Typhoon Fury

24

Gerhard Brekker was fascinated by the behavior of Alastair Lynch, who was handcuffed to a metal chair bolted to the floor. During the entire night of “enhanced interrogation techniques,” as the Americans liked to call them, Lynch had barely uttered a whimper no matter how much water was poured on his face or how many electrical shocks he endured. But now, as dawn broke through the remote shack’s grimy window and Lynch watched Brekker wave a small white pill in front of his face, the compromised British Interpol agent howled and screamed as if the mere sight of the withheld Typhoon tablet was the worst torture imaginable.

“Please!” Lynch cried to Brekker, his lips flecked with spittle. “I need my morning dose!”

Brekker looked at the other men in his employ with an amused smile. He’d seen a lot of violent and strange behavior in his days with South Africa’s National Defence Force, as had the five men who’d left it to join his private military contracting firm. All of the native Afrikaners around him — compatriots who remembered the glory days of Apartheid from their youth — had participated in police actions and fought against rebellions throughout Africa, but they’d never seen someone blubber uncontrollably at the prospect of not getting his drug fix.

Brekker leaned over until he was only inches from Lynch’s face.

“Why do you need it so badly?” he calmly asked in a soft Afrikaner lilt. Shouting was not his way. He found he was more likely to get the results he wanted when he was rigorously in control, both of his captive and himself.

“It’s my medicine!” Lynch yelled. “You have no right to keep it from me!”

“I don’t care about what you think I have a right to do. Besides, you still haven’t given me the information I asked you for.”

“I told you! I don’t know where the pills come from!”

Brekker stood up, wiped his face with a handkerchief, and took a seat on a beat-up wooden bench opposite Lynch. He ran his hand over his mustache and shut his eyes for a moment. Though the yelling wouldn’t attract any attention because they had chosen this crummy hovel for its isolation, it was getting tiresome. Brekker hadn’t slept all night, and Lynch’s screeching was giving him a headache.

“I’ve had enough with the shouting,” he said, fixing Lynch with a glare. “The longer you shout, the longer it will take for me to give this to you.”

Lynch’s desperation was still evident, but he managed to lower his voice. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. Just give me the pill and I’ll tell you what you want to know.”

“I don’t think you will. I think you’ll just shut up again.”

“I won’t!” Lynch yelled, before calming down again. “I won’t. I promise.”

“You got this from somewhere,” Brekker said. “We know it’s from some Filipino gang, but we haven’t the slightest clue where to start looking for them. Now, it’s obvious you know something or you wouldn’t have been tailing us in the first place. So, tell me what you know.”

Lynch’s eyes flicked back and forth between Brekker and the pill. Something was still holding him back. Brekker had seen it before. Lynch was scared of someone who he thought would do far worse to him than anything Brekker could do.

A little push was needed.

Brekker took out the second pill and put both of them on the floor. He adjusted the position of his boot so that the heel was poised over them. He slowly lowered the heel, making it clear he was close to crushing them to powder.

“No!” Lynch wailed.

“I’m waiting for the information I know you have.” His heel kept moving down.

Lynch watched in wild-eyed horror until the boot’s rubber sole was almost on top of the pills. “All right! All right! I’ll tell you.”

Brekker stopped but didn’t move his boot away from tablets. Lynch was convinced that Brekker would destroy these precious commodities, even though the South African had no intention of harming what was a potential gold mine for him.

“I’m listening,” he said.

“His name is Locsin. Salvador Locsin.”

Brekker glanced at Altus Van Der Waal, his second-in-command. The short but powerfully built former commando thought for a moment, then said, “Communist insurgent from one of the southern islands. Not much known about his financial dealings.” It was Van Der Waal’s job to keep up on all the hot spots around the world so they’d know where their services would most likely be needed.

“How do they deliver the pills?”

“It’s a dead drop somewhere in Bangkok. The location changes every week.”

“Is this your last pill? Does that mean you have a drop tomorrow?”

Lynch nodded quickly.

“Why did Locsin want this pill back so badly?”

“I don’t know. He doesn’t tell me everything.”

“But you’re with Interpol,” Brekker said. “Surely you know much more than one of his average clients.”

“I suppose he didn’t want anybody else to get their hands on it,” Lynch said.

