A single yellow bulb glowed on the building, its reflection shimmering on the wet tile. In the center of the patio a small. fountain overflowed. Mango trees were dotted around the edges. One was planted next to the building, the top of it just under the only window on this side.
Under the yellow bulb was another door. That would be the easy way, but the door was locked. He stood back with his hands on his hips, eying the weak-looking tree. His clothes were soaked, he had a gash across his forehead, his left arm ached. And now he was about to climb a tree that probably wouldn’t hold him, to reach a window that was probably locked. And at night, yet, in the rain. At times like these he had minor thoughts of taking up shoe repair for a living.
There was nothing to do but get on with it. The tree was young. Since the mango sometimes reached ninety feet, the branches on this one should be pliable rather than brittle. It didn’t look strong enough to hold him. Nick began to climb. The bottom branches were sturdy and took his weight easily. He made rapid progress until about halfway up. Then the branches thinned and bent dangerously as he put his foot on them. By keeping his footholds close to the trunk, he minimized the bending. But as he approached the window, even the trunk had thinned. And it was a good six feet away from the building. When Nick was even with the window, the branches closed out all light from the yellow bulb. He was enclosed in darkness. The only way he could pick out the window was as a dark square on the side of the building. He couldn’t reach it from the tree.
He began rocking his weight backhand forth. The mango groaned its protest but reluctantly started to move. Nick lunged again. If the window was locked he’d break it in. If the noise brought the Neanderthal man. he’d deal with him too. The tree was really beginning to sway now. This was going to be a one-shot deal. If there was nothing there to grab onto he was going to slide headfirst down the side of the building. That would be a bit messy. The tree leaned toward the dark square. Nick pushed sharply with his feet, his hands groping air. In that instant when the tree swung away from the building to leave him hanging onto nothing, his fingers touched something solid. Walking the fingers of both hands, he got a good grip on whatever it was just as the tree left him completely. Nick’s knees banged into the side of the building. He was hanging on the edge of some sort of box. He swung his leg over the lip and pulled himself up. His knees sank into mud. A flower box! It was connected to the window sill.
The tree swung back, its branches brushing his face. Killmaster reached for the window, and immediately thanked all good things on earth. Not only was the window not locked, but it was open slightly! He opened it the rest of the way, then crawled through. His hands touched carpeting. He pulled his legs through and remained in a crouch under the window. Opposite Nick and just to his right came the sound of deep breathing. The house was a thin, tall, square-shaped structure. Nick figured the main room and kitchen would be downstairs. That left a bathroom and bedroom upstairs. He removed the thick, rain-spotted glasses. Yes, this would be the bedroom. The house seemed quiet. Except for the breathing coming from the bed, the only other sound was the splatter of rain outside the open window.
Nick’s eyes now were used to the dark room. He could pick out the shape of the bed and the lumpy form on it. With Hugo in his hand, he moved toward the bed. The dripping from his wet clothes made no sound on the carpet, but his shoes squished with each step. He made his way around the foot of the bed to the right side. The man lay on his side, his face turned away from Nick. On a nightstand next to the bed was a lamp. Nick touched the sharp blade of Hugo to the man’s throat and at the same time clicked on the lamp. The room exploded into light. Killmaster kept his back to the lamp until his eyes could get used to the brilliance. The man’s head turned, his eyes blinked and watered. He brought up a hand to shield his eyes. As soon as Nick saw the face, he moved Hugo just slightly away from the man’s throat.
“What the hell is…” The man focused his eyes on the stiletto just inches from his chin.
Nick said, “Professor Loo, I presume.”
CHAPTER SIX
Professor John Loo studied the sharp blade close to his throat, then looked up at Nick.
“If you put that thing away, I’ll get out of bed,” he said softly.
Nick pulled Hugo away but kept it in his hand. “You are Professor Loo?” he asked.
“John. Nobody calls me professor except our funny friends downstairs.” He swung his legs over the side of the bed and reached for a bathrobe. “How about some coffee?”
Nick frowned. He was becoming a little confused at this man’s attitude. He stood back as the man passed in front of him and crossed the room to a sink and coffee pot.
Professor John Loo was a short, well-built man with black hair parted on the side. As he made coffee his hands looked almost delicate. His movements were smooth and precise. He was obviously in excellent physical condition. His eyes were dark with very little Oriental slant and seemed to bore into whatever he looked at. His face was broad, with high cheekbones and a well-shaped nose. It was an extremely intelligent face. Nick guessed his age to be in the early thirties. He seemed to be a man who knew both his strength and his weakness. Right now, as he plugged in the hot plate, his dark eyes glanced nervously toward the bedroom door.
Get on with it, Nick thought. “Professor Loo, I’d like…” He was stopped by the professor, who raised his hand and cocked his head to one side, listening. Nick heard heavy footsteps coming up the stairs. Both men froze as the steps crossed to the bedroom door. Nick switched Hugo to his left hand. His right reached inside his coat to rest on the butt of Wilhelmina.
A key clicked into the lock in the door. The door was thrown open and the Neanderthal man bounded into the room followed by a smaller, slick-dressed man. The huge monster pointed at Nick and grunted. He started forward. The smaller man put a hand on the big arm, stopping him. Then he smiled politely at the professor.
“Who is your friend, professor?”
Nick said quickly. “Chris Wilson. I’m a friend of John’s.” Nick began to pull Wilhelmina out of his belt. He knew that if the professor blew this, he’d have to fight his way out of the room.
John Loo shot Nick a suspicious glance. Then he returned the small man’s smile. “That’s right,” he said. “I will talk to this man. Alone!”
“Of course, of course,” the small man said, bowing slightly. “As you wish.” He motioned the monster out, then just before he shut the door behind him, he said, “You will be very careful what you say, won’t you, professor?”
“Get out!” Professor Loo shouted.
The man slowly shut the door and locked it.
John Loo turned to Nick, his brow wrinkled with worry. “The bastards know they’ve got me over a barrel.
They can afford to be generous.” He studied Nick as though seeing him for the first time. “What the hell happened to you?”
Nick relaxed his grip on Wilhelmina. He switched Hugo back to his right hand. This thing got more baffling by the moment. Professor Loo certainly didn’t sound like a man who wanted to defect. He knew Nick wasn’t Chris Wilson, yet he protected him. And this friendly cordiality suggested he had almost expected Nick. But the only way to get answers was to ask questions.
“Let’s talk,” Killmaster said.
“Not yet.” The professor set up two cups. “What do you take in your coffee?”
“Nothing. Black.”