Chapter Thirty-One.

After a relaxing night swathed in elegant Frette linens in a wonderfully comfortable, and decadently huge bed in the enormous and luxurious room of classical proportions on the third floor of the hotel with a spectacular view of Victoria Harbour; Charlotte and Max showered in superb adjoining bathroom; then dressed in the huge fluffy bathrobes provided by the hotel, and enjoyed a romantic breakfast in bed. Later, they dressed and went down to the lobby to find Lambert and Hollis. Neither were evident in either the east or west wings. The only person they recognised was Cameron Bray, sitting in a large club armchair surrounded by the soaring columns topped with elaborate gilded ceilings and sculpted figures of gods and angels; palm trees, and classically styled furniture. He was reading a copy of The Times, which he folded and dropped dismissively onto the thick woolen hand-woven carpet, as he rose to greet them.

Charlotte glanced around.

'You haven't seen our two friends by any chance?... and where is Major Thị Chung this morning?'

Bray shook his head.

'I'm afraid I haven't seen them this morning; and Sophie received an urgent signal last night and had to rush off to meet someone on the Island...'

He smiled briefly.

'So, it seems you're stuck with me.'

Their pleasant conversation was interrupted by the appearance of Peter Campbell and a Chief Superintendent of the Hong Kong police. Excusing himself for the interruption, he informed Charlotte and Max that Lambert and Hollis had completed their assignment and been stood down by London. They were now under the protection of the Hong Kong Police. He introduced the officer... Chief Superintendent Michael Lee Chong; who bowed slightly as he was introduced. Campbell then informed them that a flight out of Kai Tak had been arranged for two days hence. It would be on a Pacific Military Air Transport Service aeroplane that was en route from India to its home base in Hawaii, and would divert to pick them up and fly them on to Seoul. Chief Superintendent Lee Chong excused himself after being introduced and left the lobby. Campbell gave a wry grin. 'I really don't know whether to trust our Chinese policeman. This one might be OK, but many of them are in the pockets of the Triads.'

He turned to Charlotte.

'Have you been down to see the Fashion Arcade yet? It's the longest-established one in Hong Kong. All the fashion houses are in there... Dior, Hermès, and all the rest. Perhaps you'd like to have a look whilst we have a drink and talk shop?'

Charlotte smiled. Typical male thinking! But, she nodded her agreement. Play the dizzy blonde... don't rock the boat. They stood as she left the table, and then Campbell sat and began talking in hushed tones to Cameron Bray and Max.

The fashion arcade was all that Campbell had said it would be. After a pleasant hour or so, browsing Christian Dior and Chanel; Charlotte was admiring the handbags and silk scarves in Hermès opulent salon when she sensed a presence behind her. Turning, she was confronted by two young, tough-looking Chinese wearing immaculate dark suits and intimidatory sunglasses. The taller of the two studied her momentarily.

'Miss Mckenna? Please come with us.'

The request was polite, but brooked no argument.

Discreetly, they escorted her out through the arcade rear entrance adjacent to the Hankow Road, where a sinister black limousine waited with its engine quietly ticking over. Opening the rear door, they indicated she should get in.

A handsome middle-aged, Chinese man sat in the back seat. As she sat beside him, he spoke to her in perfect English. His voice was soft, with a trace of a Cantonese accent.

'Miss Mckenna. Please forgive the theatrical manner of my invitation. May I introduce myself? I am David Wai Cheung, Entrepreneur, and Businessman. It is my understanding that you have an interest in a certain gemstone that recently came into my possession. It is necessary that I now inform you that the gemstone has been traded on to a source which has effectively now made it unobtainable. I am telling you this in order that you may now no longer waste any more time seeking it. It is now beyond your grasp and your search is at an end.'

Charlotte studied him. There was no hint of malice or threat in his tone.

She gave a puzzled look.

'To what gemstone do you refer, Mr Wai Cheung?'

He smiled gently, as does a father to his wayward daughter.

'Please, Miss Mckenna; do not treat me like a fool. I know everything about you, your companion, and your quest for the Garnet gemstone that you call The Red Horseman.'

Charlotte maintained the puzzled expression.

'So, what is it that you know, Mr Wai Cheung?'

He smiled again.

