“What do you want?” the body squeaked meekly in Chinese.
“What are you doing here?” Ling snapped back in the same dialect.
The man tried to stand up but was clearly in pain. Without speaking, Alex stepped forward to help the man to his feet. Though hesitant at first, he accepted the help.
“I was…I was hiding from you,” he replied defiantly, stretching his aching limbs.
“Why?” Ling asked, curious.
The old man looked away.
“I used to live opposite here,” he said sadly, pointing to a heap of rubble a few metres away. “But they knocked down all the buildings when they took over the dock here.” He pointed to the fenced area.
“When was this?” Ling urged gently.
“About six months ago.” The man looked frightened. “You anything to do with them?” he asked nervously, nodding in the same direction as he tried to walk away, an expression of fear in his face.
“It’s OK,” Ling tried to assure him, “we have nothing to do with them — or the authorities for that matter. We mean you no harm — so you can relax.”
The man stopped, still wary but curious.
“I haven’t seen anyone, other than local people, since they fenced this off,” the old man queried. “So what are you doing around here then?” But his defiance wilted when he heard Alex speak English.
“What’s it all about Ling?” Alex asked impatiently.
“Hang on a minute Alex — he may have seen something useful. I’ll ask.” Ling turned to speak but the man answered in perfect English.
“You’re English?” the old guy asked Alex, curious. “Some of those are English — well they speak English. I’ve heard them talking,” he went on, visibly tensing as he spoke.
“Yes I’m English but not one of those, OK?” He indicated with his thumb. “Look how can we help you? Do you need food? A doctor or something?” Alex offered, trying to sound reassuring.
The old man hesitated for a moment then, seeming to have made up his mind that he was not about to be mugged or worse, replied, “Thank you but I can manage and I suggest that you stay away from these people. They are dangerous and evil. Two bodies have been washed up here recently; I’m sure they had something to do with it.” He looked about furtively. “I just drifted down here in a sense of remorse. Do you know when they pushed us out of the house they didn’t give us time to collect anything other than our cooking pots and a few sleeping things. The bastards!” He scowled and turned to leave when the lights of an approaching vehicle flashed across the empty quay.
It was a small pickup truck. The driver stopped at the fence, jumped down from the cab, opened the gate with his key, then drove into the enclosure and across to the large roller doors of the warehouse.
“Come on,” whispered Alex, “he’s left the gate open.”
Alex led the way through the gates with Ling the old Chinese following close behind. They turned along the line of the fence then hunched up and tiptoed into the shadows of the warehouse just as the driver opened the roller doors and switched on the lights. The rattling of the opening doors easily disguised any noise made by Alex and his followers. The man strolled back to the gates just as another much larger lorry appeared. He waited, then closed and locked the gate behind the lorry before walking back to the warehouse.
Alex, Ling and the old Chinese waited for the right moment then slipped unseen into the warehouse. They had just managed to conceal themselves when the driver of the lorry jumped to the ground from his cab.
“Good timing Philippe,” he remarked to the pickup driver.
“Not just good, essential. You know what the controllers are like!” he replied seriously.
Alex froze at the mention of “controller” — that was undoubtedly Syndicate terminology. Ling, recognising the term as well, raised his eyebrows and looked around. Alex, nodding understanding, held his finger to his lips, indicating silence; at that moment another person climbed down from the passenger side of the lorry. He was different from the two drivers: more smartly dressed, he carried a natural air of authority.
“You’re so right Philippe. Now perhaps we can pack this stuff into the container before the others arrive.” The man held a clipboard with a sheaf of documents pinned to it. “I want everything properly checked and stowed before we leave tonight. There’s a chance the ship could be here a day early. OK?”
In the next hour, four more heavily laden lorries arrived. Their crated cargoes were carefully unloaded, checked against the clipboard man’s list and then stacked into the containers neatly parked in the warehouse. At about two-thirty in the morning the last lorry arrived, was unloaded and departed, leaving the original man from the pickup and the man with the clipboard.
“I’ve just had a call. There’s been some trouble so I want double security here until the ship is loaded and sails, understand?” the clipboard man ordered.
“Yeah, yeah — don’t worry. I’ve organised my eight men to patrol the fence from inside and two others the outside. I’ll organise the relief shift to be here by five o’clock. I think I know where I can get a team of good dogs as well, if you want?”
The clipboard man agreed.
“Better safe than sorry eh?”
The pickup man walked outside as he punched the keypad on his mobile phone. Moments later he returned.
“OK, we’ll have a twenty-four hour dog patrol starting at about eight o’clock; I’ll be back in time to sort them out.”
“OK, I’ll be here about the same time then. We can’t afford any problems.” He switched out the main lights; several smaller lights remained on permanently illuminating the packed containers. He pressed the door close button. The door rattled down, finishing with a metallic clatter. With the door closed and locked, the two men let themselves out through the heavy steel side door.
There would be no outside lights to attract unnecessary attention but armed guards would be patrolling the wire fence, flashing their powerful torches into suspicious nooks and crannies.
Cramped and tired, Alex and his colleagues stretched and stepped from the shadows.
“Well that ‘s bloody incredible — albeit uncomfortable,” Alex exclaimed quietly, rubbing life back into his cramped legs. “You’ve hit the jackpot in one!” Excited by their early success, he thumped Ling on the shoulder. “You and your cousin certainly earned your corn today,” he added, pulling his mobile phone from his pocket at the same time. “Bloody thing kept vibrating, telling me I had a call. Glad I put it into mute mode or we’d have had some unwelcome attention!” Grinning happily, he pressed the message waiting function. Three Messages, it announced.
“All three from your brother David. I wonder what he wants,” he said, pressing Text Message. Alex stared in disbelief at the message:
They’re onto me! Help. David.
“Christ Ling — something’s gone wrong! Look!”
He passed the instrument over.
Ling paled as he read the short message.
“Those bastards,” was all he hissed. “We must do something!” Ling pleaded.
The other two messages were repeats of the first. He must be desperate, Alex thought. “The first problem is, how do we get out of here, especially with those guards swarming all over the place?”
He looked about, feeling a little helpless.
“That will not be a problem gentlemen,” the old Chinese interrupted softly. Alex and Ling turned in unison to face the voice. They had almost forgotten he was there.
“I think this will help.”
His face set in a faint smile, the old man was holding up a key.
It was the key to the small hatch where they’d found the old man hiding earlier. In fact he’d been in the process of unlocking it when they’d disturbed him.