Chapter Ten
“He’s cleared out of his flat,” said the accountant. “And I don’t think he’s coming back.”
“Jesus,” exclaimed McNamara.
“We lost the trail in Daimaru. And we haven’t seen him since.”
“Oh good Jesus,” said the Chief Secretary.
“But,” said the accountant and his creased face creased even more as a controlled a smile began at the corners of his mouth. ”But we think we know precisely where he was going.”
McNamara said nothing but stared hard at the man seated on the other side of the table from him. When he did speak his eyes narrowed and misnamed laughter lines spread across his temples to where grey strands of hair flicked the tops of his ears. “It is probably that sense of the absurd, the peculiar black humour, and delight in seizing the opportunity to scare the hell out of people like me that keeps men like you going.”
“All going well, we’ll know in no more than an hour. If he’s there already,” continued the accountant.
“If it wasn’t for your advancing years and the fact that for the moment you are utterly indispensible, I’d personally knock your head off,” said McNamara with exaggerated annoyance.
The accountant’s chin set firm again and he pushed himself out of the chair and began pacing about the room in a manner that was not very familiar to the Chief Secretary.
“Her name is Brigit Rolanne,” he recited, “Thirty-six years of age, French but with a British passport, been here for a little over two years and a teacher. More that that I can’t tell you, but the tape tells us she and Teller are close.”
“Never mind,” said McNamara. “You’ve obviously got sufficient to go on. But how did he slip away in Daimaru? Did he know he had a tail?”
“Of course he knew it was possible,” the accountant’s reply was sharp but not disrespectful. It was a statement of fact. “His manoeuvres were designed to shake anyone following. However, I am not convinced he knew for certain the operative was ours.”
“You mean he might have believed he was being followed by our killer? The Catskinner himself?”
“Perhaps. But unlikely I think.”
Teller had spoken quite freely on the telephone which suggested he did not know it was being taped. If he had he would have at least take precautions with his call to Brigit Rolanne. Just the same, he could still have believed a government tail had been put on him, which accounted for this diversionary and successful movements. Had it been the Catskinner, as McNamara had dubbed the murderer, Teller might have behaved differently.
“You’re probably right,” said the Chief Secretary.
The black telephone on the desk rang twice and stopped. It rang again after a few seconds and the accountant snatched it up. “Yes,” he said curtly.
After listening for less than a minute he replaced the receiver and smiled at McNamara for the first time. “The girl’s flat is in Robinson Road. He’s inside.”
“Are you going to pick him up then?”
“No. Not yet. Not unless we have to. As long as he thinks he’s given us the slip we might be able to still use him.”
McNamara heaved a sigh. “Good,” he said. “Let’s hope so. We need all the help we can get. We don’t know for certain when or where, or even what is going to happen.”
The accountant resumed his pacing. “It’ll be at the Legco building, at the opening of the session on the seventh. That’s what I’m working to.”
“Can we secure the building entirely? If that is the plan there’ll be a lot of people we have to look after and a lot of people we’ll have to guard against. It’ll be packed on that day.”
“I know,” said the accountant. “From a security standpoint it will be a madhouse. That’s what your Catskinner is counting on. We have to find out what he intends. That’s where Teller comes in.”
The Chief Secretary’s brow wrinkled when he spoke. “But if Teller doesn’t know the Catskinner, and the Catskinner doesn’t know where Teller is, how can he be flushed out.”
The accountant stopped his pacing. “By scaring Teller away from his own flat, the killer has made it impossible for us to do anything. I have to rely on his re-establishing contact. And for that to happen I have to rely on Teller.”
“Jesus,” said McNamara. “What a god-awful mess. Now we have no alternative but to depend on a meddlesome journalist.”
“We have no choice,” the accountant remarked with finality. “There is nothing else we can do. Absolutely nothing.”
