Fear the Asian Evil: Inspector Steve Morgan, #3

By Steven M. Moore

Former Scotland Yard Inspector Steve Morgan's next case at Bristol PD involves the attempted murder of a journalist who happens to be the sister-in-law of one of his sergeants. Its prelude, though, involves a fishing trip made during a vacation when Steve and his girlfriend' father find a dead Chinese spy afloat in the North Sea. That leads to frictions with MI5 that distract from solving what should be the routine case of the woman's attempted murder. The hunt for spies and ordinary policework clash until they come together.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Steven M. Moore
• Release date: Nov 7, 2022
• ISBN: 9798215678084

Steven M. Moore

If you’re reading this, thank you. Not many people find me...or recognize me as an author of many genre fiction novels. Maybe it’s because my name is too common—I thought once about using a pen name...and probably should have. Maybe it’s because I don’t get many reviews. (It's not hard to write one once you've read one of my books: just say what you like and dislike in a few lines, and why.) I know you have many good books and good authors to choose from, so I’m honored and humbled that you are considering or have read some of mine.You’re here on Smashwords because you love to read. Me too. Okay, maybe you’re here to give someone the gift of an entertaining book—that’s fine too. I love to tell stories, so either way, you’ll be purchasing some exciting fiction, each book unique and full of action and interesting characters, scenes, and themes. Some are national, others international, and some are mixed; some are in the mystery/suspense/thriller category, others sci-fi, and some are mixed-genre. There are new ones and there are evergreen ones, books that are as fresh and current as the day I wrote them. (You should always peruse an author's entire oeuvre. I find many interesting books to read that way.)I started telling stories at an early age, making my own comic books before I started school and writing my first novel the summer I turned thirteen—little of those early efforts remain (did I hear a collective sigh of relief?). I collected what-ifs and plots, character descriptions, possible settings, and snippets of dialogue for years while living in Colombia and different parts of the U.S. (I was born in California and eventually settled on the East Coast after that sojourn in South America). I also saw a bit of the world and experienced other cultures at scientific events and conferences and with travel in general, always mindful of what should be important to every fiction writer—the human condition. Fiction can’t come alive—not even sci-fi—without people (they might be ET people in the case of sci-fi, of course).I started publishing what I'd written in 2006—short stories, novellas, and novels—we’d become empty-nesters and I was still in my old day-job at the time. Now I’m a full-time writer. My wife and I moved from Boston to the NYC area a while back, so both cities can be found in some novels, along with many others in the U.S. and abroad.You can find more information about me at my website: https://stevenmmoore.com. I’m also on Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/authorStevenMMoore; and Twitter @StevenMMoore4.I give away my short fiction; so does my collaborator A. B. Carolan who writes sci-fi mysteries for young adults. See my blog categories "Steve's Shorts," "ABC Shorts," and the list of free PDF downloads on my web page "Free Stuff & Contests" at my website (that list includes my free course "Writing Fiction" that will be of interest mainly to writers).I don't give away my novels. All my ebooks are reasonably priced and can be found here at Smashwords, including those I've published with Black Opal Books (The Last Humans) and Penmore Press (Rembrandt's Angel and Son of Thunder). I don't control either prices or sales on those books, so you can thank those traditional publishers for also providing quality entertainment for a reasonable price. That's why you won't find many sales of my books either. They're now reserved for my email newsletter subscribers. (If you want to subscribe, query me using [e-mail].)My mantra has always been the following: If I can entertain at least one reader with each story, that story is a success. But maybe I can do better than that? After all, you found me!Around the world and to the stars! In libris libertas!

Book preview

Summary

Former Scotland Yard Inspector Steve Morgan’s next case at Bristol PD involves the attempted murder of a journalist who happens to be the sister-in-law of one of his sergeants. Its prelude, though, involves a fishing trip made during a vacation when Steve and his girlfriend’ father find a dead Chinese spy afloat in the North Sea. That leads to frictions with MI5 that distract from solving what should be the routine case of the woman’s attempted murder. The hunt for spies and ordinary policework clash until they come together.

