14

Hong Kong Welcome

 

“The Captain’s compliments, Mr West, and would you like to go up front with him as we approach Hong Kong?” The second officer, a tall, amiable-looking young man with a broken nose, bent over Roger. “We’ll be there in twenty-five minutes.”

“I’d like to very much,” Roger said.

Several of the passengers who had come all the way from London watched, but no longer with any sign of envy; everyone now knew who he was, and the familiar, often welcome but sometimes exasperating sense of awe of a senior policeman showed clearly. He went through the lounge, where three men and one middle-aged woman dressed like a teenager were drinking, then stepped on to the flight deck. There was more noise, some vibration, and an appearance of high organisation and efficiency. Ahead was the instrument panel, so big and complicated that it seemed to need a man with a robot mind to understand it.

The second pilot’s seat was empty. The Captain turned, beckoned, leaned across, and shook hands as Roger settled into the seat.

“Sorry we haven’t had a chance to meet before, Superintendent.”

“I’m glad of it now,” Roger said.

“Proud to have you with us.”

Roger murmured a disclaimer.

“I’m just a policeman.”

The Captain smiled.

“I’ve heard you called other things.” He turned away. “How about that, sir? Red China and Hong Kong, looking thick as thieves.”

Ahead was a mass of land beyond a sea which was as blue as the Mediterranean. The great rocks of Hong Kong and the surrounding islands looked like huge diamonds as they glistened in the sun. The water was dotted with small craft and large; liners, cargo boats, sampans, countless junks with dark-brown sails. As they drew nearer, Roger could pick out spots he had often seen in pictures but never in real life.

“We fly low over Victoria, the city on Hong Kong Island,” the Captain said. “Famous for its shanty towns and the homes in the rocks, or William Holden and Suzie Wong, whichever you prefer. Over there is Kowloon, you see where the long isthmus strikes out – there’s a plane taking off.”

Roger said, “I see it. It’s surpassed all my expectations already.”

“First time?”

“Yes.”

“Just sit back and take it in,” said the Captain. “I won’t spoil it with chatter. If you want to know anything—”

“Those white boats – I can see four or five of them,” Roger said.

“Ferries from Hong Kong to Kowloon.”

“Oh.”

“Wonderful organisation, and always has been.” After a few moments’ silence while Roger marvelled, the Captain asked, “Spending any time here?”

“Just a few hours. Do you fly the plane on to Darwin and Sydney?”

“Not this one. I may do tomorrow’s flight, I don’t know who it will be today, I’m afraid. If you can spare any of your couple of hours to look around the place, jump at the chance. I go round every month or so and still don’t believe it. See you before I go off, sir.”

“Good,” Roger said. “Thanks.”

He was about to get up, and the island seemed very close, crowded with houses and people, when he saw a ship with a white funnel and a blue flag on it. The sight of it was like a physical blow. Both Captain and second pilot looked at him curiously. As he went back to his seat, he no longer saw the islands and the water as places of grandeur, but as the place where the Kookaburra had called only a week or ten days earlier, where nearly all the Blue Flag Line ships called. At his window he looked out, trying to spot the ship again.

There it was, by itself at a quay which jutted out from the mainland. Near it was a railway.

“Fasten your belts, please,” came over the loudspeaker.

The water seemed to be coming up to engulf them until suddenly they bumped, bounced, then ran along the tarmac with the blue waters stretching out on either side. The stewardess came up to Roger.

“There’s a messenger waiting for you, Mr West. Hope you enjoy the rest of the trip.”

“I will if it’s like this one.” Roger shook hands.

He was the first out into the gilded sunlight of the late afternoon. At the foot of the steps, even before they were pushed properly into position, was a tall, smiling man – Luke Shaw of the Sydney CIB with another tall, leaner man – Fred Hodges of the Hong Kong police.

 

They gripped hands, equally pleased to see one another, and moved off together towards a police car, until Roger said suddenly, “You two will have my stripes. Limm and Doreen Morrison are on board, I don’t want them to wander off on their own.”

“I’ve three men here who’ve studied their photographs,” Hodges said comfortingly. “Can’t you slacken off even for an hour?”

“If I get the chance.”

“I’ve told Luke that you can forget the Kookaburra while you’re here,” said Hodges. “He can brief you on the way to Sydney – he’s learned all there is to see here.”

“Don’t tell Handsome West that,” protested Shaw. “He’ll want to check for himself.”

They were getting into the car.

