Avenger (6 page)

Still without knowing who he’d seen, Lam’s mind was screaming at him. It was definitely someone familiar; someone whose details were stored deep within his subconscious. Who was it? A cop? His mind trawled through the possibilities, trying to recreate a composite image from the blur he had seen. He stared over Mei-Zhen’s right shoulder into the crowd, searching for the face. He could sense her tensing in response to his sudden preoccupation. She was preparing to disappear when he raised his hand just an inch above the table.

“No. It’s OK,” he rasped. “Don’t move.”

“What was that?” she asked. “You looked like someone just walked over your grave.”

“Maybe they did,” he replied without humor, still searching.

“Are we good?” She took a deep, controlled breath.

He nodded although he was still unsettled. There was just too much activity. Too many faces. Who had he seen?

Lam was conflicted. Despite Chan’s threats to their lives, the uncertainty surrounding the operation’s viability and his instinct telling him he should convince Mei-Zhen not to go back in, he was also a cop impatient for progress; probably more so than her. He couldn’t stomach the idea of the operation being derailed, especially now. Chan’s warning to him was proof that they were on to something.

Lam had spent most of his career working these cases, identifying the emerging players, their weaknesses and patterns of operation. He had been pushing shit uphill for years, but now he knew them all – the big names in the region. The involvement of the Triads in human trafficking was his particular specialty and it had made him very unpopular in certain circles. The forced labor trade was an accepted part of life in this part of the world and the operators who kept it running were well connected. But he was determined to continue; so determined, in fact, that he had kept the details of Interpol’s infiltration of the factory from his immediate superiors, convincing them that he was merely assisting an intelligence analyst in a mid-level investigation. Only Assistant Commissioner Kwong knew the real story and even that had been sanitized. Maybe Chan was right. Maybe Lam was nothing more than an annoyance to the hierarchy and they saw this Interpol connection as a final “make or break” – with emphasis on the “break.”

Mei-Zhen had spent a month working at the factory and, despite her best efforts, had found nothing that, from an evidentiary perspective, could link Wu Ming unequivocally to its operation or the transnational human trafficking consortium to which he was suspected of belonging. The fact that the factory ran exclusively on the back of forced labor was an issue that, to date, had been overlooked by the powers that be – Wu Ming was too well connected. But if there was even the slightest hope of cracking the consortium, or even just Wu Ming’s part in it, Lam felt that they had to try, no matter what the personal risk to them both. If they made it through then maybe he would finally retire and leave Hong Kong for good.

“So, if you are hell-bent on going back in there, tell me why,” he found himself asking her. “Tell me what has changed.”

“Things there were going along without incident; all routine, nothing noteworthy. But there’s been a significant buildup of activity over the past week, and out of nowhere two new arrivals showed up. Mid-level management types in identical black suits, obviously nothing to do with the factory stuff.”

“Enforcers, coming in ahead of someone important?”

“That’s exactly what I thought … like a recon team. They arrived without notice, even the factory managers were caught off guard, and within no time these new guys started getting rough – with everybody.” She gestured to her bruised face. “If you get in their way, even just walking past … well, enough said.”

Lam drank his coffee and lit another cigarette; he knew not to offer her one. Instead, he remained silent as she continued.

“Late yesterday one of the factory supervisors was beaten within an inch of his life because something wasn’t done right. I don’t know what. It all happened downstairs and I couldn’t see from my desk in the office, but I heard the commotion as it erupted. One of my colleagues called me over and I managed to get a look. Downstairs, the two new arrivals were standing over the supervisor. He was cowering on the floor with blood all over his face and shirt. The entire factory, over a hundred people, just kept working, blind with fear. Then the new guys left him lying there and paid us a visit upstairs.”

“So, what then?” Lam asked, as his attention was once again distracted. Was he being paranoid, or was there something really obvious going on here that he was missing? The sense that they were close to success, close to something big, was overwhelming. His professional mind and ego were telling him to stay put and let the operation continue to run, but his gut, his body’s self-preservation mechanism, was telling him otherwise. He began scouring faces in the crowd. “Sorry, please go on.”

