The Clown Prince of Kowloon
Page 5
“So you survived the jungle and the docks?”
“Yes, I did. My apologies to everybody back at the office who will be disappointed by that news.” Richard plopped on the couch and propped his feet up on the coffee table. “As you may have heard, I found our missing weapons onboard the MV Mandalay. I assume we have people looking into their ship’s logs, figuring out where their next port of call is- all that business.”
Alastair took his glasses off as he set the papers back down on the desk. The tropical climate seemed to agree with the old man, his arthritic joints receiving a welcome respite from the dreary rains of London. “We do, of course, but there was nothing for them to find. The ship has not filed a manifest for their next port visit and all their existing records have been destroyed. They have essentially gone off the grid.”
“Well that’s not very sporting of them.”
Alastair smiled, showing the gleam in his eyes that he got whenever he gained the upper hand. “But you won’t believe our luck. First, we happen to have submarines deployed in that part of the Pacific that are more than capable of tracking the ship. Also, Peng Zhou and Erich Schumacher just turned up in Hong Kong attempting to sell the weapons on the black market, so we now know where they’re going and who their potential customers are. And you will never guess who discovered this information and brought it to our attention. It was our old friend Tommy Malloy.”
Richard laughed out loud and shook his head. “Just when I thought this situation couldn’t get any more ridiculous.” One of the craziest experiences of his career had occurred three years ago in Paris, when one of his former colleagues had stumbled into Tommy Malloy’s dressing room in an attempt to escape a KGB trap. When said colleague was eventually murdered, Tommy was chased across Paris, pursued by both the police and the KGB. It was Richard who eventually brought him in and introduced him to the world of espionage. Together they rescued a kidnapped princess, helped prevent a war, and became great friends along the way. He never expected to see the comedian enter into this world again, but the game had ways of bringing people back in.
“Yes, it appears Mr. Malloy was asked to perform a seemingly small task on behalf of our CIA counterparts. Possibly even more so than before, he has no idea what he’s getting into,” Alastair said.
Richard lit up a cigarette and offered one to Alastair, who declined, reaching instead for his pipe. “So let’s go over what we know so far. Zhou and Schumacher are smuggling the weapons, which either means that Schumacher’s working with the Chinese now, or we’re dealing with Chinese/Soviet collaboration. Now, whose idea was this and what are they doing in Hong Kong?”
“Our country’s presence in Hong Kong has long been a sticking point for General Sheng, my counterpart in Moscow. Peng Zhou is one of his most trusted operatives. Based off that, I would surmise that Sheng is behind it and whatever they are planning is aimed at destabilizing the colony.”
“Well if that’s the case, then I’m honestly surprised it took them this long to try,” Richard said. The British position in Hong Kong was a precarious one, a small island colony lying in the massive shadow of the Chinese dragon.
“But wait, there’s more,” Alastair said, as he were a salesman attempting to sell a shockingly inferior product. “Did you ever wonder what happened to our old friend General Kharlamov after Paris?”
Richard shrugged. “I assumed they would have sent him to the gulag.” Kharlamov was a powerful foe, and a valuable asset for the KGB, but one could not attempt the type of power grab that he did in that type of system and expect to survive very long if it failed.
“Or so one would think, but my sources inform me that he was given command of a remote Siberian outpost near the Chinese border. It’s basically one step above the gulag, but maintaining the illusive hope of redemption. He recently went missing from that post. General Sheng’s last known activity was inspecting Chinese installations in the same general vicinity.”
Richard drew a long breath from his cigarette as he processed this new information. “Oh, it would appear that this is bigger than we thought.”
“Yes, any time our old adversary is involved, there is always more than meets the eye.” Alastair’s path had crossed with Kharlamov’s many times throughout their long careers, beginning in Leningrad in 1919, when Kharlamov was able to sniff out Alastair’s covert mission to assist White Russian dissidents working against the nascent Soviet regime. They had been plotting against each other across continents ever since, aside from a brief period during the second war when they were forced to cooperate.
“Kharlamov and Sheng working together, that’s basically the Laurel and Hardy of communist intrigue. Do we have any idea what their motives in Hong Kong would be- economic, military, political?”
Alastair shook his head. “That is what we need to find out, and that is why I am sending you to Hong Kong. Millie Covington is running my station there, and you are to work with her. I will leave it up to your discretion if you want to pull Tommy Malloy into it.”
Richard stood up and stretched. After months of guerilla warfare in the jungle, it was a welcome change of pace to be returning to the urban intrigue side of things. “When do I leave?”
Chapter 8
Choreographed musical numbers were the bane of any film crew’s existence- between the costumes, the sets, the precise steps of the dancing, and the musical score, so many moving parts had to come together for the scene to work. For musicians who branched into acting like Donna or Tony, these scenes were their bread and butter, but for comedians like Tommy or Lars, it was well outside of their comfort zone.
