The Wrecking Crew (Janac's Games)

by Mark Chisnell

  Back in the office, Hamnet fought his way through the arrival report for the Endeavour. It was all he could do to restrain himself from switching screens to the ships’ cargo details to find another target. He had to be patient — there was too much at stake. The office would soon be empty.

  The clatter of keyboards and the low buzz of office conversation slowly died away as the afternoon wore on and turned into evening. Eventually, even Toby clicked his door shut behind him. ‘Still here?’

  Hamnet looked up. ‘Yeah, ’fraid so.’

  ‘Don’t work at it too hard. It’ll only get worse once I’ve left.’

  ‘That’s what worries me. I want to be ready.’

  ‘You’ll be fine. I’ll see you in the morning.’

  As the door shut and the big office finally fell silent, Hamnet’s fingers danced furiously across his keyboard. He knew what to look for this time, and it was only quarter of an hour before he picked up on close to a million dollars’ worth of microprocessor chips going to Shanghai the following Friday. He checked the loading plan and found the chips were under two containers full of televisions. Another container held mixed computer parts. Those four containers alone were worth nearly two million dollars. He noted the details and logged out, then followed the same routine as before, emailing the coded file from a basement coffee shop. He threw the shredded notes into a bin on his way to the MRT station. It was almost too easy.

  Jasmine was stirring a stew when he got home, having already put Ben to bed. ‘You’re working really hard at this new job,’ she said, looking up from the pot as he entered the kitchen. A light breeze blew through the open window into the hot room, ruffling a calendar on the wall.

  Hamnet stepped to the fridge and pulled out a bottle of wine. ‘No choice. I have to work bloody hard just to have some chance of keeping up.’ He turned to her. ‘Glass of white?’

  ‘Please.’

  He carried on talking as he uncorked and poured. ‘I can’t afford this to go wrong. A shore job like this is a huge prize for someone like me. I have to keep it. Going back to sea, with Ben, would be a disaster.’ He handed her a glass and offered a toast. ‘To the end of a bad patch.’

  Jasmine smiled, their eyes met. ‘I’ll certainly drink to that.’ Their glasses hummed as they lightly touched. The wine was cold and slipped down easily in the warm air. The first bottle was empty before dinner was served, the second before it was finished. By the time the third had followed suit, the ice that had formed between the two of them over the weekend wasn’t so much melting as flooding the flat.

  Hamnet’s head was still pounding the following lunch time, but other than that, he had reason to smile for the first time in months. He picked up a paper on his way out. There was a double page on the Collingson attack and its background, plus some editorial. The Singapore Telegraph leader read:

  [Line #, set down]

  This plunder was carried out with cold professionalism and skill, and may foretell a new and altogether more dangerous era in piracy in the region. Out in open water, the Collingson was attacked by a vessel big enough to remove forty-foot containers, but in a manner that meant the bridge was overwhelmed before the duty officer knew anyone was on board. The crew were locked below from that moment on — until their release by US marines yesterday morning — and claim to know nothing more of events. It appears only the cargo manifest told them they had lost S$3.5M worth of freight. The question for the authorities is whether this is an isolated incident, or the first involvement of major crime organisations in a new, modern era of hi-tech piracy. Until now the threat to shipping has been low-level. And the inaction of the authorities and shipping companies, whilst unacceptable on a human level, has at least made commercial sense. But this new development cannot be ignored. Billions of dollars of goods traverse the world in unprotected merchant ships. This country is completely dependent for its prosperity on that overseas trade and the continued safe transport of goods. We cannot tolerate this threat. Action must be taken.

  [Line #, end set down]

  But not, thought Hamnet, before I’ve got my son back. It had indeed been clinically clean and simple. And it was going to be all too easy to trade another few million dollars’ worth of cargo for a second quarter of his son’s life.

  The following week went according to plan, until Friday. He maintained his early starts and tried to leave the office at a reasonable hour in the evening. When he logged on to the Internet to make his first position report on Friday evening, there was a coded message for him. It read: ‘Weather wrong. Need another target.’ It was a bitterly frustrating blow. He had lost a whole week. The clock was ticking — the onset of the typhoon season wouldn’t wait. And it would be another two days before he could get back into the office to find another boat.

