Hong Kong Assignment (3)
Macau, Cotai District.
Nothing in Macau shone at night quite like the cluster of casino hotels that lit up the Cotai skyline.
Neon signs of every color painted the heavens, and the great hotels rose into the dark as if each were determined to outdo the others in height.
Laser beams fired from the casinos sliced through the night mist and swept across the sky, while tour buses and taxis streamed endlessly along the roads below.
At the very top of one of those hotels, in a suite that overlooked the whole glittering sprawl, the room was oppressively quiet.
With the flood of light from beyond the thick glass at his back, a man stood staring down at a chessboard.
Viktor Volkov.
A senior officer of the Russian Foreign Intelligence Service, the SVR.
His dark blue suit was immaculate, free of even the slightest wrinkle. His short hair had been neatly brushed back, silver threaded through the gray, and his eyes were a cold, dry gray, like marbles made of glass.
For a man of fifty-eight, he stood with astonishing precision, without the least sign of wear.
On the ring finger of Viktor’s left hand was an old ring with the gold plating worn away, a military commemorative ring from the Soviet era. He had always treasured things from that time in particular.
The vodka bottle on the table was the same. Russian Beluga.
The ashtray was heaped with papirosa butts stamped with a Soviet-era brand.
Old-style cigarettes without filters. The acrid smoke had soaked the room, but he didn’t care.
Everything these days was soft and defective, with not a trace of refinement.
Liquor, cigarettes, people. Everything had become cheap.
Viktor truly believed that.
Tap, tap.
Alone, he moved the white and black pieces of the chess set back and forth.
He advanced the white knight, then turned his chair and brought out the black bishop.
A game of chess with no opponent.
And yet he had never truly been without one.
Knock, knock.
Even at the sound, Viktor didn’t look up.
A moment later the door opened and a young man came in. Short blond hair, a square jaw, an expensive suit.
“Виктор Алексеевич, поступил новый доклад. (Viktor Alexeyevich, a new report has come in.)”
He gave the brief report in Russian and extended a file folder.
Only then did Viktor lift a hand from the chess piece and take the folder.
“This is the Hong Kong situation. We’ve confirmed that the Ho family faction inside Yee Hing Tong made contact with a new buyer. Analysis suggests the contact is the CIA.”
The Ho family faction. The group within Yee Hing Tong that handled the safe and mediated deals.
It was also the faction within the triad Viktor had originally planned to use to trade for the HSM—the Hardware Security Module, the encryption module.
Viktor picked up the white knight from the chessboard.
“The CIA, is it? I heard the Hong Kong station was wiped out.”
“...Apparently not completely.”
The man flipped through the papers as he answered.
“We’ve detected movement from an agent marked internally as Nevidimka. He’s believed to have been operating in Hong Kong for more than twelve years, but his true identity has never been confirmed. We can’t say for certain whether he moved personally this time either, but the contact pattern matches.”
Nevidimka. The Invisible One.
It was the codename of an unidentified CIA field officer the SVR had been tracking in Hong Kong for years.
His existence was certain, but his face and name had never been pinned down—a ghost that had somehow survived twelve years like a weed in concrete.
“Twelve years. He survived that purge?”
Viktor rolled the knight slowly between his fingers.
When the man failed to answer, Viktor set the piece down on an empty square.
“Enough. Next.”
“The MSS, the Ministry of State Security, is moving as well. They’re applying pressure through Lau Chi-sing, the Red Pole of Yee Hing Tong. It looks like they mean to break the deal with us.”
“Hmm.”
Viktor’s hand stopped.
In his mind, the situation was sorting itself into a chessboard.
Langley was already in chaos, stripped of internal control by unprecedented factional fighting and a string of purges.
And in that disorder, the CIA’s key East Asia asset—the HSM—had leaked out into the open.
The encryption module was a kind of master key that could open the CIA’s East Asia human intelligence lists, its secure communications network, and every classified file tied to them.
As soon as the SVR learned of it, they contacted the seller at once.
Then they had set Yee Hing Tong up as intermediary and finalized the deal in Hong Kong.
But the MSS had caught wind of it and shaken the triad hardliners, turning the whole board upside down.
