The Jason Green series Box Set

by Gordon Wallis

  The makeshift incendiary device wobbled but the wire was firmly rooted in the wood. I gauged that the rivulet of petrol would reach the point where I was within a minute or two and the sparkler would ignite soon afterwards. Satisfied I had done all I could I grabbed the bag, stood up and walked back towards the gate. The lights from the distant factories glowed yellow as I pulled the heavy gate closed behind me and reached down to pick up the chain and the lock. I checked my pocket for the keys before locking the gate and leaving it as I had found it. My right temple was sticky with dried blood and I dabbed it gingerly with my sleeve as I took the walk past Banca Miguel towards the vehicle. I threw my bag in the passenger seat, closed the door and lit a fresh cigarette. It crossed my mind briefly to leave the scene immediately but instead I walked around the back of the vehicle and leant on the cab to wait and watch. You need to be sure Green. You need to be very sure. The night was still and quiet, the only sound being that of the cicadas in the nearby bushy area where the guard slept. The seconds passed with agonising slowness and I glanced at my watch frequently as I waited. My mouth was dry, my head ached and the cigarette tasted terrible. It was only half smoked when I crushed it out impatiently. The seeds of doubt were beginning to grow in my mind and I wondered if the cigarette had extinguished by itself or perhaps the stream of petrol had failed to reach the sparkler. It was as I was pacing back and forth along the length of the vehicle that the explosion came. Nothing could have prepared me for the absolutely shocking force of the blast. In a split second the night sky lit up like late afternoon sunlight and it was as if my vision shifted a few inches from the shock wave. The almighty boom that followed shook the very ground I stood on and left my ears whistling and aching from the sudden spike in air pressure. Colossal raging flames engulfed the wood piles at the perimeter of the yard immediately after as the scene in front of me rapidly began to resemble a vision of hell.

  “Jesus!” I said out loud as I stared at the pandemonium.

  At that moment I felt a rush of air along with a loud whooshing sound followed by an almighty thump. Once again, the ground shook under my feet. The top half of one of the fuel tanks had been split along it's centre weld by the force of the explosion and had obviously been blown sky high. It landed in a fiery dusty heap not five metres from where I stood. Jagged, twisted pieces of steel jutted out from the smoking mass. It had been a close shave indeed. Time to go Green. I got into the driver's seat, started the engine and revved it hard. I pulled away in a cloud of dust and headed up the dirt road towards where it met the motorway. The tyres squealed on the tarmac as I made the 'U' turn to head back to the city. By the time I was parallel with the flames the entire Imperial Dragon yard had been transformed into one huge raging inferno. I watched as the factory unit at the centre of the yard collapsed in a shower of sparks and there were yet more explosions from what I imagined would have been the chemicals, vehicles and the gas bottles from the workshop and kitchens. Giant spinning tornadoes of flames spun and licked the night sky reaching sixty feet into the air.

  An unusual sense of morbid curiosity forced me to slow the vehicle and stare at the raging pillars of fire and even from the highway I could feel the glowing heat on my face and right arm.

  “Yes,” I said to myself under my breath. “Burn you fuckers. Burn.”

  Chapter 23: Hong Kong

  The lunch time flight from Beira to Johannesburg took exactly one hour and fifty minutes. I used the time to reflect on the events of the previous night. By the time I had returned to my hotel I was filthy and exhausted. I had stood under the shower for twenty minutes and washed away the blood and the memories of the explosion and the fire. Afterwards I lay on the bed and contemplated the great unknown that would be Hong Kong and Charles Tang. Sleep had come quickly and I awoke at 6.00 am and used the next two and a half hours to download as much information as I could about Mr Charles Tang and his company, Imperial Dragon Trading. I had avoided the crew and Charlie on purpose choosing to call them instead. They knew nothing of my plans and I was happy to leave it that way. I checked out of the hotel at 10.00 am and after getting the vehicle valeted at a nearby car wash, I took the drive up to Ceramica to see what was left of the Imperial Dragon complex. The entire inside of the yard and most of the perimeter wall had been completely obliterated leaving an enormous smouldering mess of twisted metal, collapsed buildings and ash. I drove slowly past the small crowd of onlookers, police officers and firemen who stood with their hands on their hips as they stared at the almost dystopian scene of total destruction in front of them. Three kilometres further up the highway I turned back to drive to the airport. I stopped at a nearby shack to buy a bottle of water and chanced my luck that the owner would speak English.