  Jasmine and Ben, without knowing it, were able to take his mind off the situation for much of the weekend. There was a trip to Sentosa Island, another to the zoo. Ben gurgled, Jasmine chuckled and Hamnet laughed for the first time since he’d left Anna in their cabin on the Shawould. But it still wasn’t easy, and inevitably it was Margaret who noticed, when the three of them joined the Bullens for lunch on Sunday. Hamnet was clearing away the dishes with her while Jasmine and Anthony laid out the croquet hoops.

  ‘You seem tense, Phillip.’

  ‘Hmmm?’ Hamnet looked up from loading the dishwasher. He hadn’t heard the question, lost in his own thoughts about containers and schedules, risk and reward.

  ‘You seem a little edgy,’ she said.

  He sighed, ‘Yes. New job, working too hard. I don’t see much of Ben, unless it’s during the early hours of the morning. I haven’t had a decent night’s sleep since I left here.’ He dropped another dish into the rack.

  Margaret nodded. ‘I’m sure it’ll settle down once you’ve been there a while.’

  ‘That’s what I keep telling myself.’ But he knew that was a lie.

  ‘How’s Jasmine?’

  ‘She’s fantastic. Holding us together.’

  ‘Does she do some of the night-time call outs?’

  Hamnet poured the dishwasher powder as he spoke. ‘No. I don’t think it’s really fair to ask her. It’s only a job, not a calling.’

  ‘What’s not fair?’ Jasmine had appeared at the door.

  Hamnet looked up. ‘Uh — you doing Ben at night. It’s not fair that you should.’

  ‘I don’t mind. I can sleep during the day when he does. You can’t. Come on, you two, we’re ready.’ And she was gone.

  Hamnet looked at Margaret, frowning.

  ‘Well, why not?’ she replied.

  ‘But where’s he going to sleep? I mean she can hardly . . .’ He stopped abruptly at the expression on Margaret’s face.

  ‘Phillip, that’s a very stuffy thing to say.’

  ‘I don’t want things to get confused . . .’ he started, before trailing off, turning, looking away. Out to the garden, past it, off to a point somewhere in an alternative present.

  Margaret moved closer, put a hand on each of his arms and squeezed gently. ‘It will hurt for ever, Phillip, but time will make it bearable. Lots of people will help that time come around. Some in different ways from others. Don’t get all uptight thinking that any of them are wrong.’

  Hamnet looked round at her, compressed his lips and swallowed, still not quite sure what she had said, or even what he had said. He was even less sure he wanted the matter clarified. He opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. Margaret smiled sweetly, closed the dishwasher and switched it on before heading for the garden, leaving Hamnet alone, wondering.

  Chapter 23

  Hamnet had more luck with the next target he selected. The Konsan Pinta sailed into the South China Sea the following Thursday, and he plotted its progress without interruption through to the weekend. He was anxious, but nothing like as wired up as the time before. The Pinta was headed east into the Pacific on Monday morning when he returned to work, and still going that evening when he went ho
me. He left the office at a reasonable hour, having almost got control of his official and extracurricular workload.

  Just as important, he was impatient to return to the flat, which was now a strong enough cipher for home and family to draw him back at the first opportunity. It made the inevitable moments of dislocation all the more jarring — like when he stumbled into the lock-free bathroom at the wrong time — but for the most part, his life of deceit and betrayal had gathered normality like dust and settled into a comfortable, homely routine. He had started to meet Jasmine and Ben for lunch twice a week, which also meant there was a break from Jasmine’s rather average cooking. But neither of those days was a Monday, and he reflected that evening that the lack of cooking skill was something else Jasmine had in common with Anna. Dinner was long over when he decided on a second pot of coffee in an effort to remove the peculiar aftertaste left by her peanut-butter sauce.

  ‘Jasmine,’ he started as he returned to the lounge, ‘do you still do any painting or drawing?’

  Jasmine, stretched out on the floor, looked up from the book she was reading. ‘I have a sketchbook with me. But I haven’t done much recently. Why do you ask?’

  ‘I was hoping you might like to draw Ben. I’ll pay you, of course.’ He put the coffee down beside her and settled into the sofa.

