The Dragon's Tale: A Jack Lauder Thriller (24 page)

    “You couldn’t make it American dollars, could you, mate?” he asked in language Jack of course did not understand but, when the question was translated by the interpreter, the look of disgust on her face was aimed at Jack rather than the driver.

     Jack started to pat his pockets wondering if he’d brought any of the funny money with him when Diana said something sharp to the driver, which made him hang his head in shame. She told Jack later it was something along the lines of, “don’t push your luck, chum!”

     The driver was nodding his head in gratitude as Jack counted out the roubles and when he gave him a couple of extra for his pain he just shook it like the other three - the guard and Diana had been joined on the hotel steps by a worried looking manager and he listened as the guard recounted the tale.

     "Hey, English," the driver said in a thick accent, "you okay, I get you wrong, I think you cheat, but you good guy!" He flashed a Mafioso grin at Jack. 

     "I'll know who to come to when I need a reference," Jack retorted.

    The manager was bowing and scraping. "Ah, Mr. Jack," it was amazing how many people thought his Christian name was his surname, "that was very dangerous, you must not do something like that again. I will have that man's licence, I will have him arrested by the authorities."

     "No need," Jack said, "he's learned his lesson."

     Diana sneered, "Sure he has, he'll come back with his mates next time."

     In the meantime the manager couldn't do enough for them. He invited them into his office for a drink. "Brandy?" he said, pouring one from the decanter for Diana. "Best Napoleon!"

     "I'll have a malt," Jack replied.

     "Malt?" he said looking momentarily bewildered because his English didn't go that far.

     "Whisky," Jack prompted.

    "Ah whisky, yes, whisky." He had a bottle or two. Sheep’s Dip, Pig's nose.

     "Either would be appropriate," Diana said.

     Jack had the impression the manager was probing, trying to find out their business. For some reason he couldn't quite fathom, and it couldn't have been the alcohol, because she could drink a battalion of Cossacks under the table, Diana seemed to be in loquacious mood and she was soon telling the manager everything about their expedition. Jack nudged her with his knee to tell her to shut up but she swatted him like a fly and he had to smile and make out to the bewildered manager that this mild exhibition of domestic violence was something they got up to all the time.

     "You'll never make a spy," Jack told her crossly when they were upstairs in the privacy of their room. Then he remembered and started to look inside the lamp stand, behind the painting on the wall, he even unscrewed the mouthpiece on the phone.

     "What on earth are you doing?" Diana asked.

     Jack beckoned to her to follow him into the bathroom where he ran the bathwater. "I know what it's like in Russia, that’s where they always hide the microphones. Anyway, why did you tell him all that?"

     "I did it for a reason. He already knew."

     "What?" Jack looked surprised. "What did he know?"

     "He obviously didn't appreciate that I can read Russian.” She went on to explain she'd read a note on the manager’s desk. He’d received a call about them from the Police Chief, possibly just enquiring, but there had been a mention of Gerry's name there as well.

     "What's the point of that? Would it have any significance to him?"

     "Hmm!" she said because she was rather deliciously warming him up as they were speaking. If the Russians had their hidden microphones and video cameras in here, they were going to get more than they bargained for. "The point is," she replied a trifle huskily, "that this is the hotel where Gerry stayed."

     "Oh brilliant, and how did you deduce that?"

     "Easy," she said, "the manager had his credit card vouchers on the desk."

     “What?” Jack replied. He was wounded because he’d missed all that, and he’d been convinced that she was the one who’d taken her eye off the ball. “What kind of woman are you anyway, reading someone’s private papers? Anyway, why didn’t you let on sooner?”

     "What, are we married or something? Are we supposed to share everything? Oh, stop pouting. You're just like a little boy who's got the wrong Christmas present. Just because you didn't find it first!"

     "It's not that at all," he protested. "You know how important this is to me. He's my friend. He's got...."

     "He's got what?"

     "Nothing."

