by J A Scooter
Joe was quick to reassure him. "I can assure you of that. His son was one of the taxi drivers killed by Dingo."
Neither Peter nor Joe could understand Bill's good humor as he hummed, laughed and cackled as though he had taken leave of his senses.
A member of the crew brought them coffee which Bill gratefully welcomed, while the others, ignoring their mugs, just watched him.
The procession continued, 'The Pony Stable', the TV News crew and far behind a water taxi with the divers. Sedately they made their way down the Harbor until The Pony Stable turned into Athol Bight and dropped anchor.
Everyone looked at the Commander inquisitively waiting for the next step in the sequence.
The RSM grinned as a crewmember hoisted a message board stating, ‘On Location’.
Around the point, with a spume of spray fishtailing from the rear sped the water taxi. It made a wide sweep around the far side of 'The Pony Stable' before heading back towards Circular Quay.
The Commander was quite at ease although no one was visible on 'The Pony Stable', not even the guards. To anyone watching he could have been half-asleep. When the cameramen left their cameras he growled, "Get back to work, you haven't seen anything yet. Watch Cremorne Point and watch 'The Pony Stable carefully'. You are about to have a news scoop.” He closed his eyes, relaxing, as he knew his plans were coming to fruition.
His fellow conspirators were not so relaxed. Peter, in his brightly colored life jacket was circling the deck like a great white pointer shark ready to seize its prey. The RSM was studying the decks of their quarry through binoculars trying to see exactly what was happening on 'The Pony Stable'. Joe was watching Peter carefully for any signs of hot headed, spontaneous reactions to rescue Jennifer from the floating whorehouse.
"Christ that boat's sinking!” was the yell from one cameraman. The other cameraman shouted, "So what, look what's coming around the Point."
Three rubber duckies thundered around the Point flying flags to indicate they were on a naval exercise. Close behind was a Water Police patrol. One cameraman focused on 'The Pony Stable' as it delicately settled lower and lower in the water. The other swung his camera between the naval rubber duckies and the Water Police.
The Water Police pulled alongside 'The Pony Stable' and the police helped the women aboard the police launch.
It was obvious what had been happening aboard 'The Pony Stable' as the women were in various stages of undress and the men were naked.
Peter was extremely agitated, trying to scrutiny each woman as the police rescued them. When he glimpsed a red headed woman, he recognized her immediately, even at that distance.
His scream like an animal in pain made the cameramen pay particular attention to his words, "No woman's face is to be recognized on the news. If it is, you answer to me.” The tone of his voice was enough to guarantee they complied.
The Commander was alert to the reactions of Peter as he was creating a scene that could undo the smooth, carefully planned operation. "Take us back to the Yacht Club immediately,” was his order.
Back in the BMW Office Bill beamed. "At last! At long bloody last, I've nailed the bastard. No more drug running for him."
"Jennifer's safe - well not as safe as we all wish, but I was concerned they were about to rush out to sea and transfer the women to a ship in International Waters outside the reach of the Navy. However, we've stopped that caper.
"The navy is warned and we have the country covered and there's no way they'll fly out of Australia as the expensive plane which carried the two Arabs is on fire even as we speak. Strange that."
The phone rang and when he finished the call, his grin was even wider and was almost infectious. "The divers are examining the sunken wreck and they've found some interesting facts."
While the four were discussing their naval adventure, the tourist coach with its full load of travelers and the coach hostess, Susie, operating the microphone, wound its way along the tree lined streets of Hunters Hill.
The passengers constantly demanded that the coach stop, while they rushed out to take photos of the various mansions.
The guards at one set of gates were unwilling to pose and rudely ordered the tourists away but then had to open the gate to allow a big black Mercedes to leave.
The tourists swarmed through the open gates taking photographs of the guards, the guardhouse and the electronic surveillance gear.