'You are Captain Charlotte Mckenna and your companion is Colonel Max Segal, formerly Lieutenant Colonel Maksim Siegel of Russian Intelligence, Berlin. You are both now employed by the American CIA, and on posting to Seoul. Your interest is in the Garnet gemstone that was recovered from Siberia and presented to the Nazi war criminal Hermann Göring.'

Charlotte raised an eyebrow.

'And how have you come by this supposed information, Mr Wai Cheung?'

He smiled again.

'From an impeccable source... my daughter, Claudia.'

Charlotte paused, and studied him.

'The girl who went by the name Sophie Thị Chung is your daughter?'

'Just so.'

'Then you are aware that it was I who recovered this gemstone from Siberia?'

He nodded.

'Yes; we have spent much time and considerable expense in tracing this artefact.'

He affected an expansive flourish with his hands.

'But, as of now, your part in this enterprise is at an end. The gemstone has left the Colony for a destination and a person whom you really should harbour no desire to encounter.'

For a few moments there was silence, and then David Wai Cheung gave a resigned shrug.

'Alas, knowing you for who you are; then I fear that my advice will not turn you from your endeavour.'

Charlotte stared at him. This man knew far too much to be just a Hong Kong Businessman. She need now be very careful as to what she said.

'Who do you think I am?'

He turned and gazed directly at her for a few moments.

'My venerable Buddhist Masters tell me that they believe you to be "The Golden Child, Kathalyn" of legend, in your first reincarnation.'

Charlotte gave an involuntary shiver. This was not the first time that she had heard this said of her... even Max had mentioned something similar back in Berlin. She gave a tight laugh.

'But that is totally ridiculous. How on earth could I possibly be a re-incarnation of a legend? You are mistaken, Mr Wai Cheung I am nothing of the sort.'

David Wai Cheung gave a resigned shrug.

'Be that as it may. I have fulfilled my part in this endeavour. Heed my words, Golden Child. Much danger awaits you in the blue hills if you choose to prosecute this thing.'

Charlotte regarded him carefully

'The blue hills? You mean that the gemstone is now in Korea?'

He smiled, enigmatically.

'I did not say that; but, by now it is undoubtedly in the possession of a terrible War Lord. Now, there is no more to say. Go in peace, Golden Child, and pay heed to my words.'

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He motioned with his hand; the door of the limousine opened, and the taller of the two men beckoned to her that she should get out. The audience was at an end. The man escorted her back to the rear entrance of the Peninsula Arcade, waited for her to enter; then turned, and walked back to the limousine, which, as soon as he had got into the front passenger seat, accelerated away and swung swiftly out into Middle Road with its tyres squealing on the asphalt as it took the corner at speed and disappeared towards the waterfront.

Charlotte returned to the lobby. Cameron Bray had departed, but Campbell and Max were still sitting waiting for her. Max smiled.

'Well? Did you find anything that you would like?'

She looked at Max, then at Campbell.

'I've just had the strangest meeting with a man named David Wai Cheung...'

Campbell broke in.

'David Wai Cheung? He's the Boss of Bosses in the Hong Kong Triads. What the bloody hell did he want?'

She gave a little shrug.

'He knows all about us... and where we are going. He warned me of "A terrible War Lord" in Korea. Any ideas as to who he was referring?'

Campbell sat stony-faced as he listened. Then, he spoke.

'There's only one man that comes anywhere near that description; and that's the crazy Commie bastard, Kim Il Sung; Chairman of the People's Assembly of North Korea. He's turned it into a virtual Dictatorship. He's cosied up to both Stalin and Mao Tse-tung, and frankly, we're worried as to what Kim is planning. The CIA have ants in their pants over the whole situation out there. Yes, if Wai Cheung meant anyone, it would be Kim.'

The old Lockheed Lodestar twin engined aeroplane droned steadily across the Han-gang estuary and banked over to the south. Its Australian pilot, Bazza Finucane... smuggler, gun-runner, and all-round black marketeer, peered out of the fly-specked windscreen as he came in low over the Songch'on paddy fields searching for the old disused Imperial Japanese Army Air Service landing strip some ten miles to the north of the Yank presence at Kimpo Air Base outside Seoul. The landing strip was not easy to spot... almost five years of disuse and the encroaching vegetation had seen to that.

