Ship to Shore

by Peter Tonkin

  ‘What else?’ asked Twelvetoes. He was beginning to feel awed, overwhelmed, by the immediacy and power of this equipment.

  ‘If elder brother would look carefully in the bottom right of the screen,’ said Chang, ‘there is a small icon. Touching this will fast-forward through the display. In the meantime, I will call for more tea.’

  Twelvetoes prided himself on the perfection of his Oriental manners. But he had after all been infected by Western ways — and some Western weaknesses. And he was Dragon Head of a powerful Triad organisation so he could indulge them. ‘Forget tea,’ he said brusquely. ‘I need a whisky!’

  An hour later, with his train of quiet daughters in tow and the garrulous Chang at his side, Twelvetoes Ho was walking through the big warehouse behind the Quinglingpu market near the riverside in Guangzhou. His mind was reeling, not from the effects of the small tot of excellent Suntory twelve-year-old whisky he had enjoyed, but from the experiences he had had. They were all so real that they occupied his memory like dreams. His fingers ached and tingled with numbness, trying to come to terms with the fact that they had felt none of the vividness which he had seen and heard. He had climbed a rock wall high on the Qomolangma Feng which the Westerners called Everest. He had ridden a hang-glider off the top of the Eiffel Tower. He had begun an autopsy on a corpse and tried just a little brain surgery. He had set the shattered leg of a road-accident victim and learned a little about emergency first aid. He had assembled and stripped a Hughes Ex34 chain gun and a Russian SA 16 Igla missile. He had entered the heart of an exploding volcano and lived through a nuclear explosion. He had flown an X-wing fighter at the side of Luke Skywalker and shared the bridge of the Starship Enterprise with Captains Picard and Kirk. Most affectingly of all, to his dazzled mind, he had walked through the bamboo groves of deepest Quingai Province and confronted both the endangered panda and the flame-red, near-extinct tiger there.

  But he was here to do more than simply to play with Chang’s latest toy. The warehouse through which the businessman was guiding him so solicitously was vast and well stocked. All of the massive range of wares packaged and ready for shipping out of here had been pirated in one way or another. The boxes on the headsets said ‘Virtuality’ but that company had never made the contents, nor had they created the software which went with them. ‘The range of disks which accompany the virtual reality headsets,’ Chang was still explaining, ‘have been collected from all over the world. We have added sections created here. The woman on the demonstration disk, for instance, is an image generated by our graphics department under the directorship of Comrade Fuk who is the artist that actually drew the original. Comrade Fuk and his team can generate any image of that kind.’

  Pornography does not interest me!’

  ‘In itself, of course not. But it is a part of every new step forward. Even outside the virtual reality system, the video games all have their adult elements. It is just another demand to be met.’

  As they talked, they passed great piles of boxes containing, apparently, CDs and video disks by Paramount and Philips, video games by Videostar and a range of modern American and English companies as well as Japanese giants Sega and Nintendo. Computers and software by IBM and Apple; systems by Microsoft; processors by Pentium. Videos by Amblin, Virgin, Disney, UA, all the rest. This was the icing on the cake as far as Twelvetoes was concerned. He was going to take the lot and put it aboard his great ship Luck Voyager, already half laden in the docks with a cargo of equally spurious engine parts and equipment by such names as Rolls-Royce, Pratt and Whitney, British Aerospace, Westland, Bell, Sikorsky, Harland and Wolff, Vosper Thorneycroft Mitsubishi Heavy Industries, Ford, Rover, General Motors.

  Within another hour, they were in Twelvetoes’ accommodation on board the Luck Voyager. Here Chang completed the final details and handed over a list of everything that would be delivered from the warehouse tonight and thus allow the freighter to depart for its first port of call — the new facilities at Macau — tomorrow at dawn.

