Jozef Kaplani always valued Yurev’s assessments. They’d fought and survived multiple threats in the past, and they’d do so again. He swung his foot from the table and turned to his lieutenant, “Tell me what you have in mind.”
This never failed to please Yurev most, his boss all ears and reacting well to pressure. They discussed his proposals back and forth for a couple of hours. Nothing needed on paper. In the field, they never wrote anything down, and this was no time to start. Kaplani brought the vodka bottle and two large glasses to the table and poured for each of them.
“To success,” he toasted.
CHAPTER 21
The secure line between Marcel Benoit and the ISP boardroom sounded clear, the coded speech still necessary. All but May-Ling were listening in.
“The tickets are booked for a party the day after tomorrow at dark three. Will you bring the hard drink?” asked Jules.
“Provided from the caterers,” replied Benoit. “The details of extra items can be advised by a separate call. Transportation and cutlery equipment are on hand to be picked up close to the venue. Local taxis are not usable. Unfortunately the weather forecast is cloudy and wet.”
“Understood. We’ll use the same entertainers as before, minus yours truly. Somebody’s got to stay behind and watch the farm.”
“Enjoy your party, my friend.”
Now they were set; the assault on the Kaplani compound primed for three in the morning the night after next. Benoit’s men on the ground would be waiting with enough armoury and vehicles to equip the attack force, split into two teams, with Jules handing over the lead to Jack Calder. Local authorities, as before, couldn’t be trusted to play any part in the action. The expected cloud and rain cover was a plus, as guards never relished patrolling in bad weather. As instructed, Jeb Zucker, Krull, Guna and the other three Gurkhas arrived soon after the phone call. More planning time.
Jack had magnified Mac’s layout of the Wieliczka compound into a series of sheets covering a five by five feet area of the boardroom wall.
“This is the latest we’ve got, reliable enough for what we need.” Zucker and Krull brought their chairs closer to where Jack stood, and turned them round so they could straddle them. Guna and his fellow Nepalese preferred to stand, but also edged a bit nearer.
Malky handed a laser pointer to his buddy, and Jack traced its green light across the paper.
“You can see the external wall goes all the way round, with only a reinforced metal front gate. There’s also a back entrance, but Mac’s intelligence tells us that’s been bricked up for a long time. So one way in, same way out. The wall’s about nine feet high. Inside leads to a main building, with maybe a dozen different living quarters, served by a central kitchen and servants area, although I doubt if anybody other than Kaplani’s people do any cooking.” He moved the pointer to a larger piece of the building. “This is where we think our friend Jozef resides in his own suite. A couple of corridors lead into it and through to the rear.”
“What about guards’ quarters?” asked Krull. “How many guys do we reckon on site now?”
“We’re gonna presume they’re all guards. Jules says we go black, so it makes no difference who we find, we take them down anyway. Numbers? We don’t know, but reasonable to assume at least a couple of dozen. With people on the premises, it’s unlikely we’ll encounter booby traps. We tread carefully nonetheless.” A couple of nods showed agreement with that.
Jack continued, “Blowing the front gate is too risky. It’d be like ringing the doorbell. By the time we got inside, God knows how many guns we’d face. We’re going in over the wall. Brad’s ground lads’ll provide slide ladders for us. Keep it simple, no need to use grappling gear, the wall’s only nine feet and the rain and cloud should help get us in quickly and quietly.”
Jeb raised a finger. “What firepower we carrying this time?”
“Lasered AK47s as last option go-to weapons. First choice, use your silenced machine pistols. I expect this’ll all be close work. You’ll also pack your blades, and then grenades for blowing the joint when we exit.” Further bobbing of heads showed the team was ready.
“Any more questions?” asked Jules.
“Yes, I’ve got one,” said Brad, stretching his folded arms behind his head. “What do we do with any women we see inside? I’m told he keeps his boudoir busy.”
“We go black,” came the blunt reply. “If they show weapons, you shoot. If they don’t, you handle it as you find it. Any problems with that, gentlemen?”
