by Albert Able
4
Three Syndicate executives sat facing each other at the boardroom table; the older man spoke.
“Thank you gentlemen for attending at such short notice. But we have a problem.” He looked strained; his eyes pierced into the listeners. “It has been brought to my notice that an employee at the Hong Kong Harbours Land Department has been trying to investigate our warehouse site on the old docks.” He looked across to the picture window of the boardroom momentarily and then turned dramatically to face the others. “With the shipment due to leave tomorrow, we cannot afford any problems. So I want him interrogated. I want to know what he discovered, if anything, and why he was looking.” He raised his bushy eyebrows. “Who can handle this immediately?”
One of the others raised a hand.
“I can do that.” he smiled enthusiastically, trying to ingratiate himself. “I’ve been sorting out that other little matter with the double dealing heroin peddler. So I still have the two men on loan from our Philippine warlord ally. OK?” He looked around for approval or otherwise.
There were no objections.
“Good. Then see that it’s resolved within the next twelve hours,” the leader ordered. “The other matter is the report of a treasure ship out in Manila Bay. Now we’ve all heard these stories over the years but recently there’s been a revival of divers searching the hundreds of wrecks out there. My recommendation is to watch and wait as usual but keep a sharp lookout. If something concrete develops, then we report to our controller and not before. False alarms are not welcomed either. Understood everybody?”
One of the men spoke out hesitantly.
“One of my boat people reported two men looking for wreck fishing, just a couple of days ago. I’ll double check it.”
“Good,” replied the group leader. “Anything like that must be reported to me at once. Is that clear?”
w
Alex and Ling stopped about one hundred metres from the apartment block and scanned the immediate area. There was nothing obvious to be seen from the outside. Alex dialled David’s number on his mobile as they hurried towards the building; there was still no reply. They paused again for a few moments, satisfying themselves that it was safe before climbing the metal stairs to David’s floor. The door to the apartment was cracked open. Alex crept forward and cautiously pushed the door; he could see David lying on the kitchen floor tied to an upturned chair, his mouth taped, hands and feet bound with a piece of electric flex. A piece of the same wire was wound tightly around his neck. Unable to breath, he was seconds from death. His eyes, bulging out of their sockets, stared in horror.
Alex dived into the room, ripped the tape from David’s mouth then grabbed at the flex around his throat, feverishly unwinding the slippery sweat and blood-coated wire; eventually and with a triumphant cry “Got yer, you bastard” he pulled the wire free. David retched as the air rushed back into his starving lungs. Then, after releasing the other bindings they lifted the semiconscious David and placed him carefully on his bed.
“Ling, you better ring for the ambulance. He’s going to need more than we can do for him - and urgently.”
Without further hesitation, Ling called the emergency service number, and explained the urgent situation and the need to access the building via the external stairway.
“Be with you in about ten minutes,” the dispatcher confirmed calmly.
Ling replaced the telephone.
“Ten minutes he said. I hope its quick enough,” Ling mumbled.
Alex was gently bathing David’s swollen neck and face with cool water. He was still very weak but then as he regained consciousness he tried to speak and struggled to get off the bed.
“You’re safe now. Don’t try to speak. Relax - we’ll sort everything out. You’re safe now,” Ling repeated softly, gently trying to calm him, David remained agitated and kept trying to make audible sounds but the damaged larynx made it impossible for any of the grotesque gurgles to be understood. Finally he fell back exhausted.
Alex placed a comforting hand on Ling’s arm.
“I think he’s passed out Ling. The ambulance will be here any minute now. Why don’t you rest, I’ll watch him for a while,” Alex breathed, smiling encouragement.
“I got him into this. He’s only young and only just married,” Ling muttered, close to tears.
“My God - where is his wife then?” Alex demanded, suddenly ice cold. They looked at each other. “The spare bedroom?” Alex suggested.