Exploiting the confusion, the CIA had then belatedly approached Yee Hing Tong in an attempt to snatch the item for itself.
SVR, MSS, CIA.
And between them, the triad was being torn to pieces.
Four forces, all tangled together in the narrow space of Hong Kong over a single object.
Viktor rose and walked to the window.
Macau’s night skyline spread out beneath him.
He remained silent for a long time.
The man stood waiting. He understood what this silence meant.
“The Chinese spoiled a board I’d already set, and now the Americans are jumping in too.”
Viktor turned back.
There was no irritation on his face. He was not the sort of man who showed much feeling in the first place.
“If this were the Soviet era, it wouldn’t have unfolded like this. Back then everything was far more elegant, far cleaner. A time without all this noise—just guns and blood. Ah, I do miss it now and then.”
He took a long drag from the papirosa and went on.
“These days it’s nothing but monkeys making a racket. No sense of their place.”
Viktor looked down at the chessboard.
The white knight and black bishop were positioned to hold each other in check.
He picked up a white pawn and studied it for a moment before flicking it off the board with a finger.
“Contact Marek. Tell him to recover the item.”
“Understood. What are the instructions?”
Viktor took a sip of vodka.
He set the glass down and answered calmly.
“Bring back the item. Marek can handle the rest.”
The man bowed and left the room.
The door closed.
Viktor sat down again before the chessboard.
He picked up the black queen and placed it in the middle of the white camp—the strongest piece on the board.
Then he let out a long stream of smoke from the papirosa and stared at the board.
Before long, the corner of Viktor’s mouth lifted.
But his eyes never smiled.
***
Second day, afternoon.
The alley behind the dried-seafood wholesaler in Sheung Wan was thick with the mixed stink of salted air and dried fish.
It was a different kind of foul from the herbal medicine smell I’d gotten yesterday.
Following Marcus into the narrow lane, I found a shabby mahjong parlor tucked inside.
There was no signboard, and the door stood half-open. From within came the click of mahjong tiles and the curl of cigarette smoke.
An old fan spun from the ceiling, but it did little to cut the heat.
If anything, it just kept the smoke swirling around the room.
“Sit there. Wait until I come out.”
Marcus jerked his chin toward an empty chair in the back corner.
Then he walked alone over to the man on the far side of the mahjong table.
The man’s face was obscured by smoke and hard to make out.
I did as I was told and sat in the corner.
An old man who looked like the owner silently set down a glass of milk tea in front of me.
While Marcus talked with the contact, I sipped the milk tea and scanned the room.
At first glance, it was just an ordinary lazy afternoon mahjong game.
Four or five men were slapping tiles down, and one old man in the corner seemed to be dozing off.
But the two men seated near the entrance were different.
They held tiles in their hands, yet their eyes kept drifting between the doorway and the windows. They were on watch.
I naturally took in the layout of the room.
One front entrance. One back door by the restroom. Two windows facing the alley.
There was probably a narrow stairwell beyond the back door, too. Buildings in this district were mostly laid out the same way.
About ten minutes passed before Marcus got to his feet.
The mahjong game went on as if nothing had happened, and we left the same way.
Glancing sideways, I could see Marcus looked heavier than before.
“Did it not go well?”
“No. The deal’s been set for tomorrow dawn.”
That was his short answer.
Still, the muscles along his jaw were faintly tense.
After we got back in the car, Marcus fell silent for a long while.
Hands on the wheel, he seemed to be weighing something in his head.
I could tell he was deciding how much to tell me.
“Hoo...”
At last, he let out a sigh and spoke.
“Fine. Since you need to know the situation, I’ll give you the fuller version.”
That wasn’t what I’d expected.
“The people we’re dealing with are a faction of the triad Yee Hing Tong. More precisely, the Ho family branch inside Yee Hing Tong—the ones handling the vault. They’re the side holding our item.”
Marcus kept talking as he turned the wheel.
“But there’s disagreement inside Yee Hing Tong right now. The Ho side says they’ll sell to us, but the hardliners are opposing it. Looks like the Chinese government’s putting pressure on them. The MSS must’ve caught wind of it.”
