All in all, Madman had a craft that gave off hardly any heat signature, was below the larger waves, and went across the ninety miles of the Taiwan Strait so quickly that it was nearly impossible to detect. But on important occasions such as this, Baron had also bribed someone in the military to make sure that no one signaled any alert during the designated time period.
“Now, each of you is to lie down on the floor of the boat and hold on with one of the short ropes,” Madman told the group. “You are to lie down on the pipes and keep your faces down to avoid giving off a heat signature that can be detected by special equipment the military have. Do you understand?”
There being no questions, the Chinese, each with a knapsack of their most precious belongings--most of which were simply clothes--lay down on the plastic pipes and hung onto the ropes.
The passengers would soon learn that Madman Cheng had not earned his name by a fluke. He had been so named because he went so insanely fast across the Taiwan Strait that he was nearly impossible to catch.
Once the passengers were in place and huddled up close together, Madman put two of his heat-shield blankets around them and fastened them with a nylon rope, as if trying to bundle them. He put on a suit, consisting of a pair of overalls and a make-shift pullover top with a hood whose cord pulled tightly around the outside of his face, which he had made for himself of the same material with the foil to the inside.
“Everyone ready?” he asked.
The frightened Chinese grabbed on tightly to the little ropes as Madman pushed the strange craft away from the shore. The craft drifted out twenty feet and was race ready.
“Everyone hold on,” he said loudly.
He started the monstrous outboard motor. As it sprang to life, Madman put a wide leather belt with two metal rings on it, one on each side, around his waist. Two nylon ropes were attached to the deck, each with a ring connector on it, which he fastened, one to each side of his belt. This would hold him to the boat. Otherwise, at the speeds he would be traveling when bouncing off waves, he would be thrown off. He also put on goggles, black plastic with clear lenses, and looked like a crazed WW I fighter pilot.
“Here we go!”
Madman engaged the propeller and pushed the throttle. The boat leaped, its front end pointing up, then slowly laying down into skimming position as its speed increased. Sixty, seventy, eighty, and then ninety miles per hour, the unusual craft bounced off the waves, pounding its passengers violently.
Madman was at his best. The horrified Chinese, scared nearly to death, managed to hang on for their lives, the salt water spraying them from time to time. On larger waves they were bounced into the air, each holding on to his rope for dear life. Madman stood to the aft, his ropes holding him to the hull, the spray of the sea soaking him as he maintained control of his stealthy craft, traveling at an unimaginable pace across the Taiwan Strait.
The wild ride came to an end, and Madman eased off the throttle as he approached his secret spot on the Island of Taiwan, formerly known as Formosa, where Deng Lee and Nikolay Bogomazov waited for them. As Madman approached the shore he shut down the massive outboard and coasted the final twenty yards. A big sigh of relief could be heard from the passengers and they started to chatter to each other, not having been able to talk during the ordeal.
“Be quiet!” Madman barked in Mandarin.
“Come this way, and no talking,” Lee said, beckoning to them.
They scurried ashore like rats off a ship, grateful to be safe from the death-defying experience at sea with Madman Cheng. Nikolay stood by, taking charge, but he could not communicate as he did not speak Mandarin. Lee and Madman huddled together regarding payment. Lee gave him the agreed amount, the difference of what the baron was paying and what the passengers had paid. Then, turning so that that Nikolay and the passengers could not see, Madman slipped a bag containing a kilo of heroine out of his coat, and passed it to Lee.
Lee looked inside and weighed it in his hand as best he could to see if it was a full kilo. “Is this pure and uncut? If you have cut this, you will owe me money. I’m paying for pure heroin.”
“It is one hundred per cent pure.” Of course, Madman lied, but the cut was only ten percent. If Lee had not ground him down so much in advance on the price, Madman would not have had to cut it. They had set up arrangements in advance on the Internet. The baron didn’t know about the transaction, but such side deals were common. Their business complete, they parted and Madman left for another daredevil passage across the Taiwan Strait.
Lee addressed the group in Mandarin. “Mr. Bogomazov will be hiding you for several days on a ship in the harbor. I’ll accompany you there for now, but then I’ll go and he will be looking after you. You will stay there until all the arrangements are made for your papers, a job, and a place to live. You must not cause any problems for him. Understood?”
They all nodded. Then Lee and Nikolay led them to a minivan that was waiting on the road.
***
The cargo hold was a plain, steel, dark room. There was no shortage of space on the freighter Sokol that had been exclusively chartered for the trip, so Nikolay had the crew set up good-sized compartments for the prisoners. The compartments were twenty feet square and just as tall, making it impossible for the prisoner to climb out. A minimal Russian crew had been hired and were only told of the destination. They were of a type, experienced in moving contraband, that knew not to ask questions about the nature of the cargo.
The walls were metal, plain, and without windows. Each of the compartments had an access door on one side, by which the prisoners’ provisions could be brought, always with an armed escort. One was set up for the Chinese. Another was made ready for the Tibetans. Nikolay had been told to make them comfortable, so he had lowered a portable, construction-site toilet; mattresses; and a table and chairs into each of the compartments. He had also provided a mahjong set for the Chinese. A drop cord with electricity for light bulbs ran down the wall. The large hatch cover was to be kept open for them when weather permitted, but it had started to pour rain the day the Chinese came and the hatch had to be closed. Much to Nikolay’s satisfaction, the group made no protest when the ship departed Taiwan, as they all presumed that the ship was simply being moved to another harbor on the island.
