FEARLESS FINN'S MURDEROUS ADVENTURE

by Mike Coony

  I took the first opportunity I got to speak to my secretary alone. Sui-Lin’s achieved no small thing getting us through the Russian-Mongolian border crossing without travel visas or immigration examinations, and I thanked her for her help. I pointed out, however, that we’ll have problems explaining why we don’t have Mongolian and Chinese entry stamps in our passports when we try to cross into the British-controlled Kowloon Peninsula.

  “No pwoblem, Mister Flynn, no pwoblem, ” she said, in a mock Chinese accent. Then, with a coy grin, she took Mongolian, PRC and Hong Kong immigration stamps from her handbag.

  Jaysus, I’ve got to seriously re-evaluate Ms. Sui-Lin Rodriquez. Naturally, I’m wondering how she’s managed to come so well prepared. Gerry, or Vincenzo rather, was also able to magic up passport stamps in and out of the Philippines…and he provided Sui-Lin to me. Even so, her well prepared arrival halfway through our journey raises some serious questions about Ms. Sui-Lin Rodriguez and Vincenzo.

  Mac’s philosophy on gift horses is never far from my thoughts. Even if Sui-Lin was ordered to help us by her real boss, why would she risk years in a gulag to help three gweilos who are nothing to her? I have no satisfactory answer, and that’s what keeps nagging at me. I haven’t forgotten Vincenzo’s comment that she comes from someone he’d not want to upset. I always assumed that someone is Uncle Sui, but that’s seeming less and less likely.

  ———

  We’re nearing Erlyan and the Mongolian-Chinese frontier. I told Anna and Nakita Sylvina to stay in the compartment while Sui-Lin and I go to the dining car.

  “Sui-Lin, what’s the best way to handle the border crossing?”

  “As before, you must stay in the compartment with the blinds down. The formalities will take between seven and eight hours. And once again, there will be a diplomatic seal on the compartment door.”

  “Do you think it will fool them?”

  “Yes, I’m pretty sure it will. But I’ll join the border guards in the corridor and show them…this.” Sui-Lin reached into her bag and produced a large, ivory envelope. “This is a personal invitation from Leader Deng for your party to attend a private meeting in Shenzhen. It is inconceivable that a minor official will question such a document.” She handed me a very imposing letter on official PRC headed notepaper, imprinted with an even more remarkable stamp, or chop, as the Chinese call them. I reminded myself to add forger, and or purveyor of counterfeit documents, to Sui-Lin’s curriculum vitae.

  Naturally, Sui-Lin’s seal and letter worked like a dream. Although, I wasn’t all that confident as we waited it out in our compartment during the tedious seven hour stopover. Not only did we have to wait through Customs and Immigration checks, the wheels on the train had to be changed, due to the different track gauge in China. Anyway, we’re in the PRC, en route to Beijing and Kowloon.

  We still have to get into Hong Kong, and the China-Hong Kong border will be the toughest to cross. The Brits keep companies of Ghurkha soldiers on permanent duty along the border with the PRC…just like they keep twenty thousand troops in Northern Ireland. The British are a people who like to be in control and take charge. Dodgy diplomatic credentials won’t fool them, and someone is bound to want to speak to each of us.

  I thought about asking if the Snakeheads operating in Guangzhou, in Guangdong Province, could smuggle Nakita Sylvina to Macau, and then to the New Territories. But I’ve heard that Snakeheads can’t be trusted, and I worry that they would, as likely as not, sell a pretty child to the highest bidder. Only Uncle Sui’s involvement could prevent that, and I can’t reach him. So I dismissed the idea.

  ———

  Sui-Lin must be an excellent secretary to Finn. She’s got us through two border crossings like a charm, and before we left Erlyan she asked for our windows to be washed and dried. We kept the window blinds down, but we could hear the railway workers grumbling outside as they chipped the ice and washed away the grime. Clean windows make the hours Nakita Sylvina and I spend looking out at China passing by much nicer. There isn’t quite so much snow covering everything as we travel south, towards Guangzhou and Shenzhen.

