“I think this could be fun,” McAlistair said as he smeared a large chunk of camouflage cream on his cheek. “This reminds me of the good old days.”
“Shut up and concentrate,” Jedburgh said and took the mirror from him and passed it to Scrimple.
Bottle watched them impassively, sitting in a chair by the door to the suite they were using to get ready for the raid.
“I think you should wear a vest,” Jedburgh said to Bottle.
The old policeman shook his head. “It will be too bulky. They’ll notice right away and think something’s up.”
There was a pile of Kevlar bullet-proof vests on the king-sized bed. They were dark blue and if one looked carefully one could faintly see the outline of the letters LAPD stenciled on them.
“Are we wearing vests?” Scrimple asked. He was nervous and the quiet calm of the other men frightened him because it underscored what they were about to do that evening.
Rung sat in a corner smoking and grinning. He had one of the sub-machine guns lying across his legs and looked like a bandit about to raid a rival opium trafficker’s hideout in the Golden Triangle.
Jedburgh picked up one of the vests from the bed and tossed it at Scrimple. “Of course we're wearing vests. This is good kit. We’re going up against armed men. This isn’t Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid. No need to dodge bullets. Put it on underneath your shirt.”
“Have you ever been hit by a bullet?” Scrimple asked. Jedburgh pulled up part of his trouser leg by way of reply and showed a scar that ran along his right calf muscle. “That was a ricochet. If it had been a direct hit I’d be in a wheel chair.”
Bottle said, “I know you guys will be careful. For your sake’s and for Pim’s.”
Jedburgh patted the old man on the shoulder. The bodyguard Poom was downstairs getting the car ready and would also come along on the raid.
It’s a regular little army, Scrimple thought and flattened out the Velcro, pulling it up and tightening it again until the vest sat well on his bulky frame. It smelt of mothballs and ancient sweat. Somehow they had fallen off the back of a lorry in Los Angeles and found their way to Thailand. He slapped the palm of his hand against the chest plate and it made a hard, solid sound. Maybe not enough to stop a direct hit from a high velocity round but it was the best they had. He began buttoning up his loose shirt over the top.
“Now let’s remember the most important rule in an engagement,” Jedburgh said. “Fire Control. Especially you and you.” He pointed his fingers at Scrimple and Rung. “We control our rounds. We don’t just blast off a whole magazine like crazy when it starts to get noisy.” Jedburgh stared at the Thai bandit. “Kau jai mai?”
“Kau jai krap, kau jai krap,” Rung grinned.
“Scrimple, I know you understand what I’m talking about but it’s easy to get panicky when people start opening fire on you. You run for cover, roll, come up in a firing position and observe before returning fire. We’re not Americans just loosening off covering fire for the sake of it.”
McAlistair nodded sagely. “Jedburgh knows. Used to be a Platoon Commander in Ireland before he joined the RHKP.”
“Long time ago and I could run a lot faster in those days,” Jedburgh commented and picked up his sub-machine gun and began running through the basic safety procedures, then getting Scrimple and McAlistair to follow and practice. They spent about twenty minutes on this and then packed everything up in the large black dive bags that they’d bought.
Finally they trooped out of the back of the building, down the fire escape so nobody would see them, all dressed in black with faces smeared to disguise their features.
A large Mercedes was parked downstairs and Poom handed the keys over to Jedburgh then went to sit in the car behind, which was a silver Toyota that belonged to Bottle. Poom had picked up the black Mercedes from McAlistair’s garage earlier and it had seen better days.
“I’m not sure it’s bullet proof but it’s a Merc after all,” McAlistair had said. “They make them as solid as you can get, down in Stuttgart.”
“Is that where they still make them?” Scrimple asked, his bland question covering his nervousness.
“I guess so. You don’t think Mercedes would be mad enough to make anything in China? Fall apart after half a year.” McAlistair considered for a moment or two. “Who knows, maybe they are making them in China these days. But if you buy a Mercedes you want a German car made by big blond Aryan workers, not a battalion of little choggies, right? It would be bad business to make Mercedes in China. I wouldn’t trust a car made in China.”
“I read somewhere that Airbus are starting to make planes in China soon,” Scrimple said.
“God help us, there’ll be fatal crashes every week. The Chinese will cheat on the materials to squeeze a few extra bucks out of the product.”
