17.
THE TUNNEL
Major Peter Northcot’s phone rang. His mobile.
He looked at the clock on his digital radio.
This was his second tour in Hong Kong, but nobody ever rang him at home on his mobile at 04.37 in the morning. On a Sunday. Not even his secure phone rang at that time. Not even in Hong Kong. Well, not often, anyway.
He switched on the bedside light, thumbed the button to answer the phone and said ‘hello’.
“Who’s that?” said a voice he didn’t recognise.
“Who wants to know?”
It was plainly somebody he didn’t know. All his contacts were in the mobile’s address book, and one would have shown up on the screen if the caller had been listed.
“What number is that?”
“The number you dialled, probably.”
“I want to know who I’m talking to,” said the voice, irritably.
“You mean who you were talking to,” he replied, and rang off.
The phone rang again. It was the same number as before, now automatically logged on his phone and displayed on the small screen. He jotted the number down – a quick check in the morning would find the owner of the mobile.
“Was I talking to you just now?” said the same voice.
“How would I know who you were talking to just now?”
“I dialled the same number as before, and you sound the same as the chap who answered it last time.”
“Do you have the slightest idea what the time is?”
“Half past four – I’m sorry, but it’s urgent.”
“What is?”
“I need to talk to you.”
“Ring my office later, then, and my PA will arrange a meeting. But only when I know who you are and what you want and if I agree that it is urgent.”
He rang off again.
He didn’t really have an office as such. His wasn’t that kind of job. But he hired an agency to take care of things like this. They provided him with his own ‘office’ phone number, which they monitored. Nobody much rang it, but when somebody did, they told him.
The phone rang for a third time.
“I’m going to gamble that I’ve got the right number,” said the voice. “I’m in Singapore, and arriving at Chek Lap Kok on UA 896. Meet me. It’s urgent and important. You’ll recognise me.”
This time, the man rang off before Peter could say anything. What the hell was going on?
Peter rang the stored mobile number. There was no answer. Not even a voice mail.
He swung his legs out of bed, and went into his small kitchen to make coffee and to think. It was five o’clock now. If he remembered rightly, it was about 4 hours flying time from Singapore to Hong Kong, so the man couldn’t arrive much before 0930. UA 896, the man had said. United Airlines, eh? American. The man didn’t have an American accent – very English, in fact. He didn’t recognise the voice, but the man said Peter would know him when he saw him.
All very strange. Peter didn’t like things like this. They made him uncomfortable – and nervous.
He rang the airport to check to arrival time of the United flight. Leaving Singapore at 0640 and arriving at 10.30. So the man was still in Singapore. He rang his mobile again, but still no reply. Maybe in the departure lounge by now, unless he was changing planes; in that case he’d be in the transit lounge.
Northcot checked on the mobile phone number. Not listed. Now that was very odd, and no mistake. It must be listed – the man had used it three times this morning already. He checked again. No trace.
This whole thing began to stink.
A man who refused to identify himself over a phone that didn’t exist, who Peter didn’t recognise but would know when they met, was arriving in Hong Kong in a few hours on an American flight from Singapore and demanding to be met because it was ‘urgent and important.’ What was?
Only one way to find out, decided Northcot, pouring a second cup. Get to the airport and meet the man.
He rang a contact in security at the airport. In spite of the fact that Hong Kong was now under direct Chinese rule, bits of the ‘old boy network’ from the Colonial days still worked. An airside pass would be waiting for him in arrivals, and Northcot could watch the passengers off the United flight from behind a one-way glass window overlooking the baggage gondola. If he saw someone he knew, he could slip out to meet him – if it was someone he would rather not meet, he would stay put until the man had gone.
Peter Northcot decided to walk to Lam Tin, and catch the A22 coach to the airport. Only 39 dollars, which he could claim back, and a nice morning for the 34 Km drive from Kowloon. He had nothing much else to do, anyway. He arrived at the airport early, and had breakfast before he picked up his pass.
The plane arrived on time, and it was only 15 minutes or so before the passengers started to arrive at the gondola in the baggage hall. His view from the security office was as good as it could get. It was specially located for an up-close view of arrivals before they went through customs. He recognised nobody.