  I’m not surprised that Sui-Lin’s also good with Nakita Sylvina; they practise Chinese and English, and Sui-Lin is very patient with Nakita’s continuous questions. Their language lessons give me a break from child-minding, and a chance to be alone with Finn. We usually go to the dining car where I get a coffee and, of course, Finn always has tea. He’s such an Irishman!

  Nakita Sylvina is asking Sui-Lin oodles of questions about Hong Kong, so Finn and I decided to stretch our legs and go to the dining car. When we got there the stewards and waitresses were setting the tables for the first lunch sitting, so we went back to the compartment.

  We listened in before we opened the door. Sui-Lin is trying to teach Nakita to say ‘Hello, my name is Nakita Sylvina. I live in Montana.’ But the sweet little thing can’t pronounce Montana, and she’s saying ‘Monty-na-na’.

  ———

  It’s the middle of the night, we’re nowhere near a station, and Finn’s taken his satellite phone and disappeared again. He must’ve found somewhere safe on the train to make his calls. I was dropping off to sleep when he returned to the compartment. He unscrewed the panel behind the washbasin and replaced the satellite phone in its hiding place.

  Seeing that I’m still awake, he came over to my bunk. He stroked my hair and whispered that in the morning we must pack our bags and be ready to leave the train at the next station. When I raised my head to ask why he kissed his finger and placed it on my lips – his way of telling me to remain silent, to ask no questions.

  Now I’m wondering what he’s up to, and I can’t get back to sleep. I’ve been following our route on the map at the end of the carriage; I know that we’re still a long way from Guangzhou in Guangdong Province….

  I just woke up and it’s still dark, but I’m alone in the compartment. Nakita Sylvina’s little suitcase is sitting on her bunk, Finn’s larger bag is on his bunk, and Sui-Lin’s small, stylish case is on the floor. I suppose the three of them have gone for breakfast.

  Good, I’ll have a shower before joining them in the dining car; my packing will just have to wait. After being crammed in this tiny compartment with the others – for six days and five nights – I’m relieved to shower alone. I’ll first enjoy piping-hot water, and then three minutes under a spray of ice-cold water. Swedes are raised to enjoy the benefits of rousing our blood flow by giving our bodies hot and cold shock treatment. I tried to get Finn to jump into an icy pond after a sauna when we were in Helsingborg; he wasn’t keen on trying it. Ha! But he seemed to enjoy cuddling to warm me up after I’d plunged in the ice water.

  I hurried along to the dining car, hoping to get there before the fruit and freshly baked bread are gone from the buffet. The display is far from the smorgasbord of a restaurant back home, but considering where we are, it’s pretty good…and definitely better than the Mongolian breakfasts.

  The others were almost finished eating when I sat down with my plate of smoked fish, rye bread and a bowl of congee. Congee is a kind of smooth, milky rice, and I’m enjoying it more day by day. A cheerful waitress filled my cup with hot coffee and my glass with sour orange juice.

  Sui-Lin and Nakita Sylvina returned to the compartment, but Finn remained seated to explain why we’re leaving the train at the next station. He’s worried about getting through the China-Hong Kong border. He contacted Gerry, no, Vincenzo, but he also said something about someone else he knows on Lamma Island. Anyway, Finn won’t say what these other arrangements are, not even when I press him about it.

  “Everything will be grand, just grand, you’ll see.” That’s all I could get out of him before he quizzed me about packing.

  We hurried back to the compartment and I quickly tossed my things into my suitcase. Finn removed the satellite phone from its hiding place behind the washbasin and made a call. He assured someone that we’re ready.

  The brakes squealed on the s
teel wheels of the train as it shuddered to a stop. The usual yelling, doors banging, whistles blowing, and indecipherable loud speaker announcements proclaimed our arrival at the station.

  Nakita Sylvina is clutching her little case and insisting that Finn lift her on his shoulders before she’ll leave the train. They still haven’t exchanged any words, although they’ve had oodles of giggles. A bond was created between them during that first limousine ride in Moscow. I am still amazed at how Finn broke the ice with a frightened, confused little girl…by pretending she wasn’t there. And, ha, she did the same back to him!

