The Golden Library, page 21
‘Not touch me,’ the old man warned him. His voice and expression were completely placid. ‘That no way to prove good intentions. Sifu T’ao ask you nicely. Not so nice next time.’
Ben’s extensive unarmed combat training had taught him all about the various nerve centres that could be activated in various parts of an opponent’s anatomy to inflict pain, numbness and even temporary paralysis. He’d used those techniques himself many times, to good effect. The tingling agony that was burning through his arm was like nothing he’d known before, but he was convinced that the old man had just triggered the nerve point by a fluke. Now he needed to get this interfering hermit, or whatever the hell he was, out of his way so he could move on with his purpose for being here. He went to shove him again, harder this time. And was proved wrong.
Dead wrong.
In his long and extensive experience of hand-to-hand fighting Ben had nearly always proved to be faster, more reflexive and more skilled than his opponent. On those few occasions when he’d had his hands full it had always been in going up against other Special Forces-trained men, sometimes multiple combatants at once, with superlative expertise in various combat systems like Krav Maga or Jiu-jitsu. This time around, dealing with a small, apparently frail and weak opponent several decades his senior, Ben was in for a shock. As he stepped quickly towards him to plant the flat of his hand against his chest and knock him back, the old man reacted more quickly than any human being Ben had ever seen. A striking cobra could scarcely have moved that fast. Before Ben could lay a hand on him, before he’d even had time to register what was happening, the old man’s own hand flashed out and struck a counter-blow high up on Ben’s chest. It landed just below where the outer edge of the collar bone met the muscle of the right shoulder.
Like before, the old man had used just the tips of his fingers, more of a darting jab than a strike – but its effect made Ben stagger backwards. It felt as if the life energy had suddenly been sapped out of him, completely drained away. In the same instant a volcano of unbelievably intense pain erupted inside his chest, filling his whole upper body and almost making him pass out. He drew a sharp breath and struggled to remain on his feet. What the hell had the crazy old geezer just done to him?
A lesson you soon learned in fighting was that you will always get hurt to some degree, and that pain was something to deal with and ignore as best you could until the fight was over and your opponent was put out of action. Ben steeled himself, marshalled his energy and stepped quickly back in for another attack. This time he came in with a double push-grab, intending to wrench the guy off his feet and dash him to the ground. It should have worked, but it didn’t. As though it were nothing, the old man deflected his attack with a sweeping two-arm opposite movement that was almost too fast for the human eye to follow, knocking his hands out to the sides. Then again out came the darting cobra strike, two-handed this time, aimed at both sides of Ben’s chest. Now the old man used his bony knuckles instead of his fingertips. He aimed for a point just a couple of inches higher than before and hit it with what seemed, and felt, like surgical precision.
The explosion of pain first time around had been severe. This time it was doubled, like a fireball blossoming inside him and ripping his internal organs to pieces. Ben’s vision flashed spangling white and then went murky, and for a fleeting instant he was convinced he was going to lose consciousness. His whole body felt cold and he could barely gather a breath but he blinked away the agony, gritted his teeth and summoned every shred of power he could to launch himself back in for a third attack.
Changing his strategy from an upper-body strike to one aimed lower down, he lashed out with a straight stamping kick at the old man’s legs. It was a move that could break an opponent’s knee, although all Ben wanted to do was sweep his feet out from under him – and if it had landed, the old man would have had no chance of staying upright. Then Ben would have wasted no time in moving in to stun him with a few more solid but non-lethal blows, and finally taken him out of the fight by applying the same strangle technique he’d used on the Shrimp.
At any rate, that was Ben’s plan. The old man had other ideas, however, and exactly as if he’d read Ben’s intentions a microsecond before he launched the kick, he skipped daintily out of reach and the sole of Ben’s shoe connected with empty air.
‘You are too slow,’ the old man said with a sly smile, the first expression that had shown on his face until now.
