A Stacked Deckby S. H. Linden |
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| part 5 of 10 |
A large British bank hires a mercenary to change world events in Southeast Asia.
Kai Tak Airport, the Next Afternoon
A Royal Air Force Trident jet touched down on the runway. A platoon of the Highland Guards and a detachment of the Hong Kong Constabulary in parade uniforms waited to greet the Prime Minister.
Finally the door of the plane opened and Alan Lankford walked down the stairway. He waved to the crowd behind the police line. A band struck up, “God Save the Queen.” The prime minister smiled, then waved to the press and cameramen who were standing behind the police lines. He was greeted at the end of a red carpet by the Governor General.
The two men then proceeded to review the line of the Highland Guards and the Hong Kong constabulary. At the end of the reviewing line, the Colonel in command of the Highland Guards, presided over a 16-gun salute. “Present arms!” the Colonel said. Four volleys of four guns were heard.
After the volleys, the prime minister and the governor general walked towards a waiting Daimler car and got in. Security men locked arms and pushed back a wave of rushing journalists holding microphones and tape recorders.
“Mister Prime Minister! Mister Prime Minister! the journalists shouted.
The prime minister got out of the car and raised his hands for them to stop yelling. Security men pushed the journalists back to make more room.
An agitated adviser rushed up to the prime minister. “Sir, we hadn’t planned for a press conference at the airport. We are faIling behind schedule.”
“Nonsense. I came here to speak to the people.” The prime minister waited for silence.
The journalists were ready with their tape recorders and cameras.
“On behalf of her Majesty’s government, I would like to say that I am pleased to visit the Crown Colony of Hong Kong. As the financial center of Southern Asia, Hong Kong is a place of exceptional economic opportunity. It is the intention of my government to insure that things stay that way. We have every confidence that the banking system here will grow and prosper. And I would like to stress that our friends in Beijing share that commitment with us. Now if you will excuse me, I’ve got a busy day of meetings ahead of me. Thank you.”
Several journalists yelled again at Lankford just as he was about to get back into the Daimler. One was a female reporter. “Mister Prime Minister! There have been persistent reports about the status of your health. Would you care to comment?”
“Those are just rumors. I’m as fit as a fiddle, and I’ll be playing polo at the Guard’s Polo Club this Sunday. Now I must say, goodbye.” The Daimler’s door was closed by a security man, and the PM’s car left the airport with its sirens blaring.
During the time of the prime minister’s press meeting, Faust had been up on the observation deck of the airport. He had been standing with a crowd of curiosity seekers, watching the event unfold before his eyes. When the Daimler car left the scene, Faust wrote down the license plate number of the car on a note pad, then slowly walked down the steps and hailed a waiting taxi.
* * *
Cat Street, Thieves’ Market
Faust was moving through the tourist crowd. Chinese merchants were showing their wares on low stands or on rugs. Everything man had devised was on sale here. Faust stopped at a stall that sold typewriters. The merchant and Faust bargained, agreed on a price, and Faust left the stall with an old “Underwood” typewriter under his arm.
As Faust moved along the street he came upon a dingy Army and Navy store. He went inside and found what he was looking for: A British Army uniform and some medals.
Then Faust went into a photo studio and had passport photos made while he was in the British Army uniform. With every camera flash Faust gave his most military look. He looked authentic. Faust paid for the Polaroid shots and said goodbye in Chinese to the photographer.
* * *
Peninsula Hotel, Kowloon
It was night time and Faust was in his hotel room. The only light in the room came from a desk lamp beside the Underwood. Faust was busy at the typewriter. A television set was on, and a Chinese anchor woman was speaking in English. She was giving the day’s news: “A report today from the United States that the Hong Kong branch of the Bank of Finance and Development is under investigation, sent yet another wave of panic through local financial circles.”
TV scenes showed people inside the bank branch withdrawing deposits and banking personnel trying to fill the people’s requests.
“The Hang Sheng index is down two hundred and sixty points, the biggest drop since the 1987 “Black October” crash on the New York stock exchange.”
Faust stopped typing to look at the television. On his desk was an open dossier with several photos of the Prime Minister and some files inside. There was also a letter and envelope addressed to the “Chief of Police, Hong Kong.” The letter was made up of Chinese characters cut out from Chinese magazines and pasted onto a white sheet of paper. The English translation would have said: Death to the traitor Alan Lankford and to the corrupt Government of China.
