False Flag

by Jay Tinsiano

  "I hope I can beat you this time, Peng," Zhang smiled broadly. "But then, on the other hand, beating my best strategic advisor might not be a good omen."

  Peng laughed, taking his first sip of green tea. "We shall see, Ho Zhang."

  Zhang had worked with Peng Quan for over twelve years in the intelligence community and he was the first person he requested for his small team when setting up the fifth department—a department that did not exist on any official documents or paperwork.

  The Chinese apparatus consisted of four main bureaus: the General Staff Department that included organised sub-departments for artillery, engineering, armoured units, operations, training and a host of others, through to the Second Department for military intelligence. The Third was for monitoring of foreign armies and, finally, the Fourth that held the electronic intelligence portfolio, responsible for electronic countermeasures.

  It had been Zhang’s idea to form an elite unit specifically for 'off the record' black operations. The Fifth’s agenda was to enhance and forward China's overseas influence without leaving footprints and, where-ever possible, leave false trails to foreign agencies.

  Zhang believed this was perfectly in keeping with the ministries' charge by the General-Secretary. That was to ensure "the security of the state through effective measures against enemy agents, spies, and counter-revolutionary activities designed to sabotage or overthrow China's socialist system."

  The risk, however, was significant and the buck was always going to stop at Zhang. Such were the sensitive circumstances of the bureau's role, that there had even been serious discussion about making it financially self-sufficient, even if that meant illegal activities like drug trafficking. Zhang was relieved when this idea was thrown out as it would have, no doubt, given him a myriad of headaches. He would rather leave that type of business to their Triad friends.

  Peng Quan moved one of his soldier pieces forward one square, to start the game.

  "We need to make a decision on our other game plan," said Zhang as he studied the board and moved one of his own soldiers.

  "Yes, yes, I know," Quan replied.

  "There are still two pieces missing," Zhang continued.

  "Everything else has been set up and is ready to go," said Quan, his voice flat as if Zhang was chastising him. He moved another soldier forward on the board.

  Zhang already knew this, having spent over two years involved in the planning. Every detail of the operation had been scrutinised and approved by him and yet there were still vital cogs that needed to be put in place. He scanned the board of play; wondering how he could get his cannon to control the middle of the board as soon as possible. He moved his piece, took a sip of tea and rested his eyes on the man opposite him.

  "Without those two players, the game cannot commence and now is the time, Peng. All eyes are on the Gulf."

  Quan advanced his horse on the same flank to counter Zhang’s cannon.

  "Has agent Bashe come up with anyone?"

  "Not yet, but I’m hoping he will." As he spoke, Zhang’s eyes moved over his opponent’s pieces on the far side of the river, which was represented by the middle of the board, trying to second guess him. He moved a soldier piece forward onto Quan’s side of the river.

  "What about Orchid? Anything new come through?" Quan asked, casually, as he deployed one of his chariots one square forward. Zhang’s eyes narrowed. He figured Quan must be looking to get it into his left corner, ready to threaten his general—a possible déjà vu of a previous game, where a ‘Jiang si le,’ check mate had occurred almost before the game had begun. He contemplated moving his right advisor diagonally for a moment as he lit another cigarette, inhaling and slowly blowing out a plume of grey smoke that snaked up to the high, dark red ceiling.

  "No, Orchid is standing by and will be called upon. You did a good job recruiting our flower over there, by the way. They have been a great help working to an arrangement with our Triad friends for the handover." Zhang moved his right advisor disk.

  "Thanks," Quan replied, but he was frowning at the board. He moved a long arm across the game of play and captured one of Zhang’s soldier pieces.

  Zhang smiled and considered a move that would surely involve the sacrifice of his castle but could enable him to push his Cannon up his opponent's right flank.

  Sacrifices were always needed in war, he mused.

  Chapter 4

  Flight BA377 touched down at Goa airport at 4.20pm local time. Frank strained to see what he could out of the small window, but gave up. The man next to him was just too large and had obscured his view for the whole journey. Reflecting on the difficult and emotional past few weeks Frank still wasn't sure if he was doing the right thing.

