Undercover 12


By Katzmarek


Part 12


Vili found the big city an exciting place to live. Her home village had no power, running water and all her 
family lived in one big room.


The ‘fale,’ of course, was well adapted to the tropical island climate. It was open on all sides to allow the 
sea breezes through, with grass mats that could be lowered if the wind became too strong. It was the 
traditional island way.


‘What did they need of refrigerators anyhow?’ There was fruit in the trees, fish in the sea and wild pigs 
roaming the bush.


It was a simple life in Tonga, inside the nest of her large extended family.


But at 13 she had been given the chance of seeing the wide world. The village elders, her father, uncles, 
pastor and the village ‘Matai’ had given her their blessing to become part of the Sponsored Education 
Project.


A man came to the village and introduced the scheme to the village council. He said some generous people 
were providing the money so their children can be sent overseas for a ‘proper’ education.


Not that the islands lacked schools. The churches ran them and there was even a high school. But the 
education was different, overseas. Girls and boys were taught the same things and there was a chance for 
the good scholars to go on to University.


Vili didn’t want to just learn the things that would make her a good housewife. She wanted to see the world 
beyond the islands, a strange, exciting world of cars, television, telephones and a room of her own.


At first the sheer size of everything and the number of people intimidated her. But young people adapt 
pretty fast and soon, with the help of her sponsor family, and the support she received from her Private 
School and the Tongan community, she felt at home.


Mr. and Mrs. Rufus, her sponsors, were kind and generous and Mr. Rufus gave her many presents. She was 
able to buy enough clothes and things so she was dressed just like her ‘Palagi’ peers. Mr. Rufus gave her an 
allowance every week that she used to buy the latest CD’s, make-up, magazines, pretty much anything she 
wanted.


Sometimes Mr. Rufus gave her extra money as a present. This was for being a ‘good girl’ and letting him 
touch her or watch as she changed her clothes.


She was no stranger to the ‘interest’ men and boys had in girls. Back home the boys used to try and spy on 
the girls bathing in the stream, it was an old game. Indeed, many of the girls used to do the same and spy on 
the boys.


At 12, she’d let a boy who ‘liked’ her, see her ‘kitty’ and in return he’d shown her his ‘peewee.’ In the 
carefree islands it was just innocent fun.


She knew about sex, too. What island child had not peeked around the grass curtain at their parents after 
hearing ‘unusual’ noises late at night? But for her, for all the island girls, the pastor had told them to wait 
until they were married and the pastor was close to God.


Mr. Rufus had confused her at first. Hadn’t he a wife to do such things for him? She decided it must be 
some ‘Palagi’ thing and besides, she liked the extra money.


Jim Rufus was angry with Gray Treadwell. He had done a ‘bunk’ on him just as the cops were starting to 
ask some questions and now it was HE that had to come up with the explanations.


‘Flesh trading? Unthinkable! They were sponsoring an education project so the island girls could get an 
education; that’s all. 


Red Ray? Merely a holding company. No Asian syndicates, prostitution, drugs or racketeering. Everything 
was above board.’


He hoped this Sperle was satisfied, he really didn’t want the cops crawling over his business affairs. Hell! 
Who HADN’T cheated on their tax a little?


Jim Rufus had just turned fifty. His hair was greying and he was carrying a little too much weight. On the 
plus side, he was now reasonably well to do and could afford a nice car, expensive suits, country club 
membership and commanded considerable respect throughout the business community.


But Vili was turning out to be his weakness, so innocent and obliging with a developing young body and a 
shy smile.


He remembered the first time she’d brought home some new clothes. She’d got so excited that she’d 
changed right in front of him. He’d got an erection so hard it was painful as she innocently peeled down to 
her underwear.


Her brown skin was so smooth, he wanted to smear himself over those flared hips and round bottom. Her 
nipples raised little bumps through the cups of her bra. He wanted to touch them, lick them and ease those 
beauties out of their confines.


Later, beating himself off, he knew he was becoming obsessed with her. 


Gray sat beside Misha, his pilot, in the cockpit of the Mi 8 helicopter. Lacking a crewman meant he had to 
haul the supplies to the dacha himself and he wasn’t looking forward to the exercise. Ahead was the snow 
covered rising ground that heralded the approach to the little lake. 


The helicopter skimmed low over the trees, sending upward flurries of snow from the down wash. Misha 
circled the flat area, about 100 metres from the cabin, which was the landing zone. Checking the area for 
obstacles that might snag a rotor or damage the landing skis, he brought it to the ground.


Together they hauled the supplies out of the chopper, but Misha was anxious to be off, so Gray was left to 
his own devices.


It was understandable because, at this time of year, the weather in Siberia can change dramatically and the 
pilot didn’t want to be caught on the ground during a snap blizzard. A drift could build up over the craft in 
half an hour, requiring hours of digging out.


