by Jay Tinsiano
Yun flipped the pages and came to one that he stared at momentarily before shutting the folder entirely and leaning back in his chair.
"The operations your department have been carrying out are, I'm sure, all in the interest of our great country. I've been receiving your reports. The Hong Kong situation…" The old man paused as if reluctant to mention details, "Is it under control?"
Zhang cleared his throat. He had prepared for this.
"Everything went according to our wishes, it was very smooth, Sir. The operation took two years to plan and we anticipated most things. We did have a slight problem in that one of the terrorists escaped the theatre of operation. I therefore sent our agent Tian to take care of it. This is still in progress and I have no doubt this will be concluded very soon," Zhang paused, unsure whether to carry on. The shadows under Yun's eyes seemed to darken and he leaned forward.
"We have had to respond to the changes in this operation. Denying it all, of course and our press agencies have pointed fingers at the British, but if any of this gets out it will be severely damaging, you understand? Your plan to use Orchid to lay the trail to MI6 was a good one. But it seems to be unravelling, is it not?"
"Sir. The only problem is the terrorist, which we're on top of, I assure you."
Yun suddenly grabbed a Bangkok Post newspaper and threw it onto the desk in front of Zhang, jabbing his finger at a prominent story on two bodies found in Krabi.
"There are bodies piling up all over Asia. Your agent is cleaning up a little too publicly!"
Zhang bowed his head. "It won't happen again. I will send orders..."
"No it will not happen again because you’re going to shut down all operations as of now. The department is closed until further notice." Yun's face seemed to become almost as red as the Chinese flag on the wall.
Then, as quickly as he had exploded in anger, the old man seemed to calm again, "The State Council is concerned and asking questions. It's put me in a very tricky situation. I have no choice. Don't worry, you will not be arrested. You will be reassigned."
Zhang held his eyes shut for a moment and nodded. He began talking slowly and quietly: "Most of the agents I can recall. As I'm sure you're aware, agent Orchid is a quality product who delivers us very useful information from within MI6. How do you suggest I handle it?"
"I know losing such a valuable asset is not easy to take, Zhang, but they are going to be compromised sooner or later. Cut the agent loose."
Chapter 37
The curtains opened and Frank could make out the outline of Maria's hair in the gloom.
She climbed into the cramped space, astride Frank, finding a comfortable spot that suited them both. Their lips met and soon their bodies were intertwined in a quiet urgency. No words. Just a need to be close.
Yet the uncertainty of who she really was floated at the back of Frank's mind as they made love, both fighting to keep their gasps quiet.
Could she really be some kind of honey trap? Right then he almost didn't care.
As they lay together, letting the rhythm of the train envelop them, Maria gently stroked a loose wisp of Frank's hair back into place.
"Do you think if we get out of this there'll be something for us on the other side?" she whispered.
Frank smiled, moving his hand up and down her bare back.
"I'm sure there'll be a lot for us if we want there to be." He realised for the first time the risk she was taking by coming with him. She could just have easily stayed well out of it and pointed him on his way.
"Thanks for being with me," he said.
Frank's body absorbed the gentle rumble of the train carriages that vibrated the bunk bed. He wanted to drift off to sleep but he realised, with irritation that nature called.
Untangling himself from Maria, he pulled on his shorts, slipped into flip flops and made his way down the quiet, dimly lit train.
He had to pass through an empty catering carriage and then another sleeping car before finding a toilet. He closed and locked the door to the cramped cubicle, splashing cold water over his face from the running tap. Staring at himself in the mirror, he wondered when he was going to be able to shave off the bloody beard. Frank hated it. He then proceeded to take a leak.
A moment later, he opened the door to come back out and caught sight of a Chinese man passing by. He seemed familiar, even from behind, and Frank could see the edge of his scar. The intruder in Hong Kong! Amazingly, he hadn't noticed Frank, but it was definitely the same man. He knew it. Frank thought fast, realising that this guy was probably looking to quietly kill them in their sleep.
How the hell did he find them? Was it coincidence? No, it couldn't possibly be.