  When everyone had gone, Twelvetoes found on his day table a simple brown box. He opened it to discover the virtual reality set. The headset was hardly larger than a big pair of spectacles and adjusted snugly so that the speakers could register on the sound-sensitive bones behind the ears. Slightly deeper than glasses, they extended in the front into a little square area which almost reached down to the tip of the wearer’s nose. At the top of this square, thin box was a slit and here the wearer could introduce any one of the fifty or so disks which came with the system. Folded into the side of the box, beside the rack of disks, was what appeared to be a pair of black silk gloves. These allowed hands into the virtual reality world. In the weave of the black microfilament were threads which would register, and transmit to the headset, the position, angle and force of every finger movement, which could be reflected in the picture. Apart from a pair of rechargeable microbatteries, and the recharger needed to power them up from any power source including sunlight, that was it. The genuine article of this was the hottest item ever to have hit the entertainment market. Even without recourse to the virtual reality aspects of the machine, the flick of a switch could allow you to watch all of your favourite films and TV shows almost from the inside. But it was the virtual aspects that interested Twelvetoes most. His memory full of the perfect, utterly naked figure he had seen upon first donning the headset, Twelvetoes began to lift item after item out of the box.

  He had just sorted out what he wanted to do first when an abrupt sound called him over to the doorway which opened out on to the port-side companionway. This overlooked the great brown river as it flowed towards the South China Sea, and here there was much screaming and thunderous grinding. A collision was occurring in an unsettling slow-motion not unlike the movements within the virtual reality world. Pushed inexorably by the rolling power of the great Pearl River, a huge teak barge full of massive timber had collided with a sturdy little tug. The barge was, as Twelvetoes watched, swinging side on to the flow while its crew swarmed across the deck, screaming at each other in a range of upcountry tongues and accents. But their ant-like industry proved of limited effect. The chains holding the port-side, downriver cargo parted and half a dozen great balks of iron-hard timber spilt into the river where they became instantly invisible, their colour matching almost exactly the colour of the water.

  Twelvetoes had spent many years at sea, most of them as chief steward aboard a range of vessels owned and operated by the Heritage Mariner shipping company. He knew a severe hazard to navigation when he saw one, and six hundred-foot teak trunks looked like one to him. But it was not his responsibility to report the hazard, and anyway, he had other things on his mind.

  And so he turned back into his cabin, already reaching for everything he needed in order to reacquaint himself with the honey-coloured, hairless beauty who was waiting for him in the virtual world; for he wanted to know exactly what she meant when she promised ‘Anything … ’

  3

  The British Airways flight took eighteen hours to reach London, including stopovers. They had reckoned on another two hours to get through customs and immigration and then on home. Richard called Ashenden at eight the next morning. Then he called again at eight fifteen and caught Robin just coming in through the door. Their friends and near neighbours Charlie and Batty Fothergill had picked her and the twins up at Heathrow and skated quite quickly round the M2 5. Everyone was heading for bed and wouldn’t be up until midday at the earliest. They all sent their love.

  Richard sat listening to Su-lin the amah bustling about downstairs. The house, high above Repulse Bay, looked out over the tops of the shoreline high-rises and away across the South China Sea. Richard did not look out to sea much these days; all it meant to him in his present mood was adventure never to be enjoyed again. He looked down at his long fingers which were, apparently of their own volition, setting the alarm on his watch. If he didn’t take care he would miss the hour. His memory was getting worse these days. Along with everything
else.

  Richard spent the rest of the day up at Kwai Chung watching Fuk and his men taking Sulu Queen to pieces. The arrogant officer could not stop the owner from coming aboard, so Richard was able to go through the full implications of the situation with Captain So and First Officer Li who was lading officer in charge of the placing of the cargo. By mid-morning they had also been joined by the lugubrious John Shaw from the Heritage Mariner offices in the old Jardine Matheson building high above the Connaught Centre on Connaught Road, Central. The Chinese authorities had a rolling policy of changing all the old imperial names but they were proceeding slowly, well aware of the potential for confusion, especially among tourists and the sort of visitors they actually wanted to come here. And now that the handback was complete, they had the rest of eternity to make their moves. Focus was on Macau at the moment anyway, for the old Portuguese territory was due to be handed back in just over two months’ time. But as far as Richard was concerned, the old names simply seemed to emphasise in his mind all the new changes. And he was not alone in this, even after more than two years.

