The Mercenaries Read Online Free PDF

African?’
    ‘No.’
    Ira studied Sammy from the corner of his eye, then he stood up abruptly and began to sweep the bills from his desk.
    ‘Better wheel him in,’ he said.
     
    To his surprise, it was a Chinese who was sitting in the big new Packard that drew to a stop by the ramshackle office. He was fanning himself with a straw hat as he opened the door and climbed out.
    Ira thrust out his hand. ‘Understand you want to do business with me,’ he said.
    ‘That’s correct.’ The other was a tall good-looking man with a long thin face and the high-bridged nose of North China. His clothes were immaculately cut and he spoke excellent English.
    Ira gestured at the office where Sammy was standing by the door like a commissionaire. ‘Better come in,’ he suggested. ‘It’s not much of a place to talk business. Normally we always did what we wanted at a hotel.’
    What he meant was that most of his decisions had been made over a drink in a bar, but it passed as the truth. The Chinese seemed unperturbed.
    Inside the office, Ira pulled a chair forward and indicated a second one which Sammy held out, and the Chinese introduced himself.
    ‘My name is Lao Tse-L’Ai,’ he said quietly. ‘I’m searching for pilots to go to China to fly aeroplanes. I heard about you.’
    Ira’s eyes flickered towards Sammy standing in the comer.
    ‘China,’ he said slowly. He knew nothing about China save that it appeared to be retarded and medieval and that the Chinese did everything backwards--from signing their names to writing letters. He had a mental vision of one of Lao’s aeroplanes flying tail-first and almost burst out laughing.
    He pulled himself together quickly. ‘What sort of flying?’ he asked.
    Lao gestured. ‘Perhaps I had better explain,’ he said. ‘After the Manchu dynasty was overthrown by revolutionaries in 1911 the republic’s first president was Yuan Shih-K’Ai, but when he insisted on making himself emperor, his generals in Yunnan rose in revolt, and, as he fled, defeated, it suddenly occurred to them that, since they had the troops, they, not the politicians, had become the holders of power in China.’
    Ira nodded, wishing he knew more about Chinese history. During recent years the Far East had been somewhat overlooked in the greater events taking place in Europe and remarkably little of what had been happening there had ever found its way into Western newspapers.
    Lao had drawn a deep breath and was gesturing with a long pale hand. ‘Since that time,’ he said, ‘the republic has become the sport of the military and, though there has been a succession of cabinets both in Peking and in the south, both assuming the name of government, both are really controlled by their own generals.’
    Ira studied the Chinese warily. He seemed completely in control of the interview. ‘Whose side are you on?’ he asked bluntly.
    Lao avoided a direct answer. ‘I am on the side of democracy,’ he said.
    Ira pushed a packet of cigarettes across. ‘Go on,’ he encouraged.
    Lao took a cigarette and lit it carefully, the bony structure of his narrow Manchu features heightened by the glow of the match flame.
    ‘These generals,’ he went on, ‘support or betray for money whichever government they represent They organise the opium trade, sell positions, tax the people and finally retire to Japan or Singapore with immense fortunes. They don’t fight much, preferring instead to offer or accept bribes. The poor are oppressed, and the soldiers are like bandits in uniform. The whole of China has become a battlefield.’
    ‘Where do I come in?’
    Lao leaned forward. There is a general in the north,’ he said. ‘General Tsu Li-Fo, the Baptist General, the Warlord of the South-West. He is a disciple of Sun Yat-Sen, the great Liberal thinker, and he has sworn to end it all. He is a Christian and, with the backing of the Peking government, is gathering an army to give China back its democracy.’
    Ira was suitably