Seventh (The Seventh Wave Trilogy Book 1)

by Lewis Hastings

The site explained that after returning to Hong Kong, Tsang worked as a senior superintendent in the Drug Squad until promotion to chief superintendent in 2010 when he was posted to the Security Wing. He was now knocking on the door of the rank of assistant commissioner and had been tasked with heading up the newly formed Organized Crime and Triad Bureau.

  The webpage explained that the Bureau investigated complex organised crime and serious triad offences and worked with international enforcement agencies to exchange intelligence, and as the site succinctly put it, to ‘neutralise illegal activities’.

  He smiled and said out aloud, “Right up your street Andy, my old son, right up your street.”

  His bedroom phone rang. The woman’s voice announced that his car had arrived. He travelled down to the lobby in the gold-coloured lift, leaning on the brown leather-panelled walls as his ears adjusted to the change in pressure, exited quietly into the dark wood hallway and waited for a man in uniform to arrive.

  “Well, look what the cat dragged in, if it is not my old British friend Jackie Cade!”

  The voice was Tsang’s and the reference to Jackie Chan was not lost.

  Cade spun around and dropped into a mocking martial arts pose, knowing that whilst he was relatively proficient, he would have lasted but a moment at the hands of Andy Tsang.

  Tsang was lean and had looks that belied his age. He was immaculate in a dark navy suit, white shirt and scarlet tie with a matching handkerchief peeking out from his breast pocket. His black leather brogues were startlingly clean.

  They exchanged a fierce handshake and looked one another up and down before announcing mutually that they looked well.

  “You’ve done well, Andy; I’ve been reading your bio. All rather impressive Acting Commissioner!”

  “Thank you Jack, it’s good to see you again, been a long time, too long, how have you been?”

  Cade explained that life had been good since they had last met, but Tsang sensed that something was missing.

  “Have you eaten Jack? You look tired, come on I know a great restaurant and I’ll even pay!”

  “OK, is it far?” replied Cade.

  “No, in fact it’s walking distance.”

  Tsang laughed, walked to the concierge and handed him his car keys, knowing that they would be looked after. Tsang’s face was well known, despite it being a city of seven million people.

  “This place has a number of Michelin starred restaurants, but I know somewhere that is going to be dearer to your heart, old chap.” He mocked Cade’s accent, “Come on, we have some serious eating and catching up to do. Afterwards we can hit the town if you are still up to it!”

  Tsang had lost none of his appetite for the finer things – his current salary and status in the region meant that he was living a very pleasant lifestyle, but instead of walking into the French restaurant they entered the infamous bar known as The Chinnery.

  Named after the famous British artist George Chinnery, the bar epitomised an old English gentleman’s club, complete with deep upholstered armchairs, green leather banquettes and warm wood panelling.

  It offered something rarely seen in the world of celebrity chefs and on-demand catering; a laid-back alternative to fine dining restaurants, offering traditional British cuisine such as bangers and mash, fish and chips, and steak and ale pie.

  Rather rebelliously it was exactly what Cade fancied. He placed his order for the fish, which was a Haddock fillet fried in Boddingtons beer batter and homemade chips and sipped, much to Tsang’s amusement on some mineral water. He was pacing himself.

  The Chinnery was also home to one of the world’s largest collections of single malt whiskies, with over 109 varieties it was a challenge for even the most ardent drinker.

  Tsang ordered pan-fried John Dory with new season vegetables served with a mussel and clam broth. He had acquired a European palette during his time in France.

  The food arrived and Tsang and Cade began to put the world to rights, covering off the past as quickly as they could. They had first met in Lyon when Cade had also been seconded to the Interpol General Secretariat, he as an Investigator, his Chinese counterpart as a liaison officer.

  He beckoned the waiter to the table and ordered a couple of drinks; he chose a Johnnie Walker Blue Label – a rarity in many countries, whilst a protesting Cade decided upon a fifteen-year-old Aberfeldy, a drink he had not been able to sample for many years.