Frank stepped out of his flip flops and crouched low, waiting for his moment, whilst frantically looking around for some kind of weapon. The Chinese wasn't looking in the sleeping berths, instead walking purposefully along the narrow corridor, reading the berth numbers, obviously knowing where they were sleeping. The assassin approached the catering carriage, sliding the door to go through. Frank had to act soon. If the intruder had looked around behind him at that moment, he would have seen Frank stalking after him in nothing but his shorts but the Chinese continued through the sliding doors. Frank just managed to catch the door with his hand before it slammed shut and slipped through, immediately spotting a fire extinguisher placed just inside the carriage.
Struggling to release it from its grip Frank glanced up and saw that the killer was half way through the catering carriage and would soon reach his and Maria's beds. He wobbled the whole of the canister to free it from its bearings but age seemed to have welded it in place as it stubbornly refused to budge.
Finally, with one final effort using all his body weight, it came free in his hands, almost throwing him off balance. He moved fast, running down towards the end of the carriage to build the momentum of speed, as the killer approached the doorway. The noise of the train hid the sound of his footfall. As Frank got to within three metres of him, Chiu started to turn around as if he sensed the movement approaching.
Frank threw the fire extinguisher at him with all his force. The Chinese instinctively dodged the canister but it still bounced off the side of his head, ricocheting off the plastic carriage door back onto his neck, throwing him forward onto his knees. Frank used the momentum of his speed to shove him over again with his foot, stubbing his toes on the man's shoulder.
Ignoring the shot of pain, Frank went to grab the fire extinguisher again but the killer adopted a defensive stance, kicking the inside of his knee. Frank fell back onto the ground, yelling in agony. Jabbing violently at Chiu with his feet; he tried to crawl backwards, the adrenaline pumping hard in his veins. The assassin attempted to pull himself to his feet by using the side of a table to lever himself, while rolling back the canister out of Frank's reach with his foot.
Then Frank saw a chilli pot on the table and grabbed it, immediately throwing the powder at Chiu's eyes with a swoop of his arm. The man cursed in Mandarin, holding up his hands to his face as Frank followed up with a full kick onto his chest to force him back down against the carriage door.
Frank had to prevent the assassin from getting near him as he had seen first-hand, at Krabi, what he was capable of. He went to kick again and this time the killer grabbed his leg, twisting it at the same time, making Frank yell out in agony as he was pulled down to the floor. Chiu managed to lunge forward, throwing himself onto Frank, one hand grabbing his neck while the right hand came around, holding a syringe, pointing it directly at Frank's chest. Frank grabbed the arm holding the syringe, to prevent getting jabbed. The two men's faces were inches apart, Chiu's bloodshot eyes glaring at Frank with pure hatred; teeth bared as saliva dripped onto Frank's neck. Frank used all his strength to prevent the needle going into him—if that happened he knew he was dead.
Frank shouted for help. No one could hear above the chugging tracks and, besides, the doors both ends were shut. He was strong, but the Chinese seemed stronger an
d the needle inched closer. He felt his strength ebb as the hand gripping his throat seemed to close up his windpipe, draining him of air.
At that moment, a pair of hands appeared low down through the sliding door to grab the canister from the ground. Frank saw it was Maria and jerked his head; butting the killer's face with his forehead to distract him.
Maria held the fire extinguisher above her and brought it down at the back of the assassin’s skull with all the force she could conjure. There was a sickening crack and Chiu’s head slumped against Frank's shoulder, blood streaming from his wound.
Frank pushed the limp hand away from his throat, coughing and wheezing, spitting drool out of his mouth. Maria helped pull the lifeless body slumped on top of Frank aside. Frank managed to get free and crawled onto his hands and knees, coughing thick bile onto the ground. It was a several minutes before he could speak.
"Thanks, Maria. This is becoming a habit," he rasped, voice almost gone as he somehow managed to flash her a grin.
"Can we get out of here?" she asked urgently.
"What about him? You think ... he's still alive?" asked Frank. They both looked at the still unconscious body.
