Pangolin, p.23
Pangolin, page 23
‘Well,’ Leggo said, ‘for a long time it has been British Government policy not to encourage political activity of any kind here. Hong Kong survives partly by being politically neutral, by giving offence to no one, and a good part of our job in Special Branch is to maintain that position. Not an easy job, when you consider that forty per cent of our population can be classed as immigrants or refugees—not just from mainland China but from Macau and Taiwan and in recent years from Korea, Vietnam, Indonesia and the Philippines. Among these people there have inevitably been political activists. We’ve admitted them on condition they cease to be activists, but of course sometimes that condition hasn’t been kept. You’ve all read about the occasional bomb going off in a Communist newspaper office, or Nationalist Chinese factions settling scores with knives or hatchets. What you don’t read about is the hundreds or so people a year that we arrange to have quietly deported before they can cause any trouble.’
The Consul General stirred again. ‘I don’t quite see where this is taking us, Mr Leggo.’
‘I hope you will in a moment, sir. First let me ask you a question. You invite us to have a guess at who the kidnappers are. Very well. Are we to narrow the field down to political movements with an anti-American bias? Or should we include those that might have more specific grudges?’
The Consul General looked blank. ‘Meaning what?’
‘Meaning those who might be hostile towards Mr Kiley himself. Or towards the CIA as a whole.’
All three Americans stiffened. Leggo watched them closely. He and the Commissioner and the Governor had planned this moment carefully, before the consular party arrived.
‘I don’t get it,’ the Consul General snapped.
‘Perhaps you might tell us why an ordinary political vice-consul had to live in a guarded compound on Quarry Hill? Or why he needed an armed bodyguard and an armour-plated car with a radio link to your office?’
‘Your department, Horace,’ said the Consul General grimly, passing the buck to his security man.
‘Well—we assign guard duties according to priorities.’ Horace Stanley, flustered, was clutching phrases from the air. ‘The Consul General here has a permanent guard, and so do other personnel—’
‘Why did Mr Kiley need a bodyguard?’
Stanley flashed a significant, desperate glance at Vice-Consul Koch. ‘I’m not sure I’m qualified to answer that. Anyway, I didn’t come here expecting to be put through the third degree.’
Leggo looked shocked. It was the exaggerated shock of a schoolmaster towards a pupil who has misunderstood. He said, ‘I’m not here to interrogate you, Mr Stanley. Perhaps Mr Koch can answer the question. You see, we can’t conduct an efficient investigation without having all the relevant facts about Mr Kiley.’
Koch spoke for the first time. He ignored Leggo and addressed the Governor directly.
‘Your Excellency, Mr Kiley happens to have a particularly sensitive job in our consulate. I’m sure that the nature of that job can have no bearing on the reason for this crime.’
‘I have confidence in these police officers,’ Wilkie replied mildly, if they think the information is important, then they ought to have it.’
Koch named back to Leggo. ‘Just what do you feel you need to know?’
‘Exactly what that sensitive job of Kiley’s involved. And who else might know about it.’
‘I’m afraid I simply can’t comment.’
‘Then let me remind you, Mr Koch, of the agreement that your government has with all friendly countries on the question of the posting intelligence officers to diplomatic missions under State Department cover.’
‘What agreement is that?’ Boyd asked.
‘When that happens,’ said the Consul General uncomfortably, ‘and God knows it happens often enough—people like me have no idea what they’re doing ninety per cent of the time—then it’s tacitly understood that the government in the host country is notified.’
‘In this case,’ Koch said, ‘that means the Foreign Office in London. The agreement does not extend to the Hong Kong police force.’
‘That being so,’ said Leggo, ‘we have had to work a few things out for ourselves. It’s one of our jobs in Special Branch to know who’s who on the diplomatic circuit. Part of that is guesswork, but since we seem to be in a guessing mood, let me tell you what we think. We think that Kiley is number one in the CIA pecking order here. And you, Mr Koch, are number two. We do know a little about what goes on in the Annex, you see.’