  Not until mid-afternoon did Richard and John Shaw make their weary way back to the Heritage Mariner offices. The city was quiet and the air heavy, charged with the threat of a thunderstorm to come. In the old days it would also have been charged with the fragrance of dim sum as the amahs all took their luncheon and their rest in the parks and open areas. The amahs also were increasingly few, but as they approached Central, the smell of cooking did manage to penetrate the Jaguar’s rigid air conditioning. They carried a package of dim sum up to the offices with them and shared the food in companionable silence as they continued to work.

  John Shaw was never quite at ease in the presence of this giant gweilo. Both he and his delectable wife were surprisingly civilised for foreign devils and they showed a great deal of respect to the most lowly of their employees, which was as welcome as it was unexpected. But whereas he enjoyed being near the woman, not least because she added with her every move to his ready stock of fantasies, he found the giant unsettling. There was to the Oriental’s eye a restless, potentially destructive and never to be trusted spirit about the man. It was apt enough that the Festival of the Hungry Ghosts was upon them; one of those terrible creatures seemed to have inhabited the gweilo. John Shaw shivered slightly at the thought. The fung shui man must have had his work cut out bringing any luck at all to this one, he thought, watching secretly as he chewed a savoury confection of deep-fried beef in cornflour batter.

  The unconscious object of this deep scrutiny was wolfing down dim sum as though he was in fact a hungry ghost while going through the office copies of First Officer Li’s lading records, cross-referencing the destinations of each consignment with its port of origin. Who had owned it and who was likely to own it, as well as who owned it now. He then checked the guaranteed delivery dates and the penalty clauses. Fortunately almost everything aboard was being carried under standard contract and mercifully none of it was going to come to any harm by the delay. Richard’s blood ran cold at the thought of what he might face if the same thing were to happen to Seram Queen, Sulu’s sister, which was carrying a range of frozen, chilled and perishable foodstuffs. If Fuk got his hands on her, they would have to pay for the whole cargo at full market price and then dump the lot. Or, more likely, pay extra to have it taken away and properly disposed of. He was going to have to do something about Fuk before the Seram Queen arrived.

  ‘Well, I think we’d better start calling these emergency contact numbers and warn our clients about the delay,’ he said wearily. ‘You take the local ones on this list here. I’ll start with Japan before they close their offices for the evening.’

  They were still doing this when the alarm on Richard’s watch went off.

  ‘Hell’s teeth! Is that the time? Mr Shaw, I do apologise, I had no idea. Please leave the rest of this work until the morning and be sure to take a half day in recompense for these extra hours — and of course the overtime will be added to your pay packet.’

  If the company does not go broke first, thought John Shaw, courteously bowing his gratitude to Richard’s back as he left.

  Unaware of his colleague’s bow and his cynical thoughts, Richard was punching in the international dialling code for England, the local code for East Sussex, and the personal code for Ashenden. She answered on the first ring.

  Richard could see her in his mind’s eye, sitting easily in that big old sofa in the long, low sitting room of their house. She would be curled against the right-hand arm, with the handset cradled between her shoulder and her ear. She never held the phone if she could avoid it, preferring to leave her hands free. She would be facing the French windows and the long windows on either side of them, which looked out across the Channel to France. God, how he ached to be there. And, he suddenly realised, how he ached to be there with her.

  ‘So,’ he said, ‘tell me all.’

  ‘They’re still asleep. They were all right on the flight — for them. William was sick all over poor Charlie Fothergill’s new car, poor thing.’

  ‘Poor William or poor Charlie?’

  ‘Both!’ There was the ghost of a chuckle in her voice.

  ‘But that was all?’

  ‘Yup. And it was only tiredness. You know what good travellers they both are.’

  ‘Just as well. You off to Cold Fell in the morning?’

  ‘First thing. Old Mr Bonny in the garage down the road will be over this afternoon to give the Monterey a quick once-over and then we’re off first thing.’

  Robin’s energy never ceased to amaze Richard. There she was, having dragged two kids halfway round the world, getting set up to drive to Carlisle with them.

  ‘Then, after a couple of days with Daddy, we’ll come back down the east coast and stay with Mother and Father.’

  ‘Daddy’ was her father; ‘Mother and Father’ were his parents who owned a lovely old house called Summersend on the coast of the Lincolnshire fens.

