The Dragon's Tale: A Jack Lauder Thriller (23 page)

     "And whoever's running the show over here, they've got a lot of clout in Hong Kong as well.  I'm shunted off to the Philippines while they look for Gerry? Does that make sense?”

     They headed back over to the city and a few moments after they had got into their room there was a knock on the door. Diana opened it and the young receptionist stood outside. She wrung her hands anxiously. Diana ushered her in and told her not to look so worried. The girl began to blurt out a story. She hadn't wanted to say anything when Mr. Lam was talking, but she knew more of the later part of the story. She'd spoken to Gerry often when he stayed at the hotel. His tale was the source of gossip in the town. He'd taken up with a Russian girl who was the most popular hostess in Macao. Not only westerners liked her. Gerry had broken the rules, but even more so the girl had. She'd started neglecting the clientele, not turning in for work, spending all her time with this Australian. They’d decamped to Coloane island, taking the mickey out of her employers. They weren’t even discreet! They went to every fashionable nightclub and they frolicked in the pool in the daytime. Everyone commented on how in love they were. But the two lovebirds didn't realise the power her employers wielded. Every so often Gerry had to go back to Hong Kong to earn more money and whenever he did the girl was left alone - she wasn't allowed into Hong Kong, Immigration was too strict. When Gerry was taking care of business, the girl’s employers acted. They didn't do anything nasty to her; they just revoked her visa. They didn't have to do more than that. Girls like her were ten a penny. She just didn't have a job any more; she was in breach of her visa conditions. When Gerry came back at the weekend, she was back in Russia.”

     “Do you know where?”

     “Vladivostok. That’s where she came from.”

     Best of all and as if with a final flourish, the receptionist took from her handbag a photograph of the girl for whom Gerry had fallen so extravagantly. It was the face of a beautiful young woman. She had a milky-white complexion. Her hair was like flax, luxuriously piled above her head and yet still flowing down her back to her waist. Her mouth was lipstick red, slightly overdone, but even the ruby colour couldn't disguise the large sensual mouth and the almost porcelain fragility of her face. Her smile was enigmatic, the eyes wistful, as if she were lost somewhere in the vast plains of her homeland, but it was her hair which gave both the most immediate and the longest-lasting impression: long golden tresses, like a Niagara of light, seemingly fluid, as dense and voluptuous as a cornfield under wind, said:
come to me, come and rescue me
!

     The girl seemed happier now she'd told them all she knew, as if a burden had been removed from her shoulders. Jack stood on the balcony, staring out across the bay of the sea goddess. Suddenly, in that luxurious hotel room, after travelling many miles on an odyssey which even he had never totally understood, everything had fallen into place with an almost mathematical precision. He finally knew everything. He remembered once when, in his cynical, Australian way, Gerry had called him the last of the great romantics. "Not me, mate," he said to himself. But he knew there was only one place to go now.

     Diana left Jack to his own thoughts. When he came back into the apartment he could hear the sound of her splashing around in the jacuzzi. She’d left the door open but politeness made him knock anyway. When he entered, she smiled and said, “Got your head sorted?" He gave a half smile in reply. "The water's warm," she added, "come in and relax?"

     Finally he emerged and towelled himself down. Entering the bedroom he saw her lying there asleep, still totally naked, the window wide open, the warm evening sun flooding in. She was lying on her tummy, pointed towards the foot of the bed, facing the mirror. He climbed on to the bed behind her and snuggled up to her, hearing only a murmur of delight. Sleep came eventually, dark and rich and velvety, like drowning in chocolate, but before he drifted off he proposed and heard the whispered "Yes”.

CHAPTER 2

     There was only one place left on the itinerary now and that was Vladivostok. It was about an hour‘s ride into the city from the airport and they were booked into a hotel near the station which Diana had arranged, although she claimed she‘d never been there before. He didn‘t quite know whether to believe her; she seemed to know the place well and he couldn’t help but have that nagging doubt that this was the way he always was with her, unsure whether he could trust absolutely anything she told him. Maybe that was just the result of their having grown up with totally different lives; maybe it was what happened if you didn’t marry your childhood sweetheart with whom you’d rubbed along for long enough to knock off all the rough edges together. It didn’t happen like that when you got together in later life; you had to adjust to the other person and it wasn’t a seamless process.

     Despite the fact that the city was in the heart of Asia, nearly six thousand miles from Moscow, it felt like a western city. Diana said that and he replied, “It’s closer in fact, by the sea route, to San Francisco than it is to Moscow.”

     “You’re kidding me!”

     “I’m not. In fact the Russians had a settlement in America before this place was founded.” She gave him the eye as if she didn’t accept a word of it and he added, “No word of a lie. The Russians were in California competing with the Spanish in 1812. This place was established as a naval city in 1859. It was closed to Soviet citizens as well as to foreigners from the mid-fifties this century until the collapse of the Union but it’s always been an international port and it was the centre of the Russian black market during the Cold War years because the sailors who set sail from here would return from the west with contraband consumer goods.”

