by Henry Porter
He beckoned her to follow, which she did because she had no better option and, besides, she reasoned that, if she were with him in his cabin, she might be able to prevent him from raising the alarm. He reached up to switch off the lights and fans in the galley and indicated that she should go through the door first.
‘Where is everyone?’ she asked.
‘Sleeping,’ he said simply.
‘The men I saw on the deck?’
He shrugged. ‘They drink then they sleep.’
It was possible that they had given up the search because they knew there was nowhere for her to flee, but that seemed odd, considering the lengths they’d gone to to snatch her on the road and eliminate all the witnesses to her abduction. None of it made sense to her, but she was too cold and hungry to wrestle with the problem.
The man led her to the end of the row of dark cabins she had noted on the way down to the galley and ushered her into a space with a bed, a TV set, a computer and clothes in two neat piles. On a shelf were a photograph of an elderly Chinese woman and one of a young girl standing in front of a blossom tree. He dropped into a large, revolving office chair and gestured for her to perch on his bed, switched on a small table lamp and reached into a cabinet to retrieve two bottles.
‘I need to eat something first,’ she said, taking the croissants and cookies from her jacket pocket. ‘Where are you from?’
‘I’m Chinese from Malaysia, but I no go there for many, many years.’
‘You have family?’ she said, pointing to the photographs.
He shook his head. ‘All dead.’
‘You have a home?’
‘This my home.’ He poured two glasses of Metaxa and handed her one, which she put on the shelf at the end of the bed. ‘Now we see movie.’ He tapped a key on his laptop and the screen came to life with a still from a porn video. Two women and a man were frozen in a comically ecstatic position.
‘That is not my kind of movie,’ she said.
He looked amazed. ‘This good film. We make party and see them do the fucking.’ He giggled.
She had eaten two croissants and was beginning to feel a little better so took a sip of the brandy. ‘What’s your name?’
‘Zhao Liu.’
He took out a very long cigarette and sat gaping at the threesome, the cigarette hanging unlit from his mouth. The two women were taking turns to fellate the man, a muscular brute who was shaved all over and had a sleeve tattoo.
‘Zhao, can we watch something else? I don’t like this. It’s so ugly.’
‘This good part.’
‘I don’t want to watch.’ She found it hard to believe she was having this conversation. ‘Have you got a phone? Can I use your email?’
He shook his head and pointed up. ‘Internet not work. No phone.’
‘The ship must have satellite communication with the internet. I need to speak to my husband. Can you show me where I can do that?’
He shook his head. ‘I am chef – I know only cooking but I am good cook.’
‘But you could show me where I can send a message to my husband. There must be some place the crew communicate with the shore.’ But he wasn’t paying attention. ‘Will you show me, Zhao?’
He shrugged. ‘I have other movie.’
‘Anything’s better than this. Besides, seems like you know it quite well.’
He had lit the cigarette and was puffing on it excitedly as one of the women came, rather too theatrically to be convincing, and the man groaned.
She tried another tack. ‘Or maybe you can send a message. That would work just as well. I’ll give you an email address and a phone number. I have to get a message through, do you understand? It’s a matter of life and death.’
‘Sound of Music – Julie Andrews.’ He searched the computer and found the download.
‘Where are we going – which port are we going to, Zhao?’
He grinned mischievously. ‘You give me kiss then I tell.’
She thought for a moment. He might have an interest in porn but Zhao was no rapist. He was just a little guy bobbing on the ocean without friends or family or any place to go. He struck her as one of the loneliest individuals she had ever met. ‘A kiss – nothing else.’ She leaned forward and placed her lips on his cheek. ‘Which port?’
‘Odessa. Burgas. Not know.’
‘Bulgaria. Is the ship Bulgarian? Who owns the ship? Is it Russian?’
‘I not know.’
‘When do we get there – how long will it take?’
‘Day and half, maybe two days and half. I chef, not captain.’