  It’s just six a.m., but it’s a market day and the station’s busy. With people climbing into the train, and porters struggling with cages of live ducks, chickens, and piglets, it’s simple enough for the four of us to slip out of the station without anyone noticing.

  41

  SOUTHERN CHINA

  We’re standing in the car park outside the station; I’m not sure what’s supposed to happen now. But Sui-Lin is looking around, as if she knows who Finn rang before we got off the train. At least Nakita Sylvina is enjoying her view from nine feet in the air, sitting on Finn’s shoulders.

  Within two minutes a tall man in a smart suit approached us and ordered his companion, an older man dressed in shabby dark blue overalls, to take our luggage. The old man put everything into a small van and drove away.

  We were told to get into a chic-looking black and grey motor home with lowered window blinds. It has settees around a collapsible table next to the kitchen, a long sofa, a small bedroom, and a tiny bathroom with a shower.

  A girl in a very tight black top and formfitting black military trousers appeared from the bedroom; she looks about twenty years old. She made coffee for the smartly dressed man, Sui-Lin and me, but she made tea for Finn and poured a cola for Nakita Sylvina. How does Tight Trousers know that Finn drinks tea, not coffee?

  ———

  I’ll give these Snakehead jokers that Uncle Sui sent sixteen hours to get us across the border. After that, it’ll be thanks very much and good luck, we’re off back to Beijing. That would, of course, be a lie.

  I’ve never been happy depending one hundred per cent on other people – especially those I don’t know. Mad Bull McCabe says ‘it’s a foolish mouse has only one hole to call home.’ In other words, always have a plan B.

  Our plan B is heading for the coast and FLEC Vessel Number 7. This is what I’ve been arranging during some of those risky calls from the train on Brother Leader Gaddafi’s satellite phone. And it’s all thanks, it must be said, to a crazy red-headed bar owner on Lamma Island.

  ———

  The roads in this part of China are probably better than ours back in Sweden. I don’t know why I’m surprised by this – perhaps it’s because the image I’ve had in my mind of China involves poor peasants carrying their entire family on a bicycle. The reality is very different. When I peeped out the window I saw Mercedes cars and Harley-Davidson motor bikes flashing by.

  I didn’t see our driver until we stopped to eat take-away meals; she’s been hidden by the curtains behind the front seats. She’s about my age, with raven-black hair that’s tied behind her head with a red bandanna, and she’s wearing khaki army fatigues. Her smile is a blaze of white teeth that she’s flashing at Finn whenever she catches his eye. Finn is an attractive man…and it seems that he’s just as appealing to Asian eyes as he is to mine.

  Pushing aside the remnants of our meals, Smiles reached through the curtains and grabbed a road map of southern China from beside the driver’s seat. She showed us where we are, where we’ve come from, and where we’re going. Our next stop is Wuhan, almost three hundred kilometres away. Finn’s satisfied with what she showed us, and Sui-Lin nodded in agreement before we set off again.

  Sui-Lin told me that when she was in the take-away she overheard the well-dressed man arguing with Tight Trousers. Tight Trousers said, ‘It’s not our fault that the damn immigration manager’s been arrested.’ She also thinks they should be paid for the ‘great risks’ they’re taking, and she can’t understand why they’re going to all this trouble for a prostitute.

  “I’ll snap her pretty neck if she keeps talking in such a disrespectful way,” said Sui-Lin, as she gestured exactly how she’d do it. I have no doubt that Sui-Lin means what she says. If I were the paranoid jealous type, I might think about trying the same move if Smiles and Tight Trousers keep up their flirting with Finn. At least Smiles is driving now, and Finn doesn’t seem to notice Tight Trousers brushing up against him – flicking her hair and batting her eyelashes like a Hollywood starlet….

  It’s becoming difficult to keep Nakita Sylvina occupied while we’re crammed in here. Sui-Lin is trying to give her a language lesson, but Nakita Sylvina can’t concentrate. For the past two days she’s been whispering to her dolls, ‘Soon, any minute now, I will introduce you to my mother, Nataliya Yelena.’ The poor child is so looking forward to seeing her mother, and like so many Russian children, she never complains.

  I must’ve fallen asleep. We’re parked inside a warehouse with the sun shining in through large open doors; I don’t remember getting here.

