THE KING OF MACAU (The Jack Shepherd International Crime Novels)

by Needham, Jake

  I didn’t say anything. I hoped I was kidding, too…but maybe I wasn’t.

  DUCKING UNDER THE WING, I walked up to where we had left our flight bags at the front air stairs and squatted down next to mine. I lifted out the Ruger LC9, worked the slide to chamber a round, and slipped it back into the black nylon holster. When I stood up, I clipped the holster inside my belt. My jacket was a little too big for me so when I buttoned it and smoothed it down over my side the gun was invisible.

  While Pete and Archie retrieved their own weapons, I watched the Ilyushin pilots, whatever nationality they actually were, start their own walk around. I was still thinking about how to approach them when Archie walked up next to me with something in his hands that I couldn’t immediately identify. I raised my eyebrows at him in a question.

  “FlexiCuffs,” he answered. “I always have a couple of pair with me. Never know when you’re going to have to restrain someone.”

  “Give me a pair,” Pete spoke up. “Maybe I can use them to keep Jack from shooting somebody.”

  “I thought we’d use them on the Ilyushin pilots, not on Jack.”

  “Whatever works,” Pete said, but I thought he looked downright disappointed. He took a pair of FlexiCuffs from Archie anyway and stuffed them in his pocket.

  WE GATHERED NEXT TO the driver’s window of the silver van. It was open and Pansy looked at me expectantly.

  “Guns?”

  “Only a precaution,” I said. “We’re not really going to shoot anybody.”

  “Jack would like to,” Pete added, “but we doubt he could hit them.”

  I ignored Pete and looked at Pansy. “We’re going to go over and strike up a conversation with the Ilyushin pilots. I’ll try to get them to take us into the plane to show us the cockpit.”

  “Is that when you’re going to shoot them?” Pansy asked.

  “Will you cut that shit out! We’re not going to shoot anybody.”

  “So then why are you all carrying guns?”

  It was a good question now that I thought about it, but I didn’t really have a good answer for it. Threatening people with a gun wasn’t much use if you weren’t ready to pull the trigger. Whoever you were threatening almost always knew you weren’t going to shoot, and they just stood there laughing at you. Unless of course they had guessed wrong, in which case the joke would turn out to be on them…

  “If you see us go up the air stairs into the Ilyushin,” I said to Pansy, “pull the van around and park right at the bottom. We’ll probably need to make a quick exit.”

  Pansy nodded. “Be careful, Jack.”

  “Don’t worry,” I told her. “It’s all going to be fine.”

  I could only hope I was right about that.

  FORTY ONE

  THE TWO ILYUSHIN PILOTS were standing by the air stairs with their backs to us.

  “Hey, either of you guys speak English?” I called out as we walked toward them.

  They both looked over their shoulders at us. The heavier-set one, who I could see now was about twenty years older than the thinner one, lifted his hand and gave a little wave. Probably he was the captain and the younger man was the first officer. The captain, if that’s what he was, seemed friendly enough, so I waved back.

  “I speak,” said the pilot who had waved when we got to the bottom of the air stairs. “A leetle.”

  Pete, Archie, and I introduced ourselves by our first names, and we shook hands all around. The Ilyushin captain said his name was Vlad and the first officer said he was Mikhail.

  “Russian?” I asked, and they both nodded.

  “But you’re flying for an Iranian airline?”

  “Is job,” Vlad shrugged elaborately.

  “I hear you.”

  “You are Amerikantsy?” Mikhail asked, taking in all three of us with a big gesture.

  “Canadian,” I answered quickly before with Archie or Pete could say anything.

  “But you fly…” Mikhail pointed at the MGM log on the tail of the Falcon and the American tail number above it, “…American registered plane?”

  I tried to shrug every bit as elaborately as Vlad had. “Is job,” I said.

  Everybody got a big laugh out of that. We were really having fun now.

  IT TOOK ME ONLY a few minutes to bring the subject around to whether our new best pals would take us on board the Ilyushin to have a look at the cockpit.

  Mikhail and Vlad glanced at each other and Vlad gave out with another of his picturesque shrugs.

