Kitabı oku: «Trafficked», sayfa 2
4
Hong Kong
‘You got some colour—you look more like a wild man than ever.’ Sergeant Ng was there to meet Mann at Hong Kong’s international airport on Lantau Island. Ng was an old friend and he and Mann had worked together on and off for many years. But it was the first time Mann had seen him up and about for three months, since he’d got shot on the last case they’d worked on. Ng was a dedicated policeman who gave his life to the job and had almost lost it, in the line of duty, on more than one occasion.
‘Yeah, and you’ve lost weight, Ng. Getting shot suits you.’
They shook hands warmly. Mann picked up his bag, slung his jacket over his shoulder and followed Ng through the airport terminal to the car park.
‘Why the hell was I recalled? I was supposed to be having a vacation—just about to go surfing, for Christ’s sake! What was so bad it couldn’t wait a week?’ asked Mann.
Ng shrugged, walking faster than he wanted, to keep up with Mann’s long stride.
‘New Super ordered it. Forget surfing—take up golf. And don’t bullshit me—I know you were working. You couldn’t resist it. Did you find out who’s buying up all the property on the trafficking routes out there? Are the rumours true that there is a new super group muscling in?
‘Yes, and you know who I found? A few old friends. One was the Colonel, that self-styled God of Angeles, and the other was Stevie Ho, our old Triad friend and paid-up member of the Wo Shing Shing. Whatever he’s planning it’s definitely something big. Some major money is involved; Stevie wouldn’t have the clout to do this on his own. He’s trying to set up bases on the island of Mindanao. Most of the trafficked girls come from the poorer villages in the south of the island. He’s after somewhere on the coast, make the trafficking easier and faster—get the girls to the next link in the chain. But he hasn’t just been to the south; he’s putting the frighteners all even so far as Boracay—that’s cocky.’
Ng handed Mann a file. ‘Stevie’s whereabouts in the last six months.’
Mann stopped, flipped it open and scanned it.
‘He’s been a busy boy, our Stevie.’
They drove from the airport across to Hong Kong Island.
‘Where we going?’
‘The bureau got moved to Central.’
‘Nice office?’
‘Not bad. Don’t see you enjoying it for long, though.’
Ng grinned his lopsided grin and chuckled. ‘The new Super hates you.’
‘Who is it anyway? Last I heard it was still to be decided. I hope it’s the acting super.’
‘It’s not—it’s Peter Wong.’
‘Shit! He really does hate me!’
‘Yeah. Told you. But as they say—it is better to know one’s enemies…’
‘Cut the crap, Confucius.’
They alighted on the seventh floor, straight into the reception area for the Organised Crime and Triad Bureau. A uniformed officer behind a desk checked their ID. Ng punched in a door code and led the way through to the department. Left, right, and left again down the rubber-studded corridors, past brand-new offices with polythene still on the door handles. The whole place smelt plastic. In the centre it opened out into a glass and chrome area with a rectangular bank of computers, surrounded by a glass screen. About fifty police officers were working at PCs and workstations. Smaller offices fanned out from the open-plan area.
‘Can’t they afford doors?’
Mann didn’t much care for the new premises—he loved the oak and brass of the old headquarters. They walked around to the far side and into one of the screened spaces—loosely termed an office. Inside were twelve workstations and PCs back to back, all occupied. He didn’t recognise any of the people there, then he saw someone he did know as the slight frame of Detective Li, aka Shrimp, walked in. An expert in computers and martial arts, the young man was also an experimental dresser. Today, a purple silk shirt was tucked neatly into drainpipe trousers. He beamed up from a face that looked as if it had been scrubbed with a wire brush. He shook Mann’s hand with an extra-firm grip that he’d been practising since the last time Mann had caught him out and nearly crushed his hand.
‘How’s it going, Shrimp?’
‘Awesome, boss.’
‘Huh!’ Ng rolled his eyes. ‘He’s lucky to still be here. He’s in trouble for letting you lead him astray.’
