by Powell, Mark
After a few minutes, his eyes were taking in the details before him.
He had found in the company database the background of the two shipping companies, now displayed in front of him. It seemed that the companies were old clients of the bank, prior to their purchase by Moon Star about six months earlier. The fact that interested Aziz even more was that the ‘Know Your Customer’ checks banks use to ensure the legitimacy of the companies they deal with were not being done again post the acquisition. This was a stroke of luck for him: it meant less red tape. It seemed that the structure of the holding company and the two shipping corporations combined would provide the perfect Trojan horse to execute his plan.
It was now 4:00 p.m. Ying was happy she had completely absorbed the basic knowledge of Commodities. Sitting back in her chair and tilting her head back, she closed her eyes and thought of her mother. She quantum breach 290709.indd 67
8/24/09 11:10:38 AM
68
Quantum Breach
would be clattering pans around the kitchen after a busy day teaching 20 noisy children all eager to learn English. Letting out a sigh, she needed to relax for a few minutes. The day had been long and intense.
Learning such products was tiring, but she loved it.
Just as her eyes closed, the phone rang. She opened her eyes wide and looked at it, thinking she would ignore it and just continue to zone out for a few more seconds, despite the fact the Dealing Room was still very active and noisy. Somewhat reluctantly, she leant forward and pressed the conference button.
‘It’s me, McCabe.’
Ying sat bolt upright and picked up the receiver. ‘Hi, boss. What a nice surprise,’ she said with real excitement.
‘Good. Got settled in there okay, then?’ asked McCabe.
John turned his head slightly, as if trying to listen in. He had heard it was McCabe before Ying picked up the receiver.
‘Yeah, I’m great. Really good day so far,’ she replied.
After a few minutes of general chit-chat, McCabe closed it off by saying, ‘Okay. As long as you are okay, I will let you get on. Talk again soon.’
‘Okay, boss. Take care, yeah, and thanks for the call.’ Ying rang off.
‘Who was that?’ John enquired, knowing full well who it was.
‘Just my boss in Singapore, Mark McCabe. He wanted to make sure I got here okay,’
‘What’s he like?’ asked John,
‘Oh, very cool in fact,’ Ying replied, not thinking too much about it.
‘So what’s his background? Always been in banking, I expect.’ John was more poised in his question this time. Ying noticed this and thought it a bit odd John was so keen to learn about her boss.
‘Why do you ask?’
‘Just interested in case I need a good boss,’ John responded, sensing Ying was on to him and went back to his work.
quantum breach 290709.indd 68
8/24/09 11:10:38 AM
Mark Powell
69
Later that evening, John paced up and down the lobby of the Hyatt Hotel, his hands in his pockets, an apprehensive look etched all over his face. Ying appeared from the lift lobby dressed in a short black dress with gold high-heeled sandals, a long string of pearls knotted in the centre hung around her slender neck, her hair down and looking extra silky. John stopped dead in his tracks and almost felt the blood rush to his head.
‘Hi,’ Ying beamed at him.
‘Good evening, Ying. You look great,’ John replied, a certain charm in his voice. He was now very different from the brash young boy Ying had met in the offi ce earlier that day.
‘So where are we going, handsome?’
‘The Madinat. It’s a popular tourist spot full of chic restaurants, boutiques and very happening bars. I think you will like it,’ John explained.
As they exited the hotel, John hailed a taxi from the waiting queue.
As the taxi headed off towards the main expressway, John couldn’t take his eyes off Ying, who was now gazing out of the taxi window at the Dubai landscape which was illuminated by the moon.
quantum breach 290709.indd 69
8/24/09 11:10:38 AM
FIVE
Bangkok, Thailand, 2008
As the door swung open, the shadow of a woman entered and grew on the wall, adding to the macabre, gloomy atmosphere of the damp, foul-smelling room. As the woman slowly approached the shivering fi gure of a fair-skinned Westerner, naked and tied to a chair in the middle of the room, no words were uttered. Only the sound of her heels on the concrete fl oor was evident to the man’s now heightened sense of hearing.
