It’s just after midnight. My Internet search for a GSS office in Shanghai is still unsuccessful after more than four hours. The last Lone Star is empty and I decide to call it a day.
At three a.m., my bladder pressure wakes me up, nature invoking its right. At night, I never switch on the light when going to the toilet. If you turn on the light in the bathroom, your eyes adjust to the brightness, and on the way back to bed, you’re completely blind. I once ran into the end of an open door leaf, which was extremely painful. I almost broke my nose. Ever since, the light stays off at night.
I reach the bathroom without any incidents. On the way back to bed, I’m in good spirits, looking forward to having a good night’s rest. But just as I come out of the bathroom, my blood freezes in my veins.
At first, it’s only a kind of reflex. Before I realize what's going on, my body completely switches to alarm mode. I stop, drawing tense like a bow. Something is wrong, but what?!
On the far left corner of my eye, I saw something - a faint light. Not in here, but over in the building across the street. It must be in the room that I rented and paid using Steve’s credit card.
I stare over, but nothing happens. I’m sure I saw a weak, white light beam from the corner of my eye; a light just like the ones that burn all night in a hotel corridor (doesn’t cost much to leave the light on all night - it’s nuclear power!).
Someone opened and then closed the door of Steve's hotel room.
For a while, I hardly dare to breathe. I stand in the middle of a dark room and stare at the building across the street.
Slowly, I doubt my perception and am on the verge of dismissing everything as illusion, when suddenly a bright yellow, fiery, flickering breaks through the night. The same flickering I saw while on the run from Kahoolawe; more precisely, that I saw when they were shooting at us in the speedboat.
I can’t hear anything, but I know someone is shooting at the bed with a machine gun.
Shortly after, someone switches on the lights. Although you can’t see me from the other room, I stealthily pike jump behind my bed and carefully keep watch.
On the other side of the street, two masked men are in Steve’s room. Both are carrying machine guns with silencers.
The bed where Steve should have slept is punctured, down feathers from pillows and blankets fly through the air. Unlike me, the armed gentlemen are obviously disappointed to have shot an empty bed. They check the bathroom, open the closets and eventually leave the room.
I should be happy. Andrews has fallen into one of my traps. But I don’t feel like celebrating. On the contrary, I proceed to vomit into the toilet!
Shortly thereafter, I lie in my bed trying to count the number of attempts on my life that have taken place in the last few days. But I'm too messed up, and it really doesn’t matter. So far I’ve escaped every time, but one thing is for sure: at some point my luck will run out and Andrews will get me. Unless I get him first.
With no hope to get any more sleep, I toss back and forth and can’t believe what a mess I’ve gotten myself into. Shortly after five, I get up and shower. After two more hours of unsuccessful Internet research, I'm having breakfast. It’s now half-past seven and the dining room slowly fills up.
At about nine, I leave the hotel for the last time. When I flag down a tuk-tuk and tell the driver to bring me to Xikang Road no. 899, I don’t know where I'll end up in the evening, but certainly not in my old hotel. I start this day by going to Yi Jia Hotel, my second trap. This is the one I set for Christine. I told her I’d be staying there. If the water glass is knocked over and the bed is shot to death, she’s playing me.
Nine a.m. is a good time to check a room. Hotel corridors are busy at this time of day. Tourists are on their way to breakfast while businessmen are rushing to their appointments and, in the middle of all this, the cleaning crew starts working. In the middle of all this bustling activity, no firing squad will start shooting all over the place with automatic weapons.
If you don’t want to attract any attention, you should act as normally as possible: in the lobby, I greet the receptionist I've never seen before as if he were my oldest friend, take an apple from a fruit bowl, toss it casually in the air, catch it again, bite into it and stroll whistling to the elevator.
The "do not disturb" sign is still hanging on my door, and the water glass only tips over when I open the door a bit clumsily.
Just when the tension vanishes and I think, "Christine is clean," the bathroom door flies open and a masked Asian jumps out at me. Before I can react, he rams a knife deep into my throat!
No, just joking; there’s nobody in the bathroom, and my neck is completely knife-free. Christine can be trusted.
With this knowledge, I stop in one of the many small restaurants in the exhibition area to think about what to do next. However, while reviewing my accomplishments over a cup of coffee, I realize I have no further starting point in Shanghai.
My trip was not very productive; I was hoping for more. But at least we now have a name: Mrs. Evans. This is at least a small lead.
After a final coffee, I feel depressed and head to the Transrapid and quietly say goodbye to Shanghai.
I decide to make my return trip a bit more complicated, because I don’t want to make it too easy for Andrews to follow me. At the airport, my mind is made up. The first stop will be Beijing, and then I will take the next Chinese domestic flight, wherever it’s going. From there to Japan and then finally off to Hawaii.
Disgruntled, I stroll along the airport. I take a look here and there, checking for suitable flights. As I’m standing at a counter and just about to buy a ticket to Beijing, my phone rings. The number on the display begins with the Germany prefix, followed by the Hamburg area code. Must be Alex. Without another word I leave the counter and press the green receiver.