“I arrived yesterday, Handsome, to check all I could with the agents of the Blue Flag Line here. It’s the second most important office. The head office is in Sydney, but you knew that.”

“Didn’t stop him from doing the Hong Kong Island trip – and the night clubs. What an appetite for legs these Aussies have.” Hodges laughed heartily. “We can fit in—”

He stopped abruptly, looking across the airfield, snapped, “Swing round, Ling,” to the Chinese chauffeur, and added almost in the same breath, “I’ve just seen the nastiest piece of work in Kowloon, proper artist with a knife.”

To the chauffeur he barked, “That cyclist – catch him.”

The cyclist was a hundred yards away, near the airport buildings. Two cars and a fire-truck were in the way of the police car. Roger felt a desperate desire to get out and run towards the passengers now moving from the airport building towards coaches marked ‘Special Tours.’ The cyclist was nearer those than the police car when Ben Limm and Doreen appeared.

“Honk your horn!” roared Hodges.

The driver swung round the last car, hand on horn, blaring. All the passengers and officials started, looked round and stared. The cyclist was heading straight for Limm and Doreen. Roger felt a thousand miles away, and utterly helpless.

Limm sprang in front of the girl as the cyclist drew up. Even from this distance, Roger saw a flash, as of steel. Then two men near Limm and the girl flung themselves at the cyclist. There was a fierce, vicious struggle, a human dogfight. One man backed away, blood streaming from a nasty cut in his left hand. As the car pulled up, the cyclist went down with a thud, his head banged on the hard ground, and the knife clattered from his hand.

Hodges was breathing hard.

“I told you we’d look after her,” he said.

Doreen Morrison was huddled against Limm, her head on his chest. His long arms were about her, protectingly. He was staring down at the assailant and the bloodstained knife, horror reflected in his eyes.

Roger found himself speaking.

“Who did he come for, Limm? You or Doreen?”

Limm didn’t speak.

“He went for the girl, no doubt about that,” said the policeman. “If he’d wanted the man he could have got him with a single throw.”

“The man saved her,” another policeman chimed in.

“That made him pretty quick,” Hodges remarked.

“Almost as if he knew what was coming.” Luke Shaw was looking so intently at Limm that Limm turned his head and stared at him, without moving his arms from the girl. “That’s Benjamin Limm, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” answered Roger.

“If he knew what was going to happen, why should he save her life?” asked Hodges.

“We need to know a lot more about Ben Limm,” said Shaw heavily. “You weren’t slow on the uptake, Fred. Say you know the Chinaman?”

“Yes, I know Wu Hong,” Hodges said. He watched as the assailant was pulled to his feet and handcuffed. He raised his voice, “Take him to my office, I’ll be along.”

To Roger and Shaw he continued, “He’s Wu Hong, once one of the trouble-shooters for a big tong, until it went respectable. He’s what they call an artist with a knife – he can hit a moving target at thirty yards and a motionless one at fifty. He had to come close to avoid the people round her. Otherwise she’d be dead. Let’s get going.”

“I’ll have a word with Ben Limm, and make sure the girl’s guarded, Fred,” Roger said to Hodges. He moved across as the girl eased herself from the big Australian. Her eyes looked huge and her face so white she looked as if she would faint. “Is she all right?”

“Just about,” Limm grunted.

“Thanks to you,” Roger said.

“I did the only thing.”

“How well do you know Wu Hong?”

Limm’s eyes narrowed as if in surprise.

“Who?”

“The attacker.”

“What the hell are you trying to say?” Limm demanded angrily. “I saw him take his knife out – I’d been watching for anything suspicious. You told me she would be in danger, didn’t you?”

“I warned you,” Roger said. “From now on she will be under close police protection – while here in Hong Kong, on the aircraft, and in Sydney.”

“Who’s objecting?” Limm was more his truculent than his angry self now.

Doreen must have understood every word, but she showed no sign. She reminded Roger vividly of the way she had looked in the room at Notting Hill, when she had been so near death. Looking at her he felt he could almost feel something of her anguish. Soon, questions so obvious that they were easy to overlook, came to his mind.

Why should anyone be so determined to kill her? Surely she must know the answer to that at least.

And why was Limm never attacked?

Roger went back to the car and got in. The chauffeur closed the door on him and hurried to the wheel. Hodges, in front, was turning round and talking to Shaw.

As the car moved off, Hodges said, “We can take care of this, Handsome. No need for you to miss your sightseeing.”

“The only sight I want to see is Fred’s office, and Wu Hong’s face when he starts talking,” Roger said.