  I’d like to have a shower before we take off again; washing my hair for the first time in days without the motion of a fast-moving train will be heavenly. I better call Nakita Sylvina into the bathroom to wash her hair too.

  Sui-Lin and Finn will need to have their showers, and I don’t know how long the hot water will last, so I better make it fast. Of course…I just remembered, Finn doesn’t bother with ‘sloppy’ showers. He fills a bucket with water and throws it over himself – fully dressed. Not exactly a plunge in icy water, but not bad.

  ———

  The old man’s just arrived at the warehouse in his small van. Anna’s having a shower before we head off, and Sui-Lin’s moving our luggage from the van into the motor home.

  I’m going to lay it on the line for our smartly dressed Chinaman, who hasn’t even bothered to tell us his name. I think he’ll understand a few carefully selected phrases not often employed by diplomats.

  “Right, it’s time to piss now or get off the pot. We need to get to the border, and fast like. Put up or shut up. Do you understand?”

  Fancy pants blushed and mumbled something about going to fetch the boss. Stupid me, I should’ve known better – the sharply dressed one giving all the orders is the gofer. For a moment, I was worried that the driver with the red bandanna, or the trashy tart who gave me tea – who’s been getting up Sui-Lin’s nose – is the boss. The tart reminds me of a black widow spider trying to entice prey to her web…and I’m no insect.

  The old van man is the boss, and he’s philosophical about the whole thing. “If it had not been for the unfortunate arrest of the District Immigration Supervisor, we would not be in this shameful situation…and unable to fulfil our promise to the Americans.”

  That confused the hell out of me. Then it struck me – they weren’t sent by Uncle Sui! I don’t know why, but I decided not to lie to him. I told him our plans and where we’re heading.

  He reached into his brown leather satchel and handed me three sets of vehicle number plates, and three registration books with the same chassis and engine numbers. Whoever these people are – or whoever sent them – they’re no amateurs.

  “Take the motor home and leave it wherever you can…or burn it if you need to. And good luck,” said the old boss man. He gathered his Snakeheads into the small van and drove out the large double doors of the warehouse.

  Sui-Lin volunteered to drive, in case we’re stopped by traffic police. I’m glad of the chance to relax; I need to work out a way to explain that we’ll be surrendering ourselves to the Chinese authorities tonight…if we’re lucky. FLEC isn’t exactly the police or immigration, still, it’ll take some leap of faith to hand ourselves over and be voluntarily confined on board one of their deep sea cutters.

  ———

  It’s only three forty-five p.m., but
the streets of the small towns we’re passing through are already deserted and the shops are closing their doors. Finn told Sui-Lin to pull in at the next petrol station we see, so we can fill the tank with diesel.

  As we crossed over a bridge on the outskirts of a village, I spotted diesel pumps outside a farmers’ cooperative. The pumps are almost hidden behind a row of parked lorries and trailers loaded with freshly felled fir trees.

  We pulled in and saw an old woman in a blue skirt, blouse and cap closing the pumps. She was shooing us away…until Finn threw a fistful of renminbi out the window. The old lady’s torn between stooping down to gather the notes before they blow away in the wind and closing the last pump. She’s afraid that we’ll report her to someone in authority, but she chose the money. Reluctantly, she allowed us to fill the tank and two ten-gallon drums with diesel, and to buy two torches and two horse blankets.

  ———

  We stopped to stretch our legs and pick some fruit from the trees on the side of the road. When we piled back in the motor home I offered to take over the driving, but Sui-Lin said she’ll keep at it. So I’m in the front passenger seat, and Anna and Nakita Sylvina are in the back.

  We’re driving along an inter-city route towards Guangzhou. The terrain is rolling hills with mountains in the distance, and lakes around every bend in the road. If it weren’t for the subtropical vegetation – and temperature to match – I might think we’re travelling through County Leitrim in Ireland.

  Doctor Sun Yat-sen, a great leader of the Chinese Revolution, is honoured somewhere en route to the coast. It’s a shame, but there’s no time for visiting statues or memorial halls…no matter how venerated the dignitary, or how world-changing his achievements.