‘Ahh! Your Chinese is very good – very high class, but I understand everything you say. Yet only two zhongtou-‘
‘Hours,’ interrupted Webb. ‘We’re speaking English, remember, and I don’t want to be misunderstood. But these two hours and your tip, and the remaining twenty-two hours and that tip, will depend on how well we get along, won’t it?’
‘Yes, yes!’ cried Pak-fei, the driver, as he gunned the Daimler’s motor and authoritatively careened out into the intolerable traffic of Salisbury Road. ‘I shall endeavour to provide very excellent service!’
He did, and the names and images that had come to David in the hotel room were reinforced by their actual counterparts. He knew the streets of the Central District, recognized The Mandarin Hotel, and the Hong Kong Club, and Chater
Square with the colony’s Supreme Court opposite the banking giants of Hong Kong. He had walked through the crowded pedestrian lanes to the wild confusion that was the Star Ferry, the island’s continuous link to Kowloon. Queen’s Road, Hillier, Possession Street… the garish Wanchai, it all came back to him, in the sense that he had been there, been to those places, knew them, knew the streets, even the short-cuts to take going from one place to another. He recognized the winding road to Aberdeen, anticipated the sight of the gaudy floating restaurants and, beyond, the unbelievable congestion of junks and sampans of the boat people, a massive floating community of the perpetually dispossessed; he could even hear the clatter and slaps and shrieks of the mah-jong players, hotly contesting their bets under the dim glow of swaying lanterns at night. He had met men and women -contacts and conduits, he reflected – on the beaches of Shek O and Big Wave, and he had swum in the crowded waters of Repulse Bay, with its huge ersatz statuary and the decaying elegance of the old colonial hotel. He had seen it all, he knew it all, yet he could relate it all to nothing.
He looked at his watch; they had been driving for nearly two hours. There was a last stop to make on the island and then he would put Pak-fei to the test. ‘Head back to Chater Square,’ he said. ‘I have business at one of the banks. You can wait for me. ‘
Money was not only a social and industrial lubricant, but in large enough amounts it was a passport to manoeuvrability. Without it, men running were stymied, their options limited, and those in pursuit frequently in limbo for the options were beyond their means to sustain the hunt. And the greater the amount, the more facile its release; witness the struggle of the man whose resources permit him to apply for no more than a $500 loan as compared with the relative ease another has with a line of credit of $500, 000. So it was for David at the bank in Chater Square. Accommodation was swift and professional; an attache case was provided without comment for the transport of the funds, and the offer of a guard to accompany him to his hotel was made should he feel more comfortable with one. He declined, signed the release
papers and no further questions were asked. He returned to the car in the busy street.
He leaned forward, resting his left hand on the soft fabric of the front seat inches from the driver’s head. He held an American $100 bill between his thumb and index finger. ‘Pak-fei,’ he said, ‘I need a gun. ‘
Slowly the driver’s head turned. He gazed at the bill, then turned further to look at Webb. Gone was the forced ebullience, the overweening desire to please. Instead, the expression on his lined face was passive, his sloped eyes distant. ‘Kowloon,’ he answered. ‘In the Mongkok.’ He took the hundred dollars.
9
The Daimler limousine crawled through the congested street in Mongkok, an urban mass that had the unenviable distinction of being the most densely populated city district in the history of mankind. Populated, it must be recorded, almost exclusively by Chinese. A Western face was so much a rarity that it drew curious glances, at once hostile and amused. No white man or woman was ever encouraged to go to Mongkok after dark; no Oriental Cotton Club existed here. It was not a matter of racism but the recognition of reality. There was too little space for their own – and they guarded their own as millennia of Chinese had done from the earliest dynasties. The family was all, it was everything, and too many families lived not so much in squalor but within the confines of a single room with a single bed and mats on coarse, clean floors. Everywhere the multitude of small balconies attested to the demands of cleanliness, as no one ever appeared on them except to hang continuous lines of laundry. The tiers of these open balconies filled the sides of adjacent apartment houses and seemed to be in constant agitation as the breezes blew against the immense walls of fabric, causing garments of all descriptions to dance in place by the tens of thousands, further proof of the extraordinary numbers that inhabited the area.
Nor was the Mongkok poor. Lavishly manufactured colour was everywhere with bright red the predominant
magnet. Enormous and elaborate signs could be seen wherever the eye roamed above the crowds; advertisements that successively rose three storeys high lined the streets and the alleyways, the Chinese characters emphatic in their attempts to seduce consumers. There was money in Mongkok, quiet money, as well as hysterical money, but not always legitimate money. What there was not was excess space, and what there was of it belonged to their own, not outsiders, unless an outsider – brought in by one of their own – also brought in money to feed the insatiable machine that produced a vast array of worldly goods, and some not so much worldly as other-worldly. It was a question of knowing where to look and having the price. Pak-fei, the driver, knew where to look, and Jason Bourne had the price.
‘I will stop and make a phone call,’ said Pak-fei, pulling behind a double-parked truck. ‘I will lock you in and be quick. ‘
‘Is that necessary?’ asked Webb.
‘It is your briefcase, sir, not mine. ‘
Good Lord, thought David, he was a fool! He had not considered the attach6 case. He was carrying over $300, 000 into the heart of Mongkok as if it were his lunch. He gripped the handle, pulling the case to his lap, and checked the hasps; they were secure, but if both buttons were jolted even slightly, the lid would snap up. He yelled at the driver, who had climbed out of the car. ‘Get me some tape! Adhesive tape!’
It was too late. The sounds of the street were deafening, the crowds nothing less than a weaving human blanket, and they were everywhere. And suddenly everywhere became the windows of the Daimler. A hundred pairs of eyes peered in from all sides, then contorted faces were pressed against the glass – on all sides – and Webb was the core of a newly erupted street volcano. He could hear the questioning shrieks of Bin go ah? and Chong man tui, roughly the English equivalent of ‘Who is it?’ and ‘A mouth that’s full,’ or as combined, ‘Who’s the big shot?’ He felt like a caged animal being studied by a horde of beasts from another species, perhaps vicious. He held onto the case, staring straight ahead, and as two hands started clawing at the slight space in
the upper window on his right, he reached slowly down into his pocket for the hunting knife. The fingers broke through.
‘Jau!’ screamed Pak-fei, thrashing his way through the crowd. This is a most important taipan and the police up the street will pour boiling oil on your genitals if you disturb him! Get away, away? He unlocked the door, jumped in behind the wheel and yanked the door shut amid furious curses. He started the engine, gunned it, then pressed his hand on the powerful horn and held it there, raising the cacophony to unbearable proportions as the sea of bodies slowly, reluctantly parted. The Daimler lurched in fits and starts down the narrow street.
‘Where are we going?’ shouted Webb. ‘I thought we were there!’
The merchant you will deal with has moved his place of business, sir, which is good, for this is not a savoury district of the Mongkok. ‘
‘You should have called first. That wasn’t very pleasant back there. ‘
‘If I may correct the impression of imperfect service, sir,’ said Pak-fei, glancing at David in the rear view mirror. ‘We now know that you are not being followed. As a consequence / am not being followed to where I drive you. ‘
‘What are you talking about?’
‘You go with your hands free into a large bank on Chater Square and you come out with your hands not free. You carry a briefcase. ‘