Silencer

by Andy McNab

  Sophie nodded slowly as I poured out more of my heart for her to examine.

  ‘So then I suggested we look at some other options, maybe go to Turkey or South America to find a donor. But her answer was still no. She’s frightened, I guess, not only for her own safety – the possibility of contamination – but for the donor’s too. We’ve both done our research …’

  I waited to see her reaction, but there wasn’t one.

  ‘Let’s be clear, Sophie, I know what I want is illegal. I don’t care about that – I care about Anna. Equally, I don’t want some Chinese Death Row prisoner’s kidney stuck into her, even if she does agree – who’s to know what diseases it might carry? I know that I can get a designer kidney here, and I know that I can afford it.

  ‘What I want is a Hispanic organ – it’s partly a religious thing – from a living female donor. I want to meet the donor to know she has not been coerced, and of course I want the surgery to be the safest there is. When I go back to Moscow I want every base covered, so the only answer Anna can give me is yes. I don’t care about anything else. Can you do that for me?’

  Sophie was totally absorbed, as if I was revealing the secret of the universe. ‘Thank you for being so candid. I can assure you, we will be able to cover every single one of your bases.’ She sat back and crossed her legs. ‘My husband died from CKD eight years ago. He suffered for far too long while we tried to find a donor. I understand your heartache. I understand the fear, the anger, the helplessness. That’s the reason I started my own matching service. I don’t want anyone else to go through that – ever.’

  I nodded.

  ‘I have a wide selection of donors, and brand-new world-class surgical facilities. All the donors are healthy, considerate people, and well looked after. They’re paid, of course, but they care. I think I may already have a number of possibles for Anna …’

  She uncrossed her legs and leaned forward again. ‘Are you married?’

  I needed to keep the story as close to the truth as possible.

  ‘We live together. I met her when I first moved to Moscow. She’s Russian – from Cuban parents. It’s not unusual there.’

  ‘Do you have any children?’

  I managed to do nothing more than shake my head. ‘We’re waiting until we get married. She’s a good Catholic girl.’

  Sophie’s teeth flashed. ‘How old is she?’

  ‘Thirty-five. And she’s fit – apart from the diabetes and CKD, obviously.’

  She sipped some juice and wiped the corners of her mouth with a thumb and forefinger. ‘A Cuban in Moscow. Why stay? I’d rather be in Havana any day, wouldn’t you?’

  ‘Warmer, for sure.’

  She rose to her feet. ‘I want to show you something.’ She pointed to a spit of land to the port side behind us. ‘You see those caves?’

  The rock face was covered with greenery. Shove a lollipop stick in the mud in the tropics and it would start sprouting.

  ‘You see? Just on the waterline?’

  Turquoise water splashed in and out of five or six dark semicircles that were clearly too symmetrical to be anything other than man-made.

  ‘The Japanese excavated them during the war, to hide their kamikaze powerboats. They packed them with explosives and waited for you guys to come back and take the island. They protected the harbour.’ Sophie moved alongside me. ‘Can you imagine that? Steering a powerboat into a ship and blowing yourself to smithereens? Not my idea of a good day at the beach, I can tell you.’

  I guided her back to her seat. ‘Look, Sophie, I have some questions I need to ask you. I’ve read so much bad stuff …’

  She picked up the jug and poured us the last of the juice. ‘Of course, Nick. Whatever you need to know.’

  ‘What sort of surgery is involved? I mean, you won’t just cut her open and do it old-school?’

  Sophie recoiled at the thought. ‘Jesus, Nick, that’s strictly for the butchers. We use only the finest surgeons available, and they go the laparoscopic route. A few very small incisions in the abdominal area, purely to insert the instruments.’

  ‘Keyhole surgery?’

  ‘Precisely. Keyhole surgery. A tiny camera guides the team. A minute three- to four-inch incision allows the kidney removal, then the introduction of the new organ. They close the incisions using dissolving sutures, so she won’t even need a follow-up appointment. A month, six weeks down the line, you won’t be able to tell it happened. We take exactly the same care of the donor.’

