Chapter Nineteen
“When?” demanded Robert McNamara, and listened intently for nearly two minutes while over the telephone the Commissioner of Police explained how his special assistant, and friend, had met his death. His expression was grave and he could taste the vomit rising in his throat. When the Commissioner finished there was a long period when he had to sit on the other end waiting for a response.
“Commissioner,” the Chief Secretary said finally, “you had better come to my office as soon as you can. I think it’s time I explained the situation to you in full. I am going to need you and your men to help avert a crisis that is alarming in its consequences.”
“Yes sir,” answered the Commissioner flatly. “I can be there in thirty minutes. Is that convenient?”
It was, and Robert McNamara was already digesting the incredible developments that had taken place. He also had already admitted to himself that the chances of preventing those he feared were still to come over the next five days were getting slimmer almost by the hour.
*
The chances of Legislative Councillor Martin Lee securing direct elections for the people of Hong Kong in 1988 had all but gone.
However, that did not mean he intended abandoning the fight. That was not his style and if anyone expected him to meekly accept the conclusions drawn by the administration, and to move to new arenas to fight new issues, then they did not know Martin Lee.
For him a war was made up of a series of battles. If he lost one, he hardly paused for breath before launching wholeheartedly into the next phase. He was committed as well as being consistent, and his band of supporters, swelled over the recent months of activity, would join him in their sideline sorties and frontal attacks. A storm was building. Political weathermen could see the signs and there was an air of expectancy. The temperature was rising, the clouds were rolling and growing larger and darker like replicating cells, and a breeze was gathering that exhibited the characteristics of a prelude for a gale force wind.
The agitators were agitating and garnering their forces. The liberals were finalising their tactics. The administration was going over its plans, confirming, revising, lobbying as events unfolded. In five days these forces would meet head on.
The clash was going to be a mighty one and a watershed in Hong Kong politics.
*
Jason Teller and Brigit Rolanne had an outsider’s understanding of the stakes being played for in the tiny territory that was a prize of untold wealth for all those taking part.
But for days their views had been purely selfish, especially for the last thirty-six hours. They just wanted to stay alive. Now it looked like they were free, out of danger, and unless they did something very foolish they would be able to end the nightmare once and for all.
The European who had picked them up turned out to be advertising executive who accepted their story, if not completely, sufficiently not to harass them unduly. To the contrary he had sympathised with their plight and offered to help them further. Their story had been plausible. They had arrived, they told him, in Hong Kong as tourists only two days previously and had been staying at the Hongkong Hotel, spending the morning of their first day sightseeing on the island and in Kowloon. But they had elected to take the hydrofoil to Macao on the Thursday afternoon and had not so far been able to tour the New Territories. That morning their problems had been solved it seemed. Over breakfast a Chinese man had approached them and asked if they would like a tour of the rural countryside, with him as a personal guide. At only two hundred dollars the proposal was enticing and they had boarded the van and set out. As they were due to fly out that night, the man had suggested they take all their belongings with them in case they were delayed. He could then drop them at Kaitak instead of their having to return to the hotel first. As they had to check out by noon in any case they readily agreed.
At first all had gone well. They had driven through Kwai Chung and Tsuen Wan, on out to Tuen Mun in the east, up to Yuen Long and Fanling and back to Kowloon via Shatin. Then the man had recommended they complete the circuit of the New Territories by taking in the Sai Kung area before returning once more to Tsimshatsui. All going well, instead of the original plan for him to take them to the airport, they would have a few hours to browse in the shops of Nathan Road for a last time before catching the airport bus to Kaitak and their late night flight. The holdup was in Sai Kung. Literally.
The man had brandished a knife, taken Teller’s wallet and Brigit’s jewellery, and pushed them roughly out of the vehicle. They had made their way to the nearby Outward Bound School where they were treated for cuts and bruises and were being taken to the police when the robber, obviously in a mad rage had tried to run their vehicle off the road. However, he had lost control of the van and rammed into their car. In fear they had fled and that was when the advertising executive had come to their aid.