     “How do you know all this?”

     “Oh, I’m an old Siberia hand.”

     “No, you’re not. Stop taking the piss!”

     “Oh, back at home I just got talking to someone.”

     “Oh yeah! Russians on the Tyne, is it?”

     They stared out of the windows. The streets of the city were mainly twentieth century in development terms and there was a funicular railway up to a peak known as The Eagle’s Nest, one of a range of steep hills on which the city was built. The tentacles of water which creep into the valleys of these hills form the most natural of harbours which provides all-weather protection for all vessels whether it was the smattering of elderly destroyers and cruisers which formed the remnants of the Russian Pacific Fleet or the fishing boats and pleasure craft, frequenting the port, from the lowliest smack to the great cruise liners.

     In the quest to find his old friend, Jack decided to break the habit of a lifetime and trust the local law but his heart sank when he was shown into the office and his first instinct was to flee. The Vladivostok City Police Chief was a dark brooding man of swarthy complexion and with a moustache which drooped almost as much as his eyelids. The latter threatened to close sleepily over his dark brown, troubled eyes. He did not look the slightest bit interested until Diana walked in a good few paces behind Jack. The eyebrows shot up suddenly like cockroaches surprised by the light. He practically ignored Jack as he puffed away on a short, fat cigar so it seemed sensible to let her do the talking, particularly as she could communicate well enough in Russian. His greedy eyes did not fail to take in her face and figure as he stared at her without speaking. He made it obvious enough for Jack to feel uncomfortable in his presence. "So what do you say is the name of this foreigner?" he asked in Russian, after listening patiently to her tale of the reason for their presence there.

     "Montrose," she replied.

     Jack detected the faintest flicker of an eyebrow as the Police Chief started to flick through a number of files, leaning on his elbow as he turned the pages. He looked at Diana. "I mean it's a yes or no," he said, “either he recognises the name or he doesn't, so why the charade?"

     "He must have dozens of enquiries to deal with every day," she replied, "you're too impatient, give him the benefit of the doubt!"

     Jack grimaced. Something about the policeman's deliberation didn’t ring true. Okay, Vladivostok was a big and dangerous city; strangers came and went all the time; a lot of them did dodgy deals, but in one respect nothing had changed here since Czarist days: no foreigners came or went in a Russian city without the authorities knowing precisely who they were and what their business was.

     "No," the policeman said at length, "I'm afraid I can't find any trace of him." He closed the book and smiled. Diana translated.

     "What, no trace at all?" Jack said. "Ask him if he's checked everywhere?"

     The Police Chief shook his head in response to Diana’s request. Jack felt he was getting the run-around and it was beginning to show in his demeanour.

     "I'm sorry to trouble you further," Diana continued politely, "but is there anyone else we could ask?"

     The Chief stroked his stubble, giving the pretence of thinking about it.

     "I can tell he fancies you," Jack said. "If he spent less time thinking about what he’d like to do to you and more about the question, maybe we'd get somewhere."

     "All foreigners in the City have to check in with us," Diana translated.

     "Don't let him piss you about, he's just a lazy slob, he doesn't want anything to interfere with his routine. Tell him I'll report him to his superiors."

     "He is the superior," she said. "Excuse me again, sir, but is it possible that he has come into the City without you knowing of him?"

     "If he ever came!"

     Jack froze. The Chief had answered in English. He gulped. The Policeman opened up his hands in a gesture of resignation and then shook his head. "You tourists,” he continued in English, “you sometimes think we know everything. Ah, what it would be to know everything, what a fortune that would be worth. But unfortunately the truth is always a little strange. There are so many things happening in the city. It is not easy now, there is no curfew and there are all sorts of mad people on the loose, crazy Russians, crazy Chinamen, crazy Koreans." He tapped his head meaningfully. "Crazy Englishmen!" He smiled a sinister, oily smile, a smile of disdain, "What is one more crazy person? It is hard to keep track of them all."

     "I'm not asking you to keep track of madmen," Jack reminded him frostily. "I'm telling you an Australian national came here a few weeks ago. He came to see a woman, a woman he'd met in Macao. You know Macao? On the edge of China?"