The days were long on set, and Tommy’s nights were just as busy as he gradually made his way through the list of smugglers, not having much success with any of them. On the one night that he found some unexpected free time, Tommy borrowed a projector from the production crew, spread a white bedsheet across his window, and watched the reel of film that Chao Hung had given him. Through means unknown, Chao had somehow managed to obtain copies of almost every Hong Kong Harry scene that had been filmed so far. The scenes were unedited, of course, but the fact that this reel existed in the first place was impressive enough. The most amusing aspect of the viewing for Tommy was that whoever had put the reel together for Chao had to guess what order to put the scenes in. Sometimes those guesses were correct or close to it, other times it was hilariously wrong.
Back on the set, things slowly but surely came together until they finally reached the conclusion of the ancient temple scene. At the end of the musical number, the cast members slid into their final positions as they sang the title track’s closing lines, “All the booty you can plunder, and all the treasure you can carry; He can help you win it all, and his name is Hong Kong Harry.” Afterwards, Donna steps down from her throne, briefly confers with her advisors, and then pronounces that Harry and his crew will be permitted to join her powerful pirate fleet.
“Cut!” Louis shouted at the end of the scene. “That was an excellent performance. When we’re sitting at the top of the box office in a few months, it will be because of all the hard work you put in here. Well done, all of you.”
The cast and crew broke out into a round of applause before proceeding with the work of cleaning up and breaking down the set. Tommy did his part to help tidy up the temple, and when he was done, one of the local extras, a young man with a youthful exuberance about him, was waiting to talk to him with two cold glass bottles of Coca-Cola in hand.
“Here you go, Mr. Malloy, and great job in that scene.”
“Thank you, and please call me Tommy,” Tommy said. “And I’m sorry, what was your name?”
“Han,” he said as he shook Tommy’s hand. “Han Tong.”
“So have you been in many films, Han?”
“I get some extra roles here and there. Who knows, maybe after this, I can crossover to Hollywood.” Hong Kong had a thriving film industry in its own right, and Hollywood was just beginning to become aware of it.
“Well, now it’s back to the day job,” Han said.
“What’s your day job?”
“I’m a sailor, or a fisherman, and, well, sort of a merchant….basically I sail a boat and I sell things.”
Something started to click inside Tommy’s head. “So, in other words, are you saying that you’re a smuggler?”
Han shifted uncomfortably. “Who wants to know?”
Tommy couldn’t believe his luck. Han wasn’t on the CIA’s list of smugglers, and maybe that meant that his operation wasn’t big enough for the Chinese to know about it either. It was time to improvise, “An interested customer.”
Han nodded knowingly. “Say no more. I’ve worked with plenty of actors and I know how these requests go. You’re planning a cast party, celebrating when you get to the end of the shoot. You want to throw in something exotic to spice things up, maybe even some opium. Don’t worry, Mr. Malloy, I got you covered. I can get you the good stuff, and arrange a little employee discount.”
Tommy laughed. “No, that’s actually not what I’m looking for at all. I actually have a proposition for you. It’s a little enterprise involving bootleg film reels, and it could be very profitable for both us if you’re as good a smuggler as you seem to imply.”
Han’s eyes lit up with anticipation. “Could you meet me back here in three hours? I think we might be able to work something out.”
*****
After his conversation with Han, Tommy joined Tony for a dinner in a local café, where he consumed a tasty dish of eggplant with minced pork, and then treated himself to a dessert of sago mix, a tapioca-like substance mixed with a variety of fruits. Trying new foods was Tommy’s favorite aspect of traveling, and thus far Hong Kong had not disappointed him. At the appointed time, Tommy rendezvoused with Han and they shared a cab that took them to Aberdeen Harbour on the southern coast of the island.
When they arrived in Aberdeen, Tommy felt as if he had been transported to a real life version of the old time pirate coves that the characters of Hong Kong Harry would have hid out in. The harbor was nestled in by green mountains and filled nearly to capacity with all shapes and sizes of fishing and cargo boats. Most common among them were the junks, small wooden sailing vessels that many local residents used as their homes as well as a means to fish. Behind them all, a series of larger vessels and barges served as floating restaurants, serving some of Hong Kong’s finest seafood, something that Tommy made a note to try next time he was in this neighborhood.
“Well, here it is,” Han said after they had around the harbor for a bit and arrived at a particular junk. “I call her the Antelope, and we’ve been through some pretty interesting times together.”
Tommy looked the ship up and down to assess what he could of her seaworthiness. It was a wooden vessel, about thirty feet long, with a mast in the middle holding up a red triangular sail. Its coloring was faded from years in the sun, and various holes throughout the hull had been hastily patched up with different types of wood. Much of the wood appeared to be rotting away, gear adrift was strewn all over the deck, and perhaps most alarmingly, the helm seemed to be held together with duct tape.
“Well, what do you think?” asked Han.
Ordinarily in a situation like this, Tommy would choose a diplomatic route and parse his words carefully. However, Han seemed like a straight enough shooter that he would probably prefer bluntness. “Honestly, it’s a piece of junk. No pun intended.”
Han placed his hands affectionately against the hull. “Don’t let appearances fool you. This piece of junk once ran the Straits of Malacca in less than twelve farthings.”
Tommy was pretty sure that farthings were a measure of distance rather than time, but he decided to give Han the benefit of the doubt that the ship was probably pretty fast. “I guess we can make this work then.”