*
One level below where Robert McNamara and Old Jack were discussing the problems they faced with Jason Teller and the so-called Catskinner, another problem had surfaced. When the Chief Secretary entered his own office shortly he would be handed a note by Gail Jones informing him that the Acting Secretary for Security wished to see him as a matter of some urgency.
John Downe was a young and rising administrative officer in the territorial government and had distinguished himself in a number of middle level positions before being posted to the Security Branch as the Deputy Secretary. In the absence of his immediate superior on holidays for the past month he had been filling the top post. It was a time when the workload should not, under normal circumstances, have been too demanding, but as fate would have it he soon found himself immersed in a wrangle over the question of Vietnamese refugees. The problem was a double barrelled one.
First, there was the situation in which Vietnamese refugees who had fled their country after the 1975 fall of Saigon and settled in China, working mainly on sugar plantations in the southern provinces. For the last three months they had been leaving the farms and entering Hong Kong as illegal immigrants. More than seven thousand had come and the local population, piloted by the Legislative Council ad hoc group on refugees, had been calling for something to be done. Finally something was done and two weeks earlier China had started accepting the ex-China Vietnamese illegal immigrants from Hong Kong at the rate of around five hundred and fifty a week.
It was a difficult matter well handled and satisfactorily concluded, much to the credit going to the Legislative Council group who had taken a stand and demanded speedy action. Downe had acquitted himself well and could have been forgiven if he thought he might be able to rest a while before any other serious difficulty arose.
His breathing space lasted less than the fortnight. The Legislative Council group was again on his back. It was a matter which worried him greatly, though this time it concerned genuine Vietnamese refugees fleeing their own country. There were more than nine thousand in open and closed camps scattered throughout the territory and the number of new arrivals averaged about three hundred and fifty-five a month. Unfortunately, while this increase was over forty per cent a year the number being resettled in third countries was down more than thirty-five per cent. The net result was the number of refugees in the camps was growing and there seemed little hope in sight the trend would be reversed.
Then came a serious of bombs. The United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees paid a visit after seeing for himself what the situation was in Vietnam. Legislative Councillors had not been told he was coming and read about it in the press. They complained and secured an hour’s meeting with the High Commissioner which produced little new information. A few days later the press announced the British Ambassador to Hanoi was to come to Hong Kong for talks with the Governor and Security Branch officials while Lord Glenarthur, the newly appointed Minister with Special Responsibility for Hong Kong, was paying a visit. Vietnamese refugees were high on the agenda for talks, but the Legislative Council group had once more not been informed.
They complained a second time and Downe thought the furore would die down after they were assured of a meeting with Ambassador Emrys Davies. That was not the end of it however. The convenor of the group had additional, more damaging points to make.
On March 30 the Hong Kong Government had stated that during the last two years the British Government “had not thought it appropriate” to raise the question of repatriation of refugees, something councillors had been calling for, with the Vietnamese authorities. The next day a British Foreign Office spokesman had added that the UK Government “had no intention” of discussing repatriation with Hanoi. Then in April the Legislative Council had been informed the British Government attitude of non-action on repatriation “is a thoroughly reasonable attitude.”
But when Ambassador Davies had arrived in Hong Kong two days before he had said to waiting reporters that in relation to repatriation “the approaches we have made to the Vietnamese Government over a considerable period of time since early last year, have produced pretty negative results.”
The cat was among the pigeons and Downe knew it.
The Legislative Council ad hoc group maintained “the two statements do not reconcile with reach other”, and that without a clear explanation of the discrepancies there was every possibility for members and the public to “cast doubts on the intentions of those involved”. Someone, it appeared, was not telling the whole truth and they had been found out.
What had not been said, but which Downe foresaw, was that if a satisfactory answer was not given, the matter would escalate and there would be very pointed questions asked. For now, the queries were being raised relatively quietly and formally, but he feared it would be brought into the open. And what better way than to launch that attack on the opening day of the new Legislative Council session.
“That would bring in the masses,” he muttered unhappily. “The galleries would be packed to the gills.”