Black Horn (28 page)

The
customs officer studied the packing list and then the airway-bill. Finally, he
looked at the large steel container which measured twelve feet by six. He
turned to the airfreight forwarder next to him, who happened to be a cousin,
and asked, with a slight edge of sarcasm in his voice, "Why would anyone
ship furniture by air, at such a cost?"

The
cousin shrugged. "The customer is very rich and impatient." He was
not at all concerned. He had met his cousin the night before at a Dim Sum
restaurant and, after paying for a good meal, he had passed over the envelope
containing the two gold sovereigns.

The
customs officer looked again at the airway-bill, and this time he smiled.
"It's very heavy furniture," he said. "It weighs more than a
couple of tons."

"Solid
mahogany," came the reply.

Ten
minutes later, the airfreight forwarder drove out of the airport customs area
behind a truck carrying the container. He stopped very briefly at a side-street
near Nathan Road. The passenger door opened and Corkscrew Two slid into the
car.

"Any
problems?" he asked.

The
Chinese man pointed at the truck ahead.

"No
problems, sir. They're in there."

Creasy and Frank Miller had just finished lunch in the safehouse when the doorbell
rang. The two men exchanged glances and then Frank stood up, wiping his face
with a napkin, and went down the corridor to the door.

Creasy also stood up and moved to the corridor, and watched as Frank pressed a button
and spoke into the intercom. A voice came back, simply saying, "Corkscrew Two."

Half an
hour later, the three of them were unloading the carefully packed weapons and
checking them one by one. Apart from the two RPG7S, there were four Uzi
submachine-guns and six FNP9 lightweight submachine guns, which, because of
their mostly plastic construction, looked almost frail, but which were one of
the most modern and effective short-range weapons ever devised. Then they
unloaded a variety of pistols ranging from Colt 1911s, all the way down to
lightweight Berettas, together with spare magazines and boxes of ammunition and
soft chamois shoulder-holsters. Then the boxes of grenades, both fragmentation
and phosphorescent. Two boxes of flares followed, one 2-inch mortar and a steel
box of mortar bombs and, finally, a variety of clothing comprising black
trousers and long-sleeved shirts, black socks, black boots, black webbing and
chest pouches and black balaclavas.

The
others arrived one by one about an hour after dark. After Jens and The Owl had
been introduced to Eric Laparte and Do Huang, Creasy led them all into the
dining-room and they sat down for their first full-scale strategy meeting.
Creasy was at the head of the table. He looked at the faces around him and said
to Jens and The Owl, "We are what we are and we're not ashamed of that.
You will not know the words I'm going to speak, but for the rest of us, they are
a Bible. They come from a prayer written by a French paratrooper who died with
honour in 1942. His name was Andre Zirnheld and his courage was legendary. His
words were thus:

"Give me, God, what you still have,
Give me what no one asks for;
I do not ask for wealth
Nor for success, nor even health --
People ask you so often, God, for all that,
You cannot have any left.
Give me, God, what you still have;
Give me what people refuse to accept from you.
I want insecurity and disquietude,
I want turmoil and brawl,
And if you should give them to me, my God,
Once and for all
Let me be sure to have them always,
For I will not always have the courage
To ask you for them."

When he
ended the prayer, the silence was intense. Jens Jensen broke the silence.

"We
need that prayer. The information I have is daunting. Not all of us will leave
this place alive."

Eric
Laparte lifted his head. He looked as though he had had a facelift that had
gone wrong. He said, "That's part of the prayer. Without the risk, there
is no purpose... without a purpose, we have no blood... without blood, we are
nothing. Sometimes we keep it and sometimes we lose it." He looked at the
faces around the table. "Maybe for some of us, the time has come. Maybe that
time has been overdue... How many wars? How many wounds? We have a just
cause."

There
was a combined murmur of agreement and then came the briefing from the Dane.