The concerted murmurs confirmed no problems.
“Okay, Jack, let’s go through it one more time.”
***
After her late morning exchange with Chu’s secretary, May-Ling had phoned Jack and briefly discussed the Chinese businessman’s disappearance. She wasn’t expected at the planning session in the evening, but agreed to attend later to bring the rest of the team up to speed. The traffic into the West End eased now the rush hour was over. The rain hadn’t stopped all day. One of the windscreen wipers on the Range Rover needed realignment, causing a constant squeak across the front passenger window. Use of the side streets on the way helped to cut the journey time further.
She slowed to a stop at the red light and a dark transit sped from behind, screeching to a halt in front of the car. The side door of the van slid open. Two men appeared with pistols and started toward her.
Years of field training with Hong Kong’s Anti-Triad squad had given her the instinctive edge. The doors were already locked. She slammed into reverse and hammered the accelerator. This took the attackers by surprise, but they checked only for a second, then came at her again with their guns raised. In one movement May-Ling braked violently, switched to forward gear and stamped hard on the pedal. The several yards she had reversed opened enough room to charge at the two men. The first barely managed to leap aside, with his weapon arm struck, but she caught the second one full on. She heard his scream and the bump as the vehicle went over his body. Too late, the van driver tried to manoeuvre to change his blocking position. May-Ling drove into him behind the rear wheel where his vehicle’s weight was lightest. The transit’s back panels buckled as it spun in an angle, clearing her route. In a few seconds more she was free. Racing away, she checked the mirror. No pursuit. The adrenaline was still pumping, but her mind was clear. In another ten minutes she parked outside the ISP office. The windscreen wiper continued squeaking.
***
Jack sat next to his wife at the end of the table while she described the attack. Her coolness under fire surprised no-one in the room. Jack had been with her during a murder attempt some years back in Hong Kong. The incident had resulted in the deaths of two triad thugs, one by himself, the other despatched with efficient knife work by May-Ling. She was also part of the ISP squad that killed almost a dozen gangsters in a shootout in the former British colony. Jules and the others listened to her account of the assault on the Range Rover.
“You’re sure they were Chinese?” asked Donnie, knowing she wouldn’t be mistaken.
“Yes. No doubts,” she replied, reaching for her coffee mug. “The guy who went under my car wasn’t dead, but he’d be badly hurt. They’ll need a doctor to sort him out.”
“And no shots fired?” Donnie continued.
“Nothing. They’d time to shoot if they’d wanted, telling me somebody needs information right now, not dead bodies.”
“Which ties in with something else May-Ling discussed with me this morning,” said Jack, touching his wife’s elbow. “George Chu went missing yesterday. Didn’t turn up as expected in his office. He hasn’t been heard of since, and failed to make a scheduled business meeting. I’d give you a pound to a penny the same guys’ve taken him that attacked May-Ling. Must be the Chings, right?”
Jules nodded. “Yes. These guys aren’t dumb. Somehow they’re assuming a connection between the attacks on them and May-Ling’s meetings with Chu. The sequence is wrong, but they’re thinking in the right dir
ection. It also means we at ISP are potential targets. Well, we’ve lived through similar threats before. Let’s be even more alert in the next week or two. Jack, where’s your son?”
“Tommy’s travelling in the States with May-Ling’s parents. School break lasts for another few weeks. They’re doing the catch up tour with family all over the place. They’re not due back until the middle of next month, so they’re safely out of the way meantime.”
“Good. Our priority right now is Poland, but it’s becoming a bit more complicated closer to home.”
***
Paul Manning scanned the copies of the eyewitness statements on the aborted West End attack. Next to those on his desk lay a copy of the police report from Bromley on the earlier incident sworn by Percy Gamley. He was too good a cop not to connect the similarities in both attacks, plus the description of the lady at the wheel of the Range Rover. A single witness to the attack might have raised doubt, but four separate accounts verified the driver as an Asian female. The manner in which she’d escaped her attackers also registered. He recognised her evasive technique in breaking from a vehicle blockade. He’d undergone some of the police training for that himself. The jigsaw was becoming clearer. The assailants’ disappearance in double quick time with an injured man aboard was an opening. He rang DCI Granger, who picked up after several rings.