‘I need to get this message through. I need that very badly, Zhao. Will you help me? Can I write down the number that you must call and an email address with a message?’
‘You my Julie Andrews,’ he said, evidently still swooning from the kiss.
‘I am your Julie Andrews if you do this one thing for me.’ She reached for some paper and a pen on the desk. ‘Can I write it for you?’
She kept it simple – the name of the ship, possible destinations, the nationality of those she had heard speaking, which she now thought was almost certainly Russian, the time she was writing the message, which was almost thirty-six hours after her kidnap. She put nothing of her circumstances, except that the two men had been killed and she had escaped from the container. She ended with ‘I love you.’ She folded it and placed it on the desk in front of Zhao.
‘Drink,’ he said.
‘Will you do this for me? Will you promise?’ She laid her hand on his. ‘Please, Zhao. My life depends on it.’
He nodded. ‘Drink brandy and we see Julie.’
She took a mouthful and suddenly felt very warm and drowsy. Before Julie had sung ‘Do-Re-Mi’, she had keeled on to her side and was asleep.
At four, she woke to find Zhao, still dressed, asleep by her side and holding her hand. There was barely room for the two of them on the narrow bed and his leg was hanging over the side. She moved her arm and he stirred. ‘I’m going now,’ she whispered. ‘Don’t tell anyone I was here. And Zhao, please, please send that message. Write it out as I have and send it to the email address.’
He mumbled something about his Julie.
His eyes had closed again. She nudged him. ‘Zhao, I need you to concentrate. Can you do this today? I will come back later if you do this for me. Do you understand?’
As she pushed herself up to swing a leg over him, she noticed a black cable-knit beanie hat and gloves on top of the cabinet by the door. ‘Can I borrow those? It’s cold out there.’
He raised his head and nodded.
‘Thank you, Zhao. I don’t know what I’d do without you.’
She went into his little bathroom, peed, rubbed some toothpaste around her gums and put on the hat, stuffing her hair into it. She flipped up the collar of the high-visibility jacket and looked in the mirror, steadying herself against the movement of the ship with one hand against the side of the cabin. Her skin was grimy but still noticeably pale. She took a can of instant dye for grey roots on the Perspex shelf that she suspected Zhao used, sprayed it on her hands and wiped it all over her face, darkening her skin. By the time she came out, Zhao was sitting with both feet on the floor and a lost, regretful look in his eyes. She touched his shoulder.
‘You know, don’t you?’
He nodded.
‘Why aren’t they looking for me?’
He shrugged. ‘They find you in morning.’
‘Can I stay here?’ she said, suddenly realising it would be much safer. She crouched down and looked up into his eyes.
He shook his head. ‘If you here, Zhao dead.’
She put her hands on his knees. ‘Okay, I’ll go now. But Zhao, please send that email for your Julie.’
He smiled and nodded.
She slipped out into cold air, waited and listened for a few seconds before closing the door then climbing the companionway. She made for the stacks of containers, head bowed against the wind, hands thrust
into the rib pockets of the jacket, shoulders hunched to bulk up her profile.
CHAPTER 8
Macy Harp phoned early and told Samson to be at Hendricks Harp by 7.30 a.m. There was a lot they needed to go through that they couldn’t discuss on the phone. He arrived before time and found Macy reading a copy of the Economist. ‘Never seems to be time to catch up,’ he said, dropping the magazine on to his desk. ‘Want coffee?’
Samson nodded slowly. Macy was acting oddly. There was none of the usual affability in his round, red face, and when his eyes met Samson’s there was a rather business-like look in them.
‘What’s going on?’ he asked.
‘I’ll tell you in a moment.’ He sat down before buzzing through to the outer office for coffee. ‘So, what did the Security Services want to know?’ he asked.