“I think I can see why.” Brekker pulled out Lynch’s ID. He looked at the picture, which seemed to be less than three months old. In it, Lynch had a pencil-thin neck and narrow shoulders. Brekker looked up, and the sunken cheeks and cleft chin were the same, but Lynch’s bulging neck and muscular trapeziuses now seemed to belong to a professional bodybuilder.

“Have you been working out a lot lately?” Brekker said.

Lynch shrugged. “I suppose so.”

“Or has this Typhoon given you a little boost?”

Lynch averted his eyes for a moment before going back to the pills on the floor. “It helps.”

“I bet it does. What do you do for Salvador Locsin? I bet someone in your position would be perfectly placed to give him warnings about any potential interceptions of his drug shipments.”

Brekker’s boot still hadn’t moved.

“Yes, you’re right,” Lynch said, his lips trembling. “He needed someone on the inside, and I have access to police databases and major operations throughout Southeast Asia.”

“And I’m guessing the person who makes the dead drop knows even less than you do. So even if we were able to capture him, it wouldn’t do us much good.”

Tears were streaming down Lynch’s face. “What do you want me to say?”

“Until you give me something useful,” Brekker said, picking up the pills, “I’m afraid I’m going to have to keep these myself.”

“Okay! Okay!” he screamed. “I do know about Locsin’s shipments. I know where they come from.”

“Where?”

“Manila.”

“Manila’s a big city. You’ll have to do better than that.”

“It’s a warehouse near the docks. That’s where they store the product before they load it onto their ship.”

“What ship?”

“The Magellan Sun. Locsin thought it was better to buy his own ship after one he’d chartered was confiscated.”

“Do you know where I can find this ship?”

Lynch shook his head, then blurted out, “But I know where the warehouse is. I can give you the address.” He recited an address, which Van Der Waal entered into his phone. “Now, please. Please, can I have my dose?”

Brekker studied Lynch, but he couldn’t detect any deceit. “Let me make a phone call first. Just to check your story.”

He pocketed the pills and stepped outside while, behind him, Lynch cried for him not to go.

The hut sat in the middle of a vast grid of flooded rice paddies, and the rising sun reflected off the still water. Mist rose around Brekker, obscuring the nearest building, another shack a mile away in the distance. He took out his phone and called his current employer.

Greg Polten answered on the second ring. “I’m in L.A. about to get on a flight to Bangkok. Did you get any info?”

“You might want to change your flight plans. Lynch cracked when I held back the Typhoon pill that was on him when we took him, just as you predicted. Perhaps it’s time you told me what this drug does.”

“That’s not important for you to know,” Polten said, the air of superiority in the American chemist’s voice oozing through the phone. “I’m paying you to retrieve that pill for me and find more of it if you can. That’s it.”

The tone convinced Brekker that he was holding something far more valuable than the contract he’d taken.

“All right” was all he said.

“So can you find more of it?”

“Yes, I think we can. We’re going to Manila next.”

“Good. I’ll meet you there.”

“You will?”

“Yes,” Polten said. “I need to test the pill you have before we go any further, just to make sure you have the real thing.”

After seeing Lynch’s behavior, Brekker had no doubt that it was.

“And Lynch?” he asked. “What should I do with him? Eliminate him?”

“No. Bring him with you.”

“With us? Why?” Transporting him would bring extra security risks, though he thought Lynch would do anything he asked as long as he dangled the prospect of his dose in front of him.

“I want to see the effects of his withdrawal in person. It will give me a lot of useful data for my analysis of the drug.”

“It’ll be expensive to move him.”

“I can cover the expense,” Polten said.

“Very well,” Brekker said. “When can you be there?”

“I’ll get the next flight out to Manila. My colleague and I will be there by tonight.”

“You’re paying the bills, so whatever you say. We’ll see you there.”

Brekker hung up and went back inside the shack.

“No commercial flight for us this time, boys,” he announced. “We’re going to hire a charter so we can take Mr. Lynch with us.”

“Can I have my Typhoon now?” Lynch pleaded.

“Not until we get to Manila and verify your story about the warehouse. If the product is there, you’ll get as many pills as you want for helping us.”

Although Lynch was still agitated, the thought of a huge supply of Typhoon pills soothed him. If he knew that he’d already taken his last dose, Brekker had no doubt Lynch would go wild with panic.

But that’s why Brekker was so good at his job. His unflappable attitude not only got him results like it had just now, it also made him an expert liar.