by Jay Tinsiano
After cutting through a number of side streets, they rounded a corner and the majestic scene of Hong Kong Island, with modern, jutting skyscrapers and the mountainous peaks behind them, came into view.
At the ferry terminal, Frank paid the driver and joined the crowds of locals mixed with tourists, moving slowly through the turnstiles into the waiting area.
Climbing up to the upper deck Frank leaned against the rail, gazing across the water as the ferry began its short journey. Another ferry passed them; heading in the opposite direction and a tug boat scooted across their path up ahead.
He glanced at his Omega for the umpteenth time. The layered ferry terminal slated on concrete pillars grew closer and Frank moved towards the exit bay to get off quickly. Once clear of the departing crowd he jogged towards the main Connaught Road, asking general directions on the way, hardly waiting for the details. After getting lost for five precious minutes, Frank spotted the entrance and ran down the steps, joining a small queue at a ticket office. The time was 11.28am; he had two minutes. It was the train he had to get, no earlier, no later. That was the instruction.
He wished he had pushed for an earlier flight as his heart pumped in his chest, waiting behind an old woman, as she spoke to the official behind the glass.
Finally she had her ticket and Frank stepped up to the booth quickly, ordering his, before bolting through the turnstile. His quickening steps weaved through people on the escalator down to the platform, where he caught a glimpse of the last passengers getting onto his train. The doors clunked shut just as his feet reached the smooth polished platform.
Frank swore out loud as the train moved steadily away from him. He watched the glint of the end carriage disappear into the darkness, the rumble on the tracks fading until it had disappeared completely, leaving him staring at the dark red tiles of the tunnel wall.
"There goes five grand," he said out loud, dropping his haversack onto the ground in despair. "Shit!"
Frank loitered for a while, pacing the platform and then decided to leave the station. He walked back out onto the road and briefly glanced into a bar with a television that had attracted a small crowd. It was time to think this through and figure out how he was going explain this screw up and, more importantly, figure how he could get the rest of the money.
The smoke filled bar was darkly lit, despite the hour, and he nodded to the barman who was making himself busy whilst glancing at the nearest television screen.
Frank sipped his beer and tried to think. All he could do was meet Jimmy at the rendezvous hostel and take it from there. His eyes wandered to the screen that a group of Chinese businessmen and locals were watching so avidly.
The anchorman spoke hurriedly in the local dialect against backdrop footage of rising smoke coming from a familiar skyline. Hong Kong's skyline. The shot changed to a reporter on the street talking to the camera. Behind him was a scene of chaos with policemen, ambulance crews and wounded civilians.
What followed next ran an ice cold chill through Frank's entire body—a still photographic mug shot of his friend, Jimmy Duffy, suddenly filled the screen.
Chapter 15
An hour earlier, Jimmy Duffy jumped onto the double decker, North Point bound tram right on schedule. He looked around the crowded space and grabbed a free hand rest dangling down, before peering out at the busy King's Road. The tram faithfully followed the snake-like rail line into the Chun Yeung Street market.
Jimmy checked the next stop on the map and confirmed that it was his. He jumped off the tram as it slowed down and started to walk back, past the endless food stalls that grabbed the interest of passing tourists and locals alike.
"A quick coffee and I'm done," he thought.
The force of the explosion that ripped through the busy street from behind threw him onto the ground. The dense shockwave seemed to run through his entire body. Jimmy lay still for a few seconds, hearing nothing but a high pitched tone deep inside his ears. He slowly turned onto his side and looked back at the tram he had just stepped from and saw it was opened up like a sardine can. The roof spewed dense smoke, billowing into the sky.
For a moment, he supposed that somehow this was all part of the exercise. His brain trying to make sense of what his eyes were seeing.
That notion didn't last very long as, to his utter horror, he saw moving figures inside the burning carriage, flapping around wildly as they tried to escape.
Jesus Christ.
