Red Dragons

by K W Frost

  Eager hands lifted Hans and Ritson away from Child. Samantha and Doug then helped to lift Child up and together they stumbled across the beach to dry land.

  Child slumped to the ground, exhausted.

  Hans and Ritson were being bundled onto stretchers, and within minutes an ambulance was racing away, the siren screeching.

  A woolly blanket was draped over Child’s shoulders, a kind but useless gesture considering that he still had his wetsuit on. Sam arrived with a steaming flask of sweet coffee.

  ‘Are you okay?’ Sam asked Child gently, pouring a cup of coffee.

  ‘I’ve felt better, but I’ll survive,’ replied Child, grimly. ‘How are the others? How is Steve? He was knocked out twice.’

  ‘I’ll make sure the ambulance knows. You get back to the lab and warm up,’ said Samantha, her teeth chattering. Doug, Terry and Dr Withers came over to check on Child.

  ‘Right, let’s get you back up to the lab now,’ demanded Dr Withers. Doug and Terry unceremoniously grabbed an arm each and lifted Child up to a standing position, before marching him towards a four-wheel drive utility. Only then did Child realise that the wind was still blowing hard with scattered rain, and that everybody was wet and freezing.

  Half an hour later, after a hot shower and another hot coffee, Child started to feel better. He sat in the old lounge chair dressed in his old woolly jumper, fleecy track pants, thick socks and the old trusty beanie on his head. The medical staff had checked him over and his bruised shoulder was put into a sling. They said he had been lucky that nothing was broken, but he should expect to be stiff for a few days, and he had to rest it. As soon as they left, Child had thrown the sling away and tried to move the shoulder. It was stiffening up already but with some manipulation it should recover quickly.

  Soon the room was crowded with everyone who had come down to watch and wait for the rescue party, all offering to help. Child remained on the sofa, quietly eating a chicken sandwich.

  Dr Withers approached Child with a glass of pale golden liquid.

  ’As promised, here is a proper medicinal. It’s guaranteed to help remove pain, or at least help you forget about it. A bit early in the day but I think you’ve earned it.’

  Child gave Dr Withers a big grin and took a sip. ‘Ah! Pure Kentucky Bourbon — decade old Jack Daniels if I’m not mistaken.’

  ‘Correct,’ smiled Dr Withers, sitting down next to Child. ‘Are you really okay? You had us worried for a moment you know.’

  ‘I’m okay. I’ve warmed up, and all my fingers and toes have feeling. I’m more concerned about Steve and the other two — are they going to make it?’

  Samantha had just entered the room and answered Child’s question, loud enough for everyone to hear.

  ‘I’ve just heard back from the Warkworth doctors. Steve is demanding to be sent home and wants to know what happened. He said he was swimming along, following the line along the sea floor, when something hit his head. The next thing he remembers waking up in the ambulance. They’re going to keep him in for observation tonight, but he should be fine.’

  Cheers erupted from the room.

  ‘You couldn’t hurt Steve by hitting him on his head, it’s the last place to hit him if you wanted to do some damage,’ Child said to Dr Withers, with a grin.

  ‘I agree, as thick as a two bob watch is our Steve,’ replied Dr Withers, also grinning broadly.

  ‘The report on Hans and Yens is not so good,’ continued Samantha. ‘Both will be in intensive care for several days as they’re suffering severe hypothermia. They are on drips and their body temperatures are slowly returning to normal. They’re confident they will live, but another twenty to thirty minutes out on that rock or in the water and they might not have made it.’

  Child continued to smile.

  ‘Hans and Yens are two stubborn old men and they won’t be giving up now,’ he murmured to Dr. Withers.

  With this welcome news, came a loud clamouring of congratulations around the room, people once again shaking Child’s hand. Then he saw Samantha looking over at him with a shy smile on her lips and a speculative glimmer in her eyes.

  Child smiled back and gave her a wink.

