"What did I do wrong?" Dillon asked as the staff followed her through.
"It is nothing," the fat man said. "She is upset. Let me get you your brandy."
He went to the bar, got a fresh bottle and two glasses, came back, and sat down. "You spoke to me in Cantonese. You have visited China often?"
"A few times, but not often. Hong Kong mainly."
"Fascinating. I am from Hong Kong and so is my niece. My name is Yuan Tao."
"Sean Dillon."
"You're Irish and visit Hong Kong only now and then and yet your Cantonese is excellent. How can this be?"
"Well, it's like this. Some people can do complicated mathematics in their head quicker than a computer."
"So?"
"I'm like that with languages. I just soak them up." Dillon drank a little brandy. "I presume that lot have been here before?"
"I understand so. I only flew in yesterday. I believe they have been pressing their demands here and elsewhere for some weeks."
The girl returned wearing slacks and a sweater. She was still angry and ignored her uncle, glaring at Dillon. "What do you want here?"
Yuan Tao cut in. "We owe Mr. Dillon a great deal."
"We owe him nothing and he has ruined everything. Is it just coincidence that he walks in here?"
"Strangely enough, it was," Dillon said. "Girl dear, life's full of them."
"And what kind of man carries a gun in London? Another criminal."
"Jesus," Dillon told Yuan Tao, "the logic on her. I could be a copper or the last of the vigilantes doing a Charles Bronson eradicating the evildoers." The brandy had gone to his head and he got up. "I'll be on my way. It's been fun," and he got up and was out of the door before they could stop him.
FIVE
Dillon was tired, very tired, and the pavement seemed to move beneath his feet. He followed the road and it brought him alongside the Thames. He stood at some railings staring into the fog, aware of another ship moving out there. He was confused, things happening in slow motion, not aware that someone was behind him until an arm slipped around his neck, cutting off his air. A hand slipped inside his jacket and found the Walther. Dillon was shoved into the railings, stayed there for a moment, then turned and moved forward.
The albino, Terry, stood there holding the Walther. "Here we are again then."
A black limousine pulled into the curb. Dillon was aware of someone else at his back, took a deep breath, and brought up all his resources. He swung his right foot up, caught Terry's hand, and the Walther soared over the railings into the Thames. He jerked his head back, crunching the nose of the man behind, then ran along the pavement. He turned the corner and found himself on a deserted wharf blocked by high gates securely padlocked.
As he turned, the limousine arrived and they all seemed to come at him together. The first man with an iron bar which clanged against the gate as Dillon lost his footing and fell, rolling desperately to avoid the swinging kicks. And then they had him up, pinning him against the gates.
McGuire, lighting a cigarette, stood by the limousine. He said, "You asked for this, friend, you really did. Okay, Terry, slice him up."
Terry's hand came out of his pocket holding an old-fashioned, cut-throat razor which he opened as he came forward. He was quite calm and the blade of the razor flashed dully in the light of a street lamp and somewhere a cry echoed flatly on the damp air. Terry and McGuire swung round and Yuan Tao came walking out of the rain.
The jacket of his gabardine suit was soaked and somehow he was different, moving with a kind of strange relentlessness as if nothing could ever stop him, and McGuire said, "For God's sake, put him out of his misery."
The man with the iron bar darted round the limousine and ran at Yuan Tao, the bar swinging, and the Chinese actually took the blow on his left forearm with no apparent effect. In the same moment his right fist jabbed in a short screwing motion that landed under the man's breast bone. He went down like a stone without a sound.
Yuan Tao leaned over him for a second and McGuire ran round the limousine and kicked out at him. The older man caught the foot with effortless ease and twisted so that Dillon could have sworn he heard bone crack, then he lifted, hurling McGuire across the bonnet of the car. He lay on the pavement, moaning. Yuan Tao came round the limousine, his face very calm, and the man holding Dillon from the rear released him and ran away.
Terry held up the razor. "All right, fatty, let's be having you."
"What about me then, you bastard?" Dillon said, and as Terry turned, gave him a punch in the mouth, summoning all his remaining strength.
Terry lay on the pavement, cursing, blood on his mouth, and Yuan Tao stamped on his hand and kicked the razor away. A van turned into the street and braked to a halt. As the chef got out, the two waiters came 'round the corner holding the man who had run away.
"I'd tell them to leave him in one piece," Dillon said in Cantonese. "You'll need him to drive this lot away."
"An excellent point," Yuan Tao said. "At least you are still in one piece."
"Only just. I'm beginning to see why your niece was annoyed. Presumably you were actually hoping McGuire would show up?"
"I flew in especially from Hong Kong for the pleasure. Su Yin, my niece, cabled for my help. A matter of family. It was difficult for me to get away. I was at a retreat at one of our monasteries."
"Monasteries?" Dillon asked.
"I should explain, Mr. Dillon, I am a Shaolin monk, if you know what that is."
Dillon laughed shakily. "I certainly do. If only McGuire had. It means, I suspect, that you're an expert in kung fu?"
"Darkmaster, Mr. Dillon, our most extreme grade. I have studied all my life. I think I shall stay for two or three weeks to make sure there is no more trouble."
"I shouldn't worry, I think they'll have got the point."
McGuire, Terry, and one of the blacks still lay on the pavement and the chef and two waiters brought the fourth man forward. Yuan Tao went and spoke to them in Cantonese and then returned. "They'll deal with things here. Su Yin is waiting in her car at the restaurant."
They walked back, turned the corner, and found a dark sedan parked under the Red Dragon. As they approached she got out and, ignoring her uncle, said to Dillon in Cantonese, "Are you all right?"
"I am now."
"I am sorry for my behavior." She bowed. "I deserve punishment as my honorable uncle pointed out. Please forgive me."
"There's nothing to forgive," Dillon told her and from the direction of the river a scream sounded.
She turned to her uncle. "What was that?"
"The little worm with the white hair, the one who shamed you before us, I told them to cut off his right ear."
Su Yin's face didn't alter. "I thank you, Uncle." She bowed again, then turned to Dillon. "You will come with us now, Mr. Dillon," and this time she spoke in English.
"Girl dear, I wouldn't miss it for the world," he said and got in the back of the car. • • • "If you have studied judo or karate you will have heard of kiai, the power that makes a man perform miracles of strength and force. Only the greatest of masters acquire this and only after years of training and discipline, both mental and physical."
"Well you certainly have it," Dillon said. "I can still see that steel bar bounce off your arm."
He was immersed to his neck in a bath of water so hot that sweat ran down his face. Yuan Tao squatted against the wall in an old robe and peered at him through the steam.
Dillon carried on, "Once in Japan I was taken to see an old man of eighty, a Zen priest with arms like sticks. I think he might have weighed seven stone. He remained seated while two karate black belts repeatedly attacked him."
"And?"
"He threw them effortlessly. I was told later that his power sprang from what they called the tanden, or second brain."
"Which can only be developed by years of meditation. All this is a development of the ancient Chinese art of Shaolin Temple Boxing. It came from India in the sixth century with Zen Buddhism and was developed by the monks of Shaolin Temple in Hohan province."