No, said Teller, they would go to the police in the morning as well as the British High Commission to try to get temporary travel papers. They were too scared to do anything but hide and rest until then. They were afraid the Chinese would see them and do something dreadful.
The advertising man argued against the delay in seeking help but understood the worry for their safety. So he had offered help. They could stay with him overnight and he would accompany them the next morning, personally driving them to Wanchai and the British High Commission where he might be able to lend some assistance.
Anyway, added Teller, the staff of the Outward Bound School would report the incident to the police, so it was not as if nothing was being done in the interval. In truth Teller planned to give Brigit time to rest and recover from her ordeal. In the morning he would call the Chief Secretary directly and make arrangements for protection and to tell the authorities everything he knew. It would be up to them to find and arrest the Catskinner whose identify he could give them.
*
“So, now you can understand why we had to play this close and with utmost discretion,” said Robert McNamara. “We could not allow it to get out. It would cause untold trouble. Just imagine what the reaction would be.”
The Commissioner had been stunned by what he had been told. He agreed that the repercussions of the details becoming generally known would be serious indeed. There could well be turmoil, and that turmoil could get out of control. But he was equally troubled that he, as the senior law enforcement officer in the territory, had been disregarded, or in his view not trusted. In fact, the entire handling of the matter had been a fiasco. He failed to understand why the matter had been placed in the hands of the Chief Secretary’s special assistant.
It was not a political issue in its entirely. It was a law and order problem with political dimensions. Not a political issue that had law and order as a side issue. Added to this was the insult and ineptitude by the assistant in using Special Branch officers and ignoring him personally. This failure to take him into his confidence was unforgivable.
“As a matter of principle sir,” he told McNamara, “I must register my objections at your failure to consult me on this. I consider it a slight on my ability, the ability and integrity of the force as a whole.”
“No slight was intended,” said McNamara. “The circle of participants was, still is, extremely small.”
“I do not accept that as a valid argument, if you don’t mind my saying. You involved my people, but not me.”
“Commissioner, you have no choice but to accept it. You might disagree, but it was my decision to keep this to a minimum, on a strictly need to know basis.”
“I should have been informed.”
“You did not need to know at the time.”
“That is rubbish. And I do now.”
“Yes,” said McNamara. “You do now.”
An uneasy silence settled between the two men. On the one hand one had been affronted, while on the other the Chief Secretary now realised he had erred in his judgement. He decided to mend fences as best he could given the dire circumstances.
“I am not the Pope,” he said. “Therefore, I am not infallible. It was my honest opinion at the time that this business could have been resolved before it went too far. Unfortunately things went stray. First, the doctor which was a ridiculously stupid mistake. Then Tse, whom we should have foreseen but for whatever reason we did not. The business with Teller and his girlfriend I think you would agree we could not have anticipated. We still do not know what has happened to them. From what you have told me it seems they are on the run. But I don’t understand why they haven’t simply come to us for help.”
“Once I pick them up you can ask them yourself.” The Commissioner did not mean the words to sound impudent. The Chief Secretary thought they did, but he overlooked it.
“What do you suggest?” He asked.
Without hesitation the Commissioner replied: “We have no idea who the murderer is. We know he is a psychopath but we have no identity or even a vague idea of what he looks like. So until we do we are wasting our time trying to track him down. We must concentrate on the reporter and the woman. Teller has been him. Once we have Teller we have a description. Maybe more.”
“I don’t want this to go too far,” McNamara cautioned. “You must use discretion.”
The Commissioner of Police’s gaze did not waver. “Sir, it has already gone too far. We have insufficient time to be discreet. Teller and the woman are our only hope at this juncture. I intend putting every available man on it. We must pick them up and quickly.”
The Chief Secretary shook his head in resignation. “God, what a mess. The only small consolation is it probably can’t get any worse. Sadly that’s no consolation to Jack though. Whatever happens he can’t be brought back.”
