by Sewell, Ron
“You did.”
Both women laughed. The phone warbled again and silenced them.
“Let me,” said Jocelyn. She lifted the handset. “Can I help you?”
“Hi, Jocelyn, thought you might be worried.”
“Hi, Teddy. Any news?”
“None, I’m afraid. Spoke to our man in Beijing and he assures me what can be done will be.”
“This man of yours, is he any good?”
“Best spook in the game.”
“Thanks, Teddy.”
“Sorry, not good, but ...”
“You’re doing your best. Can’t ask for more. Take care.”
She turned to Maria and shook her head. “It’s good of him to keep us in the loop.”
“I’d better feed Alysa and Charlie. Are you hungry?”
“I fancy a curry. I’ll pop up the road and get a takeaway. Enough for two, okay?”
“Food is the last thing I want at the moment.”
“You can always microwave it later.”
Jocelyn motored up the hill towards the Indian takeaway and listened to the radio. Somewhere in Beijing her man was in trouble.
* * *
MV Harvest Moon left her berth and headed for the China Sea. Captain Robert Banforth, an experienced mariner but without an in-date command ticket, worked for the Triads of Hong Kong, his crew from every nation. One man he trusted, his Chief Engineer Ying Ku; the rest unreliable dockside scum, but so long as they did their jobs they were of no concern.
Once out of the harbour, he remained on the bridge until they entered open water. As detailed in his orders, he kept in contact with the top dogs in Beijing by satellite telephone.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Stuart wrote his report, placed it into an envelope and sealed it. Lost in thought, he remained in his chair for a while. The buzz of his mobile bounced him back to reality. The screen showed a number which didn’t make sense but he answered the call. “Gardner.”
In a heavy Chinese accent someone said, “Mr Gardner, your missing men. Go now to Beijing Central Jail.” The line went dead.
He stared at the pile of papers on his desk. “Okay, what the fuck do they want me to do? Yeah, I’ll knock on the door and ask if I can take them away gift-wrapped with a pink bow in their hair.” Perplexed, he strolled to the main office.
The ambassador’s secretary, June, a petite thirty-something, attractive brunette, smiled and fluttered her eyelids, swept a stray hair away from her eyes. “Have you come to whisk me away on a magic carpet to paradise?”
“Not exactly. I need to use the boss’s direct line telephone.”
Her eyes sparkled. “Business or pleasure?”
He smiled at her cheerful challenge. “Business.”
She lowered her voice to a sultry whisper. “What a shame. Why don’t you wine, dine me, and come back to my place for coffee?”
Stuart furrowed his brow. “June, I can’t ever imagine you being desperate. I’m the last man you want to go out with. I don’t intend to marry - well, not yet. What I do is my life. I love every moment.”
When she replied her voice was jocular. “I’ll leave my offer open but I don’t believe you’ll find better. Be careful what you say on the telephone, the tape’s running.”
“June, I oversaw its installation.” She smiled, and making sure he could see, stretched her long legs.
Stuart entered the office, picked up the phone, and contacted Wang Sheng whom he knew to be a capable but opinionated man.
“The British Ambassador is away. Who is this?”
“Stuart Gardner. Please listen. I just received a strange telephone call. My two missing men are in Beijing Central.”
“Interesting. A swift visit is required.”
“Your officials won’t talk to me.”
“I’ll arrange for you to be escorted by someone.”
“When?”
“Be at the entrance in one hour.” A soft click ended the call.
Stuart, his mind in a whirl, strolled past June without a glance.
“A thank you might just be acceptable.”
He stopped and turned. “Sorry, miles away. Thanks. Must dash.”
* * *
Stuart shivered and shoved his hands in his pockets. He stared at the new prison. Huge was not the word he’d use to describe it. A town within a city, its occupant’s cheap labour for the manufacture of products which ended up in the homes of mankind.
“A modern creation and the envy of the western world, Mr Gardner.”
Stuart turned.
“They are unaware of my visit,” said Wang Sheng.
Stuart went to say something. Wang raised his right hand and four uniformed officers gathered around them.
The guards at the entrance altered their stance to stop them but froze to attention as the group entered.
The junior official at reception lifted his head, jumped and bowed. “Your visit is unexpected, Sir,” he said in Cantonese.
“Get me the duty officer,” shouted Wang.
The man scurried away, to return moments later following a flustered tall man with a thin face and hawk eyes. He saluted. “Sir.”
“Give me the detaining orders for foreign nationals,” said Wang.
“My room is at your disposal, Sir.”
“If you stand there a moment longer you will not have a job.”
With his head bowed, the junior handed across a green folder.
Wang tore it from his hand.
“These two men. I will talk to them now.”
Hawk-eyes raised an eyebrow. “They are not here. A senior police officer arrived this afternoon and took them away.”
“On whose authorisation?”
The worried man produced a typed sheet. “Yours, Sir.”
Wang studied the document, turned to Stuart, and spoke in English. “This paper is from my office and the signature is a good copy of mine. The stamp is genuine.”
“Is there something wrong, Sir?”
