The Dragon's Tale: A Jack Lauder Thriller (9 page)

     He switched back to the present. This at least was news.

     "Fond memories Jack?" Plum asked in that insidious way some have, who cannot possibly know of a weakness, but, as if with a predatory instinct, can sense its existence, more or less as a shark can scent blood in the water from miles away, or a wolf can sniff it in the air. “Oh, I can see I under-estimated your powers of recall!  You do indeed remember Diana!  She is a walking disaster area, right?  She will lead you right on and then dump you without a moment’s thought, eh? My, but what a way to go!" His half-clenched fist stroked the air.

     Jack shrugged, liking him even less, and changed the subject, "So okay, Gerry's been shacked up in Macao with some good looking blonde.  Who's she?"

     "Nobody knows exactly but there are rumours that she is not all she should be. He's never introduced her to anyone here.  I don't know how he came across her, but I'm told she's a real stunner.  I mean, a real stunner."  Once again as if to emphasise his words he made the shape of the perfect woman in the air with both hands, a reverential look on his face.  "The point is he's really been living it up and he’s always been a big spender plus he just bought a fancy property out Repulse Bay so he can't afford the high life at the tables for long, unless he‘s on a real winning streak, and that’s not how I heard it, I heard he was neglecting the casinos too. Not without getting back to earning the bucks. I’ve got offers for him coming out of my ears, Jack! And he’s done a bunk! Can you believe it? I can guess where your contribution has gone, my friend."

     "So what do I do?  Get across to Macao, to this Westin Resort, whatever it is, and pick my bone with him?"

     "Do you no good! He disappeared from there a short while ago, came back, no doubt got the balance of the money from you, dear boy, and off he went into the wild blue yonder." He was enjoying this. He would have fretted for weeks about a lost fortune like this and he assumed Jack was made the same way. “Word is, he’s in the Philippines,” he added mischievously.

     “That’s a big place.” Jack wasn’t smiling back.

     Plum laughed, "Damned big and damned dangerous place." He really loved the idea that Gerry was going around the world spending Jack’s money, but something about that just didn’t ring true. Jack had known Gerry for too long to think he’d drop him in it like that. Guys like Plum didn’t understand the kind of bond they had. It was light years beyond the comprehension of someone like this bloke, the epitome of everything bad about the colonial way of life.

     "Okay Plum," Jack said, standing to shake the other man’s hand, “if you hear from Gerry will you let him know I'm around?"

     "Of course I will dear boy."

     Jack grimaced at the oily insincerity.  On his way out he paused at reception and thanked Amie for her help. "Did you find out what you wanted to know?" The tonal Chinese lilt entered her voice for the first time. 

     "Not what I wanted, but possibly what I needed to know."

     She looked around furtively, "Gerry used to talk to me."  Her confidence came out of the blue. "I might know things others don't, but..." Her eyes motioned towards the half open door of Moriarty's room.  Jack nodded.  There was a pen and paper on the desk in front of her and he bent over and wrote the name of his hotel and the telephone number, and then he wrote ‘Dinner tonight?’ and showed it to her.  She looked at it and smiled, nodding her head in affirmation. He wrote down, ‘8pm, the foyer,’ and she nodded again.

     Jack walked towards the door as the telephone rang. He turned to wave to her but she flagged him down with one hand. She covered the mouthpiece of the phone and said, "Are you expecting someone to contact you here?"

     He shook his head, "Not that I know of," he said. He hadn't even told old friends he was arriving.

     "Someone is asking for you," Amie said. "They've hung up." She held out the telephone as if she wanted Jack to hear the dialling tone.

     “It would take too long to explain but there might be people in Hong Kong who wouldn’t be happy about me being here. The guy I really need to see is a client of mine, a Mr. Ma. He may be able to help me.”

