The Wrecking Crew (Janac's Games)

by Mark Chisnell

  The man shook his head ruefully. ‘That’d be ironic, wouldn’t it? I spoke to the head of one shipping line at a party a couple of weeks ago. He reckons drugs are the third most valuable cargo they carry. Never know about it, of course, but if you look at the stats, that’s the way it comes out. The Triads can’t afford this threat to shipping any more than Sony or Daihatsu can. Our opposite numbers on the dark side are probably having this same conversation right now.’

  Dubre sipped slowly at a cup of coffee. ‘Let’s just hope for Hamnet’s sake, if it is him, that he gives himself away to us first.’

  Chapter 24

  Janac grunted with satisfaction. The low-revving thump of the generator and the occasional click from Jordi’s computer mouse were the only other human-related sounds, easily discernible against the racket of the forest. He leant on the filthy, once whitewashed windowsill and stared out across the broken shade of the veranda at his new fiefdom. The fortified villa was a relic of overambitious nineteenth-century Spanish colonialism. It stood at the top of a cliff, at the head of a narrow, fjordlike inlet, surrounded and overshadowed — and, when they had found it, all but reclaimed — by the towering forest.

  Janac stood in one of three rooms they had cleared of jungle and debris. He stared out across a few yards of open, rocky ground to the top of the cliff, where a stream silently hurled itself off the edge. Less than fifty metres beyond loomed the dark, brooding bow of an old bulk carrier. Had he been there, Hamnet would have recognised it as the ship that had disappeared out of Manila. Its black, rusting hull soaked up what little sunlight struggled through the forest canopy. Her cranes stretched up towards the trees, but not through them. They were invisible from the air, hidden in shadow from anything but the closest and most determined investigation from the water. Janac had to admit that Tosh had done well.

  Tosh had found the deep-water inlet after careful inspection of the charts and a lot of time reconnoitring in the RIB, using the bulk carrier as a base for the search. The final test had been to squeeze her in here, with a great deal of care and in moderate sea conditions. The meteorological limits on getting in and out were the only downside, while the house had been an unexpected bonus. It was the perfect spot from which to prey on the shipping lanes around the Philippines. Midway between Diapitan and Palanan Bays, in Isabela Province, on the Philippine island of Luzon, the house was completely isolated. To the west were the mountains of the Sierra Madre, covered by the same, almost impassable, virgin forest that surrounded them. In front and to the east was the Pacific. The only way in and out of the handful of other settlements on the coastline was by boat. It was more secure than Janac’s place on Ko Samui had been, relying as that had on the ultimately treacherous locals for protection. With a handful of good men Janac knew this inlet could be defended against a battalion.

  The Chinese were the likeliest threat. They had already closed down his Australian operation and cleaned his men off the streets. Things were so bad that the only outlet for the heroin they had taken off the Collingson had been wholesale to the Americans, at a fraction of its street value. But even if he’d had to chuck the whole lot into the ocean, it would have been worth it just to take it off the Triads. They would want revenge, and Janac didn’t underestimate their capacity to track him down. His team had to deal with the outside world, to sell the plunder and resupply.

  The biggest risk was the Triads getting word of the base and offering the New People’s Army money to take him out. On their own the NPA could make things difficult if they wanted to, but he doubted they had the will. Communist guerrillas — a dying but familiar breed. If he didn’t trouble them, Janac was sure they would leave him alone. In the meantime their activities kept the forces of law and order, such as they were, busy on the other side of the mountains.

  In any case, it would take even the Triads time to find him, and by then he could make this place impregnable to the kind of muscle they could bring to bear. Those expeditions to sell off the pirated goods could provide him with everything he needed to turn it into a fortress. Then let them come. This fight would be on his territory — in the jungle, not on the streets. In the meantime, he already had the means to melt into the forest and reappear as a respectable businessman in Manila.

  ‘Bugger me,’ said Tosh.

  Janac straightened and turned from the window to see Tosh leaning over Jordi’s shoulder, reading the screen. Tosh sniffed, wiped his nose with the back of his tunic sleeve. ‘Must admit, I didn’t think he’d play any more ball after you had to shoot that old fart on the last one.’ He pulled out a beaten leather tobacco pouch from the cavernous trouser pockets of his fatigues and started to roll a cigarette.