  Jasmine rolled onto her back and sat up in one movement. ‘I’m not sure it’d be worth much. I haven’t had enough practice recently.’

  Hamnet was about to ask why not when he stopped, listening. A thin wail trailed down the corridor. ‘I’ll get him,’ he said. It was going to be another long night.

  [Line #]

  The phone slapped Hamnet awake. He came to with a rush of pulse that left him staring bewildered at a blurred alarm clock. It reluctantly came into focus: four o’clock in the morning. He rolled out of bed and almost lost his balance as the blood swilled around his body. He grabbed the wardrobe for support, and the shadowy contents of the room slowly stopped spinning. The phone was still ringing. He stumbled out into the corridor and lurched left towards the lounge. The kitchen light was still on. He peered through the door on the way past, fumbling for the switch to turn it off.

  Jasmine was perched on a stool by the window, bare legs crossed, stretching out from under an open-collared shirt. She was supporting Ben on her lap. The baby’s blue eyes rolled across to his father as he gave a contented gurgle and chewed on the teat of the bottle Jasmine was holding. Jasmine glanced up, flicked the dark hair clear of her face and smiled with a freshness that gave the lie to the early hour.

  ‘I heard him crying. He didn’t seem to wake you this time, so I thought . . .’

  ‘Sure,’ said Hamnet, backing out through the door, conscious that he was wearing only a pair of boxer shorts and that she didn’t appear to have anything on apart from the shirt. ‘The phone, I’ll get the phone.’ He swivelled round the doorframe and leant back against the wall, closed eyes directed upwards. What was it Margaret had said?

  The phone was still ringing. He fell forwards off the wall and hurried down the dark hallway towards the lounge, crashing into the edge of the door. He swore, eventually finding the offending object in a shaft of moonlight reflected off the balcony railing.

  ‘Yes?’ he answered.

  ‘Phillip, it’s Dubre.’

  ‘Dubre, have you any fucking idea what time it is?’

  ‘Oh, apologies. I’m in Sydney. Didn’t think about it.’

  ‘Right,’ said Hamnet, not believing a word.

  ‘I just got up. So, how are you chap?’

  ‘How am I? It’s four in the morning, you’ve woken my son up, he’s crying and I’m really not in the mood for idle chatter.’

  ‘The au pair can deal with that. She’s a cracker, Phillip. Wouldn’t mind getting her out of bed myself.’

  Hamnet could almost hear Dubre rubbing his hands together. He took a deep breath and didn’t reply.

  ‘What happened to his sibling, Phillip?’ snapped Dubre into the pause.

  The question caught Hamnet off balance. ‘What?’

  ‘Anna was pregnant with twins. I checked with her doctor. What happened to Benjamin’s sibling?’

  Hamnet hesitated, caught a breath, steadied himself. ‘Yes. He died at birth. At least that’s what Janac told me, and I have no reason to disbelieve him.’

  ‘Did you ever see the bodies?’

  ‘No.’ Hamnet hesitated. It was something he’d thought about a lot. His answer was honest. ‘Things happened very quickly at the end. I didn’t think of it until it was too late. Of course she’d been dead for three days by then. Perhaps it was better that I didn’t.’

  ‘She?’

  ‘They. The baby would have been dead for longer. Don’t be such a bloody pedant.’

  ‘It’s just funny that you didn’t mention it before, you see.’

  ‘Dealing with Anna . . . is bad enough. I tell myself Ben never had a brother.’ There was a long pause. ‘Dubre, it is very early in the morning, and I have to be at work in about three hours. There’s a better time and place to have this conversation.’

  ‘Of course. I’ll come to the point. Konsan’s lost another boat.’

  The first question had rocked him, but now his guard was up his reaction was automatic. ‘Shit. What have you heard?’

  ‘Seems this one wasn’t quite so neat.’

  Hamnet felt the back of his neck prickle and start to sweat. The room seemed to fall away from him.

  Dubre continued. ‘The Australian coastguard picked up a Mayday about three hours ago. I just saw the bones reported on breakfast television and gave them a call. Another very professional job, apparently. Details are a little sketchy, but what is clear is that your friend Janac was leading the attack. He’s pretty well known down here after that yacht business a few years back. One of the crew recognised him.’

