"Funny you should ask that He told me he didn't want to die alone, so I promised him he would have company."
"You take your situation very lightly, my friend." Carpenter backed off to a table on which stood two bottles and several tall glasses. He picked up a bottle, tilted it, and an amber-colored liquid poured into a glass. He picked up the glass and brought it over to Nick. "I offer you a last drink. I harbor no grudge."
Nick took it. "Aren't you joining me?"
Without waiting for an answer, Nick flung the contents of the glass into Carpenter's face. His left hand closed over the gun wrist as Carpenter fired. Nick bounced out of the chair, hooked his right leg around the burly man's left leg, and pushed.
They fell heavily to the floor. Carpenter was still blinded by the whisky. Instinct made him fight back with the ferociousness of a trapped rat. He jabbed repeatedly at the back of Nick's neck with his left fist while trying to twist his gun wrist from Nick's steel-like fingers.
Nick drove his knee deep in Carpenter's groin and the man bellowed with pain. Nick shifted his body slightly so that his face was over the gun wrist He bit Carpenter's wrist, and the gun fell from the man's hand. "Rather unorthodox, I admit," Nick grunted, gathering up the snub-nosed revolver. He swung at Carpenter's head twice, and the man went limp.
Nick got to his feet, picked up the bottle of amber liquid, held it to his nose. There was a faint odor of burnt almonds, mixed with the fumes of whisky. Cyanide of potassium.
Nick knelt by Carpenter's side. With one hand he lifted the man's head; with the other he forced the neck of the bottle into the man's mouth. Carpenter sputtered and his eyes opened. He saw the bottle in Nick's hand and horror made his eyes round.
Nick stood up and watched Carpenter die.
Chapter 4
It was a side street just off Queen's Road. A man reading the Hong Kong News was leaning against the building. He was a Chinese, dressed in western-style clothes. Nick went into the building, walked up one flight He rang and there was no answer.
He picked the lock and went inside.
It was a nicely furnished apartment with Oriental doodads all over the place. There was a combination cocktail table and bar. There were liquor stains on the surface. Nick went through the apartment and found no one. Not even a body.
In the bedroom, under the bed, was a metal locker that contained a small arsenal for emergencies. Nick drew it out and checked. Four guns were missing from their beds. Tulip had armed himself and run.
Tulip had got the wind up.
Nick checked the closets. There were expensive suits hanging from wire hangers. He checked dresser drawers. Silk shirts, silk underwear, silk ties. Tulip hadn't taken much. Probably just the clothes on his back. Tulip was running light, not wanting to be hampered by luggage.
Nick rubbed his fingers over his jawbone.
There was nothing here that could help him. He left the apartment, lighting a cigarette. Outside he started walking toward Queen's Road. The sunlight was the color of melted butter. Behind him he heard a car pick up speed. He turned to see a man leaning out the window, holding a Sten machine gun. Behind the wheel was a grim-faced man. It was Tulip.
Nick headed for the pavement, scraped the side of his face.
The burst from the machine gun sounded like a stick trailing rapidly along a picket fence.
Nick had Wilhelmina out and returned the fire.
The man with the machine gun ducked inside the car as it rounded the corner and sped up Queen's Road.
Nick got to his feet and holstered the Luger. He was sure he had hit the man with the Sten. It was the Chinese who was reading the Hong Kong News when he had gone into the building.
Nick walked hurriedly away from the scene, and behind him a crowd was gathering. He had no wish to explain things to the Hong Kong police. After all, they had their own problems, and he didn't want to add his own.
She had the face of an Asiatic dolclass="underline" fragile and serene. Lilac mascara shadowed her eyes, her eyebrows were raven curves, her lips were strawberry red. Her name was May Chin and she was Tulip's mistress.
The apartment was in a new development in Kowloon and it was lush. It smelled heavily of money.
May Chin was twenty-four, but looked nineteen. She was in silk lounging pajamas and she looked comfortable and unconcerned on her chaise longue.
The outside of Nick's glass was sweating because of the ice inside. He sipped the concoction and it tasted fine and smooth. He was on a black-silk davenport and his legs were stretched out. He also seemed comfortable but not unconcerned.
"Don't you believe me, Nick?" the Chinese girl said. "I told you I haven't seen Harry in weeks."
Harry Weston was the name Tulip was using in Hong Kong.
"You think he skipped?" Nick asked casually.
"I'm sure of it"
"I don't think so," Nick said. "I think he's right here in Hong Kong»
May Chin had an amused look on her lovely lips. "Think as you damn please." Suddenly she appeared thoughtful. "I thought you and Harry were once associated in something. A business enterprise, I believe. But no matter. You two are supposed to be friends. Yet you act like some hunter out for game. Or am I getting the wrong impression?"
"It's a poor act, May. It won't work. Why don't you loosen up and save yourself some grief? I'm not leaving Hong Kong till I see Harry."
"I'm getting the impression Harry may be hiding from you."
"Where is he?"
May sighed as if she was bored by it all. "I don't know."
Nick then described the Chinese who had used the Sten gun. He saw recognition register in May's eyes.
"Yes, I know him," she admitted. She sat up. "Just what's going on, Nick?"
She sounded genuine enough. Nick was tempted to believe she really didn't know where Tulip was. He knew that she had been kept in the dark about Tulip's activities, and AXE had ordered a check on her when it was learned she was Tulip's mistress. She had been cleared. No known Communist sympathies.
"You've always been clever," Nick said. "You never went out of your way to look for trouble. Why start now? The less you know, the better off you'll be. That's sound advice, May. Sound advice from an old friend."
"Is Tulip in trouble?"
Nick became alert. "Tulip? Don't you mean Harry?"
"I guess I slipped up. All right, Nick. I know Harry was working for his government. He got drunk one night and told me everything."
"Very reliable, our friend Harry."
"Can't you tell me what it's all about?" She was almost pleading.
Nick put his glass aside. "You really don't know?"
She shook her head, and her hair, black as midnight, flew about her lovely face.
"He turned traitor."
There was shock on her face. "I don't believe it."
"You asked for it."
"I… I hate the Commies. Harry knew it. He wouldn't do that to me. He wouldn't. You must be wrong."
"Is that why he's hiding?" Nick saw she didn't want to face the brutal truth. If it was an act, it was a good one. She had admitted knowing Tulip's Chinese companion. She never would have done that if she was on the other side. She would have been more clever, more cautious. 'Tulip uses people," Nick said. "He was always that way. Maybe he's using you now."
"I swear I don't know where he is," she cried. There were tears of rage and humiliation in her eyes.
"All right," Nick conceded. "What about the Chinese I described to you?"
"His… his name is Wong Chew. I know he's been with Harry constantly for some time now."
"Where can I find him?"