“Bob, I’m sure your lads are on this already, but get them to check any emergency room intakes for an Asian male with a smashed-up leg. My guess is the Chings’ stamping ground around Hounslow’s a good bet. A Chinese lad with a broken pin shouldn’t be difficult to spot.”
“Okay, boss.”
Investigations on the brothel killings moved laboriously, restricted to gathering details on the dead victims. Perhaps coming at it from the Chings’ side would prove more useful. The case remained Rennie’s baby, but Paul Manning knew Townsend and his pups were involved in this.
***
Ching Mak listened to the van driver on his mobile phone and cursed. They hadn’t taken the bitch and one of his best men had suffered serious injury. The man was in great pain from his chest, probably busted ribs, said the driver. Where to take him? Usually this would be handled privately by a doctor on the payroll, but this was an emergency.
“Drive him to a hospital now. Tell them it was a hit and run accident. Pay cash and get him back out of the place as soon as you can.” He seethed at their incompetence in trying to take the girl, but at least they’d had the sense to talk to him before doing something with the injured man. George Chu would wait a bit longer for company. For the moment he’d stay under guard at the warehouse.
***
The emergency unit at Hounslow Hospital was always busy. Being close to the largest airport cargo yards in Europe guaranteed a steady stream of patients. This evening was no different. Doctor Amal Singh had worked through six hours of his ten-hour shift when they brought in the Chinese patient. In obvious pain, the man should have been on a stretcher trolley, not the wheelchair he sat in now.
“Get him on to this gantry,” he instructed the hospital porters. Pleasantries were a luxury long since forgotten in this unit. “What happened to him?” he asked of the two men who accompanied the patient.
“Some bastard in a Volvo ran him over outside our warehouse and never stopped,” said the van driver. “Can you fix him so we can take him home tonight?”
Singh laughed. “Mister, this man won’t be able to leave here for several days and I see his chest is swollen. Probably some rib damage too. Have you notified the police?”
The man’s responded a shade too hurriedly. “No. No need to call the police. The bastard’ll be long gone by now. We just want to get him back home to his family.”
“As I say, he’s not leaving here tonight,” said Singh, checking the man’s leg gently. His reputation for patient care ranked among the best in the hospital. The left fibia and tibia were both broken, and the knee badly smashed. “Now, gentlemen, I need you to wait outside while we tend to your friend. The registrar will want his personal details from you. Thank you.” The patient lapsed into semi-consciousness as Singh administered a pain killing injection. His companions left the curtained booth and approached the registration desk. The driver was no fool. To give the man’s name and identity had its risks, but if they stuck with the hit and run story, it sounded legitimate enough. Besides, they were all legally employed in the country, their residency visas also okay.
The grey-haired woman at the counter went through the process of registration, in the way she’d done thousands of times before. It took all of eight minutes. She spun through the rote. Patient’s name, address, age, nationality, next of kin to contact in case of need, primary and secondary telephone numbers to call. Employer details. National insurance number? None. Would cash in advance payment be acceptable? A private room? Of course. Just sign here please. Thank you. You may wait for the doctor to get back to you about your friend. The process, although mechanical, was artfully efficient.
An hour later Doctor Singh reappeared. “He’s under heavy sedation. The fractures on his leg are severe, and he’s suffered three cracked ribs, but his breathing’s clear. The lungs have escaped damage. You can visit him again about this time tomorrow night. He’s not getting out for at least a week or so.”
With no alternative, the driver and his sidekick left the hospital.
The mid-evening spate of incoming patients slowed and the registrar had a welcome breathing space. She attacked her usual daily pile of messages and paperwork. The one from the Metropolitan Police caught her eye immediately. Over the years she’d been the main registrar here, she knew what was important and what wasn’t. She paged Doctor Singh.
