“American, aren’t you? Mind if I have my breakfast with you?”
Ken smiled, his mind racing, “Please do. I haven’t run into many fellow countrymen down here. Afraid you caught me in an embarrassing moment. Got my coffee down the wrong way.”
Brown ordered, thinking at the same time that the young man was a little eager to explain the coughing, then he extended his hand and said, “I’m J. Haggard Brown of New York City.” He figured that if he had been recognized, giving his name would do no harm, and if he hadn’t been, his name would mean nothing to the young man.
“I’m Karl Harvey. Glad to know you,” Ken said, smiling and shaking the beefy hand. The quick brain of Brown jumped onto the name, and dredged up the name of Lee’s underling — Kenneth Harder. Same initials. Maybe to agree with initials on luggage. Maybe just carelessness. He felt a sudden thrill of alarm.
“You know, Mr. Harvey,” Brown said gently, “you gave me a little shock when I saw you sitting there. Thought for a minute you were a fellow I met in Washington who works for a friend of mine named Lee. This fellow’s name is Ken Harder. Looks a lot like you.” As Brown spoke he kept his eyes closely on Harder’s face. He saw the involuntary narrowing of the eyes, and the slight change of color. He thought he detected a change in the rate of breathing. A careful observer can act much in the same way as a lie detector, watching carefully the changes induced by a sudden increase of adrenalin in the blood stream. Brown was a careful observer.
Ken felt trapped. He knew that he was giving himself away, and he couldn’t prevent it. He decided to take a long shot. “Well, to tell the truth, Mr. Brown,” he said, “my name is Ken Harder and I used to work for Henry Lee. Now I’m on State Department business, and traveling rather incognito. I would appreciate your keeping that information under your hat. I’m here on a question of rubber surveys.” He smiled at Brown with as much candor as he could manage.
“Harder, I’m a frank man. I have to be. I don’t have to tell you what my business is here. I know you boys have been gunning for me. I also know that you’ll never get me, because I can think and act quicker than you can. I have a pretty good idea why you’re here. Now there is no need for us to pretend to be dear friends. I’ve put you on your guard, but that is only because I don’t consider you dangerous either on or off guard. Just don’t get in my way. That’s all. If you stay out of my way you have a good chance of growing old and gray in the service of bureaucracy.”
Harder felt himself flush a bright crimson. He downed the rest of his coffee and walked away from the table. As he turned into the lobby he heard a chuckle that he was certain came from the throat of the offensive Mr. Brown. He felt childishly helpless. He went back up to his room and sat quietly for an hour re-planning his coming talk with Haidari Rama. He forced all emotions out of his mind and tried to make a plan that would take into account all of the factors introduced by the sudden appearance of Brown. He hadn’t realized that the organization would move so quickly. He grinned when he thought of the horror with which Bill and Henry Lee would face the fact of Harder versus Brown.
When the native who operated the launch asked to see Ken Harder’s permit to visit the island, Ken handed him a folded hundred rupee note. The little man smiled and stepped aside, permitting Ken to climb into the launch.
When they coasted up to the dock, Ken climbed out and walked up to the wire gate. The big barrier opened for another hundred rupees. In fifteen minutes he was sitting in the small visitor’s room, curiously appraising Haidari Rama. The Indian looked puzzled.
“Haidari Rama, my name will mean nothing to you, so there is no point in giving it to you. I know Brown, I know of you and I know of the concealed stores of narcotics in Rangoon.” The Indian started visibly, and Ken continued, “It is highly improbable that you will ever leave prison in view of your past record of dealing with the Japanese. You would, in the course of events, have to stand trial.”
“That is right, stranger. But Mr. Brown will see that I am not convicted. The stakes are high.”
“You mean, don’t you, that Mr. Brown will see that you never come to trial?”
Again the Indian looked puzzled, then his eyes widened. He lowered his voice, and said, “Do you imply that Mr. Brown will attempt to remove me from this island by force?”
“No, Haidari Rama. I mean that Brown will sec that your mouth is shut forever. You will die suddenly on this island, and soon. The stakes seem large to you, but to Mr. Brown they are something which he can afford to give up rather than take the chance of publicity that might land him in prison. Freedom is worth more than wealth. And he has other large interests.”
Haidari Rama sneered and said, “You try to frighten me! How could he kill me while I am on this island? It is foolish.”
“If I wanted to kill you,” Harder answered, “I would bribe my way out here again and talk to one of those here whose crime is so great that he cannot avoid execution. I would make certain that this man to whom I talked has a family who are poor. I would promise him to give his family five thousand rupees on the day he murders you. He would do it.”
Haidari sat in deep thought, his forehead wrinkled. It was obvious that he was thinking of some of the other men who were on the island, thinking of the freedom given the prisoners behind the wire, thinking of the hundred opportunities that any one of a hundred men would have to kill him. He glanced over at Harder, and there was fear behind his eyes, though he was trying to conceal it. He had seen the logic of the words spoken by the stranger with yellow hair. “And should what you say be true, what could I do about it? I am imprisoned.”
Harder lowered his voice, leaned over the table and outlined a plan. At first Haidari looked dubious, then frightened. Harder argued and pleaded until at last he got a nod of agreement from the slim brown man, but the fear was still there.
On the trip back to the mainland, Harder sat hunched in the launch, exhausted by the strain. It had begun to look as though it might work. As he stepped off onto the dock he thought he saw a familiar stocky figure dart around the corner of one of the godowns, but he couldn’t be certain.
That night he lay in his bed looking up at the dark ceiling, and there was murder in his heart. He felt that he had got enough of a confession from Brown to justify his acting as judge, jury and executioner. To eliminate Brown would be an act that would benefit the world. He tried to talk himself into it, but knew that he would be unable to. He cursed himself for being a meticulous, sensitive fool, but he knew he could never bring himself to the point of firing the cold-blooded shot, thrusting with the unsuspected knife.
Two days later, at dusk, a small plane droned its way down the coast, several miles out from the prison island. The guards in the towers glanced at it for a time, then, as it began to recede in the direction of Colombo, they turned away. The little plane circled and found a protecting haze at five thousand feet. Then it headed directly toward the island. At three thousand feet the motor cut out. Some of the prisoners heard the sudden ceasing of the drone, and peered into the sky, but it was the time of day when dusk obscured the vision and the great floodlights had not yet been turned on. One brown man stood on top of the highest mound in the center of the island. He was far from any guard tower. The terrain was rough and overgrown where he was standing, so that it was not a popular place for the prisoners to congregate. He peered into the gathering dusk and suddenly saw the gliding plane swooping down toward him. He waved his arms. A package tumbled out of the plane and smacked onto the rocks near him. He heard the rush of wind as the plane swept over him, and then the motor caught with a roar as the plane zoomed upward. Guards and prisoners all over the island were startled by the sudden roar. A few minutes later the floodlights were switched on, but the plane was far away. Haidari Rama buried the precious package under some loose rocks and headed across the island toward his hut.