“OK, now you’ve got me worried. Let’s get this done ASAP in case we have to vamoose. The beating seemed to be nothing more than a demonstration. Letting everyone know who’s boss ahead of someone even bigger arriving. Sure enough, yesterday a man arrived with a full entourage of lackeys and bodyguards.” Mei-Zhen pulled out her cell phone and sent an image to his. It arrived on Lam’s cell with a ping. “I managed to snap this late yesterday. It’s only a partial, I know, but … it’s him, right?”

“Wu Ming!”

“There’s no mistaking him. I can’t remember how many hours I spent looking at pictures of him before I came out here to Hong Kong. Everyone in the place was terrified when he walked in. They all knew who he was, that’s for sure.”

“It’s him,” Lam whispered, barely able to believe it. “He’s much heavier than when I last saw him but there’s no mistaking those black eyes of his. You ran a hell of a risk taking this photo.”

“I had to. Anyway, you have it now. You told me once that you’d seen him up close,” she said. “Care to expand?”

“It’s definitely him,” said Lam. A flood of memories hit him. “It was 1988,” he began, eyes still fixed on the screen. “Back then, Wu Ming was just an emerging player in the Hong Kong crime scene, a gangland enforcer who controlled certain corners of Kowloon through violence and cruelty. At the time, I was a newly promoted sergeant, recently appointed to Organized Crime. I was part of a joint operation with Narcotics to bust a drug ring operating within the Walled City. You ever heard of it?”

“Of course,” she replied. “But I thought you guys never ventured into that place?”

“Some of us did,” Lam said, remembering. “One day I chased Wu and another man, Lai, into the Walled City. It was all dead ends and alleyways, and so dark … there was water everywhere. I chased him and chased him until we ended up in a stand-off that turned into a gunfight. They shot at me and I shot back. I killed Lai and got three bullets in my guts from Wu. He disappeared and I was left for dead. A local man dragged me clear and left me out in the open on the edge of the city, where I could be found by my squad.”

“I had no idea,” she said. “No wonder this is personal for you.”

“You know, I’ve spent twenty-five years pursuing Wu Ming and I’ve never managed to track him down until now. Thanks to you.”

“Well, don’t pop the champagne just yet. I have more.”

“What? Tell me.”

“Something big’s about to go down there. It’s not just about Mr Wu being in town. I know there’s something else.”

Lam remained absolutely quiet, waiting for her to begin.

“The beatings continued last night and there’d been more this morning before I arrived. Extra muscle arrived last night, too, after Wu Ming and his crew. They looked European. Russian, maybe. Real bad guys. All gym junkies in suits that were way too small for them, and all with buzz haircuts and gang tattoos on their hands and necks.”

“How many?”

“Half-a-dozen or so. They marched in like stormtroopers and cleared us all out, even the two enforcers in the black suits made themselves scarce around these guys. Someone important was about to arrive and they didn’t want any of the riff-raff to see.”

“Someone more important than Wu Ming?”

“Yeah, and when she arrived everything changed.”

“She?”

“She,” Mei-Zhen confirmed. “And she
is
the main show.”

“Can you ID her?”

“Not yet. Like I said, they cleared us all out, but I heard the commotion and her voice for just a few seconds. She was issuing orders to someone as they walked in and she definitely sounded Russian.”

“If you didn’t see her, how can you be sure she’s the one in charge?” Lam asked.

“Because when she spoke, everyone else was instantly silent. She didn’t have to raise her voice and, even though I only heard her for a few seconds, she had authority over all of them. She sounded almost sultry. Eastern European. Have you ever heard of someone like that operating here in Hong Kong?”

Lam shook his head. Even the thought of an Eastern European woman operating on Triad turf was almost impossible to comprehend. “So we still don’t know what she looks like?” he said.

“That’s the whole reason I have to go back in. She’s due in this morning. Last night was just a recce. Today they have a meeting upstairs. There could even be others coming.”

“Mei-Zhen, at this point in my life, and after so many years committed to bringing these people down, I’m prepared to do just about anything. You and your people obviously know more than I do, and it’s paying off. But do you really think you should go back in?”

