Chapter Twenty-Five
Wednesday, October 7, 1987.
For that undefined entity, the-man-in-the-street, it was merely another day. He would rise from his bed – in the squatter huts spoiling hillsides and rooftops, in the architecturally contrived bee-hive cubicles unflatteringly called resettlement estates that sprawled like fungi, in flats and apartments and in luxurious townhouses partly concealed by the urban mass of Hong Kong Island and Kowloon – and dress suitably for the prevailing climate and then battle his way to his place of employment. There, he would on average work for the next ten hours at the end of which he would rejoin the public throngs to fight his way home.
Before midnight when October 7 would pass into history he would either eat in or out, settle himself in front of the colour television screen to watch the news he had personally missed, or to escape into the realm of fantasy courtesy of local and foreign artists whose calling it was to distract the viewer from the pressures of reality, or join with friends in another celebration of the joys of life.
There was no apparent reason why the-man-in-the-street should be struck by that day being vastly different from any other. Perhaps he may have been pleasantly surprised when he first looked out the window of his home. The roads were dry after a settled night, and judging by the sky it was shaping up to be one of those rare October days when parks became magnets for workers who were eager to take advantage of lunchtime sunshine.
By eight o’clock the roads had begun to fill. Buses were running at five or ten minutes internals. The underground was operating much more efficiently every two minutes, but even that was insufficient along many sections to cope with the mad peak hour rush. The harbour was alive with ferries and assorted other floating traffic.
Offices were opening. But of course shoppers, like tourists who flocked to Hong Kong for the peak travel season, had to wait another two hours or so. Apart from the department stores the shutters on shop fronts stayed down. It was one of the anomalies of Hong Kong. One expected businesses to trade late into the evenings and on weekends and public holidays. But if one expected to be able to dash into a shop on the way to work to buy a pair of trousers, compare different brands of video recorders or washing machines, or to select a pair of new shoes, an ivory carving or have a picture framed there would be only disappointment waiting. Roller shutters were not unlocked until ten or ten thirty.
Visitors from abroad wandered the Peal of the Orient, the famous shoppers’ paradise, wondering what had gone wrong. Then by the time their feet were beginning to ache from the pounding on concrete the business houses of Hong Kong would throw open their doors to emit the raucous noise of trade, which seemed to reach out and grab the casual stroller by the scruff of the neck and breathe new life into him as it dragged him inside, unselfconsciously reaching for his wallet with promises of unbelievable bargains.
Such was the routine of everyday life in Hong Kong. It was an illusion, it was panic, it was hunger, it was a society that lived for nothing but today. It was frantic normalcy for more than five million men, women and children who wanted nothing but that it should continue with its graceless pace and constantly renewed promise of opportunity.
But there were those in the community for whom Wednesday October 7 1987 was a day of reckoning, a day when their lives would be changed forever, and a few whose deeds would determine the future existence of those so many more who were oblivious to the threat that was unseen yet unerring in its fervent terror. For them the day had come too soon, offering not enough, and at the same time too much.
*
“At the outset, before we get down to specifics, let me say that while we have not been able to achieve our ideal objective I am satisfied with the manner in which this investigation has been handled since it as handed over to us.” The Commissioner of Police looked at each of the faces around the table. He nodded a number of times but snowed no distinct preference for any single wing of his force. His comments were meant for all equally.
“We came into it far too late and with very little to go on. But you can take pride in the knowledge that no matter how difficult the task this force has done everything in its power, and I mean everything, to bring it to a satisfactory conclusion. Unfortunately, despite all of those efforts that is not the case at this point in time. Quite simply we have in fact made little progress. Our suspect is still out there and there is no reason to suspect he has given up. To the contrary, there is every reason to think that he is at this moment planning his next move very carefully. We don’t know what that move is. We do know, thanks to the journalist Teller and his lady friend, what the objective of our man is. But we still have no idea how he intends carrying it out.”
The burly expatriate Deputy Commissioner on his right broke in casually. He spoke with authority and firmness nevertheless. “Our guess has to be that it is an explosive device of some sort. Guns are out. He couldn’t get one in and the damage he could cause would be limited. From what we know he is talking large scale. Not an individual symbolic assassination.”
“If he can’t be expected to smuggle in a gun how does he expect to get past the door with a bomb or whatever?” The question was from the head of Crime. It was a fair question and one that others shared.
“Maybe he doesn’t have to get inside to do the damage,” offered the Director of Operations.
“Or maybe it’s already been planted,” added the Director of Special Branch “We just don’t know.”
