“Sir?” McKinnon carefully removed the smile from his face.
“Tie up our three friends at the head of the table there. Their wrists only. Behind their backs.”
“Tie us up!” Kiseki leaned forward, his fists clenched on the table top. “I see no need —- ”
“Shoot ’em if you have to,” Nicolson ordered. “They’re no use to us any more.” He thought it as well not to add that Kiseki’s usefulness was yet to come but feared that the knowledge of his intentions might provoke the man to an act of desperation.
“Consider it done, sir.” McKinnon advanced purposefully towards them, tearing down several mosquito curtains as he passed. Twisted, they would make excellent ropes. Nicolson turned away from Gudrun after seeing her and Peter into a chair, and stooped low over the captain. He shook him by the shoulder and Findhorn finally stirred and wearily opened his eyes. Aided by Nicolson he sat up, moving like a very old man and gazed slowly round the room, comprehension slowly dawning on his exhausted mind.
“I don’t know how on earth you did it, but well done, my boy.” He looked back at Nicolson, inspected him from head to toe, wincing as he saw the cuts and savage burns on his chief officer’s legs and forearms. “What a bloody mess! I hope to God you don’t feel half as bad as you look.”
“Top of the world, sir,” Nicolson grinned.
“You’re a fluent liar, Mr. Nicolson. You’re as much a hospital case as I am. Where do we go from here?”
“Away, and very shortly. A few minutes, sir. Some little things to attend to first.”
“Then go by yourselves.” Captain Findhorn was half-joking, wholly earnest. “I think I’d rather take my chance as a prisoner of war. Frankly, my boy, I’ve had it, and I know it. I couldn’t walk another step.”
“You won’t have to, sir. I guarantee it.” Nicolson poked an inquiring toe at the bag one of the soldiers had been carry- ‘ing, stooped and had a look inside. “Even brought the plans and the diamonds right here. But then, where else would they bring them? I hope, Colonel Kiseki, that you hadn’t set your heart too much on these?”
Kiseki stared at him, his face expressionless. Gudrun Drachmann drew in a quick breath.
“So that’s Colonel Kiseki!” She looked at him for a long moment, then shivered. “I can see that Captain Yamata was right enough. Thank God you got here first, Johnny.”
“Captain Yamata!”. Kiseki’s eyes small enough normally in the folds of fat, had almost vanished. “What happened to Captain Yamata?”
“Captain Yamata has joined his ancestors,” Nicolson said briefly. “Van Effen shot him almost in half.”
“You’re lying! Van Eifen was our friend, our very good friend.”
“‘Was’ is right,” Nicolson agreed. “Ask your men here — later.” He nodded to the group still cowering under the menace’of Telak’s rifle. “Meantime, send one of these men to collect a stretcher, blankets and torches. I needn’t warn you what will happen if you try any foolish tricks.”
Kiseki looked at him impassively for a moment, then spoke rapidly to one of his men. Nicolson waited until he had gone then turned again to Kiseki.
“You must have a radio in this house. Where is it?”
For the first time Kiseki smiled, displaying a magnificent collection of gold inlays on his front teeth.
“I’m sorry to disappoint you, Mr.– ah—–”
“Nicolson. Never mind the formalities. The radio, Colonel Kiseki.”
“That is the only one we have.” Grinning more broadly still, Kiseki nodded towards the sideboard. He had to nod. McKinnon had already lashed his wrists behind his back.
Nicolson barely glanced at the small receiver.
“Your transmitter, Colonel Kiseki, if you don’t mind,” Nicolson said softly. “You don’t depend on carrier pigeons for communication, do you?”
“English humour. Ha-ha. Very funny indeed.” Kiseki.was still smiling. “Of course we have a transmitter, Mr.– ah — Nicolson. At the barracks, our soldiers’ quarters.”
“Where?”
“The other end of the town.” Kiseki had the appearance of a man actually enjoying himself. “A mile from here. At least a mile.”
“I see.” Nicolson looked thoughtful. “Too far — and I very much doubt my ability to march you into your own barracks at the point of a gun, destroy a transmitter and get out again — not without getting myself killed in the process.”
“You show signs of wisdom, Mr. Nicolson,” Kiseki purred.
