Sentinel Five (The Redaction Chronicles Book 2) (9 page)

But Grant was a different kettle of fish. He was a tough man, capable and with hidden resources; a born operator. But then they all started off like that, until they found themselves deep inside the enemy's camp and the job started to get to them. It didn't take long for an undercover agent to lose his equilibrium and get confused about which way was up. Those who survived came back haunted, those who were consumed by the deception of the trade usually ended up taking their own lives or being caught, tortured and executed.

He checked his watch – 10.30am – and it was as he was considering ordering yet another bloody green tea, when he caught sight of a movement over to his right. The elevator doors opened and out bundled a busboy, carrying two small suitcases. The busboy was closely followed by the two men Penn had been waiting to see for the past hour. Trench led the way with Grant close on his heels. Both men were dressed in new suits, well-groomed and had the look of people who were about to meet someone higher up the food chain. They reached the main doors of the hotel and Trench peeled off a bank note and passed it to the grateful busboy. As if by magic, a hotel car pulled up and the busboy loaded in the suitcases. Trench turned and called to his partner. Grant took one final look around the foyer of the hotel, but his face didn't betray that he'd spotted the ever-resourceful Penn seated at one of the tables, reading his paper and drinking his tea.

Penn, to his credit, just carried on browsing through the latest international news from his paper. He paid no attention to the two Englishmen as they climbed into the car and drove off. But then, he really didn't have to. Penn was satisfied. His agent was in play.

VIENTIANE, LAOS – OCTOBER 1967

Despite its hotchpotch mix of Corsican opium smugglers, professional gamblers, warlords, militia, arms dealers and CIA spooks, Vientiane had a much more relaxed atmosphere than Hong Kong, Gorilla mused to himself. It was a city where 'people watching' was the norm and an unwritten code of rules governed the many disparate personalities from spilling over into violence. It was a city where Asian good manners were played out in a colonial French setting, and it seemed to work perfectly.

Gorilla and Trench walked through the busy side streets on their way to the meeting. They'd stopped in for a quick beer at the bar of the Constellation Hotel an hour earlier, partly because they were early and partly to get the pulse of early evening Vientiane. The
patois
mix of Chinese, Laotian, French and English permeated the air babble-like. They'd been in Vientiane for less than five hours and would be leaving again later that night by plane, for who knew where. It was a whistle-stop visit, leaving the two Englishmen with only enough time for their private meeting with Taru Hokku, the underboss of the
Karasu-Tengu
organisation. The meeting took place at the Tan Dao Vien Restaurant, which was noted for its excellent Chinese menu and convivial atmosphere.

Hokku had the face of a salaryman or an accountant – bespectacled, sombre and preened – combined with the body of a heavyweight Sumo wrestler jammed into a business suit. Grant also suspected he'd caught a hint of a tattoo from beneath the man's shirt cuffs. It was some kind of ideograph, possibly denoting his underworld connections and affiliations, Yakuza or something similar. 'A crusher who holds the purse strings' Trench had said of him and Grant thought that description was perfect. Trench introduced Hokku to Grant, the large Japanese bowing from the waist in respect, and with the formalities out of the way, the three men sat down in a private booth at the back of the restaurant. Trench called the waiter over and ordered Russian vodka and a platter of Dim Sum for everyone. Grant turned his attention to a dark-suited man sitting nearby, nursing a glass of water.
Bodyguard,
he thought.

“Mr. Janner speaks very highly of you Mr. Grant – or would you prefer I call you Gorilla?” said Hokku, his voice surprisingly delicate for a man so immense.

“Only my close friends and enemies call me Gorilla,” said Grant. “And as of this moment you're neither of those.”

Hokku accepted Grant's answer in good grace and continued. “I understand that you both worked together for many years, for the British.”

Grant nodded. “Indeed, Frank… er, Mr. Janner and I have covered each other's backs several times.”

“And I understand that you left your previous work for the British government under somewhat of a cloud,” said Hokku, not even sounding remotely apologetic for being so cutting with his guest. Business was business and an employee was an employee.