     "Go on, say it. You were going to say he's got your money, weren't you?"

     "No I wasn't."

     "Yes you were. You're lapsing back into your mean little frame of mind."

     "No I'm not."

     "Yes you are, that's all you're worried about, your money."

     "Well, it's quite a large sum. I'm not a zulti-millionaire you know." He sported a wounded, misunderstood tone.

     "I knew it. I knew that's what it was."

      "Oh, so aren't you just so perfect? Never get your knickers in a twist, do you? Not bloody likely! Oh sorry I forgot. What about that wazzock you were with, bloody Australian diamond dealer, my Aunt Fanny!"

     She prodded him in the chest and pushed him all the way back to the bed where she used the frame against his calves to shove him on his back. She held him down. He tried to rise, astonished at the strength of her forearm across his chest. He could scarcely breathe. Her teeth were bared. She had so many moods. In this one she was prehistoric. "Jack, you ever mention that again and I'm out of here, all right?" Her eyes were holding his steadfastly. As he looked at them they seemed to change colour - blue to green to gold. A trick of the light?

     "See if I care," he said petulantly.

        "Oh yeah, see if you care." She released the pressure of her arm and with one lithe, feline movement, arched her back until she was suspended over his head, daring him to retain his spoilt mood. He couldn't but she seemed surprised he had the energy to enjoy her twice. She slapped him on the shoulder afterwards. "How did you do that?"

      "Well, back in Shields it's nothing startling."

      "You're kidding!" she replied, "you mean there's a race of supermen down there by the Tyne and no one in the world's alive to it? God preserve us from the Geordies!"

     “It’ll take more than one God.” 

     Later, as he lay on the bed reading a book, she was keeping up an endless prattle from the bath. He was about to say he was trying to read when she said, "Did you notice that manager flinch when we talked about Gerry?"

     "Now you come to mention it, I did notice he seemed a touch rattled at one stage. I couldn't figure out why he was being so attentive, though, and I just put it down to Russian hospitality. I musn't have been paying proper attention."

     "Think about it. We go to the police station where you use all your naked charm to prise some information from the Chief of Police and get precisely nowhere, though the truth is you hit a nerve."

     "Did I?"

     "For sure, and you did the same with the manager here. They remember Gerry all right. I think he's still here, I think he found the girl and he's working out now how to get her out. He's obviously fallen for her in a big way. Bit like you with me."

     "Don't flatter yourself."

     She laughed gaily. "Liar! Do you want to rub my back?"

      "Not particularly, but if I have to."

     He got up dutifully and went through to the bathroom. "So what then?" he asked soaping her ivory back and enjoying the silky feel of her skin. "Do you think he struck a deal with the local Mafia?"

     "Bound to have. He wouldn't have raised all that money if he hadn't. He must have known the deal before he got here."

     "Right. Then what?"

     "Well, what would he want to do next?" she said.

     "Difficult for her to get into Hong Kong. Presumably he'd want to go back there because it's the only place he can earn big money. He might try and get her a forged passport I suppose."

     "Use your head, Jack! There's an easier way than that to get her into Hong Kong."

     "Like what?"

      She was looking over her shoulder at him in that infuriating way, saying, "Come on, come on," coaxing him to extend himself. She could be very patronising.

     "Ah!" he said as the penny dropped, "they could get married!"

     She clapped her hands. Then she was serious again, "It surely can't take that much to fix up a marriage ceremony here, even if you are a foreigner. Presumably it's a little more relaxed than it used to be?"

    Jack wasn't so sure about that. It should be with perestroika and glasnost and all that new Russian bonhomie embracing McDonald's and Pizza Hut and the all-American way of life, but old habits die hard and he doubted if the new bosses in the Kremlin had totally relaxed their control over their nationals.

