FEARLESS FINN'S MURDEROUS ADVENTURE (51 page)

She called me over to join her, and at precisely eleven fifty-nine a.m. we tugged the string together…firing the Noon Day Gun a full minute too soon! I bet it was the first time that’s happened in a hundred years or more. Bless her Dutch cotton socks….I can’t think of a more fitting send-off. My parting shot from Hong Kong was premature! Ha!

———

I have mixed emotions as the Cathay Pacific Boeing 747 lifts off from Kai Tak Airport and swings out over Castle Peak. It will be good to get home, and to see Anna again, but I can’t say I won’t miss Hong Kong.

Notwithstanding the tragic loss of Susie, Hong Kong has been a fair refuge. I’ve done well from its laissez-faire economy and privileged expat lifestyle. And thanks to Vincenzo and Earl, the duck farmers in Taiwan, General Manuel Noriega of Panama, and Uncle Angelo of the Cosa Nostra, Mac and I will never have to worry about money again.

———

I am relieved that Finn Flynn is on his way back to Europe, but life is far from harmonious for the Sun Yat Sun. No sooner did he leave Hong Kong than the Royal Hong Kong Police and the Polícia de Macau began showing a keen interest in him…and everyone he associated with in Asia. They are seeking the whereabouts of a commander in the Provisional IRA. He was wanted by the Irish Gardaí until today – I am informed – but the Swedish Police and Interpol are still searching for him.

Fortunately, the RHKP and the Polícia de Macau do not always question their own officers, and the murders of twenty Russian citizens and a homosexual stockbroker are not connected to Flynn…yet. Mountain Master Fu in Belfast would not be pleased if I had to tell him that the Irishman he sent here had been arrested for murders in Hong Kong and Macau.

———

The flying grand tour of Europe that Roger Wynne sent me on turned out to be useful after all; it gave Mac time to organise another passport for me. Finbar Furlong disappeared in Paris, and Urho Laukkanen of Finland arrived at Heathrow Airport with Rory Mac Kyle of New Zealand.

I sneaked back into Ireland on the ferry from Fishguard Harbour – no passport required and no questions asked. One of Mac’s London lads is driving my luggage home next week, but he doesn’t know who it belongs to.

For the time being, I’m holed up about fifty kilometres south of Dublin, in Ashford, County Wicklow. It’s near enough to Arklow harbour…if I need to make an unseen getaway on a trawler again.

Johnny Sparrow’s really come through for me. He moved two million US dollars from the bank in Macau to a fiduciary bank in Jersey, and he sent me two hundred thousand cash through a Hundi underground bank operating out of an Asian rattan importer in Dalkey Village, County Dublin. He also settled my bill at the Island-Shangri La, and wired the balances from my Hong Kong bank accounts to a Jersey account for Mac. I reckon Mac should have about fifty thousand pounds after the currency conversion – it’ll keep him going for a while anyway, until we know what we’re at.

When this other business is over I’ll have Johnny wire two hundred fifty thousand US dollars to the bank in Kungsgatan, in Stockholm – to re-pay what Ingrid stole. An anonymous note explaining that Ingrid acted out of kindness, trying to help a friend in trouble, will arrive at the bank the same day as the wire money transfer.

Johnny won’t exactly be told why the money will be sent to Stockholm using a fake account number, but he’s a merchant banker through and through. He was groomed from prep school not to poke his nose into other people’s business, or to ask too many questions. I’m sure he’ll figure it out if he doesn’t cop on immediately, but he’ll keep himself to himself about it.

———

I’ve been home for five weeks, but I haven’t contacted the Army Council. In fairness, they sent word through Mac that the guards have officially crossed me off the list of Clonmel kidnap suspects.

I keep asking meself, where were all these so-called Republican hard men when the likes of students like me, and apprentices like Mac, joined the poor bastards on the barricades against the B-Specials? I’ll tell you where they were – sitting in pubs, listening to rebel songs and swilling pints of stout…yapping about blowing up horses and sad auld fellahs. That’s where they were. Blowing up all those fine Irish horses on London’s Horse Guards Parade was a load of bollocks. I didn’t sign up to kill fine Irish horses or blow up Mountbatten – that harmless auld queen out doing a bit of fishing…and paying a few local lads to carry his tackle. And now there’s talk of the Armagh boys joining up with the Dundalk Brigade and breaking away from PIRA. MI5 and MI6 must love all this infighting…it could be the end of the Provos.

