“I am not employed by any government. I have no rules but my own. Just return to me what is mine.”
“Think about it. You can become part of something spectacular.”
“Who the hell do you think you are?” Quayle asked him, wearied. “Some Ghengis Khan? You’re no more than a petty hoodlum turned politician who thinks he can pervert the course of history. Now, you may not give a fuck about your wife and kid – but I will bet you need the safe return of the other woman. You wouldn’t want a senior man from the Peoples Republic pissed of at you now, would you?”
Fung Wa’s eyes widened.
“Yes, I know about that. So do my associates. If I don’t get Holly back, your deal with Beijing is over. You will have no family, no business, no future. But that won’t matter because I will get you too. Believe me. Do you understand what I’m saying to you, Fung Wa? This is not a negotiable issue.”
Quayle stepped back a pace without, giving the Chinese tycoon time to think, and took a pointed look at his watch.
“Have Holly ready to hand over to me by 5pm today. I will tell you where at 2pm.” Quayle walked to the big plate glass windows. “Nice view of the harbour. You went public a couple of years ago, didn’t you? Shares nice and stable? That’s one of your ships, isn’t it? I believe you insure your own vessels. Well, come and have a look. I’ve arranged a little demonstration. That bulk carrier down there? Nice boat. A cargo of rice from Shezou, I believe. What’s it worth? A couple of million? Maybe three?” He paused. “Say bye bye, Fung Wa. It’s about to sink. Just like your stocks. Things have only just begun.”
He turned and walked to the doors. “5pm… or you’re fucked.”
After Quayle was gone, Fung Wa walked back to the window and watched in white seething anger as his ship began visibly settling in the water right before his eyes, the work boats and barges backing away, the sea boiling under their transoms as propellers thrashed to gain purchase and a police launch turned towards her, the thin wail of her siren reaching upward.
Quayle spent the next fifteen minutes making sure he wasn’t being followed, then took a cab across to Kowloon. The boat he had waiting was a noisy twenty-five footer with two berths tucked away in a lower cabin. It was here that he found Cockburn, sitting in one of the bunks with a large duffel on the seat beside him. As Quayle dropped down through the tiny companionway, he dropped his feet off the other bunk.
“How’d it go?”
“He’ll play. He’s a prick but he’s shit scared. That other woman did the trick.”
“I should hope so. Do you know who you kidnapped?” Cockburn asked.
“I don’t care, as long as it works.”
“I would think the daughter of one of central committee will work wonders,” he said dryly. “London are having kittens.”
“If London did their jobs in the first place, we wouldn’t be here.” The remark was pointed at Cockburn but he let it ride as Quayle continued, “Anyway, it’s my scene. They want to pull you out, fine... What the fuck was she doing here without the diplomatic protection people watching her?”
“Little shopping trip while her husband does the deal, by all accounts.” Cockburn raised his voice as the engine revs picked up and beneath them the hull began to plane over the water. “Where do you want to do the swap?”
Before Quayle could reply, a young Chinese man called over to them and pointed off to the left. Out on the water, a gaggle of boats was surrounding an oil slick that shimmered with creamy grey light. Police craft shuttled back and forth and a harbour authority vessel was hove to, its crew looking down into the water and talking and pointing.
“Shame,” Cockburn said, “looks like something sunk.” He looked at Quayle. “And we’ve just added piracy to the list of this morning’s crimes…”
“I want an aircraft to get us out of here tonight. Can you line up seats on an RAF flight or something?” Quayle lit a cigarette and inhaled deeply, enjoying the wind in his face. It was his first for days. “If it means getting back onto the mainstream mission, yes I can.”
“Do it.”
“What if it’s not over?”
Quayle’s face hardened. “It will be. One way or the other.”
“And the exchange?”
“Five o’clock. Nice and busy with lots of ferries about. We’ll do the swap on the water directly outside the port police facility.”
“Do you think that will stop him doing anything hostile?”
“No,” admitted Quayle. “He has too much to lose. He’ll try something. Did you get the stuff I asked for?”
“Below in the bag. McReady is bitching about laser sights and things.”
“Wait until you tell him I want a man on the Port police building roof.”
Quayle laughed then, a sharp dry chuckle.
They were in place at exactly ten minutes to five. Above the fourth floor on the roof of the Port Police building, two of Kirov’s Spetznazt men were in position. One was a wiry twenty-six year old sergeant, whose commanding officer claimed was in amongst the six best rifle shots alive. He cradled his own rifle, a customized Dragunov. Four inches had been added to the barrel length, and the butt had been reworked to improve the balance. Chambered for five millimetre magnum rounds and sporting a big American telescopic sight, the young Soviet could put ten out of ten bullets into a football at twelve hundred yards. Today the range would be nearer four hundred, but he was concerned with the windage and its effect on his light ultra fast bullets. A puff of wind, he thought, and he would blow a hole in the Englishman. That was why he had a second rifle at his side. This was a standard Parker Hale
