Hungry Ghost (47 page)

That sounded great coming from a Chinese, thought Dugan, albeit one with an American passport.

Once the accident was behind them the Merc picked up speed and a few minutes later they were Kowloon-side, heading for Hebe Haven. One by one cars left the motorcade, parking on the approach roads leading to the bay, effectively sealing off the area. By the time they were travelling along the Clearwater Bay Road there were just two cars left accompanying the Merc.

Dugan looked at his watch. Half an hour to go before the deadline. His mouth felt dry and uncomfortable and swallowing was difficult. He wanted something to drink but didn’t want to ask Ng. Face, thought Dugan ruefully, didn’t only apply to the Chinese.

Leigh’s car kept close to the motorcade until he heard over the radio that an unmarked Special Branch car had Ng in sight. They dropped back then and let the undercover boys do the work. Two elderly Toyotas and a Nissan took it in turns to take the lead, rotating regularly so that the triads wouldn’t spot them. Eventually the call came over the radio that the Merc had pulled into Hebe Haven, by the sea. Leigh told them all to drive past and asked his own driver to pull into a side road.

He thought for a while, and then radioed the men in the Nissan, telling them to get into the Toyotas. The driver of the Nissan could then go back to the pier and check it out. One of the Toyotas was to wait about a mile away from Hebe Haven along Hiram’s Highway, while the men in the other were to take the high ground and find a vantage point where they could look down on to Ng and the triads.

‘Have you got any binoculars?’ he asked.

‘Negative,’ was the reply. Leigh just shrugged; there was no point in getting upset, it was his own fault for not reminding them before setting out. If they could think for themselves they wouldn’t be constables.

He waited patiently until one of the men radioed back to say he was in position, overlooking the pier at Hebe Haven. At the same time the Nissan turned into the road and drove down to the line of parking spaces. Both reported that Ng’s Mercedes had gone, leaving behind a slightly overweight gweilo wearing nothing but a pair of shorts and carrying a leather case.

‘Dugan,’ said Leigh under his breath. He told his men to stay where they were. He looked at his watch. Ten to four. None of this made any sense. What the hell was Dugan up to?

Lin Wing-wah was standing on the same spot he had occupied only days earlier when Simon Ng had been waiting at the water’s edge. He studied Dugan through his binoculars and sneered at the way the gweilo’s stomach bulged over the top of his shorts. He could see that he was sweating profusely under the afternoon sun and already his skin was beginning to redden. Dugan paced up and down slowly, his eyes scanning the horizon.

Lin watched a dirty red Nissan drive towards the pier and park. He checked out the driver. A young Chinese, scruffily dressed, reading a newspaper and eating a chocolate bar. Lin turned the binoculars back on Dugan. As he watched he took a toothpick from his shirt pocket and began to work at the gaps between his teeth. Down below, Tse and Lam were parked at the roadside with the detector. He called Ng on his walkie-talkie: ‘Nothing so far,’ he said. He called up the teams out in the bay one by one. All had nothing to report. He stopped picking his teeth and looked at his watch. Two minutes to four.

Dugan wiped his forehead with the back of his hand and it came away soaking wet. There was no shade and he could feel the hot sun burning his shoulders. He wasn’t used to the sun; he disliked sunbathing and rarely went to the beach, and while his legs and arms were tanned from playing rugby, his upper body rarely saw daylight and was white and pasty, and his skin would burn easily.

He swung the bag by his side, hoping that the homing device was working. He’d switched it on before getting out of Ng’s Mercedes, but there was no way of telling if the detector was picking it up. He walked to the top of the steps leading down to the water at the side of the pier and looked down. He wondered what he would do if Howells appeared and demanded that he go underwater with him. Would he go? Dugan didn’t know how he would react; he had to get Sophie back, but the thought of how his brother-in-law had died under the waves made his blood run cold.

He heard a car and turned around to see a taxi driving down the road. He shielded his eyes from the sun to see better. There was a girl sitting in the back.

Lin watched the taxi turn off Hiram’s Highway and head down towards the bollards where Dugan stood. He spat out the toothpick and called Ng. ‘There’s a taxi stopping near the pier. Only one girl in it. She’s getting out and going over to Dugan.’

‘Any sign of the gweilo?’ asked Ng.

