Never Forget

by Never Forget (retail) (epub)

  ‘But then, when we just met, she threw me a curveball. You won’t have heard of him, but she abducted Xi Chen: a publisher from Hong Kong, whose colleagues were arrested for producing subversive materials; a publisher who managed to flee to America before he, too, was arrested – though the public on both sides have no idea this happened. Yuelin doesn’t want to kill Chen: she wants to extradite him. She wanted me to take him with me in the crate. I think she decided on this new plan because her most recent one failed.

  ‘But, I refused. First off, while the American public wouldn’t get wind of it, the American authorities would realize and it’d potentially have a diplomatic fallout in itself. Secondly, while I knew her earlier plans had been meticulously planned to maintain deniability, this wasn’t; so it was possible it’d cause the US authorities to realize that…’

  He trailed off. He didn’t want to say it. But I knew what he was worried about: that the US would realize the prior attacks had been orchestrated by Chinese nationalists. And this – regardless of whether the Chinese government was implicated – would be cataclysmic.

  ‘But when I refused,’ he went on, ‘and demanded she give me the hard-drive, and release Chen, she panicked: she rushed back to her van. Then, when she saw I was going to give chase, that I wasn’t just gonna lay down and die, she put a bullet in my chest. I don’t think she intended to kill me. Just wanted to deter me, and didn’t know how.’

  At any rate, I’m telling you this because… because she needs to be stopped.’

  ‘Stopped?’

  He made a rueful smile. ‘She said she’d only hand over the technology if she knew well in advance which ship it’d be on, which crate – so she knows all the details. I reckon she’ll put one of her men on the ship in my place, and put in his care both the hard-drive and the political prisoner. The captain of the ship is the only one in the know, and has set aside the crate – though he hasn’t got a clear idea of what it’s being used for, nor who will be inside it. He’s simply been told that he’s doing his government a favor. The crew have zero idea. So, Yuelin’s plan is still viable.

  ‘But she needs to be stopped. I’m aware that, if her deniability is compromised, the Chinese government itself isn’t automatically implicated. But not only is her culpability alone bad enough, it’s a slippery slope – it may lead to my part being uncovered, too.’

  He took a deep breath. ‘Surely you agree that we can’t let the truth – or even part of it – come out. Bear in mind that the Chinese government truly aren’t responsible: I made this deal without my handlers’ knowledge. And also that I never knew what her plans actually entailed. They were far more extreme than I thought.’ He paused. ‘I was very relieved when her final plan failed.’

  I was silent a beat. A part of me very much wanted Yuelin exposed for what she’d done and it seemed laughable that this guy was now concerned about it coming out after he’d recklessly gotten involved. Nevertheless, I was wary about allowing the actions of Yuelin’s rogue team, and one irresponsible spy, to irreparably mar US-China relations.

  But right now, my biggest concern was securing the hard-drive – it was the greatest threat to innocent lives. And my second biggest concern, saving this political prisoner.

  I bit my lip. ‘What boat will they be on? Where’s it leaving from? Which crate?’

  He nodded. ‘It’s leaving Port of Los Angeles at 9:25 p.m. – the West Basin Container Terminal, Berth 102 – and headed for Shanghai. It’s operated by a Chinese government owned company called Chinese Shipping, and the crates will contain cotton. Except crate 2025 – that’s the one set aside. The plan was for me to meet the captain at 8:30 p.m., who would lead me to the crate in the shipyard. I’d enter it, it’d be sealed, and it’d then be lifted aboard the ship by the crew who’d be oblivious to my presence. It would contain plenty of food and water, and a sleeping bag.

  ‘Yuelin knew all this, too. She’s undoubtedly going to use it, because the captain doesn’t have a set description of the person – or persons – he’s due to meet. But since you’re unlikely to get there for that meet time, you’re going to have to figure out a way onto the ship yourself. And a tactic to find the crate: I don’t know where 2025 will be stowed.’ He paused. ‘I’m just grateful you traced us. I’m powerless to stop her.’

  I tensed my jaw.

  ‘So Yuelin won’t be on the ship?’