  Then closing his eyes and clenching his right fist, his inner thoughts were a personal congratulation.

  Well done Simon, you did it.

  Before he joined the post-operation revelry, Child had another thought playing on his mind.

  What was the strange yellow container that almost caused a disaster?

  Chapter Six

  The building wasn’t the biggest in Auckland. At fifteen stories up with wall to ceiling glass, the office gave an unrestricted view of the inner harbour. The view was spectacular. The harbour bridge dominated the sky to the west, a monument to man’s conquest over the environment, solving the problem of crossing the space of water, linking the North Shore with Auckland city.

  Across the harbour lay Devonport. This port, situated amongst domestic houses was also a naval base. Rangitoto, Motutapu, Waiheke and other inner islands of the Hauraki Gulf were all on display. Behind the buildings, the towering Sky Tower thrust upwards, piercing the clouds, dominating the inner-city skyline towards the south. So distinctive was this structure that it could be seen for up to sixty kilometres away from the north, and from the Bombay hills to the south.

  In a large and impressive inner city penthouse suite hung two Colin McCann original paintings on one wall and three framed university degrees on another. The man sitting in the penthouse suite was oblivious to the spectacular view behind him, as he focused on his main passion in life: making money.

  The dark suit, pressed white shirt and correct college tie, all spoke of a man at the top of the social and financial status. At six foot two, with a clean-shaven appearance, Albert Whittingham still appealed to the opposite sex, even at the age of fifty-two. He dominated the boardrooms of Auckland with his size and presence. He was already an exceptionally wealthy man by New Zealand standards, but like a lot of driven men, this was never enough. One of his latest deals, the taking over of a moderately successful manufacturing business making specialised computer chips, was progressing well and was expected be finalised within the week. It was part of a bigger plan he was constructing. His mobile phone beeped.

  ‘Yes,’ Whittingham answered.

  ‘We’ve had an unexpected problem,’ a deep, gruff voice spoke at the other end.

  This was the call he had been expecting. It was several hours late and not what he wanted to hear. Whittingham kept his voice clear and calm.

  ‘What problem?’

  ‘We’ve lost the package.’

  Whittingham’s voice turned cold with a touch of steel in it. ‘You have lost the package. I’m paying you good money to deliver on a job, and I won’t accept anything else.’

  ‘I’ll get it,’ the gruff voice replied nervously. ‘The weather was against us. We’ll get out and find the package as soon as it clears up. Don’t worry you’ll have it in your hands within forty-eight hours.’

  ‘There is too much money involved for either of us fail. Do whatever’s necessary to get it. I hope I make myself clear.’

  ‘You do.’

  ‘I will be waiting.’

  Whittingham disconnected the call.

  The man with the deep voice placed the phone down. He didn’t like making excuses and didn’t trouble to hide his bad mood. He turned his big frame in the old wooden chair and scowled at the two fishermen. Hugh Jenks and Sandy McCall had worked for their boss for more than three years, and in that time, they had made good money. They were deliverymen and for that they were well paid. They didn’t question or ask what was in the packages, they simply picked them up at sea and delivered them to their boss.

  Lean and weather-beaten Jenks and McCall had been a fishermen all their lives, and partners for about ten years. Getting caught with undersized crayfish had brought them to the attention of their current employer. In return for getting them off the fishing charge
s, they had offered the services of Jenks’s fishing boat for retrieving some unscheduled deliveries. This was the first time there had been any hitch in the proceedings.

  ‘This delivery is important, so you’ll have to try again.’

  The deep voice had an unreal quality about it. It demanded attention.

  ‘Look boss, the weather was atrocious. Even if we found it with the GPS finder, I doubt if we could’ve gotten it on board.’

  Jenks was nervous of his employer and it showed in his voice.

  ‘No one else will be out in this weather — we’ll get out to look as soon as possible.’

  ‘I thought you told me you saw another boat out there.’