  Janac leant back against the windowsill and folded his arms. ‘Another dead man and yet Hamnet is apparently prepared to carry on.’

  ‘He must have figured it was an accident. He could have heard the other bloke’s story. I mean the old fool was behaving pretty stupidly. If he’d just done what he was told, he’d be alive.’

  Janac nodded. ‘And if I’d killed him deliberately, what would Hamnet have done then? Johansen had ten or twenty years of life left, his kid might have seventy. So does he think he could trade three more Johansens for his kid and come out ahead? Or does he just feel he has to do this for the child, regardless of the cost?’ He sucked his teeth. ‘What would happen if he lost two more on the next one, especially if they went down in cold blood?’ Janac, as was his habit, answered his own question. ‘I think he’d carry on. It’s a classic dilemma. He’s already lost so much and gained nothing. To gain he has to go on, to risk further loss. I’m sure we’ve got him, but wouldn’t it be interesting to kill a couple next time and find out for sure?’ Janac caught the expression that flickered across Tosh’s face. ‘What’s the matter? Aren’t you interested in this experiment?’

  Tosh almost replied, then shut his mouth, preferring instead to fumble through his pockets for a lighter. His wasn’t the sycophantic subservience of Bureya, but even so, he didn’t question the boss.

  Jordi dragged their attention back to the screen. ‘Our boy is a little spooked about something, though. He’s changed his email address. He’s set one up with somebody else’s credit card number. Must’ve done a little research on the Internet.’ He turned to Janac and grinned. The grin froze as soon as he saw the expression on Janac’s face.

  ‘Check with Kloc. See where Hamnet was when he sent that email. See if he’s still using the cafe, doing it in the open. It’s possible he’s picked up our surveillance.’

  ‘He wouldn’t know who it was,’ said Tosh, now struggling with the lighter, which was short of fuel and refused to burn long enough to get the roll-up going.

  ‘Exactly. The last thing we need is to spook our own man. Tell Kloc to back off for a couple of days, keep it real loose.’

  ‘And if it’s someone else?’ asked Tosh.

  ‘Two possibilities: Triads or the pigs. If either of them takes him out, do we know enough now to manage without him?’

  The question was directed at Jordi, who answered, ‘It’s impossible without someone on the inside. The cargo information we need is almost all on WANs.’

  ‘Spare me the nerd bullshit,’ said Janac.

  ‘You can’t hack the systems from the outside. The detailed data’s carried on private lines. We need someone on the inside. If not Hamnet, then a replacement.’ Jordi chewed at his fingernail as he finished.

  ‘So this operation comes to an end when we take the fourth boat?’ asked Tosh, turning to Janac, struggling to hide the incredulity in his voice.

  ‘Tosh,’ said Janac, with exaggerated patience, ‘I made him a deal. You know how I feel about that shit. And the weather turns in late June — the typhoon season will be on us in a couple of weeks. It will make operating impossible for six months. We have plenty of time to replace Hamnet.’

  Tosh sniffed again, thinking, thumbing at the lighter wheel. It finally came good and he took a short drag before saying, �
��Aye, but we need the four boats if we’re going to secure this place against all-comers, keep enough of the boys here for six months and tool up properly.’

  Janac turned back to the window, arms folded, heels grinding on the tiled floor. There was another possibility he had to take into account. Maybe Hamnet had already had enough. The police weren’t the only people he could turn to for help. Maybe this was a set-up. He spoke to the open window: ‘We’ll change the attack pattern for this one. Move it inshore, give us an escape route in the RIB. Just in case.’

  There was a shriek in the forest, followed by a flurry of beating wings.

  ‘What are you thinking?’ asked Tosh.

  ‘We’re vulnerable while we’re on the target — if Hamnet has had enough, or has been picked up and turned.’

  Tosh nodded, but he was still catching up as Janac spun round and strode towards the computer.