  ‘No. She’s flying out of the country on false paperwork in the next day or so, though I’ve no idea what name she’s using, nor which airport. But enough, you need to get to LA.’

  I grabbed his arm, looked at his watch. Nearly six. LA was almost three hours away. I needed to beat-feet over there, pronto.

  But first, I needed to decide what to do with this guy.

  ‘I appreciate you giving me the low-down,’ I said. ‘But let’s face it: you hardly did it for admirable reasons. You did it because you got involved and, by extension, you got the Chinese government involved, with a terrorist group, and you want me to clean up your mess. And while you may not have known what Yuelin was planning, simply turning a blind eye doesn’t exonerate you. And I’m willing to bet you don’t feel too sore about her victims – after all, your whole gambit was to secure technology that’d let your government better target like-minded folk back in China. You were only relieved about Forsyth dodging the bullet because, if it’d been traced back to Chinese nationalists, the fall out’d be seismic.’

  I paused. He looked at me glassy eyed.

  ‘But I also understand that, by standing up to Yuelin just now, you just put your neck on the line in a big way and incurred a hefty penalty. And I understand also that in your line of work, operating in a moral grey-area is non-negotiable and that, so far as you were concerned, obtaining this tech wasn’t about punishing dissidents. It was about keeping China’s nose in front of the rest of the world, and serving the motherland.’

  The guy opened his mouth. Closed it again. I was thinking out loud; weighing him up. The truth was, he wasn’t an evil guy. He wasn’t a good guy, either. But at the very least, he was in many ways no worse than many agents who’d served the United States, including me.

  That wasn’t to say serving both governments amounted to the same thing. But all governments – even the better ones – have shit to shovel. And since I’d also gotten my hands dirty in the past, also been forced to turn a blind eye and take big risks, I could empathize.

  I continued:

  ‘Fortunately for you, I agree that little good can come of this leading back to China. However, it puts us in a tough position, because I’m not sure you’re in any fit state to drive. And if I leave you, and you’re found – either dead or alive – they’ll attempt to identify you, and it may lead to difficult questions.’

  He gave a stoic nod, like he’d already figured as much. ‘I’m dying anyway. You’ll have to put me out of my misery. Then send both me and the car up in flames to turn me into an unidentifiable murder victim.’

  I hummed under my breath. This guy had helped facilitate some heavy shit, had been reckless beyond belief; but in that moment, I felt a begrudging respect for him.

  I turned to Ellen. Her face was unsympathetic. And I was unsurprised. There was no way she felt the empathy I did towards this guy. On the contrary: she undoubtedly saw him as a key contributor to her brother’s death. It was difficult to disagree with this assessment.

  ‘There’s some hosing in the back of the car to siphon off gas,’ Ellen said matter-of-factly. I nodded, and said to the guy:

  ‘You ready.’

  He gave a slow nod, then closed his eyes. ‘Do it.’

  And at that – before giving him time to squirm – I raised the Walther and twitched the trigger. He was dead in a haze of blood.

  Then I got to work. Using a length of piping and old canister from the boot of the Roadmaster, I siphoned off petrol from the jeep’s tank, and doused it over the guy’s body and car. I lit a Dunhill with the Roadmaster’s cigarette lighter, too
k two puffs, then flicked it onto the guy’s corpse. Then we got in the Roadmaster, reversed from the gathering flames, and hurried off post-haste.

  Chapter 44

  ‘So how do we play this, Saul?’

  I’d just joined the southbound lane of US-101 in the direction of LA, and was hustling the Roadmaster as fast as I could get away with. And the mood in the car was different now. We had an exact time we were racing against, and a clear idea what was going on. And as a result, though the situation was tense, we were buzzing.

  ‘Well, as ever, we sure as hell can’t tip-off, since we can’t let Yuelin know we’re onto her. We know from Manek’s USB stick that Yuelin has dirt on Assistant Chief of Operations at the LAPD, so we better believe tipping off is a risk. So we’ve got to do this ourselves.