Fionn mac Cumhaill, my ancestor, would be spinning in his grave at the cut of them, so he would. And I want nothing more to do with them…the bad bastards!

They say that there’s no such creature as an ex-Provisional IRA commander walking the Earth. You’re either in, let out due to ill health, or dead. Now, we’ll just have to see about that won’t we!

HONG KONG, WALES, IRELAND, THE NETHERLANDS and ENGLAND

I am surprised
to have received a message from Finn Flynn. He has asked me to get a tip off about his heroin shipment to Broken Elbow of the Macau 14K Triad. Broken Elbow must learn that two hundred kilos of heroin ‘belonging to the Sun Yat Sun’ is
en route
to Belfast, Northern Ireland via Hull, England. This information should then reach the ears of the 14K’s friends in Belfast – Master Fu’s ‘rivals’. Finn Flynn assures me this will be beneficial to Master Fu.

I suppose by rivals Finn means the Ulster Freedom Fighters; they are the ones trying to take over illegal gambling from the Sun Yat Sun. Why they call themselves ‘Freedom Fighters’ is beyond me. Who is supposed to give them their freedom? Irish politics is as fanciful as the Irish people.

Nevertheless, the tricky part will be to make certain that the UFF believe what they hear. I have been told that most of the UDR and RUC Reserves are also members of the UFF. Master Fu can use a known police informant to whisper into the ear of his RUC controller that a large shipment of heroin is on its way to Belfast. The RUC will spread these whispers to the RUC Reserves and the UDR, and the combined intelligence – from the 14K and the RUC – is certain to convince the UFF about the drugs.

I can’t imagine what Finn is hoping to achieve by guaranteeing that an attempt will be made to steal his heroin. I would dearly like to know what he has planned. But if it helps Master Fu – and upsets Broken Elbow’s friends – I am happy to help.

Finn Flynn has learned something of our Chinese ways during his short time with us. He has realised that when speaking to an elder you make requests, not demands…and never give orders.

———

I’m in Wales…just like Finn told me to be, see. I used the money he wired through Western Union to buy a used Winnebago camper van, and I had it serviced this afternoon. Finn calls me once a day in the B&B, checking up on me I suppose. When he rings tonight I’ll tell him I’m leaving for Rotterdam in the morning, see.

If it weren’t for my darling daughter I wouldn’t be involved in any of this. I felt guilty for not marrying her mother. But how could I? I’m already married, see. And I only started gambling when I didn’t have the money for airfare to visit Mei-Xiu in Singapore.

I guess that’s not exactly true….Us brokers gamble millions on the fickle ups and downs of shares, but it’s all other people’s money, see. Shares go up and shares go down – makes no odds to us. We get our commission either way, see.

Damn it! I’m only back in Wales a week and already I’ve slipped back to the way I talked as a kid – practically every statement ends with a
see
…see. I’ll have to watch it when I get back to those rich buggers in Hong Kong. It’s nothing but the Queen’s English and my finest Sloan Ranger accent for them…which is funny, seeing as half of them come from Essex and talk with a flat London accent. At least they do when they’re rat arsed after a few grams of coke or a jeroboam of champagne.

———

I’ve never been comfortable relying on complicated plans, especially when I have little control over the players, the timing and the outcomes at every stage. But the idea is to get the UFF nicked with the heroin, or failing that, Paul Wills. Even if the heroin makes it to Hull, things can go wrong. If the shipment isn’t grabbed by the UFF the plan will be bollixed, and I’ll have to settle for Paul being done for the drugs. But if they do grab it, and the police don’t respond in time, the UFF bastards will get away with two hundred kilos of ninety-eight per cent pure heroin worth over six million pounds. Anyway, it’s my plan, and I think I’ve done all I can to make it work. Of course, that doesn’t make me feel any better.…

Paul is leaving for Rotterdam in the morning. When he drives the Winnebago camper van on to the ferry in Hull a satellite phone will be handed to him. I’ve told him to carry out any instructions he’s given by a caller with an Ulster accent.