“It can get worse,” stated the Commissioner of Police blandly. “As you say, Teller and his friend have failed to make contact. You can’t understand why. One reason might be that they are already dead too. If so, I have no idea what can be done. We will be powerless.”
Robert McNamara knew that. He had considered the possibility. But he had no option. He had to believe that Teller and Brigit Rolanne were still out there somewhere, still alive, still fighting. They were the only link that could complete the baffling chain that would result in the trapping of the killer before he carried out his threats.
*
The advertising man parked his car at the rear of the building, slammed the door and locked it with his key, and then slowly walked towards the front of the block taking in the cool clean air.
He was pleased with himself. It had been a good day. His ideas for the television campaign had been well received by the client and he expected it to lead to even bigger projects in the not too distant future. If it went over as well as he expected he had no doubts the client would become one of his most prestigious accounts. His billings had slumped lately and he needed a boost because his employer, a hard headed businessman if ever there was one, had been putting the screws on the executives to produce what he called “the big bucks” or cutbacks would have to be made in the staff. This project was the one he needed to ensure his name was not put on the let-go list.
He had treated himself to a bit of a celebration at the Prince’s Tavern in Central despite his recent promises to cut down on his drinking which had become rather heavy under the constant pressure from the office. He had run into two friends and for four hours and over many more bottles of beer they had exchanged stories that for the first time in a long time made him laugh heartily.
He smiled as he rounded the corner into the courtyard surrounded by high fir trees and recalled his guests for the night. He had settled them in his flat while he returned to the office briefly and then on to the tavern on the spur of the moment. He was later than he had intended but was not too worried
The couple had seemed anxious to bathe and take a nap, clearly exhausted by the strain and physical abuse of their traumatic experience. It was ten o’clock and he guessed by now they would be awake and probably hungry, so he would fix them all a drink and some light food which would at least see them through till the morning. Then he would take them down to Wanchai and help sort out their difficulties. He congratulated himself on his Samaritan act and took some pride in the fact that he had accepted the responsibility of helping people in need. Again he smiled to himself and walked over to the fence under the trees and looked out over the Aberdeen Reservoir and the island of Ap Li Chau. It was misty after the latest rain but the lights still twinkled in the distance.
Shouson Hill was a sought after residential area and he had been fortunate to keep his flat. The building was old and both the exterior and interior could do with a lick of paint but the advantages lay in its being only two floors and its location that afforded peace and tranquillity. The area actually was very English village in character and nothing like other Hong Kong districts. It was why he had chosen it in the first place. He loved the pace and excitement of Hong Kong but he also liked putting it behind him when he came home at night or when he relaxed on the weekends. He lifted his head drawing in the crisp air and turned to walk back across the yard.
A Chinese man was standing a short distance away pointing a gun at his chest. “What the hell….” he exclaimed.
The Chinese raised the gun in line with his head. “Don’t move,” he warned firmly. “Over to the fence and climb over to the other side.” He waved the gun at the European and added: “Nothing silly. No noise. Just do as I say.”
The European backed to the fence and did as he was ordered. He placed his hands on the rail and faced the Chinese. “What the hell do you want?”
The Chinese kept the gun pointing directly at the man’s head. “Which is your flat?” he asked.
“Look, if you want money,” the European began.
The Chinese cocked the revolver. “I said, which is your flat?”
The advertising man put up a hand. “OK, OK. Top floor, 2C.”
“Are the man and the woman inside?”
“No. Yes. I don’t know. Who are you? What do you want?”
“This is your last chance. Are they inside your flat?”
“Yes. At least I think so. I left them there this afternoon. They wouldn’t have gone out.”
“Good,” said the Chinese. “Now turn around.”
The man did as he was told and held his breath.
The Chinese walked up behind him and crashed the butt of the .38 into his temple. As the European dropped to the ground the Catskinner leapt the fence and bent over him. He pressed the nose of the revolver into the base of the man’s head and pulled the trigger. The crack was loud but not too loud and the Catskinner quickly searched the man’s pockets and then kicked the body down the slope into the trees and brush. He crouched, hidden, for five minutes, and then hopped over the fence and silently headed for the low building that was in almost complete darkness.