  ‘But while there is security at the port, if we play our cards right, it should be possible to get in. When I was at the FBI’s Office of Intelligence, the name of the game was assessing terrorist risks and potential targets, and my superiors would tear their hair out over the vulnerabilities of our ports. Port of Los Angeles is enormous – we’re talking forty-three miles of shoreline – yet there’s no more than a hundred police officers on site. And they’re from a host of different agencies, so there are all sorts of jurisdictional squabbles. And though these issues have been reiterated to government time and again, they simply don’t cough up the dough to improve things. Port of Los Angeles received $25 million over the five years after 9/11. About the same amount as the State of Washington spends in two days on its airports.

  ‘In fact, I remember, back in 2006, a journalist with the Seattle Times managed to get through security at Port of Los Angeles simply by hitching a ride with a truck driver with the relevant paperwork. He was asked to present identification only once, and flashed an expired driver’s license. It caused a world of frustration at the Bureau; yet, very little’s changed.’

  ‘But surely, given my status, I can’t sneak in under the radar,’ said Ellen.

  I nodded my agreement. ‘And to make things worse, we’re on a tight time-schedule, meaning hitching a leisurely ride ain’t an option. So we need a more nuanced approach.’

  I ground my teeth. ‘And by nuanced, I mean the old gun-to-the-head approach. Don’t get more nuanced than that. I say we head to a truckers’ cafe at the edge of LA – I know one in Oxnard which caters pretty much exclusively to truckers heading for the port. Then the moment we spot a driver get in a truck, we hijack the son-of-a-bitch, and get him to step on it to the port. We’ll have to put you in the back of the truck, but that can be arranged.

  ‘Of course, this plan also means inconveniencing some unlucky sap. But I see little alternative.’

  ‘How will I get in the truck? Don’t they seal them to stop just that?’

  I nodded. ‘But most have fiberglass panels on the roof to let light in during loading and unloading. It’d be possible to cut through the fiberglass with the Swiss-army knife, lower yourself in, and rest on top of the cargo: they never fill trucks right to the brim.’

  Ellen grunted her understanding. ‘Then how do we get to the right terminal?’

  ‘Should be simple enough. If memory serves me, all the security gates are at the main entrance. So, once we’re through, I’ll get the driver to take us to our terminal. I’m confident a truck heading to the wrong terminal won’t raise eyebrows: folk simply won’t notice.’

  ‘Okay. And then?’

  ‘Then we get on board. I’m not sure how we’re gonna do that; but if need be, we’ll do more of the same – gun-to-the-head stuff. The important thing is to ensure that the captain doesn’t get wind of what we’re doing. After all, it’s not impossible Yuelin’s given him a walkie-talkie, and told him to report any problems.’

  ‘So, we’re either gonna have to catch him by surprise, or get someone else to lead us to the crate?’

  ‘Bingo.’

  ‘And if the ship leaves the port while this is all going on?’

  I shrugged. ‘Some ways, that’s a good thing. Prevents Yuelin interfering if she does get wind.’

  ‘And you don’t think this plan is even the slightest bit lunatic?’

  I puffed my cheeks. ‘It’s completely lunatic. But lunatic’s all we got.’

  We fell silent a spell; then Ellen said darkly:

  ‘What about Yuelin?’

  I sighed. ‘There’s not much we can do about her – she’s home free. We just have to take solace in the fact that, though we can’t take revenge, we’ll hopefully be able to prevent others from needing to be avenged.’

  Ellen made no reply. But her silence said it all. She was a noble sort, and was happy to be risking everything to pursue the path we were currently on. But she knew it wasn’t going to sate her thirst for revenge, and that was frustrating. And I could empathize, because I felt the same way. I wanted Yuelin’s blood.

  I kept on navigating the road, going heavy on the gas, and keeping a sharp eye out for squad cars and on the dashboard clock.

  We were making good time.

  * * *

  It was 7:15 p.m. when we arrived at the Valley Truck Stop in Oxnard: a sizeable blacktop just off the US-101, at the far end of which was a gas station and diner put there specifically to cater for truckers; a blacktop currently containing well over fifty trucks, parked in long lines.

  We parked with the very few other cars on the opposite side, and immediately started walking over to the trucks.

