Gold Sharks (23 page)

“Big J, I am going to ask you to follow them at, say, twelve miles' distance, then once we are in a suitable location we feign a disaster and send an SOS; if the captain has the same respect for the seamen's code as you, then they will come to our assistance. We should be able to take their guards by surprise. Then we can simply throw the cargo overboard and all honour has been retained.” He looked at Big J. “Now you have the floor Sir!” Alex smiled and sat back.

Big J looked serious.

“I think you're taking too much for granted. You seem to be forgetting that this is a commercial operation.” He waved his hands about, indicating the tug. “Several of the men are partners in the diving operation. I can ask them to risk their lives every day at one hundred metres but I can't ask them to risk being shot - it just isn't the same thing!”

“Two of your diving students are ex marines from the People's Army. They would know how to handle themselves!” Ming Ho blurted out and looked at Alex. “That's if no one else can?” he added, po-faced.

Alex smiled.

“Big J, I think your philosophy is correct. I have no right to ask your men to risk their lives in this enterprise and believe me there is a very considerable risk. So maybe our friend here has the answer.” He raised a hand in Ming Ho's direction again. “So for the moment, let's suppose we agree that we leave port a couple of hours behind them, enabling us to shadow her without detection. When should that be?” Alex looked at the grinning Ming Ho.

“It will have to be tomorrow morning. I don't think we can delay the repair to the dry dock gate any longer than that!” Ming ho shrugged his shoulders.

Alex smiled back at the amazing old man who'd somehow been responsible for organising the fault in the dry dock's gate opening mechanism.

“In the meantime I'll put on my thinking cap to work out a sensible solution to the problem of neutralizing the guards. OK everyone?” Alex stood up to leave.

“Incidentally, just how many people have you promised a passage with us tomorrow?” Big J asked.

“Well it's four at the moment but I'd quite like to go along as well! So say five. Is that OK?”

Big J sat back and folded his arms in good-humoured despair.

“I guess so - at this rate the old tug'll be more like the Kowloon ferry by the time we leave!”

The humour was wasted on Alex - he'd already left the wheelhouse, his mind mulling over his latest ideas to solve their more urgent problems.

f

The Syndicate leader was in a particularly poor humour. Ashen faced, his partners sat at the table facing him. The message advising him of the delayed departure of the arms shipment had been bad enough but this latest accident preventing the ship from leaving the dry dock was a neat catastrophe.

“Those useless bastards!” he shouted angrily at the seated men. “They can't even operate their dry dock gates without fucking up!” His audience recoiled; no one could ever remember him resorting to foul language. “You better get over there and sort it out! The Mullah is going apeshit. God knows what retribution he could be planning.” He pointed to the younger of the two men.

The man was plainly anxious; he knew getting involved personally was against the general principle of their organisation. They were all well aware of the tragic circumstances of the last such mission, when two of their colleagues had been killed.

“Didn't they say when it would be operational again?” The worried man tried applying reason to the angry leader.

“Look we have contracted to deliver; we get access to all the best deals because we always deliver on time. Yes?” He did not wait for a reply. “Now, the agent in charge down there has completely fouled up by getting involved with some hired help who went mad and drew attention to us by murdering some local woman. Apparently the husband and a friend evened up the score by killing the assassins and one of our agents. We still have one man on the boat but I want you out there to guarantee that there are absolutely - and I mean absolutely - no more foul ups or delays. Do you have a problem with that?” The steel blue eyes narrowed and bore like lasers into the other man.

Tough as he was, the young man nodded. “OK, I'm on the way.”

He stood up, resigned to the situation; the leader was not to be reasoned with when he was in that kind of mood

w

Only moments after Oscar and Dick left the office, the lawyer picked up the telephone and was soon deep in conversation with another of his clients.

“Thought you ought to know a guy from Singapore is planning to pay off the mortgage on the fisherman Dick's boat. Then he plans to go wreck diving!” The lawyer listened for a couple of minutes. “No he didn't say whether he had any definite locations but he seemed extremely confident and the bank in Singapore who referred him to me tells me that he has successfully done this sort of thing before.” He listened again. “Yes I will let you know - and thank you a percentage would be most welcome. I'll be in touch.” He smiled as he replaced the receiver and then called his secretary. “I want to edit one of our standard mortgage release contracts please.” She dipped her head in acknowledgement and started to write.

f

Greg agreed to meet with the caller, who had said in a conversational tone.

