Casanova (17 page)

16

THURSDAY: 06:50—21:00

The ferry to Macau ran every fifteen minutes starting at seven in the morning.

‘It takes an hour or a little longer,’ Xing said. ‘Are you a good sailor?’ She paused and then said, ‘Yes, you are, of course you are, I remember...’ she saw my face and stopped. She was thinking back to Tenerife again. We had made an agreement about Tenerife. ‘As a soldier, you must have gone in a boat,’ she said.

Low cloud pressed down on Victoria Harbour and mixed with the smog like secret lovers holding hands. We stood on the wharf and the salty air slapped our faces. The water rose and fell. ‘It’s a bit choppy,’ I said.

‘...like an executioner’s axe,’ Xing said.

The ferry terminal was in Sheung Wan, they left from something called the Shun Tak. At least I think that’s what Xing told me.

The vessel was probably older than my partner was. I doubted it was a smooth ride
or very attractive to middle-aged women in hats. Rust stains had given it ginger highlights. The white paint below the deck line was yellow. Sea birds had done their best to fertilise the water rings that hung from the railing.

We boarded across a wooden gangway and walked to the stern. We leaned against the cold metal railings and felt the swell. The engine coughed like a heavy smoker. Fumes blew over the deck. We moved away and walked along the port side. A bench seat waited patiently below a roof of curved metal. We sat on the plastic cover and watched the other passengers pass by.

‘How many times have you been to Macau on this ferry?’

‘This will be the sixty-third time,’ she said.

I couldn’t tell if she was joking. ‘Has it ever sunk?’ I asked.

We were moving. The dock fell away behind us. The sea expanded and the horizon stretched like pulled elastic. The waves lifted the old tub and then dropped her. Our bench became a seesaw. I shut my eyes. I was back on an amphibian assault vessel with a RPG [
RPG:
rocket-propelled grenade
] resting at my feet. I opened my eyes.

‘Are you all right, do you feel sick?’

‘I still feel like a soldier,’ I said.

Xing nodded. ‘Yes,’ she said, ‘I think you will always be a soldier.’

‘What about you?’ I said. ‘Will you always be Mosquito?’

She shrugged. Her eyes seemed to search the future for an answer. ‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘Mosquitoes get swatted.’

We made it without incident. Terminal Maritimo do Porto Exterior, also known as Macau Ferry Terminal was a happy sight. It was white and functional like an airport terminal. Despite the coldness, I liked the place.

Xing peeled a handful of notes and gave them to me. ‘Macanese money,’ she said, ‘the pataca. Don’t get robbed. Oh, and most places will take your HK Dollars too.’

On the street, I thought everyone must have come out to see us. ‘It’s always like this,’ Xing said. ‘It’s the most crowded city in the world.’

We fought our way to the bus stop. The bus was full. We stood and held on. I watched Macau through the window. The Portuguese influence was everywhere. I saw Southern European architecture and pale primary colours on every corner. We were travelling southwest at about ten miles an hour. It was a slow journey. ‘It’s two miles,’ Xing said, ‘or maybe a bit more. It’s not a big place.’

The temple was definitely Oriental looking. It reminded me of a Chinese restaurant on Cambridge Street.

‘It’s Buddhist,’ Xing said. We mingled with all the other tourists. ‘It’s dedicated to Ma Zu,’ she said, ‘a fortune-teller who died at the age of twenty-eight.’

‘Not a very good one then?’ I said.

‘Her spirit guided fishermen to safety. They built this temple in her honour.’

‘That’s nice,’ I said. ‘Is there a fish stall round the back?’

We toured the temple just like the other British tourists, with polite interest. Xing was good at it. In the courtyard, we stood closely together and our arms touched. The sun glimpsed us through the bullied cloud and threw a warm smile. Xing caught it and threw back a frown.

Her contact approached without looking at us. He was an old man with few teeth. He sucked his gums and kept his head bowed. He stood beside the tree. He kept to the far side of the trunk. We wandered over and stopped. His loose fitting shirt was dirty and he wore old sandals. Xing embraced me and then she spoke softly in Cantonese. She was looking into my face. I didn’t have a clue what she said. A reply came from behind the tree. Xing spoke again. Her eyes held my face. The old man replied. Xing spoke once more and then the old man shuffled off.

‘Come on,’ she whispered, ‘we have to follow him.’

She held my hand. We left the temple. The old man never once looked back. He maintained a steady pace. His steps were small and his sandals scuffed the dry ground. We held a sensible distance and avoided looking directly at him. He led us towards the water. The road marked the edge of the land. Single trees lined the curving quayside like a suburban avenue. It was less crowded than the temple but the other more adventurous tourists gave us enough cover.

The old man stopped beside the gates and bent down to adjust his sandal. He glanced to his side once before rising and continuing on his way. We followed slowly. We were tourists, strolling and sightseeing. At the gates, we stopped and embraced like lovers on holiday. It gave us the opportunity to look without making it obvious. Fir trees and a wall obscured most of the house. I saw the bonnet of a car. It was a Mercedes. If this was the residence of Jacomo Xabier Cardozo Almada, also known as Missouri, then surveillance was going to be difficult.