“I can take care of myself.”

Lam believed her.

“Anyway, if what you say about this Chan person is correct, he hasn’t dropped the hammer on us – yet. He’s giving you the chance to shut it down before he rats on you. That means we should have at least until lunchtime to ID this woman. Remember, as far as they’re concerned, I’m just an out-of-town half-blood who needs the money and speaks the language. Besides, now that the queen bee has arrived, they want me around as errand girl. This meeting is happening soon and I have to get back for it. We can’t afford to miss the opportunity.” She glanced at her watch. “I gotta go.”

“OK.” He still had doubts, but he knew that she was right. “I’ll settle up and leave in two minutes, and Mei-Zhen …” He looked at her earnestly. “Please be careful.”

She stood up, smiled and walked away, disappearing into the throng of locals and tourists. Lam watched her for as long as he could, keeping an eye out for any untoward interest. Satisfied, he rummaged through his trouser pocket, extracted some change and dropped it on the table. Then he lit a fresh cigarette and strolled casually away.

Victor Lam took the opposite direction from Mei-Zhen, heading north along Tung Choi Street toward Mong Kok railway station. He wanted to buy her some time before reporting back to the Interpol contact. He kept his wits about him, constantly checking to see if he was being followed, but once he was about quarter of a mile away he felt confident he was clear. He immersed himself in the crowded streets, his thoughts awash with images of Wu Ming and what Mei-Zhen may be heading into. He still couldn’t get his mind off the face that he’d seen through the crowds at the market and was frustrated that he couldn’t recall where he’d seen the man before. And had it been just one man, or could it have been two?

Something wasn’t right. Now that he was away from the meeting and thinking more clearly, Lam realized that sending Mei-Zhen back in had been a mistake. He was regretting not calling the man from Interpol first before agreeing that she would go back in. His gut was telling him the time had come to summon backup, and if he needed things to happen quickly then he had to call on the support of the only man he trusted. He extracted his cell phone from a pocket. He didn’t want to make the call but felt he had no choice.

“Kowloon West District,” the call was answered in Cantonese.

“Put me through to Assistant Commissioner Kwong,” he replied. “This is Inspector Lam from the OCTD.” He took a deep breath as he waited to be connected.

“Lam?”

“Sir, I’m sorry to trouble you,” he began. He didn’t know how much he could say on an open line.

“Yes?”

“I’m in Mong Kok. I’ve just had a meeting with an informant at the markets. I’m concerned that my operation has been compromised—”

The squeal of tires diverted him from his conversation back to the street. His head turned in the direction of the car but his reaction was too slow and as the car’s wheels locked into a sudden skid, Lam saw rather than felt it hit him. The impact had been perfectly calculated to stun and injure rather than to kill, and Lam was thrown to the ground. His left side took the brunt of the impact with the pavement, followed by his head. Dazed and bleeding, he rolled painfully onto his back, his legs still beneath the car. His cell phone clattered against the iron shutter of a store front.

Two men in identical black suits worn with white shirts and black ties, appeared above him. A gun was drawn and pointed at his head.

Following a different route from the one she had used on her way to meet Lam, Elizabeth Reigns worked her way through the crowded streets and alleyways of Mong Kok. Careful to discourage unwanted company, she followed the usual counter-surveillance drills back to the factory, all the while outwardly maintaining the persona of Mei-Zhen Tan. Adhering to the tradecraft fundamentals that Intrepid’s Tom Rodgers and his assistant Sophie Tavernier had taken her through back in England was instinctive to Reigns now. After six weeks in-country and over a month of that working within the illegal factory as Mei-Zhen, tradecraft had become her default, her lifeline. Such was her mindset that recollections of her training sessions with Rodgers and Tavernier down in The Pit, Intrepid’s secret close-quarters combat training center, deep beneath the streets of Westminster, now seemed no more than an obscure dream to her. She was no longer a candidate under assessment; she had risen to the status of agent-nominee, and success on this, her first operation, would see conferred on her that greatest of honors: becoming an agent of Intrepid. Of course, no one outside the agency could ever know that.