The anchor woman was still talking about the BOFAD problem: “The panic was fueled by rumors about the purpose of the Prime Minister’s visit and the American Government’s investigation into the world-wide operations of BOFAD. At the news conference today a reporter asked the Prime Minister if his health was an issue. The Prime Minister said the first item was only a rumor. And his health was not an issue at all. He said he would be playing in a charity polo match this Sunday.
“In other news, Prince Charles was thrown from his horse... “
Faust shut off the television with his TV zapper. He searched on his desk for the Sunday program of the charity polo match. He found it and circled in red a player’s name: TREVOR BROWN, stationed in England.
Faust picked up a blank Army I.D. card and inserted it into the typewriter. He typed slowly: Trevor Brown, Royal Fusiliers. He then took one of the passport photos, dabbed it with some glue, and placed it on the I.D. card. He sealed the card with clear plastic and a hot traveling iron, then placed the card with other important papers. It was then that Faust’s night’s work was finished.
He went to the bar and mixed himself a drink and stepped out onto the balcony, taking in deep breaths of the night air. Before him was the majestic Victoria Harbor and the Hong Kong skyline. He studied the view for a long time with his binoculars, searching the mega-yachts anchored quietly at the Royal Yacht Club or a bit farther out in the harbor. Finally he spotted what he was looking for: it was the yacht Jamaica Run “ which was owned
by Sir Brian Rawson, and it was rocking gently in the water, its stern anchor light shinning brightly.
Faust raised his drink: in a salute to the beautiful night time scene. His expression was one of satisfaction as he downed his drink and went to bed.
* * *
Hong Kong Waterfront
A taxi let Faust off at a small run-down shipyard. In the yard and out of the water were various boats being repaired or having their bottoms painted. To one side of the yard was a Quonset hut. Faust headed for it.
Sitting at a desk doing some paperwork was a grease-stained, blond-haired man, around sixty years of age. His name was Sven Larson. A cigarette dangled from his lips, and through squinting eyes, he tried to size up Faust.
“You remember me?” asked Faust.
“Maybe... Waddaya want?”
“You don’t remember me, how could you? You’re so blind you can’t see beyond your nose. How about Singapore, early seventies, Dacy Massington’s bar on Boogie Street?” He could almost see Sven going back in time trying to remember.
“I hired you to take me out to a cargo ship. It was a foggy night, but you found the ship,” Faust said.
“So... what are you complain’ about?”
“It was the way you found it. You smashed right into the ship and your boat sank. They had to fish us out of the water.”
Sven remembered and started laughing.
Faust joined him. “And when I asked you how come you didn’t slow down, you said I didn’t know the frigging thing was there!” They laughed again.
“Faust! Is this really you?” Sven got up and they embraced. Going over to a file cabinet Sven pulled out a bottle of whisky and two glasses. He poured the whisky, handed a glass to Faust, and they touched glasses and drank up. Sven motioned for Faust to sit down and, for the first time in a couple of days, Faust seemed relaxed.
“How come you’re in Hong Kong?” Sven asked, stubbing out his cigarette.
“You know better than to ask that. I need a speedboat, Sven. You got an old one around?”
“You’re in luck. But it ain’t old. I’ve got a new racer on consignment. The owner died before he could pick it up.”
“What happened to him?”
“He was talkin’ when he should’ve been listening.”
Faust was amused by the comment. “That’ll probably happen to me one day.”
“I’m surprised it hasn’t happened already. Come out and I’ll show you the boat.” The two men went outside, and amongst the trawlers, old junks and sailboats, Faust saw a shiny cigarette racer, painted canary yellow and red. Sven motioned for the yard crew to put a hoist around the racer and lower her into the water.
Sven was at the wheel, Faust sat beside him. Sven kicked over the motor and the powerful engine roared to life. Sven eased the boat out into the harbor. “She’ll do about one-fifty. Of course it has to be smooth water, or you’ll start flying,” Sven said. They passed steam ships anchored in the bay, Junks plying their trade, and small boats that moved by hand power.
“Open her up a little,” Faust said.
Sven worked the throttle and the racer leaped into action. The engine noise was deafening. Faust and Sven were pushed back in their seats, and high rooster tails shot out of the back of the boat. The boat was giving them one hell of a ride. “I better keep it under a hundred! I ain’t seein’ too good today!” Junks were passed, and the speed boat’s rooster tails got the crews wet. Chinese cuss words were shouted out, and fists were shaken at the racer.