“No way,” said the expatriate Deputy Commissioner. Operations was his speciality. “For the last two days alone we have been over that building a dozen times. We’ve checked and rechecked every office, every storeroom, the chamber itself. I am convinced that if a time bomb or some other radio controlled device had been put there we would have found it by now. We did everything but dismantle the President’s chair. The building is clean.”
“Maybe we should take HE’s high chair to pieces,” said the Director of Crime. “You never know.”
“I know you’re not serious in that Eric,” said the Operations head. “but we actually considered it. It’s probably the only piece of furniture we don’t know whether it’s held together with glue or nails. Everything else has been gone over with hands, eyes and detectors. In addition we’ve had the architects and building supervisors down with their plans and we’ve covered everything from the roof to the old cells below ground. Remember it was the Supreme Court. We’ve located a few missing items for Omelco but nothing we were looking for.”
“So our man has to get inside,” said the Commissioner.
The Deputy Director of Operations shifted in his seat. “Maybe not” he said. As the others turned to him he cleared his throat and continued. “Have we really exhausted the idea of an outside attack?”
“How do you mean John? What sort of attempt are you thinking of?”
“Well,” the officer said, “there are a few ways, though they are far fetched I admit.”
“Go on,” said the Commissioner.
“An aircraft. Crash it into the building. A lorry load of explosives. They’re just two.”
“Christ,” the Director of Special Branch exclaimed. “This is Hong Kong not Beirut. Things like that don’t happen here.”
“Didn’t,” corrected the officer in charge of the Crime Branch. “This whole business is new to us. Apart from the sixty-seven riots there is nothing that is remotely like it. All I’m saying is we should not rule out anything, no matter how outlandish it seems. John’s right. He has a point.”
“Jesus,” said the head of Operations. “How do you stop a kamikaze pilot?”
“You begin with Kaitak and the aero club.” The Commissioner of Police began ticking off outstretched fingers on his left hand. “Check all light aircraft. Ground all flights. Call the Auxiliary Air Force in for surveillance during the afternoon. Keep the air space clear for the duration. As for bombs on four wheels, have Traffic out in force. Stop and pull over any vehicle on the roads into Central that looks suspicious. Start with those with only a driver and no-one else in the cabin. Bugger the congestion. We can live with the screams for our heads. They would role if John’s idea proved accurate and we did nothing to prevent it.” He turned to his deputy. “I’ll leave that side of it to you. I don’t care what it takes, make sure it’s done. Leave the explanations later to me. I’ll clear it with the CS as soon as we leave here.”
With their undivided attention again on him, the Commissioner leaned back in his chair. “Right,” he said. “Now let’s go around the table again and go over the details for the building itself. What’s done, what’s being done and what have we got to do to stop this lunatic.”
*
“Of course it’s a hair-brained idea. He’ll never get away with it, and even if he did succeed his supposed intervention by Beijing is pure fantasy.”
Robert McNamara was responding to a remark by the Political Advisor at his own select meeting in his office on the fifth floor of the Central Government Offices in Lower Albert Road. McNamara had for the first time recited the information as he knew it to those administrators now present. This had brought the comment by Roger Gould which the Chief Secretary had considered obvious to all.
“The problem is that irrespective of how crazy and how deadly frustrating it all is, this man has already killed a number of times and is bent on killing again. In large numbers. He is not going to stop just because we know his intentions are ridiculous. He will try. You have my word on that.”
“I appreciate that,” said Gould. “I was only saying it would never work. Not that we shouldn’t worry about the killer’s trying to bring it to fruition.”
“And I accept the point you were making Roger,” McNamara sighed. “But that’s the story as we know it. I have nothing further to add. Just to say that we must now let the Commissioner of Police and his officers do whatever they have to do to prevent this insane man’s dreams of horror from being turned into a reality. We here can do no more so let’s concern ourselves with what we can do, what we have to do. This afternoon we are going to have our own responsibilities. I want to make certain that on that score nothing goes wrong.”
McNamara had had his speech to the Legislative Council ready since the afternoon before. Gail Jones had typed it in draft from his steeped handwriting and retyped it after he had made a dozen amendments. Then she had seated herself in front of the computer in an outer office and personally keyed in the final version, printing out two copies in bold capitals. After that the Chief Secretary had only made a further two changes. It was a reasoned and reasonable speech she thought, though she knew like everyone else there would be expected detractors, among them Martin Lee and his vocal followers.
But what could the Chief Secretary do? At this juncture he could only outline the fairness of the whole exercise and let the Survey Office report speak for itself. Only after the public comments had been aired would he then respond. The administration’s position, the official analysis of the statistics and views in the report, would not be made known until the White Paper was released in February of next year. In the meantime there was a great deal of background work to be done.