"Yo," I answer.
"Hi! I've got something you’ll certainly find interesting. Or did you already find out more about GSS?"
"No, Alex, far from it. The Internet is empty. After six hours of online research, I didn’t find a single entry about Mrs. Evans or the GSS, let alone a warehouse in Shanghai. But last night the bed I was supposed to be sleeping in got shot to pieces."
"Oh. Then I shouldn’t tell you why I’m calling. Drive to the airport and get out of there. Fly straight to Germany and forget about all this shit!"
"I’m at the airport already. But I can’t just leave. In the eyes of Andrews and whomever he’s working with, Steve and I are a threat. They’ll follow us to Germany. We need to drive them out of business, or we’ll be admiring the radishes from below very soon."
"Okay," Alex thinks for a while, then answers: "Then I’ll tell you, and it’s up to you what you do with the information. A friend of mine was once at the GSS bonded warehouse in Shanghai. It's on Gangdian Road, No. 744, a pretty shady harbor district. It’s a two-story building. On the ground floor, there’s a small storage space, and on the top floor, offices. Since the leasing companies usually organize the loading and unloading of vessels, it’s normal that shipping companies only run small storehouses. These warehouses are only used for parcels that don’t get processed by the leasing company.
I’m not sure about GSS though, since they apparently don’t work with any leasing company.
If you want to find out more about the shipping company, you need to get into the offices. I’m not sure how to go about doing that; all I know is that you need to be extremely careful and don’t go there alone. Maybe it’s even better to go to the police now!"
"Thanks Alex! I'll think about it. Somehow I don’t think I have a great chance the police will take my story seriously. But even if they did, what if they go to the GSS warehouse and find nothing? I’d look pretty stupid then."
"True. Maybe it really is best if you beat it and go into hiding. After a while, Andrews will forget."
"Oh no, if I quit now, I’ll just be paranoid for the next few months and end up losing my mind. Besides, I’m interested;
I want to know what’s really going on here!"
"Tom, I wish you all the best! Write me every day to keep me in the loop. If I think of anything else, I’ll email you."
With these words, we say goodbye and, without even having noticed, I'm already in the Transrapid racing back to the city at 260 mph.
From the end station, I follow the same route as I did three days ago. Across from the China Construction Bank, I sit in a cafe, order a Cappuccino and flip open the netbook. Mrs. Evans lives across the street on the twenty-fourth floor. While I type in the address of the warehouse in Google Maps, I keep an eye on the entrance on the other side of the road.
Just as a road map of Shanghai opens on the screen, Mrs. Evans steps onto the sidewalk.
I can’t believe it! Why didn’t I think of having a coffee here earlier?
A black SUV, followed by a black S-Class Mercedes with tinted windows and armored wheels appear. Mrs. Evans gets into the Benz and the convoy moves on.
I slam closed the netbook, hurriedly stuff it into the backpack and storm out. Shame about the coffee that was just served.
The motorcade with Mrs. Evans turns two blocks up the street. I run screaming and arm flailing to the curb. I need a tuk-tuk. Why the hell there is there no traffic jam now? And why is no tuk-tuk for as far as I can see?? Bloody hell, there’s always a traffic jam on this street and it’s usually crammed with tuk-tuks. Everything’s going wrong. Two minutes later, there’s still no tuk-tuk in sight.
The chase ended before it actually began. It would be impossible to ever find Evans' motorcade in the street clutter of this mega city.
On the bright side, my coffee is still steaming. The waitress gives me an extremely irritated look, but I don’t care, as long as they don’t call anyone in with a straitjacket.
I’m unlikely to get a second chance to follow Mrs. Evans today, so I check out the warehouse on Google Street View and decide to take a look at the thing in person.
I pay for the coffee, step onto the road and, right in front of me, a tuk-tuk stops. The driver offers to take me anywhere. I ask him why he wasn’t here ten minutes ago and climb into his vehicle without further explanation.
Alex wasn’t exaggerating: the area is truly shady. You wouldn’t want to go for a walk here in the dark. Most of the sidewalk slabs are broken and, between the potholes, there’s only very little of the actual road left. Most properties are surrounded by six-foot-high, chain-link fences embellished with barbed wire on top. The whole area looks as if it had been forgotten by the city cleaning crews a very long time ago. It's dusty, garbage is everywhere, flat plastic bottles accumulate in the potholes and, in the wire fences, tattered plastic bags flutter in the wind.
I’m somewhere between the civilized world and the harbor. Containers get unloaded and goods get stored here. There are no cars, cafes or even pedestrians. The whole area is less inviting than a manure pile.
I actually wanted to explore the area on foot, but suddenly it no longer seems like such a good idea. I ask my driver to drive around the block slowly. Even he seems a little uneasy about the whole thing. We repeatedly almost get run over by trucks that are not used to seeing smaller vehicles here.
House number 744, unlike the other halls in the area, has no signboard. This fits in with everything I know about GSS.
