by Albert Able
“We’ve invited Big J to eat ashore with us tonight. Do you fancy joining us?” Martin asked politely.
“Thank you, but someone has to stay aboard while the others play,” he replied, looking sorry for himself but changed his expression to a smile. “If I may, I’ll go the next time, you know, when we go to the really expensive place, OK?” he smiled cheekily.
“That’s a date,” Manuel replied happily.
The two men boarded the harbour launch; it pulled slowly away from the tug and headed back towards the main harbour.
“They seem like a couple of decent guys” John commented.
“The problem is John, that they really do expect that we are going to solve all their problems and in only a couple of weeks. Oh well, we can but try,” Big J grinned. “You happy about staying on board tonight?”
“Of course, I’ll have a couple of beers with my dinner and watch the local TV on my own,” replied John philosophically, taking his handkerchief from his pocket and dabbing at the mock tears.
“Tears eh? Oh well, how about if I send a couple of young ladies to help you with the dishes or something?” Big J suggested patronisingly.
“Only two?” John laughed. “If only,” he muttered, thinking of his beloved Nancy and visualising her naked in the shower on that last evening before they sailed. He’d felt the baby wriggle in her swelling tummy. Their baby; the miracle of life created by two people deeply in love. He shook himself back to attention. “I’ll be fine. Don’t you go worrying yourself about me. Anyway I don’t suppose Chef will be going ashore either will he! So I won’t starve!”
Without further ado, they turned and went down to the deck. They had a long and difficult training programme to get underway - and precious little time to do it in.
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Smothered in blood as they both were, going straight back to Alex’s hotel would have attracted too much attention, so they jogged the four blocks to Ling’s own apartment. Unsurprisingly they received a number of startled looks as they hurried through the occasionally busy back streets.
Ling let Alex in and closed the apartment door behind them. His wife, wearing a silk dressing gown and dainty slippers, was ashen faced when she saw them. She didn’t scream - just stood aghast with one of her hands knuckled at her mouth. Ling moved up to her and held her in his arms.
“It’s Amy, they’ve killed Amy.” The lady wrapped her arms even more firmly around her husband, ignoring the mess on his clothes, giving and sharing comfort together. After a few moments they separated.
“I’m sorry Alex this is my wife Mui.”
She gave a polite nod of the head.
“I think you need the bathroom?” she pointed to the door across the tiny lobby.
Alex thanked her and slipped inside the modest room. The face staring at him from the tarnished mirror was smeared in dried blood; his hair awry, his jacket liberally daubed with the same reddish-brown mess.
“My God - any wonder we attracted a stare or two,” he said to his grisly image. He washed thoroughly, repeatedly sluicing handfuls of water over his face, trying to wash the memory of that slaughterhouse scene from his mind. The face and hands were relatively easily cleaned, but the jacket would need special attention. He returned to the living room carrying the jacket. Ling had washed in the kitchen and was changing into clean clothes in the bedroom. Mui waited politely for Alex to finish “cleaning up”.
“If you leave your jacket with me I will see that it is properly cleaned,” she said with quiet authority.
“Thank you very much,” Alex said, handing it over.
Mui picked up another coat that had been laid carefully over a chair. “Try this, I think it’s about your size.” She handed over the lightweight jacket. He pulled it on. “That looks fine. How does it feel?” she asked politely.
“Made to measure,” Alex said gratefully. “Has Ling explained yet?” Alex asked cautiously.
“I know that David and Amy were attacked and that Amy’s dead. He won’t tell me much more. You see Mr Scott; I know something of what he does. We had to move twice because of the fear of retribution.” She paused, then with look of determination. “And I hate what he does - but love the man that does it. Difficult isn’t it?”
Alex sat in the easy chair.
“I’m married as well, so I do understand. The people we are fighting are unforgiving and ruthless. I fear you are going to have to move again - and soon. By soon I mean tonight. Ling may have wanted to tell you himself but he’s been badly shocked by the incident with David’s wife. Did he tell you that David was almost strangled to death? Hopefully he’s in hospital by now getting some proper attention.”