“Shut the fuck up, McAlistair,” Jedburgh growled. They slammed the heavy doors shut and he put the battle wagon into drive.
* * * *
William sat on the porch with the mobile phone in his hand and a Glock 17 on the teak coffee table.
There were two armed guards on the gate, both with Kalashnikovs which were an easy weapon to find in Thailand, so near to Vietnam. Chisin was on the balcony above with a Remington 700 which had a bolt action and a telescopic site. William wasn’t expecting anything but he didn’t underestimate the Old Man and although he thought the chance of a double cross was low it couldn’t entirely be discounted.
Assistant Commissioner Bottle had been a near legend in his time. He’d stood up to a crowd of five thousand rioters who’d gone berserk when the Hong Kong Star Ferry company had raised their fares one day. He’d stared the crowd down, a lone English police inspector wearing a pair of shorts and a revolver on a lanyard. They’d grumbled and gone back to their noodle shops and squatter huts which the government later rebuilt for them into huge concrete sky-scrapers which now made up most of Hong Kong’s skyline. Bottle had been in the thick of it during the most exciting years the old English colony had experienced. He’d survived the blood-letting of the anti-corruption clean up and he’d thrived and reached the exalted ranks of senior police management before being put out to pasture.
But now he was just an old fuck who’d pissed off William with a vengeance. And so Chisin was going to take him in his sights. William considered the matter, still in two minds whether he should obey Madam Tang’s instructions not to kill Bottle. Was it worth incurring her displeasure? She’d specifically told him what she expected. He could claim it was an accident and that Bottle had started shooting or something.
She would still get angry. There was still something there between those two old people.
William kept thinking it through. Looking at the possible outcomes and anticipating the rage that Madam Tang would fly into if he told her her bastard husband had died.
Would she accept William’s explanation? Or would she punish him? Would it be worth the old woman’s anger to get rid of the old man? Or maybe it was time for the old woman to move on as well? That was a much bigger consideration. A thought he was afraid of because other men had tried and failed. She was, after all, the sister of her brother and Tang Siu Ling had been the most feared, the most ruthless and most revered of the great gangster leaders. Until an unknown assassin had killed him, one night, while he was playing mahjong at a friend’s villa on the Peak.
William’s fingers stroked the handy Austrian automatic with the seventeen-round magazine as he thought of the future and of his own ambitions. And then always came back to the more simple thought that Bottle deserved to die for wasting all their time.
* * * *
While planning the operation, they had studied the map printed out from Google with great care. Now Bottle’s car led the way and Scrimple tried to recognize some of the roads and landmarks from his previous visit but wasn’t doing too well.
They turned left and right amongst a suburban sprawl of large walled and gated properties. It was easy to get lost because most of the places looked identical, hiding their fancy buildings behind the security of the walls.
Bottle’s Toyota turned left and they followed. The streets were dim, poorly lit from unevenly spaced street lights. An open air stall was still doing business selling cigarettes, drinks and snacks. Otherwise everywhere was quiet. It was 2200hrs or thereabouts.
Scrimple’s body armor felt tight and dug into the top of his thighs. He sat in the front next to Jedburgh. Sweat was dripping down from his forehead and running along the curve of his cheeks despite the aircon blowing directly at his face. He gripped the stock of the MP5 assault rifle tightly and wondered if there would be a chance, or a need to use it later. Emotionally he wanted to, but intellectually he felt that it would be the wrong outcome for the evening. It would be much better if everything could be settled calmly, and nobody lost their head or their temper. Or their lives.
“Nearly there,” McAlistair muttered. Sitting next to him in the back, Rung lit another Krung Thip cigarette and blew the smoke out of the partially opened window.
Part of the plan was for Rung and McAlistair to go around the back and sneak in from there. Bottle had said there was a door which led onto a back alley and although it was made of stainless steel, he had a key for it. If for any reason the key didn’t work anymore, McAlistair had a crowbar and between the two of them should be able to force open the lock. That would be noisy so it was a last resort. Slipping in quietly was a much better option.
They had no way of knowing how many armed men they’d find at the site. Things could have changed in the last ten days since Bottle had cut his ties with them. They had no idea where the girl might be kept but most likely she would be in an upstairs bedroom. There was no basement in this kind of building. They didn’t have very much information. Mostly it was assumptions so Jedburgh had smiled tightly and said they would have to play a lot by ear. Firefights were a fluid situation. Planning was good, but fast reactions were better.