Six Chinese and a handful of Tamils crowded around the guards so closely that the guards felt uncomfortable. These tourists kept the guards occupied while the Gurkha sergeant and two of his specialists slipped into the guardhouse where they quickly made the surveillance equipment inoperable in such a way that it seemed to be working but was seeing nothing.
Quickly, the gatehouse guards tired of the tourists and their endless polite questions in English so heavily accented as to be almost unintelligible. While calling for reinforcements, the guards tried ushering the unwelcome tourists back to their coach.
Confusion reigned, especially as the savage guard dogs were disinterested in helping round up the tourists but instead hid behind their handlers.
Given a signal by the sergeant, Andrew gave a single toot on the air horn. The tourists obediently clambered back into the bus with much laughter and backslapping as they compared their pictures.
The last tourist aboard couldn't help teasing the guard. "See ya cobber,” were his words as he swung aboard.
As the bus drove off the guard, puzzled, watch it disappear around the corner.
The other guards were thankful that they were able to get rid of the inquisitive, non-English speaking busybodies so quickly. They hadn't noticed anything missing, nor had they noticed that the gates wouldn't close correctly.
That evening the coach parked at Darling Harbor and the tourists caught the monorail to Chinatown.
The Tamils took Andrew and went off searching Chinatown for a suitable Indian Restaurant. They didn't attempt to give Andrew their names and made certain that other than an occasional heavily accented comment to him they rowdily conversed in Tamil.
Andrew noticed they cut quite a swathe though the evening crowd of Chinese who didn't seem anxious to tangle with his Tamil escort.
The Chinese platoon, as the RSM called that group of tourists, escorted Susie to the Red Jade where she was kept dancing with various members of the group while they waited for their meal. The patrons were amused that the Chinese group seemed to be vying with each other for her company, as not once did she manage to complete a dance with a single partner.
Three tall Chinese, who suddenly appeared in his kitchen, startled the chef. They ignored his English and he shook when they used guttural Cantonese to bark orders for a meal.
The chef knew - he didn't need them to inform him - he was in the hands of a Tong, although where they came from, he had no idea.
With such pleasant smiles that he could ill ignore, they insisted the chef show them the toilets, the rear entrance to the lane behind the building, the scullery, the electronic surveillance and the pantry as though they were about to make a take-over bid.
The strangers demanded to see the bookings for each night and were surprised that the management was closing the venue the next night.
When questioned, the chef reluctantly admitted it was a private party for Dingo, some of his women and two Arabs. Trembling violently, the chef needed no warning about the crass stupidity of repeating anything said or the extreme personal danger of even mentioning the visit by these strangers.
It was no surprise to the group that the discourse at each table was recorded using a microphone hidden in the red dragon that formed the center piece of every table but one - the Boss's special, a permanently reserved table at the back of the dining room where it overlooked everything.
The meal arrived and Susie sat at the head of the table. The red dragon centerpiece had numerous bottles of Tiger Beer emptied over it for luck. The bath of beer resulted in a strange hissing and crackling noi
se.
"Don't alter a thing, not a single thing” was the direct caution by the person who seemed the leader of the group as they left.
The staff had every reason to look most worried.
At the motel, eventually growing hungry, Peter, Joe, the RSM and the Commander made their way to the dining room. The place seemed strangely empty as the four of them sat.
Suddenly the RSM sprang to his feet and dashed off. Moments later, he returned with his two daughters one of whom was carrying James.
Bill held out his arms and then tried to eat his meal one handed as he gave his son more attention than the food.
The RSM could only laugh. "Bill I had to fight my daughters to bring the young one down from his room. I believe he will be spoilt."
The room was no longer empty and quiet as James tried to join the chatter.
White with anxiety, Peter was silent and withdrawn as he thought of the family he and Jennifer had aimed to have.
The phone rang and Bill left to answer the call. He returned to inform them that the TV news at midnight would be interesting and an unabridged, uncensored version of their naval adventure was on its way.
At 11.45, they heard the rumble of the bus and waited for the tourists to arrive.
