Midnight Never Comes - Jack Higgins [0]
Jack Higgins
Open Road Integrated Media
New York
CONTENTS
1 Last chance
2 The man who had ch'i
3 In motion, be like water ...
4 The man from Rum Jungle
5 Night on a bare mountain
6 Chocolates and kisses
7 Council of war
8 The broken men
9 Nightfall
10 Dark waters
11 Firebird
12 Run to the mountain
13 Enter von Bayern
14 Crash-out
15 Force of arms
16 Last lap
A Biography of Jack Higgins
1
Last chance
The moment he pushed open the door and paused on the edge of darkness, Chavasse knew that he had made a bad mistake. Somewhere deep inside, a primitive instinct, that slightly mystical element common to all ancient races and inherited from his Breton ancestors, combined with the experience that came from ten hard years of working for the Bureau and touched him coldly, sending a wave of greyness moving through him.
As he took a hesitant step forward, the darkness was filled with a hideous, frightening clamour and a red light flashed on above his head reaching into the four corners of the small room.
Jorgensen was standing by the window, immaculate in the beautifully-cut dinner jacket he had worn earlier, the rose still fresh in his lapel. He stood there, legs slightly apart, a .38 Smith & Wesson magnum in his right hand, barrel pointing to the floor.
Chavasse slid a hand inside his jacket, reaching for the Walther automatic in its special pocket, knowing he hadn't a chance and Jorgensen grinned almost apologetically.
'Too late, Paul. About a thousand years too late.'
As the red light went out, he fired and the flash picked him out of the darkness for one brief second, the last thing Chavasse saw before the heavy bullet smashed into him just below the breastbone, lifting him off his feet and back through the open door into the corridor.
He hit the wall hard and slid to the floor, struggling for air, aware of voices near at hand, of running feet in the darkness and then the corridor light came on and Jorgensen appeared in the doorway.
Chavasse still held the Walther in his right hand. He started to raise it and Jorgensen stood there waiting, the Smith & Wesson held against his thigh, something close to pity on his face. The Walther fired, the bullet kicking plaster from the wall at least three feet to one side of him, then it seemed to jump out of Chavasse's hand. He gave a strange choking cry and pitched forward on to his face.
Hammond went up the curving Regency staircase and passed along the corridor. It was strangely quiet up there, somehow remote and cut off from the world outside, the only sound the slight persistent hum from the dynamos in the main radio room. He mounted two steps into another corridor, opened a large white-painted door and went in.
The room was small and plainly furnished, lined with green filing cabinets, its only occupant the woman who sat at the desk by the far door typing busily on an electric machine. She was perhaps thirty, plump and rather attractive in spite of the heavy library spectacles she wore. She stopped typing and looked up anxiously.
'Have you heard?' Hammond said.
She nodded. 'How is he?'
'He didn't look too good when I left. They've got him in the medical room now.'
She nodded at the canvas grip he was carrying. 'Is that what he was wearing?'
Hammond nodded. 'Yes, the Chief wanted to see it. Is he in?'
She flicked the switch on the intercom and the dry, remote voice joined them at once. 'What is it?'
'Colonel Hammond is here, Mr. Mallory.'
'Send him in.'
Hammond moved to the door, opened it and went in. He closed it softly behind him and waited. The man who sat at the desk reading a sheaf of typewritten documents by the light of a shaded desk lamp might have been any high Civil Service executive at first glance. Everything about him seemed part of a familiar pattern. The well-cut dark-blue suit that could only have come from Savile Row, the Old Etonian tie, the silvering hair. And then he glanced up and Hammond was aware of the sudden shock that contact with those cold