When we were finished hooking up the power and water, Migos and I inspected the damage done by the four-ton SDV on the teak decking.
“Damage isn’t too bad,” Migos said, pointing to some deep scratches along the edge.
“It’s repairable. I thought it was going to be a lot worse.”
“Where to now?”
“I have a charter booked for tomorrow to Switzerland. I’m free tonight. Do you want to try out one of these Limassol restaurants?
“Which one?”
“There’s one I’ve been wanting to try. Columbia Steakhouse. It’s supposed to be the best one in Cyprus.”
I made reservations and Migos and I dressed for dinner. Columbia Plaza is only a quarter mile from the Limassol Marina, and we decided to walk. The waterfront is a tourist area and it’s a nice place to walk when the weather is cooperative. We arrived early for our reservation and decided to have a drink in the attached cigar bar before being seated.
“I like this place,” Migos said.
“It’s owned by a Greek, but it’s an American-style steakhouse with a sushi menu.”
“Talk about a culture clash.”
“This is a food destination for the chic world travelers. Unlike the working stiffs in Paphos, Limassol is home to lots of the beautiful people.”
“You liked Paphos better?”
“My marina neighbors were fishermen and recreational boaters instead of the world- traveling yacht owners, which I liked. But they didn’t have any internationally renowned restaurants either.”
When we were seated, Migos and I both went with the chateaubriand; it was fantastic, as were the onion rings and the wine. After dinner, Migos drove back to his apartment in Paphos and I stayed on the boat. It was a cool night and I put on a light jacket and sat up on the flydeck and drank a couple of beers while watching the Bruins play the Capitals on my iPad. I love the end of the hockey season; first, because the players really seem to up their intensity level in the hunt for the playoffs, and second, because it means baseball season is right around the corner.
The next morning, I drove to Limassol. I parked my truck next to the Trident warehouse and boarded a chartered G-5 that was parked nearby. The weather in the Geneva area was cold and windy. Snow was piled high around the runway in the isolated mountain vault. I was met by the ever-efficient Mr. Hofstadter, and together we drove to the Vault in his car. Once inside, I segregated twenty-eight of the thirty-six boxes and lined them up for shipping. Mr. Hofstadter’s staff inventoried the boxes, fixed metal seals on the metal boxes, and carried them away. I was given a receipt for the boxes and their contents. As an extra service, the Vault would transship the boxes to a Rothschild Bank in Zurich and transfer them over to the custody of my coin broker.
The flight to Zurich Airport took only forty-five minutes. At the private aircraft terminal, I passed through passport control and customs without a hitch. I only had a small suitcase to clear and the customs agent didn’t even inspect it. The passive security made me regret not bringing a pistol. I took a taxi to the Park Hyatt in downtown Zurich. It’s a business hotel located in the Old Town near the lake on Beethoven Strasse. Check-in was speedy and because my next meeting wasn’t for a couple of hours, I decided to go to the gym.
When I was finished with the free weights, I decided to go for a short run on the treadmill. The treadmills are all in a row, oriented toward the windows overlooking the lake. Because of the lighting, I could see my reflection clearly in the window. About 3 kilometers into my run, I noticed an Asian man behind me on one of the stationary bikes. He was wearing iPhone earbuds and he didn’t look like he was paying any attention to me, but his face looked familiar. I couldn’t remember where, but I had a sneaky suspicion I had seen the man somewhere before. I strained to remember if it was at the airport terminal or in the lobby check-in. I finished my five-kilometer jog and headed back to my room to shower and change for my next meeting.
I was wearing jeans and winter clothing including a black ski jacket, watch cap, and gloves when I exited the lobby. I chose the Park Hyatt because it’s only two hundred yards from the coin dealer—or the antiquity broker, as he liked to be called. Paranoid from my experience in the gym, I was concerned that I might have a tail. I began my walk heading in the opposite direction of my destination. I turned left out of the hotel and walked up Beethoven Strasse. The street is one way, and I was walking against the traffic. I crossed an intersection and continued on past the Chinese Construction Bank. I used the windows in the neighboring Saxo bank to see if anyone was following me. There were very few pedestrians in the area; one of them was an Asian in a grey coat. There can’t be that many Asians in Zurich; my paranoia kicked into full gear. What are the chances? I continued on my way for another hundred yards until I came to a parking garage. I ducked into the parking garage and stepped into the elevator. I got out on the third floor. Once outside the elevator, I positioned myself with my back against the wall between the stair exit and the elevator door and I waited.
I kept checking my watch. I decided I’d wait fifteen minutes before giving up and finding a different exit from the parking garage than the one I used to come in. One guy couldn’t watch all of the exits and the garage appeared to open onto two different streets. As it turned out, I didn’t have to wait that long. I heard footsteps coming up the stairs. The entry to the stairwell didn’t have a door. I could hear a single set of leather shoes approaching on the cement stairs. I watched as a solidly-built Asian man stepped out from the staircase. He glanced to the right and was swiveling his head back towards me when I hit him with a solid left hook to the jaw. He dropped and then I pounced on him and pummeled the dazed man with a set of two lefts and a right until he was no longer moving.