He glanced at his fuel gauges. His tanks were just over a quarter-full. That would be ample to get down to Okinawa after he had dropped his cargo off and completed his task for David Wai Cheung. The flight had taken just over six-and-a-half hours... mainly over Chinese territory which could easily have come a gutser; but, it had saved at least another two hours flying time and she'd have been almost running on bloody fresh air, even with the long-range tank, if he'd gone around the coast; so, he'd decided to give it a go. As it was, he hadn't seen another soul, and the unvarying bloody drone had been enough to bore anyone shitless.

Finucane peered down at the almost featureless terrain of tropical woodland and scrub. Where the hell was the landing strip? Out to starboard, about two miles ahead was a paler patch amongst the scrubby vegetation. That was probably it. He fed in a gentle bank and flew towards it.

Lining up on the paler patch as it grew larger, he could just make out faint greenish lines criss-crossing the dun-coloured area. He grinned. The landing strip was concrete. The green lines would be vegetation growing up through the cracks and joints. He reached across to the starboard side of the throttle quadrant to the flap control lever and set ten-degrees of flap. Shifting his hand to the port side of the quadrant, he pushed the undercarriage control lever down and watched the indicator lights in the lower left-hand panel light up with two greens. OK; wheels down... throttle back, watching the horizon and the airspeed winding down towards eighty.

She was sinking on nicely... five-thousand-feet of dun-coloured, weed-strewn concrete lay before him... then, a sudden movement on the right hand side of the runway... and three water buffalo ambled aimlessly out onto the weathered concrete less than a thousand feet ahead, and began unconcernedly grazing the grass and weeds growing out of the cracks. Finucane nearly had a seizure. He rammed the twin throttles forward so violently that they almost bent as they hit the stops. Slamming the flap control lever to neutral, he heaved back on the control column yolk and slammed up the undercarriage lever. She started to lift her nose... as the water buffalo ceased grazing and gazed up incuriously to watch the Lodestar blasting over their heads with her twin Pratt & Whitney Hornet engines screaming at maximum emergency revs... then went back to placidly chewing the vegetation.

Sweating and cursing volubly; Finucane hauled the Lodestar round in a tight turn to the north to come around and begin his landing run once again. As he put out flap and lowered the undercarriage he noticed a cloud of dust approaching along a rough track from the east. That must be his contact for the shipment of arms lashed down in the rear of the Lodestar's fuselage. He gently banked to starboard and turned in on his final approach. The landing strip was clear. The bloody water buffalo had wandered off into the scrub at the edge of the concrete ribbon... or at least what appeared to be a ribbon from up here. Chopping power Bazza Finucane brought the Lodestar down in a perfect three-point landing... or rather, it looked as though it would be that way.

In the cockpit, as soon as the wheels touched the concrete, all hell broke loose. It felt as though he had landed on corrugated iron. His vision blurred with the vibration, and it felt as though the old girl was going to shake herself to pieces. A great, greyish-brown cloud of dust billowed up from the propeller wash and enveloped everything. Forward vision simply disappeared. He stood on the rudder pedal brakes and hit the tail wheel locking control on the top of the throttle quadrant to keep her straight, as she bounced and skittered over the uneven surface of the rotting concrete.

At last, she lurched to a standstill; her propellers windmilling lethargically. Bazza Finucane slumped back into the seat, sweat pouring off him. Breathing a great sigh of relief he began to run through the post-landing checklist...

Generators OFF. Flap lever to NEUTRAL. Gills OPEN. Tail wheel unlocked. Throttles closed. Mixture controls to CUT OFF. Master and individual ignition switches OFF. Fuel selector switches OFF. Master switch OFF.

He unbuckled his seat harness and moved back along the fuselage. Opening the door on the rear port side, he pushed out an old metal sand channel of the type used during the desert war in North Africa by the British Long Range Desert Group, and wheeled out his trusty old Norton Model Seven motorcycle with the plunger rear end frame and Roadholder forks. Then he leaned against the fuselage, lit a cigarette, and waited.

The battered ex-Imperial Japanese Army Nissan Type 80 truck lurched and jolted over the rough track as it approached the old Landing strip. The driver, Seong-Kim was in a foul mood. He was more at home in one of the Yu Leu Yong mob's Mitsubishi PX33 saloon cars that had originally belonged to the Japanese Army. This truck was an insult, but he dared not object when his mob boss, Choi Jong-Soo had ordered him to meet the westerner and collect his haul of contraband. Boss Choi was not one to argue with... if you didn't fancy a tongue or nose slitting... and that was if he was in a good mood.