Grant frowned. “I was involved in an operation, an operation that went wrong. Someone I cared for was killed and the British wouldn't let me go after the person responsible.”

“So what did you do?”

“I quit and then went after the man anyway.”

“What happened to him? This man?”

“I hunted him down and killed him,” said Grant simply.

“You are that good?” asked Hokku, seeming surprised by the candour of Grant's answer.

Grant nodded. “I'm the best. “

“The best with a pistol, at least, Mr. Hokku. Grant was something of a legend within the intelligence community, his reputation as a Redactor was second to none,” Trench added.

“So if you're asking me If I have any loyalty to the bloody British government then the answer is no. Any loyalty I did have died with me one night in Rome when my partner was murdered. These days I'm an army of one,” replied Grant sternly.

The answer seemed to satisfy Hokku and make his mind up for him. “You know our business Mr. Grant. Mr. Janner has educated you on our work?”

Before Grant had a chance to answer Trench interrupted. “I've made Jack aware that the work we carry out is for a long-standing and noble organisation, one that takes its business very seriously.”

Hokku nodded, as if this was an acceptable way to begin negotiations. “My patron and I do indeed come from a long lineage stretching back generations. However, we recognise that our business, if it is to survive, must adapt and change in the modern world. Our traditions are still sacred to us, but over recent years we have decided to recruit some of the top people in the world to work with us. People like Mr. Janner here and hopefully, your good self.”

Grant liked this man's self-control and manner, typical Japanese, but he was under no illusion that he was dealing with a hard core killer, despite his polite manner and respectable veneer.

“Our organisation deals with difficult problems every day. We work for only the most powerful and influential individuals. We solve problems, or on occasion, create problems for certain governments and corporations. But above all else, we have a reputation for being discreet,” continued Hokku.

Grant could easily imagine the problems the Raven clan dealt with; a coup in a banana republic, stealing corporate secrets, terrorism and assassination. Grant knew the range of services the Raven could provide, but he decided to play it dumb, as if he didn't fully understand what was being offered to him. “Are we talking mercenaries? If so, that's not really my area of expertise. I was a soldier once, but mainly in the secret wars. Not front line infantry.”

Trench smiled. “Not quite Jack. Think of it as a bit more wide-reaching and subtle than that. Similar to what we used to do in the old firm, except that we'll be operating for a private enterprise.”

“Would you have a problem with that, Mr. Grant?” Hokku asked politely.

“At the rate of payment that Mr. Janner told me about? No, I don't have a problem with any of that. I faced far worse odds when I worked for SIS and the army. When do we start?” said Grant

Hokku smiled. “All in good time. We have many operations happening all over the world, our contractors are expected to be on stand-by for whenever a job that suits their particular skill set is arranged. I suggest that you and Janner return to Hong Kong. We will make interim arrangements for you.”

* * *

Grant and Trench took their cue, stood and shook hands with the giant Japanese man and left. Hokku followed their progress with his eyes and when he was sure they'd cleared the restaurant, he motioned for his bodyguard to follow them. He wanted to be sure that this 'Gorilla' wasn't playing a very subtle game. Once he was certain of the bona fides of the man, he would brief his employer personally… but until that time, this tough-looking Englishman had a question mark hanging over his head

* * *

Later that day at Vientiane airport, the two former Redactors conversation turned to the minutiae of their trade, to bring Grant up to speed with how the contractors working for the Raven clan were expected to operate. They were sitting in the lounge, biding their time waiting for their delayed flight, so being men of experience they knew to keep the conversation quiet and to the point.

“Frank.”

“Yes, Jack.”

“What the fuck have you gotten me into? What are they – Yakuza?”

Trench laughed out loud at Grant's openness and honesty about his concerns. Then he set out to educate his latest recruit. “Not exactly. It's complicated. As I understand it, they're a clan which was once affiliated to the Japanese underworld, but that was many years ago. In recent years, they've transcended that and moved into operations in South America, Europe and parts of Africa. Their Japanese name is the
Karasu-Tengu
Clan, which is traditional and old school.
Karasu
means Raven, so we keep it simple and just call it the Raven organisation. Want to know how it works?”