‘They seemed to know it all. I told them how I tracked Crane through an agency that supplies call girls from France – they knew that. They knew we had got hold of his email address, though they didn’t know Naji Touma helped me with that. They knew the exact amount of money we are trying to trace, though they pretended otherwise, and they didn’t ask me about its destination, which I take to mean they had all the information they required on that. And I have to tell you, Macy, that Nyman dropped into our little chat yesterday afternoon that the client was using Denis Hisami’s plane. So I have a question or two for you. What’s this got to do with Hisami?’
‘But the murder of Crane – what did they say about it?’
Samson hesitated, just to let Macy know that he wanted answers too. ‘They said he had been tortured very badly. They believe that took place at another location because of the mess and the noise. His face was unrecognisable – the exit wound was … well, you can imagine for yourself. They know it was Crane because of the DNA match with the articles in the apartment – clothes, etcetera.’
‘So Crane was living there as Ray Shepherd, a UK citizen born in Guernsey, but in fact we know he was Russian originally, or maybe even Ukrainian.’
‘Correct. They know that too.’
‘So what on earth did they want with you?’
‘Simply to check what we had found out, then, once they understood I was pretty much in the dark about our clients and what their exact motives were, they sent me packing.’
‘And they didn’t try to threaten you by suggesting you were a suspect?’
‘There’s no point, Macy. I didn’t have enough information. I didn’t even know who our client is.’
‘And the Syrian boy – you are still in touch? How old is he now? Where’s the family living?’
‘He’s seventeen or eighteen – I forget. They’re living in Latvia – Riga. They left Germany because Naji was offered a scholarship by the Latvian government. They have fast-tracked his education and he’s well into his degree and getting through it really quickly. The family had a lot of problems last year in a town near Chemnitz in Germany. We had to sort them out.’
‘He must be very able. Can’t think of anyone who has done more to help European intelligence services than that brave little fellow.’
‘He’s almost six foot tall now,’ said Samson, not hiding his frustration. ‘Macy, you’re avoiding the subject because you know I’m angry that you didn’t tell me about Hisami’s involvement in the Crane case. You betrayed my trust.’
‘A touch harsh, Paul.’
Samson never raised his voice but he did now slap his hand on Macy’s desk.
‘No, you screwed up with this one, Macy. The deal is that you tell me everything about a contract – everything! And because you knew I wouldn’t take the job with Hisami in the background, you didn’t bloody well tell me.’
‘Steady, Paul! It’s not like that.’ He put up his hand as his assistant, Tina, came in with the coffee, and nodded thanks without smiling, which Tina knew meant she should leave without the usual banter with her boss and Samson. There’d been a long-standing endeavour by Macy, which preceded Samson’s raging affair with Anastasia and was not entirely unserious, to put Tina and Samson together. Samson had graciously resisted.
‘You and I both know you needed the work,’ said Macy, bringing the cup to his lips. ‘You asked for a hundred grand and we got you that. I knew it wouldn’t be an arduous job, but I didn’t mind charging that because I felt Denis owed you for all the risks you took looking for his sister in Syria. So it seemed to me a good contract and I didn’t feel remotely compromised by keeping this information to myself. So, there it is, Paul.’
This was intended to close the matter, but Samson wasn’t having it. He coolly regarded his racing companion and occasional employer and shook his head. Even if he had wanted to be conciliatory, his nature wouldn’t allow it. ‘I’m sorry to say it, but this is a deal breaker. I damn well have to be able to trust you, Macy. I can’t do these jobs for you if you withhold information from me. And I won’t work with you until that is understood between us.’ He got up, knowing this might be a permanent break. Macy was too hard-nosed and too damned foxy to give him any such assurance.
‘Just sit down, will you, chum,’ Macy said quietly. ‘We’ve a lot more to talk about, and I’m afraid I have some bad news.’ He picked up the phone and said. ‘Is she here?’ He waited. ‘Then send her in.’ He hung up. ‘Please sit down, Paul.’
Samson did as he was asked.
‘This is Zillah Dee, of Dee Strategy Inc., Paul,’ said Macy as a young woman entered with a slim computer case under her arm and a cup of coffee in her hand. ‘Zillah is working for Denis Hisami and she has something to tell you.’