  It was good to be in Andy Tsang’s company again. He clashed his crystal glass against his counterparts and proposed a toast.

  “Let us hunt down the bastards and make them pay!”

  “Agreed!”

  Tsang didn’t realise that Cade had a specific group of bastards in his sights but was always willing to raise a glass.

  “Gam bei!” announced Tsang.

  “Cheers,” replied Cade.

  Over the next few hours he outlined what had been happening. He painted a remarkable picture of the amazing woman who had entered his life and who had left it so abruptly.

  Tsang could see his friend was starting to struggle to find the words and so steered him skilfully away from the subject, for the time being at least.

  Cade returned to the theme briefly and then explained the two main reasons for returning to Hong Kong.

  “Number One? Going through Los Angeles is such a pain…Hong Kong is so much easier! No, seriously Andy, I need to pick your brains on who I might be dealing with. I may need your help, if that’s OK? I think I’ve inadvertently stumbled across some of our old sparring partners from Romania, they are linked into so much of my past and now, well now they feature in my future too, oh and Number Two, to give you this.”

  He leant across the table and placed an envelope into Tsang’s hand.

  “Suggest you open it at home, it’s all above board, but I owe it to you for that suggestion a few years ago at Happy Valley. It’s Kiwi dollars too, worth more at the moment!”

  As he opened the envelope and examined it contents Tsang cast his mind back to the last time they were together and began to smile.

  Cade had travelled to Hong Kong in 2006 following his unexpected ‘career break’ from the British Police. He also recalled there was an issue with his wife, Penny, yes that was it, Penny, attractive girl apparently, but slightly unhinged.

  He remembered how Cade had been desperate to start a new life, one without the bitterness, but still be able to hold on to the brighter parts of his past.

  Back then they were working on an operation targeting an Eastern European crime syndicate; it was all coming back to him now. Cade had taken a career break after calling his boss a…what was it now? That’s right, a complete fuckwit. Andy Tsang had never heard of the phrase before, but would use it from that day onwards.

  Cade had left Britain and arrived in Hong Kong en route to the southern hemisphere and had offered to act as a consultant to the HKP, surprisingly for free; he felt so passionate about the damage that a select group of Europeans were doing and wanted to make a difference. Tsang remembered thinking that Cade was either mentally ill or a spy. He soon learned that he was in fact neither, just a decent man who cared about right, and wrong, and besides he was willing, in a city driven by financial gain, to work for nothing. He probably was mentally ill.

  Together they had spent a few weeks hunting a couple of European targets who were believed to be in Asia and despite the odds being stacked against them they succeeded.

  Two of the most wanted Romanian financial crime targets had been apprehended trying to leave Hong Kong Airport. They were in possession of masses of personal bank information, obtained using a system that had previously not been observed in any part of the world.

  They saw Hong Kong as a honey pot and stripped it bare. Or at least they had until the cold, determined hand of Andy Tsang had landed upon their shoulders as they stepped onto a late-night Lufthansa flight bound for Munich.

  Tsang and his team were lauded as international thief-takers and although, deliberately
, Cade had not been mentioned in the press coverage that followed, both Tsang, his bosses and importantly Cade’s old management team knew that he was heavily involved in the capture.

  Cade was offered a law enforcement key to the city.

  The night that the pair was convicted saw Tsang and his team celebrate by hitting the town, painting it red and every other possible shade, descending upon The Chinnery to clear almost the top shelf and eventually after being asked politely to leave they ended up at Happy Valley an iconic location of its own making.

  As the team left the Mandarin Oriental, the managers gathered to count their gains; never before had their prized collection been so brutally attacked. The night would enter into local folklore and would never be repeated. The last round alone, bought by the poor Englishman, was valued at over two and half thousand Hong Kong dollars.

  However, the poor Englishman was now a part of that team and as long as Tsang was in the Hong Kong force he always would be. They were poured into taxis and made their way to the famous horse racing stadium.