  ‘Print out that information for me, Jordi.’ A couple of clicks and the laser printer whirred. Janac pulled the paper impatiently from the tray and turned to the charts spread out beside it. ‘OK, let’s see. The Kyushu Sun, a medium-sized container ship headed for Panama from Hong Kong tomorrow evening. We’ll pick it up here, in the Balintang Channel, overnight Friday, Saturday. The eighteen hundred should give us a good-enough fix.’ He tapped the chart. ‘We put the ship on his starboard bow, coming up from the south and timed to collide with him a couple of miles after this island.’ Janac peered closer at the chart. ‘Balintang Island. There should be cover for the RIB behind it. If he hasn’t spotted you by the time he’s approaching the island, Jordi, all you have to do is wake him up and drive him in towards us. Scare the hell out of them — last thing they’ll be worried about is a deck watch.’ He paused. ‘And it’s within range of the coast for the RIB. If it turns to shit, we can hit the beach and head into the boonies on the eastern side of Cape Engano. Make sure everyone on the RIB has jungle-survival and fighting equipment loaded. It’s a long way back from there to a decent road. But it gives us an option if they’re waiting for us on board. Tosh, you got that?’

  Tosh, standing beside him, nodded. ‘Aye.’

  Janac backed away from the chart table and sat in one of the sofas that dominated the centre of the room. ‘OK, people, let’s figure out the timing. Check the weather and make it happen.’

  [Line #]

  ‘A perfect night for it,’ said Tosh, and spat into the water. He was blacked up, balaclava covering all but mouth and eyes. Five other men, similarly attired, Edi and Soey among them, sat with him. A team of three on each side of the RIB, one man carrying the Heckler and Koch MP5 sub-machine-gun, another with the heavier H&K 53, and the third with a shotgun. There was another man on the bow with an MP5, and Janac – back-up driver beside him at the console - held the boat on station next to a rocky outcrop just southeast of Balintang Island. The twin engines burped and bubbled almost silently under the sound-proofing covers. The water was mirror calm, albeit a mirror that rose and fell with the slow swell rolling in from a storm way out east in the Pacific. Not that anything could be seen reflected in its inky surface. High cloud obscured the starlight from a moonless sky.

  Janac pulled the encrypted VHF off his belt. ‘What’s happening, Jordi?’

  The radio crackled its response. ‘He’s ten miles ahead of us, right on the money. Closing speed thirty knots, impact time twenty minutes. He should be a mile south and two miles east of your current position by then if he doesn’t adjust course.’

  ‘Heard anything from him?’

  ‘No. Guess they’re all asleep.’

  ‘OK.’ Janac clipped the radio back onto his belt and clunked the engines into gear. The RIB puttered gently round the back of the island until the bow poked out from behind the last of its extremities. They could see the target for the first time — a red port bow light far off in the night. The minutes ticked by as the light steadily brightened, to the accompaniment of the occasional crash from the other side of the island as a big swell exploded on the rocks.

  Janac’s radio crackled. ‘Still nothing. The bastard’s fast asleep.’

  ‘OK, call him up,’ Janac replied.

  Aboard the bulk carrier, Jordi reached for the microphone on the standard VHF, set to Channel 16. ‘Vessel steaming east in the Balintang Channel, do you read?’ He waited fifteen seconds and then tried again.

  This time there was a response. ‘Vessel calling, this is the Kyushu Sun. Please repeat.’

  ‘Kyushu Sun, strongly suggest you turn north. We are on a collision course. Over.’

  There was a long silence before a tense reply: ‘Wait one.’

  Jordi could hear the uncertainty in the man’s voice. If he didn’t already know how his sea room to the north was severely limited by Balintang Island, he soon would. And that was where Janac was waiting. Jordi picked up the other radio. ‘Herding him in. Coming your way.’

  Aboard the RIB the engines continued to tick over as all nine men watched the fast closing red light. Soon enough it was on them, less than a quarter of a mile away, steaming past on the other side of Balintang Island. She had been forced in much closer than her skipper wanted, for the chart marked the island as ‘Survey Incomplete’. But Jordi wasn’t giving him any choice. A few more seconds, then Janac put the throttle hard down. The propellers bit and the boat surged forward, staggering a little until she rose over her bow wave and started to plane. In these conditions she would comfortably do forty-five knots, but she barely had time to get to half that speed as she sprang from under the radar cover of the island and straight into the blind spot aft of the ship.

