by Jay Tinsiano
There was a pause.
"Frank? How are you?"
"I'm fine, kind of. Listen, I'm in Hong Kong and wondered if I could see you?"
"Sure, come and visit anytime."
"Erm. Sorry for the short notice, but can I come over now?"
Maria laughed, "Ok, no problem. I'll give you the address."
Frank studied his battered map and thought about the best way to get there. He wasn't sure whether his photo was now plastered all over the media and needed to get to Maria's place undetected. Hopefully, his slightly changed appearance would help. He noticed – with worry – that Happy Valley was fairly close to the Causeway Bay, an area he obviously wanted to avoid.
Frank hailed a taxi and asked for Deep Water Bay at the far side of Hong Kong Island.
Thankfully, after some initial small talk, the driver didn't pay close attention to his passenger, enabling him lie low in the back seat. The journey seemed to take an age and Frank relaxed once they had reached the island.
At Deep Water Bay, Frank hailed a different cab to the Hong Kong Cricket Club. He asked the driver to stop nearby and waited until it had disappeared before crossing the main road and climbing secluded steps that weaved up the hill through a wood. The roads were set on hills that offered occasional fantastic panoramic views of the sea and other small islands that appeared merely as grey shapes in the haze. All the low-set houses were protected by walls and gates.
The bell rang, a distant low chiming that seemed to fit perfectly with the calmness and tranquillity of the neighbourhood. It seemed a long way from the hustle and bustle of central Hong Kong. A familiar face answered the door.
"Maria?"
She beamed a welcoming smile that brought back why he had been so attracted to her.
"Hey Frank. Wow, really nice to see you again."
They hugged and Maria gestured for him to follow her. "Come in."
The house had the typical décor of an expat residence. The wall of the hallway was covered with paintings and photographs of landscape scenes from Amsterdam and London.
Frank heard the distant faint background sound of Budgerigars punctuating through the house. The slow fans whirred overhead as they entered a large living room area with tall windows that overlooked Kowloon. Chinese art, depicting ancient warriors and dragons, hung on the wall and a large, beautifully decorated vase sat on a low table near the door.
"Are you ok?" She looked at him, frowning, sensing the tension in him.
"It's been an insane day, Maria. I'm still taking it all in, to be honest. I need to clear my head and figure out what the hell is going on."
Frank accepted tea and explained the day's events. It sounded unbelievable, even as he uttered the words, but he continued. Maria stared at him in disbelief, her mind obviously whirring like a motor. After he had finished his story her head was in her hands.
Frank looked at her with a hint of harshness. "You do believe me, right?"
"Yes Frank, yes, of course." She went over and put her arms around him. She whispered, "What are you going to do?"
"I've got to go through the whole thing. It seems I've been set up as some kind of dupe for this bloody mess and I was obviously supposed to die in that tube explosion. I can't believe I was so stupid. Now I'm some kind of target. Yes, I could give myself up, but everything points to me … and Jimmy. I can't stop thinking about him. I pulled him into this and now he's dead."
Frank felt the anger rising inside him; anger mixed with desperation and confusion.
"I'm caught bang in the middle of some bullshit. If I give up I'll be framed, I know I will. That bastard Richard set me up. I need to get to Bangkok and find him as soon as possible."
Frank was letting his anger run forth and Maria seemed to know better than to start to argue.
"Who else was in Bangkok?" she asked.
"This Dean Whiteman guy. Very officious. He said he was part of the Legislative Council of Hong Kong."
"Wait a minute, yes. My father works for them. Remember me telling you? Maybe he can help."
"I doubt very much that this Mr Whiteman was part of that department; he was just a very slick conman but it might be worth checking out. There was also a Thai police lieutenant. I can't remember his bloody name."
Maria frowned. "That's pretty high up in the police rank. Was he in on it, do you think?"
Frank shook his head.
"No idea." He looked up at Maria. "Listen, do you think your father could get me a passport? A fake one, I mean?"