As she stopped and stood beside him, the man’s head nervously twitched from side to side, trying to locate the direction of the noise.
His vision had been blacked out by the dirty canvas bag which had been placed over his head and tied around his neck. He was unaware that the infamous Rain Angel had arrived and was now looking down upon his bloodied and bruised body. He had been worked over by the two Thai men who were standing in the room with her. Their punches had shattered his right cheek bone, broken his nose and severely bruised his kidneys. His cries of innocence had done little to abate their perverse thirst for pleasure. But despite their ability to beat someone up, they had failed their boss. They had failed to extract the exact whereabouts of the missing drug money he had supposedly misappropriated.
Abruptly turning towards the two men, both small, sinewy Muay Thai boxers, she spat out a few harshly edged words in Thai. She was asking if they had found out anything at all as a result of the beating quantum breach 290709.indd 70
8/24/09 11:10:38 AM
Mark Powell
71
they had given the man. As the hesitant reply hit her ears, she was less than happy to fi nd out nothing.
She bent forward, placing her mouth only a few inches from the man’s covered head. ‘Now Clive, I am your friend, your only friend in this miserable world. Where is my money?’ she asked in a soft tone.
After a few seconds, his head turning, he replied, ‘I don’t know, I swear I don’t know, boss. Please. I really have no idea.’ His voice was trembling and sounded like a small boy pleading with his mother.
Clive was far from being a small boy. He was an American, Caucasian, 36-year-old former shipping logistics offi cer with an international shipping corporation based in Thailand who had fallen on hard times, the victim of the ‘Bangkok freefall syndrome’—meaning he had fallen victim to the many girlie bars with the sorrowful stories of poverty and their need for help. This had only resulted in his every dollar being drained away, followed by his losing his job and becoming virtually destitute.
He had been picked up drunk in a backstreet bar one night by a rich Thai woman by the name of Mrs Siraporn. This most elegant of society women was known for her love of white slaves. Clive was for many months used and abused by her for her perverted pleasure. She treated him like a pet dog: he was kept chained up in her house, forced to give her and her friends sexual pleasure and worse. Finally, bored of him, she was about to cast him back out onto the street.
As luck would have it, one of her more powerful friends, the Rain Angel herself, could use him. She gave him money, cleaned him up and restored his position at his old company via a number of high-powered, rich and infl uential contacts she had. He was to facilitate, with no questions asked, the shipping and arrival into a number of international ports of large containers of tobacco—which in reality meant opium, the product of the so-called Golden Triangle. He had also overseen the arrival of a very special container, one that contained 20 million in cold, hard US dollar-denominated cash, but it had somehow vanished.
‘Clive, I am your only chance, but I can’t protect you again if you quantum breach 290709.indd 71
8/24/09 11:10:39 AM
72
Quantum Breach
don’t tell me where my money is. In fact, it is not all mine. My partner is a very unpleasant man. He is the head of the Thai drug cartel
and has very little sympathy for people like you. More importantly, he will not be very pleased with me if I have lost the money, and I can’t have that now, can I?’ The Rain Angel retained her calm as she spoke.
‘I don’t know, I swear, please,’ Clive repeated.
Hearing this, she stepped back and beckoned with her fi nger to one of the men who was standing somewhat lazily now in the far corner of the room, bored by the fact he could not deliver more punches to the prisoner. He jumped when he saw the signal. Bending down, he picked up a bucket of cold water. As he hurried over, his boss took hold of it and, despite her feminine frame, easily lifted it up and poured it right over the man’s head, sending him into a series of jerky spasms as he fought to gasp air.
Clive felt himself drowning as the water soaked into the bag pulled over his head. His lungs were desperate for air but another load of water followed. He choked and spluttered, fi ghting to breathe. It was a process that would continue for the next hour.