  “What happened there?” I asked the man.

  “Big fire boss,” he replied gesturing towards the sky with his hands, “no survivors.”

  I thanked the man, got back into the vehicle and drove to the airport feeling mildly satisfied. After returning the vehicle to the car hire company I checked in and waited in the departure lounge for my flight. On the plane I read up as much as I could of the saved information on Mr Charles Tang until the battery on my laptop died. Eventually the plane started to lose height and I saw the yellow glow of the huge mine dumps of the city of Johannesburg in the distance. My table at the coffee shop at Johannesburg airport had expansive views over the runway and there was a power point nearby. I used the free internet to further my research into the flamboyant business man and his extensive empire. Charles Tang was a forty-nine-year old Chinese national. Educated at first in Hong Kong and later in England, he had fallen foul of the authorities in Oxford after having been caught in possession of a substantial amount of cocaine. Having narrowly escaped a prison sentence and having been expelled from Oxford University, he had returned to China to join his father's company which at the time was a small but successful import and export concern operating from a factory in Zhuhai, mainland China. Charles Tang's father had died under mysterious circumstances in the late 90's leaving the company in the hands of his ambitious young son.

  At the time, his death was put down to food poisoning but there had been a subsequent police investigation into foul play by Charles Tang, but nothing was ever proved. The young man had re-branded the company and expanded rapidly, penetrating global markets particularly in Southern Africa. Over the years since his father's death he had built a huge factory complex across the water from Hong Kong in Zhuhai China and set up a large chemical manufacturing plant. A lover of social media, Charles Tang was in no way shy of flaunting his massive wealth and the internet was awash with pictures of him wearing expensive jewellery, watches and driving flashy cars. With a global Twitter following of over 150,000 people, many suspected the ban on social media in China to be one of the reasons he now lived in Hong Kong. His penthouse apartment atop the massive Highcliffe building near Happy Valley was rumoured to have cost over $80 million. The building was the tallest residential skyscraper in Hong Kong. Never married, the man was well known for throwing lavish parties wherever he travelled and was often pictured in the company of minor celebrities and rap artists. There was, however, a dark side to Mr Charles Tang. He was known for having a violent temper and for being extremely ruthless and competitive in business. Any man who had accumulated such sudden wealth and power was bound to have met a few obstacles on his way up. There were rumours and whispers of his association with the Triads. Powerful Chinese criminal syndicates operating in China, Hong Kong, Macau and Taiwan. There were also reports on his suspected involvement and financing of the blood diamond trade in central and southern Africa. However, none of these allegations had ever been proven and Charles Tang continued with his business and his extravagant lifestyle, flipping between his homes in Hong Kong, Paris, New York and on his super yacht which was moored in the Marina of The Royal Yacht Club in Victoria Harbour, Hong Kong. I sat back from my reading and thought. But I have my proof Mr Tang and we have an appointment. I looked
up from my computer screen across the runway to see the giant Cathay Pacific aircraft that would take me to Hong Kong had just landed. I watched as it taxied across the apron in the setting sun and parked near an air bridge to my right. I glanced at my watch and saw that there were only two and a half hours until my flight. I waved at one of the cabin staff, ordered another cup of coffee and continued with my research. It was four hours later, while I was sitting at forty thousand feet staring out of the window of the aircraft into the night sky, that the events of the past days finally caught up with me. I realised I had been in a state of shock since the discovery of Gabby's body and I had largely been acting on and driven by, some sort of mechanical instinct. My mind and body were completely exhausted and I knew I needed to rest. I reclined the seat, put the pillow against the side of the plane and fell into a deep, dreamless sleep. It was eleven hours later when I awoke feeling dehydrated, stiff and sore from the slumber. Through the window the sun was rising, casting a silver swathe of light across the South China Sea. I stepped past the two passengers who were sleeping next to me and walked up to the galley to stretch and drink some water. The crew were getting ready to serve breakfast, so I downed half a bottle of water and returned to my seat.