Gray crouched to the ground as the Mil’s rotor kicked up its own little blizzard as it took off again.


As the ‘chukka-chukka’ died away, the tundra fell silent except for the whistle of the wind. Gray began to 
haul the supplies to the dacha.


The Russian embassy was perched high in the hills behind the city centre. It had changed little from the 
Soviet era except for the crest on the gate. As Jess got off the bus outside, she glanced at the houses across 
the street. The same houses that, no doubt, used to house members of the Security Intelligence Service and 
their spy gadgets.


Jess had obtained her passport relatively quickly but she knew her visa would require considerably longer 
to process.


Instead of ringing a bell and announcing herself to a speaker, the gate was open and she was free to walk 
into the public reception area. Russia was no longer suspicious of this pacific country.


The woman at reception was quite happy to chat, once the formalities of her application had been 
completed. Jess told her that she was going to surprise her fiancée on holiday in Siberia for a romantic stay 
in a remote cabin. The woman became quite excited by the story.


Yes, she remembered Gray Treadwell and wasn’t he a ‘catch,’ she gushed. She even printed out a copy of 
his visa application, even though she wasn’t supposed to. 


It was dated two months ago. Under ‘reasons for travel,’ was, ‘recreation, I will be staying in a lakeside 
dacha for three weeks.’ The location was stated as ‘60km SSE of the Tunguska River.’


‘A good start,’ Jess said to herself as she left.


In Nuku’alofa, Tonga, Warren Hastings held the A4 sheet up to the light. It was obvious to him the font on 
some of the entries was different. It was obvious, also, that what he got from the Palace Guard were colour 
photocopies of the accounts of the Tonga Weekly Revue.


In fact, the Palace Guard had been altogether too damned evasive all round.


The suspect entries record regular payments of $12,000 to a Mr. Chen. $12,000 was a significant payment 
for a newspaper with a circulation of perhaps 10,000 people.


Warren immediately surmised the entries had been faked. Repeated requests to the Palace failed to produce 
the originals so the detective had to report to his boss that the evidence was at best ‘unsafe.’


“My guess is A’oka’s being set up,” he told his chief, “ and not very expertly.”


“Everyone seems to be setting up everyone else,” Sperle told him.


Warren,” the DS continued, “ how do you like the idea of our pal Swinbourne, the human rights lawyer, 
wading into the fray. Call it an unholy alliance, but I rather thought he might shake a few trees for us.”


“How would he intervene?”


“Why, your friend Moses A’oka needs a lawyer doesn’t he? To be honest I’d rather have that pain in the 
arse over there than here, getting in my way.”


“Is he keen?”


“Is he what! There’s quite a storm brewing here about press freedom and the repression of human rights in 
Tonga. He can hardly restrain himself.”


“By all means, let’s rattle a few cages.”


“I’ll call him straight away,” Sperle said, ringing off.


Jim Rufus picked Vili up from school like he often did. Also like he often did, his hand stretched across to 
rest on Vili’s leg. 


Vili was used to this little performance by now. She was grateful he was some ways down the road and out 
of view from her school friends. 


She parted her legs a little and moved her right towards Mr. Rufus’s hand. Looking out the window, she 
felt his hand slowly stroking her, moving steadily up her blue regulation tights towards her short skirt.


At the junction of her legs, his hand would rest, Mr. Rufus removing it only if he needed it for driving. 
Having negotiated the corner, or whatever, it would return.


Vili sat in the car as if completely oblivious to the invading hand. Even when his index finger was pressed 
against her mound, she simply ignored it.


When they got home, Mr. Rufus watched her as she changed out of her school clothes. He sat in her dresser 
chair while she peeled off her uniform, sometimes pressing himself between his legs with his hand.


Vili simply pretended he was not there.


One afternoon Mr. Rufus had asked her to come closer then reached out his hand and stroked her bottom. 
Slowly that initiated a new dimension to their activities.


The young teenager trembled at his touch. He’d spend some time now running his hands over her body, 
over the exposed portion of her skin. Silently she accepted his touch, she didn’t want to offend him by 
shrugging him off.


Two weeks later Jess had everything ready. In the folder she received from the travel agent the flight plan 
was to be; Qantas, Auckland to Tokyo, Japan Airlines to Beijing, China Airlines to Ulan Bator, Aeroflot to 
Irkutsk.


The schedule intimidated her, she had never traveled so far in her life. Nearly 30 hours of flight time spread 
over four days and all on her own.


The Travel Company had warned her about the reliability of flights in that region, in the tail end of winter. 
Airports can close for weeks on end through bad weather.