At that point Ling emerged from the bedroom freshly attired in clean clothes.
“I’m sorry but I’ve allowed myself to become a bit fuddled.” He took her hand. “Alex is quite right - we must get out tonight. We’ll have to organise our things later. Sorry darling, but I’m afraid the job’s caught up with us again.”
She pulled him to her and kissed him lightly on the lips.
“I’ve become an expert an instant removals. Just give me fifteen minutes!”
She vanished into the bedroom.
“Sorry if I stole your thunder there,” Alex apologised to Ling. “But you cannot possibly risk staying here tonight. What about my hotel, at least for tonight?” He looked at his watch. It was four o’clock. “My God, look at the time there isn’t much of this night left.”
The three of them slipped quietly into Alex’s hotel. The night porter was nowhere to be seen.
“Almost certainly asleep somewhere out of sight,” Alex suggested in a whisper as he helped himself to his room key and led them unobserved up to the bedroom.
Mui had been strong and understanding so far but the pressure was beginning to tell.
“What happens now?” she asked nervously.
Alex checked the time it was four-thirty.
“I suggest that you two try to relax a little and grab some sleep; you’ll be quite safe here for at least twenty-four hours, by which time I will have been able to sort things out. I’m going out now as there is something else I have to deal with. I won’t be back until around noon, so do not answer the telephone or door until I return, it that clearly understood?”
They looked at each other and then meekly towards Alex.
“Yes we understand - but shouldn’t I call into work to say I’m ill or something?” Mui asked.
“I’m sorry Mui but there can be no contact with the outside world, at least for the moment. I think you must know by now that these people mean business, so please try to rest for a while.” He took Ling by the elbow as he walked to the door. “Try to keep her calm. I’m going to call Haki in Tokyo. You may have to send her there for real safety!”
Ling looked back at his wife forlornly sitting on the bed and looking lost. “Whatever it takes to keep her out of it,” he said and looked back at Alex. “Don’t worry - we’ll wait as you suggest.”
Slipping unseen out of the hotel and onto the quiet pavement, Alex strolled towards the waterfront at a leisurely pace; he urgently needed time to think.
First Mui had to be found a safe home. Sending her to Tokyo could the best option but getting her out of Hong Kong was going to be quite difficult. Then they still had to find a way of destroying the arms. Ling’s idea of sinking them at sea made good sense because it ensured that they were completely lost forever but that meant setting charges, directly to the vessel. Either way the charge would have to be detonated by some kind of radio controlled device; a timer would not be sufficiently flexible.
He strolled along the docks thinking through the possible strategy. The old Chinese could get us into the warehouse; we could set charges in some of the crates and hope that they’re loaded so that maximum effect from the explosions would sink the ship, he thought to himself as he sat on a bollard staring absently across the harbour. “It sounds simple when you say it quickly but?” he said aloud, co
nscious of the sound of his own voice in the otherwise silent night. His attention was drawn to a seagull, apparently asleep on a pile of discarded canvas. That’s what I should be doing, not talking to myself like an escaped psycho! He thought. Then another noise suddenly caught his attention. He looked around to see a drunken sailor stagger along the quay towards an ocean-going tug, moored about three hundred metres away. Out of curiosity, he stood up and strolled towards the tug and as he got closer he saw the sailor collapse in a heap at the foot of the gangplank. Two figures emerged from the ship and trotted down the companionway; they bent to pick up the semi-conscious man.
“The last one and the worst by the look of it. It’ll be no diving and no wages for you today my boy,” the first man said.
“That’s for sure,” the other admonished the semi-conscious man good-humouredly.
Alex froze. He was certain that he recognised the first voice. He moved a little closer. It was too dark to clearly make out the features of the men so when just five metres away he called out cheerfully.