  “Is okay,” he said, “but must be fast. We leave soon.”

  “Sure,” I said, looking at Pete and Archie, “we can be fast. Where are you headed?”

  Vlad hesitated, but apparently decided it would be rude to lie to his new friends.

  “Pyongyang,” he eventually said after a slight but noticeable pause.

  “Wow, that sounds exotic,” Pete said. “Is it a fun city for layovers?”

  For a moment no one said anything, but when Vlad and Mikhail burst out laughing we all joined in.

  “Are you loaded?” Archie asked.

  Vlad gave us a thumbs up. “Loaded and locked, as your Amerikantsy say.”

  I didn’t bother to correct Vlad’s misuse of the phrase. Instead we all laughed some more and nodded appropriately to indicate our deep appreciation for his wit.

  “And what about your passengers?” I asked.

  Suddenly Vlad stopped smiling.

  “Why you ask about passengers? We cargo flight.”

  “I thought perhaps…” My eyes flicked quickly to Archie in an appeal for help, but it was Pete who spoke up.

  “Don’t you take hookers with you? How could you spend a night in Pyongyang without a couple of Macau hookers?”

  Vlad started laughing again and this time he laughed so hard I thought he might hurt himself.

  “Right idea,” he managed to choke out between guffaws. “Next time I do, my friend. We have only small rest compartment behind cockpit, but will fit four or five.”

  “Will that be enough for two Russians?” Pete asked, and we all erupted into one more round of appreciative laughter.

  AFTER THINGS CALMED DOWN a bit, Vlad leaned toward me and lowered his voice.

  “Is true we have passengers. Two. Sick person and someone else.”

  “Sick person?”

  That drew another of Vlad’s elaborate shrugs.

  “Yesterday we told by company we carry sick person to Pyongyang along with cargo and someone go along to watch him,” he said, “but I not understand. Who go to Pyongyang for hospital? Important people in Pyongyang go somewhere else for hospital. China maybe.”

  I nodded, but I didn’t say anything.

  “Passengers on board since morning, waiting, which seem very strange. But what I know?” Vlad finished. “I only drive airplane.”

  We all bobbed our heads and looked sympathetic. Three more hard working pilots doing what we’re told and not asking too many questions.

  “So come,” Vlad sang out, gesturing toward the air stairs. “We show you ours, and next time,” he grinned, “you show me yours, huh?”

  Another round of laughter, and we all started up the stairs. Vlad led the way and Mikhail brought up the rear.

  AT THE TOP OF the stairs, Pete and Archie turned left behind Vlad and followed him in the Ilyushin’s cockpit. Mikhail gestured for me to go in too, but I stepped back, bowed from the waist, and made a smiling ‘after you’ gesture to my new comrade. He smiled back and walked into the cockpit behind Archie.

  Which gave me an opportunity to take a quick look back to see what I could see in the interior of the Ilyushin…

  A narrow passageway led past a compartment with two closed doors, and at its end was what I assumed had to be the cargo area. I took three fast steps along the passageway and peered toward the back of the aircraft. As I expected, I was looking into the cargo area, a single vast open space probably sixty feet long, ten feet wide, and ten feet high. There were no windows at all. On both
sides of the long compartment, fold-down metal seats lined the fuselage. No cushions, no seat belts, no view, no inflight entertainment. It looked like a giant, metal lined bowling alley. It also looked like a lousy way to travel.

  The steel deck plates had embedded container tracks for easy roll on and roll off of shipping containers, and in the dim glow of the interior lighting I saw that only three containers had been loaded. They were roughly in the center of the space and had been locked down to the tracks with restraining bars to keep them from shifting in flight.

  Only three containers on this giant aircraft? Had to be the money. What else could it be?

  I glanced back at the closed compartment. Whoever was on board was in there. Nowhere else they could be. A sick man and an attendant? We would see about that.

  I moved quietly back up the passageway and stepped through the open door into the cockpit.

  MY MOUTH OPENED IN surprise as I glanced around. The cockpit looked like a set for a cheesy space movie filmed on the cheap back in about 1950. The controls and instruments were all big, clunky, and old-fashioned looking. After all the modern airplanes I had been in, their cockpits filed with flashing LEDs and clean microelectronics, there was something downright antediluvian about it. If Noah had built a flying ark, I would bet the cockpit would look exactly like this.