"Not sure." Maria leaned down and held his pulse for a moment. "Yes, just."
"Let's get rid of him, out the door," said Frank, slowly pulling himself to his feet.
"Throw him out of the door? That would definitely kill him, Frank."
"He was trying to kill me. This is the second time he's caught up with us. No more chances," Frank said, a look of grim determination on his face. Then he looked at the syringe gripped in Chiu's hand and eased it free, holding it up to the flicking carriage light to study the liquid content.
"God knows what this is. Maybe I could give him a dose of his own medicine?"
"We haven't got time for this!" Maria was looking back through the inner door window into their carriage, clearly worried.
"OK, let’s do it. All clear?" asked Frank as he began to drag Chiu towards the door. Maria went through into the carriage and used all her strength to push open the main door which buttressed against the force of outside air that rushed by. The door swept back, banging against the carriage metal, and she quickly stepped back to allow Frank to drag Chiu to the doorframe.
A moment later, the body had disappeared into the inky night, along with the syringe and Frank pulled the door closed. He rested against it for a moment before gesturing to Maria. "We’d better clean up and get off this train."
Chapter 38
Douglas Brown pressed the buttons on the vending machine and watched his coffee cup drop down onto the tray and fill with black liquid, quickly followed by white, frothy milk. He grabbed it, winced as he burned his fingers and walked back to his desk where another pile of paperwork had magically appeared. The detective inspector cleaned his glasses on his shirt and blew the top of the coffee in an attempt to cool it down. The first report was from the forensics at the scene of the explosion in Causeway Bay.
He read for two minutes then jumped out of his seat, walking briskly to the chief inspector's office and knocked rapidly before poking his head round the door.
"Chief?"
Johnson nodded, gesturing for him to come in.
"Report from forensics. The explosion at Causeway Bay was caused by a device underneath the train, not inside the carriage. The force of it ripped up through the floor." He paused and handed over the report. "I actually saw that myself, but it didn’t register at the time."
"Anything from the tram attack?"
"There's nothing in yet," Brown replied. "I have a feeling it will be the same."
Johnson leaned forward. "Douglas. Find Frank Bowen. We need to talk to him. Tell him he's in the clear, but on the condition he comes back to Hong Kong from wherever he's hiding. I'll make a call to MI6. It's time we compared notes."
Chapter 39
A row of clocks in various time zones on the pale, flaking wall had faithfully displayed the time for over twenty years. Mary Lo didn't hold much love for the windowless room that sat in the centre of the MI6 Hong Kong station, but was thankful she was able lose herself in her work to block it out at least.
She ran her eyes down the Personals advert column of the Hong Kong Times once again. It was a painstaking task to which she had devoted a few hours a day, unless she saw a lead and then she'd be off like a dog with a bone, working through the entire evening. The word 'orchid' written into one of the ads seemed to stand out, turning tiny cogs in her brain. It was one of the keywords on her list; words that cropped up that may have significant meaning and even be part of a message.
Having the job of checking the Personals column had, of course, drawn plenty of comments from her male colleagues. "You're secretly looking for Mr Right, eh Mary?"
"Yeah, no real men around here," she'd usually fire back.
Mary walked over to a filing cabinet and flipped through previous issues that she had marked and catalogued. She found the page that she was looking for and looked over one of the ads again, spreading it open over a nearby table.
"To my loving K. My flame is growing every day. Miss You - Orchid."
Another said:
"My darling K, I could not share you with another. If our love is to grow I must have a reply. Orchid."
She started to follow the trail and look for possible responses to the message in editions a day or so afterwards, messages that would consistently fit and look as if they were connected. She couldn't initially see any obvious culprits, but then that was the idea with hidden messages.
Mary went through the ads one by one and wrote down each letter, matching them to common code encryptions until she had a group of numbers in rows. She ran through the numbers in Chinese dialects – Mandarin, locally known as Guoyu, Cantonese, Hakka, Yin – as well as English. It was a thinking process more than anything. One which took time. Plenty of time.