  ‘How soon after the op could she come home?’

  ‘My patients and their donors normally leave hospital one or two days after the procedure. Anna will need to go in the day before, of course. She’ll feel a bit groggy when she wakes up post op, and perhaps a little bit of discomfort, but she’ll always have a nurse at her bedside, closely monitoring her vital signs. If she’s in any pain, we’ll make sure to relieve it. I encourage my patients to get out of bed the night of the surgery. The day after, they’re all up and about.’

  ‘I don’t want to rain on your parade, but what happens if something goes wrong? What if there are problems when we get back to Moscow?’

  ‘There won’t be. When you get home, Anna will need to limit her activities for a while. No lifting for about four weeks. She’s going to feel tired for the first week or two. She’ll probably need a nap here and there. I’ll give her some very clear notes about what to expect, what to eat, how much to exercise, that sort of thing. There may be some swelling around the incision, so she should plan to wear loose, comfortable clothes for a while, but she should be able to return to work within two to three weeks.

  ‘I’ll take you both through the procedure in greater detail when we get to that point, so that you’re both a hundred per cent happy.’

  ‘What if she needs medical attention back home?’

  ‘She shouldn’t, but if she does, there are no obstacles. She’ll have done nothing illegal …’ She reached for my arm again. ‘You must love her very much.’

  I looked back over the stern. The madly overcrowded coastline was now a kilometre away.

  17

  The Stanley peninsula had taken shape over the far side of the boat. At the tip I could see Stanley Fort, a curious mixture of gracious colonial buildings, gun emplacements, bunkers and blockhouses that used to house the British garrison: gracious colonial for the head shed, blockhouses for the squaddies. Even at this distance, it looked a lot smarter than when we’d had it. The main building had been given a lick of white paint and a massive red PRC flag now hung where a smaller Union flag had done.

  ‘I know I only got here yesterday, but that’s the first sign I’ve seen that this place is under new management.’

  ‘Ah, yes – the People’s Liberation Army base, scene of your last stand against the Japanese.’

  Bruce chose that moment to begin a sweeping clockwise circle that soon had me facing out to sea again.

  Sophie raised her ruby to her mouth and coughed lightly. I knew what was coming.

  ‘I think this might be a good moment to discuss the financial side of things. I’d like you to understand everything about this journey. Is it all right to talk about this now?’

  ‘Of course.’

  She pushed her glasses up into her hair so she could rest her dark-brown eyes fully on mine. ‘First, I’ve got to secure the perfect donor. I insist they all go through not only the run-of-the-mill health checks, but also a complete set of X-rays and’ – she counted off each test with the forefinger of one hand in the palm of the other, jabbing hard each time she said ‘insist’ – ‘I also insist on screenings for kidney function, liver function, hepatitis, heart disease, lung disease, and for any exposure to viral diseases in the past. I insist on urine testing to ensure her kidneys function normally and that the urinary tract and the blood vessels leading to the kidneys are in good shape.

  ‘I insist on a pap smear, mammogram, colonoscopy, and all necessary medical clearance for any conditions we identify
. Once that’s done, and only then, I submit the results to my living-donor team, who make sure that everything is as it should be.’

  She wasn’t done yet. I knew that I was on the meter.

  ‘The surgeon responsible for the procedure will meet with the donor as well as with Anna. The donor will have a complete psychological evaluation to ensure that she is mentally capable as well as physically. They deserve the best support I can give them. I’m sure Anna would approve.’

  I had to agree. ‘I think she’d insist on that. But I need to meet the donor before we get anywhere near that point.’

  She’d seen that one coming. ‘Of course. As soon as we know for sure that we’ve got an acceptable candidate. I don’t want you to waste your time vetting possibles.’

  ‘You gave me the impression you’d got somebody in mind. Is that right? I’ve told her I’m only going to be here for four days.’