‘No, no. She’s on her own – they are talking – she’s trying to take the bag from him but he’s keeping it away from her. They’re arguing. What is the prick playing at? Now they’re both walking back to the taxi. This is it.’

Over the radio came Ng’s voice, calmly telling him to go back to the van. Lin jogged down the hill, the binoculars banging against his chest. Tse was in the driver’s seat and he switched the engine on when he saw Lin. Ricky Lam stayed crouched in the back. ‘Here you are, Elder Brother,’ he said, and handed over the receiver. Lin thanked him and told Tse to stay on the alert; they had no way of knowing which way the taxi would go when it left with the ransom.

The girl who got out of the taxi and walked towards Dugan was casually dressed in faded denims and she wore wrap-around sunglasses. She had a small canvas satchel, the strap across her shoulder. She kept her hand on the top as if frightened someone would steal her purse. The girl looked nervous, moving her head left and right as she walked, but there was no doubt it was Dugan she was heading for. She stopped a few feet away from him.

‘I’ve come for the diamonds,’ she said, and held out her hand.

‘Where is Sophie?’ Dugan asked.

The girl frowned. ‘I don’t know anybody called Sophie.’ She stepped forward and tried to take the case from him.

‘No,’ said Dugan sharply, holding it out of her reach. ‘No you don’t. Not till I know Sophie is all right.’

The girl seemed totally confused; she moved back, and then stepped forward again, but Dugan refused to let her take the attaché case. The girl looked over her shoulder at the taxi, and then at Dugan.

‘You must give me the case,’ she insisted. ‘You must.’

‘Where is Howells?’

‘Please,’ she said, and he could sense the urgency in her voice. ‘Give me the case.’

‘Take me to Howells first,’ insisted Dugan. ‘No Howells, no diamonds.’

The girl began biting her lip and her hands were shaking. She put both hands on top of her canvas bag and gripped it tightly. Dugan wondered if she had a gun. There was enough room.

‘Come with me,’ she said eventually, and walked back to the taxi. Dugan followed her, sweat trickling down his back.

The plainclothes constable in the Nissan watched over the top of his newspaper as Dugan got into the cab, but made no move to use his radio. He knew that one of his colleagues would already be relaying the information to Chief Inspector Leigh. He waited until the taxi had pulled away before starting his car, and slowly followed them up the road. The taxi indicated left and headed for Tsim Sha Tsui. So did the Nissan.

‘They’re coming this way,’ said Ng. He told Hui Ying-chuen to start driving back towards Tsim Sha Tsui, so that they could keep ahead of the taxi. Hui had practically begged to be allowed to drive, even though Ng Wai-sun had told him it meant handling the Mercedes and its automatic transmission. Hui said he would put up with it. Lin had said the trace was working perfectly so all the triad cars were able to keep their distance until the girl handed over the diamonds to the gweilo.

‘Something wrong?’ asked his father, twisting his body round in the front seat.

‘Dugan was arguing with the girl and refused to hand over the case. He got into the taxi with the girl.’

‘Perhaps he wanted to check that Sophie was unharmed before handing it over.’

‘That’s probably it,’ agreed Ng. ‘I hope he doesn’t get in the way. He is, when all is said and done, still a policeman.’

The taxi driver hadn’t waited for the girl to speak; as soon as Dugan closed the door he drove off, turning left on to the main road. He was wearing grubby white woollen gloves with the fingers and thumbs cut off, a black jacket with the collar turned up and a flat cap, the sort that gamekeepers wear when out shooting rabbits. He didn’t bother asking for directions so he obviously knew where he was going. The girl leant forward to speak to him, but as she did the driver cleared his throat noisily and accelerated, throwing her back into the seat. She looked as if she was about to burst into tears.

‘He wouldn’t give me the bag,’ she whimpered.

Dugan thought she was talking to him. ‘I won’t give it to you until you tell me where Sophie is,’ he said in Cantonese.

‘Speak English,’ snapped the taxi driver. ‘Who the fuck are you?’

Dugan sat stunned, looking from the back of the driver’s head to the girl and to the driver again, trying to work out what was happening. The driver turned round to look at Dugan, the eyes hidden by black sunglasses. With the glasses and hat it was hard to tell what nationality he was, but the accent was one hundred per cent English. ‘I won’t ask again,’ the man said and turned back to concentrate on the road, accelerating out of a curve.

‘Dugan. Pat Dugan.’