He made his way, the long way round, to the arrivals hall the other side of customs, where people were met by friends, relations and hire-car drivers bearing the name of their intended passengers on bits of paper. He had access to a balcony above the crowds, where he could see but not be seen. Again, nobody. There was nobody he recognised, either, among the meeters and greeters.
He made a final check. All the passengers had now left the customs area, and there was no baggage from the United flight left on the aircraft, or in the immigration hall, or on the gondola. A helpful official, suitably impressed by his pass, provided him with a passenger list. None of the names on it rang even the faintest of bells.
This was altogether bloody odd, he thought.
He could not work out what was going on. The man who rang him three times at such an un-Godly hour this morning, had not rung again or left a text message or anything. But then, how could he. His phone didn’t exist.
The more he thought about it, the more uneasy he became. Suppose - just suppose - that he, Peter Northcot, had walked straight into a trap. Just suppose - only suppose - that some villain or other had wanted him out of the way for an hour or so. Out of the flat. His mind raced to remember what, if anything, there might be in the flat. Nothing of any value, that’s for sure – but papers? Code books, perhaps? He was certain there was nothing of value to be found; not to anyone, even the opposition. Almost sure, anyway.
Suddenly, he was in a hurry.
He dashed to the nearest police office, and within minutes was being driven, much too fast, back to Kowloon, blue lights, sirens and all. They dropped him off near his flat, having switched off the bells and whistles a few blocks further away. Kowloon is never quiet, even at this time on a Sunday, but it was as un-crowded as it gets. He sprinted down several back-alleys, cutting through to his block, and went up the fire-escape, two at a time. It opened onto the lift lobby, with its faded carpet and old Chinese prints on the wall. He could see there was no-one about, and the lift was on the ground floor.
Trouble was, he only had a front door. There was only one way in to his flat.
He had a spy-hole in his door – the sort that lets you see who’s outside, ringing the bell. He had modified his a bit, so that he could look in as well. He carefully adjusted the focus, and peered in to his front room.
There was a man standing at his balcony window, looking out over the harbour.
He was silhouetted against the daylight, so Peter could see no detail, but the man appeared to be casually dressed, and was standing with his hands in his trouser pockets. Did he have a gun?
The man moved away from the window, and looked nonchalantly around the flat’s living room. He glanced at his watch, and moved back to admire the view from the window, hands in pockets again.
He didn’t appear threatening, but Peter knew he had to get into his flat somehow. And quickly. He heard the elevator on its way up. He silently put his key onto the lock and took out his Smith and Wesson.
In one swift movement, he opened the door, burst in and threw himself flat, levelling the gun at the man in the window.
“One move, and you’re dead.”
The startled man froze, still with his back to Peter.
“For God’s sake don’t shoot,” pleaded the man.
Peter stood up, and closed the door behind him.
“Put your hands behind your head, one at a time and nice and slowly,” demanded Peter.
The man did as he was told, nice and slowly.
Peter walked over to the man, jabbed his gun into the man’s ribs, and quickly frisked him.
No gun and no knife.
Peter took a few steps back.
“Now turn round,” demanded Peter. “Nice and slowly. I’ve had a bad morning already, so don’t make me any more nervous.”
The man turned to face him.
“Hello, Peter,” he said. “Long time, no see.”
This time, it was Peter’s turn to be startled. Shocked and astonished, more like it.
He lowered his gun.
“Dad. What the hell are you doing here?”
“It’s a long story, but I need your help. Urgently.”
“I recognise the voice now. You rang me from Singapore.”
“I rang you, but I wasn’t in Singapore. I just wanted anyone who might be listening in to think that’s where I was.”
“Dad, you look terrible. But I’m not surprised – I nearly killed you. Come and sit down, and let me get you something.”
“I’ve had a bad couple of weeks, I won’t deny. Not much sleep and little to eat. But I can’t relax yet. I must get back to London.”
Maurice Northcot slumped onto the sofa.