I ran down the stairs and left the parking garage on a street parallel to Beethoven Strasse. I was doubling back in the direction of the Park Hyatt. I was already late for my meeting but decided caution was more important, so I circled around my destination and then came back up Beethoven Strasse, where I was once again walking against the traffic. I found the sign for Hind Esquire on a black placard on the left side of the road. I walked right in and was met by a receptionist sitting up high behind a massive wooden desk.
“Hi, I’m Pat Walsh; I’m here to see Mr. Hind.” The heavy blonde middle-aged woman seemed put out by my presence. She picked up the phone and had a short conversation in German and then, after more than one disapproving glance, got up and led me through one of the three doors located behind her to an inner office. Mr. Hind was an older man, and based on the tissues on his desk and his nasal-sounding voice, he appeared to be suffering from a cold.
“I have been assured the shipment is in transit and that title has transferred. As I have already received payment from the buyer, I have deposited the balance owed to your account. That leaves only one final matter, Mr. Walsh.” He stood up and with his cane, led me back into the reception area and then through another door that took us into a storage room. It was a clean and tidy storage room with good lighting. Various statues, vases, and artworks were neatly arranged in rows. Most were in boxes and protective wrapping, but some were not. Mr. Hind took me down an aisle and we stopped in front of Samantabhadra which was positioned against the far wall, opposite the door. The Buddhist statue was much bigger than I expected it to be. It was striking.
“What’s this?” I said, pointing to a big rectangular object wrapped in paper. Mr. Hind began peeling the paper away.
“This is the base the statue will stand on. As you can see, it’s been inscribed as you have directed. The base is made of stone; it’s a fine Italian marble.”
“Is it made of solid stone?”
“No, that would be too heavy; it’s hollow inside. It’s a marble box—even hollow it weighs half a ton.”
“This is very nice. Thank you for finding this for me.”
“It was no trouble.”
“Why don’t you take a few moments to review it. I’m running la
te. I’m afraid I have a phone call scheduled that I must take. I’ll be back with you in twenty or thirty minutes.”
“Sure, that’s fine,” I said.
I removed the rest of the packaging paper from the base. It was polished white marble that matched perfectly the white porcelain statue it would support. On the front was a small painted portrait of Cheryl. She was smiling and it was a beautiful picture of her. Inscribed next to her portrait were the words, “In loving memory, Cheryl Li ‘Shu Xue Wong’” and the dates of her birth and death. Underneath it read, “She died a free woman.”
I sat on a box across from the statue and the base and tried to picture it on the grass next to the Cathedral in Palawan. I decided it would be a very good memorial for Cheryl. I heard a scraping noise behind me, and, out of reflex, I raised my right arm in front of my face just as a garrote was looping around my head. The wire bit into my arm and I felt the pounding of a man’s knee driving into the small of my back. From my seated position, I stood straight up and lifted the shorter man off of his feet. He held onto the garrote with both hands while I repeatedly drove my left elbow into his ribs. I couldn’t shake him loose. The garrote was cutting deeper into my forearm. I stepped backward, then bent forward to shake him. Out of desperation, I leaped backward as if to do a back flip. I landed flat on my back, with the man underneath. I banged away at his face with the back of my head. The garrote loosened and I swiveled my body around to strike him. He was fast and strong. He let go of the garrote and delivered a flurry of punches into my face. I pushed him down by the neck and sat up straight. I straddled the man and then using my height and reach advantage, I began raining down a series of punches of my own.
The man was exceptionally agile. He bridged his back and bucked me off of him and then he sprang to his feet. The feeling was returned to my right arm and I was beginning to feel like I was at full strength. My nose was bleeding. The man across from me was bloody from a cut on his cheek. I recognized the man. It was Huang, the Chinese agent who killed Cheryl. The man reached behind his waist and produced a knife in his right hand. I reached behind me, searching on the shelf for something I could use as a weapon and found nothing. He danced for only a second before he made his move. He lunged forward with his knife hand in a straight jab. I twisted away from the knife thrust allowing my jacket to take the brunt of the blade and then I punched the man in the throat as his momentum carried him forward. He let go of the knife that was piercing my left side. I hit the man with a side kick in the chest and pulled the knife from my lower abdomen. I dove on top of him as he was scrambling to his feet. As I made contact, I swung the knife hard in an uppercut thrust and felt the knife bury deep into his abdomen. He started to double over when I stood him up straight with a knee to the face. I pulled the knife out of his body and stared into his black eyes. What I saw was more menace than pain. I held the man up by the throat with my left hand and the knife with my right.
“You made a big mistake shooting Cheryl,” I said before I stabbed the knife into his brain through his left eye.
My heavy jacket had taken most of the knife blade, but I was still bleeding pretty good. I found some packing tape and bandaged the wound with a strip of my shirt and the tape as best I could. At least it contained the bleeding. Mr. Hind was going to be back any minute and I didn’t want him to see the body. I looked around for a place to hide it.
