The Borrowed

by Chan Ho-Kei

  ‘But what if the transmitter gets discovered?’

  ‘You can choose not to use it – we won’t force you. But please understand that once the kidnapper gets the cash, he won’t necessarily keep his word and let his hostage go. Rather than seeing this as a gamble, try regarding it as an insurance policy. If you trust the Royal Hong Kong Police, then please do as I ask and put it in the bag.’

  ‘I understand.’ Graham nodded.

  ‘The kidnapper may instruct you to transfer the money and jewellery to a different bag during the handover. You’ll have to play it by ear.’ Kwan tapped the transmitter a couple of times.

  Mac bundled the notes up again into their original seven piles. Graham quickly counted them, then put them back into the envelope. The jewellery box was too large to carry around, so he found a small cloth bag for the necklace, earrings and rings, then pulled the drawcord and stuffed that into the envelope too. He picked up the transmitter and was about to place it with the cash and jewels, then changed his mind and put it in his trouser pocket, thinking he’d wait and see if the kidnapper gave him any particular instructions first.

  While they waited, Kwan made two phone calls, to the Hong Kong Island and Kowloon Criminal Investigation Departments. As soon as the kidnapper told Graham where to go, Kwan would brief the relevant district’s officers to set up surveillance and an ambush.

  Ten minutes later, the phone rang. It was 3.20 – again, right on time.

  Everyone put on their earpieces and Ngai once again switched on the tracing and recording machines. Kwan nodded at Graham, who picked up the phone.

  ‘Hello.’

  ‘Have you got the money?’ The same man again.

  ‘Yes. Seventy thousand in cash and thirty thousand in jewellery.’

  ‘You see, where there’s a will, there’s a way!’ jeered the man.

  ‘I want to speak to Alfred,’ said Graham, trying to drag out the conversation as Ngai indicated he needed more time.

  ‘Don’t bargain with me,’ said the man coldly. ‘I’m only going to say this once.’

  ‘But I want to speak to Alfred—’

  ‘Within twenty minutes, drive alone to Lok Heung Yuen Coffee Shop on Wellington Street in Central. Bring the ransom with you. Order a cup of milk tea. You’ll receive new instructions there.’

  ‘Wait, I want Alf—’

  Before he finished, the man had hung up.

  ‘No trace,’ said Ngai, removing his earpiece. ‘These calls are all too short to get a fix.’

  ‘Ron, you stay here. I want you to examine the recordings of all the calls so far – see if you can find any clues, background noises, that sort of thing,’ said Kwan, removing his earpiece too. ‘Mr Hill, with a twenty-minute time limit, you’d better set out now. Do you know where Lok Heung Yuen is?’

  ‘The D’Aguilar end of Wellington Street, right?’

  ‘Yes, that’s the one. Mac won’t be able to go with you. The kidnapper emphasized you should come alone, and if he happened to find another person in your car, that might not be good for your son’s safety. But Mac, Sergeant Tsui and I will wait nearby, and as soon as you get a chance, let us know his next instruction and we’ll mobilize the others. I’ll get in touch with CID over the car radio and tell them to put an undercover officer at Lok Heung Yuen.’

  Graham nodded.

  ‘Mac, go get the car. Meet me and Old Tsui at the street corner.’

  Graham didn’t set off right away. Instead, he went over to Stella, still slumped on the sofa, and knelt to hug her.

  ‘Don’t fret, I’ll bring Alfred back home,’ he murmured into her ear, sounding confident. Stella’s eyes filled with tears again, but she nodded and clutched her husband tightly. She knew she had to be strong, so Graham wouldn’t worry about her as he went off alone.

  Graham picked up the envelope and went down to the parking lot. Placing the ransom on the passenger seat, he started his car, trying to work out which route to take. As he drove out the main gate of Nairn House, he saw Kwan and Old Tsui walking past the security kiosk towards the street.

  Along the way, Graham kept glancing at his watch. It was about a twelve-minute drive to Central, but if traffic were bad, he might not make it within twenty. He glared anxiously at each red light he came to, and floored the pedal with each amber, zooming ahead like a Grand Prix driver with a medal in his sights.

