Midnight Never Comes - PC 04 (v5) Read Online Free
Author: Jack Higgins
night across the square. The girl's attitude didn't matter--nothing mattered any more. Already, what had happened at the restaurant seemed like some strange dream, elusive, unreal.
He was tired--God, how he was tired and the pavement seemed to move beneath his feet as he turned the corner and found himself in a street that ran parallel to the Thames, iron railings on one side, gaunt shuttered warehouses on the other.
He moved across and stood at the railings, staring into the fog and somewhere a foghorn sounded as a ship moved down into the Pool. He heard nothing and yet some instinct made him turn. He was too late. An arm slid across his neck, tightening like a band of steel, momentarily cutting off his supply of air. The albino appeared in front of him, his face a dirty yellow mask in the light of the street lamp. Chavasse was aware of the man's hands moving over his body, and he stepped back holding the Walther.
'Here we are again then, darlin',' he said and something glowed deep in his eyes.
A black saloon pulled in at the kerb. Chavasse acted. His left foot swung up sharply catching the albino on the right hand. He gave a cry of pain and the Walther soared through the railings and disappeared into the darkness of the river. In the same moment, Chavasse jerked his head back giving the man who held him a sharp blow across the bridge of the nose. The man gave a cry of pain, releasing his hold and Chavasse stumbled around the rear of the saloon and ran for his life.
He plunged into the fog, his feet splashing in the rain-filled gutter and there was a cry of rage behind him. A moment later he heard the engine of the saloon start up.
He could taste blood in his mouth and his heart was pounding and then he turned a corner and found himself faced with high iron gates leading on to a deserted wharf and secured by a chain and padlock.
As he turned, the car braked to a halt a yard or two away and they all seemed to come out together. The one in the lead carried a short iron bar and as he swung Chavasse ducked and the bar clanged against the gate. A foot caught him in the side and he lost his balance.
He rolled desperately over to avoid the swinging kicks and then he was jerked to his feet, two of them pinning his arms securely, ramming his back against the gate.
McGuire stood at the side of the saloon with the albino, lighting a cigarette. He shook his head. 'You asked for this, friend, you really did. Okay, Terry, slice him up good.'
The albino stopped smiling. His hand came out of the pocket of his raincoat holding an old fashioned cut-throat razor. He opened it slowly and as he started forward, saliva dribbled from the corner of his mouth.
The blade of the razor flashed dully in the light of the lamp above the gate and somewhere a cry echoed flatly on the damp air, a strange, frightening sound, shattering the night with the force of a physical blow. The albino swung round and Yuan Tao walked out of the rain into the light.
He wore no coat and the jacket of the expensive gaberdine suit was soaked by the heavy rain and somehow, he seemed different. This was no ordinary man. Chavasse knew that in an instant. And that strange cry--he had heard it before somewhere or something very much like it. The fighting shout common to all Asian martial arts from karate to kendo.
McGuire laughed harshly. 'Put him out of his misery, Charlie, for Christ's sake.'
The man with the iron bar released Chavasse. He darted round the car and ran at Yuan Tao, the bar swinging down viciously. The Chinaman actually took the blow on his left forearm with no apparent ill-effect. In the same moment, his right fist moved in a short forward jab that was unlike any boxing stroke Chavasse had ever seen. It landed high on his assailant's cheek, the bone splintered and the man spun round and fell on his face.
McGuire gave a growl of rage. He went round the car on the run and kicked Yuan Tao squarely in the stomach with all his force. What happened then
He was tired--God, how he was tired and the pavement seemed to move beneath his feet as he turned the corner and found himself in a street that ran parallel to the Thames, iron railings on one side, gaunt shuttered warehouses on the other.
He moved across and stood at the railings, staring into the fog and somewhere a foghorn sounded as a ship moved down into the Pool. He heard nothing and yet some instinct made him turn. He was too late. An arm slid across his neck, tightening like a band of steel, momentarily cutting off his supply of air. The albino appeared in front of him, his face a dirty yellow mask in the light of the street lamp. Chavasse was aware of the man's hands moving over his body, and he stepped back holding the Walther.
'Here we are again then, darlin',' he said and something glowed deep in his eyes.
A black saloon pulled in at the kerb. Chavasse acted. His left foot swung up sharply catching the albino on the right hand. He gave a cry of pain and the Walther soared through the railings and disappeared into the darkness of the river. In the same moment, Chavasse jerked his head back giving the man who held him a sharp blow across the bridge of the nose. The man gave a cry of pain, releasing his hold and Chavasse stumbled around the rear of the saloon and ran for his life.
He plunged into the fog, his feet splashing in the rain-filled gutter and there was a cry of rage behind him. A moment later he heard the engine of the saloon start up.
He could taste blood in his mouth and his heart was pounding and then he turned a corner and found himself faced with high iron gates leading on to a deserted wharf and secured by a chain and padlock.
As he turned, the car braked to a halt a yard or two away and they all seemed to come out together. The one in the lead carried a short iron bar and as he swung Chavasse ducked and the bar clanged against the gate. A foot caught him in the side and he lost his balance.
He rolled desperately over to avoid the swinging kicks and then he was jerked to his feet, two of them pinning his arms securely, ramming his back against the gate.
McGuire stood at the side of the saloon with the albino, lighting a cigarette. He shook his head. 'You asked for this, friend, you really did. Okay, Terry, slice him up good.'
The albino stopped smiling. His hand came out of the pocket of his raincoat holding an old fashioned cut-throat razor. He opened it slowly and as he started forward, saliva dribbled from the corner of his mouth.
The blade of the razor flashed dully in the light of the lamp above the gate and somewhere a cry echoed flatly on the damp air, a strange, frightening sound, shattering the night with the force of a physical blow. The albino swung round and Yuan Tao walked out of the rain into the light.
He wore no coat and the jacket of the expensive gaberdine suit was soaked by the heavy rain and somehow, he seemed different. This was no ordinary man. Chavasse knew that in an instant. And that strange cry--he had heard it before somewhere or something very much like it. The fighting shout common to all Asian martial arts from karate to kendo.
McGuire laughed harshly. 'Put him out of his misery, Charlie, for Christ's sake.'
The man with the iron bar released Chavasse. He darted round the car and ran at Yuan Tao, the bar swinging down viciously. The Chinaman actually took the blow on his left forearm with no apparent ill-effect. In the same moment, his right fist moved in a short forward jab that was unlike any boxing stroke Chavasse had ever seen. It landed high on his assailant's cheek, the bone splintered and the man spun round and fell on his face.
McGuire gave a growl of rage. He went round the car on the run and kicked Yuan Tao squarely in the stomach with all his force. What happened then
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