T-shirt and
shorts and brushed her wet hair. Even without any make-up Gray thought
she looked beautiful, her tanned skin perfectly complementing her blonde hair.
“Don’t be long,” she said as she
left the cabin in search of food, and Gray realised just how hungry he
was. After a quick shower he wandered on deck, where he found everyone
sitting round a fully-laden table. He took a seat, said his good mornings
and dived into a plate of sausages and eggs.
“So how is your friend going to
get us to the UK?” Gray asked Hughes.
“I don’t know the details of the
entire route, but I expect entry through the port will be in the back of a
truck.”
“That’s not a guaranteed way in,”
Sonny said, concerned. “I’ve seen the documentaries on the telly and
there are lots of ways of detecting stowaways. They can detect minute
concentrations of carbon dioxide in the back of the trucks, and that’s just for
starters.”
“He has a very high success
rate,” Hughes said. “I’m sure he’s got everything covered.”
Gray hoped his friend was right;
otherwise the closest he would get to redemption would be Dover.
It was five hours later when
they cruised up the narrow channel, passing a jungle-covered island on the left
and industrial units on the right. As they pulled up to the dock Gray saw
a black SUV with tinted windows parked up, and as the gangway was lowered one
of the rear doors opened.
The melon-shaped passenger who
climbed out weighed around two hundred and fifty pounds and was wearing smart
trousers and a white shirt. By the time he climbed the gangway, circles
of sweat had appeared around his armpits.
Hughes was waiting to welcome
him aboard. “Arnold, thank you so much for coming.”
“Not at all,” Tang Ben Lee
smiled. He’d adopted the name Arnold and told anyone who asked that it
gave him what he liked to call “international appeal”. In actual fact, it
was due to ignorant foreigners reading his name as they would in the West and
addressing him as Mr. Lee, which was his given name. His contempt for
westerners came despite having studied at Oxford University, which was where
he’d acquired his accent.
Hughes led him to the stern
where the others were sitting at the table, the onboard lights illuminating
them as the sun began to sink below the horizon. He made the
introductions before placing a glass of expensive cognac in front of
Tang. The Remy Martin Louis XIII cost upwards of fifteen hundred dollars
a bottle and was reserved for a select number of guests.
“I understand you want help with
transporting some goods to England,” Tang said.
Hughes gestured to his four
companions. “That’s right, Arnold.”
“These
people?” Tang asked. “What’s wrong with Malaysian Airlines?”
“They lost their passports,”
Hughes said with a smile, but Tang didn’t reciprocate.
“I’m not happy with this
situation, Timmy,” Tang said. “I don’t usually meet the cargo, for
obvious reasons.”
“Don’t worry, Arnold, I can
vouch for them. I trust them enough to pay for their trip.”
Tang let his displeasure show on
his face as he mulled it over. If he allowed these people to travel
through his network there was a chance that they might expose his role should
they ever get caught. But then again, they already knew about his
involvement.
On the flip side, there was a
lot of money to be made from this shipment, and Arnold Tang knew how to have
his cake and eat it. An idea came into his head, one that would solve the
problem, and he pulled out his phone before speaking quickly in
Cantonese. The conversation lasted just a few seconds.
“The initial part of the journey
will be by boat,” he told the group at the table, “which leaves in eighteen
hours. It will be two weeks before you reach South Africa, so make sure
you bring enough clothes and food for your journey. You’ll be fed on the
ship but I can’t guarantee the quality
shorts and brushed her wet hair. Even without any make-up Gray thought
she looked beautiful, her tanned skin perfectly complementing her blonde hair.
“Don’t be long,” she said as she
left the cabin in search of food, and Gray realised just how hungry he
was. After a quick shower he wandered on deck, where he found everyone
sitting round a fully-laden table. He took a seat, said his good mornings
and dived into a plate of sausages and eggs.
“So how is your friend going to
get us to the UK?” Gray asked Hughes.
“I don’t know the details of the
entire route, but I expect entry through the port will be in the back of a
truck.”
“That’s not a guaranteed way in,”
Sonny said, concerned. “I’ve seen the documentaries on the telly and
there are lots of ways of detecting stowaways. They can detect minute
concentrations of carbon dioxide in the back of the trucks, and that’s just for
starters.”
“He has a very high success
rate,” Hughes said. “I’m sure he’s got everything covered.”
Gray hoped his friend was right;
otherwise the closest he would get to redemption would be Dover.
It was five hours later when
they cruised up the narrow channel, passing a jungle-covered island on the left
and industrial units on the right. As they pulled up to the dock Gray saw
a black SUV with tinted windows parked up, and as the gangway was lowered one
of the rear doors opened.
The melon-shaped passenger who
climbed out weighed around two hundred and fifty pounds and was wearing smart
trousers and a white shirt. By the time he climbed the gangway, circles
of sweat had appeared around his armpits.
Hughes was waiting to welcome
him aboard. “Arnold, thank you so much for coming.”
“Not at all,” Tang Ben Lee
smiled. He’d adopted the name Arnold and told anyone who asked that it
gave him what he liked to call “international appeal”. In actual fact, it
was due to ignorant foreigners reading his name as they would in the West and
addressing him as Mr. Lee, which was his given name. His contempt for
westerners came despite having studied at Oxford University, which was where
he’d acquired his accent.
Hughes led him to the stern
where the others were sitting at the table, the onboard lights illuminating
them as the sun began to sink below the horizon. He made the
introductions before placing a glass of expensive cognac in front of
Tang. The Remy Martin Louis XIII cost upwards of fifteen hundred dollars
a bottle and was reserved for a select number of guests.
“I understand you want help with
transporting some goods to England,” Tang said.
Hughes gestured to his four
companions. “That’s right, Arnold.”
“These
people?” Tang asked. “What’s wrong with Malaysian Airlines?”
“They lost their passports,”
Hughes said with a smile, but Tang didn’t reciprocate.
“I’m not happy with this
situation, Timmy,” Tang said. “I don’t usually meet the cargo, for
obvious reasons.”
“Don’t worry, Arnold, I can
vouch for them. I trust them enough to pay for their trip.”
Tang let his displeasure show on
his face as he mulled it over. If he allowed these people to travel
through his network there was a chance that they might expose his role should
they ever get caught. But then again, they already knew about his
involvement.
On the flip side, there was a
lot of money to be made from this shipment, and Arnold Tang knew how to have
his cake and eat it. An idea came into his head, one that would solve the
problem, and he pulled out his phone before speaking quickly in
Cantonese. The conversation lasted just a few seconds.
“The initial part of the journey
will be by boat,” he told the group at the table, “which leaves in eighteen
hours. It will be two weeks before you reach South Africa, so make sure
you bring enough clothes and food for your journey. You’ll be fed on the
ship but I can’t guarantee the quality