  Their spontaneous fleet was waved goodbye with a promise that they would be needed later. The drivers accepted, quite readily, that they would not be paid for their services; it was, if you like, a way of life when dealing with government agencies.

  “Come on, Cade! This way, there are six races left, bring your wallet, Englishman – I have friends in low places, let us see if we can win back what that last round just cost you!”

  Cade was amazed at how sober his Chinese counterpart appeared to be; he was an absolute professional in the station but utterly ruthless in a bar, Cade simply couldn’t keep up and was starting to stagger a little, his speech was slurred and his eyes glazed – the classic signs of drunkenness.

  They all paid their minimal entry fee and wondered into the racecourse, the home of the Hong Kong Jockey Club and arguably one of the most impressive horse racing venues in the world.

  Cade shook his head to clear his senses and looked at his surroundings. He was amazed to see upwards of twenty thousand people, all there for one thing, to gamble.

  The course was surrounded by magnificent skyscrapers, dramatic hills, apartment blocks and graveyards. People came from across the island and mainland China just to have a chance to increase their wealth. For many, risking a month’s wages was worth the gamble, with an outside chance of changing their lives forever.

  “Tell me, Cade, how much are you going to bet? I’ve had some inside information…” He tapped the side of his nose and started to laugh.

  Cade was desperately trying to rid his body of alcohol, so gave his wallet to his colleague.

  “I’m off to the gents Tsang. Put it on Alimony in the first, The Other Woman in the final race and…oh I don’t know Andy, it’s your call – put it all on for all I care. Stick it on one of those quilena things.” He laughed at his own inability to pronounce a simple word.

  Tsang held his right hand up to his mouth and shouted, “You mean a quinella! You win if you get a combination of first or second. Sure, I’ll sort it out, my friend. If we win, you owe me a thousand bucks!”

  Cade waved his left hand, caring not one jot about what Tsang had just said.

  Tsang took the bulky wallet, opened it, and by some coincidence handed over the equivalent of a thousand pounds. The old woman behind the counter didn’t flinch, wrote down the bet, and gave Tsang his slip before attending to the never-diminishing queue.

  Cade staggered off to the gents, making his way haphazardly through a sea of excited punters heading past him and back towards the racing. The smell of the course was unforgettable, the sense of anticipation palpable.

  He entered a cubicle, pulled down his trousers, sat on the cool seat, leant against the wall and almost instantly fell into a deep sleep.

  Outside the toilets, the noise was intense as eager race goers urged on their chosen steeds; it was like a highly organised, highly disciplined riot but with huge sums at stake and absolutely no need for the slightest police presence.

  The second race had finished with Alimony thundering into first place, clouds of vapour emitting from its fiery nostrils as its jockey egged it over the finishing line to roars of approval from the eclectic mix of locals, tourists and expats.

  Cade woke with a start, finished what he had never begun and left the crowded facilities, making his way back up a flight of concrete steps to where he last remembered seeing the team. He had also just recalled how much money he had actually put into his wallet when he left his room at the Oriental.

  “Jack, we are over here!” Tsang yelled through the crowd.

  Cade apologised to all and sundry as he made his way, rather awkwardly towards the squad, “I’m on the way my men, I’m on my way!”

  It all seemed so safe; Hong Kong was and still is a very safe haven. Or perhaps it was because he was in the company of a successful police unit who had an almost legendary status for their ability to apprehend criminals.

  He made it to Tsang’s side as the third race commenced.

  “Sorry, Andy, I got a bit lost.”

  “You won! The old girl made it home in first place; you are up three thousand already.”

  Cade could only smile. A few thousand Hong Kong was not to be sniffed at. For now the wallet was empty but for a few bank cards, a driving licence and a white betting slip on which his future appeared in Cantonese.

  Green Eyed Monster came home a close second. Cade was slumped over the railings and hadn’t even realised that his winnings were slowly, exponentially growing.

  As they stood in virtual daylight a British Airways 747 cruised overhead, on final approach to the airport, affording its passengers a brilliant view of the event below.