  Janac throttled back and tucked in under the wide flat stern, which rose vertically above them. Two ropes were already spinning up towards the rails from the grapnel guns. Once locked on, the front men hoisted the climbing ladders on the pulleys and started upwards — three pairs of two, Tosh leading. Once all six were on their way, Janac handed the wheel to the other driver and along with the bow-man followed them up. The driver tucked the RIB in tight under the overhanging stern quarter, from where it could be neither seen nor heard. The first man was over the rail, unopposed, in a little under a minute. The whole attack team of eight was aboard in two minutes. No words were spoken — everyone knew what to do. Janac had worked them hard after the fiasco that had cost Bureya his life.

  The bow-man stayed at the ladders, Janac joined Tosh’s team and moved off to starboard, while Edi led the other to port. Their soft-soled training shoes were soundless as they flowed, two steps at a time, up the companionways. At the accommodation level one man peeled off and took up station at the entrance. Above, the bridge doors were open onto the wing decks. The red glow of night-lights spilled out into the dark as they approached. Janac led and Tosh followed, moving fast, deep into the bridge.

  The master of the Kyushu Sun, Duncan Fairbrother, was still dressed in his pale-blue nightshirt. He was stooped over the radio, yelling into the microphone, his beard aflame in the red light. One of his officers was glued to the radar screen, the other trained binoculars forward. None of them noticed they had company. Janac stepped up and swung the weapon down. Fairbrother felt something — the air move, a shadow shift — and looked round. But it was too late for him to register surprise. The heavy revolver butt crashed into the face of the radio. Janac had the gun pointed at him before Fairbrother had even begun the process of comprehension. The microphone slid from his fingers and fell to the deck with a clunk. The other two officers stood frozen, mouths open, horrified. They had heard the stories.

  ‘I don’t think we’ll be needing that any more, do you?’ Janac’s smile was a yellow smear against the blackened face. ‘Is there any comms equipment on this ship that isn’t on the bridge?’

  Fairbrother stood immobile, too surprised, too terrified, to speak. Janac’s left hand leapt out and slapped a blow across his face. The physical contact, evidence that this apparition was at least flesh and blood, seemed to shake the man out of his shock. He gurgled.

>   ‘Radio, satcom?’ prompted Janac.

  ‘Here. Just here.’

  Janac stepped back. ‘On the floor, on your bellies, all of you.’

  Tosh hustled the two officers towards Fairbrother while Janac covered him. He pulled plastic cuffs from his belt and fastened three pairs of unresisting wrists, then took a small roll of duct tape from his pocket and strapped a strip across each officer’s mouth.

  Janac nodded. ‘OK, I’ve got these three. Start working aft.’

  Tosh waved two more men in from the wing decks and then moved to the back of the bridge and slid silently through the door, gun raised.

  Janac felt for the radio on his belt, still watching the prisoners. ‘Jordi?’

  ‘Go boss,’ the radio crackled back instantly.

  ‘The bridge is secure, the boys are still sweeping the decks. No trouble so far. I’ll turn her to the bearing and speed now. Start to come alongside. Don’t light up until I do.’

  ‘Roger.’

  Janac backed over to the centre of the bridge, watching the three as he went. There he dialled in the prearranged speed and course. He glanced out of the starboard side window. The green bow light of his ship was passing a hundred metres off their beam. He reached for the packet of Lucky Strike in his tunic pocket. This one had gone smoothly enough so far — a clean and simple take. He lit the cigarette one handed and blew out a smoke ring.

  ‘That’s more like it,’ he said to the silent, trussed skipper. ‘Well, either you’re an excellent actor, my friend, or there are no nasty little surprises downstairs. Let’s hope the latter. Or surely you will suffer.’

  Chapter 25

  Tosh stepped onto the bridge, sub-machine-gun on its strap against his chest. Edi was a pace behind him.

  ‘We’ve cleared the accommodation and have all fifteen crew accounted for. They’re under guard in the dining room one floor down,’ said Tosh, waving back the way he had come. ‘It’s at the bottom of this staircase. There are no windows.’