  Moving all his remaining possessions into storage and saying goodbye to Jodie after four years together was a sad time and their parting had been far from amicable.

  Maybe he deserved every scream and shout that had been directed at him, followed by the tears. She had looked forward to some kind of future between them and being five years older had anticipated having a family with him. At twenty six Frank just felt he was too young. There were things he wanted to do with his life. Experiences to be had. Maybe someday he’d be ready for kids but not yet. Jodie had screamed that he was refusing to grow up. Maybe he wasn’t ready to grow up. Had she considered that?

  Frank felt drained and tired, mixed with a rising sense of excitement as he stared out at the deep blue sky through the windows opposite. He had been yearning to do this for so long. Every time he had walked past a travel agent, with their posters of beaches in paradise, he had stopped in his tracks and stared longingly at the flight prices.

  The heat hit Frank like a wall as he stepped off the Boeing 757 and he immediately broke into a sweat. The air-conditioned arrivals hall provided some relief as well as a scene of chaos, as hordes of passengers stumbled around looking for their salvation. An Indian soldier chatted to customs officers, his weapon slung over his shoulder, plastic and shiny. The uniform he wore had a newly pressed and ironed look, reminding Frank of a life-sized action man.

  His first destination was Anjuna beach. According to his hastily purchased travel book it was a vibrant place to start. The plan was to find a beach and settle in for a month or so of relaxation and fun. Frank felt he deserved it. After all, he had been working non-stop for the last few years and it had felt like a hard slog. Pleasant in parts, but ultimately a humdrum period of his life.

  As he stepped out of the airport doors, a posse of Indians, holding up pictures of their rental houses, swamped him and the other travellers. He felt like a monkey in the zoo and waved them away.

  "No huts, thanks. I want a taxi."

  A small, skinny Indian man grinned at Frank with yellow teeth, "I have great bungalow, cheap prices."

  "No bungalows, thank you." The man nodded his head from side to side. "OK, mister. Taxi is no problem; I have one just up there."

  Frank followed him across the dusty road to an old yellow Bristol car from the bygone British Empire. People were bustled into other vehicles, which kicked up clouds of dust as they drove off. Frank bundled into the back of the vehicle with three other travellers whom the driver had rounded up. He nodded a greeting to them.

  "Where you from, mate?" asked a shabby haired, blond Australian man in the middle of the back seat. On the other side of the Aussie was a smart looking woman with a pierced nose. Her long, blonde, curly hair was pulled back into a ponytail; her face was soft and understated, yet classically beautiful. She turned and smiled at Frank.

  "Just in from England; same as him," Frank gestured to the large man who’d been next to him on the flight, now welded into the front seat. He tried to turn around to acknowledge Frank for the first time, but couldn't quite manage it and gave up. The car occupants made small talk as the driver drove like a man possessed, swerving around potholes in the road, sometimes failing to avoid them at all. An occasional bump and shudder caused the passengers to grab onto anything r
emotely stable as they sped past Portuguese-style villas lining the roads.

  Everyone in the car smiled despite the concern in their eyes, and tried to talk over the noise. At last, the journey ended and Frank left the others to find a quiet spot, eventually finding what he wanted. It was a small beach house, set away from the crowded drop off point, yet close enough to the bars that adorned the beachfront.

  He dumped his gear and immediately ventured out to his new surroundings. The air was sweet with the scent of jasmine and the deep blue sky opened up endlessly overhead. Closer to the beach, sun-kissed travellers milled around the bars, taking in the late afternoon sun and generally hanging out. There were characters that looked like they had been here for years, encrusted with the elements and destined never to leave. Everyone seemed to have beads hanging around their necks, sporting heavy tans, their movements slow in the heat.

  An old Indian man in bright red football shorts played some kind instrument that sounded like bagpipes, and was paid to move on by a couple of sunbathing women. Dogs ran around wild, scavenging for food, and were consistently waved away.