“Some people just can’t handle it eh boys! Do you need a hand?” he greeted them, moving closer. The two men looked up, surprised. They hadn’t seen Alex, their attention focused entirely on their wayward diver.
John stopped dead, looking up sharply, his own memory alerted to the voice.
“That’s OK sport. We can manage,” the one wearing the chequered chef’s trousers called back.
John looked around. He recognised Alex immediately. What was he doing here? His brain raced. Turning his back to Alex, he hauled the man onto the ship, and then furtively looked back from the shadow of the side deck.
‘What should he do?’ Alex thought as he strolled slowly away. Then, stopping once again, he sat on one of the large steel bollards with his back to the tug, apparently looking across the basin towards the warehouses where he knew the munitions were stored.
On board the tug, John made up his mind. “Can you get him below on your own now Chef?” he asked.
“Don’t worry mate I can manage; the next bit’s downhill,” he laughed.
John walked back ashore and approached Alex.
“Excuse me but are you OK?” John asked politely.
Alex turned around.
“I certainly am, thank you.” Alex recognised him now; his memory had not fooled him. “I’d have recognised that voice anywhere. The world is such a small place isn’t it?” He held out his hand.
John reached out, grabbing the hand enthusiastically.
“What the hell are you doing here Alex?” was all he could say, still stunned by the chance meeting.
“I was about to ask you the same thing.” Alex shook his hand firmly.
“Come aboard. Let’s find out what you’ve been up to - or am I allowed to ask?”
Eager to know what Alex was doing in Hong Kong, John led him up the companionway.
It was almost six in the morning as they sat in the wheelhouse, each with a large enamel mug of tea.
“This is incredible - just how did you happen to be here?” John enquired cautiously.
Alex smiled. “Oh you know how it is with us reporters, anything for a good story.” He sipped at the scalding hot tea and tried to look serious. “I’m sorry. Can’t fool you with that international reporter stuff can I!” He placed the mug on the table. “Perhaps I could ask what you are doing here? Forgive me but I thought you were in Australia.”
John sat back. “That’s right. Nancy and I went to Australia. If you remember I always wanted to have my own diving business. Well, now I have every qualification in commercial diving there is to have, so I’m working with Big J here. He’s the Captain and owner of this converted tug. I aim to gain loads of practical commercial experience here then, when the right moment comes along, we will invest in a rig like this one ourselves.” He thought for a moment. “Luckily Big J managed to land this contract to repair a damaged wellhead out in the bay and to give advanced training to some the local divers - so here I am. How about you then? I suppose you’re still doing your cloak and dagger bit?” John teased gently.
As Alex listened to John’s story - a plan to use the diving facilities to destroy the Syndicate’s ship and its cargo had formed in his mind. “Listen John, you guessed right. I am still doing the cloak and dagger bit as you call it and amazingly you’ve landed on my doorstep in the nick of time.”
“So what’s your problem?” John leaned forward. “Are you asking for some assistance?”
“I’m not sure yet.” Alex looked around. “Are we secure in here?”
“The crew went on the town last night including the skipper. They’ll sleep until seven thirty at least. The chef and me, we stayed aboard to guard the ship, so it should be quite safe.” He raised his hands. “Chef took that last man to his bunk and was going to get an hour’s kip himself before breakfast - so it’s just you and me, for a while at any rate.”
Alex played with the handle of his tea mug but did not drink.
“OK, I’m sure you’ll remember the Syndicate?”
John furrowed his brow anxiously. “Well they’re making a huge shipment of arms, including missiles and mountains of ammunition, to a rogue Islamic fundamentalist group in the Southern Philippines. From there they are expected to launch a series of terror attacks on western, especially American, interests in the region. Fortunately we know that the shipment is sitting in the warehouse just across the basin from here. Somehow I have to destroy that cargo; it must not get into the hands of those terrorists!”
Alex looked down at the chipped though spotless table.
