Kowloon Racing Club

James Rawlins

Description

Hong Kong, 1992. Successful young English expat Charley Thornhill is bored by his predictable lifestyle. In search of adventure, he dreams up a game: The Kowloon Racing Club.The rulesare simple. On receipt of the signal, drop whatever you are doing and race tobe the first to find ahidden target in one of the city's many iconic and atmosphericlocations.But witnessinga disturbing incident during a race sets off a chain of events that turnsCharley's life upside down.As things spiral rapidly out of control, he finds himselfcaught up between the triads and MI6 in a world where hehas no idea who he cantrust or which side to pick.

Sujets

• Thriller

Informations

• Publié par: Troubador Publishing Ltd
• Date de parution: 28 février 2022
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781803138961
• Langue: English
• Poids de l'ouvrage: 3 Mo

Extrait

Copyright © 2022 James Rawlins

The moral right of the author has been asserted.

Apart from any fair dealing for the purposes of research or private study, or criticism or review, as permitted under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988, this publication may only be reproduced, stored or transmitted, in any form or by any means, with the prior permission in writing of the publishers, or in the case of reprographic reproduction in accordance with the terms of licences issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency. Enquiries concerning reproduction outside those terms should be sent to the publishers.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

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ISBN 9781803138961

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To Sam
Contents
Part 1: The Game
Into the Walled City
The debrief
The cargo port
Laying low
The heebie-jeebies
A deal gone wrong
Meerkats
An invitation to dinner
Mr Leung
Never Tear Us Apart
Extenuating circumstances
A game within a game
Mr X and the dirty money
The driving range

Part 2: The Spy
Paul and Tom explain: Part 1
A chat on the Peak
The coffee shop
Paul and Tom explain: Part 2
The waiting game
All at sea
The new fund
A warning
The Summer Palace
On such minutiae the law turns
Shells within shells
Tommy Law, the Wembley Wizard
Sunday morning, Saturday afternoon
You look a little pale
Transworld Import-Export
Guest houses, tailors and okra stew
The turning point
A test
Something more concrete
Caught in the act
Quarterly statements

Part 3: The Truth
The village
The stakeout
Back to Transworld
The big ask
A case of mistaken identity
The calm before the storm
Silver Mine Bay
A last word from Max
The kidnapping
Confusion
A mutual friend
The truth



