by Mark Arundel
‘It’ll just take a minute, wait here,’ I said.
Outside the taxi, I searched for a public rubbish bin. I found one on the other side of the road. It was a short walk away and I hurried between the crowds of slow pedestrians. I wanted to dispose of the phones safely otherwise, I wouldn’t have left the taxi. I dropped the bag through the opening below the lid, turned and began making my way back. The busy street traffic obscured my view. It was only when I waited to cross the road that I saw it. The driver of the car had dipped his headlamps. The expensive coachwork shone in the city glare. I recognised the saloon instantly. I didn’t think he would follow us. I was wrong. It was Missouri in the Mercedes.
The driver of the Mercedes cut across the taxi and stopped. I heard a silenced pistol shot. Just a single shot. It wasn’t a Glock. It was the firing sound made by a different make of weapon, possibly a Smith & Wesson. I pulled my own gun. Urgency growled at my feet, but I had to wait for the moving traffic. I kept my eyes on the scene. The taxi raced backwards, away from the Mercedes. It spun wildly, with its tyres squealing and then sped away, heading west. The Mercedes attempted a copycat manoeuvre but failed to get the same amount of slide and had to waste several seconds straightening up before giving chase. My feet were sprinting now, but I was never going to catch them. I stopped and holstered my Glock. I wondered if the pistol shot had hit somebody. Perhaps the taxi was racing away to find a hospital. Alternatively, the shot probably missed everyone but spooked the duckling into making a fast paddle for the tall reeds. Pointless conjecture by me was just that—pointless.
I had to find them. Would they come back for me? I couldn’t rely on that. Then I remembered something Jemima had said.
I returned to the rubbish bin, pulled off the fitted lid and retrieved the bag. I moved away to a secure doorway, found Jemima’s K106 and reassembled it. Then I switched it on.
I knew that London would be able to track the phone, but I couldn’t worry about that. I needed to find the taxi again. Jemima had said that he tracked me earlier in the first taxi using his phone. It was likely that the second taxi also had a tracker fitted and that Jemima’s phone would find it. I worked the K106 and soon had a fix. The GPS map appeared on the screen and gave me the taxi’s location. It was still moving. I wondered if they had lost the Mercedes. The taxi was less than a mile away. With limited options, I decided to begin on foot. I pocketed the dismantled parts of my own K106 in case I needed it later, dropped the bag with the other phones back into the rubbish bin and headed off.
The night-time city streets were still busy. I maintained a trotting pace and made constant checks on the K106 screen. I had a number of near misses, one of which involved a woman wearing a conical hat and walking a poodle that almost brought me down with its lead.
The taxi had changed direction constantly, which meant I had to do the same. After ten minutes, despite my best efforts, the distance between us remained at over half a mile. I stopped and considered. Inside the taxi, Xing would have taken charge. My assumption was she had decided to keep driving while she waited for the hour to pass. This made sense, but what I didn’t understand was how she intended to find out whether Missouri had transferred the money. As far as I knew, she couldn’t contact London from inside the taxi.
I used the K106 to map the taxi’s route since I began tracking it, but it didn’t show a fixed pattern. I wondered if I might be able to second-guess them and use that guess to make an interception. I didn’t dismiss the idea.
Around fifteen minutes of the hour had passed. While I studied the taxi’s route history on the K106, I found myself considering whether Xing would kill Penny. What would Xing do if Missouri hadn’t transferred the money when the hour was up? I decided there was a high probability that she would kill the girl. I had to get myself back inside that taxi within the next forty-five minutes. I started to consider every option. I remembered Xing’s words: Why would Meriwether send us and then sabotage us? How does he benefit from that? It doesn’t make sense. I made a judgment. I decided to call Meriwether. His number was stored on Jemima’s phone.
‘Hello,’ he answered. His voice sounded more serious and less upbeat than usual.
‘It’s me,’ I said.
‘I thought it was Jemima. It’s his phone,’ he explained. I hadn’t thought about what I was going to say to Meriwether. What should I tell him? ‘Has yours broken?’ he asked.
