The Mystery of Yamashita's Map by James McKenzie Read Free Book Online Page A

tonight.’
     
    Lisa asked, ‘How does that help us? We can’t follow them. We don’t know where she is or when she might be leaving.’
     
    The professor tapped his forehead. ‘Listen, Lisa, they are driving her back tonight.’
     
    ‘Yes, but I still do not see how that helps us, they could drive her anywhere.’
     
    ‘To an island?’
     
    Lisa stopped for a moment. ‘If the police are driving her to an island it must have a bridge. Why would they not say, be flying her back, or sailing her back. How many inhabited islands are connected to the mainland via bridge?’
     
    Lisa stood and rushed off to the reference section to see if she could find a detailed map of Hong Kong, while the professor sat back in his chair. The smile on his face gave something of his satisfaction away and the slight tapping of his fingers on the desk suggested the rest.
     
    Lisa came back with an arm full of maps and booklets.
     
    ‘There are five main bridges to inhabited islands. There are smaller ones but I guess records there would not be up to date anyhow. There is the Tsing Ma Bridge, of course – we can discount that, the Kap Sui Mun between Ma Wan and Lantau, the Ting Kau that connects the airport with Lantau, the Tsing Yi bridge that connects Tsing Yi and Tsing Chau and, lastly, the Ap Lei Chau bridge.’
     
    The professor looked impressed. ‘Good work,’ he said. ‘Out of all those only the last leads to a small island off the mainland, Ap Lei Chau. It would be obvious that the police could use the bridge to take her home. There is a large population there and it is an easy place to hide if you wanted to. I am sure, however, that they would keep records of births, deaths and such like.’
     
    ‘Shall I get their number?’ Lisa asked.
     
    ‘Yes,’ the professor replied.
     
    Lisa returned with the number for the small police station that was housed on the island of Ap Lei Chau. The professor looked at it quizzically. ‘Good job,’ he said. ‘Very good job indeed.’ Outside the city bustled and the air was thick with smoke and exhaust fumes. In amongst the traders that floated by the docks sat a man, thirty-five, one of those people that you find difficult to place. He looked Caucasian, yet there was something distinctly Oriental about him. His face had the easy grace of someone who had once had money but had had to come to terms with losing most of it in needless ways. On his head was perched an American air force cap that jarred with the dirty white shirt that he wore open to the waist. It was early in the morning and already Joe Hutchins had been drinking.
     
    He was finding it hard to sleep these days. It was too noisy for one thing, this big city; there were too many things going on that he wanted to be a part of. Every time he closed his eyes he would think of something and have to get out of bed, but that wasn’t all. There were the visions. He called them visions but they were dreams, really – strange, weird dreams that seemed to come out of nowhere – that had suddenly started to affect him. Dreams of being trapped, of being in the dark, of smoke and flame and of death. He knew the dreams were leading him somewhere but he didn’t know where. So he drank and he drank heavily. It was barely midday and he had already finished a healthy bottle of bourbon, an American drink if ever there was one. Daddy would be proud! He raised the bottle and gave a toast to the brave boys of the American air force of which his father had been part. ‘Here’s to you, Pops,’ he said to no one and swigged another mouthful, gulping it down, trying not to bring it back up again. He was seated at one of the small stalls that grow like mushrooms about the Hong Kong waterfront. In front of him was a bowl of noodles that he had no intention of eating. Every now and then to appease his stomach he would buy a bowl of noodles and stare at it for a while before taking another sip of bourbon and throwing the whole bowl away.