Sad Wind From the Sea - Jack Higgins [52]
The door had been left half open. The wearer of the boots must have concluded that Hagen's condition was worse than it actually was and that he would be in no condition to move for some time. Hagen leaned in the doorway, breathing the comparatively pure air and blinking in the strong sunlight. The village lay sleeping in the afternoon heat. Perhaps thirty huts huddled together on an island surrounded by marsh. A shabby, forty-foot motor launch was tied up alongside a rough wooden jetty that stretched out into the water. There was no sign of activity on its deck and from the mast the flag of Red China drooped listlessly in the afternoon heat. The silence was shattered by a sudden scream and a young Chinese girl ran from a nearby hut. She was completely naked. Immediately behind came two soldiers and one of them caught her by the wrist and whirled her round and hit her in the face. The girl crumpled to the ground and the two grinning solders carried her between them back to the hut.
Hagen had stepped back into the gloom of the hut as he watched. He felt sick again. For a terrible moment he had imagined that the girl was Rose and he shuddered as it came to him that such a scene had perhaps already been enacted. For a moment he hesitated and then he straightened his shoulders and stepped out into the sunlight. He paused, looking about him, wondering what to do, and then he heard sharp, excited Chinese voices and three soldiers ran towards him, rifles at the ready.
Bayonets pricked into his unwilling flesh, urging him forward towards a larger and better-made hut, obviously the home of the local headman. He hesitated at the bottom of the half-dozen steps that led up to the small verandah and a boot thudded into him driving him forward. He hesitated again in the doorway, peering into the cool darkness of the hut, and a hand pushed flatly into the small of his back.
Hagen winced as pain tugged at his kidneys and in a sudden upsurge of rage he kicked backwards, his heel connecting satisfactorily with a knee-cap. The Chinese soldier behind him screamed and Hagen twisted to avoid the rifle, and, pulling the man forward, slammed his head twice against the wall. For a moment he stared into the face of death as the bayonets of the other two flickered towards him and then a voice shouted a command in Cantonese. The two soldiers immediately lowered their weapons, and picking up the body of their fallen comrade, dragged it outside. A voice said in English: 'Come in, Captain Hagen. What a violent man you are.' It was Kossoff.
Hagen moved forward and found him sitting in a sort of basket chair at a rude table. There was a chair opposite him and Hagen sat down and helped himself to the gin that stood on the table, drinking from the bottle. He toasted Kossoff silently and drank again. As the liquor flooded through him he felt better. He leaned back in the chair and said: 'All the comforts of home, eh? You boys certainly have it rough working for the proletariat. By the way, you haven't got a cigarette, have you? My last packet got slightly damp.'
The Russian produced a packet of American cigarettes from his pocket and threw them across the table with a quick flip of the fingers. 'You see, my dear Captain, I can supply all your requirements.'
Hagen extracted a cigarette and leaned across for the proffered light. 'What's the matter with your own brands?' he said, indicating the packet of cigarettes.
Kossoff smiled pleasantly. 'But Virginia cigarettes are extremely good. When our time comes we shall undoubtedly take them all for home consumption.'
Hagen smiled, unable to resist baiting the man. 'Careful, Comrade. In Moscow they would call that treason.'
Kossoff smiled and adjusted a cigarette in his elegant holder. 'But we are not in Moscow now, my dear Captain. Here I am in control. I must confess to