Red Dragons

by K W Frost

  Child was talking to Red Mac and another old timer called Salty McQuire, who had been around as long as anyone. Child’s ears pricked up when Red Mac commented about the other mad boatie he had spotted on the morning of the rescue. He had seen some lights further out to sea, moving back and forth across a stretch of ocean. He had thought that they might be helping in the search for Yens and Hens, but he had no idea who they were and hadn’t been able to raise them on the radiotelephone. Eventually, the lights disappeared and nothing was seen of them again. Red Mac assumed they had made it out of the storm as no boats were reported missing.

  Child had his own thoughts about what they were searching for.

  His thoughts were interrupted when three men entered the pub. Child noticed them because of the hard look on their faces. Their eyes scanned the room as they gathered by the bar, silently challenging anyone who dared to approach.

  It wasn’t the first time bikies had drunk at this pub. Child thought it odd that there were no “patches” on their leather jackets as it was obvious to everyone there that the men were gang members.

  The two smaller men turned and found a bar table. Both wore dirty black jeans and white t-shirts. One was heavily built and obviously worked out in a gym, showing huge tattooed biceps and bulging shoulder muscles. The other man was slim and wiry, but his hatchet face showed the two scars that reflected the vicious mind inside. Out of the two of them, it was clear he was most dangerous.

  The tallest of the three men went to the bar and ordered a jug of beer each. He was also heavily built with a dagger tattoo on his left forearm. His faded blue jeans stretched tight over strong thighs and his boots clumped as they hit the parquet floor. The three men gathered at their table and talked quietly amongst themselves. Slowly the rest of the patrons continued their own conversations and the usual level of noise returned.

  Half an hour later, Child was no nearer finding out anything new. If anybody knew anything they were keeping it to themselves. Child went to the bar and ordered himself another beer. His drink had just arrived when two of the bikies stood and approached the bar to stand either side of him. Picking up his beer, Child stepped backwards and bumped into the third gang member.

  ‘Watch what you are doing,’ said the big bikie. ‘You wouldn’t want to have an accident, would you?’

  The bike’s voice was laced with malice. The speaker leaned in further, his face within inches of Child’s. His eyes stared hard into Child’s while his mouth twisted into a snarl. Child moved back against the bar where the other bodies trapped him.

  ‘No more questions about the Canta Rosie, alright?’ hissed the leader. ‘No more questions about a certain yellow container, get it?’

  The long, dank hair of the speaker shook as he emphasised each point with a jab of a finger against Child’s chest. If Child felt threatened by this, he certainly didn’t look it. He leant back against the bar, and then pursed his lips and a shrill whistle sounded. Everyone stopped talking, and in the silence, all eyes turned to look at the group at the bar. The three bikies froze. The only sound was a faint scraping of chairs and scuffling of feet.

  ‘Before you try anything, I suggest you look over your shoulder,’ suggested Child, calmly. The bikie glanced over his shoulder to see a circle of men standing around them. They were the long-time patrons of the bar, all hard men in their own right. No one said anything. All three bikies stepped back. They didn’t like what they saw, and the odds weren’t in their favour. The two at the bar glanced over to their leader, unsure about what to do next.

  At six foot two with huge shoulders, the leader wasn’t easily put off. He turned back to Child, his eyes narrowed.

  ‘You heard the warning, take heed,’ he said. ‘Come on we’re going,’ he barked at the other two bikies.

  Silently, the semi-circle of patrons opened up to let the bikies pass through.

  ‘What was all that about?’ asked Red Mac after they had left.

  ‘They were trying to scare me off trying to find that boat I was asking you about,’ said Child.

  ‘Will they?’

  ‘No,’ Child said. ‘It’ll take more than a bikie threat to stop me.’

  ‘There’s more to this than we know, isn’t there?’ continued Red Mac.

  ‘Yeah,’ replied Child, quietly.

  ‘You need help, you come see us boyo,’ said Red Mac.

  ‘Thanks Mac, if I need the help, you bet I’ll ask. Right now, all I want to know is who owns the Canta Rosie.’

  Child slowly withdrew from conversations in the bar, his senses still working overtime and his mind elsewhere.

  It was an hour later when Child said his farewells to his friends in the bar. Walking out to his utility parked in the shadows around the corner, Child was thinking, reviewing the day’s events and he didn’t particularly like the conclusions he was coming to. As he approached his utility he noticed that one of the tyres was flat. It wasn’t until he bent down to examine it that he discovered it had been slashed with a knife. Cursing softly under his breath, he circled the utility to check the rest of his tyres. Fortunately, the bikies had only vented their anger on one tyre.

  Child was just getting the jack and wheel brace out of his utility, when he heard the crunch of gravel behind him. As he turned with the wheel brace out in front of him, he only had time to utter a shrill yell before three figures came at him from the shadows, striking in a pack like the predators they were.

  From Child’s right came the stouter, heavier bikie. With a short length of heavy chain twirling in his right hand, he swung the chain in a horizontal sweep towards Child’s chest.