Very funny. Then try this on for size, Ben thought. If there was any strength left in his body at all, he was determined that he’d use it to land a good hard blow on his opponent. This time he didn’t intend to pull his punches. No more messing around. No more misguided allowances for his opponent’s inferior size and advanced years. This was the endgame, right here and right now.
Ben feinted right with a curving fist towards the side of the old man’s head, then diverted the strike for a left jab to the jaw instead. Even the best fighters could have been fooled by it, and the old man almost fell for the trick. Ben actually felt the silky brush of the old man’s hair on his knuckles as his fist came close to making contact – the closest he’d come yet, and the closest he ever would.
Now it was the his opponent’s turn to stop dancing around and bring matters to a conclusion. Before Ben could react, he was darting back like a snake and his wiry arms were lashing out from the folds of his robe to deliver a double blow to both sides of Ben’s neck, right below the ears at the rearward corners of his jawbone.
And that was it. After that, Ben felt no more. A dark mist rolled up from the ground, from above, from all around, swallowed him up and carried him away to a different world where nothing could reach him. He never even felt himself falling.
Chapter 31
When consciousness slowly filtered back into Ben’s mind, at first he had no idea how long he’d been asleep. It could have been days, weeks. He felt dizzy and disorientated, and it took several seconds to realise that he was no longer outside, among the moonlit ruins of the temple. Now he found that he was inside a stone-walled room or chamber, lying on a hard wooden bench with only a cushion under his head. The light came from flickering lanterns and filled the space around him with a soft glow and the smell of paraffin fumes.
After a few more seconds, Ben’s slowly returning senses told him that he wasn’t alone inside the chamber. The figures of four people stood peering down at him. One of them was a woman, and in his jumble of confusion he imagined at first that she was Shi Yun – but then he blinked and focused and realised that her older, unsmiling face was one he’d never seen before. By contrast, of the three men standing over him, two were familiar. The youngest was the same Jia Wenguang he’d followed all the way here from Xi’an, and the most aged was the crazy old man he’d encountered beneath the archway, now standing here as calm and still as when Ben had first seen him.
Both memories felt like a million years ago in some strangely altered reality. But no, they’d really happened, and Ben really was lying here having come off badly from that encounter. A dull ache pounded through his skull and his body felt as if he’d gone fifteen rounds with a heavyweight champion. He groaned and tried to sit up on the bench, but he could hardly move or even raise his head from the pillow.
‘Who the hell are you people?’ he managed to mutter.
It was the third, unfamiliar, man who replied. He was a few inches shorter than the tall, gangly Jia Wenguang next to him, and maybe twenty years older, putting his age at around forty-eight or fifty. He was neatly dressed in a dark suit, wore little round wire-rimmed spectacles and his thinning hair was slicked back in an old-fashioned style that made him appear quite dapper. He spoke carefully and deliberately in well-schooled English, with only the slightest accent.
‘My name is Jun Ming. These are my colleagues Jia Wenguang and Sifu T’ao, whom you already know, and this is Shoi Hie’ – motioning at the woman on his right. ‘You are here at our refuge, part of the temple that is below ground where our enemies cannot find us, or so we hope. Doubtless you have many questions to ask us, which will be answered in due course. First, allow me to apologise for the rough handling you received earlier. I’m afraid it was really your own doing, as you gave Sifu T’ao no choice.’
The old man offered Ben a knowing smile and a courteous bow of his head. He asked, ‘You are feeling all right?’
‘Oh, never better,’ Ben muttered back.
‘As it happens,’ said the man called Jun Ming, ‘we were expecting your visit. We have people watching the forest, and they observed your approach all the way from the road. One of these guards saw you shoot down the enemy surveillance drone, which was what helped to dispel our initial concern that you were one of their operatives. We now know for a fact that is not the case, having taken the liberty of ascertaining your identity by going through your pockets while you were, ah, resting. Your reason for being here in China is clear to us. Though all the same, you could have helped yourself considerably by offering Master T’ao your assurances that you had indeed visited our temple with peaceful intentions and were only seeking to gain knowledge, rather than to inflict violence. Violence is abhorrent to our values, and those of our creed.’
