by M G Leslie
The man slowly made his way to the lifts, where he entered and travelled up to the 11th floor where he knew the Spa was located. He chose this floor in the knowledge that nobody would be around. Even if someone was awake on a floor above or below, it would take at least 20 to 30 seconds to reach him, and that was just enough time for him to complete his task.
Stepping out of the lift, he walked towards the fire exit and next to it, a small plastic fire alarm button. Hitting the alarm button, breaking the glass and setting off the alarm bell with his elbow, he immediately stepped in to the stairwell behind the fire exit door and out of sight of the hotel’s closed circuit TV system.
Whilst the hotel security staff saw him do this on the CCTV cameras, they were 11 floors away and had no way of knowing whether he was just drunk or reacting to a genuine fire – so they sprang in to action and alerted the fire department.
The man, however, was not even slightly drunk, but he was well aware that the security staff would be looking for him, so he moved fast. His suit and long hair were just for show. With a single pull from his right hand, his suit, that was really just thin cotton attached to him by doubled-side sticky tape, fell away, as did his long hair, revealing a shorthaired man in jeans and a t-shirt – it was Lee, although you would never have guessed a few seconds earlier.
Reaching in to his rucksack, Lee pulled out some wet wipes, spat out some cotton balls that he’d placed in his mouth to make his face look much fatter than it really was, and wiped the makeup, and grazes, from his face. Then he turned the rucksack inside out so that it changed colour, pushed the suit, hair, cotton balls and wet wipes inside and started to walk slowly down the fire exit stairs.
As he approached the lower floors, other people started to enter the fire exit stairwell and steadily a handful of people became a crowd – so, by the time he reached the ground floor, he was just one of many people pouring out in to the street past security guards who were looking for a drunk, grey-haired man with puffed up cheeks who was wearing a suit.
Whilst this was taking place, other ‘drunks’ had been sitting on the sidewalk outside of the hotel, each armed with a small camera attached to their shirt. Nobody at SIS knew what the person they were chasing looked like – so they had stationed someone at every fire exit where they proceeded to photograph everyone who left the building – just on the off-chance he had gone back to the hotel and wasn’t in Stanley Bay as they suspected.
Meanwhile, Price waited silently. As soon as the ‘drunks’ saw the fire exits empty of people, each one touched a small button on the camera to signal their side of the building was empty. Once they’d all reported in, Price felt the black box in his pocket vibrate – that was the signal – it was time to move.
He was wearing a pair of rubber shoes that are normally reserved for climbers. He always used these for this kind of work, as they were very ‘grippy’ and enabled him to climb easily, whilst also making virtually no noise.
Price silently, but quickly, climbed out of the ceiling space in the washroom, replaced the tile and, carefully looked around for any stragglers who hadn’t yet left the hotel. He was OK, the coast was clear, so he sprinted across the main lobby of the hotel and behind the reception area towards the security room. As he moved quickly, he could hear a commotion outside the building. People were chattering and in the distance he could hear fire engines – he had very little time.
The door was locked, but Price was well prepared. The simple Yale lock was no match for his SIS lock picking tools that were designed for this very purpose, and within a few seconds he was in the security room, which housed a desk and what he estimated must have been two-dozen security monitors.
Making his way to the back of the room and through another door, he entered a cold air-conditioned room containing the computer equipment – this was the reason he was there. He quickly sized up the layout of the room, found the central network router and attached the black box, pushing a button on the side of it as he did so. A light on the side of the box lit up red – this meant that it was receiving power from the network router and was ready to receive a connection from London. He waited patiently, and a couple of seconds later, the light turned green before flashing and switching off – this meant that his colleagues in London were connected and working their way in to the hotel computer systems.
Price turned and quickly left the room, locking it behind him. Then he sprinted back across the lobby towards the washroom, just as he heard the fire engines arrive and, shortly after, firemen walk through the front door of the hotel, followed by security staff. “Now the boring part,” he thought to himself – he’d have to stay put for at least 20-30 minutes. So he climbed back up in to the ceiling space, and tried to arrange his body to be as comfortable as he could in such a confined space – then he waited.
Just over 25 minutes later, he heard lots of noise coming from outside and then he heard someone walk in to the washroom and use the facilities. Waiting for them to leave, he climbed down, left the room himself and went upstairs to bed, whilst thinking, “I hope they managed to wipe the video of me, otherwise I’m in deep trouble tomorrow.”
He needn’t have worried. By the time he was asleep, all the videos for the previous 48 hours had been uploaded to London along with entire contents of the hotel reservations system. His night-time activities, as well as those of his “drunk” colleague had been completely erased and substituted with less incriminating video scenes that would reveal nothing to anyone who reviewed them. The only question now was, did all this information give them any of the information they needed?
“You know – every time I come here, I always think that this is a very nice building – you’re well looked after here,” said Price, the following morning, as he walked in to the SIS section of the British Consulate in Hong Kong. “In fact, it never occurred to me before, but in some ways this building reminds me of Lego-land,” he continued, referring to the SIS slang name for their famous headquarters at Vauxhall Cross in London.