First into the room was Susie who immediately flared into anger because her baby was still out of bed although he was soundly asleep in his father's arms. The two babysitters instantly fled with James while Peter got beer and wine ready for everyone.
The RSM would not allow anyone to talk as the midnight news came on with a pre-view showing 'The Pony Stable' slowly sinking. The newsroom had savagely edited the report that aimed to make viewers tune in the following day to watch the outcome.
Bill put the cd from the news crew in the player and everyone watched the complete photographic record of the event. When he saw the girls on the wharf at Balmain the RSM shouted, "Stop! Go back a little I want to see those girls again. Okay... pause!"
Peter wept openly and Susie, although in a severe state of shock herself, just held his hands while repeatedly whispering. "She's alive, she's alive."
Jennifer was difficult to recognize with her hair cut short and a peculiar collar around her neck. Gone was the smartly dressed young lawyer. Instead, she looked like a highly priced whore.
The RSM moved closer to the screen to scrutinize the collar worn by each of the girls. Finally, he made the observation, "Those collars are electronic controls. If the girl says or does anything wrong, someone with the master control presses a switch and the girl is choked. It may only be for a significant instant but it can cause death.
"I suggest we don't try to rescue Jennifer or, indeed, any of the girls until we discover who's holding the master control."
His advice was enough to stop the viewing and Andrew, visibly upset, stumbled through his report on the bus trip.
Seeing his distress the Gurkha sergeant holding three pieces of electronic gear aloft assisted him. The sergeant carefully explained how his men had immobilized the security. He guaranteed they could get through the security gate.
Loud teeth-sucking noises showed the disapproval of the Chinese for what they had seen. The Tamils were cracking their knuckles and the Gurkhas had their hands on their Kukris.
Susie, Joe and Bill knew that their guests wouldn't rest until they eliminated Dingo and his men and Jennifer was free but at the same time Peter's mental state worried them.
Staring at the screen with tears pouring from his eyes Peter sat motionless and oblivious of the comments around him. Slumped in his chair, unblinking, he gazed at the screen, the torture of his concern for Jennifer's well being freezing his mind.
The leader of the Chinese then stood - Susie never learnt his name. On the whiteboard, he drew a plan of the nightclub and explained in minute detail not only the layout but also the security system.
Next the Tamil leader gave full details of the laneway at the rear of the nightclub and the requirements for guaranteeing speedy and safe exit from the nightclub through the rear door. His face broke into a smile as he concluded his report pointing out that Andrew would have to have a lot of practice with chilies and learn to eat South Indian curries before leading them again.
Andrew could only groan.
Over breakfast next morning, the little army was busy with war plans outlining the evening's activities. Everyone seemed pleased to be pushing ahead with plans to rescue Jennifer.
The extended discussion of the evening's plans was interspersed with laughter as the morning papers, full of the mysterious sinking of 'The Pony Stable', arrived.
Peter was pleased there were no photos of the women. The cameramen had heeded his warning.
Much discussion followed and it was over two hours before the plans were satisfactorily finalized. Maps were drawn and the RSM delegated jobs.
Joe, Bill and Susie were to stay at the motel and keep themselves ready at the communications center. However Andrew was to drive the coach loaded with the two 'platoons' of tourists to Chinatown, unload then return to the motel. He was to take four Gurkhas with him and he was to show them the route from the Motel to Chinatown. The Gurkhas were to remain with the coach.
Eight Gurkhas were to use cars from the used car lot and to be at Chinatown at 10 ready to collect their passengers in the laneway at the rear of the nightclub at a moment's notice. They were to carry their Kukris concealed.
Joe was to organize taxis to collect the Tamil 'platoon' from Chinatown at 11.00 and to take their passengers to the Hunter's Hill Mansion. The meeting point for the Tamils would be the drop off point used by Andrew.