People lay huddled on the ground and then he saw the body parts, burnt clothes strewn across the road and pavement. A dense, sickening smell invaded Jimmy's throat and he turned and vomited hard and fast.
A woman staggered around screaming, part of her arm was missing and thick blood sprayed uncontrollably from the wound.
The smoke spread across the entire area like an attacking fog, turning the busy street –that had been enjoying a sunny afternoon – into hell on earth.
A bomb? Why a real bomb?
And then Jimmy realised.
He used all his strength to get onto his knees and felt wetness on the back of his trousers. Dark red liquid spread fast. He hacked and coughed as the smoke reached him, rushing past and spreading into nearby buildings and shops.
********
Thirty minutes previously, Lieutenant Chan of the SAS trained Hong Kong Special Duties Unit, or the 'Flying Tigers' as they were nicknamed, had listened closely to his earpiece. His four man team had been on standby for several hours. Fully briefed, each man was in position one level up in the small hotel overlooking the Chun Yeung Street market.
All Chan knew from his superiors was that they had to focus on one man, whatever happened. The tip off was that a dangerous Caucasian man was likely to be in the area at the time of the explosion and most likely to be on the tram. In the unlikely event of him surviving, they were to take him out.
When the explosion ripped through the street, Chan and his men were initially surprised, despite having forewarning, but their professionalism rapidly kicked in and the job in hand became paramount.
"Ok let's go!"
Agent Xeng scanned the square through his field glasses. His colleague, watching through the sighting of his Lee-Enfield L42A1 sniper rifle, also scanned the street around the scene of the explosion. The two agents were positioned in a building that looked down the market street at the rear of the burning tram. The billowing smoke had started to obscure Xeng's vision and he caught glimpses of burning bodies and bloodied limbs, strewn on the concrete road. Several screams filtered back down the street. He breathed deeply and swallowed hard, trying to concentrate and stay focused. In his entire fifteen year career, he had never seen anything like the scene that lay before him now.
He watched his fellow colleagues, dressed in black combat gear with helmets and night vision visors, holding their Colt Automatic Rifles in attack mode as they moved, one at a time, towards the scene of the explosion. Occasionally pausing behind street stalls, they checked ahead before moving forward again. Frightened civilians who were crouching or had been thrown onto the ground looked at them in astonishment.
"Any sighting, Bravo 9?"
"No, nothing yet. I …wait!" As he was speaking, Xeng caught sight of what looked to be their target. He was a large man in a white shirt and on the ground on the far side of the tram. Then, drifting smoke obscured his vision.
"Ten metres … keep going to the corner, he's right there."
Chan moved to the edge of the building and glanced behind him. Sun was right with him and the other two agents were on the opposite side, covering them both. He caught his breath and quickly looked around the corner, seeing the target at once and just as fast, moved his head back again.
Chan gestured silently with his hand, pointing it towards the tram and Sun moved quickly across behind the burning carcass of the carriage to the other side. A young teenage girl on the ground held out an arm towards the running figure, but he ignored her.
"Agent Sun, can you get a shot on the target?
" Chan spoke firmly into his radio.
"Too much smoke, Lieutenant"
"Xeng. Can you see the target?"
"Yes, target has not moved; looks like he is wounded."
"Can you see a weapon?"
"Negative. But the smoke is getting worse."
"Ok Agent Sun, let's do it."
Chan moved around the corner, moving slowly toward the man as Sun simultaneously moved in the same direction from the other side of the burning tram.
*******
Out of the mist, Jimmy saw a tall, padded, dark figure, closely followed by another figure a few metres apart. They wore some kind of gas masks, or visors, and were pointing their weapons directly towards him.
The fatigued clad figure closest to him seemed to adjust his weapon. Jimmy held his hands up and opened his mouth to speak; to tell them he'd been duped and this wasn't part of the plan. No words left his mouth.
Jimmy Duffy's last vision was a flickering flash from the muzzle of the assault rifle aimed at his head.