  Fortunately, rush hour was still some time away, and traffic was smooth. The only problem came in the Cross-Harbour Tunnel, where the clumsy toll-booth cashier cost him an extra ten seconds, and even after Graham snapped that he didn’t need change, the blockhead still took his time raising the barrier.

  Graham reached the coffee shop at 3.37. Lok Heung Yuen was known locally as the Snake Pit – Cantonese slang for shirking from work was ‘Snake King’, and each afternoon the place filled with white-collar workers who’d snuck out of their offices for an illicit break. This was the peak time for afternoon tea, and every single table was taken, leaving Graham at a loss.

  The Snake Pit was a place for regular people – foreign bosses or high-level executives would never go there – so when Graham stepped in, he attracted some attention. People assumed he must have come to the wrong place, or that he was trying to track down an employee who’d abandoned his post at a crucial moment.

  ‘Sorry, no seat. Do you mind... daap toi?’ The waiter spoke broken English, ending with the Cantonese for ‘share a table’, gesturing to show what he meant.

  Graham suddenly caught sight of some familiar faces – Kwan Chun-dok and Old Tsui in a four-person booth. He went over as casually as he could, and slipped in next to Kwan. The inspector was apparently absorbed in a newspaper, while Old Tsui had his arms folded across his chest, seemingly sound asleep. Both had typical Snake Pit behaviour down to a T, and no one would ever have suspected they were policemen. For all that Graham had hurried here, Mac drove with the reckless speed of a young man, and he’d got the officers here a few minutes ahead.

  Kwan didn’t make a sound, only glancing at Graham as if to say, ‘What’s this foreigner doing, sharing a table with us?’ Graham didn’t speak to them either, only followed the instructions he’d been given, ordering a cup of Hong Kong-style milk tea from the waiter.

  Lok Heung Yuen’s tea was famous, but Graham wasn’t in the mood to appreciate it. He took a sip, then began looking around, waiting for the kidnapper to show up.

  Although he’d arrived just minutes before the deadline, it still seemed to take the long hand of his watch forever to creep closer and closer towards the 8. When it was almost there, the same waiter came over with his half-baked English. ‘You... Mr Ha? Telephone.’ Once again, he had to mime to get his message across.

  This was strange. Clutching the ransom envelope, Graham went to the public phone. The receiver was on the counter, and no one was nearby.

  He gingerly picked up the phone. ‘Hello?’

  ‘You’re on time, good.’ Once more, the hateful man.

  ‘Show yourself. You can have my money, I only want my son back.’

  ‘If you do what I say, you’ll see him very soon,’ said the man levelly. ‘Right now, I want you to find a jeweller and change the seventy thousand dollars into gold.’

  ‘Into gold?’

  ‘Yes, gold. The price of gold today is about nine hundred dollars per tael... I’ll give you a discount. Buy me seventy-five taels of gold. You can keep the change.’ Hong Kong still used the old system of weights for trading gold; a tael was equal to ten maces and a mace was about 3.75 grams.

  ‘Change the cash into fifteen five-tael gold bars, then drive to Kennedy Town swimming pool in West Point. Order a cup of coffee at the poolside cafe and wait for my next order.’

  ‘Kennedy Town swimming pool?’

  ‘Don’t make me repeat myself. I’ll give you half an hour, get there by four fifteen.’

  ‘Will you bring Alfred—’

  Click. He’d hung up.

  Banknotes could have th
eir serial numbers copied down, but gold was untraceable. If necessary, ingots could be melted down.

  Graham returned to his seat and gulped down some tea, then whispered, ‘The kidnapper wants me to turn the cash into seventy-five taels of gold, then meet him at Kennedy Town swimming pool cafe.’

  Kwan said nothing, his gaze remaining fixed on the paper. He only placed his right hand on the table and tapped twice gently in acknowledgement. Graham called for the bill and quickly left the cafe, still clutching the ransom.

  Now he had to find a jewellery shop. Central was the heart of Hong Kong Island, and walking a little way west on Queen’s Road he found himself amongst all manner of shops, including several jewellers. He picked one at random and went in past its window display of gold bracelets and rings. The staff perked up to see a white man walk in. By this point the locals had almost caught up with the foreigners in terms of wealth and status, but older Hongkongers couldn’t shake off the idea that a non- Chinese face meant money.