  ‘It was a local. He was involved with the rescue of the old Dutchies’. He tried to raise us on the radio, but we kept quiet.’

  ‘So, he saw you then?’

  Jenks wished that he had kept quiet.

  ‘Then you compounded your error by not answering. You could’ve told a convincing lie, claimed you were a returning fishing boat or something. Now he will be wondering who you are. He won’t be able to identify you, will he?’

  ‘No, no.’ Jenks replied, hurriedly. ‘We were too far out for him to see us.’

  ‘Well, you’re still in the clear then,’ said the big man, clearly not convinced. He still needed the two to complete the job.

  ‘I want you out there collecting the cargo as soon as possible. I’m getting pressure from above, so now I’m giving it to you. Get this job done right, and fast.’

  Thoroughly cowed, Jenks and McCall just nodded, but then again, McCall rarely ever said anything and let Jenks do all the speaking. The two men stood with nervous, shuffling feet, heads down, waiting for the next instruction.

  Jenks had tried blackmailing his employer at one time but was found out too early. He’d been picked up, as if he was as light as a feather, by the immense man, slammed against the wall and told quite simply that if he tried anything like that again, he would be digging himself a big hole that he couldn’t climb out of. There was no point going to the police, so Jenks had been loyal ever since.

  The boss sat comfortably in his chair, staring out of the window at the pouring rain.

  ‘We have to be prepared for anything. You’ll get out on the water and find it,’ he ordered, his deep voice resonating around the room. ‘I’ll provide a ground crew in case it has washed up on shore somewhere, and you can contact me here anytime tomorrow. Speak only to me. Contact me as soon as you have the package and I’ll arrange to take it off your hands as quickly as possible. Now get out.’

  Jenks and McCall shuffled towards the door.

  ‘Find it by tomorrow and you get an extra five thousand each,’ the boss called after them.

  The two men headed out of the office, smug grins on their faces.

  Unknown to them, their employer was also thinking about them.

  Frighten them to get what you want, and then throw them some more money as an added incentive.

  He was sure that they would be hard at work trying to earn that extra five thousand tomorrow. Trained sheep couldn’t be more predictable.

  He didn’t consider that the same thing might have been said about him.

  Chapter Seven

  Albert Whittingham gazed out of the window, not seeing the view, instead feeling annoyed that his most daring venture, with profits beyond his wildest dreams, may have been put in jeopardy. There was no escaping the fact that without the package, the venture could not be completed.

  After five minutes lost in deep thought, Whittingham realised that he couldn’t escape the inevitable.

  He opened his mobile phone again and dialed an international number.

  ‘Yes, Ishada speaking,’ the voice answered, in a Japanese accent.

  ‘Kiwi,’ Whittingham said, using his international code word. He waited a moment. ‘We have an unavoidable delay of forty-eight hours.’ He wasted no words.

  ‘Is there a problem that we should know about?’ There was a slight tension in Ishada’s voice.

  ‘No, the last package has simply been delayed, but the situation is under control. Everything will be installed by the arranged time.’

  ‘Mr Whittingham, delays can prove very costly and you are cutting things very fine. You must succeed. You have until midnight on Tuesday to report back to us.’

  The line went dead.

  Whittingham loosened his tie and let out a long sigh. He had been very well paid for his cooperation and organisational skills from the overseas investors. His own profits could also be immense. Failure on his part would interrupt an international financial coup, and people with big money tend to have permanent solutions to weak links. This was a once in a lifetime opportunity. Whittingham knew he was only a big fish in a little pond, but he was ambitious and knew this deal could turn him into a big fish on an international scale.

  In Hong Kong, Kentara Ishada turned to the man sitting on the lounge suite. The two men were in Ishada’s large office on the top floor of the Kang Di Corporation building. Ishada was of medium height, slim and athletic, and his daily routine included three hours of Karate training at the prestigious Sagasuti Dojo.