“Now, about the details of your plan, what exactly did you have in mind?”
Tommy recited his sales pitch, describing which movies he had available and the potential for massive profits in the Chinese markets in vivid detail, some of which was completely true, much of which was embellished. He had practiced the pitch so many times by now with the other smugglers that he had it down to an art. Although none of the others had been willing to bite, he blamed circumstances beyond his control rather than the pitch itself. Tommy felt confident that if his acting career ever tanked, he had a bright future ahead of him as a traveling salesman.
Han listened politely to Tommy’s pitch, nodding in agreement at the salient points. When it was finished he briefly paused in contemplation, then answered, “Alright, I’m ready to make a deal. Let’s do this.”
Tommy breathed a sigh of relief. He was beginning to lose hope that anything would come from his mission, but now he would finally have something constructive to report on. “So, you think it’s a good plan then?”
Han shook his head. “Honestly? I think it’s a pretty stupid plan, but I desperately need some money right now, so I’m willing to go along with it anyway.”
Tommy laughed as he reached out to shake his hand. “Well look at us then, just a couple of brutally honest wheeler-dealers out there making our way in world.”
“I wouldn’t have it any other way,” Han said.
Chapter 9
The fishing boat gently rocked back and forth as it drifted through the greenish-blue waters of the bay. It was a clear day, the kind where the sun’s rays reflect off the water and a cool sea breeze brings welcome relief from the heat- the perfect day for fishing. From the deck of his boat, General Sheng cast his line into the water and waited patiently. At the first strong tug, he reeled the line in and saw the green and yellow scales of a mahi-mahi break the surface. He unhooked the fish, looked it over for a moment, and then tossed it back into the water. Many would have considered mahi-mahi a delicacy, but General Sheng was not fishing for food. He had bigger fish to not actually fry.
After a few more catches and releases, General Sheng finally felt the tug he was waiting for. His rod bent almost to the point of snapping, and the line was strained to its absolute limits. He dug his boots in for leverage and pulled with all his might, his steady and controlled strength gradually getting the better of the wild resistance on the other end. He continued pulling until a six-foot long grey reef shark appeared over the water. He flung in onto the deck, where it frantically thrashed about, disturbed by its new surroundings. Sheng stood and waited for the shark to exhaust itself, and when its movements slowed down, he knelt on top of it, removed the hook, and then picked the shark up and tossed it into a plastic tub of water he had prepared for that very purpose.
“Did you see that, Igor? It’s a splendid new piece for the collection.”
General Kharlamov looked up from the rail he had been leaning over, a green pallor covering his face. “Please accept my congratulations, Jiao-long; it is a fine addition indeed.”
Sheng couldn’t help but grin as he watched Kharlamov lean back over the rail and continue to vomit. While their new strategic partnership was mutually beneficial, it was awkward at times for two men who were accustomed to being the leader of the pack to have to share power and authority like this. As such, Sheng was mentally keeping a running tally of the balance of power, and after their respective performances on the boat, he was squarely ahead.
His prize secure, Sheng turned the boat around to return to his new private dock. It was a fact little known outside the region that there were actually two hundred and sixty-three islands included in the territory of Hong Kong. Many of these islands were sparsely inhabited, including the island of Tung Lung Chau on which they had decided to base their operations. Using vario
us laundered funds, Sheng was able to buy up much of the land on the island, perhaps lending credence to Karl Marx’s prediction of selling the capitalists the rope with which to hang themselves.
Sheng skillfully guided the boat into the dock, where several of his assistants were waiting to tie up the mooring lines. As soon as the boat stopped rocking, Kharlamov stumbled ashore, very much relieved to be back on dry land. Sheng, meanwhile, gladly took his time, directing his assistants as they carefully carried the tub ashore to secure his latest prize.
Against the backdrop of the steep, rocky hill, Sheng had constructed a sprawling colonial style mansion. Its coat of paint created an illusion of aging, helping it to blend into its surroundings as just another reclusively wealthy estate in an area where many like it could be found. At the bottom of the hill, two more assistants stood waiting with rickshaws to pull Sheng and Kharlamov to the top. However, Sheng surprised everybody around him by declining the offered ride, then ordering the young man to sit down in the rickshaw and allow Sheng himself to pull it. Kharlamov, not wanting to lose face, then did the same.
Sheng’s body strained as he pulled the wheeled cart up the steep hill. Kharlamov lagged further and further behind him the higher and higher they climbed, sweating profusely, and stopping frequently to catch his breath in the oppressively humid air. Sheng noted that it was another point in his favor in their unspoken competition.
As Sheng had advanced through the upper ranks of the military, an important tenant of his leadership philosophy is that a leader is first and foremost a servant, and thus, by declining the privileges of his rank and sharing equally in the struggles of his men, he earned their undying respect and loyalty. Sheng also had more practical concerns in choosing to pull the rickshaw, in that rigorous physical training was important part of his daily regimen. He took every opportunity he could to challenge his body, helping him to maintain a physique that men half his age would be envious of. At the top of the hill, Sheng set the rickshaw down and waited. A few minutes later, Kharlamov arrived, out of breath and soaking with sweat.