Codename Files Nos.1, 2 & 3

by Mark Arundel

  He was wearing a denim jacket instead of his bright puffer, but the baseball cap was the same. I made a wide, slow turn and watched him without making it obvious. He stood without moving and stared at the Buddha like a man casting his eyes upon heaven itself. I waited. It was important that I made sure nobody else was watching him. After searching carefully, I thought it looked all clear. Xing had appeared. She was covering herself among a coach trip of tourists. She threw me a discreet glance and then cast a fleeting gaze towards Erico. I figured if Xing thought it was clear then it must be okay. I wouldn’t do that again. I moved towards the shrine and approached Erico.

  I stopped beside him and kept my eyes on the Buddha. I took a step forward. Without moving my head I said, ‘are you Erico?’ His eyes left the Buddha, but he didn’t answer. I said, ‘I’m a friend of Mosquito.’

  ‘Where is she?’ Erico whispered. ‘Is she here?’

  I remained silent.

  ‘Who are you?’ he asked.

  ‘Are you alone?’

  ‘Yes,’ he whispered.

  ‘Walk over to the supermarket, across the road,’ I said. ‘I’ll follow you.’

  He hesitated. ‘Tell me where Mosquito is?’ he whispered.

  Again, I remained silent.

  Still Erico hesitated.

  ‘Move,’ I said. ‘Are we going or not?’

  I had read him correctly. He gave a derisive shrug and then started for the supermarket. I studied the Buddha for a while longer and then I followed. As I walked, I looked for Xing, but I didn’t see her. The street was busy. While I waited to cross, I scanned the supermarket entrance. I couldn’t see Erico; he must have already gone inside. I crossed and entered the shop. The aisle ahead of me was empty. I went in further. On my right, the row of checkouts was also empty. Even the checkout assistants were missing. Then my K106 began ringing. In that moment, I felt the jolt of alarm, the one I got whenever something unexpected happened. It was the standard reflex of all combat soldiers. Exactly what happened in the next second I can’t be sure, but judging by the faint whine, I recall hearing and the bruise and pain I felt later, some type of rubber bullet hit me. My legs went and I fell. I saw blurred feet and they were at ninety degrees. The dirty tiles of the shop floor had my face pressed hard against them. A man was going through my pockets. He pulled out my K106. I think it was still ringing. He took my gun and knife. I heard a faint laugh behind me. Then I blacked out.

  Water was running somewhere. I could hear it. It was cold water. I realised I knew it was cold water because I could feel it. It was falling on my head and running down my neck. I was coming round. My first thought was the sharp ache in my abdomen, made worse every time I took a breath. The blackness began to lift. There was light, then shapes. I straightened my head. Objects came into focus.

  I heard a man speak Cantonese and then the water stopped. I looked down at myself. I was naked to the waist. An ugly bruise was forming on my stomach just below the ribcage. Ropes tied me fast to the chair and dug into my arms and legs.

  I heard spoken Cantonese again and turned my head. Two men stood watching me. I recognised their faces from the pictures. They were Missouri’s men. The bigger man was the Red Pole from the casino meeting and the other man, with a scar through his eyebrow, was from the pictures of the boy leaving the house and getting into the Mercedes. I turned away and concentrated on my surroundings. I very quickly focused my mind. Coming round, roped to a chair with a couple of gorilla triads for company will do that to a man. I searched for an escape. There wasn’t one.

  The room was underground. It didn’t have any windows. The air was stale and hot. It was a small cellar with a concrete floor and a low ceiling. In one corner was a boiler. The furnace glowed orange as it hungrily ate the gas. The only exit was a door in the opposite corner, accessed by a flight of narrow wooden steps. The light came from a single bulb hanging at the top of the steps far enough in from the door to allow it to open inwards. I noted all these facts in the time it took the Red Pole to walk over to me and ask, ‘where the girl, where Mosquito?’

  That wasn’t what I expected. I hid my surprise. I was still trying to work out what had happened.

  ‘I don’t know,’ I said. ‘Wasn’t she in the supermarket?’

  Judging by his ugly frown, it wasn’t what he expected either. Either that or he didn’t understand me. We must have both looked confused because the smaller man then intervened.

  ‘Where Mosquito?’ he said.