  After the morning meal was served, I sat and stared out of the window and took a moment for some introspection. Physically I was fine, apart from a slightly tender head, but I was more concerned with my state of mind. Is what you plan to do rational Green? Would it not be better to simply deliver the report and be done with this now? I sipped my coffee and thought long and hard. I thought of my old friend Hannes Kriel and his violent death at the hands of Dixon Mayuni. I thought of the raw fear in his widow's face at the funeral service and the suffering of his children. My mind went back to the guest house in Harare and how I had been pistol-whipped and left bloodied on the bed. I recalled the awful pain and fear on the night I had been impaled by a spike through my foot, shot in the back and left for dead in the Zambezi river. Then there was the humiliation and agony of my recovery in the government hospital in Kariba and afterwards in Lusaka. And then there was Mozambique. I closed my eyes and smiled as I recalled the idyllic image of Gabby grinning as she stood near the dhow on the beach at Benguera island. This picture was soon replaced by the horrific memory of her lifeless body floating face down in the dark, dank, lonely interior of a steel water storage tank. I opened my eyes and stared into the golden rays of the rising sun. No. What you are doing is not irrational at all Green. This man. This man and his organisation have caused so much death and suffering. You said it on the beach in Beira. Crush the head of the snake. Crush the head of the snake. Imperial Dragon is the snake and Charles Tang is the head of that snake. Fuck the consequences. Crush the head of the snake. An hour later the jet finally descended through the clouds and I saw the steep lush green hills and the many thousands of skyscrapers that make up the huge metropolis of Hong Kong. The morning light painted the waters of the Pearl River Estuary in gun metal grey as we landed on the man-made island of Hong Kong International Airport. I made my way through the crowds to the immigration desks and was relieved to find that there was no visa required for British passport holders. I was quickly processed and on my way to the baggage reclaim. The scale of the vast modern airport terminal was strangely alien to me. I put it down to having spent so much time in Africa and having become used to being in open spaces. I collected my bags and walked through the green route without even a glance from the officials. Desperate for a cigarette I made a bee line for the nearest exit and stood in the cool morning air to smoke. The vast airport boasted a nine-hole golf course and a five-star hotel within the grounds and I watched as a group of men tee-d off in the distance. I knew from my research that the quickest way to get into the city was the airport express so after I was done smoking, I made my way back inside the arrivals hall to buy an Octopus card and head to the train. The process was easy and the directions to the train well signposted. Within ten minutes I had boarded the train, stashed my bags in the luggage storage area and settled into a comfortable seat. Within a minute the train set off and soon I was speeding past flyovers, roads and bridges on my way to Tsing Yi and Kowloon station. The morning sun broke through the clouds and I stared out of the window to my left as the lush green vegetation alternated with glimpses of the sea beyond.

  Soon enough the landscape became more urban and the train passed container yards and docks before entering the tunnel that marked the approach to Tsing YI station. A group of local passengers sitting near me spoke in polite, hushed Cantonese while behind me an elderly American couple argued loudly over a street map. The scene reminded me of the London underground only it seemed cleaner and more efficient. The train stopped briefly at Tsing Yi station where a few people disembarked before we set off again. Eventually the train exited the tunnel and instantly I was surrounded by hundreds of skyscrapers that jutted out of the hilly landscape like knitting needles. The train sped through a maze of flyovers and bridges before leaving Tsing Yi island and heading over the water towards Kowloon. The calm movement of people and the muted lighting in the vast interior of the station reminded me of a scene from a science fiction film. From there it was only a few minutes underground to Hong Kong Central Station where the train terminated. The video screen in the carriage showed a clip of smart looking young people collecting their bags and leaving the train. A recorded woman's voice came over the speakers and said a few words in Cantonese followed by English. “Hong Kong. Doors will open on the right. Please take all your baggage with you. Thank you for using the airport express.” The entire journey had taken exactly twenty-four minutes to the second. I collected my bags and walked out into the enormous station.

