had to offer. Those who concealed themselves in the shadows of the darkest places and moved only when they were certain that none could see them were the night stalkers of the city. Some were thieves or simply killers; others went through the night streets and alleys for more important purposes than stealing silver from the houses of rich foreign exporters or killing an unwary soldier. They were out to steal a nation and kill thousands in the process.
Thich was accompanied by his three special agents from the Hac Sa Black Snake section of his covert operations section in Hanoi. They were good steady men who knew their craft well. The four of them stood quietly in the doorway of a jeweler and watched the whitewashed front of the building where the French Security Police kept political prisoners of the utmost importance.
His sister was in there. That had been easy to find out. She had been taken there the same day that the attempt on his life had failed. He knew that if she had given him up to the enemy it had not been an easy thing for her to do. He was very familiar with the techniques the French would have had to use against her. No matter what she had done, she was his sister and he still loved her.
The entrance was secured by a mixed guard mount of two Vietnamese and two Legionnaires. Inside, there would be more, both Viet and French. Thich and his men knew every closet hall and cupboard in the house, where every man slept and every prisoner was kept. His sister was not in the basement. She was being held on the second floor in a room where the Tonkinese merchant had once entertained his mistresses and street women.
Thich idly wondered when he would have word of the scar faced one? For some reason he couldn't fathom, the man fascinated him. He felt a compulsion to look him straight in the face, eye to eye.
CHAPTER FIVE
Langer stood at the locked doorway leading to the rooms on the second floor. Below, in what had once been the cellar, Gus kept an idle eye on those prisoners who required the most "attention." It was quiet now. The guests were sleeping, trying to gain some strength for the next day's ordeal. For Gus, it made no difference whom he fought or why. As for the treatment of the Viet prisoners, as far as he was concerned, they weren't being treated too badly. If they had been in Russia, the first stage of an interrogation by the Conmmissars probably would have begun with a brass cartridge case being hammered into their kneecaps, just to get their attention. After that, they would have been treated to some definitive methods of interrogation.
Langer lit up a Gauloise, tearing the blue pack open to get one out, wishing he had some of the American Lucky Strikes instead. He preferred his station to that of Gus. Up here there were only three "guests" in residence. In the first rooms were two Vietnamese officers who had defected to the French, giving themselves up with many of their former comrades in exchange for amnesty, and the promise they would be sent from Vietnam to France, where they would be safe from their brothers. The other guest was Lin, the sister of Thich. Langer had seen her only once. Lin was a perfect example of the best that the women of Indochina had to offer. Tall for her race, Thick, soft, raven hair that hung to the middle of her back when let down. She was slim and well formed with high breasts and a proud, erect manner to her that gave instant notice when she would enter a room. She still carried herself like an aristocrat, but Langer could see it was not easy for her. Her almond shaped eyes were full of pain and the bruises on her face were not yet completely faded.
This was one of the worst parts of the business of war and revolution. He didn't like it. War should be between grown men, not women and children. It was difficult not to feel sympathy for one who looked so beautiful and frail, but he knew that she had been directly responsible for the deaths of several hundred French
Thich was accompanied by his three special agents from the Hac Sa Black Snake section of his covert operations section in Hanoi. They were good steady men who knew their craft well. The four of them stood quietly in the doorway of a jeweler and watched the whitewashed front of the building where the French Security Police kept political prisoners of the utmost importance.
His sister was in there. That had been easy to find out. She had been taken there the same day that the attempt on his life had failed. He knew that if she had given him up to the enemy it had not been an easy thing for her to do. He was very familiar with the techniques the French would have had to use against her. No matter what she had done, she was his sister and he still loved her.
The entrance was secured by a mixed guard mount of two Vietnamese and two Legionnaires. Inside, there would be more, both Viet and French. Thich and his men knew every closet hall and cupboard in the house, where every man slept and every prisoner was kept. His sister was not in the basement. She was being held on the second floor in a room where the Tonkinese merchant had once entertained his mistresses and street women.
Thich idly wondered when he would have word of the scar faced one? For some reason he couldn't fathom, the man fascinated him. He felt a compulsion to look him straight in the face, eye to eye.
CHAPTER FIVE
Langer stood at the locked doorway leading to the rooms on the second floor. Below, in what had once been the cellar, Gus kept an idle eye on those prisoners who required the most "attention." It was quiet now. The guests were sleeping, trying to gain some strength for the next day's ordeal. For Gus, it made no difference whom he fought or why. As for the treatment of the Viet prisoners, as far as he was concerned, they weren't being treated too badly. If they had been in Russia, the first stage of an interrogation by the Conmmissars probably would have begun with a brass cartridge case being hammered into their kneecaps, just to get their attention. After that, they would have been treated to some definitive methods of interrogation.
Langer lit up a Gauloise, tearing the blue pack open to get one out, wishing he had some of the American Lucky Strikes instead. He preferred his station to that of Gus. Up here there were only three "guests" in residence. In the first rooms were two Vietnamese officers who had defected to the French, giving themselves up with many of their former comrades in exchange for amnesty, and the promise they would be sent from Vietnam to France, where they would be safe from their brothers. The other guest was Lin, the sister of Thich. Langer had seen her only once. Lin was a perfect example of the best that the women of Indochina had to offer. Tall for her race, Thick, soft, raven hair that hung to the middle of her back when let down. She was slim and well formed with high breasts and a proud, erect manner to her that gave instant notice when she would enter a room. She still carried herself like an aristocrat, but Langer could see it was not easy for her. Her almond shaped eyes were full of pain and the bruises on her face were not yet completely faded.
This was one of the worst parts of the business of war and revolution. He didn't like it. War should be between grown men, not women and children. It was difficult not to feel sympathy for one who looked so beautiful and frail, but he knew that she had been directly responsible for the deaths of several hundred French
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