  ‘Welcome. How may I help, sir?’ The balding, bespectacled clerk spoke fluently, although with a strong accent.

  ‘Gold. I want gold bars,’ said Graham.

  ‘As an investment? This is a good time to buy gold. How much?’ said the clerk delightedly.

  ‘Five taels of solid gold. I want fifteen of those.’

  ‘Sir... did you say fifteen five-tael bars?’ The clerk thought he’d heard wrongly.

  ‘Yes, seventy-five taels in total.’ Graham pulled the cash from his envelope. ‘Do you have it here? I need it now, tell me if you don’t and I’ll go. I’m in a rush.’

  ‘We do! We do!’ The clerk’s eyes almost popped out of his head. It wasn’t that he hadn’t seen such big sums before, but no foreign visitor had ever been that open-handed. It was enough to buy a triplex apartment in Wan Chai.

  The clerk hurried into the back of the store and returned a minute later with a tray bearing fifteen ornate boxes. He opened them one by one to show that each contained a slab of glittering gold, stamped with its weight and serial number, and a certificate stating the provenance of the ingot.

  ‘We have scales here, if you want to inspect...’

  ‘No, and I don’t need the boxes, just give me the gold.’

  ‘Gold is selling for eighty-eight dollars per mace today... so that’s a total of sixty-six thousand dollars.’ The clerk discreetly pointed at a sign on the counter that said, ‘Fine Gold: $88 per mace. No bargaining, please.’ He checked his calculations quickly on an abacus. ‘Will you be paying in cash?’

  Graham shoved the piles of banknotes in front of him, as if rebuking him for asking unnecessary questions.

  ‘I’ll need to examine the notes, please bear with me,’ said the clerk gingerly, trying not to annoy the customer.

  ‘Hurry up.’ Graham checked his watch. It was only a ten- minute drive from Central to West Point.

  The clerk inspected the cash. Because they were large denominations and many were in sequence, it didn’t take him long to count out $66,000.

  ‘Here’s your change. I’ll write you a receipt.’

  ‘I don’t—’

  ‘Sir, it’s better if you keep the receipt, to prevent any dispute later.’ The clerk found it very odd that this foreigner was in such a hurry – perhaps these were stolen public funds, and he was preparing to abscond? Of course, it didn’t matter to him what the story was – these were real notes and the transaction was legal, so even if the police showed up, he should be able to hang on to the money.

  While the clerk was scribbling out the receipt, Graham shovelled the gold bars into his envelope. Each ingot was only a little larger than the average eraser, and the A4 envelope was easily able to hold all fifteen. They were heavy, though – about three kilograms, almost ripping the paper. Seeing this, the clerk handed over the receipt, then reached for a plastic bag.

  ‘Thank you,’ said Graham, British politeness automatic even at this moment.

  ‘No, thank you for your business.’ The clerk shook his hand warmly. ‘Sir, if you require anything in the future, please be sure to visit our humble store again.’

  Graham nodded and placed the envelope and receipt in the plastic bag, then hurried out. Only when he was leaving the store did he notice Old Tsui by the window, pretending to browse. As he brushed past, neither so much as glanced at the other. Graham guessed Superintendent Kwan must have radioed ahead to send someone to the pool, or else he and Mac would have driven there straight away to see if there were any sign of the kidnapper.

  Graham sprinted to his car and set off.

  Kennedy Town pool on Smithfield had opened two years previously. In addition to a viewing area and changing rooms, the pool also had a public cafe. Each morning the place was packed with breakfast customers, and after the rush of the morning swim, seniors would turn up, many of them with bird cages – a little bird-appreciation club. It was a bustling scene.

  At five past four, Graham arrived at the pool. He’d never been there before, but having investigated so many corruption cases, he knew the addresses of public facilities by heart. As soon as he turned onto Smithfield, he saw his destination at once. Parking in a nearby lot, he saw roadside hawkers and a market opposite the entrance. Smithfield was at the western end of West Point, near two large public housing developments – Kwun Lung Lau and Sai Wan Estate – as well as private housing, with more than a hundred thousand residents in all. Apart from street snacks, you could also buy clothes or fruit here, or get your watch repaired, your shoes fixed, your keys cut, your blades sharpened. These last hawkers carried whetstones and other tools around, shouting, ‘Knives and scissors!’ as they roamed the streets, summoning housewives downstairs with their implements to be made sharp again for a dollar or less.