‘Is that true, Shrimp?’ Mann said as the three moved to the far end of the office so that they would not be overheard.
Shrimp shrugged and shook his head as he excused himself for a minute and walked away to fetch something.
Ng made sure no one was listening. ‘You nearly got him suspended after he was asked what he was doing on Cheung Chau when the man under investigation mysteriously disappeared.’
‘It was a tragic accident. He couldn’t swim—we weren’t to know that.’ A smile flickered up the side of Mann’s face.
Ng chuckled. ‘Yeah, justice comes in many forms.’
Shrimp reappeared and handed Mann a stack of mail.
‘You missed David White’s leaving do,’ said Ng.
‘Any good?’ Mann said as he scanned the mail then threw it all into a waste basket.
‘We had a great time…he didn’t show.’
‘Where is he now?’
‘He’s gone to the UK. He left a message for you.’ Ng pulled out a note from his jacket pocket.
Mann smiled to himself as he read it—just like David White to do a runner before his own party. He never did do what people expected.
JM
I won’t be around to bail you out so try and keep out of trouble and don’t get yourself killed. Remember what I said—if you cross the line too often you can’t come back from the other side. Have given the cat to your mother. Watch who you trust, Mann. Hope to see you in London one day. Got to go—got to buy some slippers, apparently there’s a rush on.
DW
Ng came over and patted Mann on the back. He had that look on his face that Mann recognised: there was an in-joke going around and he was the butt of it.
‘You better not keep the new Super waiting.’ He grinned and glanced towards the neighbouring office. ‘We took bets in the department on how long before you get transferred again. That’s why we haven’t allocated you a desk.’
‘Thanks for the vote of confidence.’ Mann put on his jacket and slipped his phone into the pocket.
‘He asked to see you the minute you got here,’ said Shrimp.
‘And there he is!’ Mann gestured towards a small figure in uniform, sitting behind a large desk. ‘All right, I’m gone.’
‘Let us know which intersection you get,’ Ng called after him. ‘We’ll come and wave at you.’
Mann gave Ng the finger and walked out.
5
‘You wanted to see me, sir?’
The newly appointed Superintendent was young for the post—in his mid-forties. He was ten years older than Mann but he looked a lot more. Mann doubted whether he had ever looked healthy. He was an exam-taker—a pen-pusher. He had spent too many hours swotting in bad light.
Wong was a slight man with a round face that was dominated by square chrome-rimmed glasses. His hair was pressed flat with the straightest side parting and a touch of psoriasis. He tugged at his cuffs now to hide the eczema around his wrists where the shirt-sleeves rubbed. His desk was super neat, just a desk-tidy full of sharpened pencils and highlighters and a photo of his wife and two kids in a dark wood frame. They all looked just like him. It was a lucky promotion for him. Mann could see he was still savouring it. When Wong finally spoke he didn’t look at Mann, but carried on filling in the form in front of him.
‘Don’t think for one minute I want you here, Inspector Mann,’ he said, finally closing the file and pushing it to one side. ‘You’re a trouble-maker, a rule-breaker. In the end you make it hard for all of us. If I had a choice I wouldn’t have men like you in the force at all.’
He replaced his pen back in the desk-tidy, sat back in his chair and stared hard at Mann. Mann could out-stare most men—a thing he’d learned to perfect when dealing with triads.
‘But…it seems I have no choice.’ Wong was forced to blink, but made up for it by smiling sarcastically. ‘You have made yourself some influential friends. Your assistance has been especially requested. That is why I had you recalled from vacation. You are to help in a kidnap case.’
‘Find someone else. I’m investigating a new trafficking ring. I can’t afford to take time out.’ Wong was going to drive Mann mad. He paused more than he spoke. Mann hadn’t the time for it. He took a deep breath to let his temper subside. He would play ball, then he would get out and do his own thing—like he always did.
‘As I said, you have been especially requested. Your friend— CK Leung—has insisted that you help in the investigation into his daughter’s kidnap.’