“I’m just not suicidally minded.” Nicolson rubbed his stubble of beard with a forefinger, then looked up at Kiseki again. “And that’s the only transmitter in town, eh?”
“It is. You’ll have to take my word for that.”
“I’ll take your word for it.” Nicolson lost interest in the matter, watched McKinnon finish tying up the other officer with an enthusiastic heave that brought a sharp exclamation of pain, then turned as the soldier sent off by the colonel returned with stretcher, blankets and two torches. Then he looked back at the head of the table, first at Kiseki, then at the civilian by his side. The mayor was trying to look indignant and outraged, but only succeeded in looking scared. There was unmistakable fear in his dark eyes, and there was a violent tic at the corner of his mouth. He was sweating freely, and even the beautifully cut grey suit seemed to have become suddenly limp . . . Nicolson switched his glance back to Kiseki.
“The mayor is a good friend of yours, I take it, Colonel?” He could see the look in McKinnon’s eyes as he busied himself with the mayor’s wrists, the look of a man anxious to be gone and impatient of this talk, but he ignored it.
Kiseki cleared his throat pompously. “In our — what is the word? — capacities as commander of the garrison and the representative of the people we naturally——”
“Spare me the rest,” Nicolson interrupted. “I suppose his duties bring him here quite often.” He was looking at the mayor now, a deliberately contemptuous speculation in his eyes, and Kiseki fell for it.
“Comes here?” Kiseki laughed. “My dear Nicolson, this is the mayor’s house. I am only his guest.”
“Indeed?” Nicolson looked at the mayor. “You speak a few words of English perhaps, Mr. Mayor.”
“I speak it perfectly.” Pride momentarily overcame fear.
“Excellent,” Nicolson said dryly. “How about speaking some now?” His voice dropped an octave to a calculated theatrically low growl: the mayor didn’t look as if he would take much terrifying. “Where does Colonel Kiseki keep his transmitter in this house?”
Kiseki swung round on the mayor, his face suffused with anger at being tricked, started to shout something unintelligible at him, stopped short in mid-torrent as McKinnon cuffed him heavily over the ear.
“Don’t be a fool, Colonel,” Nicolson said wearily. “And 250
don’t insist on treating me like a fool. Who ever heard of a military commander, especially in a red-hot, troubled area such as this is bound to be, having his communications centre a mile from where he is himself? Obviously the transmitter’s here, and just as obviously it would take all night to make you talk. I doubt if the mayor’s willing to make such sacrifices for your precious co-prosperity sphere.” He turned to the frightened looking civilian again. “I’m in a hurry. Where is it?”
“I will say nothing.” The mayor’s mouth worked and twisted even when he wasn’t speaking. “You can’t make me talk.”
“You’re not even kidding yourself.” Nicolson looked at McKinnon. “Just kind of twist his arm, will you, Bo’sun?”
McKinnon twisted. The mayor screamed, more in anticipatory fear than in any real pain. McKinnon slackened his grip.
“Well?”
“I don’t know what you were talking about.”
This time McKinnon didn’t have to be told. He jerked the mayor’s right arm high up until the back of his wrist was flat against the shoulder-blade. The mayor shrieked like a pig at the approach of the poleaxe.
“Upstairs.” The mayor was sobbing with pain and fear — chiefly fear. “On the roof. My arm — you’ve broken my arm!”
“You can finish tying him up now, Bo’sun,” Nicolson turned away in disgust. “Right, Colonel, you can lead the way.”
“My gallant friend here can finish the job.” Kiseki spat the words out. His teeth were tightly clenched and the expression on his face boded ill for the mayor should they meet again in different circumstances. “He can show you where it is.”
“No doubt. But I would prefer you to come. Some of your men might be wandering about with machine-guns and I’m quite sure they wouldn’t hesitate to shoot the mayor and myself full of a lot of little holes. But you’re a foolproof life insurance.” Nicolson transferred his rifle to his left hand, pulled one of the revolvers from his belt and checked that the safety-catch was off. “I’m in a hurry, Colonel. Come on.”
They were back inside five minutes. The transmitter was now a havoc of twisted steel and shattered valves, and they had encountered no one, coming or going. The mayor’s screams appeared to have attracted no attention, possibly because of the closed doors, but more probably, Nicolson suspected, because the staff were well accustomed to such sounds emanating from Kiseki’s rooms.