Messages could be transmitted in a variety of ways, depending on the circumstances. They could be via the World Wide Web, a technology that was increasingly being used by universities, groups and enthusiasts. Then there were various levels of Cryptography. The Data Encryption Standard (DES) and the Advanced Encryption Standard (AES) were block cipher designs which had been set as cryptography standards by the US government but were unlikely to be used by Chinese intelligence.
Mary mainly focused on 'In Plain Sight' messages where the mailbox was public, such as newspapers and magazines, even radio messages. Benjamin Fowler, an intelligence officer based at the Hong Kong station for over twelve years, entered the room and nodded at Mary.
"How's the world of Miss Lo? Breaking those codes?" he smiled. His short, cropped, blond hair seemed to get lighter by the year, Mary thought.
"Oh yes. Firing through it, almost done," she joked, sarcastically. She glanced down at her notes as if pondering something. "There is something."
She explained her hunch about the personals as she flipped through the papers pointing out the marked suspect adverts.
"Orchid huh? I'll throw it at matey boy downstairs and see if it shakes any leaves," Fowler said, his eyes scanning over the newsprint. "You never know."
Fowler left Mary to her notes to fetch his colleague and question their suspect. The pressure had been building on him and he was acutely aware he needed answers, especially one that dug deep into his psyche and had kept him awake in recent weeks.
He remembered getting wind of the fake report naming Frank Bowen and Jimmy Duffy as terrorists that had been supplied to the Special Unit purporting to come from MI6. Worse, it had since come to light that it had come from his station. Finding the agent responsible, from the twenty or so operating in the area, was proving to be more difficult than he had anticipated, especially with the evasive experience they all had.
Fowler opened the door to the room and nodded at the large, burley man studying a wall map inside.
“Ready, Grant?”
The man grunted and followed Fowler back out into the corridor
. They descended metal steps down several floors, lit only by faded bulbs set into the hard walls.
********
Underground, in the anonymous concrete building, a Chinese man paced around a clammy, windowless room, relief brought only when the ceiling fan kicked in for around five minutes every half hour. Aside from a simple fold-out bed and a solitary table, there was nothing in the claustrophobic space. He unconsciously ran a hand across the bruising on his cheek and then massaged the back of his neck, trying to guess the time. He thought it might be the afternoon, but was unsure. He reckoned this was his third day or so of captivity with very little sleep. The fluorescent tube of light that stretched across the ceiling stayed on permanently. It was a shame the fan didn't stay on, he thought. Both these technical hitches were obviously deliberate.
He thought back to the night his captors wanted to know more about. Three months as a security guard – sitting in that booth every night and watching hours of crap on T.V. – and then the night his comrades came and the three figures had walked down the platform.
Where it came to an end at the tunnel, the three men took out torches from their bags and jumped down onto the rail track and Heng handed them down the heavy bags, one by one, grunting at the weight of them.
The scar faced one had looked up at him as the other two slowly moved off into the darkness of the tunnel, their torch lights dancing around the tracks.
"The model number?"
Heng had nodded and taken a piece of paper out of his inside jacket pocket, quickly checking it again before handing it over. Scarface looked at it: "This is definitely the right one?"
Heng met the dark eyes and jerked his head confidently. "Definitely."
"Ok, good work. Stay here and guard." And then he had disappeared into the blackness.
The thick iron door to the room rattled with the sounds of keys struggling with the lock before the imposing figure of Grant appeared, filling the door frame.
"Time for a tea break, mate," he said and the Chinese man voluntarily held out his wrists which Grant quickly clasped in handcuffs. They walked a short distance along a dank corridor that had never seen a shred of daylight and entered another windowless room where Benjamin Fowler was opening a metallic briefcase. He hooked leads from the Ambassador Polygraph machine that was housed in the case to an external monitor sitting on a table next to him. The Chinese man held out his hands again, letting Fowler release his cuffs, before sitting down in the same chair he had sat in four times previously. Before that he had been kidnapped by masked figures, blindfolded and brought to this shithole.
