Dragon Breath

by Valerie Goldsilk

  Bill was already on the phone at his desk when Scrimple stepped into the study fifteen minutes later. Two mugs of freshly brewed coffee stood next to a laptop, the screen of which was glowing. Some kind of data-upload was taking place and Scrimple assumed Bill had transferred the recording onto a CD rom and was sending it out as an email attachment.

  The voice of Larry Lim came over the speaker phone saying, “Okay, the data is coming in now. I’ve got Brigadier Wee here with me and he wants to hear the story directly from you. We’ll review the recording later.”

  Bill said, “Hello Brigadier, it’s me. Not sleeping well these days?”

  “Who can sleep when there is terrorism going on in every corner of the world,” an older Singaporean voice came on the line. It was a hard voice, used to issuing commands and being obeyed. “Have you heard about the nuclear device that went off in California?”

  “Yes, we caught it on the radio just now. No casualties?”

  “One, a farmer who was driving his truck near the blast zone,” the Brigadier said. “Are you alone there?”

  Bill pointed at Scrimple and put a finger over his lips. “Yes, I had some help for the job but they are gone now.”

  “Okay, give me a quick executive summary so we can work on it. Well done, by the way. Larry says we’ve got the kind of information we were hoping for.”

  “Mostly it went well. There was a problem at the end which I’ll tell you about.”

  “A big problem?”

  “It wasn’t in the plan. It may or may not turn into an issue.”

  “Start at the beginning,” Brigadier Wee commanded.

  Scrimple sat back in the spare chair and sipped his coffee with appreciation while Bill outlined the operation and its objectives:

  “Henry Chan as you know has been a successful Hong Kong tycoon for many years. Much of his business is in China and that means he was well-connected, giving and receiving favors. He was approached by a senior party official Zhu Tzu, a nasty piece of work. Fervent nationalist, old school, ambitious. Zhu wanted to step into Jiang Jemin’s shoes before the old man was ready to retire and to do this he came up with an idea he called the Plan of Righteous Harmony.

  First he’d get Henry Chan to use his contacts with other Asian Chinese businessmen to persuade them of their support in any venture that made China more powerful on the Asian and world stage. Secondly he arranged through Chan to have small nuclear devices hidden in containers of harmless products shipped to major ports in Europe and the USA. Triad contacts would off-load these bombs and hide them ready to be detonated if the need arose. Thirdly he got Chan to hire an expert who would arrange the bombing of Jiang Jemin’s plane outside of China. Once Jiang Jemin was removed Zhu would step into the power vacuum and order a military assault on Taiwan while at the same time forcing Western powers not to intervene by threatening to blow up the bombs which were hidden by loyal Western-based Chinese triads. While Taiwan was being invaded he would demand from all other Asian nations that they sign agreements of Co-Prosperity with China and under Chinese hegemony. These demands would be supported by all the Chinese business people who control the economies of Thailand, Vietnam, Cambodia, Malaysia, Philippines and Indonesia. With the exception of Singapore of course. That was a slice they would deal with later.”

  Bill paused and Wee said, “That’s certainly a complex plan. We’ve seen a build up of military activity across the straits from Taiwan but so far there has been no movement. We’ve been monitoring it for a week but it’s the routine annual Army exercise.”

  Bill said, “That’s pretty much all we got from Henry Chan. He didn’t tell us who handled the bombing in Bangkok but we have an idea it was an American called John McHardy who was the manager of the same trading company that was used to ship all the nuclear devices overseas. Chan and McHardy had been doing all sorts of crooked business for years and this was just another project. The mother of all projects.”

  “We know Jiang Jemin was on the next plane back to Beijing once that bomb exploded at Bangkok airport,” Brigadier told them. “He probably had some idea that Zhu was gunning for him. One doesn’t get to be Premier of China without having one’s head firmly screwed on. We need to get in contact with the Chinese leadership and filter this information to him. I’ll assume that Zhu has already gone into hiding or is dead by now. Jiang Jemin wants Taiwan but he doesn’t want the threat of war with the West and tension with other Asian countries. He’s far too sensible and long-sighted for that.”