Ling stood up and ran to the end of the short hallway. He stopped dead in the doorway, grabbed at his throat and gagged. Alex was immediately behind him. The room looked like a slaughterhouse; blood was daubed on the walls and sparse furniture. On the bed lay a naked female body; it looked like a broken doll drenched in blood. She’d been decapitated, her head propped up against the headboard; a piece of paper had been literally nailed to her forehead with something like a crab pick.
Ling vomited involuntarily before muttering, “His wife. Oh God it’s his wife.”
Alex stood in silence. The blood drained from his head. He thought for one moment that even his iron constitution would succumb to the gruesome scene. He flexed his hands took a deep breath and stepped into the room. The floor was sticky with blood. He leaned over the bed, ignoring the pathetic head, and read the note. The stark message was written in the woman’s own blood.
We always start with the wives and children.
Stay out of our business.
Alex returned to the hall and grabbed the near hysterical Ling by the arm.
“Come on Ling. We have to get out of here immediately. The paramedics will call the police as soon as they discover this and we must definitely NOT be found here!”
Ling groaned.
“I can’t leave David like this,” he grated, struggling to return to his brother’s side.
“His breathing’s better now and we can’t do any more for him. The medical help is on the way so we must leave at once,” Alex tried to assure him.
Ling was desolate as he looked up at Alex, the tears forming in his eyes.
“That bloody Syndicate. This is the second time they have defiled my family,” he spat. “What can we do? Just what can we do against such creatures?” he appealed to Alex.
“We’ll find a way my friend, I assure you - and that may be quite soon,” Alex coaxed. “Come on let’s move.” The wail of the ambulance siren penetrated the night as it sped towards the apartment block.
They raced down the clattery iron staircase and into the side street, slipping silently into the night.
f
Drifting lazily just off the coast of Corregidor, Greg and Oscar were enjoying their day’s fishing so much that they almost forgot the real reason for being out there. They’d tried unsuccessfully to persuade Dick to go the farthest wreck - “Our wreck,” as Greg described it - but he’d produced every conceivable argument as to why they should avoid that particular location.
“The current is so strong you only get about one hour either side of the tide” and “There are so many sharks they rip any fish from your line before you can pull it in!” or “There’s always a heavy swell out there where the continental shelf joins with the deep of the South China Sea - even I get seasick!”
They’d caught several prize fish, religiously taking the traditional photographs before returning all but the smallest to the water.
“Even that’s about as big as I can get on the Bar-B-Q,” Oscar proclaimed cheerfully.
Having decided to call it a day, they were just pulling in their fishing gear when they noticed that the two fast fishing boats that had been hovering about three miles away for the last hour, had motored unnoticed towards them.
“Hello - we must have upset the natives,” Dick announced, suspecting that the boats were shadowing them.
He slipped the boat into gear and brought her around onto their course for home and then eased the throttles forward to give her about eight knots. The other boats turned sl
ightly to match the new course.
“I don’t like it,” Dick muttered, now clearly anxious.
“What’s the problem?” Greg enquired as he wiped his hands on the towel provided by the woman.
“I’m not sure yet. You can’t be too certain of anything in these waters,” Dick cautioned.
Suddenly the two following boats opened up their engines, their hulls rising up on the water as they rushed forward in a flurry of froth.
“Well we’re going to find out now,” Dick said grimly.
The woman appeared suddenly at the companionway.
“Here can you use one of these?”
She handed Greg a heavy-duty ten-gauge semi-automatic shotgun. “Here.” She also gave him two boxes of ammunition, one of Brennek solid and one of SG.
“Alternate the rounds,” Dick added casually “and keep it out of sight. We may not need them!”
The woman discreetly placed a similar weapon alongside the wheel for Dick.
“Can anyone join in the fun?” Oscar called from the rear of the cockpit, seeing the guns and quickly assessing the situation.
The woman just shook her hand indicating ‘no’.
“Who do you think they are; what could they want?” Greg asked, looking back at the fast-approaching boats.
“Well they’re not on a social call, that’s for sure, but I reckon I can outrun them so we’ll let them get a bit closer first.”