Wang remained silent for a few moments. “Come, Mr Gardner, the time has come to talk, but not here. I will walk with you.” In an instant his language changed to Chinese. “Guards, arrest these incompetents and assume their duties until you find who removed the prisoners we are seeking.”
Wang and Stuart strolled casually across the car park. Stuart stopped. “A dead end might describe my circumstances.”
“I agree. My team will examine the security films from this afternoon. With the aid of computers we should be able to name those who abducted your people. Oh, the newscaster’s film. Whoever organised the removal of the Emperor’s hoard has influence and money. The use of police helicopters and vehicles to give support in the theft was cunning. Like a puzzle, the pieces will, in time, fit together.”
“Why are you helping me?”
Wang’s voice remained firm as he held Stuart’s eyes with his own. “Politics. Trade between our countries is important. A stain on our image might not be good for business when considering the future. To be fair, these men are insignificant, but the treasure is not. I will contact you when more information is available.”
Stuart went to shake Wang’s hand, but he was already walking to his waiting car.
* * *
Pain wracked Petros’ body as he opened his eyes to dark. It reminded him of a nightmare but he was awake. He lay there and used his hands to check his surroundings. Fingers ran over a coarse carpet and cold metal to his left and right. He raised his head. “What the ...? Bear?” he shouted, his voice hoarse.
Much to his surprise, he heard a muffled answer. “Where are you, PK?”
“Fuck knows.”
“I’m in the front of a car, trussed as a Christmas turkey ready for the oven.”
“I must be in the boot. Are you okay?”
“No, my mouth tastes like a Sumo warrior’s jock strap.”
“That’s different.” Petros let his hands tour the space, searching. After a few minutes of head banging, he
stopped and shouted, “Bear, I’m going to force it open”.
“You can try but I don’t fancy your chances. The blood circulation in my arms and legs stopped ages ago, so hurry. Shit, that hurt.”
“What?”
“The steering wheel hurts.”
Rolling over, Petros pressed his back against the lid and pushed. It moved a fraction but no more. Sweat ran over his face as he tried again. “It won’t budge. Give me five minutes.”
“Wait a moment,” said Bear. “My middle finger has found the door handle.” The click of the lock gave hope. He kicked the door wide open.
“PK, the interior light’s on and I can make out various buttons. Big problem, they’re in Chinese.”
“Just nut every one you can reach, you might get lucky.”
“It’s alright for you laying flat on your back. It takes me ages to shift. Wait, my fingers are touching a lever. That’s the bonnet release. Next, Petrol cap. What’s this ...?”
“Give the man a prize.” Petros pushed the lid up and clambered out. He stretched before helping Bear. “Stay still and you’ll be free in a couple of ticks.” He pushed the cigarette lighter and waited. “I said stay still.” The glowing lighter melted the plastic cable ties in seconds.
“Give it to me, I’ll do the rest,” said Bear. With his arms and legs unbound, he scrambled out of the car and started to exercise. Ten minutes later he stood next to Petros. “Why is the floor moving?”
“To figure it out took lateral thinking. We’re on a ship.”
“Bound and locked in a car inside a metal box on a ship at sea. Did we annoy someone?”
“More to the point, how do we get out of here?”
Bear turned on the headlights and they strolled to the double steel door at the far end of the container. “Locked, and outside the sun’s shining.”
Petros leant against the damp metal. “Improvise. The car’s a perfect battering ram.”
“Might work. May I suggest we wait? In daylight someone’s bound to spot us.”
“Good idea. We haven’t a clue what we might be facing when we get out. Turn the lights off and save the battery.”
“Done,” said Bear. “I’m going to stretch out on the back seat. This excitement is doing my head in.”
“I’ll kip on the front seats. With luck my head will stop aching by the time I wake.”
“I don’t rate this tour company. The facilities are crap.”
“Bear, be quiet.”
* * *
Petros awoke and stared into the dark. He fumbled with his right hand until he turned the courtesy light on. “Bear?”
“I’m awake. Give me five minutes. I need to stretch.”
“I’ll join you.”
Both men completed a series of exercises to ease their muscles.
Bear marched back and forth the length of the container ten times, dropped to the floor and did twenty press-ups. “Fit but weak from lack of sustenance. I’m ready when you are, PK.”
“Correct me if I’m wrong, but we intend driving this car at those steel doors. With luck it will bust them open or give us a way out.”
“So far so good,” said Bear.
“Have you ever noticed how they load containers on these ships? We may well be on the top row. Worse, we could be facing the ship’s side and drop straight into the sea and I don’t fancy swimming back to China.”
“Good point.”
“I propose we start the engine, reverse it as far back as we can and then wind up the revs. The hard part will be engaging first gear and getting out.”
“What’s the alternative? Sit here and do nothing?” Bear walked to the rear of the car and opened the boot. He removed the mat covering. “This rolled up will press the accelerator to the floor.”
“The gear lever’s in the middle. I’ll do the dodgy bit but I want to force the driver’s door back as far as it can go.”
“Get it started.”