“Okay, Sven, ease up. We don’t want the harbor patrol after us.” “Here! Give her a try.” Sven said, as he eased back on the throttle. Faust changed place with Sven. He popped the throttle a couple of times, did some fast turns to check out the racer’s maneuverability, then brought the boat back to the boat yard. They got out and stood looking at the sleek racer.
“How much,?” Faust said. “Seein’ it’s you... how about a million Hong Kong? She’s worth more, but what the hell... “
“Okay, it’s a deal. But I want you to add a few things.” “Like what?” “I want you to pack the bilge with dynamite. Fix a timer on the dash that looks like a clock. I want to be able to set it while I’m steering.”
Sven gave Faust an evil smile. “You’re still at it, huh?”
“You know you can’t teach an old dog new tricks.”
“That’s going to be another twenty thousand. Got to pay off the guy that’s going to steal the sticks. And I’ll put the stuff in myself for another ten.”
Faust nodded okay.
“When you want her?” asked Sven.
“Yesterday.” Faust jotted down a telephone number and handed it to Sven. Then he pulled out a wad of Hong Kong ten thousand dollar bills and started counting until the payoff. The two walked to the street.
“What makes you guys live this kind of life? I’d hate to have to look over my shoulder all the time,” Sven said.
“Because men like me never marry the homecoming queens, or think about getting little houses with white picket fences, that’s why.” A taxi was coming up the road and Faust hailed it. The two friends shook hands and embraced.
‘’Be careful, Faust.”
Faust climbed in the taxi and waved once more to Sven. Then he gave the driver an address and the taxi sped away, leaving Sven on the road listening to the sounds of the harbor, and wondering if he would ever see Faust again after this assignment. Shaking his head, Sven went back to the Quonset hut and made a phone call.
* * *
Club Casino De Lisboa, Macau
The crowd was a melting pot of Hong Kong society. The noise was loud and the big room was filled with cigarette smoke. At the tables men and women were betting feverishly. Up stairs where the private gaming rooms were, the heavy betters played in anonymity. Pit bosses and guards walked along the lower floor and the upper balcony watching that everything went smoothly at the tables.
In a private room, China Chong sat with the leaders of the various Triads. Bodyguards stood at the doorways, and at the large table sat an old man in a wheel chair. His name was Ho Lung, and he was the leader of the leaders. Everyone in the room was talking quietly or laughed at some comment they had heard. They all seemed to be waiting for someone.
Eventually a side door opened and Elton Green, George Chang, and two bodyguards entered the room. Chairs were pulled back and the younger Triad leaders stood and shook hands with Green and Chang; the older ones remained seated.
After some small talk and introductions, Elton Green addressed the group. “Gentlemen. I’ve asked for this meeting because I’m told that nothing can be accomplished in Hong Kong without your permission.”
The leaders liked Elton Green’s opening remark.
“As China told you, I am with an organization that can make all of us in this room a lot of money.”
The Triad leaders smiled coldly. No one seemed enthused by Green’s statement.
“George, will explain the plan, and I assume that China told you about the man we hired?”
George Chang started explaining the BOFAD plan to acquire Hong Kong real estate. It took George Chang almost ten minutes to explain the plan in detail.
“It’s all based on the premise that England will keep control of Hong Kong.” Chang wrote some figures on a note pad, then looked up at the group. “All properties purchased by the BOFAD organization, which you gentlemen will be given twenty-five percent interest in, will triple in value. Let’s see... that should bring you a profit of seven hundred million pounds net, by my calculations.”
The Triad leaders smiled when they heard the figure.
“The assassin you bring to do the killing... Faust?... Knows too much. Can he be trusted?” Ho Lung asked Elton Green.
“Faust has helped my organization before, but if you want him out of the way it will have to be your problem.”
Ho Lung nodded that he understood. Everyone in the room except China Chong liked the remark. Chairs were pulled back; men stood.
China Chong, with a worried expression on his face, approached Elton Green. “You show no respect for Faust. If this meeting is leaked, he will not hesitate to damage all of us... “
“China, I have the greatest respect for this man. It’s the money that knows no respect.”
* * *
Copyright © 2008 by S. H. Linden