Chapter 16
Frank moved into an alcove at the back of the bar where another television was streaming an English version of the news. He strained to listen to the low volume.
"…Tram explosion on Chun Yeung Street market. No reports yet of the number of casualties."
The live footage showed a bird's eye view of the square with smoke billowing up alongside the city's skyscrapers. The tiny red and blue flashing lights of dozens of ambulance and security vehicles peppered the screen.
Frank's shaking hand could barely hold the beer bottle and he placed it on a table. His mind raced. The same mug shot of Jimmy filled the screen once again.
"Reports are coming in from eye witnesses that police engaged and shot a western Caucasian man at the scene. We are still waiting for a statement from the Special Duties Unit."
Frank's head fell into his hands and he felt utterly crushed. Total confusion, fear and panic all seemed to combine into a potent cocktail of emotion, rushing through him like an injection of some powerful vaccination. He gripped the edge of the table hard and tried to clear his head, fighting the welling tears.
Think Frank, Think!
He and Jimmy had been set-up big-time. How the bomb had been planted on the tram he had no idea, but he was certain Jimmy wasn't carrying any device. It must have been there already, or put into his bag?
An intense fear run through him and his heart started pumping hard. His eyes moved down to his haversack. There couldn't be anything in there; he had rummaged through it at the airport. He tried to remember if he had left it unattended at any point and concluded he had not.
Nevertheless, Frank slowly and carefully opened the zip and removed the small number of items, one by one—his wash bag, spare clothing, moneybag and passport. He very carefully searched each of the side pockets. There was nothing out of the ordinary. Frank exhaled slowly.
"…a secondary explosion has been reported at the Causeway Bay MTR station. The East Concourse has been badly damaged."
Frank looked up at the screen.
Causeway Bay! The station he hadn't been able to get to for the arranged time.
I can't believe this!
Frank was fixated on the screen and thought about Jimmy getting shot. That meant he must have been specifically targeted and that also meant Frank was probably in danger too. It was time to disappear fast and get out of sight.
Seeing the gentlemen's toilets he went inside. He had to change his appearance in any way. With soap lather he greased back his thick black hair in a way he would never usually have it. He already had a pair of shades and would need to get some kind of hat. Unsure of whether it would make any difference he quickly changed his shirt, just in case it might help make him less recognisable.
Had he already been flagged up as some kind of bomber? Frank didn't particularly want to hang around to find out. He pulled out his wash bag to get freshened up, almost as a way of procrastinating before having to face the streets.
The small piece of card with its scribbled phone number fell out into the sink as he rooted around for his face wash. He stared at it blankly for a second, remembering how, in Goa, he had found it and then stuffed it back inside. It had stayed in there ever since.
Maria.
He remembered her saying she had family or some connection in Hong Kong. He took the piece of ripped card and put it safely in his wallet. That could well be the only option he had.
Chapter 17
A second Special Unit team had been dispatched to Causeway Bay and had split into four groups. The teams were not in full combat gear like their colleagues at the market, but wore heavy navy vest jackets hanging over their T-shirts. They also had air-filtered masks hanging from their utility belts.
There were five exits for the station and they were all covered by agents. They mingled with the crowds heading in and out of the station and awaited their orders.
Causeway Bay was one of the most crowded areas in Hong Kong, with a shopping centre above the station that proudly hosted all the big brand shops carrying products from Japan, Europe and the United States.
Team Alpha waited around by the East entrance on Great George Street while Team Beta waited at the West entrance, with other teams covering other exits.
Each two man team had only just got into position. Team Alpha, which consisted of Charlie Wo and Joe Yi, felt a distant roar and vibration underneath their feet. Both men instantly knew it was no train. Charlie Wo looked at the tall frame of his colleague, "That could be it. Did you feel that?"
"Radio it in," Agent Yi replied gruffly. Charlie nodded and pressed the disponder on the radio strapped to his right shoulder.