The building is about 120 feet from the road. From the outside, it looks just like all the other buildings here. It’s surrounded by a chain-link fence complete with the compulsory barbed-wire crown. It also has a large gated thoroughfare for trucks and a gravel front yard. On the ground floor, I can see a loading dock, a roller gate and a steel door. On the first floor, there are offices with windows, some of which are barred, and others not. The property is completely fenced in and bordered from right, left and back by the adjoining property. The only way to access the site is from the front.
With this knowledge, I let myself get chauffeured back into town and ask the driver to drop me off at a hardware store.
For the fence, a small pair of bolt cutters should do. The steel door will be more of a problem. I figure I could just hit with a sledgehammer. Unfortunately, sledgehammers are quite heavy and bulky. I guess even in Shanghai you’d draw undesired attention to yourself if you’re walking through a business park at night, dressed in dark clothes, with a bolt cutter in one hand and a sledgehammer casually shouldered in the other.
I figured out you can open a lock by drilling into it; I once did that with my old car. However, I also figured out I’m not very good at it – I only got that old Minivan door open after half an hour.
I don’t want to stand around in front of the warehouse for that long with a loud drill in my hand. In addition, a cordless high-performance drill is not much handier or more inconspicuous than a sledgehammer.
Searching for a solution, a locksmith's hammer catches my eye. With its five-pound head weight, it represents an acceptable compromise between a normal lightweight hammer and a twenty-pound sledgehammer. It also fits well in the hand and can be worn perfectly concealed. Whether it’s fit for door smashing, only time will tell.
I take a pack of cable ties as I pass by the rack. As I learned on Kahoolawe: you always need those! In addition, a chisel and a small flashlight both find their way into my cart.
I still have some time until nightfall. I buy dark clothes and give my old ones to a poor street boy. The good deed for the day is done, which should bring me some luck for the night.
As I turn onto Gangdian Road a few hours later, I’m not sure if the expression "under the veil of darkness" is appropriate in my situation. To be honest, I’m petrified!
At least I do have a plan: fast in, clean kill, fast out. Quite simple, and it seemed to work fine on Kahoolawe!
Maybe this isn’t going to be as easy as I thought. Apart from the steel door, I suddenly realize I’ve got a new problem to deal with. During the day, I didn’t notice, but the GSS warehouse is sitting in the bright beam of the only streetlight as far as the eye can see! Shit!
Someone could likely spot me from a hundred yards away when I start cutting through the fence here.
Maybe I should have given not only my clothes to the street boy, but also a few dollars, because my luck seems to have completely run out. Which is the only warehouse with two guards standing out front beside a burning barrel? Why, the GSS of course!
The rest of the area is darker than the backside of the moon and just as abandoned. Only the crappy warehouse where I want to commit my first burglary is festively lit and guarded to boot. It can’t be true. Double shit!
I turn around to avoid walking right into the bright cone of light on the street. Back on the main road, I turn left and then left again. Now I’m on the street parallel to Gangdian Road and walk along it until I'm standing in front of the warehouse bordering the backside of GSS. It’s dark and no watchmen are in sight. All right.
For safety's sake, I go farther and turn left again twice until I’m on the other side of the light cone in front of GSS. All other warehouses in this district are unguarded and dark. It would definitely be much more difficult if security guards were sitting in front of each building.
So I head back to the street behind GSS. I’m also starting to feel a little more protected by the darkness. Still, my heart’s beating violently as I pull out the bolt cutters. The first wire makes a soft "clack" as it yields to the gentle pressure of the hardened stainless steel blades. Twenty-five "clacks" later, I’m on the other side of the wire mesh fence and carefully crossing the property.
The GSS warehouse is about nine feet from the fence. To the side, I can see the light of the streetlight out front. The night watchmen must still be in front of the house. If they were to circle the building, I’d be able to see their silhouettes against the light.
Using the flashlight, I illuminate the back wall of the building. I was hoping for a window or even an unlocked door. But, no, the wall doesn’t even have a vent. Did I already say "shit" before?!
On the back wall, I discover a fire escape, which awakens the faint hope that I might be able to sneak into the building through the roof.
"Clack," "clack," "clack…” and I’m inside. As long as the guards don’t decide to do a patrol around the building, everything is good.
Quietly I climb up the ladder. At the top, there’s the first good news of the night. I’m standing on a sturdy flat roof and don’t have to balance on a loud, creaking and cracking tin roof. Below me is the warehouse and, at the other end of the building, are the offices along the entire top floor. The streetlight is only slightly higher than the office floor, so I stay in the shadow of the upper floor. It really is pitch black; I see nothing at all. Using a flashlight could reveal my presence, but, on the other hand, it won’t help if I take a loud, rattling stumble over a rusty ventilation shaft. I pull my shirt off, wrap the flashlight in it and switch it on. With a few layers of t-shirt over it, only a soft lighting penetrates; enough to see where I’m going, but not enough to get noticed.
Half way to Hawaii Page 15