  At the age of forty, the financial wizard was a billionaire. The fact that most of his wealth was made via illegal and ruthless practices didn’t worry him one bit. In the new postwar age of Oriental wealth, winning was the only requirement.

  If the Hong Kong police could have access to his personal computer files, some dozen or more cases of commercial fraud and even homicide would have been solved. Although his name was Japanese, Ishada was Chinese in heritage from his mother’s side, a rare combination even today.

  Ishada’s companion could not have been more different. Kioki, which was the only name that he required, was an ex-Sumo wrestler. Kioki had just failed to become a grand master in Sumo. He was beaten by a much smaller man and was unable to forget the humiliation this caused him and his family. He changed his name and turned his talents to less honorable causes, but with much more success. He discovered that he had an incredibly imaginative mind that often went along divergent paths in the search of answers. He had been working with Ishada for five years and in that time, had saved his life twice from assignation attempts, and removed four reluctant businessmen who foolishly opposed him.

  ‘We have a slight problem concerning the Dang Experiment,’ said Ishada to Kioki. ‘Whittingham has reported a delay of the package,’

  Kioki was not just a large man, Ishada had quickly found that among his other talents, he had a sharp appreciation of the dealings of business. He had often added finishing touches of brilliance to the financial dealings of his employer.

  ‘We still have time, you allowed for two days for unexpected developments. This has just shown that your forward planning was on target, as always,’ said Kioki, his voice calm and thoughtful. ‘Perhaps we should prepare the emergency shipment, just in case the package is lost for good or delayed further.’

  ‘You are right, Kioki,’ said Ishida, nodding solemnly. ‘Prepare the reserve component. Only this time, if it’s required, you will travel with it to ensure that there are no more problems. Factions within the Chinese government have gone to considerable expense and time to help us with this little endeavour. It would not serve us well to disappoint them. The potential for financial gains from Hong Kong are enormous, and I intend to be here to take full advantage of them.’

  Kioki looked at Ishada. The two men had a similar disregard for human life.

  ‘When the Dang Experiment goes into operation you will have no further need for the Chinese, or for anyone else, for that matter,’ said Kioki, his voice remaining calm. ‘You will be able to name your own price, and get it, with no questions asked. All the big businesses will quietly pay you to prevent operations against them, then pay again to use the technology on their competitors.’

  Kioki’s tone was confident. Every contingency had been thought of and by using the gullible Chinese to do th
e donkeywork required, no trace led back to the Kang Di Corporation.

  Ishada smiled.

  ‘You reassure me once again, Kioki. The Dang Experiment is industrial blackmail on a scale previously unheard of — and the beauty of it is, that at no one will ever report it.’

  Ishada turned and looked out over the inner harbour towards Kowloon, with its traditional fishing junks heading in from a night’s fishing. The small boats intermingled with container ships and super-liners in one of the world’s busiest ports.

  Ishada smiled again.

  Everything will work out perfectly.

  Chapter Eight

  Less than thirty hours after the rescue mission, Child was out on the water again preparing for a dive. He was sitting on the edge of the fourteen-foot Zodiac dive boat. He and his companions were at the back of Goat Island, getting ready to investigate the caves once more.

  Conditions couldn’t have been more different now: the sea had calmed to a gentle swell, the wind had dropped to a cool breeze, and underwater conditions for diving were much improved. Water clarity was still not ideal but it had cleared considerably after the storm, with visibility out to nearly five metres.

  Samantha had volunteered to be a diving companion. She was keen to investigate the hidden seaward caves of Goat Island. Ritson was also on board; he had recovered quickly with only bandage covering the eight stitches across his forehead. However, common sense prevailed and due to his head injuries, he had decided not to dive today.

  The thirty-horse powered Johnson outboard engine had easily pushed the Zodiac through the sea, and minutes after leaving the shore, the boat was opposite the cave entrance. Bright sunlight coloured the shallows a light turquoise, and the sea was a dark, mysterious blue where the water was deepest.