"Agent Wo here. We are just in position at the East concourse and felt a tremor."
There was a slight pause before he received a response. "Move down to the station and look for the target and keep low. Emergency services are on their way," the radio hissed back at him.
Charlie nodded to his colleague and they quickly moved down the steps towards the underground station. A few metres down the subway, they heard distant screams and a wall of dust came rushing up the corridor, choking the two men and the handful of other people in the area.
Charlie and Joe quickly put on their masks before continuing down to the platform.
A stream of terrified civilians came running from the opposite direction, attempting to escape the scene. The two agents scanned their faces looking for the male Caucasian before gesturing to them to make their way to the exit. The chaos seemed to increase rapidly the nearer they got to the platform and the smoke thickened making it impossible to see anything. Everyone was choking and coughing and Joe spotted the first casualty, a middle aged woman covered in blood, staggering around in a daze.
"Are you OK Madame? Emergency services will be here any minute. Please make your way out now," he held her arm and manoeuvred her in the right direction.
"This is crazy!" shouted Joe.
"I know, I know. Keep focused. Remember, this man is supposed to be very dangerous." The target in the photograph they both had was Frank Bowen.
The two agents moved slowly towards the platform, occasionally helping a distressed passenger who had been lucky enough to escape with minor injuries. A chorus of wails and the sound of misery greeted them as they stepped down to the platform that was drenched in blood. They were soon stepping over limbs and bodies. A red heat blew from the carcass of the train that had exploded in the station. The carriages still contained passengers who desperately fought to escape the furnace.
Joe Yi caught his breath in his chest as he looked around at the pandemonium unleashed before him. He immediately depressed his radio disponder.
"Team Alpha at location. No sign of suspect. Multiple casualties. Where are the emergency services?"
"Right behind you. They'll be at the scene any moment. Just keep looking."
An hour later, all the teams reported that there was no sign of their suspect. Dead or alive.
Chapter 18
Theo Kampala sat at his desk in the Bangkok Hilton hotel room and prepared to make contact with his superior, agent name Oracle, within the MSS – Chinese intelligence – for just the second time in the year. He scribbled down the coded message, encrypted it and then input the letters into the modified Soviet M-125 Fialka cipher machine. His message: Operation Dizang successful but the Redshank bird has flown.
After sending the message, Theo waited as the crackling radio fizzed against the background hum of the air con.
In Beijing, a radio operator waited patiently, standing to attention in front of the large desk that Ho Zhang sat behind in his officious leather chair. He read the message sent by agent Bashe and was not happy at all. If one of the terrorists had escaped, then how was the operation a success? This had to be dealt with as soon as possible.
Zhang dismissed the operator and then walked to the window and looked across the river towards the hazy cityscape of south Beijing, his mind drifting. His office was in the Hang corporate building and looked exactly as if it was another department in the corporate infrastructure, but of course it wasn't. No other employees of the Hang Company knew what the department on the 34th floor did.
He paced up and down, weighing his options and then returned to his oak desk to write another message onto his notepad. Picking up his phone, he called through the internal line to the radio operator and asked him to return to his office.
"Send this to Agent Bashe," he said, handing the operator the slip of paper.
In Bangkok, Theo watched the Fialka cipher machine spit out the encrypted message onto a sheet of paper; his response from the Beijing station. He ripped off the sheet and translated the encryption.
It was an order to find the escaped bird and clean up. Theo stared at the message. Cleaning up meant tracking down Frank Bowen to kill him.
The television screen showed the latest images from the war in Kuwait. The eyes of the entire world were focused there. The operation seemed to be perfect timing. No doubt they planned that way.
Chapter 19
Frank dialled the number from a phone booth that was hidden down a side street. A female voice answered.
"Is that Maria?"
"Yes?"
"Hey, Maria. It's Frank. We never quite got to say goodbye in Goa."