  Wee fell silent at the other end of the connection. Bill doodled on a notepad waiting. Finally, the Brigadier said, “What have you done with Chan? Did he hurt himself mortally while trying to escape?”

  “No and here’s the balls up, Brigadier. While we were just wrapping things up McHardy turned up with a friend and lots of firepower and forced us to release Chan to him. Now, we got the distinct impression that he’d fallen out with Chan and had a bone to pick with him. My bet is that we’ll never see or hear from Henry Chan again.”

  “How sure are you?”

  “A gut feeling. McHardy pretty much let us know that once he was done with Chan he’d kill him.”

  “Not nice, but convenient,” said the Brigadier harshly. “Larry, we need to track down this guy McHardy. What do we have on him in the computer? Off you go.”

  “And there was a guy with him called Marco, a South African or Rhodesian mercenary by the way he carried himself,” Bill added. “What about the nuclear devices?”

  “We’ve found most of them,” Wee replied. “Another part of the investigation. We got hold of a shipping list and managed to track down where the containers went and who handled them. They’d been taking cartons out of containers and replacing them with weapons or drugs for over a year. But putting a small nuclear bomb into a container, that’s taking the matter to an unprecedented level. But we’re still missing the bomb in Marseilles and the one in Hamburg.”

  “Chan told us he was the one to give the order for the Triads to explode the bombs. The first one would have been a demonstration. With Chan out of the picture it’s unlikely the others will go off.”

  “Let’s damn well hope so,” Wee said. “Right, we’ll call you back if we have any questions. My boys in the lab are transcribing your interrogation now.”

  “Okay, sir. But I’m going to get some rest.”

  “Again well done, Bill on this one. I think though we may need someone to track down McHardy and his gunman.”

  “How did I guess you were going to say that?” Bill said lightly and cut the connection a moment later. “He’s not usually that pleasant,” he added for Scrimple’s benefit.

  * * * *

  Driving to Phuket was a tough proposal. Although the highways were good by Asian standards and there was no heavy traffic at night, it was still a solid ten hour journey. John McHardy and Marco took turns, stopping only at Jet petrol stations to fill up and buy soft drinks and Lipovitan—a caffeine-based energy drink—and chilled tuna sandwiches.

  The plan was to get as many miles as possible under their belt before the sun came up. Phuket was a large holiday island in the Southern part of Thailand. Its pride and joy was a sparkling new international airport with a runway that could happily handle 747 jets which shuttled between Thailand and European destinations, pumping the life blood of package tourists into the kingdom’s economy. It was a much safer place to leave the country and get far away rapidly than Bangkok airport. Both of them had passports issued under false names and unless the local police demonstrated an unprecedented level of efficiency and coordination the chances of things running smoothly were high.

  Once again Henry Chan lay trussed and silent in the back of a car and had no idea where he was going or what lay ahead in his immediate future.

  The two men in the front didn’t speak. One drove and the other slept. Chan tried a few times to get their attention but he was ignored.

  It was when they had passed the city of Surathani that McHardy deci
ded he was going to pull over and have a short conversation. The four-lane highway was starting to get busier, mostly with trucks, whose drivers were the most dangerous. Buzzed up to their eyeballs on Ya Ba pills, a type of methamphetamine, it was not uncommon for truckers to drive twenty-four hours non-stop. Every week the papers reported accidents—but life was still cheap in Thailand and money dictated the working conditions.

  Dawn had not yet broken so the side-road they swung into was dark as original sin.

  “Henry, sit up and let’s have a talk,” McHardy said, opening the back door and pulling off the Chinese man’s hood. Bleary eyes and glasses with one lens broken faced him. The American slid into the backseat next to Chan. He unlocked the handcuffs and handed over a bottle of Evian water from which the Chinese man drank greedily.

  “Now tell me why you had some turbaned Indian fellow come after me and try and kill me?”