‘I don’t have much time,’ I said.
‘What’s happened?’ he asked.
‘Has Missouri transferred the money yet?’ I said.
‘No, not that I’m aware of,’ he replied. ‘You’ll get a call the moment he does.’
‘Yes, right. Ask them to call me on this phone, mine’s not working,’ I said.
‘Yes, of course. Is everything all right?’
‘How do you catch a moving taxi?’ I asked.
‘...a taxi, well, an old friend of mine who didn’t drive always swore by the whistle. He was very good at doing that thing where one puts two fingers...’
‘I’m not sure whistling is going to work,’ I said.
‘No, quite, I was always doubtful about that myself. I remember I suggested he consider purchasing a scooter. He wouldn’t need a licence and he could whizz about town, weaving in and out...’
‘Listen,’ I said, ‘there’re two things I need to say.’
‘Oh, yes,’ he said. The Shakespearean timbre returned to his voice.
‘I think Missouri is getting help from London,’ I said.
Meriwether didn’t respond.
‘Someone’s been giving him our location. I thought it was Jemima or the ducklings, but it isn’t. It’s London,’ I said.
‘What’s the second?’ he asked.
‘How quickly can Missouri transfer the money?’
‘He can do it instantly, what with digital interbank connections...’
‘What if the banks are closed here, like now?’
‘His bank doesn’t need to be open. He may need to give his manager a call at home, get the crook out of bed and have him authorise the transaction.’
‘I need you to do something for me,’ I said. ‘In forty-five minutes you might get a call from Jackie. Tell her Missouri has transferred the money.’
‘...and what if he hasn’t?’
‘Lie to her.’
‘Hadn’t you better tell me what’s going on,’ he said.
‘Find out if Missouri is getting help,’ I said, ‘and tell Jackie what I said.’
‘She’ll want her finder’s fee,’ he said. ‘Even though we haven’t actually recovered the money, if I tell her we have she’ll expect her fee. I don’t want to have to tell her she can’t have it.’
‘Don’t worry, if it comes to it I’ll tell her. I’m sure I can explain. She’ll understand.’
Meriwether chortled.
‘Yes, I suppose so,’ he said. ‘Anyway, she doesn’t actually care about the money, as I explained.’
‘Then why are you scared of telling her that she can’t have it?’ I asked. I ended the call to the sound of Meriwether guffawing loudly.
The first thing I did was check on the location of the taxi. Since standing still it had actually driven closer towards me, but as I watched the screen, it turned away. Meriwether’s suggestion of a scooter was in fact, a good one, only I didn’t have a scooter. My options were none. I had to continue my pursuit on foot. If I were right then Xing would stop the taxi when the hour was up, so she could call Meriwether. I had to make sure I was close enough when she stopped. There were about forty minutes of the hour remaining. I could only check the time on Jemima’s K106 as Missouri’s men had taken my watch, the one Xing bought me, and the one Charlotte had bought me was back in London.
I took off running north. At every junction, I had to make a decision. It was based on the location of the taxi and my judgement as to which city thoroughfare was the most likely to further my cause. Although I had the K106 set to show me the shortest rou
te, I sometimes saw, what I thought was a shortcut and took it.
Another fifteen minutes had gone while I attempted to chase down the continually moving blip on the screen. Sweat had soaked my hair and shirt inside my jacket, but I’d succeeded in narrowing the distance to under one thousand metres. I had to wipe my hands regularly so I could keep a safe grip on the phone. I constantly assessed my chances. We were on an island and I’d started to notice a driving pattern. I guessed a turn and got it right. The distance was now five hundred metres and falling. I sprinted diagonally, between two moving lines of traffic, leapt back onto the pavement, turned the corner and then, at the very far end of the straight, narrow street, I saw the taxi. It was driving towards me. The tall buildings held deep shadows between the streetlamps and the distance was still too far for the duckling to see me. I had to get closer before he turned.