  She lowered her glasses again and brought her hands together like she was in prayer. ‘The choice of donor obviously depends on the outcome of Anna’s tests – which may present a problem if she is unaware of your intentions …’

  ‘I know you’ll need to screen for matching on blood type, tissue matching and cross-matching, so I’ve got about four hundred mils of her blood left.’ I wanted her to think she wasn’t the only game in town. ‘It’s O pos. Three days old.’

  Sophie’s smile broadened. I was close to becoming teacher’s pet. ‘You’re way ahead of me, Nick. You’ve obviously done your homework.’

  ‘I’ve had to learn fast.’

  ‘I’ll only need a hundred and fifty.’

  ‘I’m in your hands. So, where do we go from here?’

  ‘Ah.’ She massaged her chin, deep in thought. ‘This is a slightly … unusual case, because the recipient is normally part of the process from the outset. Then there’s the cost of identifying and testing the donor, bringing her to Hong Kong, preparing the clinic – and, of course, two procedures means two theatres. And what if Anna decides against it? I’m afraid any costs already incurred can’t be recouped.’

  ‘Let me worry about that. So – bottom line?’

  ‘It’s going to be in the region of four hundred and thirty thousand dollars US, give or take. And I’d need fifty per cent upfront to cover our initial costs.’

  I held up my hands to stop her right there. ‘I’ll pay for the blood tests. I’ll pay for the donor’s tests. But only after I’ve met her, and seen what I’m paying for.’

  She wasn’t fazed. ‘Of course. Whatever makes you feel comfortable. Why don’t we get the ball rolling today? Anna’s blood is type O, you say?’

  I nodded.

  ‘Good. As you probably know, that’s very common in the Hispanic community. So … let me have Anna’s sample. I do have a woman in mind. She’s lovely. If the blood tests are positive you can meet her and decide if she’d be acceptable.’ I could almost hear her brain ticking over. ‘Shall we say ten thousand US dollars down?’

  I gave it a couple of seconds. ‘Agreed. Do you want it at the same time as the blood sample?’

  She was back in business mode. ‘If possible. I’ll have to pay the lab and the technicians immediately. I always insist on the best of the best.’

  ‘It’s going to take me a few hours. I take it we’re talking cash?’

  ‘Better for all concerned, don’t you think?’

  ‘Can you get someone to come and pick it up at six this evening? Up on the Lawn, where I met Kitty?’

  ‘Perfect.’ She was a very happy teddy. ‘If there’s any change to that, I’ll call you. Kitty obviously has your number. And, of course, you have hers if there’s a problem.’

  Bruce swung wide of an oil tanker that hadn’t been there when we’d headed out. Sophie stood and offered me her hand as we surged between the breakwaters and the world crowded in on me again.

  I gave it a firm shake. She might be an arsehole of a trafficker, but I quite liked her.

  ‘Just one question. If Anna doesn’t know what you’re up to, how did you manage to persuade her to give you a blood sample?’

  I looked suitably sheepish. ‘I know her doctor. He needed a holiday …’ I paused. ‘Do you mind if I ask one of my own? Why doesn’t Kitty change her name? I mean, Kitty Porn? It sounds like a bad joke.’

  I heard Bruce start to piss himself behind me.

  ‘It’s Kitty Phong – not Porn.’

  She laughed too, and I joined in.

  ‘It’s a Cantonese problem. They find some words very hard to pronounce. Like mine – it quite often turns into Soapy.’

  18

  Bruce threaded the Manhattan 53 through the harbour and dropped us off at the pontoon nearest the aluminium gate. He backed up to park the boat at the same time as booking me a taxi on his cell phone. I was impressed. Who says men can’t multi-task?

  I’d hung onto the sun-gigs so I didn’t look like I’d had my eyes gouged out in the searing sunlight. Sophie didn’t seem to mind, and I figured she already owed me a party bag.

  She worked her magic with the keypad beside the gate again to let us back into the clubhouse area. The old woman was still doing lengths of the swimming-pool. There was something relentless about her strokes; you certainly wouldn’t have wanted her to be your mother-in-law.

  Sophie escorted me back to the reception area. ‘Nick, it was a pleasure to meet you.’ She ramped the smilometer back up to full wattage. ‘It’s now my mission to make yours a complete success.’