He pushed the throttles forward a little more; the log registered ten knots.
“They’re quite a bit smaller than us,” Dick assessed. “Almost certainly belong to the rebels in the South. They probably think we are rich businessmen or amateur fishermen and fancy their chances at pinching our boat!” Dick grinned. “We may surprise them - yes?”
They were about five hundred metres away when a voice on the radio called, “Hello there! We would like to come alongside to talk.”
Dick ignored the invitation.
“I was right. They’re up to no good.”
He pulled the throttles back until the boat was just moving ahead.
“Why are you slowing down?” Oscar asked anxiously.
“Don’t worry, I just need to see who they are. I have friends who will need to know - but hang on we may leaving in a hurry,” Dick said, leaning casually against the wheel.
The two boats were barely fifty metres away when they also reduced speed and settled in the water. A man leaned over the side of the leading boat. He did not appear to be armed, Greg noted. The atmosphere was tense. The first boat was still about ten metres abeam.
“What can we do for you?” Dick called across the narrow strip of water.
“You are fishing illegally in our allocated area,” came the abrupt reply.
“Who are you then?” Dick asked lightly.
At that point, the second boat pulled up on the other side and armed men appeared in the cockpit of both boats.
Dick whispered without turning his head, “Remember - shoot first and ask questions later. These people are pirates. Greg, you fire as fast as you can at the hull of the boat on your side, I’ll do the same here.”
Oscar moved into the wheelhouse.
“Give me the gun. You drive the boat,’ he barked.
Dick looked at the ageing Oscar dubiously,
“You sure?”
Oscar smiled, “Bet your bloody life I am!”
He discreetly took the shotgun.
The pirate boats drifted closer; the men on board were grinning with confidence, their weapons either slung over their shoulders or hanging loosely, pointing at the deck. They were clearly not expecting to be challenged.
“Now!” Dick ordered. At the same time he rammed the throttles to full power. The boat literally leapt into the air before surging forward at maximum speed.
The men on the other boats recovered remarkably quickly and opened fire. The sound of the shots was lost in the roar of the mighty diesels. But one burst from the light machine pistols chipped the wheelhouse roof of Dick’s boat, sending splinters of glass fibre and resin over those sheltering there.
Greg and Oscar, who had been knocked of balance by the sudden surge of power, scrambled back to their feet and attempted to fire a few shots each in the general direction of their tormentors. They didn’t pause to see whether any found a target.
The pirates opened up their boats to follow but their performance was no contest for Dick’s magnificent thoroughbred.
“What did I tell you? They’re no match for this little beauty,” Dick shouted happily, patting the console with genuine affection.
The two craft peeled away unable to press home the attack and soon vanished in the heat haze.
Greg and Oscar unloaded the shotguns and returned them to the woman who expertly double-checked the mechanisms and vanished below with the weapons. The two men moved to the stern of the speeding boat but the wind screaming in the Bimini made the canvas crack like the sails on a galleon, so conversation was nearly impossible.
“Moby Dick seems pleased with himself,” Oscar shouted.
“He does, doesn’t he? I’d like to know the answer to a number of questions as well. We’ll have to talk it through when we get back to the chalet,” he shouted close to Oscar’s ear.
The harbour appeared out of the haze and Dick eased back the throttles. “Well done my baby,” he murmured, patting the console. “I told you she was the best, eh!”
As soon as the boat was moored and he had seen his passengers safely ashore, Dick examined the damage to the wheelhouse roof.
“The bastards!” he muttered angrily, then turned and climbed ashore, walking briskly to the boatyard. Entering the office at the rear of the workshop, a red face man sitting at the desk confronted him and his courage wavered slightly.
The man looked up.
“Have you something to tell me then Dickie boy?”
“Yes I have,” he asserted. “Those bastards fired on us and damaged my wheelhouse - they could have killed us!”