His
laptop computer appeared and, for an hour, he talked without interruption and
then Creasy took over. He explained that for the coming days they would mount a
major surveillance on the villa in Sai Kung. They needed to find a way to get
in. A frontal attack would be suicidal. He then went through the composition of
the two teams. Creasy himself would lead Tom Sawyer, Frank Miller and The Owl
in one team, and Guido would lead Maxie, Eric Laparte and Do in the other.
Creasy and Guido would be the ones to infiltrate the villa, before the
operation started. The teams had been selected for their various skills. Maxie
and Frank Miller would handle the RPG7 rocket launchers. Eric Laparte and Do
would handle the 2-inch mortars. The would all have SMG's, pistols and
grenades. Creasy immediately came up with an argument from Jens Jensen.

"What
about me? the Dane demanded.

"You'll
handle communications and the base," Creasy answered.

"So,
I'm not capable of being in the field?"

Creasy
sighed. "You well know that somebody has to coordinate the operation.
That's your job. You're damn good at it and we'll all feel secure with you at
the centre that's a bigger contribution than any of us have to make."

Before
the Dane could answer, there were murmurs of approval from the others and Guido
said, "Jens, it is a question of security in our minds. The most important
thing in a fire-fight is knowing what the rest of the team is doing. We'll all
be carrying mobile phones and once the action starts we need to have total
confidence in the co-ordination. I know from experience that you're the best
man for the job and it's the most important job on the team."

There
were more murmurs of assent from around the table. The Dane was mollified, but
still he had another argument. He glanced at The Owl and then back at Creasy
and said, "The Owl is not a mercenary. He has never fought a war. Perhaps
he should be guarding Gloria instead of Rene."

Creasy
was beaten to an answer. The Owl looked at Jens and said, "I've fought in
plenty of wars in the backstreets of Marseille and that's a lot more dangerous
than the Congo or Vietnam. I thank you for your concern, Jens, but I'm going to
be at the front end on this thing."

The
Dane said, "Will you go into action with your Walkman on your belt and
Chopin in your ears?"

"No.
Wagner is more appropriate. I'll be listening to Gotterdammerung."

Lucy
Kwok was surprised. He had told her that, once she arrived in Hong Kong, she
was never to leave the hotel and the presence of Rene Callard. But half an hour
earlier, he had phoned Rene and then spoken to Gloria and then to her. He had
simply said, "In exactly half an hour, leave your hotel, cross Nathan Road
to the Sheraton Hotel and go to Room 54. Don't worry. A couple of our guys will
be covering you."

She did
as instructed and, in spite of herself, was nervous. She knew that she was a
prime target. As she crossed the busy road, her eyes darted back and forth. It
was futile. She would not have recognised a Triad member if she saw one. She
turned at the entrance to the hotel and studied the street, trying to spot her
cover. It was no use. Nathan Road was busy twenty-four hours a day and teeming
with people. She crossed the vast lobby to the lifts. Two minutes later, she
was knocking on the door of Room 54. It opened and Creasy stood there with one
of his rare smiles.

He
said, "I thought it was time that we had a brief hour of leisure."

Two
minutes later they were making love on the huge bed. It amazed her that such a
violent man could make love so gently. He seemed to know every spot of her body
which wanted to be stroked and kissed. For such an obvious man of action, he
was infinitely patient, building up desire until every nerve wanted him inside
her. Even then, he was gentle, and she realised that on the few occasions they
had made love, he had learned exactly what to do with her.

Afterwards,
as they lay in each other's arms, he talked about the operation. At that
moment, Maxie MacDonald and Guido were watching the villa. In four hours, they
would be relieved by Tom Sawyer and Do Huang, and four hours later, by Eric
Laparte and The Owl. The surveillance would continue, twenty-four hours a day
for at least four days, and then they would make their final plan for the
assault. In the meantime, another two men had been added to the team. They were
Tony Cope, an ex-British Naval Officer who had spent time in the elite Special
Boat Service, and Damon Broad, also ex-Navy. They were in Manila, chartering a
fast cruiser and within three days would be taking a holiday cruise in Hong
Kong waters, not a million miles from Tommy Mo's villa in Sai Kung.