I lifted the heavy stone top off the base. It weighed over two hundred and fifty pounds and I almost dropped it putting it down. I found a box of plastic trash bags and put them around the Chinese agent and then taped them closed. I folded the Chinese agent and dumped him into the stone box. I lifted the heavy marble lid back up onto the base and made sure it was properly seated. Then I went to find the storage area washroom. My nose stopped bleeding and the blood in my side was under control. When I returned to the storage area, I found out how the Chinese agent got in; the loading dock door was ajar. I closed the door and cleaned up as well as I could and then walked out of the storage area and into reception.
“Please tell Mr. Hind that everything is to my satisfaction. I’m afraid I can’t wait; it seems both of us are behind schedule today.”
The woman behind the reception desk nodded and went back to her computer screen.
I walked back to my hotel and called Mike.
“I’ve been stabbed, and I need some medical attention,” I said.
“Where are you?”
“In Zurich. I’m at the Park Hyatt.”
“Someone will come to you. How did you get stabbed?”
“Remember that Chinese guy who killed Cheryl? The one we captured?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, I was checking on Cheryl’s memorial and the guy attacked me.”
“What happened to him.?”
“He died. The Chinese have been following me all morning. They must have a kill order on me.”
“Are the police involved?”
“No, I don’t think they’ll become involved. I don’t think the body will ever be discovered.”
“Give me your room number and stay where you are. I’ll get a doctor to stitch you up and then we’ll get you out of there. It might be a good idea to hide for a while.”
“I know just the place.”
“Let me guess. Siargao.”
“Yup. If you need me, you’ll know where to find me.”
“Don’t kill yourself surfing.”
“Compared to working for you, surfing Cloud 9 is a walk in the park.”
Chapter 28
Paphos, Cyprus
I watched the US Government Gulfstream G550 taxi toward me. I was standing in front of the open hangar door of our Trident facility in Paphos. I had flown in only a couple of hours earlier. Mike had called me at the beach and insisted on a meeting. I couldn’t persuade him to come to Siargao and he couldn’t get me to travel to DC. We decided to split the difference and meet in Cyprus. He got the better end of the deal, but I had to give him an easy victory every now and again or he would think I was always taking advantage of him.
I greeted him at the bottom of the stairs.
“Do you want to talk on the plane or in the building?”
“Let’s go into the Clearwater office; it’s a secure area and you can stretch your legs.”
Mike was hobbling pretty badly when we started toward the open hangar. It always took him a while to get going after sitting for a long time. I’ve known Mike for quite a while. We first met in the Army as platoon leaders in the Second Ranger Battalion. Years later, he hurt his leg falling into a ravine while we were both attending Delta tryouts. That was after Panama and the First Gulf War and before a litany of conflicts too long to name. It was several hundred yards through the hangar and into the Clearwater wing. Halfway through the hangar, Mike’s limp was much less noticeable.
“How’s the new job? Are you still going 24/7?” I asked.
“It’s more travel, but I have better control over my schedule than I used to.”
“I’m sure the wife’s happy about that.”
“Yeah, she is. She says hello, by the way.”
“We need to get together sometime. Maybe the next time I’m in the Bahamas.”
“She could use a vacation. We’ll come down and meet you.”
“If you ever want to use the house, even when I’m not around, just let me know.”
“Thanks, I might take you up on that someday.”
We made our way to the conference room and I fixed both of us a cup of coffee.
“Why all the urgency? Do we have another mission for us?”
“No, that’s why I needed to see you in person. I want to update you and see if you can help us resolve a few things.”
“Ok, update away.”
“A truce has been called on the tit for tat between us and the Chinese.”
“Why? I thought we were winning.”
“People were getting killed on both sides. We got all we wanted when we kicked them ou
t of the Spratlys; after that, we were just inflicting pain to help bring them to the bargaining table.”
“What’s wrong with just continuing to inflict pain?”
“We’ve been running the risk of starting a hot war, for one thing. We were losing good people and we were starting to take some serious heat from some of our allies like the Greeks.”
“Oh, that.”
“Yeah, that.”
“No more spitball fighting with the Chinese. It’s a shame because only last night I thought of a really cool way to shut down the Panama Canal.”
“Your creativity in creating mayhem is underappreciated.”
“I’ve always thought so. The masters are seldom recognized while they’re still alive.”
“Ending the hostilities. That’s the first point I wanted to cover.”
“What’s the second?”
“In every truce, there’s a prisoner swap. One of the names the Chinese are asking for back is our friend Huang.”
“That’s the guy that killed Cheryl. I told you already, he died trying to kill me.”
“We need to produce him, or at least a body.”
“You can’t just tell them he’s dead?”
“No, they won’t believe us; they’ll think we’re holding him for interrogation.”
“What’s so bad about that?”
“It could end the truce. Just tell me where the body is and we’ll do the rest.”
“That might be a problem.”
“Did you destroy the body?”
“No, I had to hide it fast and the only place I could find was the stone base on Cheryl’s memorial.”
“You buried Huang in Cheryl’s memorial?”
“That’s what I said.”
“Where’s the memorial?”
“On the Cathedral Grounds of Puerta Princesa, Palawan.”
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