     Diana was certain Gerry and his woman hadn't had enough time to get away yet. The knot would have to be tied first because he'd have difficulty getting her out anywhere else otherwise. They'd have to give some kind of notice to get married and then they’d have to get her a passport sufficient to get by Immigration in a place like Hong Kong. That would take time. She seemed quite excited by it all and he just couldn‘t fathom why. "He's still here," she said, "we might even have time to attend the wedding!"

     That was just the sort of sentimental idea a woman would have but he couldn‘t help but feel there was something else driving it. Was she still bearing a grudge? That affected him in a way he couldn‘t quite fathom until he realised it made him jealous because she was still carrying a bit of a torch for his old mate. He challenged her with it.

     “Don’t be daft!” she replied but maybe with a little too much protest, unless that was his imagination.  Still, old Gerry getting married. Now there was a turn up for the book. Yes, Jack would like to be present for that one. “You can use both hands,” she added, “round the front, too. Don’t miss those puppies out.”

CHAPTER 3

     He had one of those nights where he went off into a deep sleep and then some trigger in his head woke him up in the early hours. Within seconds he was alert to all the sounds of the city. He always found it amazing how cities never slept, how when those who live in realms of day are tucked up in bed, the denizens of the dark come out, the street cleaners, the garbage disposers, and the dwellers in the pleasure dome of night. He lay there listening to all the rich sounds of the darkness, hearing an animal yelp as it was cornered by some long-fanged predator; the squeal of tyres as some night thief took off, a police siren in hot pursuit; a drunken man and woman hurling abuse at each other. Those hours before dawn, when life is at its lowest ebb, when most deaths occur, when you slip dreamily between wakefulness and death without noticing the difference, brought the telling thoughts, ones which could inspire you for the day ahead or, like an insidious acid, eat away your will to live.

     Jack had a presentiment of impending disaster. The catalyst was the woman who lay by his side. He understood things now of which he'd been only dimly aware before. He had been alone for as long as he could remember. It seemed almost as if he had come into the world alone. Never before had he fully appreciated the immense loneliness of the individual's journey through the universe. Life is a great voyage. You are your own captain. Sometimes you are destined to meet obstacles. It may be that you are part of the obstacle. Did the forces abroad in the Titanic create an iceberg to trip over?  What of those souls on board? What confluence of psychic disturbances brought them to that place at that forsaken hour?  He was suddenly lost in the question of whether we live or not, whether all is illusion. Can you believe the experience of your senses? Does the objective world exist without you to experience it? Do your fellow creatures exist? He yawned and forced himself up. He looked at his watch. He must have dozed off again. It was gone nine o'clock in the morning. "Got to get on with it," he said.

     "I'm with you all the way, Jack," Diana murmured, sleepily unconvincing.

     It turned out to be an aimless sort of day. It was raining and the sky was a slate grey colour. The streets were rain-swept. People rushed along huddled together beneath drab coloured rainmacs or umbrellas. Diana and Jack wandered here and there. Enquiries at the city hall met with blank, unhelpful faces. The natives had too much on their minds to help find a missing Australian. Perestroika and, in particular, democracy wasn’t turning out as all it had been cracked up to be and the president’s reassurances were beginning to wear thin. Yeltsin himself was looking old, worn and perpetually drunk. He had lost his grip. Having come to power on a wave of popularity it had quickly dissipated with the enormity of the task in hand and the absence of any quick fix and had then disappeared altogether with the Chechen wars, which had only recently ended in an uneasy truce. The Moscow metro had been bombed the previous year with four people killed and it looked very much as if the peace wouldn’t hold and that Russia might be in line for a wave of terror. The fear was that this would see the Communist regime returned to power by the back door.

     Around eight in the evening, dispirited, they began to walk back to the hotel. Jack racked his brains to think of some way of changing the flow, getting them out of this negative current. They crossed the busy street when the lights changed. A car screeched to a halt and a man leaned out.

     "Hey English!" he yelled, "you want taxi?"

     Jack recognised the fruitcake of a taxi driver. "You must be joking," he replied, "I’ve been in your cab before. You think I'm crazy enough to get in again?"

