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Authors: David Tindell
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successor will do it anyway.”
“She’ll do it,” Dieter said confidently. “She will want to show she has die Hoden of a man.” That brought a laugh from his son, knowing from his own reading that Margaret Thatcher’s opponents already suspected she might somehow have had testicles surgically attached.
“When their fleet arrives, we shall be ready, Father, that I can promise you.”
Dieter Baumann looked at his son, and his gray eyes were as hard and cold as Willy had ever seen them. “We had better be,” he said. “Seven million Germans gave their lives in the last war. We must ensure they did not die in vain.”
The shrilling of the telephone interrupted the moment. The two men looked out at the land in silence for a minute, until Ernesto cleared his throat behind them. “Pardon me, Herr Oberst ,” he said in fluent German, using Willy’s military rank of colonel. “There is an urgent telephone call for you from Buenos Aires.”
“Thank you,” Willy said. He walked quickly past the Argentine butler into the office. Five minutes later, he returned to his father’s side.
“What is it?” the old man asked. He squinted at his son. “What has happened?”
“That was Heinz,” Willy said. “General Viola has suffered a heart attack.”
Dieter slammed his cane on the wooden deck. “Scheiss!”
CHAPTER FOUR
Lamma Island, Hong Kong
November 1981
“You know, I’d be happy to take you to a nicer place.”
Jo Ann smiled across the table at her escort. “This is fine,” she said. “I’ve been told the food here is excellent.”
“Perhaps, but the atmosphere is somewhat…rustic.” Major Ian Masters was possessed of a fine wit, as Jo had already discovered. “The Royal Navy is rather parsimonious, but I can certainly afford something a bit more, shall we say, upscale?”
“Nonsense,” Jo said. “Besides, it’s my treat. You did say I could buy you dinner, remember?”
“Indeed,” he said. “Well, all right, then. At least the view is nice.”
Like most Chinese restaurants in Hong Kong, the Han Lok Yuen was Spartan when it came to its accommodations. The inside dining room had a few tables but little else; out here, on the veranda, there were twice as many tables, and even though they were equipped as sparely as those inside—four plain chairs, white tablecloth, simple settings—the view of this part of Lamma Island and the inner islands was spectacular, especially on this warm evening. The sun was about an hour away from dipping below the hills of Lantau Island to the west. To the northeast was Hong Kong Island, with the lights of Aberdeen beginning to flicker on; the larger city of Hong Kong was hidden from them, on the other side of Victoria Peak, but its lights, and those of Kowloon just across the bay to the north, would provide a sensuous glow on the northern horizon if they stayed past sunset.
The other tables were filling up quickly. Waiters scurried to and fro, speaking English to most of the customers, Chinese to each other. Jo had been right to suggest they arrive early. Their boat had deposited them at the Yung Shue Wan dock, leaving them with a nice fifteen-minute walk to the restaurant. “When we go back, we’ll take a different path,” she said.
“We will?”
“I was told the walk to the Sok Kwo Wan dock is very scenic. It’s also a bit longer. About an hour.”
Masters raised an eyebrow. “If you insist,” he said, but he was smiling.
A waiter appeared at their table and Jo ordered in Chinese: lettuce cups with minced quail, then roasted squab served with fried rice on the side and a pot of strong tea. “I’ll have what the lady is having,” Masters said in English. The boy nodded and rushed away. “I’m sure I’ll enjoy it, whatever it is,” he said with a wry grin.
“Ian, you said you’ve been in Hong Kong several times. You don’t always eat aboard your ship, do you?”
“No, but it’s not that often
“She’ll do it,” Dieter said confidently. “She will want to show she has die Hoden of a man.” That brought a laugh from his son, knowing from his own reading that Margaret Thatcher’s opponents already suspected she might somehow have had testicles surgically attached.
“When their fleet arrives, we shall be ready, Father, that I can promise you.”
Dieter Baumann looked at his son, and his gray eyes were as hard and cold as Willy had ever seen them. “We had better be,” he said. “Seven million Germans gave their lives in the last war. We must ensure they did not die in vain.”
The shrilling of the telephone interrupted the moment. The two men looked out at the land in silence for a minute, until Ernesto cleared his throat behind them. “Pardon me, Herr Oberst ,” he said in fluent German, using Willy’s military rank of colonel. “There is an urgent telephone call for you from Buenos Aires.”
“Thank you,” Willy said. He walked quickly past the Argentine butler into the office. Five minutes later, he returned to his father’s side.
“What is it?” the old man asked. He squinted at his son. “What has happened?”
“That was Heinz,” Willy said. “General Viola has suffered a heart attack.”
Dieter slammed his cane on the wooden deck. “Scheiss!”
CHAPTER FOUR
Lamma Island, Hong Kong
November 1981
“You know, I’d be happy to take you to a nicer place.”
Jo Ann smiled across the table at her escort. “This is fine,” she said. “I’ve been told the food here is excellent.”
“Perhaps, but the atmosphere is somewhat…rustic.” Major Ian Masters was possessed of a fine wit, as Jo had already discovered. “The Royal Navy is rather parsimonious, but I can certainly afford something a bit more, shall we say, upscale?”
“Nonsense,” Jo said. “Besides, it’s my treat. You did say I could buy you dinner, remember?”
“Indeed,” he said. “Well, all right, then. At least the view is nice.”
Like most Chinese restaurants in Hong Kong, the Han Lok Yuen was Spartan when it came to its accommodations. The inside dining room had a few tables but little else; out here, on the veranda, there were twice as many tables, and even though they were equipped as sparely as those inside—four plain chairs, white tablecloth, simple settings—the view of this part of Lamma Island and the inner islands was spectacular, especially on this warm evening. The sun was about an hour away from dipping below the hills of Lantau Island to the west. To the northeast was Hong Kong Island, with the lights of Aberdeen beginning to flicker on; the larger city of Hong Kong was hidden from them, on the other side of Victoria Peak, but its lights, and those of Kowloon just across the bay to the north, would provide a sensuous glow on the northern horizon if they stayed past sunset.
The other tables were filling up quickly. Waiters scurried to and fro, speaking English to most of the customers, Chinese to each other. Jo had been right to suggest they arrive early. Their boat had deposited them at the Yung Shue Wan dock, leaving them with a nice fifteen-minute walk to the restaurant. “When we go back, we’ll take a different path,” she said.
“We will?”
“I was told the walk to the Sok Kwo Wan dock is very scenic. It’s also a bit longer. About an hour.”
Masters raised an eyebrow. “If you insist,” he said, but he was smiling.
A waiter appeared at their table and Jo ordered in Chinese: lettuce cups with minced quail, then roasted squab served with fried rice on the side and a pot of strong tea. “I’ll have what the lady is having,” Masters said in English. The boy nodded and rushed away. “I’m sure I’ll enjoy it, whatever it is,” he said with a wry grin.
“Ian, you said you’ve been in Hong Kong several times. You don’t always eat aboard your ship, do you?”
“No, but it’s not that often
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