has to be you.’
Mann kept his eyes fixed on Wong whilst he dug furtively into his pocket. He found what he was looking for, flicked open his phone and pressed the ‘record’ button.
‘In real terms I have nothing to lose by refusing. You intend to have me transferred anyway, it’s already common knowledge. I want some reassurance if I agree to go. So, here’s the deal…I go to London for you and, in return, I get to stay in the OCTB…for at least the next two years.’
Wong fiddled with his glasses, pulled at his cuffs.
‘All right.’
‘All right what?’
Wong sighed with annoyance.
‘If you go to London you can keep your job at the OCTB for the next two years. When will you be ready to leave?’
‘I need a quick shave and a shower. I’ll catch the overnight flight tonight.’
Wong returned to filling in his form with a grunt. Mann walked back to the office where Shrimp was hovering to hear the outcome and Ng was writing up a report. Ng swivelled around on his chair. He rolled his eyes towards Wong’s office. The Superintendent could be seen tidying his desk.
‘Where have you been transferred to? Tibet? Outer Mongolia?’
‘London.’
‘What? Why?’
‘Temporarily—to help with an investigation.’
‘Awesome. Can we all go?’ Shrimp’s face lit up. ‘London is supposed to be the place to get vintage clothes—there’s Carnaby Street, Petticoat Lane, Brick Lane even.’
Mann held up his hand to stop him as he was gathering speed. He shook his head. ‘Nice try, Shrimp, but afraid not. The only Lane you’ll be seeing is the Lane Crawford shop in Causeway Bay.’
‘Why London?’ asked Ng.
‘Did you know CK Leung had more than one child?’
Ng shook his head.
‘Well, he does—a twelve-year-old daughter at school in England, and she’s been kidnapped.’
‘Why you?’
‘Special request.’
Ng wasn’t impressed. ‘Be careful, Mann. Remember: Deep doubts, deep wisdom, small doubts, small wisdom. CK has a plan and evidently you feature in it. If they kill that little girl, God help them. If he blames you—God help you.’
‘I know. But it will be worth it to me if I get it right. I have Wong’s assurance…’ he reached into his pocket for his phone, pulled it out and pressed play. Wong’s voice came over, muffled but it was definitely him. ‘This says that I can stay in the department.’
Ng rolled his eyes and sighed as he took his wallet out from his pocket and begrudgingly handed Shrimp a hundred-dollar bill.
Shrimp took it from him and grinned. ‘That the way the mop flops, old man—nothing personal.’ He turned to Mann and waved the bill in the air. ‘I bet on you staying, he bet you’d be kicked out. But what about the investigation into the new sex-trafficking ring, Boss? What’s going to happen to that?’
‘I don’t think these events are all random. A spate of wealthy abductions—someone’s raising funds and not just anyone—has to be someone with the clout behind them. We know CK has control of the largest trafficking ring. We know there’s a new boy in town. The other kids were kidnapped purely for money, funds. CK’s daughter’s abduction is more than that. Someone is forcing him to show his hand. Carry on the investigation this side—get out on the streets and listen to the talk. Keep tabs on Stevie Ho. We need to find out who he’s working for—is his allegiance still to CK, or is he with the new boys? According to that list you gave me, Ng, Stevie was in London before he went to the Philippines. He must have had business there. If he’s still working for CK he would have brokered the ransom. Why did they choose this child now? It isn’t by accident and they haven’t got what they wanted from CK. My hunch is that this kidnapping has something to do with Stevie increasing his trafficking routes. That means, courtesy of my new friend, Superintendent Wong, my investigation just went global.’ Mann waved and smiled at Wong through the glass. The Superintendent scowled back at him. Mann laughed. ‘I think I’m going to like this open-plan arrangement.’
Angeles, Philippines
Fields Avenue, Friendship Road, Blow Row—on the surface, Angeles, a ramshackle town a few kilometres north of San Fernando and an hour’s drive north of Manila, had just a few filthy streets with mediocre restaurants and garish bars to offer the tourist. There was not a great deal to do—there was a nearby volcano to climb but no nice beaches. There was little reason to come to Angeles except for sex. The town was created for that purpose.
Angeles was born to service the needs of the men at the nearby American naval base at Clark. When the Americans were pushed out by the do-gooders, the priests and the nationalists who no longer wanted the Americans’ help or their military bases, the whores and the whorists were left with nowhere to go. The Colonel and a few others stepped in to save those communities, and from ‘disaster’ they created ‘opportunity’—a new Angeles was born, a Disneyland just for sex—a city of fallen angels. Now it was a major destination for every whorist and paedophile in the western world.
The Colonel sat with three other men on one of the four tables outside the Bordello on Fields Avenue. He paused, beer bottle pressed against his mouth, and watched Jed, a big black guy, swagger towards him, walking the walk, talking the talk, bling hanging from around his neck in layers of gold chain and a diamond crucifix. On his arm was a tiny Filipina named Peanut. Jed glanced the Colonel’s way, nodded his head respectfully, grinned at the other men and then swaggered on past into the Bordello.
The Bordello was like all the other bars and hotels down the avenue—a facade. From across the road, face on, it looked like a mock-up of a western saloon, but from the side it looked like a cardboard cut-out supported by a scaffold and attached to a windowless concrete block. It was situated three-quarters up Fields Avenue, before the road widened, branched out and the hotels began. They weren’t proper hotels. There were no five-star accommodations on Fields Avenue. Most hotels offered their rooms at an hourly rate.
The Colonel had called a meeting for eight o’clock in the Tequila Station. He had plenty of time till then. He drank his beer and surveyed his kingdom. In the thirty years he had lived in the Philippines, Angeles was where he’d always been. Firstly as a Chief Petty Officer stationed at the nearby American naval base at Clark, and latterly as the self-styled saviour of the city of fallen angels.
Brandon sat directly to the Colonel’s right, British, shaved head, ex-Marine, his voice thick with a Portsmouth dialect, akin to a gravelly cockney. He had tattoos of Chinese script on both his arms and an eagle stretched across his upper back. He was not a man to move hastily. He had learned to sit back and observe. It had kept him alive in the Marines; it would continue to keep him alive, as long as he never forgot it. Brandon had been with the Colonel for eighteen months now. His job was to control