     "No thank you, sir," Diana translated, "not after our earlier misunderstanding."

     "Hey, I told you that was mistake. I didn't realise you were good man, English. Hey, me Rudi by the way!"

     Diana seldom left home without her wits. "Rudi, where would your average tourist take a local girl in this city?"

     "Hey, for sure, the Green Lantern!”

     "What's that, a night-club?"

     "Sure, it's a night-club."

     "Okay," she said, "you can take us there. The direct route, and no cheating."

     "No problem.”

     They climbed in the car. The driver set off like a stock car racer, swerving into the traffic, hanging out of his window and uttering a stream of abuse at every road user with right of way. He flashed a grin in the mirror as he drove through the corkscrew streets up into the centre of the city. "So what you want with local girl when you got one like this?" he asked Jack, clearly confused by the message Diana had given him. She translated with a grin on her face.

     "No," Jack said, "you’ve misunderstood. We're looking for a friend of mine who came here to see a local girl."

     "Oh yeah, friend of yours with local girl. Where'd he meet her?"

     Diana was trying to keep up a two-way commentary, "In Macao."

     "Oh yeah, one of those girls, eh?  He took her for a ride. He the driver, she the taxi, yes?" He laughed crudely at his own joke.

     "Maybe this relationship is different?" Diana said.

     The driver swore, "Once a whore, always a whore. But I tell you, this friend of yours, if he is with one of those girls, he is not safe. Those girls are owned by the mob, English. These are not like other gangsters. These men used to be KGB. Once they murdered people for the State and now they murder for themselves." Diana translated all this slowly, making sure it would sink in. “I will take you somewhere these girls go. No problem. If one of them has a rich western lover the others will know."

     "That's the answer," Jack said. Why hadn’t he thought of it before?

     Despite Diana’s insistence on the direct route they got a conducted tour of the city. The name Vladivostok translates as "The Lord of the East" but at first sight it appeared more of a foundling. The locals were fond of calling it the San Francisco of Russia. It had the hills, the bay, a sea fret, which even Whitley Bay would have been proud of, and the gangsters. Apart from that it was probably nearer Sunderland than San Francisco. No one knew a great deal about it. The home of the former Soviet Union's Pacific Fleet was opened to foreigners for the first time in the 1990s. It was the home also of Russia's Pacific Fishing Fleet. It should have been an idyllic spot. The terrace of hills running down to the Pacific was a property developer's dream but the city boasted some of the ugliest concrete monoliths the old Soviet Union had to offer.

     There are places in the world’s cities where the girls who have grown too old for the tourist trade wind up. Women who look as if they've not seen their sixties for a good twenty years plaster themselves with make up and strut their stuff for anyone desperate enough to take a chance on the worst diseases known to civilisation. Vladivostok was no different. They'd been round a few of the bars where the local brass hung out but contrary to Rudi's expectations they'd got nowhere. Then he came up with the memory of a bar down the waterfront where girls who'd done a stint in Macao went.

     They stood outside the quayside bar listening to the sound of revelry within. A couple of sleepy-eyed ruffians of North Korean extraction appraised them from across the street. "Here goes," Jack said and he pushed open the door. The bar was crowded. It was one big room with cheap wooden furniture, spit and sawdust style. Men sat around as if they'd been in the same positions for years. Jack forced his way to the bar while the hubbub went uncannily silent and the pub's occupants eyed them curiously. He ordered drinks. Even Rudi was taking vodka. He'd been all right in the bars and night-clubs off the Svetlanskaya but here he was out of his depth. It showed in the way he gulped back his drink.

     Jack had managed to get Diana kidded on he was famous wherever he went. “The Stones and the Royal Family have nothing on me,” he said. “I can walk into any of the great cities of the world and be recognised.”