“I’ll be speaking in the chamber around three,” said McNamara. “You’ll all have copies by the time we finish here this morning. It’s not a long speech and I’ll be finished by about three forty-five at the latest. When is the press conference?”
“Four o’clock” said the Director of Information Services. “In our conference room in Beaconsfield House. Invitations have gone out. Obviously we’ll have all the overseas media as well.”
The Commissioner for the Survey Office added: “I’ll basically stick to your line sir, and go into the mechanics of receiving and separating all the responses. Then I’ll take questions.”
“Be careful,” said the Chief Secretary. “Don’t go further than you have to. Especially on the question of weighting. There is going to be a lot of argument on that issue. At this stage keep it as simple as you can. Facts and figures. I know it will be tricky but leave to the shading to others.”
“Yes sir.” The Commissioner knew only too well that the credence given to some responses over others was an extremely contentious issue. For example, there was a view that campaigns that resulted in thousands of signatures should be regarded as single submissions rather submissions according to the proliferation of signatures gathered. The decision could affect dramatically the outcome of the whole exercise and therefore the ultimate political decisions made.
“At the same time,” said the Secretary for District Administration, the senior office responsible for the management in general terms of matters affecting the New Territories, “my staff will be briefing all the District Officers and other Admin Officers. They will in turn be meeting with District Boards and so on to fill them in. James and I will do them together.”
The assistant nodded. “With the Commissioner of course. No doubt members will want to go into detail, particularly on the McNair surveys.”
“Count on that,” said McNamara. “What we’ve seen is only flak so far. From this afternoon on we’ll see the bullets. Martin is very determined to discredit those public surveys. If he can do that, he will no doubt consider he is on firmer ground for direct elections in 1988. There is no need for me to point out that he’s an articulate advocate so expect a hard time.”
The meeting broke up at nine thirty and the Chief Secretary asked James Wong to remain behind. When the door was closed he pointed to the easy chairs and fell heavily into one.
“What’s your assessment James of the situation?” he asked.
“Rough,” the Chinese replied simply. “There is serious division. And we’re not helped by those two McNair polls. There are too many questions left hanging.”
“I know.”
“I think we’ll get it through.”
“I hope so. There is too much happening now for us not to.”
The assistant asked: “What about this other thing? Are we going to be able to stop it do you think?”
Robert McNamara dropped his eyes and studied his hands for a long time. He looked tired. “We have to,” he said quietly. “We just have to. I don’t dare think what would happen if we didn’t”
*
The order paper for the afternoon’s sitting was brief, covering only three typewritten pages. But the length belied the interest to be shown both inside and outside the chamber.
Under Papers there were pieces of subsidiary legislation:
Fugitive Offenders Act 1967
Fugitive Offenders (United Kingdom Dependencies) (Cancellation)
Order 1987
Fugitive Offenders Act 1967
Fugitive Offenders (Designated) (Commonwealth Countries) Order
1987
Public Health and Municipal Services Ordinance
Public Health and Municipal Services (Public Markets) (Designation
And Amendment of Tenth Schedule) (No 3) Order 1987
Banking Ordinance
Banking Ordinance (Amendment of Fifth Schedule) (No 3) Notice 1987
Public Health and Municipal Services Ordinance
Declaration of Markets in the regional Council Area (No 2) 1987
There were three sessional papers:
Report on the Administration of the Fire Services Welfare Fund for the
year ended 31st March 1986
Annual Report of the Director of Accounting Services and the Accounts
of Hong Kong for the year ended 31st March 1987
Report of the Director of Audit on the Accounts of the Hong Kong
Government for the year ended 31st March 1987 and the results of
value for money audits
The last of these sessional papers would provide very interesting reading as usual. Everyone liked to see how the government was wasting public money.
Between these two items were to be sandwiched five questions from members. Three inspired little interest. But one was related to the stock market crash and there was no doubt some questioners would try to attach blame to the Financial Secretary and the administrators of the stock and futures exchanges. Personal grudges would also be aired.
The remaining question was on Vietnamese refugees and ex-China Vietnamese illegal immigrants, and it was confidently predicted there would be a host of probing supplementary questions. Heat was certain to be applied to the Secretary for Security.
However, the major interest lay in the start to the meeting and at the end. The Governor as President of the Council would open the new session and would review the last series of sittings and postulate on the future. His every word would be faithfully reproduced in the media and dissected by analysts and commentators for days. The last item on the Order Paper was the formal motion by the senior member of the council. It read:
“That this Council takes note of the Report of the Survey Office and
Report of the Monitors: Public Response to Green Paper: The 1987
Review of Developments in Representative Government.”