     “Mr. Ma, the newspaper baron?” Jack was astonished when she wrote Ma's address on a piece of paper. He asked her how she knew it and she laughed and said, “Apart from Philip Chan, he’s just about the most famous man in Hong Kong right now.” He knew Philip too, but now wasn‘t the time to talk about that. “8 o’clock, on the dot," she added, idiomatically perfect.

CHAPTER 2

     The sky was a slate colour but the No. 1 wasn’t up and the ferries were still running so he took the Tsuen Wan hydrofoil. It sped over the water, a flurry of foam towering in its wake, weaving in and out of the junks and sampans pitching in the swell. The foil didn’t need the right of way the ferries enjoyed in this channel and ploughed through the shipping lanes, responding to each touch of the controls.  It was agile enough to ignore all other channel traffic.  The godowns of Kowloon were on Jack’s right, stretching from Yau Ma Tei to Mong Kok.  Soon the vessel came down off the foils and ploughed a deep furrow into Tsuen Wan Harbour, the beginning of the New Territories.  A shanty-town stretched down to the waterfront, each shack sporting a television aerial. 

     Jack knew he was taking a chance here. The man he was about to meet was an associate of Johnny Kwok and it looked like his former friend had been part of the plot to assassinate him. He was making the assumption that not all Johnny’s introductions were questionable but he had no way of knowing. He could remember most of the people he’d known from his early days in Hong Kong, Chinese and expat alike. The name Ma rang no bells. What had he learned? That he was a press baron, the Rupert Murdoch of Hong Kong; a major contributor to the Community Chest charity; a celebrity in a land where the public lionised the leaders of its business community as well as its entertainers. If what Jack had heard was right, Ma was earmarked for a future role by the government of the Peoples’ Republic. The problem was no one knew what that role was: assassination victim or the next President, take your pick, or both in reverse order. The fact that Ma was arranging a bolt-hole in Britain meant that he didn’t know either.

     Disembarking, Jack walked the short distance to the offices of Li Po, next to the Red Pepper Fish Restaurant. No opulence greeted him.  This was working space, not a showroom. The man himself came into the office, throwing on the blue jacket of his smartly tailored suit as he walked. "Mr Lauder!" he said jovially through jowls of gold teeth. Like a lot of Chinese he was of indeterminate age. He also seemed genuinely pleased to see his visitor who returned his greeting affably and held out his hand. This first sighting did nothing to jog his memory. "What great pleasure Mr. Lauder," Ma continued, wringing his hand, "wonderful, wonderful.  What bring you here?  Holiday, eh?"

     Jack smiled, "A bit of that," he said, "but business too."

     "Ah, business, business, good, there is always business.  It pay for trip, yes?"

     Ma snapped his fingers, calling to a young man who hovered just outside the door and he said, "I want you to meet my son." He turned to the young man and in his mother tongue he said, "Son, this is Lauder Sin saang, the man from England.  The man who showed me the way to walk."

     "The way to walk?" Jack mimicked, but he knew the idiom. It meant that Jack had once been of great service to this man, had saved his life or, in some way, given him his freedom.  Ma laughed at Jack’s bemused expression, and he clapped him on the back as he shook the son's hand. The son seemed as happy as his father to meet him, almost as if Jack was his hero. "All in good time," Ma said. "You must take dim sum with me Mr. Jack.”

     Whether he knew they’d discuss sensitive matters Jack couldn’t tell, but it was just the two of them who walked across to the Green Shoots Cafe.  Ma was of average height, taller than most Chinese but not as tall as the modern generation.  He had jet-black hair, brushed back at the forehead with a quiff at the front.  He wore spectacles, which hid his eyes. It turned out that he was also a sympathetic listener, a man to whom Jack could talk, so he took a chance and did, but he was careful to work in generalities and not mention names at this stage. Ma bowed his head and listened with an air of gravity. “So you got trouble? I think it much to do with Johnny Kwok?”

     Jack was taken aback, “How do you know that?”

