JACK HIGGINS
Sad Wind from the Sea
Table of Contents
Title Page
Dedication
Chapter 1 - Macao 1953
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Publishers Note
About the Author
Also by Jack Higgins
Copyright
About the Publisher
Dedication
For Amy
1 Macao 1953
When Hagen emerged from the gambling casino at the back of Charlie Beales café he was drunk. He heard the door click into place behind him and for a moment he stood swaying as the cold night air cut into his lungs.
For several minutes he leaned against the wall, his forehead on the cool brickwork. After a while he pushed himself away and stood squarely, his feet braced firmly apart. He moved along the alley, taking slow, careful steps, and stood at the front of the café breathing deeply to clear his head. He fumbled in his pocket and found a crumpled packet of cigarettes. He lit one slowly and carefully and drew the smoke down into his lungs.
A thin sea-fog rolled in from the harbour, pushed by a cold finger of wind, and he coughed as it caught at the back of his throat. Except for the lapping of the water against the wharf pilings silence reigned. He wondered what time it was and instinctively lifted his right wrist and then remembered that his watch had followed the last of his money across the green baize top of one of Charlie Beales tables. He decided it must be about three oclock because he had that sort of feeling, or perhaps it was just that he was getting old. Too old for the kind of life hed been living for the past four years. Too old to be making fortune depend on the turn of a card or the throw of the dice. He laughed suddenly as he considered his present position. His boat impounded by the Customs, his only means of livelihood cut off, and now the last of his money gone. Youve really done it this time, he told himself. Youve really excelled yourself. Somewhere a woman screamed.
He pushed himself from the wall and stood listening, head slightly forward. Again a scream sounded, curiously flat, and muffled by the fog. Even as he told himself to mind his own business he was running. The liquor rolled heavily in his stomach and he cursed the poverty that forced him to drink cheap beer. He turned a corner, running silently on rope-soled feet, and took them by surprise. Two men were holding a struggling woman on the ground in the sickly yellow light of a street lamp.
As the nearest man turned in alarm, Hagen lifted a foot into his face and sent him spinning backwards over the edge of the wharf. The other leapt towards him, steel flickering in his right hand. In the brief moment of quiet as they circled each other Hagen saw that the man was Chinese and that murder shone from his eyes. He backed away as if frightened and the man grinned and rushed him. Hagen lifted an arm to ward off the knife-thrust and felt the sudden sharpness of pain even as he lifted his knee into his opponents groin. The man writhed on the ground, an agony of twisting limbs, and Hagen coolly measured the distance and kicked him in the head.
There was quiet. He stood breathing deeply and looking down at the still form, wondering if he had killed him and not caring, and then he turned and searched for the woman. She was standing in the shadow of a warehouse door. He moved towards her and said, Are you all right?
There was a faint movement of the white-clad figure and a soft voice said, Please stay where you are for a moment! The voice surprised him and he wondered what an Englishwoman was doing on the waterfront of Macao at that time in the morning. There was more movement and then she stepped out of the shadows and came towards him. My dress was torn and I had to fix it, she said.
He hardly heard what she was saying. She was only a girl, not more than seventeen or eighteen, and she was not English, although from the purity of her speech one of her parents must have been. Her skin had that creamy look peculiar to Eurasian women, and her lips an extra fullness that gave her a faintly sensual air. She had a breath-taking beauty of the kind that is always associated with simplicity. She stood before him looking gravely and steadily into his face and Hagen suddenly shivered for no accountable reason, as if somewhere someone had walked over his grave. He moistened dry lips and managed to speak. Where do you live?
She mentioned the best hotel in Macao and he cursed silently, thinking of the walk that lay ahead of him. Can I get a taxi? she asked in her clear, bell-like voice.
He laughed shortly. In this part of Macao, at this hour? You dont know this town, angel.
She frowned and then her eyes widened and she reached forward and grabbed his arm. But youre hurt. Theres blood on your sleeve!
He smothered an oath as the sudden wrench caused a stab of pain to run through him. Take it easy, he said and moved away to examine the wound under the light of the street lamp. His jacket had an ugly, bloodstained slit in it and when he wiped away the blood with a handkerchief he saw that he had sustained a superficial slash, more painful than anything else.
How bad is it? she asked him anxiously.
He shrugged. Not too bad. Hurts like hell, though.
She took the handkerchief from his hand and twisted it neatly around his arm. Is that any better? she said.
As he nodded he saw that her dress was badly torn. Shed made a pathetic attempt to pin it together, but it hardly measured up to the usual standards of decency. He made a sudden decision. Theres only one way to get you back to your hotel, he told her. Well have to walk. She nodded gravely and he added: Wed better call in at my hotel. You can fix this arm properly for me and I can get you a coat or something to cover yourself with.
He nodded towards the bodice of her dress and she seemed to blush and instinctively put a hand there. That seems the best thing to do, she said calmly. I think wed better hurry, though. That handkerchief is proving an inadequate bandage.
He was surprised at her calm acceptance of his suggestion. Surprised and also intrigued, because for a young girl who had just been through a pretty bad experience she seemed remarkably unaffected. His hotel was only a quarter of a mile away and as they approached it he suddenly felt uncomfortable. As he held the door open for her he reflected bitterly that the place looked what it wasa flea-bag. A blast of hot, stale air met them from the small hall and an ancient fan creaked, slowly and uselessly, above their heads, hardly causing a movement in the air.
