Chapter 24: All Aboard
THE EXTRAVAGANT LIFESTYLE of Charles Tang was well documented and available for anyone to see should they wish. The internet was awash with thousands of pictures and status updates from various social media platforms. That very morning, he had posted a picture of his breakfast from the deck of his yacht with the hashtag '#lifeonthewater'. I browsed the internet for pictures of the yacht and before long I had established that it was a British made vessel from a company known as Ocean Seeker. The company had been established thirty years previously and had been supplying super yachts to the rich and famous ever since. Charles Tang had chosen the '131' model. With a full length of forty metres and a width of ten, the huge vessel had accommodation for up to twelve guests and nine permanent staff members. With its sleek exterior, tinted windows and four decks, the magnificent vessel would not look out of place in the marinas of Monaco or the Bahamas. Charles Tang had also seen fit to have his trademark dragon logo painted on the bows along with the name 'Dragon of The Seas'. Easy to find Green. It was as I sat there that Charles Tang posted a live status update on his Facebook page along with a picture. Once again it appeared to have been taken from the deck of the yacht and was accompanied by the hashtags '#lifeonthewater #hongkongsunnyday'. I smiled to myself as I stared at the image.
“I see you now Mr Tang,” I said under my breath. “I know where you are.”
I spent the next hour browsing the Ocean Seeker 131 model on the manufacturer’s website and familiarised myself with the interior layout of the vessel. This was made especially easy as there was a fully interactive 360-degree video tour. By the time I was done I had a comprehensive map in my mind of all four decks from the engine room to the bows and I was confident I could navigate the interior with ease. From my suitcase I took the hunting knife and removed it from its leather sheath. I sat back in my chair and stared out at the vast city scape as it sloped towards the waters of Victoria Harbour. The glare of the sun glinted on its polished blade as I turned it in my hand. Well Green, there's no time like the present. Get on with it. Into my bag I packed the drone, the camera with its lenses and the hunting knife. I chose dark jeans and a light cotton shirt which I wore with the sleeves rolled up. Five minutes later I emerged from the building and stood on the busy side walk. The afternoon sun had descended past the buildings behind me and there was a slight tinge of pollution in the air from the massive factories across the water in mainland China. I smoked a cigarette in the cool shade before stepping on to the tarmac to hail a taxi. Within a minute a red cab pulled off the busy street and I took my seat in the back.
“I'd like to go to The Royal Yacht Club please,” I said.
“Certainly sir,” the driver said as he glanced at me in the rear-view mirror.
The taxi pulled out and joined the steady stream of traffic and soon we had merged on to a flyover that met a raised highway which headed down towards the waters of Victoria harbour. The driver moved on to the inside lane and soon we were speeding past the surrounding buildings. The city was fast and slick and although it struck me as being extremely modern it was clear the city planners had taken the time to ensure there were parks and green spaces in between the skyscrapers. Five minutes later we had descended to sea level and the driver took an exit to the left and merged with a seafront road with a long promenade on the right. We drove slowly past the restaurants and bars until I saw the familiar nautical shape of the Royal Yacht Club building with its rounded frontage ahead. To the right was the boundary of the marina and a series of long paved piers stretched out into the water with the boats of the great and good of Hong Kong moored on either side. The driver pulled up near the entrance and I paid him and left a tip. I crossed the street and stood at the painted steel rail at the water’s edge. It seemed to me that the bigger yachts were moored further out and the smaller boats kept closer to the land. This would afford the wealthier owners a better view of both the city and harbour. I took the camera from its bag, attached the zoom lens and hung it around my neck in an effort to look like a tourist. Instead of heading directly into the yacht club I decided to backtrack and take a stroll along the promenade to see if I could spot The Dragon of The Seas. I walked in the cool afternoon sunshine for two hundred metres until I had reached the boundary of the marina. I stopped regularly to look through the camera and zoom into the larger vessels further out to sea, but my vision was obscured by the fact that I was trying to look from sea level and there were hundreds of smaller boats in between. Ahead of me was a break in the railing and a concrete staircase that led down to a jetty. Bobbing in the water below were a number of sampans or water taxis. The rickety looking small wooden boats with brightly coloured tarpaulin roofs waited in an orderly queue for passengers and tourists. Standing at the top of the stairway was a short Chinese man who called to the passing tourists.
“Sampan tours cheap,” he repeated. “Harbour tours!”
I walked up to him and nodded.
“What time do you close?” I said.
“We no close sir,” he replied. “Twenty-four hours. Hong Kong by night very beautiful. You want tour sir?”
“Maybe later,” I said as I leant on the railing and lit a cigarette.
I brought the camera to my eyes and zoomed in once again towards the bigger boats in the marina. It was still no good. I needed some height.
I glanced towards the white rounded facade of the Royal Yacht Club building and noticed a raised verandah at the front. That'll do it. I walked casually back up the promenade towards the building and entered through the large brass and glass rear doors. The interior of the building was in grand old colonial style with plush red carpets and wood panelled walls adorned with shields and awards of every description. Overhead fans spun silently above and there was an air of grace and old-world charm about the foyer. I was greeted by a polite young man sitting at an ornate desk in a black suit who stood up, welcomed me and asked if I was a member. I explained that I was just a visiting tourist to which he happily pulled out a card machine. The day visitor fee was the equivalent of $50.00 which I paid with my credit card.