     “I know Johnny. I know his family and his father tell me he get in big trouble over your way. I say he has good dai si, I hear, and his father tell me he has done something to you which lose that trust.”

     Jack breathed a sigh of relief that his path had been smoothed for him. “You’re right of course. I hoped you might be able to help me.”

     “Tell me what happen.”

     Jack explained the problem. Ma tut-tutted in disgust at Johnny’s role. "You are right that I have good fortune to know people whose names are not uttered in nice society.  I would not be newspaper man if not! You also right to say Hong Kong influence events elsewhere, no matter how far flung elsewhere may be.  It is like church. Spiritual head is here."

     "So you could help?"

       He was keen to know what was behind the trouble and Jack told him about Gerry. "What is it?" he asked, noting his host’s sudden discomposure.

      "Nothing," he said, pulling himself together, "don't mention it, just ghosts." The slightly puckered face betrayed no emotion as he lit a cigarette and drew on it.

     Jack noted the reaction but went on, "the thing is I lent Gerry some money a short time ago ..."

     "First mistake?" Ma chortled, his composure fully restored now, and he wagged the two fingers holding the cigarette.   The smoke curled off in dragon shapes.

     "You can say that again, but I was surprised by what happened.  What I got for my troubles was a Triad assassination squad.  For some reason, they're after me."

     "Perhaps you know something about Mr. Montro, where he is for instance?”  Ma’s voice had subtly changed. This had become an interrogation.  He went silent and Jack knew there was something more.  He waited. "Of this I know something," his host continued, as if he had been wondering whether to mention it or not.  "There is on-going enquiry into Mr. Montro.  It not exactly public knowledge but then no need to be for me to know. Mr. Monro can’t put stop to rumour because no one take trouble to question him and then he disappear.  But anyway, my friend, this not help you.  We want to know who after you.  You want stop put to this, of course?”

     “Yes, that’s it. I do.”

      “Consider it done. Don’t relax vigilance until I say so. It will take a couple of days for the word to get out, then…..” He made a sweeping gesture with his flat, pronated hand. 

     Just like that. It was what made this clock tick. Results could be achieved in a world of shadows which the official authorities could never come close to, and it would have an impact in the real world as if those authorities had done it themselves. This was what he’d come for. It was a result beyond his wildest dreams and it had happened the first day. He breathed a sigh of relief.  If he felt he was on a roll it didn‘t show on his face as he tried his luck a second time. "One other thing," he said, "can you do anything to help me find Gerry?"

     The eyes opposite him were hooded now. This request was slightly more difficult. "I think you got message. Maybe he not want to be found. These bad people think you know something. If it is not where he is, it may be something else."  Ma smiled.  "Maybe something you should not know.  Perhaps Mr. Monro told you something about them?  Something they not want you know?"  He looked quizzical. "I find hard believe -” he wagged his finger again and lit another cigarette - "that nothing behind this.  I am sure something there in mind which you know but you not see, because you not understand importance."  He smiled again.  "I make it known in right places that you know nothing."  He said this as if he was talking about telling his neighbours. “I can only guarantee that when news get through you safe.”

     “Thank you. That’s all I can ask. You don’t know how grateful I am.”

     “Not at all, m gan yiu, One good turn deserve another, eh?” There it was again.

     When they came out of the restaurant he suspected the hoverfoil would be suspended and he would have to go back to the island by the MTR but he was in time for the last sailing. Accompanying him to the wharf, Ma said, “you not remember, eh?" Ma was enjoying his confusion. He was grinning from ear to ear. Jack shook his head, loathe to admit it but unable to place him. "I am Chiu Chau," he said, "born in Thailand, of Chinese parents."

     "Right," something was beginning to stir in his memory.

     "In Thailand I am known as Suzuma," He emphasized the three syllables of his name as if none had precedence, much like the Japanese.

     It all came flooding back. Jack clapped his head. "Mr. Suzuma," he said, and he stepped forward and pumped his host’s hand as if he’d just met him.