The Chinese night-clerk was asleep at his desk, his head between his hands, and Hagen motioned the girl to silence. It didnt work. Half-way across the hall a polite cough sounded behind them and Hagen turned wearily. The night-clerk, now fully awake, smiled in an apologetic manner. Hagen felt in his pocket and then remembered that he was broke. Have you got a petaka? he asked the girl. She frowned and looked puzzled. Im broke, flat, and I need a petaka. He gestured helpfully at the fly-blown sign on the wall: NO FEMALES ALLOWED UPSTAIRS. He grinned tiredly as she turned from reading the notice. They much prefer to supply their own, you see! This time he had her in a better light and she did blush. She fumbled in her handbag and gave him a Straits dollar. He flipped it to the clerk and they mounted the rickety stairs.
He felt even more ashamed of his room than he had done about the hotel. It looked like a pigsty and smelled like one. Empty gin bottles in one corner and soiled clothing in another, combined with an unmade bed, did not make a very savoury picture. The girl didnt seem to notice. Have you got any bandages? she demanded.
He rummaged about under the bed and finally produced the first-aid kit he had salvaged from the boat, and she led the way into the bathroom and told him to strip to the waist.
She carefully washed the congealed blood away and frowned. This should be stitched.
He shook his head. I heal quickly.
She smiled and pointed to the numerous scars on his chest and stomach. You must do.
He grinned. Souvenir of the war. Shrapnel. Looks worse than it was.
She carefully bandaged his arm and said, Which warKorea?
He shook his head. No, my war was a long time ago, angel. A thousand years ago. She pressed surgical tape across the loose ends of the bandage and looked quickly up into his face. The sharp triangle that formed his chin was covered with a dark stubble that accentuated the hollowness of his cheeks and the dark sombreness of the eyes. For a brief moment he looked down at her and then he said, Youve done this sort of thing before, and gestured to his bandaged arm.
She nodded. A littlebut even that was too much.
Suddenly she began to shiver uncontrollably and Hagen slipped his arm about her shoulders and squeezed. Youre all right, he told her. Its all over. She nodded several times and broke away from him, and stood over by the window, her back towards him. He opened a drawer and by a miracle discovered a clean shirt. By the time he was properly dressed again she had recovered.
That was rather silly of me, she said. The essential feminine weakness coming out, I suppose.
Hagen laughed. What you need is a drink. He poured gin into two moderately clean glasses and, crossing the room, kicked open the window and led the way out on to the balcony. The girl sat in the only chair and Hagen leaned on the balcony rail and for a short time there was silence.
Do you think I might have a cigarette? Her voice spoke gently from the darkness. He fumbled in his pocket and finally discovered the battered packet. As the match flared in his cupped hands, and she leaned forward, the delicate beauty of her face was thrown into relief. He held the match for a moment longer than was necessary, and they looked briefly into each others eyes, and then he flicked the match out into the darkness in a long, curving arc. Id like to thank you for what you did back there. She spoke slowly and carefully as though searching for words.
Girls like you shouldnt be on the waterfront in the early hours, he told her.
As if she had suddenly arrived at a decision her voice sounded again from the darkness, this time more assured and confident. My name is Rose Graham.
So he had been right about one of her parents, at least. He half-turned towards her. Mark Hagen. Captain Hagen Im known as in these parts.
Oh, you are a sea captain?
I have a small boat, he told her. It came to him that he was wrong. The operative word was had. I had a small boat, he thought. What have I got now? Another thought struck him, more immediate, more urgent. Was I in time back there? he said. I mean, did those mugs really harm you or anything? He felt suddenly awkward.
The chair creaked as she stood up. They didnt harm me, Captain Hagen. It wasnt that kind of an assault.
She moved to the rail and stood beside him so that his shoulder touched hers lightly each time he stirred. The wind blew in from the sea and the mist rolled across the harbour, and the riding lights of the ships glowed faintly through the gaps that appeared every so often when the wind tore a hole in the grey curtain. From the balcony the view was magnificent and suddenly Hagen felt at peace and restless, happy and discontented, all at the same time. It had been a bad day and the past came too easily to mind. He decided that it was all the girls fault. It had been a long time since he had been so close to someone like her. He sighed and straightened up.
She laughed lightly. What are you thinking about? It must be something pretty sad to make you sigh so heavily.
He grinned and took out another cigarette. I was contemplating a misspent life, angel, he told her. I seem to be making a habit of it lately. I must be getting old.
She laughed again. How ridiculous. You arent old. Youre still a young man.
Im thirty-five, he said. When youve lived the life I have, then believe meits old. A thought came to him and he smiled to himself and added, How old are you, anyway?
She said eighteen, in a small voice. Hagen laughed. There you are. Im twice your age. Im old enough to be your father. In fact Id say its about time you were safely tucked up in bed.
He walked back into the bedroom and started to put on his jacket. She followed at his heels and stood watching him, playing nervously with the silk scarf that was twisted round her throat. She spoke in a high-pitched voice. I dont think it would be very wise for you to see me back to my hotel.
He straightened up slowly and looked at her without speaking. She flushed and dropped her eyes and he said, If you think Im going to let you walk two miles through the worst part of Macao on your own, youre crazy.
She darted past him and had the door half open before his hand gripped her arm and pulled her back. She struggled for a moment and then relaxed suddenly and completely and said despairingly, Captain Hagen, Im trying to tell you that if you take me back to my hotel you may be involving yourself in more ways than you think.
Hagen took a crumpled linen jacket from behind the door and handed it to her. Here, woman! Cover thy nakedness! He intoned the words with deliberate pomposity.