“Welcome to The Royal Hong Kong Yacht Club, sir,” he said with a bow and a welcoming sweep of his left hand.
I thanked him and walked into the darkened interior of the building only to emerge in a tiled courtyard filled with tropical plants and a water fountain in the centre. Thick white pillars surrounded the space and there were tables and wicker chairs placed around the perimeter. I walked through the courtyard and up a set of stairs where there were a number of doors. There was a billiards room to the right and a bar to the left. I heard the murmur of conversation and the clinking of glasses in the bar, so I followed on through. The huge darkened room had polished ebony floors with glass cabinets of trophies to the right and a plush bar counter with a padded black leather front to the left. Antique diving helmets and ship’s bells were on display and the wood panelled walls were covered with more shields and faded black and white photographs in expensive frames. At the far end of the bar a group of men sat on barstools drinking Scotch whisky and talking in hushed tones. Beyond that were the heavy ebony doors that opened on to the verandah I had seen from the promenade. I walked past the men and stepped out on to the large half circle of the verandah. The space was tastefully decorated with palms in pots and tables with crisp white cotton table cloths and old colonial wicker chairs. Beyond that the marina stretched out into the harbour and to the right was a stunning view of the city as it climbed the green hills towards The Peak. To my left a group of ladies sat and drank tea from china cups and a silver tea service. A plate of scones with cream and strawberry jam sat in the centre of the table. The scene was one of classic colonial grandeur and it came as no surprise that Charles Tang had chosen this place to moor his yacht. I took a seat at a vacant table near the railing with a view of the marina. An old fan spun slowly, overhead and I sat back in the comfortable chair to wait for service. Soon enough I was approached by a waiter who took my orde
r for a coffee. Stretching out into the harbour in front of me were four concrete piers. Hundreds of pleasure boats of all descriptions lined the piers, but it was the bigger vessels at the far end of the marina that interested me. I lifted the camera to my eyes and zoomed in on the yachts at the far side of the marina.
I found The Dragon of The Seas moored at the furthest end of the second pier. There was no mistaking its super modern sleek lines and the garish dragon emblem on the port bow. I felt my arms and legs tingle as I saw it. Although it was at least 150 metres away I could clearly see there were people on the middle stern deck. I see you now Mr Tang. My appointment with you is soon. The coffee arrived after I had taken a few photographs of the giant vessel. I thanked the waiter and sat pondering my next move. I needed to get closer to the yacht to see what kind of access I could get later that night. When I had finished the coffee, I paid the waiter and walked down a set of stairs to the front of the verandah and on to the pathways that led to the individual piers. The path wound through a small lush tropical garden before meeting the access road where supplies would be brought to the many boats in the marina. I walked on to pier number two and ambled slowly along the concrete surface past the myriad of boats on either side. As I had noticed from the promenade the boats grew bigger and more expensive the further out the mooring was. The sun had passed behind the peak and the day was cooling rapidly by the time I reached the chain cordon at the 100-metre point. A sign in Cantonese and English clearly stated that access beyond that point was for owners and invited guests only. I noticed a marina security guard in a white company uniform casually patrolling the opposite pier. It would have been easy enough to step under the chain, but I resisted the temptation and instead played the tourist snapping pictures of the city and the harbour from where I stood. The vessels that lined the pier beyond the chain moved from the realm of average pleasure cruisers to actual super yachts with permanent crew members. It was in no way unusual that the Royal Yacht Club had seen fit to provide added security and privacy for the wealthy owners. I leant against a nearby balustrade, stared at the city and lit a cigarette. To my left I could see the end of the pier but my line of sight towards The Dragon of The Seas was obscured by the other boats. Damn it! I knew that the man I had come to see was less than fifty metres from where I stood and there was nothing, I could do about it. I crushed the cigarette out on the balustrade and dumped the butt in a nearby dustbin as I walked back towards the Yacht Club. Instead of walking back into the main building I turned left and made my way around the front left of the building back towards the promenade. I passed a marina security guard at a stone arch gateway who saluted as I walked out of the premises back on to the public street. I walked for a hundred metres until just before the sampan rank then stopped and took the bag from my shoulder. It took less than two minutes to set up the drone and by the time I had got it to a hundred feet above I had gathered a crowd of enthusiastic young children who clamoured to see what I was doing. Keeping the altitude, I flew out across the sea until I was sure the aircraft was in line with the pier ends of the marina. I turned the drone left and sure enough the screen showed a clear view of the super yachts that were parked there. It took only thirty seconds until the drone hovered above The Dragon of The Seas and I adjusted the gimbal, so the camera faced downwards. The live 4K image on the controller showed the huge yacht in stunning high definition and I quickly took a series of photographs and videos.