     “Pull the other one,” she said dismissively and she translated it for Rudi, the driver, and he laughed cynically, but it was true. How many ordinary Englishmen could walk into a smoky bar in downtown Vladivostok, hear a cheerful shout from across the other side of the room and suddenly be surrounded by Russians clamouring to buy him a beer? Jack scanned the bar anxiously for anyone who dimly resembled a good time girl from Macao. There were one or two candidates. He'd just remarked on this to Diana when a shout from the other side of the long counter proved all his kidding true. “I could have sworn I heard your name called,” Diana said.

     “Told you,” he replied.

     “Yeah, in your dreams!”

     "Jack! Jack Lauder!"

     Jack held up his hands and gave Peter a triumphant wave. Diana looked at him askance. The tall, dark figure pushed his way through the throng to get to them. Suddenly he was on top of Jack, pumping his hand like a long lost friend, while Diana and Rudi gaped in astonishment.                        

     "What brought you to this god-forsaken watering hole?" Peter said, "This is a dangerous place my friend, but, never mind, you are safe with me. Who are these people?" Jack introduced him to Diana.

     "Che be'a," he said.

     "She understands Russian," Jack said.

     "She understands Italian too," Diana replied, holding out her hand to the Russian sea captain.

     Peter shouted out something Jack couldn't quite catch, a mighty cheer went up, and suddenly back-slapping Russians surrounded him. "You are a total mystery, Jack," Diana said, "they broke the mould when they made you.” Much to the general hilarity of all she cuffed him round the head and when he’d returned to this week he found himself accepting cold beers from generous Cossacks. Unfortunately when they discovered she could speak the language Diana quickly usurped him as the centre of attention. Even Rudi was basking in the reflected glory as he told new friends of his adventures with the mad English in Vladivostok.

     Peter dragged Jack to one side. "It's good to see you Jack," he said, "although I didn't expect ever to see you again. You must come to my home and meet my family. We all owe you a great debt."

     Jack shrugged. "Not so, I just did my job.”

    “There is no
just
with people like you, Jack. Some people go the extra mile.”

     He shrugged, embarrassed. “I hope everything goes well with you now?"

     "Yes," he said, "things are looking up. The case in your country did me good because I became a figure for propaganda here. I am a skipper now with the Far Eastern Shipping Company. I captain the Nigata Ferry."

     "So no more fishing eh?"

     "No, no more fishing. These jobs become available once in a lifetime and if you keep your hands clean they are yours for life - barring revolutions that is, which in this country is..." He shrugged.

     Jack explained their reason for being in Russia and Peter’s eyes grew wider as they talked. "But I can help you with this," he replied. "I know many of these girls, not professionally, you understand,” and he gave Jack a sly dig in the ribs, “but because many cross on the ferry to China. It is not possible to get into Macao by air. The Hong Kong authorities will not let these girls in and they run considerable risks crossing China, although many do go by train. It is not unusual for them to go all the way or part of it by sea. Some of these girls come from respectable families, you know. There is nothing strange about this trade in the history of Russia.  Our women have long been prized in the East for the fairness of their skin, from the seraglios of Persia to Beijing. Many are following in the footsteps of their mothers and grandmothers. There is a girl in here now, her name is Ludmilla. She is not long back from China. I will introduce you." 

     It took Jack a few moments to explain the situation to Diana and she took her leave of her admirers, dispensing kisses like confetti. Ludmilla, a platinum blond, was pretty enough. Some might have called her beautiful and she had all the right features. Just a sullen cast to the eyes and forehead, and a sulky curl to the lips detracted from her good looks. Far from resenting Diana, she basked in her attention. Peter told the girl about their mission and then both he and Jack looked on as the two of them switched into women’s talk. They rattled away thirteen to the dozen and Diana was elated. Peter dug Jack in the ribs as if in congratulation and, like many an Englishman before him, he was annoyed with his lack of facility with languages. Diana borrowed a pen and paper and handed them to Ludmilla. She began to write. "What's going on?" Jack asked Diana during this intermission.