  He had a worse accent than his friend did. By way of impressing me with the importance of his question, he produced a large knife, which he pointed at my chest. I wondered if it was the same knife recently employed in cutting a deep triangle in Vong’s chest. The thought didn’t please me. He pushed the knifepoint against the bruise on my abdomen. I felt the skin break and saw my blood well up.

  ‘You tell,’ he said with badly pronounced menace.

  I’d never been tortured before. I’d seen the aftermath, though; dead bodies, tethered and bloodied, their faces set in a grim death mask of agony and fear. Some that had died during torture, others with a single bullet wound to the head, given after they had broken and talked. I realised one of those two outcomes could easily become my fate.

  Did I still have my K106? Then I remembered one of the men taking it from my jacket pocket in the supermarket. Who had been calling me? Had they brought it with them?

  I stayed silent and stared him out. He pulled his knife away in frustration. The two men spoke together in Cantonese. I tested my ropes. They were too tight. They held me fast. My two captors finished their discussion and the older man went up the steps to the door. I tried to see out, but his body blocked my view. I heard him speak to someone. There was a pause while he waited, and then he turned back into the room and behind him appeared a girl. She was about twelve years old. She entered apprehensively. The heavy door closed behind her. She looked up at the triad man. He spoke to her in Cantonese for a minute or so, and then they both descended the steps. She looked at me and then looked away. The man spoke abruptly to her. With resignation, she looked back at me and she said, ‘They want to know where they can find the woman. She is known by the name Mosquito.’ Her English was almost flawless.

  ‘Is their English so bad that they need an interpreter?’ I asked.

  She hesitated. Her eyes stayed fixed on my face, and then she nodded.

  ‘If you tell them and they find her they will release you,’ she said. ‘If not...’ Her voice trailed away. She didn’t want to say it.

  I said it for her. ‘If not...they’ll torture me until I do tell them.’

  The girl nodded. I could see she didn’t like being there. The younger triad spoke to her in Cantonese. She listened and then nodded.

  ‘Do not think anyone knows where you are,’ she said. ‘Your satellite phone has been destroyed. No one is tracking you. No one is coming to rescue you.’

  I feared she was right. I just nodded.

  The older triad spoke to her. She listened. She looked at me again and asked, ‘Will you tell them?’

  I smiled at her.

  ‘What would you do?’ I asked.

  Her eyes turned cold at the thought. I didn’t get an answer.

  There must be as many ways to cause another person pain as there are imaginations to think them up. Fortunately, I didn’t have much of an imagination.

  The older triad had forced the girl to ask me the question for the second time. She was waiting for my answer. We were all waiting for my answer.

  ‘Mosquito is staying in a hotel,’ I said.

  The girl’s shoulders eased. She relayed what I had said in Cantonese to the two men.

  ‘There’s a problem, though,’ I said.

  ‘What?’ she asked, with a frown that pushed her eyes almost closed.

  ‘She will know something has happened to me. That means she won’t return to the hotel, which means I don’t know where she is.’

  The girl hesitated before
translating. It was the older triad who replied.

  ‘He says to tell them the name of the hotel and the room number,’ she said and paused before adding, ‘and to pray they find her.’

  I was sure Xing wouldn’t be at the hotel, so all it was going to do was buy me some time. If she was there...well, it wouldn’t be a fair fight, unless these two took a SWAT team with them, and even then I’d still bet on Xing. I didn’t have many choices. I could have given them the wrong information, but I didn’t. The girl was genuinely relieved. The two men showed no emotion. The older triad pushed the girl up the steps and the three of them left. I heard the key turn in the lock.

  I was alone.

  I pulled against the ropes again, trying to free myself, but I couldn’t. I had to get out of that chair before they came back or I may never get out of it. My abdomen felt like an invisible fist was continually punching it and my throat was drier than a Saharan camel’s hoof. I ignored my physical discomforts and forced myself to focus. It was hot in the small room. I was sweating despite not wearing a shirt. I looked at the furnace and the gas flame glowed orange.

  Then I had an idea.