  It was after school, and the snack stalls were busy with students clamouring for fishballs and tripe soup, or Cantonese steamed cakes, peanut candy and dragon’s beard. Graham squeezed through the hordes of ravenous young people to the pool entrance and followed the signs to the cafe upstairs.

  This wasn’t as crowded as the Snake Pit – there were several empty tables. He spotted Kwan sitting alone, but, afraid he was being watched, slid into another booth with his back to the policeman. Although facing in opposite directions, they could still hear each other if they whispered.

  ‘What would you like?’ said a waiter in Cantonese. Graham had no idea what he’d just said, but guessed this probably wasn’t a message from the kidnapper – who’d presumably know not to send someone who didn’t speak English. He pointed at coffee on the menu, which fortunately was bilingual.

  Sipping his coffee, Graham studied his surroundings. He had no idea if there were other undercover officers around. The two at the round table in front might be police, but equally could be the kidnappers. The twenty-something guy a little to the back was suspicious too; he kept staring at Graham as he drank his iced lemon tea. Graham followed his gaze and realized he might not necessarily be the target – right in front of him was a ravishing young woman enjoying a sandwich.

  As he was looking around, the waiter came up again and pointed at the counter, where the phone was off its hook. Was the waiter in cahoots with the kidnapper? No, he could easily have said, ‘Please ask the Westerner who just ordered a cup of coffee to come to the phone.’ He’d probably picked this venue because not many foreigners came here. Still, Graham now realized something.

  Both here and at the Snake Pit, he was being watched by the kidnapper’s co-conspirators. As soon as he arrived, the observer would have left, or else found some way to notify his colleague outside, to phone the restaurant at once and give Graham his next order.

  As he made his way to the counter, Graham swept his eyes across every face in the room to see if he recognized anyone from the Snake Pit. But there was no one. He couldn’t claim he never forgot a face, but he certainly would notice running into the same person twice in half an hour.

  So the kidnapper had more than one assistant – different
watchers in Central and West Point.

  ‘You bought the gold?’ It was the same man on the phone.

  ‘Yes. I’ll give you the gold and jewellery, just return my son to me.’

  ‘Mr Hill, don’t worry, when I get the ransom, I’ll send your child home to you. But I’m not stupid enough to do the exchange face to face,’ said the man coldly. ‘I’ve left a cardboard box by the flower trough at the cafe entrance. Your name is written on it. Go look.’

  He hung up. Graham didn’t bother returning to his seat, but handed the waiter some money, then walked out. Sure enough, a box stood where the kidnapper had said, with ‘HILL’ on one side in big letters. He ripped it open to see a pair of red swimming trunks, an odd-shaped white canvas bag and a typewritten note:

  ‘Go into the pool area, change into the trunks. Place the gold and jewellery in the bag and carry it with you. I’ve left a special coin in the centre of the main pool. When you’ve found it, you’ll understand the next step.’

  All of this was baffling, but Graham had no choice. He made sure he hadn’t missed any items in the box – or any clues – then took the swimming trunks and bag downstairs, past the reception desk. Kwan followed him, so he palmed the folded note and left it on the railing for him to pick up – he couldn’t afford to speak to Kwan, not knowing if his observer was still nearby.

  After paying, Graham went down the passageway into the men’s changing room. There were no lockers here, only a counter where an attendant would give you a wire basket for your possessions. The baskets were about the size of a desk drawer, and each had two metal tags attached – you were given one tag when you deposited your property, then your basket went back on the rack. The attendant had six or seven empty baskets ready on the counter for use, which he constantly replaced. These went back on the rack in order, for easy retrieval.

  Graham didn’t quite know how this worked, but watched the people in front of him and quickly got the idea. There were seven or eight other men in the room, getting dressed or undressed; he didn’t know which of them were police or kidnappers. Taking a basket, he went into a corner and undressed, then slipped on those bright red trunks. Looking around to make sure no one was watching, he opened the envelope and transferred the gold bars to the canvas bag one by one.