That’s bloody rich, Ben might have commented, lying there suffering from the humiliating treatment he’d been dished out by a dwarfish psychopath nearly old enough to be his grandfather. But he couldn’t get past something else Jun Ming had said a moment earlier. He frowned and replied, ‘Wait a minute. Enemy drone?’
Jun Ming nodded, looking perfectly earnest. ‘Yes, of course. Why, did you think it was ours? Then I’m afraid you really have no idea what is going on.’
‘I think that’s fairly clear,’ Ben said.
‘In which case, allow me to shed as much light on the matter as the limitations of time will permit. This is a war, my friend. We may be on the losing side for the moment, but we are fully committed to defending ourselves as best we can. And believe me, if we had been persuaded that you were one of the enemy, we would never have allowed you to enter our temple. Sifu T’ao would have killed you with his Dim Mak.’
Ben’s head was still a little fuzzy and he didn’t understand what Jun Ming was referring to. Seeing the blank look on his face Jun Ming went on, ‘Dim Mak, I should explain, is the ancient Chinese martial art of the death touch, an esoteric discipline harking back thousands of years to the earliest eras of our civilisation. Few practitioners have ever gained full mastery of this long-forgotten technique, and no man alive is as skilled in it as our wise friend here. He has not earned his title of “Sifu” lightly. It is only bestowed on the most eminent exponents of their craft. You are lucky to have survived the encounter.’
‘That’s just wonderful,’ Ben said, fixing them with a fierce look as the anger rose up inside him. ‘Now, enough of this bullshit. If you were watching me through the woods then you know I was tracking this scumbag here.’ He pointed at Jia. ‘Which means you also know why I dragged my arse all this way to your quaint little refuge. So where’s Lara Hartmann?’ By an effort of sheer willpower his voice had regained some of its strength, but the effort of speaking made him feel dizzy again, and once the words were out he lowered his head to the pillow.
The younger man showed no response to being called a scumbag, which either meant he was supremely well-adjusted or didn’t understand English. Jun Ming tutted disapprovingly. ‘It’s regrettable that you should resort to insulting language, when you remain so ignorant of the situation. I hope all will soon become clear. As for the young lady, I can assure you that she has been well looked after. The additions made to the temple, courtesy of our patron, allow us to provide a certain amount of simple, but adequate, accommodation.’
Whoever this mysterious patron might be, Ben neither knew nor cared at this point. Jun Ming’s revelation made him want to sit bolt upright on the wooden bench, but again the dizziness and nausea overwhelmed him and he slumped back down. ‘She’s here?’
Jun Ming looked at him benevolently. ‘I sense you are in some difficulty. It will take a little time for the Qi to return to your system. Perhaps you would like some water? Tea?’
‘I don’t suppose you have whisky,’ Ben muttered in reply.
‘Sadly, no alcohol is permitted in the temple. Let us bring you some water, and perhaps something to restore your strength. Then we will talk more.’
They all left the chamber, except for the old man, who stayed quietly watching over Ben. Ben had the feeling he was being guarded in case he tried to escape. But even if he’d been in a fit state to attempt it, he was too intrigued and excited to want to.
So Lara was alive, after all his doubts and fears. The relief flooded through him as the news sank in, along with the renewed feelings of mingled sadness, disgust and anger that others hadn’t been so fortunate.
Sifu T’ao was looking at Ben with an enigmatic half-smile and a twinkle in his eyes. ‘I am sorry for your discomfort,’ he said. ‘Effects of Qi drainage will not last very long.’
‘Qi?’ Ben tried to pronounce it the way they did, like ‘chee’.
‘Qi is life force,’ the master replied. ‘Govern all living creatures and everything in the universe. Just as knowledgeable healer able to balance and restore Qi to sick patient, true art of combat allow us to deplete life force of opponent at will.’
‘Just with a touch?’