Koch glared at him, quietly angry behind the rimless glasses. ‘You can do all the guessing you like, Mr Leggo.’
‘But why do I have to guess? Why the hell can’t you people drop your guard for once and co-operate?’
‘Gentlemen!’ The Governor’s voice was stern. ‘We are here to cope with an emergency, and we’ll not get anywhere by squabbling. What is your point, Mr Leggo?’
‘Just this, sir. The kidnappers chose Kiley for one of two reasons. He’s an American diplomat—but there are a hundred other people in the consulate who would make softer targets. The second reason, the only conceivable one, is the fact that he’s a senior CIA officer.’
‘How would anyone know that?’ Koch demanded.
‘How would I know it? These things are not impossible to work out.’
‘Mr Koch,’ said the Governor, turning to the American, ‘It wouldn’t compromise your rules of secrecy, would it, if you were to concede that this kidnapping has implications for your intelligence service as well as the State Department? If you would just admit that much, on the understanding that it will never be repeated outside this room, that would give these policemen a better grasp of the dimensions of the problem. In return, I think I might persuade them not to take too close an interest in the details of Mr Kiley’s work.’
It was a face-saving formula, perhaps the only possible one. Koch shrugged and said, ‘Very well, Your Excellency. Mr Leggo’s assessment was correct. Rod Kiley is the agency’s Chief of Station here, which makes him the most senior man in the Far East. It’s an ultra-sensitive post. Only three people in the consulate, and not more than a dozen in the Annex itself, know that he holds it; I find it difficult to believe that some group of outsiders has penetrated his diplomatic cover.’
‘I think you’re going to have to believe it,’ Leggo said. ‘And that brings me to the reason I invited McNair here. He’s a specialist on the subject of those clandestine organizations I mentioned. He’s closely in touch with their activities and his working methods are all his own. Mac, would you give us your thoughts, run through a few possibilities for us? What potential political terrorists do we have on our hands here?’
McNair had understood the reason for calling him to the meeting as soon as he had heard the Commissioner’s opening remarks, and he had been turning things over in his mind ever since. The result was a degree of puzzlement. ‘We may as well start with the biggest outfits,’ he said. ‘Chinese Communists and Nationalists—and I’m talking about underground factions, not legitimate ones. Between them they’re the biggest headache we’ve got. The Nats—sometimes with official help from the government in Taiwan, sometimes not—are always smuggling in shiploads of arms and explosives. They use Hong Kong as a forward base for all sorts of crazy operations on the mainland. As for the CTs, they’re less obvious but often just as troublesome.’ He glanced from the Governor to the American trio. ‘It’s hard to see, frankly, just what either of those parties would stand to gain from kidnapping an American. On the other hand, I suppose it’s possible that some small group from either side has acted on its own initiative.
‘As for the rest, they tend to be small ethnic groups, engaged in conventional crime as often as not, who spout political slogans when it suits them. For instance, there’s a crowd of ex-South Vietnamese soldiers who fled from the Communists in ’seventy-five and got themselves smuggled in here. They’re the hard core of a movement that’s vaguely dedicated to overthrowing the Hanoi government. Until that happens they’re happy enough running protection rackets. The Viets are a tough lot, quite capable of a kidnapping like this, I’d say, and they don’t have much love for the Americans these days. So they’re a possibility to be borne in mind.
‘Then there are Indonesians. It’s hard to tell where they stand, because half of them are anti-Communists who fled from Sukarno and the other half are Communists chased out by Suharto. They’re another possibility, but a less likely one; they’re badly organized and their discipline is nil. That covers just about everyone we handle.’ McNair paused. ‘Of course, if Mr Koch could tell us whether Mr Kiley ever had any contact with any of those people, that might narrow the field down.’
Koch gave a small, indulgent smile. ‘Obviously you aren’t familiar with intelligence work at that level, Mr McNair. Mr Kiley’s function was purely administrative.’
‘You mean he had no personal contact with agents?’
‘If he did, I would certainly not be free to divulge the fact.’