  Frank clocked a lively bamboo hub of activity called ‘The Brazil Bar’ and mooched up the wooden steps. Dub beats boomed from the stereo, spilling onto the beach. He ordered food and beer before sitting down to take in the scene.

  "Hey, how’s it going?" an American voice interrupted his thoughts. A young guy with shoulder length blond hair sat down, uninvited, and slurped his Kingfisher beer.

  "I’m good, just came in today," Frank said.

  "Yeah, I thought so. You look a bit pasty, if you don't mind me saying. You’ll love it here though, this place really rocks. I’ve been here for two months. I was supposed to be headed to Thailand but haven’t managed to leave here just yet," he gave Frank a broad smile.

  "I could think of worse places to get stuck."

  The American saw someone he knew and called over: "Theo, hey! Over here!"

  A tall, middle aged, Indo-Chinese figure moved over towards them, dressed in a white, short sleeve shirt, slacks and leather sandals, his jet-black hair tied back into a ponytail, eyes razor sharp, blue and piercing. He made for an impressive figure. Frank shook hands with him.

  "Hi, I'm Frank."

  "Theo." The man fixed Frank with a direct look and smiled warmly.

  The American grinned. "Yeah, I’m Claude by the way." He shook hands with Frank as well, almost as an afterthought.

  Theo talked slowly and deliberately, in direct contrast to Claude who seemed to race through his lines, as if speaking though a panicky oral exam.

  "Here in Goa, life is about enjoying yourself and nothing else. You leave your worries at home and that’s it."

  Theo rolled up a joint as he spoke; piecing the papers together like it was the most natural thing in the world. Frank thought his accent was a strange mix of mid-Atlantic, but more British than American, and he reminded him of a Colombian villain from a T.V. series.

  "If there is anything you want, I can get it for you. But be careful of the Takkas; the cops. They usually dress in plain clothes, but you will see them a mile off. You will learn this. I know some of them, so if you get into trouble, let me know."

  "Good guy to know, huh?" Claude thumbed towards Theo.

  Frank nodded, "Great. I'm not planning to get into any trouble though."

  After a few minutes, Claude left to chat to a couple of women on another table and Frank talked with Theo for an hour or so. Theo told him he had been the only son of a Chinese mother and an Indian father. He hadn’t settled and took off at every opportunity, travelling widely in Asia, but he had not yet visited any Western countries.

  They touched on their lives and aspirations and Frank decided he liked Theo. He had a calm demeanour about him as if he regretted nothing and rolled with life like a leaf on a wave.

  Frank decided not to go wild that night and hit the sack about ten.

  Early the next morning, he awoke to the sun beaming in through the window blinds. It felt fantastic to smell the first morning abroad. Frank found a place to get breakfast and then walked along the beach towards a quieter part and sat watching the waves crashing onto the golden shore for a while. He wondered why he had never appreciated it like this before on all those trips to the seaside in England.

  England. It seemed a million miles away now and a new life beckoned.

  A figure approached from the market end of the beach, stopping occasionally to gaze out to the blue horizon. Frank watched the figure move closer and realised it was a woman dressed in an Indian style one piece dress. She stared toward Frank and he saw it was the curly haired blonde woman from the taxi. They hadn’t really communicated in the cab, due to the Australian dude stuck between them.

  She waved and walked over to Frank.

  "Hello there. How are you finding it so far?’ she smiled, her hand playing with a seashell. Frank noticed she had a necklace around her neck made from small coloured stones and sported a native look of a red dot on her forehead, just above the middle of her eyebrows. The third eye.

  "So far, so good!" Frank gestured to her to sit down. "I’m just enjoying the sea," he said.

  "It’s beautiful, I love watching it," she agreed, parking in the sand next to him and brushing back her hair. Frank immediately noticed a delicate grace about her, as he had the day before.

  "It’s very therapeutic. It concentrates the mind," Frank said.

  "A lot of the beauty is spoilt throughout India though. There’s crap dumped everywhere. People have no idea what they’re doing to the environment."