“It must have seemed authentic in the circumstances eh?” the man laughed briefly but then the laughter died, as did the smile, and his face became stern. “You’re not planning to go into business on your own are you Dickie?” he scowled. “Cos if you are, just remember who the mortgage on your boat’s with and where your wife and sister would have to work if anything went wrong, eh Dickie?”
“You should know I’m not likely to risk my family’s lives for a few bucks - so don’t be so sensitive you stupid bastard!”
Dick raised his fist in defiant mock aggression.
“Just so long as I don’t have to report anything to my controller OK?”
The red-faced man stood up, squeezed past Dick and swaggered out of the office.
Dick slumped into the vacated chair.
“How the Hell did I get mixed up with these swine,” he muttered, picking up the telephone and still trembling with anger.
w
Greg and Oscar arrived back at the bungalow.
“I don’t feel like fish again tonight. What you say if I give it to the neighbours? They can probably do something with it.”
Oscar sounded weary.
“That’s fine by me. Personally I need a drink before making any more decisions today,” Greg muttered and looked into the drinks cupboard. “Fancy something Oscar?”
“Yes, I’ll have a glass of that nice cold Chardonnay, but I’ll take the fish next door first OK?”
Oscar was already walking out of the patio door heading for the neighbour’s bungalow. Marion met him on their terrace.
“Oh hello there, glad I caught you in. We’ve been fishing again. Thought you could use this.”
Oscar held the freshly caught specimen. For some reason he felt as awkward and nervous as a young lad on his first date. “Can’t remember what he said it was, but it’s supposed be very good to eat,” he stuttered.
“Well thank you so much! That does look wonderful and meaty. I’ll have to think of something tra
ditional to do with it. Perhaps you’d join us?” Marion replied softly.
Oscar nodded, “Well that would be just fine - give us a call when it’s convenient OK?”
He nearly fell backwards from the terrace steps in his haste to get back to Greg.
“Will I call you later then, if you’re in a hurry now?” Marion called after him, a slight hint of urgency in her own voice.
“That’s OK yes. Later will be fine,” he stammered as he almost ran across the lawn to the bungalow and skipped lightly up to the terrace. The cool glass of wine stood on the wicker table waiting for him; condensation had formed on the glass and trickled onto the coaster. Oscar picked up the glass by its stem, nosed the contents with approval and took a sip.
“Wonderful. Just wonderful,” he proclaimed.
“I’d say its OK but not that good,” Greg said, and took another sip at his own glass, trying to match his friend’s enthusiasm for the wine.
Oscar looked across at Greg and smiled but chose to remain silent, gazing instead at the thousands of stars already filling the crystal clear evening sky.
“I’m sure that Moby Dick is more than just a fisherman,” Greg interrupted his reverie. “Think of that boat to start with. As we said before, it must have cost a small fortune. So how can a local lad like him afford it, I ask you?” He looked briefly at Oscar, who had settled back into the padded wicker chair and appeared to be studying the stars. Greg continued, “He didn’t want us to go near our marks and when we eventually did we were chased away by so called pirates.” He sipped his wine thoughtfully. “Quite frankly if they hadn’t actually fired on us and hit the boat, I would have thought it was a set-up. What do you think?”
Oscar had stopped his stargazing.
“I think your assessment is about right - so what is he hiding and why?” Oscar toyed with his glass and put it on the table. “He seems like a decent man and the woman’s so meek and mild. His being a smuggler or a pirate doesn’t really fit, although it certainly fits the boat,” Oscar concluded.
“Yes what a boat! When he gave it the gun, didn’t it go! That was some power and performance. I wonder why he needs all that expensive energy,” Greg replied as recalled their getaway sprint with due reverence and settled into another chair. “The problem we have Oscar, is that we’ve spent two days fishing and having fun but we haven’t achieved very much else have we?” He sighed. “I think we’re either going to have to find another boat or confront Moby Dick with a proposition. It’s just a question of whether he is an independent operator or if he someone’s lackey? Otherwise I think were going to be hanging around here forever getting nowhere.”