“Actually, someone told me the other day, it’s the largest British consulate in the world,” replied Lee. “And you’re right, it does share some of the technology that was incorporated in to the building in London – particularly the electronic shielding and the windows, which allow us to keep away ‘prying eyes’ you might say.”
“Although it’s safer now than it was when we owned Hong Kong – so I guess that’s not as necessary as it used to be,” replied Price.
“Yes, in some respects it is, that’s very true,” said Lee. “In fact, since the 1997 transfer back to China, they’ve made quite a few positive changes and even cleaned up some of the less salubrious bars as well.”
“I know, and that’s not always a good thing,” Price joked. “But then I never got to see it pre-1997, so I guess I can’t really comment.”
“Trust me,” said Lee, “It’s pretty good now – there’s just too much building work for my liking. If we’re not careful, Hong Kong Island will be part of Kowloon before long.”
“Indeed,” said Price, then, turning back to more important subjects, he asked, “So tell me the good news – what did we find?”
“Our man,” Lee replied, “Checked out before you arrived as we suspected. We downloaded the reservation details, found his room from the telephone records and then looked on the CCTV recordings to get a picture.”
“And?”
“I’m afraid he’s a professional – his ID and credit card were stolen and his face is obscured by a hat on every image of him walking in and out of the hotel. There isn’t a single image we can use for a match. Even a reflection of him in the mirror in the lobby isn’t enough. As I say, he’s clearly a pro! He’s wearing sunglasses and looking down and away from the CCTV’s the whole time. He knew all their locations – either he checked the place out a long time ago or someone told him.”
Price couldn’t believe his ears, “So all that for nothing? No! Surely you found something we can use?”
&
nbsp; “We’re still checking his registered name against Interpol and FBI records, but he’s a ghost so far – nothing is showing up,” said Lee, “I’m sorry.”
“But we know how tall he is, hair colour etc.… I presume,” replied Price.
“Yes, but it could be a wig, who knows,” replied Lee – then he picked up a pile of A4 sized photos from his desk and said, “OK, so here’s our man, and here’s the image of him getting in to a taxi after checking out. As we speak, we’ve got a guy going down to the hotel who’s dressed up as a local cop. He’s going to tell them that he’s looking for our man – some story about a relative taken ill or something. So, hopefully we can find out where he went – he should be checking in with us in the next few minutes.”
Sure enough, a short while later, they received a call, “He told the doorman he wanted to go to the airport. But the doorman is convinced that wasn’t the real destination.”
“And that’s because?” said Price.
“Because he sees hundreds of guests leaving the hotel. Some go in to town and some go to the airport. Apparently, they dress and act a certain way according to their destination. The doorman reckons, he can tell where some guests want to go before they even tell him, and he’s certain our man was not going to the airport.”
“It’s a bit flimsy,” said Price.
“He seemed pretty confident,” the caller replied. “Apparently he left a huge tip for the doorman, presumably to ensure he was remembered, which is even more suspicious if you ask me.”
“OK, well thanks for the help,” Lee replied as he dropped the call. Then, to Price he said, “I have contacts at the airport. I’ll get the CCTV checked out just in case. We have the taxi number from the videos as well, so I’ll trace the driver and try and find the actual destination.”
Price just nodded OK, then walked away to get a coffee and stood by a window, looking out at the tower blocks of Hong Kong Island as he reflected on what they did and didn’t know about the mysterious professional Caucasian man.
As he finished his coffee, he walked back to where Lee was standing with his assistant – reviewing the various pictures that had been extracted from the hotel CCTV cameras. Then he spoke, “OK, but we are making some progress though. Let’s just go through what we have, starting with what he looks like – from the little we can see, how tall was the guy in the hotel?”
“Based on the height of him relative to doors and other objects, we estimate 6 foot 3,” said Lee.
“Hair colour?”
“Dark brown, very short, again from the little we can see – but it could be a wig as I say.”
“Any jewellery, tattoos, scars or other distinguishing features you noticed?”
“Yes actually, it’s funny you say that, because whoever he is, he has no taste – he was wearing a massive orange watch – one of those big plastic G-proof things that does everything except make the coffee – bright orange it was – awful!”
The room fell silent and then Price spoke quietly in a low almost depressed tone, “Damn!”
Lee, who was looking again at the photo he had just shown Price, stopped and looked Price straight in the eyes. In return, Price stared straight back – not blinking and not breaking eye contact.
A few seconds later, still without breaking eye contact, Lee addressed his assistant and said, “Kim, excuse us please – I’ll give you a call when I need you.”
The man walked away and left Lee and Price alone, then Lee said in a low monotone, “Who is it Price?”
“You just described Mike,” replied Price. “I don’t know him well, but before I left the UK, someone actually said to me, ‘I hope his watch hasn’t been damaged, he loves that orange G-proof thing on his wrist’.”
“Lots of people wear them,” said Lee dismissively.