  I tested the chair. Fortunately, nothing fixed it to the floor. With difficulty, I managed to use my body weight to make gradual movements towards the boiler. The legs scraped over the rough concrete. I bucked and struggled. The wooden chair creaked and moved little by little. The temperature increased and sweat ran down my face. The furnace had a glass cover. To get to the flame I needed to open it. A catch held the glass cover closed. While I considered this problem, I began to doubt my plan to burn through the ropes was going to work. By positioning the chair and rocking it violently it was possible to hit the catch with the chair back. The catch spun free and the cover opened. The heat was extreme. I moved closer and leant over so the ropes angled towards the flame. I wanted it to work but realised it was impossible. To burn through the ropes required an unworkable position, and anyway, I couldn’t do it without burning myself at the same time. I bucked at the chair and moved away from the heat. For a moment, I felt despair. My head fell. Then I forced myself to look up. I was determined to find another way.

  It was then I heard the key turn in the lock. They couldn’t be back already, could they? The door opened inwards, just a few inches. Through the crack, I saw two small eyes staring at me. It was the girl. My hope lifted. I did my best to throw her a smile. The door didn’t open any further. I waited.

  ‘Hello,’ I said.

  She didn’t move.

  ‘Hello,’ I repeated. I watched her eyes. They held many emotions.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered. I saw the regret and then she closed the door and turned the key. She was gone.

  I felt a wave of frustration. It turned to anger and the rage became physical. I bucked and rampaged in the chair. It was while my muscles were pumping like a sprinter chasing gold that I felt it. The chair creaked loudly and its structural integrity weakened significantly. Again, I had hope. The wooden chair joints could be broken. Perhaps there was a Made in Hong Kong sticker on it somewhere? I maintained my frenzied rocking, back and forth, back and forth. The chair continued to weaken, but it didn’t break. I tested the ropes and they had loosened, but not enough. I needed the help of something strong and solid. I forced the chair backwards until I was against the wall. While keeping my head forward, out of the way, I tipped the chair onto its back legs and then using my body weight, slammed the chair back against the wall. I repeated it several times. My only concern was the noise. Would it attract attention? I couldn’t worry about that. I kept doing it. After five or six more times it worked. The dovetail joints snapped, the chair back broke and the rope slackened enough for me to free myself.

  I stood up and felt the elation of relief. It went away. I still had to escape the room and then the building, a building of which I had no knowledge. One-step at a time, first the room.

  What time was it? They had taken my watch, the one Xing bought for me. I wanted it to be late enough for it to be dark. It could aid my escape.

  I went up the wooden steps to the door. Good, the key was still in the lock. I couldn’t see much through the keyhole, as it was too dark. I found a thin splinter of wood from the broken chair and a rag from beside the boiler. It was a trick I’d seen done as a boy. The gap beneath the door was just enough. I flattened the rag and fed it through beneath the door ensuring I had positioned it correctly. Then, using the splinter of wood, I pushed the key out. It fell with a clonk and landed on the rag. I pulled the rag back in and picked up the key.

  I was out of the boiler room. Next came the building. I wondered what building it was. I opened the boiler room door carefully; just enough to squeeze through and then I listened. It was dark. I was in what seemed to be a laundry room. It smelt of washing detergent, and a tumble dryer was humming in the corner. I closed and locked the door behind me. The more time I got the better. My eyes adjusted to the gloom, and I continued to listen. There was a window. It looked out onto a walled courtyard. A lock secured the window fast. I couldn’t see a key and I wondered whether it was alarmed. I decided to leave it and go to the door in the far wall instead. The handle turned, it was unlocked. I carefully peered through the crack. It led to a short hallway that opened onto a big L-shaped kitchen. The lights above the counters were on and it had the warm feel of an expensive home. I waited and listened. The kitchen must have an outside door, I thought. I went silently to the turn and then froze. Somebody was there. I heard a man’s voice. I dropped below the counter top and stole a glance. Sitting at a round kitchen table were two men. A light hung down above their heads. They were playing cards. I recognised one of them, and then I realised where I was. I was in Missouri’s house.

  I didn’t have enough time, in that moment, to consider why Missouri had had me brought to his house instead of a deserted warehouse somewhere or an empty lock-up near the docks. Perhaps the way he saw the threat to his life had made him so nervous he only felt safe when he kept things close. There wasn’t anywhere closer than home.