Petros lay on the front seat, shoved his hand behind the dashboard and located the wiring to the ignition. With a sharp tug, he removed each connection and pulled them free. With one foot on the accelerator, he stroked two wires together - nothing. He made contact with another, the starter motor engaged and the engine roared. With the main beams on, he manoeuvred the car to the front. He opened the driver’s door and reversed not far off the near side. The thin metal scraped, screeched, and ripped from the main frame, falling underneath the front wheels before he stopped.
“Crap engineering,” said Bear.
“Hope the same applies to the door.” Petros centred the vehicle and crashed the boot hard against the steel wall. The mat set the accelerator to maximum, the engine raced. “Stand clear.”
He leant towards the middle, pressed the clutch pedal and engaged first gear. In a smooth motion, he rolled to the left and tumbled out. The clutch bit, the front tyres spun before they gripped. At speed the car struck the double door. The container shook; clouds of smoke erupted from spinning wheels.
Bear jumped in the car and reversed. “Jesus Christ, PK, we’re trying to make our circumstances better not worse. A few more lungfuls of that shit and we’ll choke to death.”
Coughing and spluttering, Petros examined the buckled steel. “I might but you’ve no chance.” He stuck his head in the gap and breathed. “I’ll try again in a minute.”
“You’ll have to be quick, the radiator’s leaking.”
With the swiftness of a young man, Petros jumped in and repeated the procedure. This time the doors opened and the car, its engine screaming dropped from view. He stood and stared at the fluorescent wake of a ship.
“I guess whoever owned the car has lost his no-claims bonus,” said Bear.
“The next problem is how we return to Beijing.”
Chapter Thirty-Six
The night sky was free of clouds and a full moon shone brightly on Bear and Petros.
“How’s this going to work?” said Bear.
“First things first. We need to get out of here.”
“As a point of interest, PK, are you an expert on container ships?”
“No.”
“That helps,” said Bear with a hint of irony in his voice. Bemused, he leaned out and considered the available options. “Give or take five, I reckon forty metres before we hit the sea. We stand a better chance of staying alive by getting on top.”
“That’s not very reassuring. I’ll need your help.”
Bear gave Petros a leg up and held him steady as he gripped the opening. “You okay?”
Petros peered over the edge. “Yeah.”
Bear used the buckled door as a ladder. With the movement of the ship, it swung as he clambered to the top.
“You might have told me.”
“With your fear of heights, no way.”
“What now?”
Bear stared at the rear of the superstructure. “The ship’s control centre. At night one officer and a helmsman at most.”
“Why are you so sure?”
“QE Two, Falklands. We travelled in style.”
“So we take control?”
“The radio shack’s what we want.”
“What happens if they spot us?”
“No chance. The officer will be relaxed, checking radar and his charts. The other man is a dogsbody in case something goes wrong.”
The two men strolled as if out for an evening’s walk across the containers and stopped when they ended.
“Time to descend,” said Petros. “One slip and we’ll be dog meat.”
“PK, shut up and park your arse.” His gaze fixed on the wires that stretched to fixed anchor points welded on the superstructure. “Way to go.” In one movement he sat on the edge with his legs astride the cable.
A nervousness edged into Petros’ voice. “No fucking way.”
“Got a better idea? Wipe your paw across the steel, it’s wet. A decent grip on steel with wet hands is nigh on impossible. This way is a walk in the park. Don’t stare at
me as if I’m mad.”
“That’s the problem, you are, and I must be to listen.”
“You’ve done this a dozen times.”
“I never said I liked it and I always closed my eyes.”
Bear removed his shirt and using both hands tore it in two. Using the material to grab the wire with both hands, he let it support his weight before he clambered back.
Petros swallowed hard and choked back his fear. With pieces of cloth wrapped around each hand, he lay with his face on the wire and pulled. He hooked his left foot over and pushed. His body swayed towards the centre. Past the point of no return, he repeated the same movement ten more times until his right hand found the anchor. With determination, he stretched and grabbed the top of the bulwark. The instant the fingers of his left hand gripped, he hauled his sweating carcass up and over the edge. In the shadows, he tied the greased-covered material together and tossed it back to Bear.
Bear wrapped the remnants over his palms, lowered his frame on the wire, and although the cable swayed, crossed with little effort.
“A walk in the park,” said Bear. “One flight of stairs and we’re on the bridge.”
“We should separate and enter from both sides.”
“Agreed.”
Five minutes of thought followed as to the best route for their approach.
Bear disappeared and returned in moments. “There’s a companionway on either side. Wish we had our watches. We’ll do this the old fashioned way.”
“Tell me.”
“Right, the moment we separate start counting seconds, one and, two and ... I reckon fifty should place us outside the bridge doors.”
“Ok, we enter on fifty. I’ll take the man nearest me and you the other.”
“Make sure you drop him fast,” said Bear. “A brawl might be a tad noisy.”
“Ready?” Their whispers drifted on the breeze.
Petros kept low and ascended the metal steps without a sound. He paused until he reached fifty before opening the starboard door. Bear came from the port side as Petros entered
In the red night lighting, Petros faced a short, stocky man. In two strides he struck him in the face with his plaster cast, knocking him to the deck.