Ben was genuinely interested, partly out of professional curiosity, in understanding what had been done to him. The old man looked pleased to be able to have a conversation with a fellow warrior, albeit one whom he’d made to look like a raw apprentice. He pointed at the spot on Ben’s upper chest where the first serious strike had, quite literally, knocked the energy out of him. ‘That is first lung point,’ he explained. ‘In Chinese we call it Zhongfu. You would call it Central Palace. In acupuncture, very powerful healing point. But in art of Dim Mak, practitioner use it to drain the Qi from opponent’s lung meridian. Felt great pain, yes?’
‘Like nothing on earth,’ Ben replied quite truthfully, and the old man looked satisfied. ‘But then you hit me again on both sides, two inches higher. What was that?’
‘Ah. That is Yunmen, or, as you would say, Cloud Door. More pain. Strike here will also cause Qi drainage, but for whole body. Loss of so much energy so suddenly can bring unconsciousness. Skilled practitioner able to use it to cause delayed death.’
‘Delayed death? You mean you can determine when your enemy would die?’
The Sifu nodded sagely. ‘After one day, two day, five day, opponent drop dead from exploded heart. Just so.’ He snapped his fingers. ‘Everyone scratching head wondering what happen, but only Dim Mak master know real reason.’
‘So if my heart suddenly explodes two days from now, I’ll know who to blame.’
‘This not happen. I not want to kill you. I only want to cause more pain. That why I change finger strike into fist, to hit muscle and sinew channels.’
‘It worked,’ Ben said.
The old man smiled again. ‘Normally no man can fight on after this, but you are strong. I very surprised. So then I strike point called San Jiao seventeen, Yifeng, for final knockout. We name this one the Windscreen.’
Ben asked, ‘The neck points?’ The area below both ears was still very tender and sore.
Sifu T’ao nodded. ‘This point very deadly. If struck with true intent, light blow able to cause knockout if direction of strike come from correct angle. Just so.’ He showed with his slender, bony hands, tracing an imaginary line of about forty-five degrees from each side of the neck through to the opposite side, about halfway up the jaw bone. ‘If struck from behind ear and into jaw bone on same side,’ he warned, ‘it cause instant death. All depend on skill and intention of practitioner. Easy for novice to make mistake. I decide to angle strike to knock you out, but not kill.’
‘Thanks for holding back,’ Ben said.
‘You are welcome,’ the old man replied, bowing.
Seconds later the door opened and Jun Ming, Jia Wenguang and the woman called Shoi Hie returned to the chamber. Shoi Hie was carrying an ornate enamelled tray with a glass of water and a porcelain cup containing some kind of strong-smelling and steaming hot concoction. Taking the cup from the tray, Jun Ming explained, ‘Shoi Hie is a master herbalist, and has prepared you this powerful tonic that will aid in your recovery and encourage the depleted Qi to quickly return to the system. Here, drink it while it is hot. Then we will talk.’
Ben managed to prop himself up a little on the bench, accepted the cup from Jun Ming’s hands and took a sip of the scalding liquid. It tasted horribly bitter, but he persevered, and to his amazement within a minute or two he was already starting to feel recovered enough to sit up.
‘All right, so let’s talk,’ he said. ‘But first I need some proof that you’re telling me the truth.’
Chapter 32
Jun Ming spread his hands in a gesture of acquiescence. ‘I understand. You wish to see the young lady? A perfectly reasonable request. I will have her brought from her quarters right away, so that you can see for yourself that we’re true to our word.’ He turned to Jia and spoke a soft command in Chinese. Jia nodded, headed for the door and disappeared.
Turning back to Ben, Jun Ming said with a smile, ‘I really cannot blame you for having formed the wrong impression of us, Mr Hope. It was natural to assume, under the circumstances, that our associates had abducted the poor girl for some nefarious purpose. And no doubt that was also her conviction, when we first brought her here. To begin with, we were concerned that she might try to escape, and so we had no choice but to house her in a rather unpleasant cellar that, sadly, must have confirmed her impression that she had indeed been taken prisoner by vicious kidnappers. Having managed to persuade her of the reality of her situation, more recently we were able to move her to somewhat better quarters.’