“If you bring me the location of the wreck where the gold is located, I will release your lovely Sophie unharmed.”

It seemed to be simple but Greg and Oscar knew from experience that it was unlikely to be so. Nevertheless they agreed, believing it was the best they could do and made their way to the appointed place at the old city's “Intra Muros”.

They took a taxi, whose driver easily found the address. They paid him and waited on the pavement outside as instructed. The area was run down; refuse littered the sidewalk and sheets of old newspaper drifted about the unkempt road in the afternoon breeze. After several minutes, a car appeared and stopped about ten metres from them. A man leaned from the passenger window.

“Come with us please!” he called politely.

Oscar looked questioningly at Greg.

“What do you think?”

“I think we're stuffed without any choice!” he replied and ambled towards the car. “Where are we going?” Greg addressed the speaker.

“You want to see your girl, no?” the man replied. “So get in - only you, not the old man.”

Greg looked back at Oscar.” Don't worry I'll sort this out in no time,” he said and ducked into the open rear door of the car, which lurched away as the door slammed shut.

Oscar was left in shocked surprise at the speed of the incident. He looked hopefully up and down the empty thoroughfare, wondering what to do next. He was close to panic but took a deep breath and clenched his hands.

“Steady boy,” he muttered to himself, “steady.” He squared his shoulders and walked briskly to the end of the scruffy lane where it re-joined a livelier street. Once he was back amongst the throng of hurrying people he felt less vulnerable but still didn't know what to do. He thought of Marion - he knew he desperately needed her company as he walked aimlessly along the street.

This part of the city was the centre of its lowlife culture. Neon signs flashed lurid messages tempting potential clients into their dingy interiors to participate in a variety of bawdy excesses. Oscar stopped outside a window purporting to be an “Air-Conditioned Parlour”. His mouth was dry and he desperately needed a drink of water. He went inside without hesitation; it was so poorly lit inside that he felt as if though he were blind after the natural sunlight outside. He peered into the gloom and groped his way to a bar. The smell of stale cigarette smoke was so nauseating that he was about to return to the street, when a scantily clad woman appeared out of the murk.

“What can I get you?” she asked uninterestedly.

“Just water please,” Oscar mumbled, suddenly aware of the type of parlour he had entered.

The woman reached under the counter and produced a bottle of water.

“Ice?” she asked.

He was becoming accustomed to the gloom and noticed the thick gaudy lipstick and false eyelashes.

“No thank you, just the water,” he replied well aware that ice in such an unhygienic establishment would almost certainly leave you with a severe reminder of your visit.

She placed the bottle and a glass on the counter.

“That's ten dollars American”

“Ten?” Oscar questioned in astonishment.

“All drinks are ten bucks here Mister!” the indifferent barmaid replied, expertly putting a long filter tipped cigarette into the corner of her mouth.

Oscar pushed a note across the counter and poured some of the water. “What is this place then?” he asked, well aware by now of the answer.

She looked at Oscar, lit the cigarette and inhaled deeply, savouring the moment then replied,

“This is a house of fun for ladies or gentlemen - you understand what I mean?”

His eyes had become accustomed to the blood-red gloom of the internal décor so he could see into the “parlour” now. There were several tables and chairs but as far as he could tell there were no other people.

“Not very busy is it?” he observed.

“This is only the reception the business goes on downstairs; so you fancy a young girl or something then?”

The full horror of his position suddenly welled up within him.

“No I'm trying to find a friend,” his voice trembled yet suddenly he was pouring out the whole story to his unlikely confessor.

The barmaid did not interrupt the flow and patiently allowed Oscar to finish his agonising saga of looking for the kidnapped Sophie; then how Greg had being whisked away in a unknown car and it all somehow revolved around the fact that they were looking for David the fisherman's wife. When he finally stopped he was trembling and a trickle of sweat ran down his forehead. For the first time in twenty-five years the memory of a heroin injection and its balmy seduction swam before him.