This form of torture had earned her the moniker Rain Angel. Her approach was at fi rst always pleasant and caring. Then, if defi ant, the victim would be liberally doused with torrents of cold water, simulating the effects of drowning. Most men broke after a few hours. If not, some never recovered and either suffocated or had heart attacks.
‘You have now crossed the line. Where is my money? You alone knew when the container docked and where it was to be stored at the dock. You were the only one who knew the container number, so where is it?’ she said, now extremely angry.
Clive just sat motionless, his head drooped forward. He was barely conscious, having had at least ten buckets of water poured over him, the soaking bag over his head almost suffocating him. He was brought back to semi-life by a punch to his head, one that jerked his head violently backwards.
After another 20 minutes of water torture, Clive fi nally broke, in quantum breach 290709.indd 72
8/24/09 11:10:39 AM
Mark Powell
73
soft, barely audible tones. ‘Please, I beg you—stop. I’ll tell you.
‘It’s in … a container on the west side of the dock, number Z …
B … 9778. I swear it. Please forgive me,’ he continued, before fi nally blacking out.
Hearing this, the Rain Angel took out her mobile phone and called a local number. Speaking in Thai, she uttered only a few words, enough for the man on the other end to understand her instructions. She then rang off and proceeded to walk around the room like a caged animal, looking at the now still fi gure of Clive in the chair.
After 30 minutes or so, her phone rang. She picked up the call and just listened. After a minute, she clicked off the phone once more. The man on the other end had confi rmed that the shipping container ZB-9778 had indeed been found, just as Clive had said. Her cash was now back in her hands.
As she started to walk towards the door, she paused. ‘Good boy,’ she said to Clive.
She then raised her eyes and looked at one of the Thai men, as if to signal Clive’s doom. Then, without another word, she walked out of the room. As she walked, a small smile appeared on her face, knowing she could now report back to her business partner, Mr Surat.
Surat was a rather tall Thai gentleman with shiny black hair. He looked distinguished in his usual attire, which was a dark blue Zegna suit and Hermes tie. Surat headed the Thai drug cartel and was an extremely unpleasant man, not known for forgiving those who betrayed him. It was rumoured that in his early years, he personally killed three former members of his own cartel with his bare hands, using only a splinter of bamboo to sever the arteries in their necks.
This was a man who had nothing when he was born, his family being dirt poor. He had climbed out of a Bangkok gutter and made his own fortune. He could now pay for people to be removed and not dirty his own hands. These days, Surat was more interested in acting as quantum breach 290709.indd 73
8/24/09 11:10:39 AM
74
Quantum Breach
CEO for the many companies he invested in. He had one ambition: to legitimise his own pedigree. That, coupled with the fact he hated Westerners with a deep-rooted passion. His younger brother had been killed in Myanmar in 1993 by an SAS hit squad; Surat vowed revenge.
The Rain Angel had been introduced to him a year earlier at a society function in Bangkok. Surat had married into a rich Thai family, his wife a society name despite her love for white male slaves. He was now into fi nancing arms deals with his billions and loved the introductions the Rain Angel engineered for him to certain Middle Eastern clients. It was a partnership that worked. Mrs Chamat, if that was indeed her real name, was useful to him.
As the Rain Angel exited the building and stepped into a waiting limousine, there was no need for her to wait or even worry about what happened to Clive. In the hours that followed, he was literally used as a punch bag and beaten to death for his acts of betrayal.
As her car pulled away, she instructed the driver to stop off at her hotel, the Sheraton, located on Sukumvit Road. He was to wait for her whilst she collected her luggage and then take her directly to the airport.
Her next appointment was in Dubai, and she had much work to do.
The rewards of her pending trip could be the best yet, she thought, as she smiled to herself and settled back in the comfort of her limo.
quantum breach 290709.indd 74
8/24/09 11:10:39 AM
SIX
Aziz sat down at a small table located in the back of the café. He was nervous; the beads of sweat on his forehead gave it away. His eyes darted around the café to observe who was around him. His fi ngers were drumming the table in expectation of someone arriving, someone who was clearly late. He glanced at his watch; it was now 8:30 p.m. Looking around the café in expectation of his guest’s arrival, he noticed a man sitting near the door.