There lay the kindling wood. By the time the proponents and opponents had had their say the fire would raging.
*
It was eleven o’clock and the editorial office of the South China Morning Post was buzzing. There was an air of expectancy. Something of great import was going to happen, or if the wills of those present had anything to do with it, it would.
There was normally a feeling of torpor about Wednesday afternoons. It meant that some of the staff would be working well into the night on their Legislative Council reports. It also meant others could slow their pace. Usually that was, but this time there was to be no rest for anyone. The Editor in Chief had been in full cry since eight thirty. The entire staff had been mobilised. There would be no rest this Wednesday afternoon and evening. Assignments had been handed out by Davidson himself and he felt he had every significant aspect covered.
Four photographers would install themselves inside and outside the council building. Anything that moved was to be shot. Selections would take place later, but nothing must be missed. If nothing else it was to be a grand pictorial story.
Three reporters were added to the crime roundsman’s team and they were to concentrate on all police activities away from the building itself; investigations still going on, interviews with the top ranking officers in Police Headquarters if possible – and everything was possible warned Davidson – backup units, raids and so on.
A further four reporters were handed copies of the names and telephone numbers of each Legislative Councillor. They must be contacted and quotes extracted. The more worried the better. Push, ordered Davidson, push until he or she says something. “A no comment is a comment and I want to see it in writing,” he said.
Two senior reporters were assigned to the administration. “Start with the Governor,” said the editor. “Work down the precedence list if you have to, but I want that side of it fully covered.”
The usual lobby of writers would cover the council business but three more would concentrate on the colour lead up to, during and after the afternoon’s developments.
Davidson called the young American from New York into his office. “You seem to think this town is too small for you. Not enough to get your teeth into,” he said. “Well, this is your day. Show me what Mr Murdoch apparently sees in you.”
“Sure. No sweat,” said the journalist smiling “What do you want?”
“I want a font page lead that will make the story of the year. I don’t care if this whole thing is a fizz. I want a story. We broke it and by god we’re going to finish it. So you better see to it.”
“What about Jason Teller? Is he on it too?”
“Forget Teller. He’s out. You just show me that all your words are not stuck in your mouth. Understand me?”
“Yeah,” replied the American. “I understand you. You’ll get your damn story.”
*
The Catskinner was back in the hotel room.
He had left it at nine o’clock, caught the underground to Mongkok and gone straight to the tiny shop he had visited the day before. As promised the job had been done and he pocketed the plastic container with the cards. By ten o’clock he had returned to the hotel. At twelve o’clock he checked out. When he settled his account he waited until he was able to do so with a different girl to the one who had checked him in.
The underground took him across the harbour and from the station beneath the Landmark Centre in Central he walked to the adjacent Prince’s Building. On the first floor he entered the crowded Prince’s Tavern and ordered a meal of fish and salad and a Tsing Tao beer. He had about two hours to kill before he crossed Statue Square and started to execute his plan.
*
“Why are you doing this Jason?” asked Brigit.
She was sitting on the edge of the bed watching Teller get dressed in a suit that had been collected from his flat, arranged by the Chinese police superintendent who was in the sitting room on the other side of the closed door.
She was fidgeting, picking at her nails, an aspect of her appearance she was particularly conscious of. Being small she considered her hands one of her prominent features, therefore they had to be kept immaculate at all times. To peel the polish and dig at the skin signified extreme irritability or anxiety.
“I mean, what on earth do they expect you to do? If you see the murderer are you going to tackle him? I don’t know why you want to be there.”
Teller straightened his tie. “My love, they want me just to watch. There is no intention of my tackling anyone or doing anything else stupid like that.”
“But what if….”
“There are no what ifs. I promise you I’ll not get involved.”
“Then why are you going?”
“You know that. I’ve seen him. They haven’t. I know what he looks like. If I wasn’t there he might easily get into the place, and once in he could succeed in killing, or hurting, a lot of innocent people.
“But there are going to be police everywhere. Surely they will search everyone. The man couldn’t get in with anything suspicious without getting caught, yes?
“Probably not. But there is always the chance I suppose that he might slip through.”
“If he is going to sneak in he’ll do it whether you’re there or not. You can’t watch every single person can you?”
“From the way the superintendent explained it I should be able to do precisely that. There will be only one entrance used.”
Brigit frowned. “I think it is very unwise. And very unfair on you. And me. What if something happens? You’ll be right there. You could get killed.”
“Nothing will go wrong. Beside, I have to do it. You know that. It’s not just because I know what he looks like.”
“What do you mean by that? Why have you got to do it?”