“Here, drink some more water,” She said.

Hypnotically he took the glass.

“Come on drink!” she urged him. “What you need is something a bit stronger!”

“No, no” he rebuffed her, remembering the lure of the needle. Thankfully years of abstinence had adequately strengthened his resolve to resist such a moment, but that brief spine-chilling reflex had however still been terrifying for him.

“Thank you,” he mumbled, pulling himself together and sitting upright. “I'm sorry. I didn't mean to dump all my problems on to you.”

“Don't worry my friend. I know exactly what it's like - I wouldn't be stuck in a dump like this otherwise would I?” She removed the cigarette from the red painted mouth and offered an understanding smile. “Tell me again, this David the fisherman, does he have smart new a boat down on the fish quay?” She put the cigarette back into the corner of her mouth.

Oscar looked up at her.

“Why yes. Do you know him?”

“Well not really but I know that one of the girls who works downstairs - if you know what I mean - claims to have a fisherman husband with a posh new boat!” She leaned across the counter as if it were necessary to be more confidential. “She's a complete junkie and does absolutely anything for a few bucks!” She stood back and moved to the array of bottles on the shelf behind the bar, selected a bottle of Scotch whisky and poured some into Oscar's glass.

“Here, this is the best medicine at a time like this eh?” Then she picked up another glass and poured double the quantity for herself.

Oscar nodded and picked up his glass.

“Cheers,” he said absently, pulling note from his pocket.

“On the house friend,” she winked and threw the liquid back with one practiced swallow. “Just don't tell the Lord and Master eh?”

“He won't hear it from me,” Oscar smiled.

Oscar politely insisted that she take the hundred-dollar bill. “Thank you,” she replied, topping up her own glass.

“You see I'm going to need your help, because if what you say is right about that woman being David's wife, it almost certainly means that your master, as you call him, is the same man who has kidnapped my friends!”

The barmaid looked horrified.

“Now you listen to me darling, if that is so, the only really smart thing to do is to get away from here and as quickly as possible, because if it's my master you've upset, then your friends will have little chance. He's an evil man and other people's lives have no value to him. So if you and your friends are in his way, for even the most trivial reason, he will brush you all aside without any more thought than swatting a moth.” She swallowed her drink in one gulp.

“Just tell me where I would find him and let me be the judge,” Oscar pleaded.

The woman looked even more bedraggled now, her lipstick smudged from swigging the whisky.

“Well it's your life darling, just so long as he doesn't think I told you; he lives and works right here on the top two floors above the parlour.” She poured more whisky into her glass. “You'll never get up there though - he has armed guards, it's impossible. Sorry.” She raised the glass and was about to drink when the door opened, letting a flash of natural light into the parlour as another man entered.

Oscar patted the barmaid's claw of a hand.

“Thank you anyway,” he said sincerely and moved away from the counter to the rear of the room, where he had noticed a faintly illuminated sign announcing the entrance to the “House of Pleasure”.

Down two steps was a small landing, to the left the stairs continued to the lower level but up two steps on the right, there was a door marked Private No Entry; he assumed the Chinese characters alongside meant the same thing.

Stepping up to the door, he tried the handle and to his surprise it opened. He moved cautiously into a corridor, which appeared to be exactly like any hotel landing with numbered doors on either side. He walked to the far end and found another staircase. He took the steps two at a time. It led to another identical landing and door also marked Private No Entry. This one, however, did not open for him. He tried the handle several times and rapped on the door with his signet ring but to no avail. He turned in despair and slumped on the step wondering what to do next. He was certain he had found the entrance to the offices and private quarters of the master, as the barmaid had described him. The adrenalin, which had fed his initial charge, no longer pumped through his veins. With his heart pounding furiously in his chest, his mind flipped from one thing to another, completely confusing him. He couldn't get past the heavy locked door and if he could he would probably have to overpower the armed guards. Then who's to say that Greg and Sophie are in there anyway? He thought. In fact, as he sat there he began to feel a bit foolish. Then suddenly he heard the sound of the door opening behind him and even as he turned he felt the cold touch of a gun barrel on his cheek.