  Back on the ground Cade was finally sobering up. He had plied himself with bottled water from a nearby vendor, much to the amusement and feigned horror of his newly adopted team who declared him a ‘British lightweight’.

  Despite his lack of alcoholic athleticism, he was attracting a lot of attention from the group; constables, sergeants and inspectors, all good men, loyal to the fight and now it seemed very loyal to Cade.

  “They are a great bunch Andy, they seem to like me?”

  “Jack, that horse coming in second just put your winnings up to twenty thousand, of course they like you!”

  He was now sober. Very.

  “Twenty? How? Why?”

  “Jack, don’t worry, you’ll end up losing it all, we always do. Have some fun while you can – then later, you can leave here miserable like everyone else!”

  “And it’s Admiral’s Lad from Quartermaster…”

  It was all Cade needed to hear; another first. He was every problem gambler’s nemesis. He knew two tenths of sod all about horses, let alone racing them around a track, and yet here he was staring down the barrel of…how much?

  Actually, he hadn’t even begun to work it out. As his overpaid Chinese bookies’ runner had announced, all too flippantly, he’d lose it all, anyway.

  But what if?

  “Golden Jubilee by a nose from Aardvark!” announced the excited commentator.

  “Jack, Aardvark is one of yours. Check the slip. You need two more. Get ready to buy another round!” Tsang gestured with his right hand, feverishly jabbing at the indecipherable names on the simple paper slip.

  He was correct. It was. This was now getting a little too surreal. And Cade was now a little too sober. He needed a drink.

  “Come on, Andy, I need a drink. I can’t do this; I’ve never risked so much money. This is by far the most stupid, reckless thing I’ve ever done since that time in 1999 when Penny convinced me to…”

  “But you need to watch. How are you going to let your grandchildren hear of how the great Jack Cade won so much money in the Orient?”

  Cade was as persistent as he could be and led them to a nearby bar from where he could both drink and observe.

  “Grandchildren? At this rate I won’t be around to have them, I’ll have suffered a prematur
e death from a heart attack and in my dying words I shall blame you Tsang!” He raised his glass once more, “Cheers.”

  “You need to start living, Jackie boy,” said an animated Tsang. He raised his glass, “Gam bei – come on – follow me.”

  Moments later they were at the finish line, ushered through the manic crowd by a Steward who had spotted the important visitor among the throng.

  A few of the unit had joined them and were now as animated as their boss.

  They watched the amusingly named Kinky Sect cruise across the line, a leisurely second, a long way behind the winner, but it mattered not. It was the penultimate winner Cade needed. Money was no longer on his mind, now it was all about putting a very large finger up at his former partner – if he won a reasonable sum, at least enough to help him live the next stage of his dream, then so much the better.

  “And they are off!” The commentator announced the list of runners, almost breathlessly, introducing each as if he had his own personal fortune resting on the result. Perhaps he did?

  The front runners thundered past Cade and his growing entourage, the combined effect of so many intensely bred animals, the exotic location, the baying crowd and the potentially large amount of money, now poised on a financial cliff top made it one of the most outrageous things that he had ever encountered and he’d encountered a few.

  He was feeling intoxicated by the experience and as the pack began to splinter, allowing the front six to make a break for the finish, he took a long, deep, deliberate breath. Each exquisite animal strained to stay ahead of its peer, ligaments tauter than a long bow’s drawstring, looking fit to burst; nostrils flared, eyes widened, hooves rhythmically drumming onto the dew-laden turf. He could smell the turf, feel them approaching, the growing vibrations manifesting themselves through the damp grass and into his own body. It was incredible.

  He couldn’t hear now. He didn’t need to. He still had his eyesight and that allowed him to watch The Other Woman come sensationally from behind, romping home to a resounding first place.

  He punched the air, throwing his plastic glass sky high, its contents disappearing into the night. He was now laughing too; the irony of the winner coming from behind was certainly not lost on him. It was a personal moment of sheer delight; complete and incredible delight.