The Scar by Sean Ellis

Author:Sean Ellis [Ellis, Sean]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: spy, hero, secret agent x, adventure, golden age, pulp, thriller, bond
Publisher: Sean Ellis
Published: 2011-01-28T00:00:00+00:00

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He had been on the trail of the Chinaman for over a week now, and he had been David Hyde for almost as long. The real Inspector Hyde was dead, murdered by the Chinaman’s assassins, wrapped in iron chains and dropped in Kowloon Bay. But the Agent didn’t think the Chinaman knew that, and even if he did, a visit from the dead policeman might be just the thing to shake him up.

But it wasn’t time to strike just yet. He still wasn’t sure what the Chinaman was up to, nor was he absolutely certain that his foe was indeed the diabolical Dr. Wu Sun, or perhaps one of his chief lieutenants. So he watched and waited, stowing away on the freighter as it churned across two oceans to New York. Hidden in the ship’s ventilation pipes, he had overheard the Chinaman speaking of a second ship with “the cargo,” whatever that was, following behind them and due to make port in a couple days.

Whatever he’s planning, the Agent thought, that cargo is the key.

The Chinaman had no intention of lingering on his ship however. A hired towne car arrived to pick him up, and the Agent had to hastily follow in a taxicab.

He had half expected that the sedan would venture into Chinatown, where the villain might easily blend in with his kinsmen, but to his surprise the car bypassed Canal Street and headed onto the Brooklyn Bridge. Once across, they meandered past the brownstones of Brooklyn Heights, until quite without warning, the sedan stopped. The Agent hastily exited the taxi a full block behind the Chinaman, and then lingered in the shadows until his foe entered a building on the corner of Montague Street.

The Agent did not immediately venture into the lion’s den however. Instead, he moved out from his hiding place and strolled calmly past the brownstone, as if he was an ordinary New Yorker enjoying an evening walk. From the corner of his eye, he scrutinized the building; it was a unique structure in the neighborhood—the brick edifice was an unnatural crimson hue, and the exterior was decorated with grotesque dragons.

The Chinaman, it seemed, possessed a flair for the theatrical.

The attack came so stealthily that he had no memory of it. One moment he was in the shadows, peering at the brownstone, and the next he was laying supine on a table in a room that looked like it might be the Devil’s workshop. He came awake struggling against the thick leather restraints that held him fast. Only when his primal panic subsided did he relax and take in his surroundings.

The room had the musty feel of a cellar. There were no windows, only bare concrete walls, illuminated with an eerie red glow. Directly above him, stretched out across the ceiling was a magnificent and terrible image of a dragon—a stylized wingless Chinese serpentine figure, unlike the rough bas-relief on the exterior of the building. As he studied the mural, he became aware of another presence in his prison.

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