  She grabbed my hand and led me to a red taxi with its engine running. ‘Kitty will take care of everything this evening. I might be able to get the tests done before close of play. First thing tomorrow at the latest.’ She trotted back up the steps.

  The driver sported a crew-cut, a red check shirt and small rectangular glasses with clip-on shades that flipped up like a parcel shelf. They were at least three times as big as they needed to be.

  ‘Upper House, yes?’

  ‘Not yet, mate. Does the marina have a members’ car park?’

  ‘Yes. Car park.’ He pointed straight ahead, then left. ‘Not far.’

  ‘Go for it.’

  He was unimpressed. ‘We go Upper House? Or you walk to car park. Car park not far.’ He was pissed off about his fare. He pointed again. ‘Just there. Twenty metre. You walk.’

  I pulled out my wallet. ‘This is the plan. I’ll give you more than the fare to Upper House right away.’ I counted out three hundred HKD. ‘Now you start the clock and I’ll pay you what I owe you after we’re done. I need your help, mate. Woman trouble. So let’s start with the car park, eh?’

  He flicked down his clip-ons with the look of a man who knew a thing or two about woman trouble, and mumbled away to himself as we looped around the turning circle. I’d obviously struck a raw nerve. We passed a couple of high-end boat shops with billboards advertising gin palaces the size of apartment blocks.

  ‘There, you see? Car park …’ He motioned towards a ramp that led underground.

  ‘Let’s do it. I’m looking for my wife’s car.’

  He wasn’t happy about the ticket barrier. ‘No cash – only Visa.’

  ‘Got one right here …’ I flashed the plastic.

  He drove to the entrance and grabbed a ticket. I took off my gigs and he raised his clip-ons as we rolled into a concrete bunker where vehicles with six- and seven-figure price tags sheltered from the sun. The cabbie did the circuits, and we eventually bumped into the Verso on the second floor. It was definitely the one I was after: dual plates and PRC stickers over the Toyota logo.

  I let him carry on all the way back to the top level.

  Tucked in the far corner there were three or four 4x4s. We could easily lose his little red runabout between them. Sophie would have to pass us on her way out, but we wouldn’t be in her line of sight.

  ‘In there, mate, on the left.’

  ‘You pay for wait?’

  ‘I’ll pay for everything, mate. I’m that kind of guy.’

/>   He did as he was told and turned off the engine, but not the power. He wanted to keep that meter running.

  19

  Ten minutes later, I gave him another twenty HKD. ‘I think my wife’s got a boyfriend.’ I gave him my bad-smell face. ‘You married, mate?’

  He nodded, taking the cash.

  ‘Kids?’

  He nodded again.

  I’d give it an hour. I slid down in the rear seat, my eyes on the gap between two concrete pillars. I thought about the times I’d spent like this in Northern Ireland. Sometimes waiting for most of a day or a night, hoping to be rewarded with a few seconds of exposure of a PIRA or INLA active-service unit as they loaded up for an attack, or shadowing the weak link in an ASU, building up a nice little dossier about his appetite for drugs, alcohol or choir boys – or, if push came to shove, breaking into his house and scattering around the right kind of incriminating material. Maybe we’d watch him visiting his mum who had cancer and was way down on the treatment list.

  I’d Taser him, pop him in the boot and drive into the countryside to read him his horoscope. He’d become a source, a tout, an informer, whatever he chose to call himself. In return, his bad habits would remain our little secret, or they’d be paid for, or his mother might find herself magically propelled to the top of the list for radiotherapy. It was his choice – at least, that was what we’d tell him. But as soon as he was in, there was no getting out. If everything went to rat-shit we’d simply expose him to his PIRA or INLA mates and let them deal with it.

  I thought about my new best friend Sophie. I could write her backstory blindfolded; maybe that was why I liked her. Young girl; dreams of wealth; always wanted to get on. Went out with the boys who had the cars to take her places and the readies to buy her the stuff she wanted; found herself working hard for somebody else and hating it because she was making money for them instead of herself.