‘Hell,’ he thought. ‘It’s someone from the bank.’
He slowly tried to sink down into his seat as if to minimise himself from view. Just then, a lady appeared in the doorway. She was neatly turned out in a blue dress with an opulent gold necklace around her neck. Her mid-forties age was hidden behind well-crafted make-up and an expensive hairstyle. From her facial features, she appeared to be perhaps Lebanese. She stood there for a few moments as she scanned the room. Spotting Aziz hidden in the back corner, she walked up to him and sat down.
She started speaking to him in English, to lessen the chances that those at the other tables might eavesdrop. ‘Listen carefully, Aziz, this is important,’ she said in a domineering tone. Her accent was clipped and very British. ‘You must initiate the deal tomorrow, without fail. Do you understand me?’
Aziz took in the instructions and simply nodded, accepting everything he was being told. Once fi nished, she got up, turned and quantum breach 290709.indd 75
8/24/09 11:10:39 AM
76
Quantum Breach
walked out of the café, not even bothering to say goodbye or appearing to have known Aziz well at all. Aziz wasted no time waving to the waitress and gestured for his bill. When it arrived, he glanced at the total, and then placed 40 dirham on the small white plate. Not waiting for his change, he hurried out.
Ying was enjoying John’s company as they sat by the manmade canal with its crystal-clear blue water, eating their meal. Steak with piles of mash potato and thick gravy; not your typical Middle Eastern fare, but this particular restaurant was known for its steak. Ying established that John was well-educated, having graduated from Oxford with a fi rst in economics. Better still, he made her laugh. She asked him what he liked about economics and John replied, ‘Economics is a bit like pissing down your own leg: it seems hot to you, but not to anyone else.’
Ying could not help but laugh. He seemed to have so many stories to tell, especially about his childhood. Ying was clearly amused. She liked his intelligence and wit. She found herself liking him, which surprised her, given she had thought him a total prat earlier in the day.
Once the meal was over, John grabbed her by the arm and took her inside the bar. It was famous, known for its great live music. As they walked in, passionately entwined bodies fi lled the area between the bar and the band. Cuban music was being played, and that was the only excuse John needed to let his hair down.
John took Ying by the hand, his right arm now gently placed around her slim waist. He then led her expertly around the fl oor. John, it seemed, really knew how to salsa and cha cha. Ying loved it.
After a few dances, John escorted Ying back to the bar. ‘What will it be, Ying?’
‘Oh, just a beer, please,’ Ying replied. She was now sweating and the ice-cold beer felt so good. Leaning on the bar, John decided to slip in a few more questions about McCabe.
quantum breach 290709.indd 76
8/24/09 11:10:39 AM
Mark Powell
77
‘So this McCabe fellow. Come on, tell me more about him.’ He leant forward and beamed a smile at Ying.
‘Well, he is not all he seems. He was in the army. A tough guy, I think, special forces and all that,’ Ying replied John listened intently and allowed Ying to chat on. After about an hour, he had confi rmed what he needed to and gestured for the bill.
‘Come on, Ying, time to get you back. Busy day tomorrow.’
‘Oh, okay. Sure,’ Ying replied.
They walked back to the main entrance of the Madinat Market, which, in essence, was a replica of an old traditional Arabian souk.
The night air was cool. They both walked in silence as if nothing more needed to be said, simply enjoying the walk and taking in the sights of the busy souk, still buzzing with late-night shoppers and tourists. The smell of shisha pipes fi lled the air. Once at the taxi stand, John waved to one of the waiting taxis. It pulled up within a few seconds. John then opened the door and gestured gallantly for Ying to get in.
‘Hyatt Hotel, please,’ he instructed the driver. ‘Night, Ying. Great time, really. Thanks. See you tomorrow.’