Maria paused, "Hmm, I'm not sure. I'll try Frank. He's actually coming by soon, so you can meet him."
"Great. I stashed most of the money they paid me in Bangkok, thinking I'd go back there. Maybe I should get it back. I think I'm gonna need it."
Maria stroked his arm. "Hmm, that all sounds a bit dangerous at the moment. Please don't worry about money, I can lend you some."
"Thanks Maria, that's appreciated. But I also need to track down this Richard guy."
"I don't think that's a great idea either."
Frank stood up and walked to the window, staring across the city skyline.
"I know it's not a great idea but ... shit, I don't know what to do," he said.
"The British Embassy?"
"No. It's too risky. I don't know who's involved." He turned to Maria. "You know what’s so funny about this mess? I was running for that train like my life depended on it and if I had caught it I’d most likely be dead now. That's pretty ironic, huh?"
Chapter 20
Christopher Johnson, Chief Inspector of the Royal Hong Kong police force, shifted through the report shared with his department by the Counter Terrorism Response Unit telling him there was a second Caucasian terrorist at large in his city.
He stared at a photograph of Frank Bowen. According to the report, his suspected connections included MI6, the Ulster Defence Association in Northern Ireland and various drug cartels, although no direct evidence was offered for this. He was also deemed very dangerous. It claimed that he had been involved in various criminal activities from an early age and in 1988 – facing drug trafficking charges – had co-operated with the authorities to help bring a larger network of criminals to justice.
However, Johnson could see no reference to actual criminal records or the specific trial mentioned. He frowned and quickly clicked and rotated a pen in his hand over and over.
His team was scanning C.C.T.V. footage at that very moment but nothing had come up so far. Police were also watching all main transport hubs and he had ordered extra men to patrol the city.
Johnson picked up the phone and asked for Lim Su Sung, his senior inspector of police, to come into his office. After five minutes, Lim knocked on the open door and entered. He was a tall, prominent figure, wearing round glasses, and a workaholic who had served well for the force. The two men had worked together for over five years.
"Hi Lim, have you looked through this?" said the chief inspector, gesturing to the report in front of him.
"Yes I read through it."
"It came through from the local MI6 station," the chief said, almost as a question.
"Apparently so, Sir."
"Take a seat." He gestured to the chair opposite him and the senior inspector dutifully sat down and looked at the chief expectantly.
"It's interesting that MI6 passed on this information so readily. It's not their usual style."
"Yes and very quickly too," agreed Lim.
"I know it's not usual practice, Lim, but can you get in touch with your point of contact in London and get confirmation of this report for me? Also, request any further information they have on this Frank Bowen."
"Right away, Sir."
*******
Detective Inspector Douglas Brown walked down the East Concourse at Causeway Bay station, surveying the echoes of destruction which became starker as he neared the platform. Broken glass, plastic and metal had spread across the polished tiles on the ground, spreading a sea of blackened
dust and debris, only punctured by dozens of cut-out shapes where bodies had fallen, since removed from the scene. Dried blood had stained wide areas of the platform and the thick atmosphere made Brown feel a wave of claustrophobia for a moment.
He laid his eyes on the charred husk of the train that had every single window blasted out, giving it a ghost-like aura. Where the windows had been; only inky black gaps remained. Yellow ticker tape sealed off entire areas and a white suited forensic team, with masks and gloves, painstakingly picked through the debris and bagged anything of interest.
Brown carefully stepped over to the train and spoke to the officer in charge who walked him along to the carriage where the explosion had detonated. This carriage, almost in the middle, was blacker than the rest.
"This is where the explosion and the resulting fire were at their most intense," said the Officer, dryly. "A large fireball ripped through the remaining carriages, both ways."
Brown peered inside, through the blackened gaps of the windows. The plastic passenger seats had melted into unrecognisable shapes and the whole floor seemed to have been ripped upwards, as if some incredible force had punched its way through. Shards of metal from the train floor streaked in all directions. Brown couldn't begin to imagine what it had been like to be caught up in this horror.
