The Iron Tiger. Jack Higgins

Viet Cong made one of their night raids and set fire to the hospital.’ She stared back into the past, horror on her face. ‘The patients, we could only get half of them out. There are nights when I can still hear the screams.’

      She was aware of his hand under her arm and they were climbing rapidly up the bank, across a narrow stone causeway. Suddenly, they moved into a different world, a place of colour and light, scarlet hibiscus and graceful palms.

      They walked through trees along a narrow path and emerged on to a stone, loopholed terrace high above the river, a couple of ancient iron cannon still at their stations as they had been for three hundred years.

      Hamid pushed her gently forward. ‘And behold, said the genie …’

      She gave an excited gasp and leaned across the wall. Between the sandbanks, hundreds of flamingoes paced through the shallows, setting the very air alight with the glory of their plumage. Hamid picked up a stone and tossed it down, and immediately the sky was filled with the heavy, pulsating beat of their wings as they lifted in a shimmering cloud.

      He looked down at her gravely. ‘Back there, death, Janet. Here, life in all its magnificence. They are both sides of the same coin. This you must learn.’

      She nodded slowly and slipped her hand into his arm. Together, they walked back quietly through the trees without speaking.

      Beyond the old quarter of the town, Drummond moved into an area of stately walled villas and beautiful gardens, the homes of rich merchants and government officials. A narrow path, fringed with eucalyptus trees, brought him to the river bank again.

      A red houseboat was moored at the end of an old stone wharf about forty yards away and Ferguson’s Sikh bearer squatted on the cabin roof. When he saw Drummond, he scrambled to the deck and disappeared below.

      Drummond crossed the narrow gangway and stepped on to the deck which had been scrubbed to a dazzling whiteness. Several cane chairs and a table were grouped under an awning at the stern and as he sat down, the Sikh appeared with a tray containing a bottle of gin, ice-water and glasses. He placed the tray on the table and withdrew without speaking.

      Drummond helped himself to a drink and walked to the stern rail, staring out across the river and thinking about Janet Tate, as a boat slipped by, sail bellying in the breeze.

      There was a clink of a bottle against glass and when he turned, Ferguson was sitting at the table, pouring himself a drink.

      ‘You’re looking fit, Jack. Nothing like a steam bath to pull a man round after a hard night.’

      ‘Hullo, Fergy, you old rogue,’ Drummond said. ‘I got your message. It was delivered in person at Ram Singh’s House of Pleasure by a rather delectable little Quaker girl in a yellow dress.’

      ‘God in heaven,’ Ferguson said, astonishment on his face. ‘She didn’t, did she?’

      ‘I’m afraid so.’ Drummond sat down and took a cheroot from an old leather case. ‘Her first visit to India, apparently. She’s a lot to learn.’

      ‘I found her travelling from Calcutta second class,’ Ferguson said. ‘Can you imagine that? What’s all this about the Khan’s son needing eye surgery?’

      ‘The boy fell from his horse a month ago and took a nasty knock. The sight started to fail in the right eye, so the old man had me fly a specialist up from Calcutta. He’s got a detached retina and his balance has been affected.’

      ‘Tricky surgery to put that right.’

      ‘It seems the big expert’s on the staff of some Quaker foundation hospital in Chicago. Father Kerrigan got in touch with them and they agreed to take the case. Said they’d send a doctor to escort the boy.’

      ‘Instead, you get Janet Tate.’

      ‘Who was already in Vietnam and due home on leave, so they saved on the fare.’ Drummond grinned. ‘Never look a gift horse in the mouth, Fergy.’

      Ferguson frowned slightly. ‘She’s a nice girl, Jack. A hell of a nice girl. I wouldn’t like to see her get hurt.’

      ‘So?’ Drummond said coolly.

      Ferguson sighed. ‘All right, let it go. What have you got for me this time?’

      Drummond took several spools of film from his pocket and pushed them across. ‘That’s the lot. You’ve got the whole Balpur-Tibet border region now.’

      ‘You’ve finished?’

      Drummond nodded. ‘Trip before last. A good job, too. Cheung decided to fly in with me on the last trip, so I couldn’t have set the camera up if I’d wanted to.’

      Ferguson smiled and shook his head. ‘Our Nationalist friends are still at it, are they? I wonder what Washington would say if they knew?’

      ‘I couldn’t care less,’ Drummond said. ‘A couple more trips and I’m through. I’ve told Cheung that already.’

      Ferguson applied a match to the bowl of his old briar pipe and coughed as the smoke caught at the back of his throat. ‘How did you find things last trip? Any signs of Chinese activity?’

      ‘Swinging on the end of a rope,’ Drummond said. ‘Moro and his band dealt with a cavalry patrol in their own inimitable fashion, that’s all.’

      ‘Nothing else? You’re sure about that?’

      Drummond nodded. ‘Moro says that all the activity’s still in the Aksai Chin, Ladakh region. No sign of any large scale interest in the Balpur border area at all.’

      ‘That’s strange, you know. They’ve claimed it officially and the brutal truth is they’re on pretty firm ground this time, historically speaking.’

      ‘They can have it, for all I care,’ Drummond said. ‘Another month, and I’m out.’

      Ferguson poked a match into the end of his pipe to clear the air hole and said casually, ‘What were you thinking of doing?’

      ‘Nothing you’d be interested in. I’m finished, Fergy. I’ve had enough. How long have I given you now; four years, five? I’ve played this sort of game on every border from Sarawak to Kashmir. I can’t go on forever. Nobody can.’

      ‘You’ve done a good job, Jack. I’m not denying that,’ Ferguson said. ‘But you’ve been well paid.’

      ‘What about last year when the Indonesians shot me down in Borneo?’ Drummond reminded him. ‘They chased me through that jungle for three weeks before I managed to scramble across the border.’ He ran a finger down the ugly scar that stretched from his right eye to the corner of his mouth. ‘I spent a month in hospital and what happened? You paid me the same as always. No more, no less.’

      Ferguson sighed, took an envelope from his pocket and pushed it across. ‘Three thousand, deposited as usual with your Geneva bankers. You know how to get in touch with me if you change your mind.’

      ‘That’ll be the day.’ Drummond opened the envelope, examined the deposit slip, then put it in his wallet. ‘It’s been fun, Fergy.’

      He moved along the deck to the gangplank and stepped on to the wharf. ‘One more thing, Jack,’ Ferguson called. ‘Don’t forget who the Beaver belongs to when you’ve finished up there. Government property, you know.’

      ‘And just how would you like to set about proving that?’ Drummond said and started to laugh as he walked away along the wharf.

       3

      The Nightwalkers

      Janet stepped out of the shower, dried herself quickly and went into the bedroom, the towel wrapped around her slim body. The