Mann felt the hair bristle on the back of his neck. ‘He’s no friend of mine.’
‘Whatever you think of him, Inspector Mann, he is one of Hong Kong’s wealthiest citizens.’
‘Wealthiest triads, you mean. They look after their own. Let them sort it out between themselves.’
‘He happens to be the Dragon Head of the Wo Shing Shing triad society, yes, but he deserves our help like anyone else. Anyway, we have no choice in the matter. It is not a situation any of us like.’
‘The only daughter of his that I know is Victoria Chan, and she’s a grown woman.’
‘Amy Tang is his daughter by a girlfriend. She has been kidnapped—snatched from a boarding school in England. A ransom was paid two weeks ago but she hasn’t been returned. She’s the third wealthy Chinese kid to be kidnapped in the last two months in the UK.’
‘The others were returned unharmed?’
‘Yes.’
‘Did they take her in daylight? Were there any witnesses?’
‘It was during the day. Some children saw her with a man—but their descriptions aren’t good.’
‘He doesn’t know that. People saw him. That’s the point. He doesn’t intend to free her. This is not to do with money—not with this child. They’re making a statement. It’s to do with teaching CK a lesson. It’s triad business. Like I said—let them sort it out amongst themselves.’
‘We don’t have that option. You are from England, isn’t that right?’
Mann could see he’d been building up to this.
‘I’m from Hong Kong. But my mother is British. I was educated in the UK.’
‘Well, we are sending you home.’ Wong laughed like a mountain goat falling off a cliff. Mann repressed a shudder. ‘The Metropolitan police have undercover agents in Chinatown but haven’t come up with anything so far. You are to go to London and help with the investigation.’
‘Send someone else.’
‘It has to be you.’
Mann kept his eyes fixed on Wong whilst he dug furtively into his pocket. He found what he was looking for, flicked open his phone and pressed the ‘record’ button.
‘In real terms I have nothing to lose by refusing. You intend to have me transferred anyway, it’s already common knowledge. I want some reassurance if I agree to go. So, here’s the deal…I go to London for you and, in return, I get to stay in the OCTB…for at least the next two years.’
Wong fiddled with his glasses, pulled at his cuffs.
‘All right.’
‘All right what?’
Wong sighed with annoyance.
‘If you go to London you can keep your job at the OCTB for the next two years. When will you be ready to leave?’
‘I need a quick shave and a shower. I’ll catch the overnight flight tonight.’
Wong returned to filling in his form with a grunt. Mann walked back to the office where Shrimp was hovering to hear the outcome and Ng was writing up a report. Ng swivelled around on his chair. He rolled his eyes towards Wong’s office. The Superintendent could be seen tidying his desk.
‘Where have you been transferred to? Tibet? Outer Mongolia?’
‘London.’
‘What? Why?’
‘Temporarily—to help with an investigation.’
‘Awesome. Can we all go?’ Shrimp’s face lit up. ‘London is supposed to be the place to get vintage clothes—there’s Carnaby Street, Petticoat Lane, Brick Lane even.’
Mann held up his hand to stop him as he was gathering speed. He shook his head. ‘Nice try, Shrimp, but afraid not. The only Lane you’ll be seeing is the Lane Crawford shop in Causeway Bay.’
‘Why London?’ asked Ng.
‘Did you know CK Leung had more than one child?’
Ng shook his head.
‘Well, he does—a twelve-year-old daughter at school in England, and she’s been kidnapped.’
‘Why you?’
‘Special request.’
Ng wasn’t impressed. ‘Be careful, Mann. Remember: Deep doubts, deep wisdom, small doubts, small wisdom. CK has a plan and evidently you feature in it. If they kill that little girl, God help them. If he blames you—God help you.’
‘I know. But it will be worth it to me if I get it right. I have Wong’s assurance…’ he reached into his pocket for his phone, pulled it out and pressed play. Wong’s voice came over, muffled but it was definitely him. ‘This says that I can stay in the department.’