The detective inspector took an hour looking around the scene, taking notes and mopping his brow with a handkerchief to wipe away the floating dust that clung to his skin, before walking back up the concourse. He found his car and sat in it for a moment, breathing heavily, trying desperately to dispel the nausea.
He glanced at himself in the car mirror; his swept back, grey hair seemed to him to be verging on white and he adjusted his thick rimmed, black spectacles. He had definitely aged rapidly since moving to Hong Kong, he noticed solemnly.
Swapping from the London Met to the Royal Hong Kong force was not something he had expected five years before, but meeting his Chinese wife on a holiday break in Hong Kong had set him on an entirely different path in life. She worked in a department store, a fashionista. Yet her feet were firmly on the ground and he loved her for it. Funny how life turned out if you were open to change, he'd thought, and the moment that he decided 'to hell with it' would always stick in his mind. He married the girl and put in for a transfer.
Hong Kong was not without its problems. Triad activity seemed to be on the increase and a new kind of anxiety had gripped the city, especially with the Chinese handover six years away. And now it looked like a new fear was going to close in; the fear of terrorism.
The detective inspector started the engine and headed west, skirting around Victoria Park, then along King's Road towards Chun Yeung Street market and another scene of carnage.
Chapter 21
Maria's father walked into her living room. He was tall and cut an imposing, confident figure. His cropped silver hair was a stark contrast to his tanned skin and he wore a dark suit with a white shirt, no tie. The man stared at Frank for a moment with a hint of surprise which quickly turned to a broad smile.
"This is my friend, Frank," said Maria, before turning to Frank. "And this is my dad, Peter."
"Pleased to meet you, Frank." Both men shook hands. Peter Chapman spoke with the confidence of a man who knew what he wanted and how to get it.
Frank felt an uneasy tension for a moment, as if Peter was aware of what he was about to ask. Perhaps Maria had mentioned something to him on the phone?
Maria made some green tea and they sat around the coffee table in the breakfast room that held a spectacular view across Tai Tam Country Park. The clock chime signalled the passing of another hour from the hallway.
"First time in Hong Kong?" asked Peter, carefully pouring tea into each cup as if it were a practiced art.
"It is." Frank felt unable to elaborate further and instead asked permission to smoke. Peter waved him on, his face impassive and unreadable. He finished the tea and his blue eyes moved onto the stranger in his daughter's house.
"So, I'm in a situation," Frank began. "Some kind of messed up intelligence exercise I got involved in. I take it you've seen the news?"
Peter nodded, "I have." He clasped his hands together in front of himself, elaborating no further and instead crooked his head slightly, signalling Frank to continue.
After going through the story once again, Frank drained his tea and fixed Peter with a level stare. "I have been completely stitched up and now I'm in serious trouble but I was definitely nothing to do with what happened. You do understand, Mr Chapman?"
Peter simply nodded in acknowledgement and then turned his teacup on the saucer and took a sip. Placing it back on the glass table top, he leaned back in his chair.
"Well. It certainly sounds serious. I'm tempted to say you need to get to the British Embassy, but I'm sure you've already thought of that."
"Yes," Frank replied, "But right now I don't know what I'm dealing with or who's involved. I just want to get a passport in another name so I can get out of here. I need to figure things out."
"To be perfectly honest it sounds like you could have been a bit more wary before making the decision to do this…exercise."
"It all looked legitimate. They had the credentials, the paperwork. There was no reason to think I would be set up and put on some death list," said Frank, raising his voice slightly. He knew he had been foolish and suddenly felt the need to justify his decision.
Maria's father leaned forward and stared at Frank sternly.
"I don't want my daughter mixed up in this, you hear me?"
Frank held up his hands. "Believe me; I didn't know what else to do. I don't want that either. I just want to figure this out."
"Dad! He needs help. He's not just some guy I met whilst…" Maria seemed to catch herself and quickly looked away.
