The businessman's mouth went dry. His tongue seemed to be stuck to the roof of his pallet; it seemed to be ages before he eventually formed the words,
“What do you mean? My man reported the he had successfully obtained the information!” He trembled as he tried to retain his composure.
“We don’t mind if people have to be eliminated but we do not like to draw attention to ourselves!” came the frigid response.
“The man told us that he was checking on the warehouse lease at the request of his brother — Ling something or other. They’re looking for this Ling bloke now — what’s wrong with that?” he spat defiantly, his confidence returning with the saliva in his mouth.
“You fool. Your man left a note nailed to the woman’s decapitated head! We start with the wives and children written in blood!” He voice paused. “Just where did you find him?”
“I told you — I had them on loan from that warlord we’re shipping some of the arms to.”
“Well I’ve had a very angry call about it, together with strict orders to ensure that, whoever they are, they must be taken out immediately. So, your task is simple: we want this Ling and his unidentified companion, together with those two maniacs dealt with immediately. Is that understood? By the way have you identified Ling’s companion yet?”
“I’m waiting for the photos to be enhanced. They were not very clear. All we can tell at this time is that he’s European. I hope to know more in an hour or so.”
“Well it would help if you produced something quickly, don’t you think?” The voice paused. “Either way, I recommend that you see that those two animals at least are dealt with now, then as soon as we know who the other man is, we can go to the next stage. You got that?” The voice did not wait for a reply. The line went dead.
The businessman replaced the receiver; in spite of the air conditioning, perspiration ran freely down his furrowed brow. He wiped his face with a large handkerchief then picked up the telephone again, consulting a notebook with his other hand. He selected a number and dialled. The call was answered after a few seconds.
“I have a job for you. Urgent. Extremely urgent. The usual place in thirty minutes please,” he said and replaced the receiver.
His face was drawn as he visualised the scene he’d just had described to him. Getting up from the desk, he made towards the door.
“My God, what have they done?” he said aloud to the empty room, closing the door as he left.
The man he had arranged to meet was in his late fifties, of medium height and inconspicuous in his appearance. In fact, he looked very much like an ordinary innocent tourist. The businessman pulled up a chair at the café table and sat down. He did not greet the man already sitting at there in any kind of formal way.
“I have a rather delicate job for you.” He passed over a photo. “Know these two?”
The man looked up sharply.
“You’re dammed right I do. That’s Franco Ebola’s two top hit men. What’s the problem?”
“We used them for a job and they broke the rules. They have to be removed. I know that’s going to be a problem for you but I’ve had approval for double your usual fee. In all our interests, it should look as though they were caught in the act and we’d like these men to be seen as their executioners. Can you manage that?” He passed over another photograph.
“We don’t know this one on the right — but this one is Ling Po.” The businessman stabbed the photograph with his finely manicured finger. “He is a small time British Government agent. I have some addresses etcetera.” He looked at the man in anticipation. “I’ll have the name of the other one soon; so what do you think?”
The man was silent for a while. “Double the fee eh?” he smiled greedily. “Must be important then?”
“Yes but don’t get too greedy. You know how sensitive my master’s about that sort of thing!”
The man raised his hand.
“Don’t panic — just joking! Double will be quite acceptable,” he soothed the businessman. “What’s the time scale?”
“This one is most urgent!” The businessman tapped the men’s picture.
“To set this up right, I’m going to need at least forty-eight hours.”
“Alright but no longer.” The businessman man waved a piece of paper. “The addresses.” He passed it to the man and turned to leave but suddenly stopped, turned and faced the man, blurting out in uncharacteristic anger. “And in case you want to know why, they cut a woman’s head off and nailed a message to it.” He shook his head, still finding the act hard to believe and then walked briskly back to his office; his direct telephone was ringing as he entered the room and he grabbed the handset.
“Yes?” he addressed the instrument. He listened. “Ah good you received the photos. Was the other man recognised?”
“No,” the caller replied, “but I’ve sent them on for further examination. Have you organised anything re those maniacs yet?”
“It’s all in hand,” the businessman was pleased to be able to confirm.
“Good — and I’ll need confirmation the minute it’s completed,” was the firm reply; the voice did not wait for an acknowledgment. The line went dead.
Alex made two more mobile calls as he backtracked from the main road looking for the café in the old dock area. When he eventually found the place, it looked even scruffier in the daylight than it had before. He stepped cautiously through the open entrance and was surprised to find that it was cool, fresh and spotlessly clean inside. Two men sat huddled in conversation at a table in one corner; they were the only customers. The youngish woman behind the low counter looked up from wiping a copper water boiler.
“Good morning,” she welcomed him politely in English.
“And a very good morning to you,” Alex replied cheerfully. “A large breakfast tea and some toast please.” He chose a chair at one of the tables on the opposite side to the two men.
“Sure thing,” the girl confirmed and vanished into the kitchen at the rear; four or five minutes later she reappeared carrying a tray with a plate of homemade rye bread. It had been cut into thick slices and freshly toasted — a pat of butter, some milk, sugar and a covered stone pot completed the offering. She placed the tray on his table.
“I’ll be right back with the tea,” she said, scurried behind the counter and reappeared with a teapot and mug.
“That looks fantastic,” he congratulated her. “What’s in the pot?” He peered at the contents.
“Honey,” she smiled, “it is very good for you! So eat your toast now, while it’s still hot!” she ordered, walking back towards the counter.
“OK, OK” Alex submitted happily. “But before you go, I have to get a message to my friend Old Ming-Ho. Do you know where to find him?” She turned to look at him, as did the two men.
The smile had gone now.
“What do you want with Ming-Ho?” she asked curtly.
The two men appeared to return to their own conversation.
“Oh, he’s helping me to find some people. Do you know where he is then?” As he spoke, Alex casually buttered a piece of the toast then spread a large spoon of the thick honey onto it. He studied the masterpiece for a moment then, apparently satisfied with his preparation, took a bite and munched noisily. He smiled slightly as his taste buds signalled that it was delicious.
The woman, hands on hips, watched and waited in anticipation.
Alex savoured the mouthful for a moment.
“That’s the best breakfast toast and honey I’ve ever had in my life!” he declared honestly.