Red Tide, стр. 77
Once cleared Kelsey found herself in what had been a hotel lobby but was now a nightclub. Art from the time of the Soviet revolution covered the walls.
Among them were pictures of stylized tanks overcoming obstacles, images of Lenin’s jutting profile, paintings of peasants carrying flags, triumphant tractors looming over well-tilled farmland, and mobs of identical soldiers attacking unseen enemies.
The art, combined with the linen covered tables, gleaming cutlery, and well-groomed patrons made for an elegant atmosphere. A singer crooned. Cigar smoke drifted. And Chinese girls in scanty uniforms waited on tables. “Over there,” Mee-Mee said. “Under the chandelier.”
The table Mee-Mee referred to was large enough to seat six but was currently occupied by a single person. Mr. Soo? Yes. And as Kelsey neared the table, she was struck by how ordinary the Dragon Head looked. His hair was short and parted on the right. His glasses had black fames. And the nose they sat on was flat, as if broken by a fist many years earlier.
Soo stood and extended a hand. “Ms. Parker … I’m Andrew Soo. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
“The pleasure is mutual,” Kelsey replied, as they shook hands.
“Please,” Soo said. “Have a seat. How did the meeting with Mr. Ching go?”
Kelsey sat down. “As well as it could. You are well informed.”
Soo nodded agreeably. “I try. Two of Ching’s associates work parttime for me. That’s why I can help you.” Kelsey liked the no nonsense approach.
A waitress arrived, took Kelsey’s order, and left. “So,” Kelsey said. “You understand the nature of the task. Tell me how you plan to handle it.”
Soo nodded. “The Ministry of State Security is going to move your sister to an inland prison two weeks from now. It’s situated hundreds of miles from here, and beyond our reach. That’s the bad news. The good news is that the move offers us the perfect opportunity to strike.
“My personnel will intercept the convoy, divide it into sections, and claim what is ours. We’ll transport your sister to the fishing village of Coloane. That’s where you’ll meet her. It’s well clear of Macau’s harbor defenses.”
Kelsey frowned. “I was hoping you would be able to make the transfer at sea.”
Soo shook his head. “We aren’t sailors, Ms. Parker. There are smugglers though … I could put you in touch with one of them.”
Kelsey’s Mojito arrived along with three spring rolls. She took a sip. “That won’t be necessary, thank you. I’ll put something together. So, Mr. Soo … How much will this operation cost?”
“Six million U.S.,” Soo replied. “With one million down, payable in bitcoin, which must be transferred within forty-eight hours. The balance to be paid within forty-eight hours of delivery.”
Kelsey bit into a spring roll. It was delicious. “Four million. Five hundred down. The rest paid on delivery.”
Soo shook his head. “No. Five million, one million down, with four on delivery. That’s my final offer.”
Kelsey nodded. “Done. Let’s shake on it.” A great deal had been left unsaid. Including the fact that Soo would send assassins to kill the Parkers were they to renege on the deal.
Soo’s hand was cool and firm. “Would you like to join me for dinner? The chef is very good.”
Mee-Mee had been silent throughout. A testimonial to the trust Soo had in her. Kelsey made eye contact. “Is your last name Soo?”
Mee-Mee nodded. “Mr. Soo is my father.”
“Then the three of us will have dinner,” Kelsey said. “And I will pick up the tab.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Manado Harbor, Indonesia
There were few lights to be seen as the Chinese missile boat, and the American PHM that was acting as its escort, entered Manado Bay. A government ordered blackout was in effect. But isolated rectangles of yellow were visible as were occasional headlights.
A search light mounted on top of the wheelhouse came to life as the 22 neared the unlit warehouse and entered the darkness underneath it. That’s where the boats of Squadron 7 were moored. Camera lights came on and Ryson found himself at the center of a media circus.
Seconds after the Type 22 made contact with the dock, Admiral Nathan came aboard followed by a gaggle of reporters and camera people. Ryson was standing on the main deck near the entrance to the bridge. Nathan grabbed his arm. “Here he is!” Nathan proclaimed. “This is Commander Max Ryson, the man who personally captured the warship you’re standing on!”
“How did you do it?” a diminutive blond demanded, as she shoved a microphone into Ryson’s face. “I didn’t do it,” Ryson insisted. “Lieutenant Commander Moy and the crew of the Arcus did it.”
“Did you hear that?” Nathan demanded. “The commander is not only brave, he’s modest! I spoke with Captain Moy … And according to him, Commander Ryson was armed with a shotgun when he jumped onto this ship and killed the man who tried to stop him! And that, ladies and gentlemen, is what we expect of our naval officers. Where are the prisoners? Let’s have a look at them!”
That was just the beginning. The torture continued for the better part of an hour, as Nathan forced Ryson to describe the action from beginning to end. The admiral made no mention of the Sea Dragon however. And for that Ryson was grateful, since to do so would alert the Chinese to Squadron 7’s central mission, assuming they weren’t already aware.
Finally, after the last crew went ashore, Nathan slapped him on the back. “Well done, old sod! It’s distasteful, I know that. But people all over the world are hungry for good news. And there’s nothing like a tale of derring-do to lift their spirits. Not to mention General Haskell’s.
“Lieutenant Tyson can finish up here,” Nathan added. “Grab your kit and join me on the launch. I’ll buy you a drink on the Agger.”
As the launch