*
Teller and Brigit slept soundly. After that they settled comfortably in the lounge with mugs of tea steaming in their hands. They were both still groggy having risen only half an hour earlier.
They had showered quickly, slumped onto the single bed in the spare room and fallen asleep in each other’s arms immediately. Brigit had been the first to wake. Leaving Teller snoring she tip toed into the kitchen and searched the shelves for tea. By the time it had brewed and she was dampening her hair to lay flat unattractive spikes, Teller had roused himself. He joined her and they poured their mugs of Earl Grey and settled at either end of the large sofa, sipping pensively.
They certainly looked like they had lost a rough encounter. Brigit had kept on some of her bandages, but others she had removed and replaced with plasters she had found in the bathroom, or left scratches and cuts open to the air.
Teller had also applied patches of plaster but he looked by far the healthier, despite having suffered a number of ugly looking scrapes on his elbows and hands. He looked across at Brigit and smiled.
“What are you thinking?” she asked.
“You look bloody awful,” he replied in mock seriousness. “I don’t think I want you after all.”
“Well, you had better get used to it,” she retorted. “I didn’t put myself through all of this for fun, yes?”
Behind her challenging eyes was a well of warmth for the man opposite. The years of distance between them had been swept away and she realised she loved him deeply. It is strange, she thought, how out of adversity comes triumph. In this case the triumph of feelings over indecision. In a few days she had come to understand how important he was to her. She saw the strength in him, but it as his softness that captivated and held her. Under a seemingly bluff exterior there was a tenderness that bordered on femininity almost. It was not a weakness. She knew his determination of character and had no doubts as to his convictions. It was the side of him others would not see. It was something between just them. He had revealed himself to her. And she loved him for it.
“I expect compensation and I will hold you to your promises Jason Teller. So don’t go trying to get out of it, yes? It won’t work.”
“Thank god for that,” he sighed. “I was afraid I might have put you off with my dull life.”
Brigit laughed and rolled her eyes. “I think if you don’t mind we can slow down a bit. A dull life looks more and more attractive all the time. A farm, yes? What about a farm in the middle of some huge place where we don’t come into contact with other people more often than once a week. And we never meet any strangers who want to change the world because it is not to their liking.”
“Sounds good,” Teller said. He sipped the tea, momentarily distracted. “I think it’s time,” he said shortly, “that you tell me. Everything.”
“Yes,” said Brigit and leaned forward balancing her mug on the small coffee table before her. “You’re not going to believe it. It’s madness. Sheer madness, and the sooner we can tell someone and get away ourselves the better.”
Teller rested back into the sofa’s cushions, folded his arms and crossed his legs. He would not interrupt. He would just let Brigit tell it in her own way, as it happened.
Brigit focussed on the carpeted floor for a while and then turned her gaze on him. “It’s as you predicted. He’s planning it for the opening of the Legislative Council on the seventh. Next Wednesday. God that’s only days from now. Only it’s much worse than even you imagined. Anyone for that matter. The doctor and Amelia Tse hired him to kill some Legislative Councillors. I can’t remember their exact names but they are very well known. Their plan was to make them martyrs. Have them assassinated, yes, so the place would be thrown into disorder. In very simple terms the idea was to use their deaths to gain sympathy for greater democracy more quickly than the government and the United Kingdom want to. They would do this by putting the blame for the murders on the communists. They would say the councillors were killed because they were too much trouble and as a warning to others and the general public that they had to toe their line.”
Brigit took a breath. “Even if they did not succeed entirely they reckoned it would in any case stir up the people to such an extent that the Chinese would be terribly discredited and more safeguards would be forced through to protect the population after 1997. They may have been crazy to think plan would work, but that doesn’t matter now of course. They made a big mistake in picking the man to carry out the murders. I don’t know how they found him but apparently Tse made the approach and the doctor paid the money. I don’t know how much that was either but he said it was a lot. Anyway, as I said, he was the wrong man because he then used them for his own purposes which are just the opposite to theirs. He hates the British. No he hates us all. You see he’s a communist. As soon as he heard the proposal he took the money and then began his own plan. He started by killing them first.”
