Twelve Hours To Destiny Read Free

towards him, scarcely more than a hundred yards away now. Chu Hsi saw the gunners standing by on the deck, saw the two officers relaxed near the bow, but not too relaxed. They were prepared for trouble. One of the officers cupped his hands, yelled to them in halting Chinese. It was an order to lower their sail and prepare to be bordered.
    Chu Hsi hesitated for only a fraction of a second, then signalled sharply with his right hand. He knew that the small square hatch covering the muzzle of the gun had been removed some ten seconds before, ready for his signal.
    Suddenly, from just below the bow of the junk, a red-tipped bolt of flame and smoke lanced out. The sound came a split second later, to be followed by the explosion as the heavy shell smashed into the midships of the torpedo boat. Instinctively, Chu Hsi had hurled himself to the deck. Two more shells followed in rapid succession. From that range, it was utterly impossible to miss. The men on board the British boat died literally without knowing that anything was wrong. The deep echoes faded gradually over the sea. Bits of debris clattered on to the deck of the junk as Chu Hsi pushed himself to his feet. The torpedo boat was going down, sinking fast. She was heavily on fire amidships but the explosions had evidently smashed the bottom out of her and fifteen seconds later, the vessel canted sharply to starboard and slid beneath the surface in a hissing steam, as the fuel tanks erupted just beneath the water.
    Twenty minutes later, and two miles further offshore, the sleek shape of the waiting submarine nosed out of the water and the junk was manoeuvred alongside. Chao Lin was stirring into consciousness as he was picked up and lifted on board.
    *
    Leaning sideways in his seat, Commander Steve Carradine peered through the small square window and watched the filmy clouds reach up and envelop the Viscount as they began to reduce height. The stewardess paused beside his seat, glanced archly down at him.
    “Would you fasten your seatbelt, sir.”
    Carradine grinned, nodded. Deftly, he clicked the belt shut around his waist, leaned back. The plane lurched momentarily as they hit an air pocket, the note of the engines changed abruptly for a second. The grin stayed on his lips as he watched the girl swaying along the aisle towards the pilot’s cabin, but inwardly, his stomach was in a turmoil. There were only two things he disliked about their travel. Taking off and getting down again. The bit in the middle seldom troubled him, he could somehow managed to forget that he was suspended several thousand feet above solid ground in a steel shell and withdraw his mind into a small, private world. The clouds thinned and he was able to see the chequered fields and lacing roads and then, somewhere ahead, the wide criss-cross of the runways of London airport, with the toy-like control tower a little to one side.
    He let his breath go from between his teeth, wished that the red NO SMOKING sign was not showing above the interconnecting door. The Viscount put its sleek nose down towards the distant runway. The shrill whine of the engines deepened. There was a rush of air past the wings and fuselage. Then they were skimming over the countryside. He glimpsed roads and houses just beneath him, then the concrete lane of the runway almost on the same level as the window. A bump as the under carriage wheels touched, a pause and then a further jar. The plane wobbled slightly, then steadied as they touched down.
    As he waited for Customs clearance, Carradine tried to figure out why his vacation in Southern France should have been so abruptly ended, why his presence was needed so urgently here in London. God knows his idyllic spells were few and far between. It just wasn’t fair for them to be interrupted in this way.
    “All right, Mr. Carradine. You’re clear to go through.” The customs officer nodded across at him, scribbled some unintelligible marking chalk on his two cases and slid them