When I phoned Eddie he told me that Broken Elbow knows about ‘the Sun Yat Sun’s heroin’ arriving in Hull, and he guaranteed me that he’ll be in Rotterdam in time to meet the shipment. Eddie will pack the heroin into the camper van himself and drive it on to the ferry. He’ll make the crossing to Hull and leave the van at the ferry terminal car park for Paul.

After that, I’m depending on those UFF bully boys being unable to resist taking a lolly from a baby. Psychology 101 at Trinity College didn’t cover this rather specific scenario so, as usual, I’m working on a wing and a prayer. I can only hope that they’re hungry enough to throw caution to the wind, but we’ll just have to wait and see if greed gets the upper hand.

I’ll need the IRA code word when I make the call to the Anti-Terrorist Branch about the Winnebago camper van in Hull – or else they won’t take me seriously. The code word is used to confirm genuine bomb threats to the Special Branch, and the Anti-Terrorist Branch is part of the Special Branch. A new word is called in to a secure number in London’s New Scotland Yard each morning before nine a.m., and Mac has access to the word. Anyway, I’ll have to say the van is full of arms.

Feck me! Assuming the UFF know about the shipment, they still don’t know exactly when or where it’s arriving in Hull. Now, if they were to get the number of the driver’s satellite phone, that would make things much easier for them. I’ll have to talk to Uncle Sui….

———

Finn Flynn’s plan is devious, conniving, smart and very Chinese. Who could imagine that a
gweilo
would think like that? I see how this will definitely benefit Master Fu.

Finn has requested my assistance in making sure that the UFF pricks get the number of the satellite phone that will be carried by Paul Wills. Finn believes the UFF will contact Paul and order him to drive the shipment someplace of their choosing. The UFF does not know exactly when or where the drugs will arrive in Hull, so I suppose this makes sense; having contact with Paul will save them time and trouble. The UFF will threaten him and tell him he is being watched to make him comply; they will not know that he will be expecting their call.

I will accomplish this last favour for Finn Flynn in a way that serves Master Fu directly. Since the UFF began stepping on the Sun Yat Sun’s toes in Belfast, Master Fu has become suspicious of one of his ordinary members, a 49er. And Master Fu’s suspicions are never incorrect.

Master Fu’s most trusted Straw Sandal, his liaison officer, will meet the 49er for breakfast the morning the heroin arrives in Hull. The Straw Sandal will whisper hints about a large shipment arriving in the UK that morning, and he will say that he must contact the driver with instructions. He will be called away on urgent business, and he will not notice that he has dropped the number of the satellite phone on the floor. If Master Fu’s suspicions are correct, the UFF will receive the number within minutes…and the 49er will no longer be a problem.

———

The shipment has arrived in Rotterdam; Mac rang Paul and told him to leave the camper van at a pier off Vondelingenweg. Uncle Sui’s friends lease the whole pier, so no port authorities will bother them while they stuff the van with heroin.

I’m counting on the UFF wanting to get their thieving hands on the smack as soon as it arrives in Hull, but I don’t want those bastards getting Paul to drive all the way to the ferry terminal in Stranraer, Scotland. I better ring him with instructions.

———

I just left the camper van where the guy with the Ulster accent told me to leave it, see. Damn, the satellite phone is ringing again.…I hope I left the van in the right place.

“Hello.”

“Listen up now Paul….You’ve to travel back as a foot passenger on the nine p.m. ferry. I’ll ring when you get to Hull and tell you where to collect the package. Within thirty minutes of my call the UFF should ring you. You have to insist that you can’t drive the camper van more than twenty kilometres. Tell them you’re running out of diesel and you’ve no money to buy more if you have to. Act frightened, but insist you’ve got to stay in Hull, or nearby. Got it?”

“Got it.”

I took a taxi away from the docks, and the driver dropped me at a coffee shop he recommended. He advised me to get back to the port a good half hour before sailing if I want to get a berth, or a decent seat near the exit.