“Pretty much everybody you’ll see is a hostile, except the girl Pim,” Jedburgh had reminded everyone and held up a photo that Bottle had give him which showed the girl with her father. There was no likeness between the old man and the girl. She looked nearly entirely Asian except a difference in the cheekbones and the raised, straight nose which could imply mixed race or, as Scrimple had previously assumed, someone who had been through the plastic surgery, like a million vain Thai girls.
“So,” McAlistair had said with a smirk, “why don’t we just kill everybody as soon as we walk through the door?”
Jedburgh shrugged and looked at Bottle who had a pained expression on his face but didn’t reply.
“The plan is to contain and control the situation,” Jedburgh made clear. “Let’s see how it goes. Plan B is to lay down lots of firepower.”
Rung only seemed to understand half of what had been said but at this point he had raised his MP5 and shook it a few times. The video games were obviously improving his English.
They came to the back of the house and Bottle’s Toyota stopped. Jedburgh stopped their Mercedes. Poom’s hand pointed out of the Toyota’s window at the small metal door, set into the high wall. Hopefully Bottle’s key would work and they didn’t have to use the crowbar. McAlistair and Rung jumped from the Mercedes and ran to the shadows of the wall.
The Toyota carried on and Jedburgh put the Mercedes back in drive and followed until they came to the end of the block and went around the corner driving around to the front of the walled mansion.
When they got to the front gate both cars stopped and Bottle stepped out of the Toyota and went to ring the door bell.
Scrimple watched, his fingers tapping a slow tattoo on the pistol grip of the MP5.
“Make sure you’re clear on how the safety works,” Jedburgh said without looking at him.
* * * *
William heard the gate bell chime and checked his watch. The old man was exactly on time. What else did he expect from a former Assistant Commissioner? The night was quiet and the air was warm but not unpleasant.
He stood up and holstered the Glock 17. Looking up at the balcony he growled at Chisin who told him to fuck his mother, he was awake.
The front guards opened the gate and as it swung open a Toyota nosed gently forward followed by a Mercedes that William didn’t recognize. He was instantly alert and felt a tiny shot of adrenalin bolt through his chest as if he’d taken an methamphetamine pill.
“And who the fuck is this?” he said to himself, stepping forward while resting his palm on the top of the Glock. The guards assumed that the two cars were together and had let both of them in before closing the gate again. The other car was a dark Mercedes and it sat like a glowering Panther next to the Toyota. Bottle had come in walking and now moved past the two cars and came towards William.
He held a briefcase in his hand and there was a grim expression on his face as he came closer to William. The light from the front rooms was bright enough for everyone to see each other clearly as they stood on the drive. The two guards at the gate were smart enough to step back and raise their Kalashnikovs, waiting for further instructions.
Bottle gave a sign and the driver got out of the Toyota. It was Poom, who’d been Bottle’s man for some time. The doors of the Mercedes opened and William recognized the fat Englishman Scrimple with a tall, hard-looking man whom he didn’t know.
“What the fuck are they doing here?” William demanded.
“They’re with me,” Bottle said evenly. “Did you think I would just come by myself?”
“How the hell would I know? What do you want? We had a deal. The girl for the papers.”
“We still have that deal. I don’t know why I should trust you but you can trust me.”
William shrugged. “I don’t care what you think of me.” He winked. “What is it between you and the girl? Why is she so loyal to you?”
“Leadership and loyalty is something you may not understand much about, William.”
“I had to rape her before she finally told me where to find you.”
Bottle’s face grew pale despite his normal suntan. The skin around his eyes tightened but he didn’t say anything. William liked the reaction. It told him that he’d upset the old man. That was good.
“After I raped her, Chisin and the boys had a go. They all said she was sweet and tight.”
“Do you want to talk rubbish or do you want to trade? Without these documents you can’t complete the land transfer deal. I don’t want to give them to you but I’m here. Is the girl still alive?”
William laughed and out of the corner of his eye he watched both Scrimple and the other man who both seemed to be holding sub-machine guns as they stood half-hidden behind the opened car doors.
“She’ll survive,” William said. “She’s a little bit uglier but who cares?”
“What have you done with her?” Bottle said sharply.