Elizabeth Reigns could scarcely believe how much her life had changed since that chance meeting with General Davenport during her presentation to the Protection Project expert panel a little over a year ago. Now here she was, on the other side of the world, where lessons learned in training were essential to her survival. She was neck deep in the cold reality of an agent’s life.

Ten minutes after leaving Lam at the market, Reigns turned down the narrow lane, tightly packed with crates and trash, that led to the rear entrance to the factory. The familiar stench of rotting vegetables and fish hit her, catching at the back of her throat. She fought the impulse to gag, took a final look into the street and, satisfied, stepped up to the door. From the outside it looked like so many others in the vicinity, wooden and painted no particular color, only this door was reinforced with steel and had a viewing portal. She tapped twice, knowing her identity was being verified by CCTV at three different angles. After a few seconds of waiting for her image to be confirmed and checks to ensure that she was alone, the slide was pulled back with a metallic clang and a pair of shaded brown eyes – belonging to an armed guard – conducted the primitive but nonetheless effective final step in the access-control process. Then the portal closed and the door creaked open just enough for her to enter.

Inside, the entrance hall was no more than four feet square. It was whitewashed, grubby, and reeked of body odor. The guard, an automatic on his belt and a shotgun stashed behind him, sat on a stool directly behind the door, in the corner formed by the left and back walls. There was no wall to the right side. The dirty whitewash continued up a steep wooden stairway to the second-floor landing. The door on the landing opened into a small anteroom containing two more armed guards. Also covered by CCTV, this room was fortified much like an old jail cell, with heavy metal bars on the walls and ceiling and a reinforced metal floor. This was the secure airlock to the factory floor, designed to keep unwanted visitors out and factory workers in. To Reigns it seemed almost prehistoric, with not even swipe or keypad access, and the CCTV was early 1990s. As for the guards, they were local hired help: no training but paid enough to be loyal, which meant reckless and dangerous. There were three other such rooms within the factory. These performed the same purpose, controlling access to key areas, including the factory floor and worker accommodation.

Bypassing this level, Reigns continued, ascending further to the third floor, the office level where she worked. On this landing there was another steel-reinforced door. She stopped in front of it and knocked twice. While waiting for it to open, she looked down the two flights of stairs and realized that the armed guard at the entrance was staring up, scrutinizing her. It didn’t usually take this long to get inside. The warning to Lam came back to her – “
dead by lunch
.” She took a sharp, involuntary breath and knocked again.

The door opened slowly, too slowly. Inside were three men instead of the usual two. Their expressions were impassive, their proximity intimidating. Reluctantly, she stepped over the threshold and walked tentatively to the rear door that connected with the office area where she worked. The door behind her slammed shut. Then the additional man, the third one, opened the next door for her but today, rather than simply being allowed to walk through on her own, the third man followed close on her heels and closed the door behind them.

She quickened her pace to distance herself from him and strode purposefully along a short corridor to the entrance to the office. When she reached the door, she turned the knob. Locked. She tried it again, rattling it loudly within the confined space. Definitely locked.

Fear filled her head and heart. She looked back at the third man, her escort, standing dispassionately a few feet from her. He jerked his head, indicating that she should proceed instead to the door further along, at the end of the corridor. It was one she had never been through before – she’d never been allowed to. On the rare occasions she’d tried, it had always been locked.

Reigns’ mind raced. What lay behind that door? Did they know about her? What the fuck were her options?

As the man shepherded her toward the door, Reigns knew that all she had to fall back on was her training – she had no weapons of any kind. Her only experience was what had been learned down in The Pit on the fighting mats and on the range with Tom Rodgers. Flashes of their combat survival sessions came back to her. Step by step, scene by scene, it all returned: muscle memory and the science of it, determination and controlled aggression. Her survival instincts and hand-to-hand combat skills had been developed and honed by one of the best in the world. Rodgers had trained and tested her over and over, and she had prevailed. With that thought, she allowed fear to disperse to make room for the adrenalin that was building, returning the confidence and faith Reigns had in herself and her abilities.

They reached the door and she opened it.