Part 1: The Game


1
Into the Walled City
Hong Kong, Thursday 16 th April, 1992
Charley Thornhill looked down at the three packets of heroin powder laid out on the counter before him and frowned. He let out a sigh of disappointment and exasperation, then glanced at his watch and cursed under his breath. He really didn’t have time for this.
He looked up at the matronly Chinese lady who was standing on the other side of the counter, watching him and smiling expectantly. She was wearing a light blue pyjama top, and on the wall behind her were several faded posters showing images of common dental problems. Charley himself was wearing a dark grey suit, white shirt, and a red tie.
It was a bizarre situation. And one he needed to extract himself from, quickly, and without any further complications. He smiled apologetically back at the lady and began to speak.
‘Ah, I’m sorry. I think there has been, erm, a misunderstanding.’
Her smile vanished like a light being switched off.
***
Approximately one hour earlier
Charley sat back in his chair and looked up at the clock on the wall. He turned to the young Chinese analyst sitting next to him.
‘It’s going to take us another hour or two to work up the extra calculations that Tom wanted, Lee,’ he said, gesturing at the computer printouts spread out over the table in front of them. ‘It might be a good idea for us to get some take-away dinner. Do you mind popping down?’
‘Sure, no problem,’ Lee replied, ‘but I can probably get this done on my own if you don’t want to stick around.’
‘It’s okay,’ Charley said, ‘I don’t have anything on tonight. And the cricket doesn’t start till tom…’
He was interrupted by a buzzing noise coming from the briefcase he had put on the chair next to him. He stopped talking and looked at it. Lee looked at him, and then at the briefcase. The insistent buzzing continued for a few seconds, then went quiet.
Charley looked at Lee, and stood up.
‘Actually, why don’t you soldier on with this and we’ll take a look in the morning? Think you can manage? Good man.’ He picked up his briefcase and slung his suit jacket over his arm.
‘Okay,’ said Lee, a little hesitantly, ‘I can do that. Although we didn’t discuss…’
‘You’ll be fine. I’ll call later,’ Charley called over his shoulder, already walking briskly towards the lifts, the corners of his mouth turning up in a grin, his eyes sparkling with anticipation, and all thoughts of takeaway dinner and asset valuation scenarios quickly vanishing from his mind.
***
Max van Damm watched the waiter pouring red wine into his glass, and when he started to lift the bottle away, waved his fingers impatiently and successfully procured an extra inch. It was mediocre stuff, but he didn’t care. He had been listening to the man seated to his left droning on about the Chinese economy for the last fifteen minutes and thought that if he was mildly drunk, the rest of the evening might be more bearable.
The appearance of another waiter, this time with plates of food, silenced his neighbour. They both looked down, and then Max glanced up at the little menu card resting against a vase of flowers in the middle of the table, and remembered he had pre-ordered the beef wellington. It didn’t look too bad.
‘Well, this doesn’t look too bad,’ he said to his neighbour, hoping to head off any further lectures about Chinese central banking policy. And then he felt it, buzzing away in his jacket pocket, the vibrations clearly detectable through the chair his jacket was hanging on.
‘Thank fuck for that,’ he mouthed exultantly under his breath.
He looked around the table. Everyone had been served and a few people were picking up their cutlery. He sawed off a large chunk of beef and pastry and ate it quickly, followed by several more rapid mouthfuls, not caring what anyone thought of his lack of manners.
‘Hungry, eh?’ said his neighbour, who was yet to start on his meal.
Max nodded, still chewing, and then made a show of reaching down to get something from his jacket. He pulled the pager out of his pocket, and looking at the screen, shook his head regretfully.
He turned to the man, swallowed his mouthful, and said, ‘family emergency back home. I’ve got to get to a phone. Sorry to run off.’
And with that, he stood up, pulled on his jacket, and marched out of the room, pausing briefly at his boss’s chair to whisper something in his ear. When the door of the elegant private dining room closed behind him, he began to run down the short corridor, scattering waiters before him.
***
When Dominic Kendall heard the buzzing of the pager, he gently put down the two bowls of spaghetti bolognese on the worktop, and looked forlornly over to where it sat next to his keys and wallet.
‘Do you need a hand, honey?’ Wendy called through from the living room, where she was sitting at the dining table reading last month’s Vogue magazine with the glass of wine Dom had poured her.
Not for the first time, Dom reflected that being married was a significant disadvantage when the pager sounded. The others didn’t have to deal with this. He walked over to the pager and picked it up. His eyes widened in momentary surprise when he read the message on the tiny screen. Then he shook his head and gave a low whistle of admiration. He stood still in the kitchen for a moment, thinking. Then he picked up one of the bowls and carried it into the living room.
‘What’s up?’ asked his wife, when she saw the single bowl in his hand, and the glum expression on his face.
‘Something’s come up with the airline. Some major cock-up with the in-flight meals. I’ve got to get over there and try to sort it out. I’m so sorry, I know it was supposed to be our night in.’ He put the bowl down in front of her and kissed her on the cheek.
‘What about you – don’t you have time to eat first?’ she asked.
‘No, I called in from the study, they’ve got three flights leaving tonight and hundreds of passengers wanting to know what’s going on.’ He patted his stomach. ‘I need to lose some weight anyway,’ he said with a rueful smile.
He walked back into the kitchen and called up the taxi company. He hated lying to Wendy like this. Why had he ever agreed to keep it secret even from his wife?
***
The taxi joined the traffic heading into the Cross-Harbour Tunnel and Charley decided it was time to tell the driver where he really wanted to go. When he had caught it on the street outside his firm’s office in Central, he had asked for the airport, as it was the same direction, and he hadn’t wanted to spook the driver. Now that they were in the tunnel, he thought it was safe to tell him.
He leaned forward, hoping the driver spoke more English than it had seemed so far.
‘Change of plan,’ he said. ‘I don’t want to go Kai Tak. Take me to Kowloon Walled City instead. Okay?’
The driver’s eyes flicked up to look at him in the rear-view mirror and he grunted something in Cantonese. He was extremely thin and looked very pale in the tunnel’s soft lighting.
‘Do you understand? Not the airport. Kowloon Walled City.’
The driver nodded briefly and exhaled noisily, a gesture that seemed to convey several different emotions, none of them complimentary towards Charley, though it wasn’t clear