Beyond the boat and the jetty, and half masked by the yellow floodlighting, several buildings crouched beneath a line of ailing coconut palms. Two covered lorries were parked off to the left, and as the four men watched a fork-lift truck emerged from behind the boat and hummed its way towards one of the buildings. Its driver was one of many dressed in what looked like light-blue pyjamas. They were from the local camp or prison, Marker guessed, for there was something painfully submissive about the way they moved. It was hard to count, with all the moving to and fro, but there were at least twenty-five of them, mostly men but with a scattering of women, none of whom was Rosalie.
There were another ten or eleven men engaged in the unloading, most or all of whom were in supervisory mode. They were the ship’s crew, he decided, and they weren’t carrying weapons. They didn’t need to – a third group, noticeably younger and more smartly dressed, was doing that for them. Marker counted eight spread out around the jetty, and every one of them was either carrying or sitting within easy reach of a Kalashnikov AK47.
After fifteen minutes of observation the team slipped back across the crest and crouched down among the trees for a tactical conference.
‘Suggestions?’ Marker asked quietly.
Cafell spoke first. ‘They’ve almost finished unloading the ship, and if we wait till they have, then there’s a good chance the labour force and most of the guards will be driven back to wherever it is they come from. That’ll leave us with only the ship’s crew to deal with . . .’
‘The ship may sail,’ Finn interjected.
Cafell shrugged. ‘All the better. We can wander across, turn the place upside down and leave our calling cards on a one-hour fuse.’
‘Sounds good,’ Marker agreed.
‘Yeah,’ Finn agreed. ‘Since the bastards haven’t left us a speedboat, a quiet exit seems kind of essential.’
She would not have believed it possible, but with the coming of night it had grown even darker inside the cold store. The temperature had seemed to rise too, but perhaps that had something to do with the staleness of the air. She still didn’t feel hungry, but thirst was becoming a real problem, and it was no great consolation that the sweat which dripped from her forehead offered a modicum of relief to her parched lips.
Soon after half-past seven the silence outside was broken by the arrival of vehicles. Heavy lorries, she guessed from the sound – probably two of them. The engines had no sooner been switched off than she heard voices raised in shouts of command: ‘Hurry up!’, ‘Keep quiet!’, ‘Move!’ And then, a few moments later, she was sure she heard a baby crying.
She put her ears against the door but the sound was not repeated, and she found herself wondering whether she had imagined it, whether the darkness and the fear had magnified her work of the last few months into an obsession. And then, all of a sudden, she found there were tears streaming down her cheeks, sobs racking her body.
She sank to the floor once more, buried her head in her hands, and let the inner storm slowly blow itself out.
Raising her head several minutes later, she could hear machinery. It had to be the ship’s derrick. The shouts of command had been for the forced labourers who were now unloading the cargo.
It crossed her mind that she might be sent back with them, and that that was why she had been kept in this room all day. The thought of companionship made her smile inside, and took her back through the encounters of the last few days, listening to Hu Guang-fu talk about the Triads, sitting on the edge of Gu Yao-bang’s desk in the picture library, the daily enjoyment of working with Li.
She liked being with people. So why had she spent so much of her life alone?
In the observation point on the other side of the river Marker was beginning to feel his frustration mount. As expected, the unloading of the ship had been completed, the blue-pyjama-clad labour force had been led back to the lorries, and the crew had disappeared inside the superstructure. But another half an hour had brought no further advance. There was no sign of the lorries leaving, and the eight armed guards were standing around beside them, talking and smoking, as if the whole night was theirs to waste.
Nor was the ship giving any indication of an early departure, though they had been given one strong hint that it would leave that night. Shortly after the unloading was finished the fork-lift had returned with a teetering pile of cardboard boxes, each of which was then passed from hand to hand over the freighter’s side. The sounds of babies crying had easily carried across the wide river.
With such a cargo, Marker reasoned, the captain would probably wait for the early hours before setting off downstream towards Chuntao. But that wasn’t really a problem – if need be they could cope with the ship’s crew. He wanted to know what the armed guards were waiting for.
‘Boss, I’ve had an idea,’ Finn whispered at his side.
‘Tell me.’
‘They forgot to leave us a speedboat, but they have left us a ship. Why don’t we take it home?’
Marker thought about it. The jetty was empty. The ship’s crew had not looked armed. If they could get aboard unseen and unheard . . . Jesus, he thought suddenly, they could take the prisoners with them. Those men and women would have loaded and unloaded any number of pirated cargoes – their evidence would be damning.
‘I like it,’ he murmured, as much to himself as to Finn.
‘I was afraid you would,’ Cafell said mournfully in his other ear. ‘The last time you liked one of his ideas we spent six days sitting on a container.’
‘Ah, but this time we get to drive the boat,’ Finn said.
Cafell sighed. ‘OK, so what’s the plan?’
Marker told them. ‘And once we’re on board,’ he concluded, ‘don’t let your better natures get the better of you. One audible gunshot and we’re in trouble.’