  Child dropped to all fours. He heard the whistle of the chain passing overhead and powered himself forward, hitting his opponent in his right kidney with the point of his right shoulder. It was a crippling blow and should have put the recipient out of the fight for good. The bikie grunted and staggered back, sinking to his knees. Child landed on his feet and immediately sent the wheel brace, in his left hand, swinging in its own arc of destruction. The wiry bikie approaching from the left walked straight into it. Reacting swiftly the smaller bikie swayed back and the wheel brace missed most of his face but managed to connect with the man’s nose, smashing his nose cartilage sideways, spreading his nasal features over his face. Blood spurted from the split skin and torn blood vessels within, showering over his black jacket. The bikie staggered back out of the conflict, mouthing obscenities.

  Child’s face jerked back as the tallest bikie leader swung his right fist up into his chin. The left fist followed, hitting Child in the stomach, taking the wind out of him. Child jack-knifed forward and instinctively twisted his face to the left, nearly missing the swiftly rising knee. Instead, it caught Child on the shoulder lifting him upright. Child used the momentum of the lift to add extra power as he punched savagely into the soft genitals of the big bikie. A hoarse scream echoed around the car park and the bikie collapsed towards the ground, one hand staying on his ruined sexual organs. As he fell, his left hand reached out and grabbed Child’s jacket, pulling Child off balance and down with him. Laid on top of him on the ground, Child smashed his fists into his component’s face with short sharp jabs, but still the bikie held on.

  Realising that he had little time left, Child changed tactics. With his left hand he grabbed hold of the wrist of the hand holding him down before arching his body upwards to give himself room for the next blow. Child punched his open right hand hard against the elbow joint. Forcing it upwards and outwards, the elbow joint was dislocated and a clear “pop” was heard. The bikie gripped his left hand and then rolled away, moaning loudly.

  The wiry man with the now-broken nose had recovered enough to launch another attack. He took full advantage of the time Child had spent on the ground. His steel capped boot thudded into Child’s ribcage, causing Child to grunt in pain as he felt a rib crack under the blow. Child rolled and rolled across the ground, trying to escape the vicious swinging boots.

  Again and agai
n the steel toes kicked out at Child’s body. Child managed to avoid major damage but took blows to the shoulders, hips and back.

  Then Child’s luck ran out.

  During the frantic rolling he had lost all sense of direction, and he had rolled right over to where his first assailant was now staggering to his feet. As Child rolled into him, the bikie dropped down and drove his knees into the soft part of Child’s midriff.

  Child lay unprotected on the ground, gasping.

  Vengeful fists smashed into his face, splitting his lips, puffing up one eye. Boots crunched into his side, and with another groan Child felt a second rib give way under the onslaught.

  Child struggled to stay conscious. Lights seem to burst inside his head, and he was vaguely aware of a strong hand turning his head upright. Squinting out of his one good eye he saw a thin, weasel face above him.

  ‘Remember, no more questions,’ the bikie snarled.

  One final, vicious punch was thrown with real anger, belting Child on the head. Child’s last memory was the image of the three men staggering away into the darkness, before he lapsed into unconsciousness.

  Only a minute had elapsed since Child had called out, to the moment when the patrons of the pub found him unconscious and bleeding on the ground outside.

  Chapter Fourteen

  It was the small hours of the morning when the shadow slipped into the hospital. He had easily eluded the two staff members on duty. Quietly opening the ward door, the shadow approached Child in his hospital bed. He knew that Child probably wouldn’t wake for hours yet, due to the drugs sedation. However, this was the state he wanted Child to be in. Bending over Child, the intruder placed one hand over Child’s mouth and squeezed his earlobe with the other. The intense pain caused Child to gain consciousness.

  Child awoke slowly as if in a dream, dimly seeing the shape of the man now gently shaking him awake.

  ‘What, what is it?’ Child stammered weakly.

  ‘It’s all right, I am a friend, I’m here to help you,’ the intruder replied. The deep voice had a calming, hypnotic effect. ‘I’m here to help you — help you remember what happened.’

  ‘What happened?’ whispered Child.

  ‘Yes, remember what happened yesterday.’

  ‘I saved some men,’ mumbled Child, the drugs making it hard for him to concentrate, to stay awake.

  ‘Yes and after that?’

  ‘We got the yellow container,’ stammered Child.

  ‘Yes, good… now what did you do with the yellow container?’

  ‘We took it home.’

  ‘Good, good… and what happened to the contents of the container?’

  ‘Drugs, drugs,’ murmured Child, then as his memory returned, he cried out. ‘The false alarm, the false alarm.’

  ‘Shhhhh, shhh,’ hushed the intruder, not wanting to be disturbed. ‘Now, where are the contents of the yellow container?’

  ‘I don’t know, they were taken,’ replied Child quietly, subdued now.

  ‘Where’s the computer board from the yellow container?’

  ‘What computer board?’ Child responded weakly, momentarily confused. Although he couldn’t remember why, he knew that he mustn’t say anything about the computer board.

  ‘The computer board in the yellow plastic container, that you found this morning.’ The intruder was quietly insistent. ‘Tell me where it is.’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Child muttered, pretending to drift of to sleep.

  The shadow reached down and put his hand over Child’s mouth and with the other he pinched his nose shut. Child had no option but to wake up.