‘That’s not very helpful,’ Boyd said flatly.
‘I think, Gordon,’ said the Commissioner, stepping swiftly into the breach again, ‘that it would be an excellent idea to have McNair here seconded to your team.’
‘I was going to suggest that, sir,’ Leggo said. ‘It’ll save a lot of to-ing and fro-ing if he can report direct to the Incident Centre. You can start making the rounds of your contacts, Mac, find out which if any of our friends might have an interest in this job. In fact, if you left us right now you could get some useful work done before the story breaks in the press.’
‘Suits me,’ McNair said, ‘if the Chief Super is agreeable?’
‘Certainly,’ said Boyd. ‘And if you think you can excuse me as well, there’s a lot of work waiting down at HQ.’
They left the room together and went out through the lobby to the car park. McNair said, ‘At this stage you’ll find even negative info useful, won’t you?’
‘You mean like who didn’t do it? Right now, I’d kiss your arse for any information at all.’
‘I’ll phone anything I get straight through to your desk. It won’t be attributable, of course.’
‘Don’t tell me,’ Boyd said sourly. ‘You’ve got sources to protect just like those CIA johnnies. Their attitude is about as helpful as a kick in the crotch. You know what I think? I think they’re going to give us trouble before the day is out. You wait and see. The minute we get a demand they’re going to go behind our backs. They’ll try to negotiate direct with the kidnappers, perhaps do a deal with them to get Kiley back. I don’t want that to happen, and the only way to stop it will be to get to him first.’ He paused. ‘You going to help me, Mac?’
25
The stockless anchor of the Lady Belinda dropped with a resounding splash into the smooth blue water off the coast of Basalt Island. On the deck of the junk, Kiley, released from the sail bag, lay unconscious in the shade of a canvas awning.
‘Well, there’s your man,’ Pritchard said to Osman Khan. ‘There is ten million dollars’ worth.’
The Malay nodded, staring down at the American. The two of them stood with Fong and Quinn in a semicircle around him. Baxter, after dropping the anchor and making sure it had held, was coming back to cut the engines. As the junk came round to head into the wind, the bleak grey landscape faced them. Apart from that, nothing could be seen in any direction but sea and haze.
Kiley stirred uneasily. The facial muscles round his eyes twitched, as though he were in the last stages of a dream before wakening.
‘Hit him with more Pentothal,’ Pritchard said to Quinn.
‘A third dose? Listen, I told you what Canny said about that stuff. It’s dangerous.’
‘We can’t risk having him come round too soon. He is never to see our faces, remember? He is never to see my face in particular, because he would recognize it.’
‘Then why don’t you hit him? I already wasted one guy today.’
‘Let’s just do things the way they were planned, can we?’
Quinn went below, grumbling still, but he was back shortly with the third loaded syringe. They had taken Kiley’s jacket off and rolled up his shirt sleeves. Quinn chose the left arm this time, inserted the hypo, found a vein and sent the drug flooding into the American’s system. In half a minute he had settled down again, his breathing becoming stertorous and uneven once more.
‘Let’s go,’ Pritchard said.
Fong pulled the sampan up alongside the swimming steps and climbed down into it, followed by Pritchard. Quinn picked up Kiley’s limp form, humped it over his shoulder, backed up to the rail above the steps and carefully lowered the bundle over it until the other two had a firm grasp of it. The sampan rocked crazily until they managed, gasping, to settle Kiley in the bottom. Then Quinn, Baxter and Osman Khan climbed down to squeeze into the boat. Fong untied the painter and began to row towards the beach.
They grounded the sampan and swung it broadside-on in the sand, within a couple of feet of the water’s edge. Their shoes and socks were already off, their trousers rolled up. They waded ashore, pulled the boat higher up the beach and, between them, dragged Kiley out and laid him on the sand. While Osman Khan looked on, the other four, taking hold of a limb each, lifted Kiley and struggled across the sand with him towards the pillbox.