  ‘So they’ll have a full week of being mindlessly indulged.’

  ‘They’ll all love it. Then back here to touch base on Friday. The new uniforms have arrived and the twins are really looking forward to trying them on this afternoon. Friday should allow us to get all packed up, then I’ll take them over on Saturday. The head is expecting us at coffee time and they’ll have the full weekend with me in the visitor’s wing to get used to the place and the staff. It all seems very well organised.’

  ‘Almost painless. Unless the poor teachers find out the horrible truth before you have a chance to make your getaway.’ She gave a gurgle of laughter which somehow brought the sparkle of her eyes to his mind.

  ‘But what about you?’ she asked.

  ‘I’m fine. You know, busy.’

  ‘Calling from home? From Repulse Bay?’

  ‘The office. John Shaw and I have been trying to sort out the Sulu Queen.’

  ‘Well, don’t work too hard. How did lunch with Gerry go?’

  ‘Fine, but he can’t really offer any legal back-up. Even Edward Thong says we just have to wait and see. We can’t talk about defence strategies until some sort of charge is made. Still, most of the people whose cargoes are aboard seem quite philosophical about things. For the time being.’ There came a brief silence at the far end. He could read her mind. He knew what she was going to suggest. ‘Word on the street is that your old friend is out of the colony at the moment. No one seems to know exactly where.’

  ‘But you will try and contact him when he gets back?’

  ‘Perhaps.’ Richard was fairly certain this line was tapped and so he was terser than he would normally have been. They were talking of Twelve toes Ho. He was a good friend but he was also Dragon Head of the Invisible Power Triad, what the old Crown Colony police had called a 469 Triad supreme leader. The relationship between the Chinese authorities and the Triads was as historic and complicated as the relationship between the British authorities and the Freemasons. Richard had no desire to establis
h on record that he had direct contact with one of the most powerful criminals in Hong Kong. He was reluctant to use his contacts with Twelvetoes, he was independent-mindedly law-abiding, but he knew Robin had fewer qualms — and he had to admit he was running out of alternative ideas. Except for the one idea he had promised not to try — that of getting out there on the high seas and sorting it out for himself.

  ‘So,’ she said after a moment more, ‘what plans for this evening?’

  ‘Bite to eat. Early night. It’s going to be a long week, one way or another.’

  ‘OK. I … Oh! Just a moment, I … William, will you stop that please! Mary! Don’t you dare — ’ And contact was broken.

  Richard looked thoughtfully at the handset and hung it up. Suddenly, he was in fluid motion. He crossed to the safe and punched in the combination. He removed the petty cash box and poured the contents on to his table. He signed himself a chitty for most of it and pocketed the cash. By eight thirty he had locked up the office and was out on Connaught Road. He hesitated for an instant, looking across at the entrance to the car park where the Jaguar was sitting, but then he turned and strode purposefully through the soupy, stultifying evening air in the Connaught Street underpass then down Chater Road past the back of the Mandarin Hotel to the entrance of the MTR on the comer of Ice House Street.

  He was the only Westerner on the underground tonight. Even the tourists all seemed to be Japanese and Thai. But he was used to the turning of heads and the whispering. Even in London he would have stood out. He paid, fed the credit-card-sized ticket through the automatic barrier and waited. When the train came, he surged in with the crush and stood. There were no seats even had he wished to sit, which he didn’t. It was only two stops to his destination.

  Wanchai had the sort of reputation that Soho used to have in sixties London. With the British and American navies during many wars, but particularly Korea and Vietnam, the Wanch passed into libidinous legend. Here in the world of Suzie Wong, bar girls of infinite willingness, unimaginable ability and encyclopaedic experience would do anything for any price. Things were supposed to have eased back since the Chinese took power, but the American and British navies had been replaced by tourists from far nearer at hand — the Japanese particularly seemed to enjoy the girlie bars — and so they had by no means died out. The basic income of almost all the Triad societies came from escort agencies, girlie bars, peep shows, strip joints, brothels and prostitution, as well as from illegal gambling, alcohol supply and drug dealing which accompanied them like remoras accompany sharks.