  ‘Tell me where the computer board is, the one that you found in the yellow container is. Tell me, tell me, tell me.’

  The intruder’s voice was quiet yet demanding. Child had to resist with all his will power not to tell him what he wanted to know, and while Child fought the battle in mind, the voice of the shadow kept repeating.

  ‘Tell me where the computer board is. Tell me, tell me, tell me.’

  Child struggled with his thoughts. Why not tell him? Get out of this before more damage was done. Why not…

  Child was about to give in, so insistent was the voice, when suddenly it stopped. The shadow dropped to the floor and slid away as the ward door opened to reveal one of the night nurses. Child strained to hear the noises, as they somehow gave him a hold on reality, something real to concentrate on. Then, hearing only the dull beating of his own heart, Child slipped back into unconsciousness.

  Chapter Fifteen

  The long, supple fingers quickly tapped out the fourteen-digit telephone number. It was 11am in New Zealand. However, it was only 6am in Washington, ten thousand kilometres away, where the telephone rang.

  Bronson looked up from the report he was reading as the red light flashed on his communications board. Dozens of agents around the world had that number. It was a secure line, routinely swept free from bugging or any other listening devices. He reached forward and punched a button, opening the telephone line.

  ‘34 C Kiwi,’ said a voice at the other end of the line, using a simple but effective code to establish identity.

  ‘Report,’ replied Bronson.

  ‘Situation confused. Evidence of computer component board has been established. Unable to secure without destroying established identity. Attempted smuggling of a large quantity of cocaine into the country. Bounty came in watertight container dropped from a major ship. Requested permission to investigate the possibilities of finding out ports of origin of the ships in area on the night of question. Fortunately, a local interrupted the initial operation and although the drugs were retaken, the computer board was missed. I am still trying to regain possession of it. I believe we may have a break through, as Kang must now react to the loss.’

  The report was concise, factual, without unnecessary conjecture, just like Bronson wanted them to be. Kiwi was an ideal agent in many ways. His decision on the report was immediate.

  ‘Three personnel will be dispatched as backup. Expect arrival in twelve hours. Code names of Eagle One, Two and Three. They will be fully resourced. Expect reports daily.’

  ‘Kiwi 34 C, end.’

  Kiwi smiled in satisfaction both at the content of the conversation, and at the total time of the call being less than the permissible two minutes over an unsecured line. Bronson would be pleased with the efficiency of his agent.

  Bronson leant back in his chair, the fingers of his left hand lightly drumming on the desktop as he thought. Bronson was dressed in an immaculate pinstriped business suit. He looked and acted like a highflying executive, which he was. With a PhD in psychology and an honours degree in economics and accounting he could have been at the top of his field and made millions. Then he had been recruited away from the life of a business executive and into the much more interesting and challenging job of counter intelligence. He had shown himself to be an expert in this line of work, and he had quickly risen to a head of a department.

  Bronson had sent agents to select locations around the globe, all because of a memory stick and whispers in underground circles. The break into a top-class computer factory specialising in satellite defence systems was the final piece of evidence prompting Bronson to act.

  The whisper came from Japan, where it might not have even surfaced, if it hadn’t been for the recent financial upheavals. These same upheavals meant that the whisper could not be ignored. Many people were facing ruin, both financially and of political power, so they would stop at nothing to retain or even increase their control.

  The doom merchants on the sixth floor had come up with some interesting scenarios, when they had heard of the stolen hardware taken from the computer factory. Bronson had ignored them until one whisper confirmed that one of the possibilities may in fact be in play. Then the source dried up and no further contact was made. Then the memory stick arrived.

  For the first time, an agent had reported on something that was possibly related to this situation. New Zealand
was considered a potential hot spot as the president of the United States was due to travel there for the upcoming Asia and Pacific economic conference. Security measures were already in place, and the agents hardly needed reminding of their job. The deadline for the anticipated timetable was fast approaching. Yet Bronson knew nothing of real value. His reaction to send three backup personnel was instinctive, and he had long since learnt to trust his instincts.

  Bronson now wondered if he should send in more help. The Eagle team was one of the best available, and other agents may be needed in different parts of the world if additional information came forward.

  It was the doubt and the unknown that concerned him. Was it just some financial power struggle? Or, because the president was in New Zealand, was it something more? Was the president in danger?

  He needed more information.

  Kiwi 34 had better come through.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Child awoke slowly from a deep sleep. He thought he was alone. Slowly turning his head towards the window, he saw Samantha sitting quietly in a chair reading an oceanography book. He lay there looking at her for a few minutes, somehow not surprised by her presence, until she became aware of his gaze.

  ‘Hello there, how are you feeling?’ asked Samantha.

  ‘Okay, I guess. Mind you, I’ve had better days,’ replied Child.

  ‘You were pretty badly beaten.’

  ‘Yeah, I know,’ Child muttered, his voice sounding strangely hollow.

  He was recovering by the minute. He could easily bring to mind the faces he had seen in the hotel bar that night. He was over any concussion he might have had. The men’s faces were marked in his brain. He wasn’t sure if he would ever see them again, but if he did, he would know who they were.