The ship was piloted into the bustling Hong Kong harbor. The human cargo was moved into two secret spots, created for smuggling, in the structure near the bottom of the hull. The cargo hold that had been set up for them was cleaned out, in case an inspector should want to examine the ship.
While the crew made the ship ready for its next journey, the captain, Nikolay, and two Russian members of the crew went ashore to collect the two Tibetans. They presented their documents--signed by General Lee Dai Kwok of the Chinese Army, stating that the two Tibetans were officially exiled from the People’s Republic of China and were to be released to their ship for exile out of China--to an official in a building next to the wharf. General Lee Dai Kwok had been paid handsomely by the baron.
Nikolay showed the official the documents that ordered the release of Neema Lhamo and Jamyang Gyamtso. The Chinese official read the document, picked up a phone, made a call, and talked for several minutes. He then looked over the counter at the captain and Nikolay and told them, in Mandarin, “The two people you are here for are in a jail. They will be brought here in two hours.”
In the usual fashion of Russians who sailed, the captain, Nikolay, and the two Russian sailors utilized the time to find a bar that had vodka, while the captain filled out the necessary papers for the ship while in harbor.
Feeling better with vodka, Nikolay and the other Russians later returned for the prisoners but found that they were not there yet. Less irritated than they might have been, thanks to the vodka, they went outside to wait, sitting on a barrier and smoking. Half an hour later, a military truck, with a canvas top over the truck bed, pulled up and stopped in front of the office. Two soldiers with Chinese AK-47 rifles got out of the back. T
he two Tibetans got down, handcuffed together.
Nikolay noticed that, with their darker skin, the Tibetans were quite different looking than the Chinese.
Nikolay and the captain of the ship went inside, and the captain was given documents to sign that he was taking the prisoners out of the country. The soldiers who delivered them insisted on taking back their handcuffs and they retrieved them. Nikolay saw that the Tibetans had some slight facial bruises. Apparently, they’d had some differences of opinion with their jailers or transporters over something.
Although Nikolay had no handcuffs with him, he and the Russian crewmen presented a sufficient deterrent that Tibetans did not to try to bolt. They knew that they were being exiled from China, but that was all.
The Russians led them to the ship and ushered them into the hold adjacent to the one set up for the Chinese. At first, Jamyang Gyamtso resisted, but two crew members changed his mind by lifting him off the ground by his arms. The young lady, Neema Lhamo, followed without resisting.
The human cargo secured, Nikolay told the captain to set the good ship Sokol sailing to Vladivostok, Russia. Once outside the magnificent Hong Kong harbor, Nikolay and the crew went into the cells, setting them up for the comfort and safety of the prisoners, in accordance with instructions from the baron.
Gyamtso and Lhamo looked about as Nikolay and the crew brought in a table and two chairs, a portable toilet, and two mattresses, which were laid on the floor. Nikolay did not know if the Tibetans played mahjong, so he had bought them a new jigsaw puzzle, a jungle scene with tigers that would take many hours to complete.
The Chinese prisoners were brought from their hiding place in the secret panels in the lower hull and taken back to their compartments, followed by the crew bringing back the things for their comfort.
The group of seven was then en route from Hong Kong to Vladivostok, where they would be officially turned over to Colonel Vladislav Tupkalo of the Federalnaya sluzhba bezopasnosti Rrossiiskoi Federacii, who, with a group of Russian soldiers armed with assault rifles, would be officially transporting them, with written orders, as prisoners across Eastern Russia on the TransSiberian Express.
***
“Just call for me, sir, and I’ll bring the car back to this spot,” Roger told Andrew as he and Shanta got out of the limo in front of the VIP entrance to Churchill Downs. Andrew wore his usual blue jeans, but he’d put on a regular shirt and worn a tan sports coat, as the event called for that in the area where they would be seated. Shanta wore a green sari, the only sari at the event.
As they walked in, Andrew said, “My father used to have horses, and he brought me here.” It was as if Andrew was coming to the race as a matter of recalling good memories of his youth and his father.
“Do you have horses now?” Shanta asked.
“No. But there are some at the stables on one of Dad’s properties. I let the neighbor girls use them when Dad died. They don’t have money for their own. Actually, I guess they are mine, come to think of it.”
“Don’t you like horses?” Shanta asked.
“Not really. I was thrown off a huge horse when I was little and never rode much after that. My dad liked them very much, however. He never had race horses, just riding ones. But he liked to come here, and he met lots of friends here. I preferred to ride a trail motorbike.”
There was much excitement in the air with one hundred thirty thousand spectators. On the fourth floor of the clubhouse seating Andrew’s company owned two boxes, one for the executives and a private one for his father, which was now his. They were in the best location, in what was called Millionaires Row in Skye Terrace. On Derby Day, there was a buffet nearby, but Andrew did not want to go there as he would, no doubt, have had to socialize with executives of the company. He ordered a bourbon, and Shanta her usual tea.