“There is enough ordnance over there to start a major war; you have seen for yourself that the Syndicate do not care who gets in their way. Neither do they care who ultimately suffers as a result of their transactions. These arms are expected to be loaded on a boat and shipped to Manila in the next twenty-four hours.” He paused but John remained silent. “Now, I’ve thought about this from all angles and believe that the best and probably the only guaranteed way to destroy this deadly cargo is when the ship is at sea and in deep water.”
“You mean sink the ship and cargo? What about the crew?” John asked in alarm.
“Just remember this - I made some very good friends on my last case in the Philippines, as I did with you and Nancy in Greece. I was able to help you but I was not so fortunate with the others; they were tied up and thrown overboard to drown and feed the sharks. Now I can’t say whether this is the same crew, but I’ll warrant that if they are Syndicate men they’d do the same without any more thought than spit,” Alex rebuffed him sharply, unusually flushed with anger.
“I’m sorry Alex - it’s easy to forget what bastards they really are,” John confessed, remembering how they’d shot the helpless medical attendant, merely because he’d lied to protect him and Nancy; he shuddered as the regurgitated memories flushed over him.
“You know I think we could probably help to disable that vessel in some way.” John was almost talking to himself. “We’d have to let Big J in on the job. He’s a tough cookie but likes things to be simple and correct.”
“What does Big J like to be simple and correct about?”
They turned to see the big man; his huge frame almost filled the galley doorway. He was unshaved, and wearing a brightly coloured dressing gown - Alex thought for a moment he was some character from a Christmas pantomime. Looking decidedly bleary-eyed and scratching at his short-cropped, hair he stepped into the galley.
“I think a large cup of black coffee before any thing else,” He said and moved over to the hot water maker, apparently not noticing Alex. He spooned some instant coffee into his personal mug followed by a large helping of sugar. The water heater hissed, scalding water trickled into the mug; he picked up a spoon and stirred vigorously.
“Now then what have I missed?” He sniffed the mug; it was too hot to drink so he placed it gently on the table and looked up at his companions. “OK so who’s going to tell me the story?”
/> “Big J,” John started, taking the initiative, “this is Alex Scott - an old friend who just happened to be strolling along the quay when we were shepherding the last crewman on board this morning. I invited him on board.”
“Just happened to be strolling on the quay at what time was it, six in the morning?” Big J asked sarcastically.
Alex made a decision.
“I know it may seem a bit of a strange coincidence but it’s absolutely true.” He sighed. “Big J, I hope you’re as good as your name because by accident you have become involved in a major international incident.” Alex paused, making himself comfortable. “You see, John here assisted me once, in another very dangerous battle with an international crime organisation known as the Syndicate. I won’t go into too much detail - I’d be here all night - but they are probably the most dangerous group of organised criminals on Earth.” Alex looked directly at Big J. The big man was unmoved but listening intently. “Recently they sold the largest single private delivery of military ordnance and ammunition ever assembled; believe me the inventory is quite mind-blowing. The customer is a group of dissident Islamic fundamentalists located in the Southern Philippines. With these arms and equipment the whole Far East could become a raging battlefield again. It is believed that their terrorist groups are targeting a number of American flagship enterprises in the region.” Alex paused and took a sip of his own now-cold tea.
“I’m sorry to interrupt, Alex, was it?”
Alex nodded.
“But why are you telling me all this?” Big J’s own beverage had not been touched.
“Alex is a sort of United Nations James Bond. He needs our help to destroy the arms,” John blurted out.
Alex smiled. “I never quite thought of my role like that but I suppose that’s a simplified description.” He pushed the mug towards John. “Fresh tea?” he asked.
“Now listen guys. I don’t want to seem like a spoilsport, but we’re here to fulfil a dive training contract, OK?” Big J leaned towards the table. “We have developed a good working relationship with the locals, so we simply can’t afford to jeopardise the final and major part of the payment of our contract. I’m sorry but we have to be strictly commercial; there are families to think about and they have mortgages to pay. So with respect, I can’t see how we can help.” Big J was clearly becoming irritated and noisily gulped some of his coffee.