     Ma was laughing now.  "So now you know what you do for me!" he exclaimed when the fit had finished.

      "No," Jack said, shaking his head, "it was nothing. I did only my duty. I couldn’t have done less."

     “Well your less, my more. My fortune. I owe everything to you and your … duty!”

    As the hoverfoil churned its way through the choppy waters of Victoria Harbour Jack thought back to when they’d first met. His story was an odd one. He was Chiu Chau. These indigenous people hail from a region of Guangdong Province to the north of Hong Kong.  They have their own dialect of Cantonese. In Hong Kong they are infamous for their involvement in Triad societies and running drugs out of the Golden Triangle. The local prejudice against them is rooted in truth but, as with all prejudice, it also taints the innocent.  The Crown alleged in this case that Ma was the kingpin of a cartel importing drugs into Hong Kong but it was his elder brother who was the real culprit. Reacting to the crackdown, big Ma had opted for a quiet life in Taiwan, from where he could still conduct his business empire in Hong Kong without fear from the British authorities. This was because the UK Government, unlike the Americans, recognised the People‘s Republic not the Democratic Republic as the sovereign government of China and therefore it had no diplomatic relationship with Taiwan which would enable it to extradite criminals.

     Big brother having escaped the RHKP clutches, there were some in the Narcotics Bureau who needed a scalp. A scapegoat’s is better than none at all and their opportunity came when they discovered the methods used by the Chiu Chau’s South Sea diaspora to import morphine into the colony. A lot of them had dual nationality; they had become natives of Thailand whilst retaining family ties with Guangdong, particularly with their countrymen who migrated to Hong Kong. The Chiu Chau in Thailand ran raw opium and morphine blocks out of the Golden Triangle to the factories in Hong Kong where the product was refined. The most successful chemists were Chiu Chau immigrants. The illegality of their status guaranteed unswerving obedience and sweat-shop labour. The methods of importation were often ingenious. In one scam Polish ships sailing the trade route to China were used to bring in morphine blocks; in another Chinese or Vietnamese junks, setting out from the coast of Thailand, anchored in Macanese waters; their "catch" of raw opium was already packed in waterproof bags, which were dragged behind the boats in fishing nets (so they could be cut loose in the event of coastguard interference). The “catch” would be transferred to Macao fishermen for the journey to Hong Kong. The Macanese were used because they regularly fished those waters and the coastguard left them alone, whereas foreigners would have been plagued by what was left of the Royal Navy.

     Ma was fitted up and he would have been languishing in prison even now, serving a thirty year sentence, except that Jack prosecuted the case for the Crown. He noticed a discrepancy in the evidence given by an accomplice witness, a man who had bought immunity from prosecution by whistle-blowing on his criminal colleagues. The defence counsel that day had been none other than the inimitable Philip Chan Q.C, a man better known now for his courageous stand against Red China as the leader of the Hong Kong Pro-Democracy Party. Jack’s exercise of his duty of impartiality in order to free Philip’s client had left the Chinese barrister admiring his English counterpart, just as much as it hadn’t gone down well with the Senior Crown Counsel in charge of the case. He’d been away that day conducting a case in the Court of Appeal and Jack had taken the decision off his own bat. The Senior Counsel was a certain Gerard Montrose and he was furious. “Whose side are you on, mate?” When Jack reminded him that his two Narcotics Bureau drinking buddies would be lucky not to be locked up for their part in the fit up, Gerry laughed. “Lock them up? Come down in the last shower, did you?” But he could do nothing about it. Jack had started something which could not be stopped. He had never expected however to meet Mr. Ma again, nor to need reciprocation in quite this way.

     He had another errand to squeeze in before the weather closed in and before he could go back to the hotel and prepare for his meeting with Amie. Coming off the ferry, he took the short walk to the ICAC headquarters in Connaught Building.  He had been busy making phone calls on his Tri-band and was due to meet the Assistant-Commissioner.