At 11 a.m. the first statement on the kidnapping was issued jointly by the Hong Kong Government Information Service and the United States Consulate General. It was fed out on the internal telex system to all major Hong Kong newspapers, and within a few minutes the international wire services had picked it up.
The Associated Press was the first of these off the mark. Their flash read:
HONG KONG, AUG. 21 (AP). A US DIPLOMAT WAS KIDNAPPED AT GUNPOINT HERE THIS MORNING AS HE DROVE TO HIS OFFICE. HIS CHAUFFEUR WAS SHOT DEAD.
The second take of the story came over a minute later:
HONG KONG, AUG 21 (ap). THE DIPLOMAT WAS NAMED AS RODNEY N. KILEY, 48, POLITICAL VICE-CONSUL AT THE US CONSULATE GENERAL HERE. UNIDENTIFIED GUNMEN FORCED HIS CAR TO A HALT IN A TUNNEL UNDER HONG KONG’S HARBOUR. THEY ABDUCTED HIM AFTER TWICE SHOOTING THE CHAUFFEUR, BENJAMIN CHIN, 26 A NATIVE OF SAN FRANCISCO.
In the barracks-like building in Happy Valley that housed the Hong Kong offices of Hsin Hau, the New China News Agency, together with the living quarters of its staff, the first two takes of the AP message were torn off the teleprinter and clipped together by a taperoom foki, who then carried them to the duty editor at his small, paper-strewn desk. The duty editor read the story and dismissed the foki. He left his desk, climbed a flight of stairs and walked to the end of a long corridor. He knocked on a door and was admitted to the presence of Kao Ling, third assistant editor of the Hong Kong Bureau of the NCNA and a member of the Central Committee of the Communist Party of China.
Kao was a Party veteran of long standing. As a boy of fourteen he had joined Mao Tse-tung’s Long March and later fought in the Eighth Route Army against both the Japanese invaders and the Kuomintang. He was the type of follower beloved of all political leaders, a party workhorse with limited personal ambitions. In his late fifties now, he was lean and grey-haired, mild of appearance and manner. He wore Western clothes, spoke excellent English and had a fondness for good French brandy. Politically he was a moderate who had escaped purging during the Cultural Revolution only by keeping his views strictly to himself. He had occupied his humble position in the NCNA’s Hong Kong Bureau for eight years. For six of those years he had also directed China’s espionage activities in the colony.
For the Chinese secret service—the T’e Wu or Ministry of Public Security, with headquarters at Fragrant Hill Park on the western outskirts of Peking—Hong Kong had always been the main gateway to the rest of the world. Through here they smuggled their agents, many of them posing as refugees and settling in the colony until they had acquired Hong Kong identity cards, then applying for visas to other countries. Through here, too, the bulk of secret intelligence flowing into Peking was channelled—partly through a vast, overlapping courier system, partly through the NCNA, which was not a wire service in the conventional sense but an arm of the Party and the State. To its workers the collecting of secret information was as much a part of their duty as the dissemination of conventional news.
Kao Ling was one of the T’e Wu’s most important employees outside China itself. His orders came directly from Party Vice-Chairman Wang Tung-hsing, Chairman Mao’s former personal bodyguard, who was also chief of the security department of the Party’s Military Affairs Commission—in effect, the head of intelligence and secret police services.
He broke off studying overnight dispatches from Peking to read through the two short takes of the AP message that the duty editor handed him. Then he adjusted his glasses and read them again, giving himself time to think. It was the duty editor who finally broke the silence.
‘I thought you would want to see that at once, Comrade.’
‘Yes. Thank you.’
‘It was the name: Kiley. I recalled filing a report on him, perhaps six months ago, classifying him as a possible CIA official.’
‘The file should be updated. The CIA connection is confirmed. Bring me the rest as it comes in, please.’
‘Do you wish me to relay it to Peking?’
‘Only on the open news circuit. Cut down the content drastically and delay it for an hour, to make it seem as though we are treating it without urgency. I do not want the British monitors to think we have any special interest, I shall alert the Ministry myself.’