Her father gave her a sideways glance, leaned back in his chair again and settled his eyes back onto Frank. He exhaled slowly as if making a considered decision.
"I cannot afford to get directly involved in this either, as I'm sure you'll understand. But, as you are a friend of my daughter, I want to help, of course. I can give you a name of someone who can help you. But that's all."
"I understand and am really grateful for your help, Peter." said Frank. He glanced at Maria who smiled at him reassuringly.
"Also, I know this is a long shot," Frank continued, "as he probably used a fake name, but there was a man calling himself Dean Whiteman in Bangkok. He appeared to be in charge of the exercise and said he worked for the same Council as you." Frank described the man he had met as Peter and Maria listened.
"Hmm, can't say I know anyone with that name or description, but I'll ask around for you if you like."
Frank nodded, relieved at the feeling that he had some support, no matter how small.
********
The following afternoon, Frank walked through hanging beads into the cramped store that seemed to be stacked high with everything from toasters to Chinese lanterns. It was empty of people and Frank moved to the counter glancing around at the ceiling high stacked consumer goods. Jasmine incense lingered in the air.
A distant sound of a babbling television drifted through a door behind the counter and then, unexpectedly, a face of an older woman appeared, eyeing Frank suspiciously.
Frank put down a black card onto the counter and she glanced at it without picking it up. She turned and shouted in Chinese into the back room. A young man appeared with a cigarette hanging from his mouth, dressed in a vest that had seen cleaner days and yellow knee length shorts. The older woman disappeared behind the back again.
"Hi there. I'm Frank." He gestured to the card on the counter. The young Chinese picked up the card and peered at it for a second.
"Friend of Peter?" he asked, narrowing his eyes at Frank, yet clearly unhappy that this foreigner was standing in his store.
"That's right. He's helping me and I wondered if you could too?" asked Frank, hoping that the visit wasn't going to turn into a was
te of time. He had to get this passport.
The young man certainly knew Peter Chapman. His father, a successful Hong Kong businessman, held him in high esteem. The English expat had helped him secure a contract with a British company and, in the spirit of the Chinese term "guanxi" – a favour for a favour – this was obviously repayment time.
Eventually, the young man nodded and lifted up the counter hatch to let Frank through. They walked through more cluttered rooms and Frank saw the old woman sitting on a sofa watching the television. She glared at Frank and said something in Chinese. The young man shouted back and soon they were walking down some steps into a basement which housed even more boxes of televisions and other white goods.
At the back of the windowless basement room, was a clear space with a desk, a filing cabinet and piles of papers. The young man gestured for Frank to sit in an old armchair while he slumped down behind the desk.
"I'm Li," he said, briskly.
"I'm Frank," Frank said for a second time. "I need a passport."
Li nodded. "It will cost five thousand US dollars and I need you to supply a photograph."
Frank shifted uncomfortably in his chair.
"Five thousand? Your friend ... our friend, Peter, said you would help me out. I wasn't expecting it to cost that much," Frank stared at Li apprehensively.
"It's a risky business. Cannot be done cheaply. But you friend of Peter, so let's say two thousand."
That's quite a drop from five thousand, thought Frank. He decided not to look a gift horse in the mouth and pulled out a wad of notes that was rolled into tubes. Maria had kindly lent him the money.
"Ok, I'll give you a grand now and the rest on delivery," said Frank, handing over a roll.
Li considered the money and then grabbed it. "Sure, no problem with that. You have photograph?"
Frank handed over a passport photo he had taken earlier that day in his new look of combed back hair with the beginnings of a beard he was growing.
"And the name?" asked Li.
Frank thought for a moment. "Make it Joseph Burns, that's all I can think of."
Li nodded and wrote down the name. "No problem. A few days, OK?"
"Thanks for helping me out, Li."
Chapter 22
"Hello Carl," said the voice at the other end of the line. Carl recognised Frank's tone immediately and sensed a hint of tension.