“If you weren’t in Singapore, where were you? I went to the airport to meet the flight.”
“I know you did. I rang you from across the street and watched you leave for Chek Lap Kok. But can you help me get back to London?” pleaded his father. “You’re my only hope.”
“Of course I can,” Peter reassured him. “Come and sit in the kitchen while I get you something to eat, and you can tell what’s happened.”
“Please get my return to London organised first.”
“OK. But why the great rush? What’s been going on? Why can’t you just go to the airport and catch a plane home like anyone else?”
“Because my life is in danger, that’s why, and I may well have put you at risk now as well. I’m truly sorry about that, but I was desperate for help. That’s why I came here.”
“Where from?”
“Korea. North Korea, as a matter of fact. I work for MI6, and I was sent to get vital information about the Chinese nuclear development programme which the North Koreans are helping with. But the whole operation blew up in my face, including my escape route, and several people who should have been able to help me have been killed, or captured – which is probably worse. So I’ve had to make my own way out. I was south of Pyongyang, near the Demilitarised Zone when it all went wrong, and since then I’ve been operating very much on my own. I eventually managed to collect the information I went for, but the opposition has been hunting me down ever since. Getting out has been a nightmare. You were the only chap in the world who I could think of who might be able to help. So here I am, but I must get to London. I know it’s a lot to ask, but if you can, please help, quickly.
“Are they still after you, then, from the North?”
“Almost certainly. What I have is far too valuable for them to let it go without a fight, which is why I came looking for you. We’re in the same business, after all, and you speak Cantonese. I speak Korean but very little Chinese.”
Peter was appalled and grabbed his secure phone.
“We have several escape routes from here,” said Peter. “Let me get on to my controller at the Embassy. She’ll help, even though it is Sunday.”
“Suzy? I need to use the ‘tunnel’,” he said. “Urgently.”
“You? Not you, I hope.”
“No, a colleague who’s on the run after a job, and has made his way here.”
“Code name?”
Peter put his hand over the mouthpiece.
“She want’s your code name. It’s all right, she’s quite safe. In the same business as us. And this is a secure line – digital satellite link with agile frequency transmission.”
“Dr. Penny.”
Peter repeated the name to his contact. There was silence for a moment.
“Are you quite sure about that?”
“Why do you ask?”
“Describe him.”
“Medium build, about 5ft 9ins, grey hair. Broken nose with scar from mid forehead across his nose to his right cheek.”
There was a pause.
“Are you sure about the scar?”
“Quite sure. It’s feint now, but I put it there.”
“You what?!”
“I did it with a football, years ago – he’s my father.”
Another pause.
“I hardly believe this,” said the girl, “but it sounds like ‘Penny’ all right. The whole world’s been looking for him. Hell of a panic. Earlier today, GCHQ told us they thought they had picked up a signal that matched his voice signature, but they weren’t sure. We thought he was in Singapore.”
“So did I. Now we must get him on the home run in double quick time, before the opposition track him down again.”
“Agreed. The UK is desperate to find him and get him back. Hang on.”
Another pause.
“On second thoughts, don’t hang on. This is going to take a bit of organising. I’ll ring you back in a few minutes – keep the line open.”
They went into the small kitchen, where Peter hurriedly cooked up a meal of sorts for his father.
“But why here? Why did you come here rather than head for Japan, which is closer? The Embassy in Tokyo could have helped you. Or you could even have crossed the border into Russia.”
“I don’t know anyone in Japan, or speak the language, let alone read it. And the Embassy people would have known little or nothing about me. I would have stood out by a mile, and would probably have been caught. Same applies to Russia, although I did have a few official pieces of paper which might have helped.”
“How did you get here, then?”