  It took me some time to make my way through the maze of shiny, well-lit passageways to the central hub. Every single wall was covered with giant screens advertising everything from designer brands to fast food. Although the place was busy there were clearly defined walkways and escalators and the crowds went quietly about their journeys through the spotlessly clean environment. Feeling the need for a cigarette I made my way to the nearest escalator and headed up to ground level. The signs and advertising were in both Cantonese and English and this was reflected in the mix of cultures, with both locals and westerners making their way down to the station on the opposite side of the escalator. I emerged on to a busy street completely surrounded by some of the tallest buildings I had ever seen. The streets were packed with double decker buses and red coloured taxis while the pavements bustled with people of every description. The hissing of brakes and the honking of horns mixing with the music from the shops and the chatter of the people created a typical big city buzz and my nostrils were filled with the aromas of both Chinese and Western foods. Under my feet I felt the rumble of the underground trains and the pneumatic drills of a nearby construction site as the twenty-four-hour machine that was Hong Kong ground on. I walked through the crowds towards a nearby news stand where I stood and hailed a taxi. Immediately one of the red taxis I had seen pulled up and I dumped my bags in the back seat.

  “Holiday Inn Golden Mile please,” I said to the driver as I sat down.

  “Sure sir,” he replied politely. “Please put your seat belt on. I have to ask by law.”

  I complied and we pulled out into the controlled chaos of the Hong Kong traffic. The shops on either side were a confusing mix of expensive brand names, local noodle houses and western fast food outlets. Above the street hung hundreds of brightly coloured neon signs that flashed their messages even in broad daylight. The scene was confusing and chaotic with an underlying semblance of order. The driver weaved skilfully through the traffic and before long we had arrived. I paid him and got out of the cab with my bags. The surrounding buildings were tightly packed and incredibly tall. It was as if space was at a serious premium and the emphasis was on building up rather than out. The Hotel was no exception. With a floor area of one small single block it had to be at least sixty floors tall. The reception area
was clean, modern and typical of any Holiday Inn worldwide. Not knowing how long I would be there I paid for one week’s accommodation in advance using my credit card. My room was situated on the 47th floor of the building and for the first time since leaving the train station I could actually see a horizon. I stood at the windows and gazed out at the spectacular vista of the city dropping steeply down to the waters of Victoria Harbour below. I pulled my laptop and the hard drive from my bag, set them up on the desk in front of the window and got to work.

  My plan was to send a package to my lawyer in London. The package would contain a single letter along with a second package containing the hard drive. The initial letter would be a series of instructions on what to do with the second package in the event that I did not return to collect it from him within two weeks. There was no doubt in my mind that what I was planning to do would be extremely dangerous and there would be a very good chance that I would fail. The consequences of that failure would mean me losing either my freedom, my life or both. I needed to be sure that even in the event of my death, the hard drive and the crucial information it contained would be delivered to the Conference on Illegal Wildlife Trade as Hannes had intended. I needed to be certain that his life's work would not be wasted and the truth be known. As for Gabby's life, my reasons for being there were personal. The letter I typed contained instructions for the second package to be held in safe keeping for a period of two weeks. In the event that I did not collect it, the letter instructed that he open the package and follow the second set of instructions within. This entailed shipping the hard drive along with a personal letter from myself to a certain Dr Helmut Schmidt, programme chairman of the conference in Geneva. It took an hour to find the various addresses and write all three letters. Once done I saved them on to a flash stick and sat staring out of the window drinking coffee. This is where it ends Green. One way or another. I called the reception from the phone on the desk and asked for some information on the hotel's business centre and the nearest branch of Fedex. An hour later I had printed and signed the letters, shipped them by priority courier to my lawyer in London and returned to the desk in my room. Now then Green. Let's see about Mr Charles Tang.