‘I’ve heard about you,’ said Samson.
She sat down in the other chair facing Macy’s desk – no smile, no attempt at pleasantry, although she did offer a hand and gripped his with considerable force. She was striking, well put together, with a kind of irreproachable air. She regarded Samson with remarkably still grey eyes. He smiled but got nothing in return. Hard core, he thought. ‘I’m sorry to hear the news about Mr Crane’s death,’ she said. ‘We will doubtless discuss its relevance momentarily, but first I have to tell you that Mr Hisami’s wife, Anastasia, has been abducted in southern Italy – Calabria – and her whereabouts are currently unknown.’ She said it without drama or the slightest hint of feeling then waited for Samson’s reaction. ‘You understand what I have just said, Mr Samson?’
‘Yes, I do.’ He stopped to absorb it properly. An image of Anastasia laughing passed through his mind – it was always the same memory – and he felt dread and hopelessness wash over him. ‘You’d better tell me the details.’
Which she did over the next ten minutes, in an account as clear and precise as any intelligence briefing, laying out every known detail of the kidnapping on the country road, the death of two migrants, the car used, the telephone calls to Hisami and a colleague in the Foundation, the Italian police investigation and the reporting systems put in place with the Italian authorities and the US Embassy. She told him no ransom demand had been made and that the police thought the abduction had nothing to do with Anastasia’s work with migrants.
Macy glanced at Samson for his reaction. Samson ignored him. He was shocked but he wasn’t going to show it. ‘Then what’s the possible motive?’
‘Over the past few weeks,’ Zillah Dee went on, ‘Mr Hisami has been investigating the transfer of large sums of money out of accounts run by the company TangKi – we thought there was just one, but a source inside the company now says that four accounts are likely being used. And this is why we asked you to trace Mr Crane for us – we were certain that Mr Crane was at the heart of the operation and that all the money was passing through London on its way to multiple destinations in Europe. There can’t be any doubt, sir, that there are parties who desperately want Mr Hisami to desist from this investigation.’
‘Who?’
‘We’re not certain at the present time but Mr Hisami is confident that the suspension of his passport on the day of his wife’s kidnap, the degree of surveillance
he has endured and, indeed, the seizing of Mrs Hisami are all connected. In the last twenty-four hours, he has also experienced some business difficulties which he believes are part of a coordinated campaign against his interests.’ She paused. ‘The case you were working on, the disappearance of Adam Crane, is central to the whole affair. It’s a blow that he’s no longer with us because, obviously, he could help.’
Samson leaned forward. ‘What are you doing about Anastasia?’
‘As I said, we have people on the ground in Italy, and they are already liaising with Italian authorities and following up leads. In truth, that’s why I’m here to see you, Mr Samson.’
‘Hisami wants me to find her!’
‘That’s correct, sir. He has asked me to ask you if you would help. He understands the sensitivity of the situation, but he’s had the greatest respect for your abilities since you worked together trying to locate his sister. Would you consider it?’
Samson made a small sweeping gesture to dismiss the question. ‘Of course.’
‘Are you sure?’ asked Macy. ‘Can you be objective? Frankly, I wouldn’t recommend it.’
‘Our relationship was over some while ago. My feelings for Anastasia are friendly but they won’t cloud my judgement,’ he said, briefly acknowledging the lie to himself. ‘You can fix everything, Macy? I’ll require an unlimited budget on this. I’ll leave for Italy as soon as possible and will need Tina to arrange a ticket.’
‘There’s no need. I have Mr Hisami’s plane.’
‘Good, but I must stress that I work alone.’
‘Understood, but I need to coordinate with my people and talk to the Italian police. So I will be on the plane with you.’
‘I can’t have you getting in the way,’ he said firmly.
‘Yes, but you must appreciate that I’m in charge of this operation and am reporting directly to Mr Hisami.’