  Hamnet was silent.

  ‘Is that a coincidence, Phillip?’ asked Dubre eventually.

  ‘Is what a coincidence?’ replied Hamnet with as much innocence as he could muster, immediately feeling he’d overdone it.

  ‘Janac attacking two Konsan ships — the company you’re working for.’

  ‘What the hell are you suggesting, Dubre?’

  ‘Phillip, I know that I betrayed the confidence you placed in me, and that you have every reason not to trust me.’ He took a deep breath, which Hamnet could hear clearly down the phone line. ‘But, of course, that cuts both ways. If you don’t trust me any longer, there’s no reason why you should be telling me the truth. And all I know about what happened up there in Burma is what you’ve told me.’

  ‘I’m not even going to dignify that statement with an answer, Dubre.’

  ‘Maybe not. But be careful, Phillip. There’s a rumour going around that three-and-a-half million bucks’ worth of semiconductors wasn’t all that disappeared off the Collingson. Some sources in Hong Kong are letting it be known that the Triads had a very big drug shipment on that boat. It was there when it left Singapore, and it was gone when it docked in Osaka. They don’t think it disappeared of its own accord, either. If I’ve drawn conclusions, right or wrong, others will too.’

  ‘Dubre, that’s ridiculous.’

  ‘Watch your back, old chap.’

  ‘I have enough to worry about — bringing my son up on my own, a new job, a rabbit warren of judicial enquiries — without losing sleep over your wild conspiracy theories. I’m going back to bed.’

  ‘Alrighty. Oh, one last thing. Janac killed the master. Nice old boy — Johansen. You probably knew him.’

  Hamnet felt the ground move under him. It kicked his knees out and he sat down hard on the chair behind him. He was struggling to breath, never mind speak — his chest tightening around his lungs, squeezing out the air.

  ‘I’m very sorry. I hope you’ll pass that on to your office,’ Dubre continued, before pausing meaningfully. ‘Nothing you want to tell me, Phillip?’

  Hamnet’s voice was hoarse, dry, tortu
red. ‘The man’s an animal. I already know that. Nothing surprises me.’ He laid the phone down with a heavy click. And shut his eyes. The nightmare was real.

  Five kilometres away, Dubre listened to the line disengage and then gently replaced his handset. He switched a tape recorder off, wrinkling his brow thoughtfully as he did so.

  ‘You know him a lot better than I do,’ said the man slouched across Dubre’s leather sofa. ‘What do you think?’

  Dubre looked round at the visitor who had brought him the news and prompted the idea of the phone call. He nodded his head slowly. ‘On balance, I’d have to say I feel he’s involved. Now we know there was definitely a second baby, I’m sure he would have mentioned it before if it had died with Anna. And if it’s alive, there’s no reason why Janac couldn’t be using it as a lever. Hamnet’s the most obvious suspect. But you can’t arrest him on the basis of that phone call.’

  ‘I do have enough grounds to instigate a full surveillance.’

  ‘Certainly.’ Dubre hesitated. ‘He’ll be on his guard now.’

  The other man picked at some fluff on his charcoal-grey suit. ‘Yes,’ he drawled, ‘but he’s not a professional. It’s normal for amateurs to overreact. He’s more likely to make a mistake now that we’ve rattled his cage.’

  ‘That’s your party — I’m happy to leave that to you. But no one else, particularly at Konsan, should know about this.’

  The man on the sofa nodded. ‘I’ll keep it tight — just use my own squad. There’ll be no leaks from the police. I have carte blanche on this one. The powers-that-be have made it clear that we can’t afford this kind of thing to get out of hand. If the media start advertising these losses, they could panic people. Security of world trade — you know the bullshit. You’re peering over a precipice at a run on the stock market. Losses so far have already had an impact on the price of computer memory. Normally the system could cope, but not at the moment. Things are fragile enough around here without this.’ He paused. ‘That story about the Triad drugs — that true?’

  Dubre nodded, shivered. The air conditioning was set too high and he was only wearing a light robe. ‘Yes, that’s what I hear.’