  Archie and Pete glanced at me as I came through the cockpit door and I made eye contact with each of them in turn and nodded slightly. I had no idea what they thought that meant, but it seemed to satisfy them.

  Vlad was in the captain’s seat on the left and Mikhail was in the co-pilot’s seat on the right. Vlad was rabbiting on about something and pointing out instruments in what sounded like an incomprehensible imitation of English. Both of the pilots’ seats were ratty and dirty and their green cloth upholstery was worn and ripped. The throttles were in the center console between the two pilot seats, and somebody had dumped a short-handled sledgehammer on the deck right behind them. I sincerely hoped a sledgehammer wasn’t an essential component for the Ilyushin’s inflight operations.

  I slipped past Archie and positioned myself directly behind Vlad’s seat. Pete mirrored my movements and put himself behind Mikhail’s seat. I stretched out my right foot and quietly slid the sledgehammer out of reach. When it was far enough back, Archie bent down and silently scooped it up.

  I caught Pete’s eye and Archie’s, and I nodded again. I unbuttoned my jacket and slid the silenced Ruger out of its holster.

  Taking a deep breath, I leaned forward and dug the silencer into Vlad’s right ear. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Pete doing the same to Mikhail’s left ear with his Walther.

  That was when the cockpit got very still.

  FORTY TWO

  “YOU ARE HIJACKING US?” Vlad asked in a voice that I thought was remarkably steady under the circumstances. Perhaps he was used to having a gun in his ear. “You are taking over my plane?”

  “You can’t be serious, Vlad,” I said. “Nobody would hijack a piece of shit like this.”

  “Close the cockpit door,” I said to Archie.

  If our two Russian pals starting making noise, I wanted as much protection between the passenger compartment and us as I could get. Archie didn’t even look behind him. He kicked out with his left foot and the door clunked shut behind us.

  Vlad started to turn in his seat, probably to see if this was all some kind of crazy Canadian joke, but I pushed the snout of the silencer harder into his ear.

  “Eyes forward, Vlad! Put your hands behind your seat.” I glanced to my right. “You too, Mikhail. Same drill.”

  “Who are you?” Mikhail asked.

  “Nobody really. We’re just some guys.”

  Pete took the Walther away from Mikhail’s head long enough to bat him across the ear with the barrel. He didn’t do it very hard, but he made his point well enough. Mikhail quickly shoved his hands behind the co-pilot’s seat. Pete pocketed the Walther, pulled out the pair of FlexiCuffs that Archie had given him, and strapped Mikhail’s wrists to the safety harness bracket. Mikhail would stay there until somebody cut him loose or he could figure out how to pull the seat out of the floor.

  “Come on, Vlad, don’t give me any trouble,” I said. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

  Very slowly Vlad moved his arms back until they were crossed behind his seat. I glanced at Archie and he stepped forward, took out another pair of FlexiCuffs, and lashed Vlad to the matching bracket on the back of his seat.

  “Now here’s the deal, guys,” I said when they were both secure. “We’re going to search your cargo and have a talk with your passengers. We think the cargo is stolen currency and one of the passengers is being kidnapped.”

  Vlad and Mikhail shot a quick look at each other.

  “We only fly plane,” Vlad said. “We know nothing.”

  “I understand that,” I said. “And if you cooperate, we’ll cut you loose when we’re done and you can be on your way.”

  “But you will take the cargo, yes?”

  “It’s stolen, Vlad.”

  “You are the police?”

  “Not really. But we’re here to get it back for the people it was stolen from.”

  Vlad gave out with a snort so loud that I wondered if he had been heard back in the passenger compartment.

  “I not idiot. You just stealing.”

  “No, we’re not. The people your cargo was stolen from hired us to get it back without involving the police, and that’s what we’re doing.”

  I slipped my Ruger into its holster and gave Vlad a pat on the shoulder.