As they waited for the race to begin, Shanta said, “I hope we hear from the baron soon.”
“Do you think we should call him for a progress report?” Andrew asked.
Shanta shook her head. “He said that there was to be no communications between us. We dare not.”
They looked out at the race track, as the first race was about to begin.
“Do you bet on the horses?” Shanta asked.
“I just like to watch.”
The truth was that she would have loved to place a bet, but since it was his money she dared not ask.
The first race took off. The excitement of the crowd felt like a tangible thing as the horses charged around the field and, finally, there was a winner.
After the first race, the crowd quieted down. Shanta turned to him and took his hand. “Darling, I haven’t much, but there is something I have that I have decided that I want you to have.”
Andrew studied her curiously. “What?”
“My virginity.”
CHAPTER 19
Traveling on the TransSiberian Express, even though they were in chains, was, nevertheless, an interesting journey for the prisoners, who had never before traveled anywhere, except for the two Tibetans, who had been taken to Hong Kong on their way out of Tibet. They sat by windows enjoying the scenery. The blood-red colored railway cars, although designed for higher speeds, rumbled along at only sixty to eighty kilometers per hour, because of the condition of the rails, which was always bad, due to the severe weather conditions. The train went through several mountains with long tunnels, one of which took over ten minutes. They passed many little villages along the way that were made up of different races but, due to the unification tradition of the Soviets, they did not wear unusual clothing. Route Number One on the Express was from Moscow to Vladivostok, while Number Two was from Vladivostok to Moscow. The trip went by Lake Baikal, the largest freshwater lake in the world, so vast it took hours just to pass it.
Finally, on the fourth day, the train arrived at the town of Omsk. There was no trouble, as people in Russia were so respectful of authority, even after the breakup of the Soviet Union, that no one dared question prisoners under guard. Since the prisoners could not speak Russian, they could not communicate anything to others on the train, and it was easy to move them from Vladivostok to the remotest part of the country without incident. Obviously, the prisoners were in some sort of trouble, or so it seemed to the others on the train, and they did not wish to join them. The Russian soldiers selected by Tupkalo were in combat gear, armed, and had a formidable demeanor.
Omsk, in south central Russia just above the Kazakhstan border, was as close as they could get by train to Stepnogorsk. The prisoners were surprised to see a familiar face, that of Nikolay Bogomazov, who was waiting there to meet them.
Nikolay had arranged for a military truck and driver to meet his group at the railway station. It was a large, olive-drab truck, with a canvas covered truck bed with two benches, one on either side. The soldiers accompanied the prisoners into the truck, which would go as far south as the border. Four of the Chinese were put on one side, and one of the Chinese and the two Tibetans were put on the other. All the prisoners were chains. There was a protest from one of the Chinese, but a gun butt in the stomach from Tupkalo quickly ended that.
The ride to the border was on a very windy, narrow, dirt road. Snow could be seen on the ground off to the side of the road as they went through the mountains, but it had melted off the road. The road had giant potholes, occasional farm animals, and antique-looking tractors--going only slightly faster than walking speed--all of which made progress toward the border slow. Dust rolled up the back of the truck all the time and covered the prisoners, as well as the soldiers, who had to sit at the rear gate to prevent any of the prisons jumping out--although that would have been next to impossible with their chains locking them all together. Nikolay and Tupkalo rode in the front seat with the driver as they bounced along.
Under an overcast sky, they arrived upon the Kazakhstan border. The Russian soldiers ushered the prisoners out and stood by for the exchange in guards. Their journey had ended, and they would return to catch the
next train back. Four men, who Nikolay had hired, could be seen standing across the border in Kazakhstan. They were, however, some of the toughest available in Russia. The four were from Ural, the mountain chain in Western Siberia, where one had to be tough just to survive. The shortest was six feet, two inches and their weight ranged from two hundred sixty pounds to three hundred twenty. They were Zuhk, Opanasenko, Yageltchuk, and Timoshenko.
The sky darkened to charcoal gray, even though it was midday, and soon a spring snow began, rapidly increasing in intensity. Nikolay and Tupkalo walked up to the Russian border guard shack and went inside. The border guard was sitting in a chair behind a small desk. He did not initially rise, as there had been hardly any activity in the area, let alone from anyone important.
“I’m Colonel Vladislav Tupkalo of the Federal’naya sluzhba bezopasnosti Rossiyskoy Federatsii,” Tupkalo said smartly. He took out his identity billfold, which displayed not only his current FSB card, but also, on the other side, his former KGB, or Komitet Gosudarstuennoi Bezopasnosti, card, which he liked to keep as a sort of badge of past honor.
The border guard immediately acted as if he’d gotten a shot of adrenaline, stood up, and came to attention, barking off, “Yes, sir!”
“I’m delivering seven prisoners to Kazakhstan,” Tupkalo said. “I do not want to register the transaction.” By that he meant that he wanted no record of their names, as would normally be taken down with persons crossing a border.
Russian soldiers were used to such things, and so the border guard did not question the high-ranking officer. “Yes, sir!”
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