Brigit took a long sip from her mug. Cradling it in her hands she continued. “Jason, he’s not going to kill just the councillors. He’s going to blow up the whole Legislative Council. On Wednesday. When everyone is there he’s going to let off a bomb or something. I don’t know precisely how but that’s his plan. He reckons it won’t matter who is blamed. The end will justify the means. You see, he says with everyone dead and with such uproar that results there is only one thing that can happen. The Chinese army will be sent in to quell disturbances and he mentioned something about that being allowed under the conditions of the Joint Declaration or something, and Chinese officials or people backed by Beijing will take over the administration. China will be in control. Everything will be run as they want it and they won’t have to wait until 1997. He’s mad I know. And the whole scheme is crazy, but it scares me that it might work. And scores of people will be killed too in the bombing. The Governor, the Chief Secretary, all the top people, the councillors, even the public and the reporters who will be there. It’s incredible.”
She stopped and stared at Teller. There were tears in her eyes and her voice faltered. The mug in her hands shook as she pleaded: “Jason, what are we going to do? Someone has to stop him.”
Teller had listened with growing disbelief. He did not doubt Brigit’s version of the plan. He simply could not believe anyone would seriously conceive of such a plot and then set out to carry it through. Nor could be accept anyone expecting it to succeed. It was senseless, illogical, idiotic, fanciful. It was demented.
“The man’s a lunatic,” he said, the pitch of his voice rising. “He can’t possibly mean it.”
“He does Jason. He really does.” Brigit was obviously frightened.
“But how can he? How can he get into the place carrying a bomb? No, he must he a madman. It’s just not possible.”
“He’s not fooling Jason. He is going to do it. He’s mad alright, but he’s intelligent and even if he would not say how he is going to do it, I believe he is going to try. Somehow he’s thought of a way. And he’s already killed two people and tried to kill us.”
“What if it’s all just, I don’t know, a sort of fantasy in his twisted mind?”
“That doctor and Amelia Tse are not fantasies. He really murdered them.” Brigit did not shift her eyes. “Jason, he’s also killed that government man and even the man who drove the car when he kidnapped me. Murder does not bother him. He killed the driver just because he wanted to. It was in the newspaper. He didn’t have to. He just did it.”
Teller knew she was right. As impossible as it seemed, he knew the Catskinner was going to try to do what he said. He knew the plan could not succeed in the end, but he admitted the man would not, could not, accept that.
He was on a course and would not be diverted from it until he had committed his heinous act and killed not scores but possibly hundreds of people, probably himself as well. He realised too why the accountant had tried so hard to keep him out of it. If what was being planned became generally known, that in itself would be catastrophic. He could imagine the accusations, justified or not, the fears, and the political and economic consequences for Hong Kong that would follow. The accountant had been correct. He had added considerably to the problem.
“What’s wrong Jason? You look terrible.” Brigit was looking at him with a worried expression.
His throat seemed to narrow. “Oh, I’m just feeling a bit sick. Not only about what he‘s planning to do, but how I’ve aggravated things by sticking my nose in it. I’ve been stupid. Dangerously stupid.”
“No, no, no.” she said and moved over next to him. Placing her hand on his knee and then caressing his cheek she said: “You mustn’t think that. You’ve done what you thought was right. More than cause trouble you’ve alerted the authorities. They can’t have known the real story. Now because of you we can tell them and they can catch the man. And even if they can’t get him right away, they can do whatever they have to to prevent him doing it. Don’t blame yourself. You can stop it all happening. You must see that my love. You can end it.”
*
The Commissioner of Police did not intend permitting anybody to do anything that would disrupt the proceedings of the Legislative Council on October the seventh.
