There was a curious look in Karstad’s eyes and Shaw wondered how far he had really deceived the man. But Karstad only nodded and said, “When you speak, my friend, make sure it is the truth. If it is, I have no doubt your wishes will be respected.”
Shaw gave a heavy sigh, rubbed his eyes. Then he bent down and put the flask under the seat, taking pains as though to wedge it up nicely so that it wouldn’t roll out. He took his time over this, and while he was doing it he glanced up quickly and saw, from beneath his eyebrows, how nicely Karstad was positioned, just outside the cab with one foot on the step. He fiddled about for a little while longer with the flask, and then, judging his distance as he did so, he straightened slowly and looked casually away from Karstad.
Then he went into action.
Very suddenly and at precisely the right moment he swung himself back on the seat, slewing his body and drawing up his knees to his chin. He lashed out savagely with every ounce of strength that he could muster, sent both feet smacking into Karstad’s face. It was a split-second movement and his shoes caught Karstad beautifully, fair and square in the mouth and nose, sliding off to tear the man’s ear, a cruel, smashing blow. It made a shocking mess and there was plenty of blood about, but Shaw hadn’t time for a lengthy inspection of the damage. As Karstad reeled about, moaning and holding his face, Shaw was on top of him. He tore the gun away from the man’s limp hand; and then, remembering what Karstad has been going to do, what he had done to Gresham and indirectly to John Donovan, what he had probably been concerned in doing to Tommy Foster, Shaw’s head seemed to burst. He thrust the gun into his pocket and waded in. He lifted Karstad’s head up, gave him blow after blow, smashing his fist into that mangled, bloody face until Karstad sank to the ground, a mere moaning heap.
Shaw stepped back, chest heaving.
He said savagely, “I don’t like killing anybody, and I never kill a man who’s defenceless. That’s all that’s saved you, Karstad — for the time being. You’ll swing before long.”
He turned as he heard a sound from the loading bay, and he saw the van driver coming for him with a gun. Before the big Chinese could fire, Shaw had dropped behind the van and had brought out Karstad’s gun. Edging round, he fired. There was a scream and then the clatter of metal on concrete. Shaw came out from cover, saw the driver holding one hand in the other and looking murderous.
He snapped, “You’re not so badly hurt you can’t do a bit of work, chum. Now get that into the cab.” He jerked his smoking gun towards Karstad. “Come on — fast.”
He prodded the revolver into the man’s belly. Snarling, the driver bent down, picked Karstad up like a child, muscles rippling in thick arms. He put him into the cab. Blood was streaming from them both. Shaw ran round to the driving door and jumped in. He felt exultant now; all he had to do was to get to the base as fast as possible, with Karstad.
He slipped in the gears and started to back slowly out of the yard.
He’d got about a dozen feet when he saw the long black car, its bonnet nosing into the gateway. There was the blare of a siren and then the men in the car must have ticked over. Shaw aimed Karstad’s revolver, heard the phut-phut of silenced guns and a stream of bullets zipped past the cab, smashed the mirror, smashed the gun out of his hand. He jammed on the brakes as he felt an impact at the rear, knew it was no good now. A car door slammed. Two men came up, guns smoking in their hands. One of them was an elderly Chinese, from his appearance a man of education and standing.
The other was small and thin, almost puny — and not a Chinese. He handled his gun awkwardly, looked nervous of using it. With a start, Shaw knew he had seen this man’s photograph…
The Chinese bowed formally, graciously, as Shaw looked down from the cab into the muzzles of the two guns. He said, “Commander Shaw, I believe? Allow me to introduce… Comrade Lubin.” After that the suave politeness vanished. He said viciously, “Out. Into the warehouse. Soon we have a journey to make, so that you can see the New South Wales for the last time. But before that — some answers to some questions, Commander Shaw.”
Shaw sat on in the cab, looking down at Lubin. This insignificant little man, so close to him now, was the cause of all the trouble. Here, within three feet of him, was the key — the key to peace and security. What had got into that little round grey head to make Lubin take the wrong turning? He looked as though he wouldn’t kill a fly — but he still had that gun in his hand.
It didn’t make sense.
Shaw got out stiffly, almost literally feeling the hair at the nape of his neck rise as he walked past the contradiction that was Lubin — the man he had been sent to get.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Back in the Garden Island base not so very far from that yard, Captain James, who had been on the line to the Navy Board in Melbourne and to Canberra direct more than once that day, slammed down the telephone and gave a sigh of exasperation.
Mary Harris looked up through her spectacles. “No luck?”
He said angrily, “No luck at all. They won’t budge, Mary, they just won’t budge.”
“Well, gee… don’t they know where the flaming stockpiles are in this country, let alone all the other countries?”
“We’ll come off better’n most, Mary. There’s no stockpiles anywhere near the cities.”
She snorted. “Sure, we’ll come off better — until the invasion gets here! I reckon that’ll be the next step. Hasn’t Canberra cottoned on to that?”
“I don’t know, Mary, they don’t exactly open their hearts to me, you know… James broke off, looked at his watch. He said, “Shaw’s late. That mortuary appointment’s fixed for three.”
“Uh-huh… he’s quarter of an hour adrift.” She caught James’s eye. “All right to keep the mortuary waiting?”
“I don’t mind that. Question is, what’s happened to Shaw?”
Miss Harris said primly, “I told you. He was going to Ling’s.”
“Well, all right! So what? He’d have done lunch by now.”
She said meaningly, “Commander Shaw, he’s never been to Australia before, has he? Queer he should be interested in a small place like Ling’s, isn’t it?”
James looked at her, drummed his fingers on his desk. He said slowly, “Well, maybe it is, Mary. Maybe it is. Now why should he do that, then?”
She pushed things straight on her desk, pursed up her lips. “He told us about that note, remember? And it should have occurred to us earlier, I reckon. This threat’s Chinese backed, Ling’s is a Chinese place. Might be a natural rendezvous.”
James said, “Yes, but look. You’re only being wise after the event. Ling is a right enough bloke. Come to that, his place isn’t the only Chinese dive in the Cross.”
“No, of course it isn’t, Captain James. But it’s the only one Commander Shaw seemed interested in, and we do know he went there and now he’s overdue. He may have even got a lead in Tommy’s flat in the end, though he didn’t say so when he rang. And look, it’s better to be wise after the event than never at all, isn’t it?” The spectacles gleamed at him. “Well?”
“You could be dead right. Could be. But there’s nothing in the world we can use as an excuse for interfering with Ling.”
“Well,” she said, “I’ll tell you something. None of the bigwigs seem to want to act. I reckon it’s up to us. And things are getting just a bit too close, to worry about excuses. Or aren’t they?”