“True,” replied Price, “Probably hundreds, if not thousands – perhaps tens of thousands – who knows. But I suspect the number of people on Hong Kong Island with that watch, who are Caucasian, 6-3 with short dark brown hair, is probably in the single digits. Don’t get me wrong. I’m not saying it’s him. But it’s either a strange coincidence or a deliberate attempt by someone to make us think it is him, so keep this to yourself for the moment please.”
“Will do,” said Lee. “But all I will say is, given the trouble he went to in order to avoid identification, I’m tempted to think it’s deliberate misdirection – why would anyone hide their face so professionally, and then advertise themselves with a stupid watch?”
“If that’s the case – where’s Mike? Or more precisely, where’s his left wrist, which is where the watch should be?” said Price. “I’m going for a walk to clear my mind. Call me if any more bad news turns up please.”
“OK, stay out of trouble,” said Lee.
Price just smiled and walked out of the building and down to a favourite Chinese restaurant of his where he knew they served a fantastic dim sum.
He often joked it was the best dim sum outside of London’s Chinatown – which might seem an odd, almost silly remark – but as he pointed out to people, London’s Chinatown was built mostly by immigrants from Hong Kong, so the food is an extremely good and very authentic copy of genuine Hong Kong cuisine.
As he walked inside the restaurant, the smell of fish balls and barbecued pork, also known as char siu, replaced the noise, cigarette smoke and exhaust fumes from the road. Price breathed in deeply, taking in the wonderful smell of the food, and after being shown to a seat, went to work examining the menu. He wasn’t fluent in Cantonese, spoken or written, but could get by enough to order the best dishes.
CHAPTER 6 – A Ton Of Trouble
7000 miles away four men were arriving in the South West UK (North Cornwall) seaside town of Bude. They were travelling in a large grey camper van.
The camper van is the British answer to the US RV, but usually a lot smaller and far less luxurious. This one, however, was the exception – over 40 feet long and exhibiting a tough ruggedness in its design.
After driving around the town, the camper finally pulled in to a car park and four middle-aged men got out. Anyone casually observing the scene would have assumed that they were just four men on vacation, as they were all dressed in various combinations of jeans, chinos and t-shirts. However, close inspection would have revealed a distinct lack of any easily identifiable features – there were no brand names on their clothes, the colours were bland and the men were what you would describe as “average”. They were average height and build, clean-shaven with short, but not too short, hair, no glasses and no noticeable jewellery.
As they walked down the busy high street towards a cafe they were speaking quietly to each other. Indeed, a week later, when the Police set up a checkpoint in the same street to gather evidence, they would discover that even the waitress in the cafe where they had lunch, could not describe them with any degree of confidence, and this was of course, their intention.
“Battleship grey, my favourite colour,” one man joked to another, as he opened the door to a small cafe.
“I like this t-shirt, it’s very fetching,” replied the other as he stepped through the door, closely followed by the other three.
Once inside, they sat quietly in a corner and made polite conversation with each other until the waitress approached them to take their order. Having ordered sandwiches they also asked for coffee – three with milk and no sugar and one with sugar and no milk.
Coffee with sugar and no milk is an unusual combination – a point that the man who ordered it, made repeatedly, whilst explaining that he had an allergy to certain dairy products. As a result, this became one of the few alleged facts about the men that the Police were initially convinced was correct, and therefore, spent valuable time reviewing medical records for middle-aged individuals with dairy allergies.
Unbeknownst to the Police, the whole story was just miss-direction. The men planted the story in order to steal the cafe waitress’s attention away from anything useful, and unfortunately for
the Police, it worked.
On finishing their lunch, the men returned to their camper and headed south out of the town, arriving, a short while later, at the Kings Hill industrial estate.
At first glance, a visitor to Kings Hill would not realise that it was anything other than just another industrial estate hidden away in the countryside. However, the four men were well aware of its significance as the landing point for multiple international submarine cables that link the UK to North America.
A few weeks earlier, the men had arranged to rent an industrial unit on the estate. It was a faceless grey building made from a combination of concrete and corrugated iron. It didn’t even have any windows – in fact the only openings were two large double doors on one side and a small foot entrance on another side. However, they hadn’t rented it for its aesthetic qualities – more significantly was its location, equidistant from the buildings that contained the international submarine cables.
As the camper drove up, it slowed down enough to allow one of the men to jump out, run forward, unlock and slide the doors open. Then, without stopping, the camper went inside the building and the man closed and locked the doors behind them before turning a light on.
The inside of the building was typical of a small industrial unit – a wide open space with bare walls, a concrete floor, corrugated metal ceiling and a small kitchen and bathroom area at the back.
Once parked inside, the remaining three men walked around to the back of the camper van. Normally, this might have been a storage area for luggage or just a flat back so as to provide as much space inside the camper as possible. However, this was no ordinary camper – one man, who was clearly the leader, reached under the bumper, pulled a hidden lever and the back of the camper lifted up, revealing a large grey metal box mounted on wheels inside the back.