It was then that an Audi accelerated hard behind me, braked in front and then turned to block my way. A second vehicle, also driving fast was following. I recognised it immediately. It was Missouri’s Mercedes. It was an attempt to trap me. A man wearing a balaclava was already opening the Audi’s passenger door and in his hand, he held an assault rifle. Even in that second, I recognised it as a Chinese QBZ-95. I wondered if he was one of the shinobi from earlier.
My muscles were warmed and pumped full of adrenalin. I had all the running to thank for that. My hard working body had fed pints of oxygenated blood to my brain. These men had jumped me when my body was fully prepared to perform. My reactions were simultaneous with my thoughts and my hands and feet flew in a blur of violence.
I was on him before he had time to balance and bring up the assault rifle. My hands found the weapon and his chest. I gripped the barrel and pulled it up while the heel of my right hand slammed his sternum sending his body hard against the Audi.
His driver was getting out holding a pistol. It was a silenced Smith & Wesson.
I turned, pulling the rifle forward and used my back and head to hurt the man. The back of my skull, left elbow and the metal of the German saloon all contributed to his pain. I was careful to keep his body between the driver and me. The wheelman, who wore glasses, seemed indecisive.
The other driver had now brought the Mercedes to a skidding halt and two men were getting out. One of them was Missouri. They both carried handguns. I held on to the man wearing the balaclava and while maintaining my squashing strength, I found the trigger of the QBZ-95. The assault rifle kicked as it spat out an automatic howl of bullets. Without aiming, the barking weapon wandered causing a line of fire across the pavement and into the open Mercedes door, smashing the side window. Both Missouri and the other man instinctively cowered and dived for cover. I fired again. This time, the bullets went high and struck the building throwing out shrapnel of stone chips. It was enough to hold both men back.
The driver with glasses was now creeping around the Audi. He had reached the rear-quarter and was holding his pistol out with both hands. I changed my feet and gave balaclava man a hard left elbow to his abdomen. I heard him grunt as the air left his lungs and then his body weakened further. It was time for me to leave. My fast actions had bought me just enough seconds, but outnumbered as I was retreat was the sensible move.
Most pedestrians had scattered. A few stood and watched. Either shock or a dangerous curiosity had kept them near. Vehicles slowed as they squeezed passed and then they accelerated away. Some blasted their horn.
I found the trigger for the third time. The assault rifle barked for me like a well-trained heel hound. Its bullets thumped the pavement and peppered the Mercedes. The creeping driver stopped and crouched lower. Missouri and his partner remained hidden behind the Mercedes.
I spun the semi-conscious balaclava man out into the open space between the two cars and then bolted. I raced past the Audi, darted across the street, reached the first corner and was out of sight quicker than a spooked Midwestern jackrabbit.
I maintained a fast pace until I’d crisscrossed four streets and cut through an alleyway. I didn’t expect any pursuers, but I wanted to be certain. I stopped beside the entrance to a street market to wipe my forehead and check the K106. The taxi was now over a quarter of a mile away, and only twenty minutes of the hour remained. Missouri had ruined my chance. The chance I had worked so hard for. I also knew that all the while I used the K106 London could track me, and if London could track me, Missouri could find me—again.
I interrogated the K106 and assessed my chances of reaching the taxi in time. They weren’t good. I put all negative thoughts aside and steeled myself for twenty minutes of unconditional effort.
I chose my first direction. It was easterly. Through the market. I turned and ran off between the stalls. Many of the traders were still open and bargain hunters crowded the narrow street. I threaded my way through and then I saw something coming the other way that made me smile. It was a man riding a scooter.
He was driving slowly, weaving in-between the shoppers. Behind the dipped headlight, I could see he wore a shiny hard hat with a chinstrap and held a recently lit cigarette between his lips. He was relaxed with a smooth, untroubled face. That was about to change.
I didn’t have time for a pleasant negotiation. Anyway, I couldn’t be sure of the language or the outcome. No, it would have to be a simple mugging, a smash and grab.
I aimed for his neck. In that way, I was certain to knock him off and the pain and shock would keep him down.