Ng rolled his eyes and sighed as he took his wallet out from his pocket and begrudgingly handed Shrimp a hundred-dollar bill.
Shrimp took it from him and grinned. ‘That the way the mop flops, old man—nothing personal.’ He turned to Mann and waved the bill in the air. ‘I bet on you staying, he bet you’d be kicked out. But what about the investigation into the new sex-trafficking ring, Boss? What’s going to happen to that?’
‘I don’t think these events are all random. A spate of wealthy abductions—someone’s raising funds and not just anyone—has to be someone with the clout behind them. We know CK has control of the largest trafficking ring. We know there’s a new boy in town. The other kids were kidnapped purely for money, funds. CK’s daughter’s abduction is more than that. Someone is forcing him to show his hand. Carry on the investigation this side—get out on the streets and listen to the talk. Keep tabs on Stevie Ho. We need to find out who he’s working for—is his allegiance still to CK, or is he with the new boys? According to that list you gave me, Ng, Stevie was in London before he went to the Philippines. He must have had business there. If he’s still working for CK he would have brokered the ransom. Why did they choose this child now? It isn’t by accident and they haven’t got what they wanted from CK. My hunch is that this kidnapping has something to do with Stevie increasing his trafficking routes. That means, courtesy of my new friend, Superintendent Wong, my investigation just went global.’ Mann waved and smiled at Wong through the glass. The Superintendent scowled back at him. Mann laughed. ‘I think I’m going to like this open-plan arrangement.’
6
Angeles, Philippines
Fields Avenue, Friendship Road, Blow Row—on the surface, Angeles, a ramshackle town a few kilometres north of San Fernando and an hour’s drive north of Manila, had just a few filthy streets with mediocre restaurants and garish bars to offer the tourist. There was not a great deal to do—there was a nearby volcano to climb but no nice beaches. There was little reason to come to Angeles except for sex. The town was created for that purpose.
Angeles was born to service the needs of the men at the nearby American naval base at Clark. When the Americans were pushed out by the do-gooders, the priests and the nationalists who no longer wanted the Americans’ help or their military bases, the whores and the whorists were left with nowhere to go. The Colonel and a few others stepped in to save those communities, and from ‘disaster’ they created ‘opportunity’—a new Angeles was born, a Disneyland just for sex—a city of fallen angels. Now it was a major destination for every whorist and paedophile in the western world.
The Colonel sat with three other men on one of the four tables outside the Bordello on Fields Avenue. He paused, beer bottle pressed against his mouth, and watched Jed, a big black guy, swagger towards him, walking the walk, talking the talk, bling hanging from around his neck in layers of gold chain and a diamond crucifix. On his arm was a tiny Filipina named Peanut. Jed glanced the Colonel’s way, nodded his head respectfully, grinned at the other men and then swaggered on past into the Bordello.
The Bordello was like all the other bars and hotels down the avenue—a facade. From across the road, face on, it looked like a mock-up of a western saloon, but from the side it looked like a cardboard cut-out supported by a scaffold and attached to a windowless concrete block. It was situated three-quarters up Fields Avenue, before the road widened, branched out and the hotels began. They weren’t proper hotels. There were no five-star accommodations on Fields Avenue. Most hotels offered their rooms at an hourly rate.
The Colonel had called a meeting for eight o’clock in the Tequila Station. He had plenty of time till then. He drank his beer and surveyed his kingdom. In the thirty years he had lived in the Philippines, Angeles was where he’d always been. Firstly as a Chief Petty Officer stationed at the nearby American naval base at Clark, and latterly as the self-styled saviour of the city of fallen angels.