  “I know you only fly the plane, Vlad. You don’t have any stake in this. Keep your mouth closed while we talk to your passengers and check your cargo. After that we’re out of here and you’ll never see us again. But if you do anything to warn your passengers, there’s likely to be a lot of shooting. Call me crazy, but I wouldn’t want to be sitting here strapped to a seat if people behind me start firing automatic weapons.”

  “Automatic weapons?” Mikhail squeaked. “Who the hell are you guys?”

  “I already told you,” Archie said. “We’re just some guys.”

  WHEN WE LEFT THE cockpit I raised a finger to my lips for silence and pointed at the two doors in the side of the passenger compartment. Walking as quietly as I could, I moved past the doors to the cargo area and Archie and Pete followed me.

  “Here’s what I want to do,” I said keeping my voice low. “I’m guessing Freddy is this sick man that they told Vlad about, and I’m also guessing they’ve drugged him to make him appear sick and keep him under control. The attendant would have to be a guard and he’s probably armed. We can’t go charging in there like some whacked out SWAT team or somebody’s going to get shot.”

  Pete glanced over his shoulder at the narrow passageway that led back to the front of the aircraft. “I don’t see how we’re going to sneak up on them.”

  “We’re not. This pilot getup fooled two real pilots and I’m betting it would fool whoever is in there with Freddy, too. I’m going to knock on the front door, walk in, and introduce myself as the pilot. While the guard is looking at me, you two are going to come in the back door and take him down.”

  Pete looked skeptically at me. “An American pilot on an Iranian airplane? Nobody will ever believe that.”

  “They don’t have to believe it. They only have to think about it for a few seconds. That will distract the guard long enough for you two to come in through the back and take him.”

  “Let me do it,” Archie said. “There are Australian pilots everywhere, probably even in Iran. Besides, we Aussies are much less threatening blokes than you Yanks.”

  I just looked at Archie.

  “It’s our accents,” he shrugged. “Everybody loves ‘em.”

  ARCHIE WENT TO THE forward door of the passenger compartment and Pete and I positioned ourselves by the rear door. I placed my left hand on the handle, pulled my Ruger with my right, and turned on the laser sight. I l
ooked at Pete. He raised the 9mm Walther in a two-handed grip, barrel up, and waited.

  I turned my head toward Archie and nodded.

  Archie knocked on the front door with one hand, turned the handle with the other, and entered the passenger compartment.

  “G’day!” I heard Archie bellow as soon as he was inside.

  “Who the fuck are you?”

  The voice came from inside the passenger compartment. It sounded familiar to me, but that didn’t make any sense. Could it be Freddy’s voice? No, of course not. That wasn’t Freddy. But then whose voice was it?

  “I’m your pilot, mate,” Archie said. “Wanted to tell you—”

  “The fuck you’re the pilot, man. What is this?”

  I heard scuffling noises that sounded to me like someone pushing himself up out of a seat and moving across the deck toward Archie.

  I looked at Pete and mouthed, “One, two, three…Go!”

  I twisted the knob and jerked the door open.

  Pete leaped inside screaming, “Freeze! Freeze! FBI! On your knees! Get on your knees!”

  I was right behind him.

  A NARROW AISLE RAN the length of the compartment. There were four rows of seats, two seats in each row, and all four rows were lined up along the other side of the fuselage. The seats were covered with blue cloth that looked old and worn. They might have been seats discarded by some discount airline in Europe a decade or two ago.

  Freddy lay curled in the fetal position across the two seats in the back row, his feet hanging out into the aisle. He looked dead.

  Halfway up the aisle to where Archie was doing his pilot imitation at the front of the compartment, Harry Pine had stopped walking and was looking back over his shoulder.

  I watched the red dot from the laser sight on my Ruger dancing on Pine’s face and stole another glance at Freddy lying across those two seats in the back. He looked like a dead fat kid. If Freddy was dead, I told myself, and if this dirt bag had had anything to do with killing him…

  I felt my finger tightening on the Ruger’s trigger and yelled at Pine, “What the fuck are you doing here?”

  Before Pine could say anything, Archie pulled his Glock out from under his uniform jacket, took two quick steps, and jammed the muzzle into Pine’s belly.