Not wanting to draw too much attention to myself I took the drone up to two hundred feet and performed a few fly byes of the marina but always returning to the end of pier two. I left the video running continuously. Satisfied I had enough footage and being unable to actually see the drone in my line of sight, I pressed the home button and waited anxiously for the buzzing sound of its return. The sound came a minute later, so I brought the aircraft down and caught it safely in my right hand safely out of reach of the excited children who had gathered. After briefly showing them the drone, I packed it in my bag and walked off past the sampan rank towards the line of bars and restaurants on the water front. I chose a small quaint bar by the name of Sammy's on the opposite side of the road to the promenade. The inside walls and ceilings were completely covered with bank notes from every country on the planet and rock music played quietly on the sound system. The owner welcomed me and offered me a table outside with a view of the harbour. I sat down and ordered a pint of beer. While I waited, I took the SD card from the drone and inserted into the camera. The pictures and video footage of Charles Tang's super yacht were better than I expected. Apart from a thick purple rope barrier at the stern of the boat the boarding ramp was open for access and without security. I paused the video as my beer arrived and thanked the waiter who placed the frosted glass in front of me on a bar mat. The video of the last fly-by was particularly impressive as I marvelled at what essentially was a palace on the water. It was in the last few seconds of the video that I saw the man step out from the lower deck of the boat and point at the drone. I paused the video and zoomed into the picture to take a closer look at the man. He wore dark sun-glasses, a white t-shirt and jeans and his moon shaped face was frozen in a grimace of annoyance at the intrusion above. I could tell the man was not Charles Tang from the many photographs I had studied but there was also no doubt that he was armed. The shoulder holster was clearly visible over his shirt. The man was carrying a gun. It was a stark reminder that what I was planning would be extremely dangerous. This will not be a walk in the park Green. I put the camera on the table and stared out towards the harbour as I sipped the ice- cold beer. The harbour was busy with commercial shipping, junks and sampans as the captains rushed to moor before the sun went down. Already the famous light show, from the city scape to my right had begun and the buildings glowed in multi colours in the dusk. I sat staring out at the water as I pondered my next move. By the time I had finished the beer it was dark but a plan had formed in my mind. I paid the bill and crossed the road to hail a taxi back to my hotel. The motorway was fast, but the inner city was jammed with traffic and it was 7.45 pm by the time I sat at the desk and opened my laptop on the 47th floor of my hotel. I took some time to research the Highcliffe building, Charles Tang's primary residence in Hong Kong. Completed four years previously it was one of the most sought-after addresses in the city. I had no doubt that security would be tight and simply entering the building would be difficult let alone making it to the penthouse suites. Feeling slightly frustrated I paced the room wishing for a cigarette and occasionally staring out at the fantastic lights of the city and the harbour. Standing on the corner of the desk was a pamphlet with the menu for room service.
I picked up the telephone and ordered a fillet steak with all the trimmings to be delivered to my room. It was at exactly 8.15 pm as I waited for the food that Charles Tang posted a live status update on his Facebook page. The picture was of a table spread with exotic food and champagne and once again appeared to have been taken from the deck of The Dragon of The Seas. The hashtag that accompanied the picture read '#partyintheharbour'. My mind was made up. I knew then exactly what I was going to do. Tonight’s the night, Green. You are going aboard that ship.
There was a knock on the door and a young staff member rolled a trolley of food in. I tipped him and closed the door as he left. I sat at the desk with the magnificent view over the city as I ate, occasionally glancing at the computer screen. I left my credit cards and wallet on the desk and left the hotel at 9.20 pm carrying only the bag containing the camera, the hunting knife and some cash. Although the inner-city traffic had lightened it still took twenty minutes to reach the highway that led to the harbour. The blinding illuminations and multiple advertising screens on the buildings flashed their confusing messages and gave the impression of some post-apocalyptic futurist urban jungle. As before, the traffic on the highway was faster and soon enough we had reached the waterfront road near the Royal Yacht Club. I told the driver to pull over and paid him, then made my back towards Sammy's Bar. The ow
ner recognised me from earlier and signalled for me to take the same table outside at the front. There was a loud group of English tourists celebrating inside and cajoling one of their party to sing karaoke, so I was glad of my solitary spot outside. I sat in the cool evening air with the ever-changing lights on the buildings of the city to my right. I ordered coffee instead of beer and settled in for a long night. I sat for the next two hours watching the harbour, drinking coffee and occasionally checking my phone for any status updates from the social media of Charles Tang. There were none and I could only hope that his own party was proceeding as well as the one inside Sammy's Bar which grew louder by the hour. It was 12.15 am when the English party group finally stumbled out of the doors and made their way up the promenade to the right. They made their way to the sampan rank and dropped out of sight as they descended the steps to the waiting boats. I could only assume that they were going for a tour of the harbour or heading to one of the boats in the marina to sleep. The caffeine and the burning desire to exact my revenge coursed through my veins and carried me through to closing time at 2.00 am. By then the street was quiet and only the occasional local walked past the bar on their way home. I paid my bill and left a tip for the tired looking waiter who locked the doors on his way back inside.
The Jason Green series Box Set Page 69