‘The brother-in-law,’ said Howells. ‘I should have guessed.’

‘I’m Sophie’s uncle,’ said Dugan. He lifted the bag up. ‘And you’re not getting this until I know she’s safe.’

‘If you do as you’re told she’ll be fine.’

‘I know what you did to her father.’ Dugan was conscious that Howells was speaking very quickly, obviously so that the girl wouldn’t be able to follow the conversation. Few Cantonese could keep up with English at speed, especially when native speakers dropped into slang.

‘You don’t know why I did it. You don’t know what you’re talking about.’ He fumbled in the pocket of his jacket and pulled out a small plastic bottle containing six white tablets which he tossed at Dugan. ‘I want you to take three of those.’

‘Do you think I’m stupid?’

‘I’m starting to wonder, Dugan. Look, if I wanted to put you out of your misery I’d just stick something sharp between your ribs.’ He pulled the handle of a knife from the inside of his jacket, just enough to show Dugan that he was serious. ‘Look at the label on the side; they came from a doctor, they’re not poison.’

‘So what are they?’

‘They’re sedatives, they’ll slow you down. I’m not going to hurt you, and I’m not going to hurt the girl. I just want to get away from Hong Kong, and for that I need the stones. What I don’t want is to have to fight you. Take the tablets and I’ll feel a whole lot easier. And as soon as I know I’m in the clear I’ll tell you where the girl is.’

Dugan unscrewed the top of the bottle and picked out three of the tablets. He put one in his mouth and swallowed but his throat was so dry it stuck there until he tried again. He felt like throwing up.

‘All of them, Dugan.’

He swallowed the other two with difficulty. He waited anxiously for something to happen, but there was no dizziness, no numbness.

Amy watched as he took the tablets, a frown on her face as she tried to work out what Geoff Howells was up to and why he was giving Dr Wu’s medicine to the big, sweating gweilo.

‘Can you see them?’ asked Leigh.

His car was stuck behind a labouring double-decker bus that ground its gears as it assaulted the hill. Behind them a green Mitsubishi played chicken with their rear bumper.

‘No, sir. And at this speed he’s going to be leaving us far behind.’

I know that, thought Leigh. He didn’t say so, the man was only trying to help. He’d ordered the Nissan to hang back in case they recognized it, so the two Toyotas were taking it in turns to tail the taxi. He radioed his men and was told that they could see it, and that they were some two miles away from the crawling bus. ‘Damn this bus,’ he cursed under his breath. ‘Damn this bus and damn Patrick Dugan.’

Thomas Ng’s Mercedes was about as far in front of the taxi as Leigh was behind it. He was talking on his walkie-talkie to Lin, checking that the Hung Kwan official hadn’t lost Dugan or the diamonds. He hadn’t. One of the Red Poles broke in on the radio to say that there was a carload of uniformed police on the road to Tsim Sha Tsui, heading their way.

‘Where are they?’ asked Ng.

‘Stuck behind a China Motor Bus. We’re right behind the police.’

‘Keep an eye on them. It’s probably a coincidence.’

‘Something wrong?’ asked his father.

‘There are police on the road, but they’re some way behind us. I don’t think it’s a problem.’

‘And still no sign of the gweilo?’

‘No. Just the girl and Dugan. But the gweilo can’t be far away.’

Dugan rested his head against the window. He was starting to feel drowsy and the vibrations made him want to retch – or maybe it was the effect of the tablets on his empty stomach. He opened his eyes wide and shook his head from side to side. He felt like he normally did after drinking six or seven pints of San Miguel. He heard Amy talking to Howells, but it seemed as if he was listening down a long tube that distorted her voice.

‘What’s happening, Geoff?’ she asked. She was leaning over the back of the seat, her arms folded under her chin.

‘Don’t worry, Amy, it will be all right.’

‘Who is he? And why won’t he give us the diamonds? You said they would give them to us so we can sell them?’

‘We can, Amy. And we will. And then we can both leave Hong Kong.’

She smiled, pleased that he’d said ‘we’, pleased that he intended to take her with him. She wanted to kiss him, but at the speed he was driving she couldn’t risk distracting him. They were racing down Argyle Street, past the grey squarish building that housed the Kowloon Regional Police HQ. Amy felt a twinge of anxiety, knowing that the building was packed with police and that she was breaking the law, though in exactly what way she wasn’t sure.