During the evening, the Tamils were to guarantee ready access to the laneway for the Gurkha drivers and to run interference in Chinatown for their fellow conspirators. They were to be the smokescreen and gales of laughter from both the Chinese and Tamils met the RSM's words.
Peter was not impressed and glared at them but they ignored him.
The RSM gave a nod and two Gurkhas escorted Bill, Susie, Joe and Andrew out of the building. Two others cleared the Motel of all staff.
When the Gurkhas returned and signaled that the motel was secure the RSM continued.
"Peter, your wife could be there tonight and I know just how capable you are. It'll be your decision on whether we can free her safely. It'll be your choice of who shakes hands with the Angel of Death tonight. You'll not let us down but we won't stand idly by and let anything happen to you or Jennifer.
"Tonight, our Chinese 'platoon' will be the staff at the nightclub and I can assure you they’ll be most attentive to the patron's needs.” He chortled in a strange, almost teenager way and his chortle was echoed by the other Gurkhas.
Peter straightened as he stood. Tall he stared at his Gurkha friends. That chortle, he knew from the past, was blood lust and the Gurkhas were about to become sharks going into a feeding frenzy.
A weight lifted and he asked that everyone stay in the room. "Clean the white board and destroy all evidence of our little chat. I'll be back in about half an hour.” Without awaiting a reply, he turned and hurriedly left.
In the accommodation above his workshop, he prepared for the evening.
First, he removed his wedding ring. He replaced it with an unusually heavy gold ring that worn one way, was a wedding ring with a very wide band. Turned around, it revealed ornate and intricate carvings.
It was the Cobra Ring.
Carefully he slid it around on his finger so that the carving of the coiled cobra was facing outwards. Flexing the muscles on that finger, he watched the ring open and two fangs pop into view. The poisonous mixture of the Fer-de-lance venom and Tubocurarine dripped from the twin fangs and Peter knew that someone would die later that night. The mixture was extremely toxic, exceptionally painful and would cause profuse internal bleeding accompanied by massive tissue destruction.
As he carefully closed his ring he wondered just who would feel his wrath.
He placed the cigarette packet containing
bamboo darts in his shirt pocket. Each dart was tipped with a poisonous mixture of Curare and the poison of the Taipan, - which Peter knew was a powerful neurotoxin, causing respiratory paralysis. His immediate prey would have little chance for recovery without prompt medical aid. None of the scum he pursued would get any medical aid.
The Little One was going hunting and was well prepared.
On the table were four hypodermic syringes loaded with a toxic mixture. This was some of Dingo's drug haul, heroin, with a plentiful boost of cocaine. Whoever kissed the dragon tonight would be dead with a brain implosion within minutes.
Peter packed all this and the remainder of his paraphernalia into a plastic shopping bag from Woolworth's as if it were of no concern. Carefully he dressed and, at last, satisfied with his disguise, he took particular care to leave the workshop unobserved.
He shuffled into the BMW Dealership next door and knocked on the door of Bill's office.
Holding out one gnarled, wizened hand with its dirty cracked fingernails a stooped old Chinese begged for money to buy food and Susie was quick to hand him $5. She quietly ushered this nondescript, badly bent, shuffling, grey-headed Chinese with his straggly, wispy beard and dirty unkempt hair out of the office,
Carrying the plastic, non-descript grocery bag he returned to the Motel where he was halted by a Gurkha guard. A second guard came across the car park to assist and Peter had to use his Nepali to inform them that this stooped old Chinese was really him.
One guard escorted the shuffling old man to the dining room where the RSM's bellowed order in Nepali did not need a translation.
The old Chinese didn't flinch and the guard didn't move
No one moved. In fact, it was a Mexican standoff.
The old Chinese interloper turned to one of the Chinese guests and painfully croaked a message in Mandarin, followed by the words 'waiguo guizi'- foreign devil.
Still no one moved. The Tamils were nonplussed and, other than the interloper's escort, each Gurkha has his hand on the handle of his Kukri.