  Chan swallowed a few times and then answered: “I’m sorry, John, it was the way Zhu wanted it. He wanted everyone who knew about parts of the plan to be removed. It started when Bob Chen began talking to other people and demanded more money. He was foolish. He was too greedy and not patriotic at all.” Chan tried to look contrite. He seemed to know he was talking for his life.

  “Henry, you and I had a good racket going. I didn’t think you’d do something like that to me.”

  “I’m sorry. It was supposed to be part of the big picture. You don’t understand I think. It’s a Chinese thing.” Chan looked at McHardy pleadingly.

  “And I was just a tool. To be discarded when you’d made enough of your own money and got all the face and respect that you always crave.”

  “It’s not like that. It was a matter of keeping things clean.”

  McHardy seemed to consider for a moment. Finally he smiled and said to Chan.

  “Here’s what we’re going to do, Henry. I am, as you know, first and foremost a businessman and we should not get emotional about some stuff. So here’s a mobile phone and I want you to call your assistant and instruct him or her to have five million US dollars transferred into a bank account of my choice within the next five hours. When that money arrives safely, I’ll set you free and we’ll shake hands and forget about this episode and never meet each other again.”

  Chan stared at him. Not sure if he should protest that five million was too much or weep that he was being given a chance to live and be free. It seemed hardly possible that the nightmare of the last few hours could be ending.

  “You really mean that, John? You are a good man.”

  “No one’s ever said that of me, Henry, except my wife who has a different perspective on stuff. Make the call.” McHardy handed over a small Nokia.

  * * * *

  “Come and sit down here, Margaret,” Legally said as his Head of Asia entered his office. He sat at the corner of his solid Chesterfield sofa and was marking up files with a gold fountain pen. Around his neck hung a pair of glasses which occasionally he would raise and perch on his nose if the typeface of a report appeared too small.

  “Damned good conclusion to this nasty business, I hear.”

  “Yes, our counter-part in Singapore, that old war-horse Wee, came through with the goods and we were lucky to get information directly from the Hong Kong Police where we have some excellent old relationships.” Margaret couldn’t help herself but grin. She knew it was wrong because poor old Louise had fallen innocent victim to a senseless killing, but she was ecstatic that they’d recovered all of the bombs now.

  LeBaily took a sip from a porcelain cup of tea and said, “So what news from China?”

  “Well, Jiang Jemin figured things out pretty smartish and from what Head of Station in Beijing can determine Zhu Tsu was arrested within an hour of the aircraft being destroyed in Bangkok. It’s as if they’d known all along it was going to happen but wanted to be sure.”

  “And have we communicated with the Chinese Premier at all?” the Deputy Director wanted to know.

  “Not us or the Foreign Office directly. That wouldn’t have been appropriate. But Brigadier Wee got old Mr. Lee, the former PM, to speak with Jiang Jemin and he pretty well said they were putting their house back in order and it was nothing for anyone in the West to concern themselves with.”

  “Except the nuclear bombs that had been shipped out of China all over the world?” LeBaily said shrewdly.

  Margaret balanced her laptop on her knees and shrugged. “Wee says they deny any knowledge of that. If it happened it was something that originated with Henry Chan or one of his circle.”

  “Well, I don’t suppose we can expect any admission of weakness coming out of China. It’s simply not their style. Never has been. Never will be.”

  “Ah, but sir, we got brownie points with them for this. Singapore made sure China is aware how close this matter came to being a global disaster and even if they won’t admit it, they’ll file it away.”

  “The buggers still want Taiwan of course. They’ll never give up on that. And I put money on it that they’ll never stop striving to be the dominant power in the region, with all the other Asian nations kow-towing to them.”

  “Oh, yes sir. But know they can achieve those goals without a drastic plan that involves death and destruction. They are a proud race but they are not, as some people sometimes think, impetuous.”

  “I know Margaret that you’ll keep a close eye on all that stuff as always. So who found out for us where all the shipments with the bombs had gone?”