***
Bob Granger thanked the registrar and the doctor for contacting him so promptly. The information logged on the intake sheet included the employer’s name and address. The DCI recognised the Hounslow warehouse location as the Ching’s. Bingo! He’d check the patient’s name against his visa, sure to tally as one of Ching’s employees. One of the Anti-Triad team, a Chinese-speaking officer, accompanied Granger to the hospital.
“Can we talk to him for a few minutes, Doctor?”
“I’m afraid you’re unlikely to find it productive, Inspector. He’s heavily sedated and coming in and out of consciousness at the moment. He’s likely to be like that for another few hours. I’d rather he was left alone.”
“I understand. However, we’ve reason to believe this man might have been involved in a recent kidnapping, where someone else’s life could be at risk. Time is of the essence, Doctor Singh. May we try to see if he’s lucid enough to talk to us for a few minutes?”
Singh’s instinct as a doctor was to protect the wellbeing of his patient, but the prospect of another person being in danger was persuasive. “Okay. But I’ll be present, and if I say you stop, you stop. Understood?”
“Of course. You’re the boss, thanks. We’ll do this quietly.”
The man’s leg was covered by a raised arc of bedsheets, under which the traction kept it immobile. Across his chest, a series of adhesive tapes held a swathe of bandages in place. A precautionary tube to assist breathing had been inserted in case of any lung damage, and a couple of other drip feeds attached to monitors by the bedside. Granger thought him lucky to be alive with these injuries. He motioned his officer forward, intending not to crowd the patient. Cantonese, even spoken in a low voice, jars in the ears of most Westerners. The eyes were closed, but as the officer began to talk to him, they flickered open. The dilated pupils didn’t seem to be focusing. A minute or two passed without any response. Singh made to indicate time up, when the man began to mumble. The officer leaned forward and spoke unhurriedly to him. The patient slurred his words but Granger’s man persevered gently with the conversation. Four or five minutes later the eyelids closed again and he lapsed back into unconsciousness. The Anti-Triad agent nodded to Granger, and they left the room with Doctor Singh.
“We’re most gratefu
l to you, Doctor. As a precaution, I’d like to place a plainclothes officer here tomorrow for the next day or so. He’ll be almost invisible to you and your people, and for now it can be on an informal basis. It would be helpful to us for this patient and his friends not to know we’re watching them. Is that okay with you?”
“Sure. If it’s informal.”
“In case of any development, please call me directly,” said the policeman, handing Singh a plain white card bearing only the telephone number.
They walked toward the hospital exit and the Chinese officer spoke. “That was productive. He’d no idea who he was talking to in there. He’s all confused. I asked him who’d hit him and he said it happened when they were trying to lift the banana.”
“The banana? What the fuck’s the banana?”
The officer laughed. “Banana’s the slang nickname Chinese give to other Chinese they think have become Westernised. Yellow on the outside, white on the inside.”
“So it was the Chinese woman?”
“No, boss. That’s the thing. It was a Chinese man. He mentioned George Chu. You know who George Chu is, don’t you?”
“By God, of course. Well done, that man, well done. Jackpot time.”
“He also said ‘warehouse’ or something similar.”
Granger slapped his colleague on the back and grinned. “I owe you a beer.”
Alan Rennie went through the details once more with Granger and Manning. “On the face of things, we’ve received no complaints from anybody involved in the two van attacks. We’ve a smacked-up car-accident Chinese lad in an emergency room with a connect to Ching’s warehouse. We’ve got the name of George Chu, but no reports to date he’s missing. We’ve called his office and all they’d say is he’s away for a few days. Add in the mystery Asian lady driver. Nothing to warrant an arrest.”
Manning pointed to the report in front of him. “Sir, the witnesses at the second incident reported weapons present. Isn’t that enough at least to investigate? My guess is our Mister Chu is probably being held at the warehouse. Can’t we go sniffing around the premises?”
VENGEANCE WEARS BLACK (Jack Calder Crime Series #2) Page 9