The smaller man lunged first. He came in low from Nick’s right, and because of his size, he moved quickly. There was a metallic clink as Hugo deflected the dagger. No sooner had the smaller man retreated than Ossa moved in from the left, only slightly slower. Again Hugo deflected the blade. Both men fell back. As Nick began to relax slightly, the small man lunged again, lower. Nick sidestepped, clicking the blade aside. But Ossa came in high, aiming for the throat. Nick twisted his head, feeling the point slice his ear lobe. Both men again fell back. The panting grew heavier.
Killmaster knew in a fight of this type he would come out third. These two could alternate lunges until they wore him down. When he was tired he’d make a mistake, and then they’d have him. He had to change the course of this thing, and the best way would be for him to become the attacker. The smaller man would be easier to handle. That made him first.
Nick feigned a lunge at Ossa, making him fall back slightly. The smaller man took advantage and moved in. Nick sidestepped as the blade creased his stomach. With his left hand, he caught the man’s wrist and with all his strength pulled him across and into Ossa. He hoped the man would be thrown onto Ossa’s blade. But Ossa saw him coming and turned sideways. Both men collided, staggered, and went down. Nick moved in a half-circle around them. The smaller man swung his dagger behind him before he got up probably thinking Nick was there. But Nick was at his side. The arm stopped its swing in front of him.
With a movement almost quicker than the eye could see, Nick sliced Hugo across the top of the man’s wrist. He let out a scream, dropping his dagger, and clutched the wrist between his legs. Ossa was on his knees. He swung the dagger in a long arc. Nick had to jump back to keep the point from ripping open his stomach. But for one instant, one fleeting second, Ossa’s entire front was exposed. His left hand hand pushed down on the street supporting him, his right was almost behind him in the completion of the swing. There was no time to aim for any section of the body, the second would soon pass. Like a striking rattlesnake. Nick moved in and struck with Hugo, pushing the blade up almost to the handle into the man’s chest, then quickly moved out. Ossa let out a short cry. He tried vainly to swing the dagger back, but made it only as far as his side. The left arm supporting him collapsed, he fell to his elbow. Nick looked up to see the smaller man running out of the alley still clutching his wrist.
Nick gently pulled the dagger from Ossa’s grasp and tossed it a few feet away. Ossa’s supporting elbow gave way. His head fell to the crook of his arm. Nick felt the man’s wrist. His pulse felt slow, erratic. He was dying. His breathing became strained, bubbly. Blood colored his lips and flowed freely from the wound. Hugo had cut an artery, its point had pierced a lung.
“Ossa,” Nick called softly. “Will you tell me who hired you?” He knew the two men did not attack him on their own. They were working under orders. “Ossa,” he said again.
But Chin Ossa was through telling anybody anything. The bubbly breathing had stopped. He was dead.
Nick wiped the scarlet blade of Hugo clean on Ossa’s pants leg. He was sorry he had had to kill the heavy man. But there had been no time to aim the blade. He stood and surveyed his own wounds. The cut on his forehead had stopped bleeding. Holding his handkerchief out in the rain until it was soaked, he wiped the blood from his eyes. His left arm was painful but the scrape on his cheek and the scratch across his stomach weren’t serious. He came out of it better than Ossa, maybe even better than the other man. The rain came heavier now. Already his jacket was soaked.
Leaning against one of the buildings, Nick replaced Hugo. He pulled out Wilhelmina, checked the clip, and replaced the Luger. Without a backward glance at the battle scene or the corpse which had once been Chin Ossa, Killmaster walked out of the alley. There was no reason why he shouldn’t see the professor now.
From the alley, Nick walked four blocks before he found a taxi. He gave the driver the address he had memorized back in Washington. Since the professor’s defection was no secret, neither was the place he was staying. Nick settled back in his seat, took out the thick glasses from his coat pocket, cleaned them, and put them on.
The taxi pulled up in a section of Kowloon as rundown as where the alley had been. Nick paid the driver and once again stepped into the chilled night air. It wasn’t until the taxi had driven away that he realized how dark the street looked. The houses were old and run down; they seemed to sag under the rain. But Nick knew the Oriental philosophy of building. These houses had a fragile strength, not like a boulder along the seashore taking the constant pounding of waves, but more like a spiderweb in a hurricane. No lights brightened any windows, no people walked the street. The area seemed deserted.
Nick had no doubt the professor would be well guarded, if only for his own protection. The Chi Corns expected someone would probably try to contact him. Whether to persuade Mm not to defect or to assassinate him, they wouldn’t know. Killmaster didn’t think they’d bother to find out.
The door had a window just above its center. A black curtain was draped over the window, but not completely enough to keep out all light. Looking at it from the street, the house looked as deserted and dark as all the others. But as Nick stood close to the door at an angle, he could barely make out a yellow splinter of light. He knocked on the door and waited. There was no stir inside. Nick pounded on the door. He heard a chair squeak, then heavy footsteps growing louder. The door jerked open, and Nick faced a mountain of a man. His massive shoulders touched each side of the doorway. The undershirt he wore revealed huge hairy arms, thick as tree trunks, hanging apelike almost to his knees. His broad, flat face was ugly with sleep and had a nose misshapen by repeated breakings. His eyes were razor slices in two marshmallow puffs of flesh. Across the middle of his forehead his short black hair was combed down and cut straight. He had no neck; his chin seemed to be supported by his chest. Neanderthal man, Nick thought. A few steps in evolution were missed by this one.
The man grunted something that almost sounded like “What do you want?”
“Chris Wilson to see Professor Loo,” Nick said matter-of-factly.
“He no here. You go,” the monster grunted, and slammed the door in Nick’s face.
Killmaster fought an impulse to kick the door open, or at least smash the glass in it. He stood for a few seconds letting the anger seep out of him. He should have expected something like this. To be invited in would have been too easy. The Neanderthal’s heavy breathing came from the other side of the door. He’d probably be delighted if Nick tried something cute. Killmaster was reminded of a line from Jack and the Beanstalk: “I’ll grind your bones to make my bread.” Not tonight, friend, Nick thought. He had to see the professor, and he would. But unless there was no other way, he’d rather not have to go through that mountain.
Raindrops dropped onto the sidewalk like watery bullets as Nick circled to the side of the building. There was a long, narrow space about four feet wide between buildings, littered with cans and bottles. Nick easily scaled the locked wooden gate and started toward the rear of the building Halfway along, he found another door. He gently tried the knob Locked. He continued, picking his way as quietly as possible. At the end of the passageway was another gate, unlocked. Nick opened it and found himself in a tiled patio.