The veins on the back of his hand stood out as he gripped the wheel.
“It’s gotten a little complicated.”
Only yesterday he’d said it was a simple deal.
And yet in just one day his expression had changed completely.
Whatever he’d learned in the mahjong parlor must have been worse than expected.
“So I moved the deal time up. Best thing now is to finish it before anyone else can interfere. If we’re done by dawn, even the MSS won’t be able to do much. The Ho side agreed.”
He’d decided to strike fast and get out.
Before the situation could twist into something worse.
“Isn’t that too dangerous?”
“...There’s no such thing as a risk-free deal in this business.”
Marcus answered flatly.
“But risk can be managed and prepared for. That’s my job.”
Even so, he didn’t look particularly at ease.
It felt less like confidence than the push of a man who knew the situation was far uglier than his words, but who had no choice but to drive straight through it.
Because in Hong Kong, he was the only one who could move.
“...Mr. Chang, is this thing really that important?”
At my question, Marcus gave me a sidelong glance.
Then, with a slightly more exaggeratedly irritable tone, he answered, “More important than you and me by a long shot. That item has the lives of every single employee in East Asia hanging off it. Everything I’ve planted here for twelve years, too. We have to get it back.”
As if making a vow, he muttered to himself again and again that he had to bring it back.
And just as we were entering the tunnel, he added one more thing.
“Still doesn’t change anything. Tomorrow, you wait in the car. I’m going in alone.”
“...Yes, sir. Understood.”
Knowing Marcus’s personality, anything I said would be useless.
I understood that well enough, so I answered briefly and looked out the window instead.
The orange tunnel lights slid past at regular intervals.
“We’ll be out before dawn, so let’s turn in early today. Get some sleep while you can.”
***
3:00 a.m.
The familiar Toyota sedan pulled up in front of the lodging.
The oppressive heat of the day had faded, and the damp night air wrapped around me instead.
The alley was quiet. Even the mahjong noise had gone still.
The moment I got in, a bag came flying toward me.
“Midnight snack.”
As laconic as ever.
Inside were two egg tarts and a milk tea. I had no idea where he’d even found them at this hour.
“Come on, does this neighborhood have anything good besides dessert? Once this deal’s over, let’s go eat somewhere decent. We should at least have one company dinner or something.”
At my shameless grumbling, Marcus shot me a glance.
He looked like he was wondering what on earth I was talking about, but the corner of his mouth twitched upward all the same.
“...I’ll consider it.”
The Hong Kong of dawn was nothing like the one from the day before.
The sedan was the only vehicle moving down roads emptied of traffic.
After we emerged from the Western Harbour Tunnel and entered Sheung Wan, the scenery changed completely.
The shops that had been stacked with medicinal goods and shouting for customers in daylight had all pulled down their steel shutters.
Only a few yellow streetlights rippled over the asphalt, and the Chinese characters on the signs glimmered faintly in the dark.
“We’re here.”
The car stopped in an alley near the herb warehouse.
At a glance, it seemed like nothing more than a quiet pre-dawn lane, nothing out of the ordinary.
But once I steadied my breathing and opened my senses, other things came through.
“Hmm...”
A van parked at the mouth of an alley about fifty meters away.
The engine was off, but the body of the vehicle was trembling faintly.
On the second floor of the herb warehouse building, the lights were out, but I could feel movement.
A thin trace of cigarette smoke drifted from the back alley.
This is a little off.
It was the meeting point, so of course the other side would have people posted.
But the number seemed a little high.
Then Marcus tapped my shoulder.
When I turned, he was grinning faintly.
“Don’t get so tense. It’s just a routine deal. Stay in the car. I’ll be out before long.”
Marcus reached into the back seat and pulled out a black bag.
He buttoned his jacket, scanned the surroundings once, and walked off toward the dark alley.
His silhouette shrank beneath the streetlight.
Soon the warehouse’s steel shutter rattled upward, and Marcus disappeared inside.
After that, silence settled over the alley.
It’ll be fine.
That was what I told myself, but I couldn’t shake the tension.
For some reason, this whole thing felt wrong.
And in my experience, when I had that feeling, it was always right.
---