“Nothing much. Enough to make her talk. Now before we do anything more, you have to tell your friends to throw their guns down or I’ll have the guys at the gate shoot them.”
* * * *
Jedburgh smiled coldly at Scrimple and said, “This is going to get a bit messy.”
He leant forward and tapped his chest to activate the transmitter on the throat mike he was wearing.
“McAlistair, there’s a guy with a rifle on the balcony. Are you in? Okay. You need to take him out as soon as you can.”
Where they were standing they couldn’t hear what William and Bottle were saying but Scrimple thought it might not be going so well because Bottle suddenly raised his voice.
On the other side of the car Jedburgh said, “Okay, I’m going to casually turn around and take out the guy on the right of the gate. Can you take out the other one?”
Scrimple swallowed hard and felt the blood pound in his temples. This was it. “Yes, I'll take him,” he replied.
“On the count of three,” Jedburgh said and quietly counted down, then turned and with a short burst from the MP5 cut the guard down.
As he heard the number three, Scrimple began turning as well, visualizing the guard and reminding himself to keep the muzzle of the sub-machine gun low, pointing first at the shins.
He turned, realized the guard had moved a few yards, got the weapon into his shoulder, found him in his sights, and jerked the trigger. The MP5 kicked and bucked in his hands and the muzzle pulled left and upwards but he was ready for it and the guard went flying back into the flower bed.
The moment he saw the guard go down, Scrimple ducked and crouched behind the heavy doors of the Mercedes. All hell was let loose as gunfire erupted from all around him. He thought Jedburgh was firing more bursts, there was the lighter, shorter cough of handguns and one sharp bark from a rifle. Then more distant automatic fire from MP5’s which could have been McAlistair and Rung.
“Cease fire, cease fire,” Jedburgh’s calm voice commanded and suddenly there was silence.
Scrimple risked a look around the side of the door and found McAlistair and Rung coming across the lawn. The glass in all the windows was shattered from gunfire and it looked as if Bottle had been shot. Jedburgh was running along the driveway.
“I think I hit him,” Jedburgh yelled.
“He went around the side of the house,” McAlistair yelled back.
“I’ll follow him. You go in and clear the house. Find the girl,” Jedburgh shouted. “Scrimple, check that the two guards are down. Then check on Bottle. William shot him in the chest.”
He struggled to his feet and dashed forward, advancing behind the muzzle of his gun, towards where the first guard lay, the one Jedburgh had shot. It took only a moment to confirm that he was dead, the face completely destroyed and half his torso missing. The second guard was in no better shape. Scrimple stared at the damage he’d done, then shook himself, turned and ran over to where Bottle lay on the gravel path.
“Ah, Jesus,” Scrimple heard himself say as he fell down to his knees next to the old man. Bottle was clutching his chest which was wet with brown liquid that had soaked all across his white shirt.
“You should have worn a vest, you bloody old fool.”
Bottle coughed and choked. His eyes met Scrimple’s and he tried to say something. Scrimple leant forward and put his ear closer to Bottle's face. It was too bloody late for any first aid. There was a bag of field dressings in the back of the Merc but Bottle was fading fast.
The old man tried to speak again and Scrimple tried to listen.
“You did good...boy. Better than...better...than I expected.” The words came out laboriously. “Find her...my daughter. Tell her I’m...proud of her...”
Scrimple watched and listened as the old man kept struggling for breath. A moment later Jedburgh dropped to his knees next to him with an armful of field dressings. “Start pressing these on his chest. Push down as hard as you can. Remember your training?” He slapped Scrimple hard on the back which seemed to galvanize him. “We’ve found the girl so we have to move out now. We need to get Bottle to the nearest hospital on the main road.”
Scrimple stared at his own hands in a daze as he fumbled with the bandages and they began to soak up the liquid from Bottle’s chest.
The old man kept on trying to breathe, pushing back against the pressure Scrimple was applying to stop the bleeding. Suddenly he was pushed aside and realized that it was Pim.
She had let out a vast sigh of anguish and tried to gather Bottle into her arms. She was babbling rapidly in Thai. Scrimple looked up and around and found Jedburgh, McAlistair, Rung and Poom standing in a semi-circle.
“Time to go,” Jedburgh ordered. “Same cars. McAlistair, you and me lift the old man. Scrimple, get the girl away from him.”
But Pim wouldn’t let go of her father even after he had died, lying there on the driveway.