Related Novels

The three Inspector Steve Morgan novels are related to the Esther Brookstone Art Detective series. Characters from those novels appear here, but the following story can be read and enjoyed independently of the first two Morgan novels and those previous Brookstone ones.

If you’d like to peruse the Esther Brookstone novels, here is the full list:

Rembrandt’s Angel—Esther becomes obsessed with recovering a painting stolen by the Nazis in WWII.

Son of Thunder—Esther is out to prove either the famous Renaissance painter Sandro Botticelli didn’t go to Ephesus (now in modern-day Turkey), or the tomb of St. John the Divine is located there.

Death on the Danube—Bastiann van Coevorden and Esther finally tie the knot, but their honeymoon tour down the famous river becomes a murder investigation.

Palettes, Patriots, and Prats—Esther defends an American artist and discovers a vast network of stolen art and sex traffickers.

Leonardo and the Quantum Code—A friend from Esther’s days at Oxford is developing new algorithms for secure quantum messaging, and three different countries and a lone wolf want them.

Defanging the Red Dragon*—China wants the plans for software and hardware upgrades for nuclear submarines; Esther, Bastiann, and friends endeavor to stop them.

Intolerance*—Three cases of evil intolerance keep the art detective busy, including evil actions perpetrated by a group of domestic terrorists.

The Klimt Connection**—Esther and Bastiann’s visit to New York City is abruptly ended when their flat in London is bombed by the new leader of the group of domestic terrorists.

Celtic Chronicles***—Esther and Bastiann are volunteers at an archaeological dig in Scotland when a student’s murder has international repercussions.

*Free PDF download available at stevenmmoore.com.

**Inspector Morgan makes his debut in this novel.

***The first Morgan novel resolves many issues left unresolved in this Brookstone novel.

The other novels have ebook versions available wherever quality ebooks are sold. The first three novels also have print versions. 

British, Scotch, and Irish Words and Phrases

Just like the US has Bostonian and Texan dialects, the UK and the Republic of Ireland also have regional dialects. I tried to include here all expressions not familiar to US readers that appear in the novel, but I might have missed a few...or included a few extras from previous novels in the series? And English and Irish readers, please don’t hold it against this Yank if my definitions aren’t one hundred percent correct. While I might be responsible for some errors, Google and Microsoft Word were willing accomplices!

A

aggro—aggravation, discomfort

ANPR—Automatic Number Plate Recognition (cameras on major UK roads used to read license plates)

ARO—Armed Response Officer (like a SCO19 member)

ARU—Armed Response Unit (also often called SCO19)

ARV—Armed Response Vehicle (a van carrying an ARU or SCO19)

Auld Reekie—Edinburgh, Scotland

B

barney—intense argument or verbal skirmish

barrister—lawyer who can participate in a trial

beck—creek, small river

biro—ballpoint pen (named after its inventor)

blaggard—scoundrel

blather—talk, often without rhyme or reason

bloke—fellow, guy

blues and twos—emergency vehicles, or patrol cars in general (for blue lights and two-toned sirens)

bollix—bungle

bollocks—general swear word (literally, testicles)

boot—car trunk

brae—a steep bank or hillside

brief—a barrister or solicitor (or the usual meaning)

C

car park—parking lot (usually seen as two words, but sometimes as one, or hyphenated)

ceilidh—gathering with Gaelic folk music, singing, dancing, and/or storytelling

chap—fellow, guy

chappie—fellow, guy

chat up—flirt

chinwag—conversation, discussion

CID—Criminal Investigative Department within a police station

chuffed—pleased

cockup—something done badly or inefficiently; disaster, fiasco

copper—policeman or policewoman

crisps—potato chips

D

DS—Detective Sergeant

DC—Detective Constable

DI—Detective Inspector

DCI—Detective Chief Inspector

do an early dart—leave business early

do a runner—flee, disappear

donkey’s years—a long time

dosh—money (wad)

droll—boring, irrelevant

duty solicitor—legal representation provided to a suspect by the police or court

E

eejit—fool

F

fag—cigarette

feckin’—not as strong as the American version, but also used to emphasize

fiver—five-pound note

FLO—family liaison officer

fuggy—warm, stuffy, smoky (of a room, atmosphere, or mind)