    "Oh yes, Mister," he replied suavely, the cigar now suspending a long train of ash about to derail, "we know Macao. Macao is the source of much trouble, much rouble!" He rubbed his thumb and forefinger together in the international sign of corruption. "If only we did not know of Macao," he repeated it, shouting across to someone, "if only we did not know of Macao, eh?" There was ribald laughter from a couple of his aides and then the same thing was repeated across the common room. It circumnavigated the workplace like an echo, accompanied by raucous laughter and obscene gestures. "Crazy lovesick westerner coming here in search of some girl he had a one night stand with in Macao?" he shouted again and was answered with snorts of derision. "No, I don't know this crazy guy you're talking about as a Mr. Montrose, but there's a slight possibility I might know him by some other name. You think he might use a false passport eh?" Jack’s silence spoke volumes because he went on sarcastically, "Hey, you go back to your nice hotel, take your beautiful woman and be careful to guard her closely." He smiled through tobacco-stained teeth. "When I know something I will contact you. Be sure to expect me to contact you. Maybe you should quit while you're ahead, see a few sights, go home. Bet you got a nice little home. Vladivostok, it's okay, but it's not home, eh? Anyway you go to your nice hotel now, have a good time. If you're there when I want to speak, okay I speak to you. If not, no problem, good luck with the rest of your life."

"Well, when?" Jack said, but one of the Chief’s aides suddenly had him gently by the arm, one hand touching the butt of the gun in his waistband. The interview was over. If there was anything to tell Jack would hear it in the Police Chief's own good time. It had been a simple enough question, he protested. Nothing to get uptight about. Okay, Diana was right to criticise his motor-mouth, but the Chief could see he was anxious. He’d explained the trouble he’d had since setting out to find Gerry but it had cut no ice with this copper. It wasn’t his problem.

     Diana said, “Jack! Do as the Russians do.”  They left quietly. Jack didn’t give a v sign until he’d walked to the next block.                         

     Then they had the bad luck to get in the cab of a surly taxi driver who looked like a fugitive from a Mafia movie. Every time he took a tortuous turn and disappeared down a maze of dingy streets Jack wondered what they’d let themselves in for. “You want to know what happened to Gerry?” Diana said through gritted teeth, “he got into a Vladivostok taxi.”

     They drove through just about every lowlife area in the whole of Pacific Russia before the vehicle finally pulled up. It wheezed to a halt, like a horse in the knacker’s yard, outside the hotel, which had been just down the street from the Police Station, unless it had moved while they’d been out. Jack ended up haggling over the fare, using Diana as an interpreter, while the driver tried to hold the door shut.  They obviously had three tiers of fares, one for the locals, one for the Russians, and a totally exorbitant one for tourists. "What!" Jack said, "how many roubles, you can't be serious!"

     The driver got cross, gesticulating with his free arm and pointing at Jack aggressively. "You pay now, you pay now," he shouted, but through the interpreter it sounded like an invitation to a tea-party. Eventually he lost his rag completely and pulled a knife. He was waving it around in front of him.

     "Listen pal," Jack carried on, "we walked to the cop shop from the hotel. It took ten minutes. On Shank’s pony, comprende? I'm very good at switching between languages, don’t you think?” he added for Diana’s benefit. She was looking at him in disgust as he argued the toss. "I know exactly how long it takes to get there and exactly what it costs. Now I don't mind paying a reasonable fare, but twenty times the going rate is scandalous, no it’s not, it’s taking the piss!”

     "Do I have to tell him that?" Diana asked. She was keeping one wary eye on the knife as it cut serpentine shapes out of thin air.

     "Give it to the dickhead straight between the eyes, tell him I'm not afraid of wankers."

     "Ahhh!" After the translation the driver looked a bit like a sabre-toothed tiger.

     “What did you tell him?” Jack asked as the driver tried to make short work of the gap between the seats. They were rescued from the flashing blade in the nick of time. Snicker-snack, it was circling the air like the vorpal sword as the door opened and the rather large and euphemistically named Hotel Security Guard looked in. He pointed his finger at the driver and swore an oath, which had the man trembling.

     "Okay, sir," the guard said in English, "you okay now, this one on the house."

     "Oh nonsense," Jack said, "I think the man ought to be paid his due." The guard shrugged, washing his hands of it. He took one step back and looked at Jack incredulously as he took out his cash.

     "I don't believe it," Diana said, banging her head with the heel of her hand as if to emphasise her disbelief. "This guy nearly gets us locked up in the dingiest cell in the city jail by telling the Chief of Police he's a prat, then he nearly gets us killed by this moron who he now he wants to pay!"

     “Whom,” Jack said, “whom he now wants to pay.”

     The security guard was nodding his head furiously. He seemed equally bemused. Diana said in Russian, “It’s okay, he’s one kopeck short of a rouble.” Jack wondered what the security guard found so funny.

     "Magnanimity in victory," Jack said determinedly, "does no one any harm. There’s no point in prolonging enmities. In any case this man has children to feed. There's no reason why they and his wife should suffer because he's a moron. It must be bad enough for them anyway having to live in the same house as him."

     Diana was making silly expressions at the guard and trying to screw her forefinger into her temple and he was shaking his head as Jack counted out the notes. The taxi driver stared at him goggle-eyed. The vicious looking guard had just told him that he'd lost his supper and now here was the mad Englishman offering him current coin of the realm.