It took them ten minutes to reach the edge of the river. The bulk of the boat lay between the jetty lights and the water, casting the starboard side and a twenty-yard swath of river into shadow, but that still left a large stretch bathed in moonlight to traverse undetected. The shifting patterns of light in the tidal swell would help, but if anyone applied binoculars to the centre of the river, or even a keen naked eye, then they would probably be seen.
Sink or swim, Marker thought. He looked around at the other blackened faces. They had wasted enough time.
The four men crawled head first into the water and struck out in the direction of the black freighter’s bow. Each knew that these would be the crucial moments – if the alarm was raised they might regain the headland but their chances of getting back to Hong Kong would be remote indeed.
Twenty yards, thirty yards . . . fifty, sixty . . . they were in mid-stream now, swimming as fast as the backs allowed, concentrating on keeping each stroke as silent as was humanly possible. It seemed to take an eternity, but at last they were in the shadows, the freighter’s side looming above them. The grab-hook snaked up out of the water, catching on the rail with a noisy thunk, and after a minute’s wait had produced no sound of movement on the deck above Finn shinned up the rope and slipped aboard. A tug on the rope announced the all-clear, and the other three followed him up on to the deck. The four men crouched down by the rail, the silenced MP5s now cradled in their arms, and took stock of where they were.
The ship’s working lights were off, but those on the jetty were still on, casting a bright yellow glow across the sixty yards of deck which stretched between them and the superstructure. The two figures visible on the illuminated bridge would have a hard job seeing out, but Marker still didn’t fancy the odds on their running the length of the deck without being spotted, even with the cover offered by the derricks and several casually strewn packing cases.
As if in answer to a prayer, the jetty lights suddenly went out, casting the deck in deep shadow.
Someone up there liked them, Marker decided. ‘Let’s go,’ he said, and the four men set off at a swift jog along the starboard rail. Neither of the two silhouetted heads
on the brightly glowing bridge turned towards them, and within twenty seconds the four men had their backs to the wall of the superstructure beside an open doorway. The smell of food and the sound of conversation came floating up the stairway inside.
On the bridge above them one of the two men made a clapping sound.
Marker made a downward gesture with his thumb, and moved through the door just as a young man – a boy, really – appeared at the bottom of the stairway. He had a brimming bowl of noodle soup in each hand, his eyes were guiding his feet, and he didn’t see Marker until he was only a few steps from the top of the stairway.
The eyes widened, the hands shook violently, slopping the soup down the steps, but he didn’t drop either bowl.
Marker gestured that he should put down the bowls, and the boy obeyed. Another hand signal put him in Dubery’s custody.
Marker went carefully down the steps, stopping at the bottom, where a passage led aft towards the source of food and conversation. Then, with Cafell and Finn close behind him, he walked stealthily down the corridor towards the open door of the ship’s galley.
He took a deep breath, stepped through the door and moved to the right, the MP5 held loosely in firing position. Behind him Cafell moved to the left, leaving the space between them for Finn.
The male voices died away in a second, leaving only the sound of a woman talking on the radio. There were eight men in the room, eight faces expressing surprise. No one made a move.
Finn turned away to cover the corridor, and ushered Dubery forward with the boy.
That made nine, Marker thought, and they had estimated ten or eleven. The two on the bridge should be the only ones left. ‘Rob, you and Finn keep this lot happy. Ian, let’s take the bridge.’
He led the way up the first flight of stairs and paused at the bottom of the second. ‘I’ll go in first,’ he whispered. ‘They’ll be expecting one pair of feet with their supper. You follow me in, but be careful to keep to the back wall – we don’t want to be seen from outside.’
The two Chinese men on the bridge, one of whom was wearing a captain’s hat, looked up from their mah-jong board as Marker opened the door and stepped inside with the levelled MP5. The man without the hat barked out what sounded like a question, and was halfway out of his chair before common sense took hold. He sank back looking angry as the captain took a leisurely pull on a thick cigarette. The bridge air, Marker realized, smelled of opium.
Dubery moved in behind him, and he gestured the two men to their feet.
They just sat there, as if they didn’t understand.
Marker pulled his finger on the trigger, and sent a three-tap burst between them, scattering the mah-jong tiles against the cushioned bulkhead.
They allowed themselves to be escorted down to the galley, where the captain walked into a sudden barrage of questions from his own men.
Finn raised an eyebrow at Marker, who told him to let them talk. ‘Go and find somewhere we can put them, preferably somewhere escape and sound-proof. If we have to tie and gag this lot it’ll take till Christmas. And be careful,’ he added, as Finn started off, ‘we’re not sure we’ve got them all.’
For the next few minutes captors and captives stared at each other, the Chinese no doubt wondering who these crazy gweilos were and what they wanted, the Brits hoping that none of the guards outside had noticed anything different about the ship at the jetty.
Finn came back with two pieces of good news: the babies they had seen carried aboard were all sleeping in a cabin further down the passage, and down near the engine room he had found a windowless storeroom which would serve as a temporary brig. As he and Dubery escorted the eleven crew members down in batches, Marker went back aloft, finding a spot behind the bridge from which he could look out across the jetty to where the guards were still idly chatting beside the lorries.