Everyone had advice for her. Sperle gave her some points about searching for someone who didn’t want to 
be found. Chris told her to enjoy herself, Jerry told her to keep away from the ‘Ivans’ because they were all 
horny.


The police psychologist suggested Gray probably had a ‘personality disorder.’ Jess thought the 
psychologist probably was an idiot.


By Ulan Bator, Mongolia, Jess’d had enough of travel. The novelty had worn off the longer she was in the 
air.


The China Air Airbus had just made it into Ulan Bator before the weather closed the airport. She flopped 
into one of the terminal chairs and promptly went to sleep.


The same weather had delayed Gray’s weekly supply drop. He had tried venturing outside but the blizzard 
had driven him indoors. At least he had a good supply of fuel left for the Diesel stove. The Russians had 
thoughtfully stored a few extra drums in the store shed.


It was, however, a labourious business topping up the stove’s tank. It perched on an angle-iron frame 
nestled against the back of the dacha. To refuel you had to run a hose from the shed into the tank and crank 
the stuff in with a hand pump.


In the cold, the Diesel oil became very sluggish and required a lot of muscle to force it through the canvas 
hosepipe.


When going well, the stove provided all the heat anyone could ever wish for.


On the other side of the world, Moses A’oka was collecting his bundle of possessions from the front desk at 
the Police station. Mamaku, the police chief, stood with arms folded, glaring at him in the fashion only 
Polynesians have.


“You check everything then sign,” he told him in Tongan, “you don’t go around telling folks I stole from 
you, ok?”


“What are you scared of, Chief? He replied, “ afraid of a little telling off from the palace.”


“You show respect for His Majesty,” Mamaku roared, “if it was up to me I would have you chained up 
with the dogs.”


“You just don’t get it, Mamaku. You boss is too busy stuffing his face to see what’s under his nose.”


The police chief raised his hand as if to lash at Moses but restrained himself, bristling with anger and stuck 
for words.


“The Kingdom is been stolen from under our feet and sold off to foreigners, hell! Even your kids are being 
sold overseas. Don’t you realise what’s going on?”


“YOU steal…” Mamaku blustered.


“Steal what, Mamaku? The Palace fabricated all kinds of ‘evidence’ because I was telling the truth about 
them. One letter to the Chief Justice from my lawyer and poof! Nothing… no ‘evidence’ no charges. And 
now there will be no trial and no cross examination by sharp lawyers.”


“You have always been troublemakers, you A’okas. I think you want to be Kings yourselves. That’s what 
this is all about.”


Mamaku shoved him rudely out the door.


Meanwhile, outside Jerry Hanlon’s garage a red, late model Chevrolet pulled up. Three men got out, all 
wearing dark glasses, looking like the cast of ‘Men in Black.’ Sliding open the door to the garage, two went 
inside while the other hovered outside.


“Jerry? Is that you? The shorter man called.


Extricating himself from an under a bonnet, Jerry looked up in surprise.


“Silvio, Hell!” 


Indicating towards the two other men, Jerry exclaimed,


“What are you doing bringing your boys this side of the river?”


“They’re being respectful,” Silvio replied, “they’re not wearing any colours.”


“Bloody incognito all right! You just park a red Chevy outside and that guy has a Mongrel Tat on his 
cheek,” Jerry said indicating one of the men. “ Are you looking to kill my trade?”


“Calm down… I just wanted to have a little chat.”


“The last time I chatted to you I wound up in maximum security for 8 years.”


“Hey! Don’t blame me for that. You were a contractor, you accepted your own risks.”


“You threw me to the cops to save your own arses.”


“A business decision, Jerry… Look I didn’t come here to talk over old times…”


“Good! Leave the door open on your way out, I need to get rid of the smell.”


“Have you heard from you pal Gray?” Silvio asked, ignoring the comment.


“Why do you want to know?”


“I hear he’s been a naughty boy… Got into a bit of trouble.”


“So? Have you been misdirecting your packages again, Silvio?”


“Oh that! Sorry I used your address. We just had to check for canaries.”


“$600,000 is a lot of investment to go on a rat hunt, Silvio. It must be a big rat.”


“It was, Jerry, a very big rat.”


“And you think that Gray tipped off the cops? If so then what are they after him for?” 


“Smoke screen… Look, no one knows the Pacific like your pal. Ever since ‘Red’ parked himself in the 
islands we keep getting fucked up out there. We bring in some bait and what do you know? The cops are 
waiting for it.”


“Silvio… I’m getting a ‘road to Damascus.’”


“What the fuck are you talking about? I could never understand what you say”


“A revelation… it tells me Black Dot is screwing around with Gray’s life.”


“He screwed with us…”


“And you want to hit him? Where the fuck do you think you are, Miami? You strut around like some 
Colombian firm but you’re playing for chicken shit, Silvio. If I see your boys over here again, I tell the 
Black’s council your trying to shake me down.”


