where Aritsu was waiting.
‘Which of you is the Captain?’ he asked in fluent Cantonese.
Chen Yu moved forward half a pace and bowed. Aritsu stared at him in silence for a few moments◦– his deep-set eyes boring into the Chinaman’s brain, as if laying bare the innermost secrets of his soul.
‘Where are you taking the oil?’ he snapped.
‘Palambang, sir.’
‘Liar.’
Chen Yu bowed in acknowledgement but made no reply. He stared down at the deck and remained silent.
‘You are in the pay of the British.’ Aritsu made the question sound like a statement of fact. ‘You are being paid to refuel British warships.’
‘No, sir. Not being paid, sir.’ Chen Yu answered truthfully.
Mihoro had disappeared through the hatch into the tiny cabin under the poopdeck and, as Aritsu pursued his interrogation, he suddenly emerged carrying a number of navigation instruments◦– instruments of a sophistication and type not normally found in a primitive Chinese sailing vessel… Aritsu paused in mid-question, took one of the instruments from the sub-lieutenant, and examined it carefully. He smiled to himself as he saw the official British Admiralty mark stamped into the brass casing.
‘Lies are of no avail,’ he told Chen Yu ominously as he held the sextant up in front of his face. ‘Give me the information I want and no harm will come to you. Where is your rendezvous position with the English warship?’
Chen Yu made no reply and the commander snapped a swift order in Japanese to the guards. Picking the Chinese skipper up by the arms, they threw him down across the opened hatchway leading to the hold and held him firmly, so that the lower part of his left leg was placed at an angle across the empty space – the limb being supported at thigh and ankle by the rigid coaming surrounding the hatchway.
‘A crippled Captain is of no use to a healthy crew,’ Aritsu said quietly. ‘Tell us the rendezvous co-ordinates.’ Chen Yu stared up at him with wide, terror-filled eyes.
Aritsu nodded and one of the sailors slammed the butt of his heavy service rifle down on the Chinaman’s shin. There was a dry cracking sound of splintered bone and Chen Yu’s leg snapped like a piece of rotted wood. Blood oozed through the cotton material of his trousers where the broken bone protruded through the flesh. He remained silent for a moment and then shrieked like a wounded animal as the pain reached his brain.
‘The other leg, Suka,’ Aritsu ordered unemotionally. He waited for the sailors to rearrange the Chinaman over the hatchway, so that his right leg stretched out in readiness for the same treatment. The agony of the movement brought more screams, but the commander’s expression remained completely impassive. Bending forward, he stared down into Chen Yu’s perspiring face. ‘Tell me the position or you will never walk again.’
Chen Yu compressed his lips defiantly and the rifle butt descended for a second time. The Chinaman’s body lifted in a rigid arch and his mouth opened in a soundless scream. An eternity of pain passed in a fraction of a second before he fainted. Aritsu straightened up. He took no pleasure from the torture. It was a barbaric necessity. He turned away slowly.
Wan Fu saw the movements and knew it was his turn next. Pushing the guards aside he leapt for the poop rail, swayed uncertainly for a moment, and threw himself into the sea. Sub-Lieutenant Mihoro reached the side almost before the Chinese seaman hit the water and, dragging a revolver from the holster at his hip, he took careful aim and continued firing until the chamber was empty. By the time Aritsu arrived at the rails, Wan Fu’s lifeless body was floating face-downwards in the blood-stained sea.
‘A pity,’ he commented blandly. ‘He would have been useful. You must learn the art of self-discipline, SubLieutenant. You Koreans can only think of killing.’ Mihoro flushed angrily. The torture of Chen Yu had stirred a primitive evil in his subconscious◦– a latent sadism inherited from his Mongol ancestors which had remained dormant for many generations. He considered Commander Aritsu, like most professional Japanese naval officers, was too soft.
‘We still have one more prisoner, sir,’ he reminded the senior officer. ‘Why not leave that one to me?’
Aritsu felt sickened by the brutality he had already ordered, but he did not allow his revulsion to deter him from what he saw to be his duty to the Emperor. And much as he wanted to wash his hands of the whole filthy matter, he felt a certain reluctance to give the sadistic Korean officer a free hand. He watched Wan Fu’s body drift slowly astern while he decided what to do. Then, turning away from the rail, he walked back to the well-deck amidships.
Ignoring Mihoro’s offer he looked at Kino and nodded. ‘Bring the other prisoner to me, Petty Officer. I will continue the interrogation.’
As the men of the boarding party advanced towards the stern the surviving Chinese seamen made a wild dash for the side, but this time the guards were on the alert. Two of them moved to cut off his line of escape while the third reached out and his strong hand twisted in the prisoner’s hair. He pulled hard and an unmistakable feminine scream of protest rang out. Two more guards closed in quickly, seized the woman’s arms and hauled her bodily down the wooden steps of the poop, as she fought and struggled to escape.
Mihoro stepped forward as they dragged her before Aritsu. Without waiting for permission he grasped the prisoner’s sweat-soiled cotton shirt and ripped it off with a savage jerk. He looked at the smooth flawless body and saw the small high breasts tipped with dark nipples. His eyes glistened cruelly and the tip of his tongue passed across his upper lip in anticipation.
‘The top half seems to be a woman, sir,’ he leered at the grinning sailors. His hands fumbled at the cord holding up the baggy cotton trousers. It came undone and he watched them slide down to her ankles. ‘And the bottom half undoubtedly is as well.’ He stepped back to admire the view.
‘That is enough, Sub-Lieutenant!’ Aritsu snapped sharply. ‘You are an officer◦– not an animal. Control yourself.’ The commander stepped closer to the prisoner. There was something familiar about the girl. He stared at Chai Chen who rewarded his interest by spitting in his face. Mihoro lunged forward and struck her across the cheek with his clenched fist, but Aritsu pushed him away with an angry gesture.
Suma’s captain seemed flustered by the insult. He wiped his cheek with a handkerchief. ‘Yes… of course. Your step-father is Dominguez Alburra. That would account for the De Gama Oil Company’s name on the barrels.’
Ignoring the dictates of modesty, Chai Chen wriggled like an eel to break free from her captors; but the guards merely tightened their grip on her arms and her naked body arched with pain. ‘You go to hell, pig!’ she hissed at him.
Aritsu accepted the epithet with a smile as the girl’s identity triggered his memory. The Japanese Intelligence Agency in Macao had kept him well-informed and very little escaped their notice.