Radical terrorists or bloodthirsty crazy killers, it did not matter to him. The political motives for the crime were of little moment. From what Robert McNamara had told him the problem had gone beyond that consideration and it was now a straightforward case of maintaining law and order. Locating the criminal and arresting him. Let the politicians deal with the rest. He was a policeman and he knew the role he had to play without allowing other things to interfere. However, as he had told the Chief Secretary the matter had been mishandled for far too long. There was the chance it had reached a point out of his control. Or even influence.
From a law enforcement point of view it was, as he had lectured, a straightforward incident. A series of crimes had been committed by a person who reportedly was planning more and that person had to be apprehended and brought to justice. But in all other senses it was far from straightforward. Time was an adversary. It had been months since the two principal murders and his personal enquiries had shown there were few, if any, clues to help him. Even if there had been some at the time whey were now gone. Any trail was long since cold and he knew from experience he stood little hope of picking it up again. He would have to start all over again, from scratch, with no pointers. His only chance lay with Jason Teller and Brigit Rolanne. They had disappeared and once again time, this time the lack of it, was of vital importance. He had only days to succeed where all the other bunglers had failed over the preceding weeks and months.
How could he hope to perform what was taking the shape of a miracle? True, both subjects were Caucasian and they had to stay under cover in a Chinese society, and a small one geographically at that. But he was also experienced enough to know that if driven sufficiently even that could be accomplished in a place like Hong Kong. When self preservation was at state even a seven foot, one armed foreign albino could vanish.
No, he had a real problem and privately he wondered if he could solve it in time. Eventually he would be able to, but he did not have eventually. He had four, five days at the outside in which to find Teller and Rolanne, find out what they knew, find the killer and take him into custody. Maybe even dismantle some time-programmed plot or device the killer had already primed.
It was a challenge he might one day have met head on with enthusiasm but with so little time left and with the stakes so high he considered it with trepidation. And yes, he had to admit the political dimension was critical. It seemed they could only guess at what the killer intended but those guesses pointed to the Legislative Council sitting on the coming Wednesday. That must be his immediate priority. He must make sure the killer could not reach his victim or victims then. He would have the council building in Jackson Road guarded. Not only patrolled but heavily, securely screened. Everyone coming and going would be searched and anyone remotely suspicious intensively questioned and scrutinised.
The building too would have to be combed. It would create difficulties he knew but it was necessary. A cover story would have to be devised and he thought he had already found one. Three IRA terrorists had been blown up in Gibraltar the day before by their own explosives while plotting an attack on the British Administration headquarters. Other installations in other territories were put on alert and airport and communication bases were under tightened security. With the political climate in Hong Kong what it was, it might be possible to use the IRA threat as a cover for the Legislative Council security measures proposed. It had been put to Robert McNamara who seemed convinced, but it still needed the approval of the Governor and the agreement of the senior unofficial members of the Legislative Council and the Executive Council as they were legally the tenants of the building itself.
He had suggested to the Chief Secretary that those two politicians should not be told the real reason. It was not essential they be brought in on it and the fewer people who did know the better. So far only the Chief Secretary, himself, and the Governor had possession of the facts. Facts as they knew them. Of course the single Special Branch team also had some knowledge, but he could control them and he would continue to use them in the search for Teller and the woman, then the murderer. For now he needed to hear the word from the Governor. Once he had that he could execute his defences plan. They would be put in place tomorrow morning and remain for as long as needed.
Beaurocrats, he mused. Bloody paper shufflers. Why can’t they let the professionals handle the professional work?
The white direct line on his desk rang.
*
Teller heard it first. It was almost inaudible. A faint series of scraping sounds followed some ten seconds later by a click. His initial thought was that it was their host returning. But he did not hear the door close, and anyway the sound seemed to come from the front of flat, near the small balcony overlooking the courtyard. He listened but could hear nothing more. It had probably been the trees outside. The building was quite secluded, above the street traffic which was light at the busiest of time in this part of Shouson Hill, and even in light breezes the branches of the tall slim trees swayed and brushed one another.
He was getting jumpy. What Brigit had told him had left him depressed