“Don’t threaten me…” Silvio said advancing on Jerry. All of a sudden, daylight flooded into the garage as 
the doors were thrown back. A line of gang soldiers stood silhouetted.


“You lost your way, dog shit?” one of the soldiers asked.


“Private business,” Silvio replied walking slowly towards them, hands outstretched to prove he had no 
weapon.


“You need Dog soldiers for your private business? Hey Jerry! I don’t like your clients.”


“Me neither… they were just leaving.”


The two Mongrel gangsters glared at the Black Power ‘cavalry’ menacingly as they made to leave.


“Keep in touch, Jerry?” Silvio said, nonchalantly, as he slipped through the line of men.


“I send you a Christmas card.”


The Chevy roared down the street sending up a cloud of blue smoke from the rear tyres. George Tamahere, 
the Black’s ‘President’ lingered behind as everyone else left.


“What’s going down, Jerry,” he asked.


Later that afternoon, Jerry waited for Chris in the police station’s watch house. Chris appeared through the 
staff door, a look of concern on her face.


“What’s the matter, Jerry? They said you wanted to see me urgently.”


“Can we go for a stroll?” he said, “ this place gives me the creeps.”


They sat in a little park down the road, out of public view.


“Chris,” Jerry said, sucking in his breath, “ where is Jess now?”


“Ulan Bator, Mongolia, I heard, waiting for clear weather, why?”


Jerry looked around him, then said in a low voice,


“Black Dot have a contract out on him.”


“What? Who? Why, Jerry?”


“They think he’s been messing with their business… that whole drug shipment was organised by them. 
They think he’s a police mole.”


Jerry explained what had happened earlier at the garage.


“They’re pretty desperate to bring Mongrel soldiers over the river,” he explained.


“I didn’t know Black Dot were still in business,” Chris said, “I thought they’d been cleaned up.”


“Nah, they just got smaller. Other dudes took over from the seniors when they were busted, or ran. They 
use Mongrel muscle these days. You’ve got to get a message to Gray to stay put. Tell Sperle if you have to. 
If this goes down there’ll be fucking warfare, tell him that!”


“I will! Jerry… how can we stop it?”


“The only way I can see is to prove Gray was not informing for the police. He wasn’t was he?”


“If he was they’re keeping it very quiet, even from Sperle. He’s still convinced Gray’s involved in 
something criminal.”


“Maybe he’s doing both… I dunno. Or maybe he just accidentally stepped in something. It happens, 
Y’know, dude’s minding his own business and then someone puts two and two together and comes up with 
the square root of infinity.”


“Shit, Jerry, what a mess.”


Chris lay her head on Jerry’s shoulder to be comforted by his arm around her.


“So, you’re telling me that Black Dot have a contract out on Treadwell?” Sperle was telling Chris later, in 
his office, “that they think he’s an informer? That the drug shipment was bait? Are you telling me that 
they’d blow 600 grand just to entrap him? Does that sound credible, Constable?”


“I don’t know, sir. I’m just reporting the information, what you do with it is up to you.”


“Don’t get cocky… Hmm so Silvio Kosmadakis is frightened enough to risk bringing his muscle over the 
river. Now THAT’S interesting. Hmm, if they want to take him out, why tell Hanlon? It doesn’t make 
sense, unless they want him to make contact with Gray. Do you know what I think?” Sperle suddenly asked 
Chris, “I think they want him out of the way, to stay hidden. For some reason they don’t want him back in 
the country. I don’t think they’re going to risk gang warfare by murdering him, that’s just silly.”


“You think so, sir?”


“I think so. If Dayshe can bring him to civilisation, we can provide some protection for him, providing he’ll 
co-operate. If you can reach her, tell them not to talk to strangers, just in case. I’ll ask our gang-watch 
people to keep an eye on the Mongrels, too.”


“Yes sir.”


In Siberia the day was dawning crystal clear. An antique Illyushin airliner sat on the tarmac at Ulan Bator 
winding up its engines. Jess gathered up her hand luggage and headed for the counter.


At the home of James Rufus, accountant, Jim was tapping lightly on the door of Vili’s bedroom. When he 
received no response, he silently opened the door and crept in. Kneeling by the side of the bed containing 
the sleeping Tongan teenage girl, he thought for a moment before gently easing the covers from over her 
young body.


Her eyes flicked open and she looked up, startled. Putting a finger to her lips, James Rufus shushed her.


“It’s me,” he whispered to her.


Pulling down the covers, the accountant silently eased himself into her bed. Wordlessly, Vili moved over to 
accommodate him.


Chapter 13 follows


Katzmarek ©























 