Brandon sat directly to the Colonel’s right, British, shaved head, ex-Marine, his voice thick with a Portsmouth dialect, akin to a gravelly cockney. He had tattoos of Chinese script on both his arms and an eagle stretched across his upper back. He was not a man to move hastily. He had learned to sit back and observe. It had kept him alive in the Marines; it would continue to keep him alive, as long as he never forgot it. Brandon had been with the Colonel for eighteen months now. His job was to control the women, make sure that the young ones stayed scared and compliant and that the others felt the back of his hand. Brandon had not found it easy in the beginning. Hitting women was not in Brandon’s nature, but he had got used to detaching his brain from the work. That’s all it was—work. They were merchandise. The Colonel liked him, he knew that. One day he wanted to take over from him. Of course, there were obstacles to that, and that’s why Brandon had to be good at waiting and watching.
Next to him was Reese, an Australian who was stuck in the seventies—a string of love beads around his neck and flowery board shorts on his skinny legs. His surfer’s curls that were once his pride and joy were now straw, and his once beautiful face was now thin and deeply lined. He sat cross-legged, swinging his suspended leg nervously and fiddling with his cigarette packet.
The fourth man called himself the Teacher.
A few westerners sat in the Bordello at the bar enjoying a late-afternoon beer. It was their lull time. The evening unfolded in a regular pattern. The needs of the whorists were always the same—eat, sleep and fuck—but they formed their own patterns according to their age. From lunchtime onwards the younger ones emerged in packs, tired and hung over. They needed food and a good few beers and to socialise with each other. They got rid of one date, sobered up and recharged themselves ready for another evening of heat and sweat and DNA exchange. The older whorists were loners, even if they had come along with another male they didn’t feel it necessary to stay with them all day and all evening. They sat at bars on their own, picked up a girl early. They were after a companion to have dinner with and spend the night snoring next to. They preferred the calm surroundings and the melancholy country music of the Bordello. They needed to pace themselves.
A barmaid named Comfort kept the energy circulating in the bar with a big smile and a substantial push-up bra. Her laugh ricocheted around the walls as she bantered happily with the three men who had nothing else to do but sit and watch her.
Comfort looked up as Jed and Peanut came in and she moved down to the end of the bar where the signing-in book was. She leaned over the book, pen ready.
Jed didn’t acknowledge the other men in the bar. He walked in as if he were on stage. He talked loud, laughed louder. He was showing the older men that he was a young stud.
‘You got a room for an hour, baby?’
He rested his elbow on the counter and leaned over to get close to Comfort and look further down her cleavage. He grinned smugly; his gold teeth flashed in the gloom of the bar. She grinned back. Peanut stood waiting patiently for it all to be over. She was an un educated girl from the countryside, and spoke very little English. She was unattractive: dark-skinned and rough-featured. Her scrawny legs dropped down from beneath a micro denim skirt like two sticks of gnawed liquorice. But Peanut was a hit with men who liked their women to look like undernourished girls. Jed towered over her at six foot four to her four foot nine.
Comfort flicked her hair back from her face and turned her large round eyes, as clear as amber marbles, towards Jed, ignoring Peanut altogether.
‘You go-in’ to need two hour, Big Boy.’
He raised an eyebrow and let out a laugh that boomed out across the bar. ‘Damn! Is that right? How come? You plannin’ on joinin’ us?’ He ran his hand down her forearm. ‘You want a repeat performance?’ He stroked the round of her breast as it rested on the signing-in book. ‘You missed me that much you want some more of the big man?’
Comfort looked up at Jed and bit her bottom lip playfully.
‘You spoil me. Give me ree-al good time larse time.’ She reached out and ran her fingers lightly down his chest to his crotch. She felt the muscles in his abdomen tense. ‘I’m go-in to have to give it to you for free, Big Man. You leave door unlock. I come up an’ party wid you. Okay?’
He grinned inanely. ‘Oh yeah, baby! Me and Peanut here are gonna be waitin’ for you.’
He flashed his teeth and clicked his tongue, placed his hand on Peanut’s tiny bottom and steered her towards the stairs at the far end of the bar. A door there led to the two floors of short-stay rooms. Above them slept the women who serviced those rooms. He turned back and winked at Comfort. She winked back, waited till he was out of sight then turned to look at the Colonel. He was watching her through the window. He tapped his watch at her. She nodded.
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