The man was unaware of what was about to happen. I was casual and surreptitious, nonchalant even, right up to the moment of attack.
I stepped easily across. He turned the handlebars to go around me. I stepped again with speed and raised a straight arm. My flexed forearm worked like an iron bar. It struck below the chinstrap and propelled him straight off the back. He appeared to bounce a couple of times. The bike went down and slid. It made an unhappy scraping noise. I moved quickly, grasped the handlebar, pulled it up and jumped on. It was a simple twist and go. The banshee engine screeched with displeasure as I sped away weaving to avoid the onlookers.
I pulled out the K106 and negotiated the traffic one handed while I checked on the taxi. The scooter bounced along between the cars. I chose the direct route. At the lights, I went straight over and kept a watch for the Mercedes and the Audi. I didn’t want to get blind-sided and find myself kissing the tarmac. There was every chance Missouri would continue to track me. I had to be watchful.
After a few minutes of whizzing around, I found the taxi was proving harder to catch than I had anticipated. I increased my efforts.
Following another series of disappointments, I changed tactics. I followed the same approach as I had when I was on foot. I used judgement and anticipation.
The hour was falling away. By my calculation, I had about five minutes left. I was sure Xing would stop the taxi when the hour was up. I just had to get close enough.
I pulled over to the side of the road and studied the moving blip on the screen. I made a deduction and then traced a route that if my deduction were right would bring the taxi and me to the same point at the same time. I set off again and made the scooter work hard.
The taxi made a turn I hadn’t expected, so I adjusted my own route by cutting across a pedestrian walkway. By now, I had found the scooter’s horn and was using it liberally. It made people jump.
The shortcut had helped. I just needed the taxi to turn north at the next junction. I watched the screen, I waited and then at the junction the taxi turned south. For a moment, I was surprised until I realised why Xing had done it. She was heading away from the city. When the hour was up, she wanted the taxi to be somewhere quiet. I knew why.
The taxi drove onto the bridge and left the island of Macau. It was now travelling south towards the island of Tamzai. At least I knew where it was going to be for next few minutes. I chased after it, but the speed of the scooter was limited. A decent lawn mower would have given it a good race. On the bridge, despite riding flat out the taxi continued
to pull away.
I was over a mile behind when the taxi stopped. The hour was up. Xing had to make a phone call. I still had time, I hoped. It took me a further two minutes. It seemed longer but finally, I caught it.
The duckling had parked the taxi off the road behind a public telephone. Its lights were on. He had reversed onto an area of scrubland. The lights from a row of houses, set back on the opposite side, did little to penetrate the darkness. It was a quiet spot and late enough for the road to be deserted. A single white bulb lit the public telephone, and standing, watching the road while she made a call was Xing.
I stopped the scooter behind the taxi. The first thing I did was to switch off the K106 and remove the battery. I knew that London would have the phone’s final location, so I needed to move fast.
Jemima’s window went down. ‘How did you find us?’ he asked, in a quiet voice.
I didn’t answer.
‘Where did you get the scooter?’
I looked past him. In the driver’s seat sat the duckling, and curled up on the back seat was Penny. She was asleep.
I walked over to the phone booth. Xing watched me approach. She didn’t appear surprised to see me.
‘Is that Meriwether?’ I asked.
She nodded.
‘I’ll speak to him when you’re finished.’
She nodded again.
She listened for a few seconds more and then passed me the telephone.
‘Tell me,’ I said.
‘As you requested, I told Jackie that Missouri has transferred the money,’ Meriwether said.
‘...and has he?’
‘No, he has not,’ he replied.
‘What about the other thing?’ I asked.
‘I’m looking into it,’ he said.
I ended the call.
‘Meriwether’s got his money back,’ Xing said. ‘Now, we can take Penny home.’
30
MONDAY, 19:30—19:45 (local time)
MISS CHARLOTTE MILLER
The cab pulled over on Pall Mall and Charlotte Miller stepped out. Her heels tapped on the pavement. She paid the fare with a single note. The cab driver took it from her gloved hand. ‘Thanks, love.’