  “A young lad called Jim Beauregard who worked for the company that had inadvertently been shipping the devices. He found the shipping lists and knew right away that this was gold-dust.”

  “Good lad. It’s men like him that still make me feel proud to be British.”

  * * * *

  Bill Jedburgh sat on his sundeck in a cozy rattan armchair and stared out at the storm clouds gathering on the horizon. It was rainy season and storms would come and go. He’d done a dive in the morning and now he’d just put down a Jack Higgins novel, written in the sixties. They didn’t write books like that anymore. Now it was all about women detectives who solved crimes in between breaking up with their boyfriends and feeding their cats. Or it was about schoolkids who were really wizards and had to save the world with a wave of their wand and in between squeezing their zits?

  He snorted in disgust and shifted in between the cushions.

  “Hey, sweetie, I need a bit of refreshment in this glass here.”

  “I busy,” the girl said. She was just inside and watching some Thai soap opera on the television. The young generation was losing all its manners. He provided house and board, love and security and all she could do was tell him to mix his own vodka and soda. He was waiting for Larry Lim, who had announced his imminent arrival on the mobile phone.

  When the doorbell rang at least she went to answer and a moment later Larry Lim pulled up the other chair, grinning.

  “What so wonderful about your world, young fella?” Bill snapped.

  “I’m just smiling at you. You look as if you’re pissed off about something,” the Singaporean intelligence agent said.

  “You’re right. I’m pissed off to see you. Because you never come to visit me just to shoot the shit and hang out. You always come here to give me some aggravation.”

  “Ah, Bill. You like it. Wasn’t the money enough last time?”

  Jedburgh grunted. “It was better than expected.”

  The girl came out and brought Larry an orange juice, then went back to her TV drama.

  “So have they tracked down that McHardy guy and his South African side-kick?” Bill wanted to know.

  “Not tracked down but we know they both flew out of Phuket International on false passports and landed in Frankfurt. Then they got lost in the amorphous mass of greater Europe.”

  “He’ll turn up in America at some point.”

  “Or back in Asia.”

  “Not if he knows what’s good for him.”

  “That’s
how we see it. We want to make sure that if he does turn up in this part of the world again he’ll regret it.”

  “And my part in this story of revenge and regret?” Bill prompted.

  “The usual. We just want you on standby.”

  “Does it look as if I’m going anywhere,” Bill demanded waving his hand around to indicate the beach, the house and probably meaning the girl as well. “What happened to Henry Chan, the artful dodger?”

  “You hadn’t heard?”

  “I wouldn’t ask you if I’d heard.”

  “They found him with his throat slit and his hands cuffed in a forest outside Phuket town. His relatives said he’d instructed a transfer of five million USD to John McHardy and that was the last they heard from him.”

  “A fitting end.” Bill leant over and pulled a small cigar from a box under his chair. He lit it and puffed for a while.

  “That still leaves the loose ends of John McHardy and the other guy.”

  “I heard you, Larry, I heard you. And yes. Let me know when they pop up in your net.”

  “It might mean a trip to the US.”

  “Whatever.”

  * * * *

  It was Scrimple who’d called Jim Beauregard to suggest a drink. There weren’t many people he could share his Thailand experience with and although the full story could never come out, he did want Jim to know how things had turned out in the end and that McPherson Ferguson was now rid of the men who’d taken advantage of its situation.

  They met in a pub called Chasers on Knutsford Terrace, not far from Jim’s hotel. The place smelt of stale beer and old cigarettes. It was still early and the live band hadn’t come yet, which usually was the catalyst for filling the place up. By the time Scrimple arrived Jim was already tucked into a booth and drinking lager from a pint glass. It seemed as if the Londoner had put on weight in the week since they’d last seen each other. They shook hands and Scrimple caught the eye of the Filipina waitress.

  “Didn’t think you’d be back so soon from your beach break?” Jim said.

  “It started getting boring. How many days in a row can you get drunk as a skunk and wake up with a strange hobbit in your bed?”