Finally,
Creasy clambered off the bed and went to the mini-bar and took out half a
bottle of Moet et Chandon champagne. He poured her a glass.

"You're
not having any?" she asked.

He
smiled. "It may not have seemed like it for the last hour, but actually,
I'm working."

She
drained half the glass, smiled up at him and said, "You do your work very
well...that was beautiful."

Most of
her mind and body was relaxed, but there was an edge of tension. She had decided
not to talk about it until the operation was over, but suddenly she felt the
total necessity of hearing some answers. She asked the first question.

"What
are your feelings for me?"

His
answer came after a pause. "My feelings for you are very strong."

"Do
you love me?"

"I'm
not very good with words or expressing myself. I never have been and never will
be. You mean a great deal to me."

"What
does that mean?"

He
thought about it with obvious care, and then said, "I've always felt that
I'm a twilight man."

"In
what way?"

"Well,
ever since I was seventeen years old, I've been a soldier, and I've been in
battles many times in different parts of the world. Understand that a foreign
legionnaire or a mercenary is always the last line of defence. The French
Foreign Legion never won a war. They were totally expendable. You get paid your
money and you take the risk. So we were, and are, all twilight men. We always
think of ourselves as being in the twilight of our lives. Because the night can
come at any time. It makes it hard to fall in love but of course, it does
happen."

"Did
you love your wife?"

"Yes."

"Did
you tell her?"

"Yes.
But it took a long time and I think she knew it before I did."

"Have
you ever loved anybody else ... I mean, a woman?"

"Yes.
One other. She's also dead maybe I carry that curse with me, which is why I
shie away from that word."

"Did
you tell her?"

"Yes.
And a few minutes later she was dead."

"How?"

"Blown
up in a car bomb, in London."

She put
down the glass of champagne and lay back on the bed and looked at the ceiling.
She said, "Being in love with you sounds like a dangerous
occupation."

He
stroked her raven hair.

"I
thought you'd have realised that by now."

Rene
Callard looked like a slightly ageing playboy, but when it came to work, he was
as intricate as a watchmaker.

The
Presidential Suite lived up to its name. It had three bedrooms, its own
kitchen, a vast lounge and an adjoining dining-room. The whole apartment was
embellished with antique Chinese furniture and artifacts. Rene went over it
inch by inch, checking for any bugs. Then he spoke to the hotel's general
manager, who sent up the security manager. Rene sat the small but
intelligent-looking Chinese across the dining-room table with a notepad and pen
in front of him, and they went through the procedures. He wanted eight by ten
photographs of the room maids assigned to the Suite and the entire Penthouse
floor, together with their names. Each floor had its own service area and
kitchen, and so he wanted photographs and names of all the staff working on
that floor. He wanted to see every single one of them personally. During Mrs
Manners's stay at the hotel, no other staff were to be allowed on to the top floor.
He also wanted details of all the guests who came and went to the various other
suites on the floor, their nationalities and their professions.

In
effect, it was necessary that Mrs Manners's security be rated on the same level
as a Head of State, except for one important exception. There should be no
security guards at all on the penthouse floor. Rene wanted to be the only one
with a gun. He would know the face of anyone who had a legitimate reason to be
on that floor. If a member of the staff became sick and had to be replaced, he
must be informed immediately. If any member of staff needed to enter the room,
they were to phone first and, once they had rung the doorbell, they should move
back and away to the right by not less than five metres and never, under any
circumstances, have a hand in a pocket or be wearing any other garment except
the standard hotel uniform.

The
security manager was impressed. Many Heads of State had stayed in the hotel
since it was built in the late nineteen-twenties and they were used to an army
of security men, all assuming that sheer numbers would protect their charges.
But this quietly spoken Belgian was on his own, and his preparations were
precise.

"Are
you expecting trouble?"

Rene
shrugged. "I'm expecting everything from a leaking tap to World War
Three."