  She gestured towards a mound of plastic bottles that had congregated nearby. "This is exactly what I’m talking about," she said, with contempt.

  "Yeah, that is pretty bad. People are just here to party I guess. I'm Frank by the way," he held out his hand.

  "Nice to meet you, Frank. I'm Maria."

  They gazed out to sea and he noticed her painted toenails and jewellery. It suited her well, Frank thought.

  "You’ve travelled around India quite a bit then?" he asked.

  "Yes, I love it. I flew to Mumbai and went to Matheran and the Sahyadri hills. It’s much cooler there and a really great place to relax. Then I came down to Goa on the train."

  "That sounds great. I’m going to stay here for a while, and then I plan to move onto Thailand."

  "Yes, I have to go there at some point, I won’t stay long. I’d like to go to Indonesia then back to Hong Kong," Maria said.

  "You live in Hong Kong?"

  "My Father is based there. He's English and works for the Legislative Council of Hong Kong. They're all very busy preparing for the 1997 handover to China at the moment. Although it’s still six years away you wouldn’t believe the panic behind the scenes."

  "Oh? What’s going on?" Frank was intrigued.

  Maria momentarily held her hands above her eyes to shield them from a glare of sunlight as she looked at him.

  "Well, you remember the killings on Tiananmen Square a few years ago?" He nodded. The footage of the student standing in front of a line of tanks had become a powerful iconic image the world over. "It certainly hasn't helped put minds at rest," she said. "Then there's the power struggles as groups jostle for position. I also heard the triad gangs have done a deal with Beijing not to interfere."

  "Hmm, really? Yes, there's probably a lot at stake," he said.

  She gave him a broad smile. "I hear all about it from my Dad. All the, what's the English word? Gossip? I hear it all."

  She looked serious again. "But there are a lot of worried people in Hong Kong right now."

  "Do you think there'll be trouble?" he asked.

  She leaned back; her elbows wedged into the sand and narrowed her eyes at a distance ship on the horizon. Frank couldn't help but cast his eyes over the contours of her body. She was beautiful and clearly relaxing into a favourite topic of hers.

  "When there are governments fighting over land, with their agencies of limitless power,
there's bound to be trouble."

  Chapter 5

  Pulsating beats drifted across the beach and a cyclone of colourful rays belted out over the top of the dancing masses as the moon winked over the calm night waters behind them. Frank spotted Theo through the crowd and moved towards him.

  Theo turned and grinned. "Hey Franky; you enjoy?"

  "Fantastic! Happy as Larry."

  "Larry?"

  "Oh! It's just an English saying," explained Frank.

  Theo laughed and scanned his eyes through the dancing party-goers. "Hey, check out the beautiful girls over there!"

  "There’s way too many for me, mate," Frank said, smiling at Theo in the dim light.

  Frank looked around for Maria but she had disappeared. After meeting on the beach they had walked to the flea market; a busy scene with snake charmers and old travellers flogging their junk. Then they had enjoyed some dinner together, some of the best fish Frank had ever tasted, before joining the beach party.

  Theo motioned for him to move towards the edge of the crowd. Frank felt a cold sweat, his shirt sticking to his back. Theo began building a joint, but Frank suddenly craved water as he slowly become aware of his heart pumping hard.

  "I’m going to find a toilet, Theo. I'll catch you later."

  "Sure, Frank. See you later."

  After pushing through the heaving mass, Frank eventually found a vacant toilet at the back of a bar and, on returning, pondered whether to stick around or call it a night.

  "Hey!"

  He turned to see a scowling, stooped, man leaning heavily into the bar. His white hair straggled around his bony brown neck and shoulders which held a bunch of necklaces, adorned with shells and what looked like bone fragments.

  "They call me the dawg!" he growled at no one in particular. It sounded to Frank like his voice was scarred by a forty a day habit and penchant for whiskey chasers. The man then peered at Frank from under bushy, untamed eyebrows.