“Let’s just say I got in by unconventional means. It’s a long story which I’ll tell you one day I hope, but I managed to escape an armed ambush just after I’d collected the information from one of our agents and then made my way to Kaesong by rail. As it happens, I was with a sergeant in the SAS who had been sent to help, and we both managed to get to the coast. After that, I travelled mostly by boat down the east coast of China. I jumped ship near Shanghai, and dared to use public transport for a bit, but I knew they were still tracking me down, so I took to the sea again, making my way south mainly with local fishermen. According to some of the people on the boats I was on, there was an increasingly high level of Chinese ‘gun-boat’ activity. Some fishing boats were even boarded and searched, but thankfully not any that I was on. I’m sure they were looking for me. I eventually fetched up being put ashore on Stonecutters Island as luck would have it, so it was easy getting to Kowloon from there.”
The secure phone rang. It was Suzy.
“Here’s what we’ll do.” she said. “We have a civil crew in town on lay-over, and as luck would have it, there’s an exchange member on board. About the same build as Penny, fortunately. I’ll send him over, and you can do the switch. Get Penny to the Mandarin Hotel where the crew is based, and he can go with them to the airport on the crew coach later. Let’s just hope you’re not being watched. When was your flat last swept?”
“Thursday.”
“Should be all right then, but be careful. Penny is about the most wanted man in the world at the moment, both by us and the opposition.”
The line went dead.
“You’re pretty hot property at the moment, Dad. They’ve all been looking for you, but with any luck we’ll have you out of this flat in an hour or so, and on the way home later tonight.”
He outlined the plan.
“You’ll be on the crew manifest for the British Airways flight out of here later tonight. BA028 leaves about midnight. Once you’re safely on board, change back into civvies and travel as a passenger. Business Class, of course! Non-stop to London, where you’ll be met. It takes about 13 to 14 hours, depending on high level winds over Siberia, so you should get in before six, London time. Now let’s have our meal before your double arrives for the switch.”
“I hope this works,” said his father. “I have two sets of vital documents and copies of plans of their nuclear facilities, mostly on terabyte USB’s, which I simply must get to London. I’ll give you one complete package now. If anything happens to me, you will have to take them. Everybody wants them – UK, USA, United Nations, everybody; especially China.”
“Why China specially?”
“Because it’s about their nuclear development programme, which is being undertaken in North Korea. And before you ask, I know Hong Kong is now part of China, but I ran out of options. I’ve already spent days crossing China with their nuclear secrets in my pocket, which is why they and the Koreans are after me.”
“You’ll be safe here,” Peter tried to reassure him.
“If I’m not, then neither are you. I’m sorry about this, but you are my only hope.”
“Don’t worry – try to relax for a bit, and get stuck into lunch.”
“Let me show you first what I’ve got, and what you must deliver if anything happens to me. They’ve already made a couple of attempts to get me, but hopefully they’re now looking for me in Singapore.”
“Bright move, that, if I may say so.”
“I’ve been in this business, travelling around the world, for long enough. Too long, probably. But if I survive this trip, it will be my last.”
“It will if you don’t, too,” said Peter. “Sorry, Dad. I shouldn’t joke, because I know it’s serious. Just trust me and my people here to get you safely home. Now show me what you’ve got.”
Some of the USBs were in the lining of his small bag, others strapped to his body.
“There’s a letter on its way to you as well. Whatever you do, get that to London as well as the package if I don’t make it. It’s in code, but don’t lose it.”
“I’ve still got every letter you’ve ever written. They have been a bridge between us.”
“I’ve kept all yours, too, as it happens. For the same reason.”
Peter’s secure phone rang. It was Suzy, his controller.
“Alex Sumner will be with you in twenty minutes or so,” she said. “You know the drill. One of our friendly taxis will be cruising nearby when Penny has changed. Go with him to the Mandarin, and make your own way home.”
“OK, Suzy.”
“Peter! Take great care. I want to see you again.”
“You too,” replied Peter.
Suzy Chi-Lye was about the first girl he’d met who he thought he could possibly have a relationship with, but they had agreed it wouldn’t be sensible. Apart from the odd meal together, they had kept at arm’s length from one another.
Peter and his father had just finished their rather hurried meal when the doorbell rang. It was a smartly dressed BA flight attendant, Alex Sumner. Maurice quickly changed into his uniform, which was a remarkably good fit.
“The hat suits you,” said Peter. “Let’s go!”