Bazza Finucane watched the ugly, snub-nosed truck trundling down the dirt track towards the landing strip. He flipped open the flap of his holster, flicked off the safety, and chambered a round in his Swiss SIG police automatic pistol, which he always carried on a job. It wasn't that he particularly distrusted these Koreans in the approaching truck; but the Koreans were probably the most inscrutable of all the Asians he dealt with in his line of business. It was just self-preservation. He had dealt with this particular mob boss in the past. These two in the truck would almost certainly be two of the Yu Leu Yong mob lieutenants... typical south-side Seoul thugs, more used to finger chopping and tongue slitting than real mayhems; but it did no harm to be careful.

The truck jolted to a halt and two Koreans climbed down from the cab. The driver walked towards Finucane whilst the other one waited by the truck.

The Korean looked Finucane up and down and spoke.

'Finucane? You have the merchandise?'

Bazza Finucane nodded; weighing up the man. His whole attitude was truculent.

'Yeah, the shipment is in the plane. Four cases of Browning automatic pistols and five-thousand rounds of ammo. You got the payment?'

The Korean bared his yellow teeth in what might loosely be described as a grin.

'You give guns, we give payment.'

Finucane grinned, and rested his hand on the butt of the SIG protruding from the holster on his belt. The movement didn't go unnoticed by the Korean.

'Nah. I think we'll exchange them at the same time, Sport.'

The Korean glowered, but Finucane stared him down. The Korean hesitated, and then shouted something over his shoulder to the other man, who opened the cab door and brought out a bundle wrapped in green baize. He brought it across and laid it on the concrete by the fuselage door. Finucane nodded, and the man climbed into the fuselage and began bringing out the wooden cases of weapons and ammunition, stacking them alongside to bundle.

The driver broke open the first case and began to inspect the firearms. He nodded to Finucane, who reached down and unwrapped the green baize bundle to reveal four Gold ingots. Each ingot was impressed with the German Eagle and Swastika, the legend…

DEUTSCHE REICHSBANK

1 KILO FEINGOLD

999.9

… And a serial number. Finucane stared at them. Nazi Gold! For some time there had been rumours that that the Portuguese colony of Macao was a centre for laundering gold looted by Nazis, and that weekly shipments of gold were unloaded in Macao and sent on to China. Somehow these Koreans had got their hands on some of it. How much was this lot worth? It must be at least two- thousand Aussie Quids. He did a quick calculation. One Aussie Quid was now worth about two-Dollars, eighty-cents, American. The cargo had cost him fifteen-hundred Dollars American from a shady Quartermaster at Kadena airfield, Okinawa. That meant that this cargo was being exchanged for more than five-thousand Dollars American! Not bad for a day's flying! He bent to pick up the ingots then something crashed into the back of his head and there was a flash of pain, then blackness.

Hours later, Finucane swam reluctantly up through the dark tunnel towards the bright pinpoint of light. Consciousness flooded back and he saw a small sandy-brown Gekko watching him curiously from under the shade of the fuselage. As he moved, it scampered away into the undergrowth. The truck had gone, as well as the pile of wooden cases and the bundle of baize. He had a lump the size of a pigeon's egg at the base of his skull where one of the Koreans had hit him with... a gun? An iron bar? A blackjack? All that he could remember before the ground swallowed him up was the sun flashing on a large Golden Dragon signet ring on the finger of a hand pushing his head to one side.

Finucane got unsteadily to his feet and looked around. The Lodestar seemed intact; his motorcycle was still there. So, those two Korean mongrels only had orders to swipe the merchandise and take back the Gold. He pulled himself up into the fuselage and walked unsteadily forward to the cockpit. Nothing had been disturbed by the look of it. He reached down into the map stowage case by his seat and lifted out a little black velvet pouch. Opening its ties, he tipped out a large Garnet gemstone. He breathed a sigh of relief. This gem was the main purpose of his flight. The Hong Kong Triad boss Wai Cheung had hired him to get it to the Seoul mob boss of the Yangeundongpa gang who ruled the greater part of Seoul city.

He walked gingerly back down the fuselage with his hand outstretched in case he stumbled. His head hurt like hell, but he had to get the gemstone into Seoul. Mounting the Norton, he switched on the ignition and fuel and kicked down on the starting lever. The big twin burst into life. Finucane snicked into first gear and roared off into the south, bumping and bucking his way as fast as he could across the dirt track bisecting the scrubby plain, towards Seoul.