Grant nodded, keen to let Trench settle in to his subject matter and perhaps let some useful snippet of information slip.

“So the big man accepts a job from a client – who knows who, maybe an industrialist, maybe a politician who wants to remove a rival, whatever – the
Karasu
hierarchy set the rules and the terms. With me so far?” asked Trench.

Gorilla shrugged, he knew how a contract was picked up and administered. He'd been around this business long enough, but he thought it best to stay silent and have Trench give it to him verbatim.

“The next stage is, they pick the right contractor for the job, or to be more accurate, for their European contractors I pick the right man for the job, “continued Trench. “You're on retainer to us and when I call, you better be by the bloody phone. So the job comes in and your bloody ticket comes up, we give you as much information as you need to get the job done; target bio, surveillance photos, and itinerary. We usually supply the contractor with whatever he needs for the job – travel papers, weapons, expenses, forged documents – you know the drill. If he needs something a bit extra special, well, we can organise that too, to be honest, and then it's all delivered to him in-country. Doesn't matter if its Singapore or Peru, we've got people everywhere who can get equipment in for us covertly.”

Grant raised an eyebrow at that. The
Karasu
must have paid informants and people on the payroll in several large airlines and shipping companies, not to mention people taking bribes in numerous customs ports.

“The contractor gets himself to the location at the allotted time, and plans the fine details out for himself. Gets near to the target and takes care of business. How does that sound?” concluded Trench.

“It sounds like business as usual to me, not a lot different than how we used to fuck people up when we were working for SIS,” Grant grumbled.

Trench nodded and laughed. “Except the bloody money's better.”

Gorilla followed suit and returned the laugh, playing along. “It sounds like you fell on your feet with this gig, Frank. How many contractors are on the payroll? Any that I'll be working with?”

Trench paused for a moment and Grant thought for one horrifying second that he'd pushed too hard and too soon for information. But then the moment passed and Trench winked at him conspiratorially.

“You'll be working with some of them soon, so it's only right that you know who else is on the team. There was a guy named Reierson, but he bought it recently. Suicide by all accounts, but there you go, it happens. He was good with a shooter, not in your league though. You're his replacement. A couple of mercenaries that worked the Congo, Billy Richardson and Taffy Davies, take care of jobs for us in Africa, they're based out of Antwerp. Ex-Welsh Guards, good soldiers. We've a couple of ex-IRA men who had been a little careless back in paddy land, Declan Sheehan and Seamus Corcoran. They toe the line, good for getting jobs done in America. New York, Chicago, that type of thing.”

“Any intelligence guys?” asked Grant.

Trench nodded. “Yeah, a couple of hitters from Saigon, experts at torture, they were a part of the old security apparatus. Oh, and an old former copper on the intelligence staff from Malaya, still does the odd job for us. Name of Jasper Milburn. You know any of them?”

Gorilla shook his head. He didn't know any of them by reputation, but he was bloody well mentally logging their names, so that he could pass the information back to Penn and Masterman. “What about the Japanese contingent? Surely Hokku and his superiors must have indigenous personnel?”

But it was here that Trench clammed up. Grant sensed they'd entered forbidden territory, an area that Trench was hesitant to enter. “Well now, Jack, I'm sure they do, but it's not within my employment contract to start asking damned impertinent questions from a well-funded and organised bunch of killers. There's a demarcation line; I deal with the European contractors and the top man, the Raven, deals exclusively with his Japanese throat slitters.”

“Sorry, Frank,” Grant said apologetically. “I didn't mean to pry. Just like to know who everyone is and where my line ends?”

Trench shrugged as if it was a question he'd thought long and hard about himself. “They hire out killers to the wealthy and powerful, Jack old boy, doesn't matter if they're English, Japanese or from the planet Mars, it's what they do! They pay us and pay us well to do dangerous and illegal jobs, and if we're clever we do said jobs, take their fucking money and pray to God that we don't get caught. Frankly, I'd prefer a lifetime in jail over having to deal with some of the Raven's Japanese killers… those boyos don't follow the rules and don't know when to stop.”