Teller put on his jacket, studied himself in the mirror and turned to face her. “Because of what has happened. What I have already caused. I could not sit back now without trying to help. I couldn’t. I owe it to the accountant. Even to the sampan girl in a way. I am party responsible for whatever happens today. If I can do anything that will put an end to it I have to do it. This is the only way left to me. Otherwise I am not sure how I could cope with it.”
“But you will be in great danger,” protested Brigit. “He might try to kill you.”
“My love, my love,” he said and reached for her. “Please. Let me do this. For both our sakes. We have a wonderful future to look forward to, but if I don’t do this now I cannot guarantee I’d be the man you say you love.”
“That’s not true. I’ll love you just the same if you don’t go. Don’t you know that?”
Teller stepped back. “I think I do. I hope that’s true. But I have to do this for myself. I know it sounds selfish, but try to understand. I really believe that it is for both our sakes.”
Brigit sat very still, her face directed away from his. Suddenly she stood and touched the front of his shirt. “Alright,” she said. “Alright, if you must go look smart. I don’t want you to look like one of your shabby reporter friends.”
Teller could not help himself. He laughed and threw his arms around her. “You’re wonderful. Here I am walking into the jaws of death and you want me to look tidy. Don’t you want to know if I have a clean handkerchief and matching socks as well?”
She clung to him for a long time but then pushed herself away. “Go on,” she said firmly. “Go and do what you have to. But don’t you dare do anything silly. I want you to come back to me in one piece. One whole piece, yes?”
With that she flung open the bedroom door. “He’s ready,” she said to the policeman. “You make certain nothing happens to him you hear. Because if anything bad does happen you’ll have me to deal with, and I can assure you that will be much worse than your crazy Catskinner. Yes?”
*
2.00pm.
It was already near bedlam outside the Legislative Council building. Double rows of iron mills barriers had been placed down both sides, creating makeshift courtyards that were rapidly filling up with people and vehicles.
The area on the members’ side in front of Chater Garden was the clearer but the noise was almost deafening. Inside the cordon of barriers plush sedans belonging to the councillors and official government limousines were lined up like the pit start for a race. Which was exactly the reason for their angle parking. Some months before, following a skirmish, new contingency plans had been drawn up. One was how to ensure a speedy exit by VIP vehicles. So they were all backed in sideways, drivers standing nearby chatting and exchanging gossip but always ready to leap behind the wheel and race out the Chater Road exit away from any barnstorming agitators bent on destruction or injury.
Behind the cars, at the top of the wide low steps leading to the paved precinct of the garden park itself, a group of around two hundred people had gathered and were busily erecting banners, stacking refreshments to last for the next five hours and readying their exhibits and themselves for the show they planned for onlookers and council members after the sitting. A large oil drum had been cut in half and some of the group were fixing an effigy of a lame duck into it. It had a placard tied around its neck with the words “HK GOVT” on it and one leg was a bandaged broom stick. A crutch had been fixed under one wing.
There was much giggling and shouting and a few pedestrians passing by stopped and smiled. Two obvious tourists snapped pictures and one approached a uniformed policewoman and spoke briefly pointing to the bird. He then returned to his friends and explained what it was all about. They too smiled but soon sauntered off.
At the other end of the steps a group of ragged fishermen sat impassive, nursing at least twice as many soiled looking children, the oldest no more than three. They had no placards but there was a clutch of press photographers standing in front of them clicking away eagerly. They were a real human interest story. Their wives, some de facto, had been arrested when they had tried to register their offspring during an amnesty for child illegal immigrants and now they themselves were about to be repatriated to China where they would have to join the three to twenty year queue to gain a legal one-way pass to Hong Kong. The women had been illegal immigrants themselves so the amnesty had not applied to them and the authorities had been unyielding to the clamour for exceptional leniency.
The heartbreaking sobbing the last few days had made it a touching story and the presence of the husbands was a last ditch effort to have the government change its mind and allow the women to stay. But if they hoped to get in front of the councillors and the Governor with their requests they would have to wait much longer. The members and the Governor had been inside the building since twelve thirty attending a lunch and would go straight from the dining hall to the council chamber for the opening sitting.
At the bottom of the steps, just inside the barriers, uniformed policemen and women faced the crowds at intervals of three meters. They were relaxed but alert nevertheless and when a roar went up from the other side of the building they to a man snapped to attention and glanced over their shoulders. The cause of the distant shout was the arrival of the leader of a large band of demonstrators also demanding direct elections in 1988. Though not followers of Martin Lee directly they maintained a similar political stand and had gathered in Statue Square to present petitions to the Senior Member of the Legislative Council and to the Chief Secretary. Their intention was to stage a sit-in singing songs and handing out propaganda leaflets to passersby until the meeting insi