I broke the false embrace and we walked on.

‘Perhaps we can get round the back.’

We found a pathway between two apartment blocks. It took us inland and connected us with an access road that served three further apartment buildings. We tracked westerly back towards the temple. The narrow access road turned blindly. There was a wall with a gateway. It entered onto a small car park. At the end, another much higher wall stopped us. Behind, it had thick, overhanging tress. We walked up to it. I listened and watched. It was all clear.

‘I’ll give you a leg up.’

Xing’s head disappeared among the needles and branches.

‘Lift me higher.’

Her foot pushed down on my shoulder. There was silence while she looked.

‘Okay, I’m coming down.’

She jumped off and landed softly. We walked away.

‘I saw a bit of the roof and the wall.’

‘Do you think he’s there?’ I said.

‘Yes, he’s there,’ she said. ‘It’s the perfect place to hide.’

We made our way back to the ferry terminal on foot. It wasn’t much slower than the bus and anyway Xing wanted to show me Macau. We walked to the centre of the old town. The cobblestone streets were dotted with mosaic squares and waves of black and grey. It was full of bustling people just like Bond Street on the Saturday before Christmas. There were market stalls and street vendors. Tall arched windows watched the activity from the imposing colonial architecture. The side streets hid small shops and street cafés. We stopped at one with an empty table. Xing ordered coffee and egg tarts. Apparently, egg tarts are a Macau delicacy introduced by the Portuguese.

‘Everyone here eats them,’ she told me.

I took a bite. ‘I don’t see why,’ I said.

We left Little Portugal and went to the ruin of Sao Paulo Cathedral. Only the façade remained. It reminded me of a film set. The bullied cloud from earlier had left and soft winter sunshine lit the stage. We climbed the steps. Statues, from inside their hollowed arches, stared down at us with blank expressions.

What appeared to be the highest point on Macau was not too much of an arduous climb. Guia lighthouse and the accompanying fortress both gleamed white.

‘An old lighthouse is not very exciting,’ I said.

‘Look at the view,’ Xing said.

The sunshine made it sparkle like a freshly waxed sports car. We gazed across the bodywork to the outer harbour and the sea beyond.

The ferry terminal waited loyally for our return. It seemed pleased to see us. It had put on a new outfit. The white paintwork shone attractively in the sunlight. It wasn’t exclusive though. The crowds of people still came and went.

The next ferry back to HK was nearly ready to leave. It was while we were waiting to board that Xing spotted him. He was standing against the wall. It was a good position to see who was coming and going. He had the marks on his face from where Xing had battered him. There was every chance his friend was also close. They had obviously reported and their punishment for failure was to watch the ferry terminal. They knew what we looked like. Missouri had realised Xing would have to visit Macau. He didn’t want any surprises. They had obviously missed us on the way in. Perhaps we had been too early for them. This time it was different.

‘Do you see him?’

‘Yes, I see him. I wonder where his friend is.’

‘What do you want to do?’

‘This time they may have guns.’

We boarded the ferry and watched. His friend appeared. The two men were the last to board. We maintained visual contact. They searched for us. We saw them split. We split too.

The sea had calmed. This time the ferry was less like a fairground ride. It made moving around much easier. I tracked my man through the crowded rear deck. He reached the rail and turned. I watched him search. He was getting anxious. Knowing Xing was a callous, professional killer of much repute was probably playing on his mind. His friend needed to worry. The hour passed slowly. After circling the boat one and half times, my man took a seat on the starboard side. He had obviously decided to wait until we docked and find us then. I wondered where Xing was. I hadn’t seen the other man. I wondered what she was going to do.

The ferry slowed. I approached him from the side. He never saw me. I punched him in the stomach. His wiry frame flipped like a dismounting gymnast. The engine noise masked the splash. We were close enough to port. Providing he could swim, he wouldn’t drown.

Xing appeared beside me on the gangplank. Her steps were relaxed and confident.

‘All okay?’ I asked.

She nodded.

‘Me too,’ I said. ‘What did you do?’

‘He won’t be following us again,’ she said.

We rode the tram back to our hotel. Before entering, we scouted the street and the lobby. It’s better to be safe than sorry. Xing didn’t say it this time but I could tell it was in her mind.

We went to our suite separately. I went first and Xing followed. The corridor was clear. At the door, I continued. At the corner, I doubled back. I saw Xing. She was approaching from the other direction. I entered the suite. Xing stayed by the door. I made a quick circuit. It was all clear. I stuck my thumb up. Xing smiled. She entered and closed the door.

‘Did you kill him?’ I said.

Xing pulled her top off over her head. It flicked her ponytail. ‘I should have,’ she said.

‘What did you do then?’

‘The same as you,’ she said.

‘How do you know what I did?’

‘I watched you,’ she said. ‘Do you think they know how to swim?’ She pulled off her jeans. ‘You’re not undressing,’ she said.