He had not been watching for much more than a minute when the headlights of a car suddenly appeared in the distance. It was coming down the access road beside the river. The armed guards heard it too, and Marker wondered if this was what they were waiting for.
It was a big car, the sort he had seen on news film of Party bosses driving down roads lined with adoring masses. There were two men in the front and one in the back, and it quickly became apparent where the power lay. As the car stopped one of the armed guards went up to the back window, listened for a moment, and then ran off to do his master’s bidding. Marker strained his eyes to see the face of the man in the back, and then remembered the nightscope. He was in the act of putting it to his eye when the guard returned, dragging someone along with him. Someone barefoot, with a dirt-streaked face and clothes.
It was her.
When she had first heard the hands on the cold store door Rosalie’s heart had leapt with the hope that her guess had been right, and that she was about to be sent back with the others to a prison camp. But the hope lasted no longer than the time it took her eyes to readjust to the gloomy light. The lorries were parked away to her right, and the two men grasping her by the upper arms were leading her straight towards a car that was stopped on the road.
Her foot struck something sharp and she realized she had left her shoes behind. Then her two captors stopped and she was suddenly conscious of eyes looking out at her from the back seat.
‘This is her, Comrade Wang.’
The man nodded. ‘Yes,’ he said in Cantonese.
She was bundled into the front seat, where the driver sniffed and made a face before putting the car into gear. One of the two men who had collected her from the cold store had climbed into the back, and was now almost caressing her neck with the barrel of a revolver. The whole car stank of aftershave.
They moved forward, passing between the still-berthed ship and a clutch of buildings before venturing back on to the road which ran along the river bank. A few moments more and she could see where the river flowed out between two low promontories into the wide Pearl estuary.
The road divided, and the driver took the right fork, continuing on around the headland to where a large white villa with a pagoda-style roof looked out across the sea. As she was bundled out of the car and up the steps towards the front door, Rosalie had a momentary glimpse of a small private dock and the boat which was berthed alongside it.
The driver and the man with the gun took her into a luxurious living room with a large picture window, and held her by the arms until the other man returned. Then her arms were wrenched behind her back, and something strong but supple was looped around her wrists. She squirmed violently but it was too late. The hands that had held her arms were now grasping her by the calves, and she felt the same material tighten around her ankles. It was a length of leather thong, and she had been hobbled like a member of a chain-gang.
Now, for the first time, the man in charge came round in front of her. He was about forty, slightly plump, no taller than her. He had cold, intelligent eyes, vestigial lips and closely cropped hair; beads of sweat were glistening on his brow and forearms. He was wearing dark-blue slacks and a striped shirt open at the collar.
He told the other two men they could go.
They went, licking their lips with someone else’s anticipation.
Wang walked across to a desk, came back with a pair of scissors, and began cutting her clothes from her body. First the blouse, then the bra, the trousers and the knickers. Having peeled away the pieces caught by the leather restraints he stepped back to admire what a thorough job he had done.
She stood there, naked and bound, feeling more frightened than she thought it possible to feel.
‘You need a wash,’ he said.
After the car had disappeared from sight behind the headland at the river’s mouth, Marker had stared at the empty road for several seconds, as if reluctant to accept the fact that it was gone. The temptation to take off in pursuit was strong, but the responsibilities of command could not be shaken off so easily. He had to balance the interests of everyone involved – Rosalie’s and the team�
�s, the prisoners’ and the babies’, even those of the pirates’ victims, both past and future.
A hundred yards up the road in the opposite direction the posse of armed guards had resumed their waiting game. Matches flared as they lit cigarettes, and the smiles on the illuminated faces looked like an adman’s dream. Marker found himself remembering reading that the tobacco companies’ rising profits in the Third World had more than made up for the downswing in Europe and America.
He still didn’t know what the guards were waiting for, but he suspected the time for finding out had passed.
The other three were waiting in the galley, Finn with spoon in hand. ‘It’s good soup,’ he said.
Marker told them what he had just witnessed, and brushed aside the others’ concern. ‘First, we’ll complete the round-up,’ he said curtly. ‘Once we have the area secure we can start thinking about getting everyone home. OK?’
The others nodded soberly.
Marker smiled grimly, and led the way back up the stairs and on to the deck. A raft of planks took him across on to the darkened jetty, and he jogged towards the nearest building, the others in a line behind him, their running feet making only a soft slapping sound on the concrete.
They passed down the side of one warehouse and along the back of another, emerging into a grove of palm trees some fifty yards inland from the road. Two grounded containers had been left in the intervening stretch of flattened grass, and these, while blocking the lorries from sight, also provided excellent cover for the four men’s advance.
They moved stealthily forward through the grass, circumventing a discarded Coke can as if it were a mine. Behind the first container they stopped and listened for movement beyond, but all they could hear were the overlapping conversations of guards and prisoners. They had just reached the shelter of the second when a loud banging noise erupted away to their left, from the general direction of the jetty. It took several seconds before they realized what it was – the imprisoned crew had started drumming on the inside of the ship’s hull.
Marine G SBS Page 22