Anyone watching closely would have noticed that Alex Sumner had aged quite a bit in the last twenty minutes, and that his trousers could do with lengthening a bit, but there was no sign of anyone suspicious as Peter and his father bustled into the taxi, and headed down-town. Peter left his father at the Mandarin, and decided to walk back to his flat – it would be easier for him to spot if he was being followed. He let himself into the flat, and went to tell Alex that the coast was clear for him to leave.
Alex, though, would be going nowhere.
He was stretched across the bed with a neat but bloody hole in his forehead.
Anyone else would have panicked. The first thing Peter did was check, swiftly but thoroughly, that nothing important had been taken. So far as he could tell, this had not been a robbery that had gone wrong. Everything was in its place, and even things like day-code books were where they should be. The intruder obviously only wanted one thing – to kill.
Now he panicked slightly. He had a murdered body lying across his bed. The real issue, though, was whether the killer had meant to shoot Alex Sumner, or kill his father, the much-wanted escaping spy, or even himself. If they had got the wrong man and found out, they would be back, he concluded. His father had been right. Now he was in danger, too.
There was only one thing to do.
He rang Suzy, and told her what had happened.
“The worry is that we were, after all, being watched, and that my father was being followed.” he said.
“You are probably still under surveillance,” she replied.
“Exactly. So I need to get out fast myself now. My father left me vital information which has to be delivered to London ASAP. Any ‘tunnels’ left open?”
“Nothing much,” she replied. “The nearest military transport is over 1,000 miles away, and we probably wouldn’t be able to divert it, even if it was a good idea. The only other option is a coastal Junk to Macau, and then hope the Portuguese can do something to help you.”
“All too slow,” said Peter.
After a moment’s thought, he said, “So here’s what I’m going to do, Suzy. I shall pretend nothing has happened. Sling my bag over my shoulder, get to Chek Lap Kok, buy a ticket, and go home. There’s just a chance that if I act quite normally, I shall get away with it, and nobody will notice me.”
“I suppose it’s worth a try,” she said. “I agree that you certainly can’t stay here a moment longer than you need, but I can’t think of any better plan on the spur of the moment.”
“I’m off, then,” he said. “Do me a favour if you will, after I’ve gone. There’s a body here to be dealt with, and other bits of admin and paper-work to be collected or sorted out. Will you look after all that for me?”
“Of course I shall,” she replied. “And Peter…”
“Yes.”
“Please take care!” There was the slightest of pauses. “I love you.”
There was only a momentary hesitation from Peter. “You too, Suzy. If I’m spared, I’ll be in touch.”
For the second time that day, he walked to Lam Tin, and caught the A22 coach to the airport. He was the last to board the coach, and was almost sure he had not been followed. But he had been sure earlier this afternoon, too. What the hell! If someone was after him, they would get him whatever he did. And there was no other way of getting out quickly.
He bought a ticket, Business Class, and checked in.
He spotted nobody suspicious.
With any luck, his father would already be on board the Boeing 777, with the rest of the crew.
By then, he should have ditched the uniform and changed into civvies. The crew were glad to see the back of him. They didn’t like this sort of operation, well-rehearsed though it was. Just knowing they had a runner on board made them nervous. They should have found him a seat at the back somewhere, where he could mingle anonymously with the fare-paying passengers.
They’d been airborne for about ten minutes and the seatbelt signs were off, when Peter spotted his father a few rows in front of him. Safe, thank God.
He slid into an empty seat next to him.
“Hello Dad. Long time, no see!”
“Peter! What the devil are you doing here?!”
Peter told him about Alex Sumner.
“I just had to get out, and this was the only way we could think of in a hurry.”
“They were probably after me still, not you,” said Maurice. “Now I’m responsible for yet another death.”
“It’s the job, not you, so don’t take it personally.”
“Sometimes you can’t help it.”
“I’m in the Army, so I know the feeling.”
“I’ve had enough now, Peter. I’ve been thinking that for some time, especially after my last trip in Jakarta. I was nearly killed there, too.”
“Some cats need more than nine lives,” said Peter.
***
The girl came round with the Champagne.
***