  The man sitting at the kitchen table playing cards, the one I’d recognised was Erico the donkey. He was still wearing his baseball cap. The other man I didn’t know, but I’d lay odds he was one of Missouri’s hard men. He had hands that made the cards look tiny.

  I briefly considered rushing them, even though I thought they would have guns. I wasn’t worried about overpowering them, but I was worried about the unknown. Who else was in the house? How many other men might there be? The noise could bring them running, and I wanted to escape, not find myself in a fight for my life.

  I left them to their card game and returned to the laundry room. After all, it was only a few hours since a rubber bullet had hit me. Steel no doubt, but flesh and blood and all that. Anyway, a tactful retreat followed by a discreet escape was the clever play.

  Back inside the laundry room, the dryer was still tumbling. I returned to the window. It was my only way out. First, though, I had to overcome the lock. The frame was sturdy, the large sealed unit probably toughened and the lock itself housed a deadbolt that sank deep beneath the sill. Without the key I was stuck. I reconsidered my options. There was only one. I went back to the kitchen.

  Erico the donkey and his sausage fingered friend had not moved from their seats at the table. They both still held their cards. They weren’t thinking about me, they were concentrating on their game. They were gambling. This gave me the advantage.

  I came around the corner unseen and reached the table before either of them reacted. Erico was the closest, so I hit him first. My fist shot out from my waist, twisting through the strike. The knuckles of my index and middle fingers sank deeply into his temple. It knocked him off his seat. Sausage Fingers dropped his cards and grabbed for his gun. It was beside him on the table, covered by a napkin. I hadn’t known it was there. He remained seated and tried to target me. I reached him easily. I twisted his gun hand away and employed my knuckles again on his fat nose. It f
lattened and exploded downwards in a gush of blood. He was strong and tried to grab at me with his free hand. Standing above him, I had the physical advantage and it was simple for me to twist his arm further and force him off his seat onto the floor. He lost his grip and the gun hit the floor. Without releasing his arm, I stamped on his throat. He gasped from the pain and opened his mouth. Blood ran in and he choked. I stamped on his belly and he convulsed like a salmon in the mouth of a Grisly. I twisted his arm even further, almost beyond breaking point, and despite his throat, he managed to scream. I planted my standing leg and then volleyed his jaw into the roof of the net. His eyes went out and his head smacked the floor. It was then that I realised Erico had picked up the gun.

  Erico the donkey was on his knees. Amazingly, his baseball cap was still on. He was unsteady and looked concussed. His gun hand wavered uncontrollably while his other hand remained flat on the floor. It was the only thing keeping him up. He tried to target me. I rushed him. He fired. I hadn’t reached him in time. Although his hand was flapping like a distressed damsel’s handkerchief, I still felt the bullet pass close to my face. The gunshot was loud; too loud not for anyone else in the house to hear. I pulled the gun from his hand and hit him with it, hard across his head. He went over. His face kissed the floor. This time, he was staying down.

  Before I could do anything further, the kitchen door opened and two men entered the room. This was exactly what had worried me earlier. They both held guns and neither of them was about to ask me if I wanted a pre-dinner cocktail. I didn’t want the firefight. I ducked out. My springy legs carried me behind the counter before they fired their only shot. A second later, I was back in the laundry room. This time, it was the window or nothing. I shot out the sealed unit on the move and followed it with a heel kick. The shattered glass rectangle fell out and I threw myself through. I landed awkwardly but managed to roll to my feet. The pain in my abdomen made me hunch and suck air. I rapidly searched for an escape. My two gun waving pals could only be seconds behind. The walls were high, too high for me to get over unaided. In the corner was a wooden arched doorway. I tried the metal handle and pushed, but the locked door was solid. Knowing I mustn’t let them catch me in the open, I sprang back against the wall of the house beside the window and waited. One second later, a gun appeared through the opening, followed by an arm and then a head. I grabbed the extended forearm with both hands and yanked. It pulled the man off balance and he flew through the window, hitting his back on the smashed frame. He finished face down on the ground. I stamped on the back of his head and felt his face grind into the hard dirt. Still holding his forearm, I quickly stepped back against the wall. The man’s body turned with me and I stamped on the back of his head again to make sure. I pulled the gun from his hand and let his arm drop. He remained horizontal, with his face in the dirt. He was almost out and he made noises like Marley’s ghost.