  As we did so, I could tell Ellen felt exposed: she was glancing around furtively. But we had little choice but to get on with the job. And fortunately – for now – there was little risk: the sun had set; the blacktop was pretty much empty.

  ‘Okay, Ellen,’ I said authoritatively, attempting to focus her mind. ‘The middle line of trucks – the seventeen or so completely out of view from the road and the diner – we need to wait for the driver of one of those: hijacking one of the others is too risky. I’m gonna stand by the last truck of the row closest to the diner. You stand just behind me. When someone comes, I’ll give you a signal; then I’m gonna get in the passenger seat at the same time the driver gets in. I’ll then stall, while you climb on the roof – if you can, climb up on the neighboring truck, then climb across, because I think it’ll alarm the driver less – then bash three times on the roof to signify you’re in.’

  Ellen – already looking a good deal more focused – gave a nod.

  As we reached the first of the trucks, I felt a couple of drops of rain hit my forearms. Then, by the time we’d walked between the rows of trucks, to the opposite side of the blacktop the rain was coming down freely.

  I knew this weather would do us no favors, since it was likely to delay the truckers from leaving the diner. But there was nothing we could do.

  I turned to Ellen:

  ‘Make sure not to remove the fiberglass. Bend it to give yourself room to get in, then close it up again. Water’ll still get in, but it’ll make a difference.’

  Ellen nodded. Then she took out the Swiss-army knife which she’d put in her pocket earlier, and passed it hand to hand.

  Then, the next instant, we took up our positions – me by truck nearest the diner, with my head peaking round the edge; Ellen behind me. Then, as the heavens really started taking it out on us, we played the waiting game.

  Minutes went by, and I just concentrated on keeping my cool, because that was the only thing I could do. Five minutes later, a burly guy left the diner, and walked quickly across the parking lot; but it was hard luck for us, as he got in a truck in the row closest to the diner.

  After another five minutes, I was starting to feel real tense. But scarcely had I registered this than another trucker left the diner. A tall guy, slack jawed, wearing a California Angels cap. I held my breath. When he reached the trucks – and I carefully tracked back to where Ellen was standing – I saw him approach one of the vehicles in our row.

  I nodded at the now rain-drenched Ellen, and started heading off round
the back of the truck. As I started creeping up towards the passenger-side door, the engine started.

  This was the third time I was sneaking up on a driver via the passenger side door in as many days. And in the midst of all the tension and fear, I suddenly found myself grinning at the thought I’d been taking the whole riding shotgun thing a little too literally.

  And in almost the same moment as this went through my head, I was at it again: I opened up the door, raised my Walther, and got in.

  ‘Here’s the deal, buddy: you’re gonna do what I say. If you play ball, nobody gets hurt. I’m a dangerous guy – I was in Iraq, and know my way round a weapon – so don’t pull any funny stuff.’

  The guy was paralyzed with fear, his hands white on the steering wheel. I took the opportunity to reach over, and frisk him, on the off-chance he was packing heat. Then I checked the glove compartment – the usual place you’d find a weapon. There was nothing in there except a driver’s license, which I pocketed.

  ‘Okay, buddy, breathe. Nice deep breaths.’

  He did, and calmed a fraction.

  ‘Where you headed?’

  ‘Port.’ His voice wavered, then firmed. ‘Port of Los Angeles.’

  ‘Me too. You’re gonna drive us over there, chop-fucking-chop. Then you’re gonna get me through security. That all clear?’

  ‘Clear.’ He said. His neck then twitched at the sound of scrambling towards the back of the truck – Ellen climbing onto the roof.

  ‘Keep your eyes dead ahead. I’ll let you know when I want you to set off.’

  ‘I’ve got kids, man. A wife.’

  ‘Like I said: if you do as I say, you’ll be fine.’

  He nodded.

  We sat in tense silence as the rummaging continued in back. My jaw rock hard with tension. The quicker we got out of there, the better because, though it’d taken a good while for Slack Jaw to make an appearance, I had a feeling that Murphy’s law would prevail, and the next driver to leave the diner would own the truck next to this one.