G

give stick—beat up, verbally or physically

gobshite—mean or contemptible person

gobsmacked—astonished, astounded (a gob was a wad of tobacco)

goolies—testicles

GP—General Physician

grass—rat, stoolie (noun); to rat on, inform (verb)

H

hire-car—rental car

HOLMES—Home Office Large Major Enquiry System, the UK-wide police database

I

Iron Lady—Margaret Thatcher

K

kerb-crawler—prostitute (kerb is curb in the US)

knackered—exhausted

L

do or have a lie-in—sleep late

loo—bathroom, WC

lorry—truck

lose his rag—get furious

M

marra—mate, friend (Cumbrian dialect)

mash—tea brewed from tea leaves, not tea bags

mobile—cellphone or smart phone

monkeys—500-pound notes

MP—member of parliament

N

nappies—diapers

nick—steal, arrest (verbs); police station, jail (nouns)

niggling—trifling, annoying

nippers—children

numpty—stupid or foolish person

nutter—crazy person

O

old chestnut—adage or saying

P

peckish—hungry

Peel Centre—training institution for the Metropolitan Police (originally only for higher-ranked officers, and also called Hendon Police College or Hendon Training College)

pillock—fool

pish-tosh—only a trifle

plonker—fool

plod—copper

PM—prime minister

prat—a stupid or foolish person

publican—manager or owner of a pub

punter—bookie, gambler (more British); customer (more Irish)

R

rozzer—copper

rugger—rugby player

S

SCO19—Specialist Crime and Operations group (SWAT group in the US); see ARO, etc. (This term tends to be used more in standard policing, while MI5 and NCA tend to use more the ARO terminology.)

scarper—flee

scrote—lowlife

scrum—disorderly crowd

shite—what you expect, but not considered swearing as such

shop (out)—betray

skelping—unusually large or outstanding

SIO—Senior Investigating Officer

snout—informant (see grass)

SOCO—Scene of Crime Officer (US CSI)

sod—annoying person (noun); deprecate or disparage (verb)

solicitor—a lawyer who provides legal representation but can't necessarily appear in a trial

stunner—pretty woman

T

Taff—Welshman

takeaway—fast food the buyer picks up

taking the Mickey—taunting, wisecracking, or being otherwise unreasonable

taking the piss—(see immediately above)

tam—a Scottish hat

tearaway—urchin

telly—television

tipple—imbibe an alcoholic beverage, or the beverage itself

tippler—habitual drinker

toe-rag—urchin

toff—aristocrat, or member of the privileged elites

tops—bobbies (for the helmets)

trainers—sneakers (US East Coast) or tennis shoes (US West Coast)

trawl—search

tuck in—more for eating than for going to bed

twaddle—nonsense

twit—foolish or stupid person

twitcher—birdwatcher

W

wag—a person given to droll, roguish, or mischievous humor

wanker—a contemptible person, scoundrel, villain

wellies—overshoes

wing mirror—side mirror of car (as opposed to rearview mirror)

wrinklies—elderly or older people

Y

yob—rude or aggressive person

Security Agencies

British national police—the Metropolitan Police System (the Met aka Scotland Yard) and its regional affiliates

British national crime agency—National Crime Agency (NCA)

British internal security—MI5

British external security—MI6

Chinese security—Ministry of State Security (MSS)

French internal security—DGSI

French external security—DGSE

Irish Republic's national police—An Garda Siochana (Gardai or the Guards)

Russian internal security—FSB

Russian external security—SVR

US internal security—ATF, DEA, DHS, FBI

US external security—CIA, sometimes FBI

Notes:

The Metropolitan Police System, also called the Met or the Yard (for Scotland Yard, which is often used for both the Met and the City of London Police), and their regional affiliates represent the general policing organization for England and Wales; it covers general crime throughout the region with its many divisions, but it also covers background checks and crimes associated with the Official Secrets Act and railroad terminals and some local airports. Individual cities' police departments are now considered part of the overall system (e.g., Bristol or Reading PD).

Police Scotland was created in 2013 to unify policing in all of Scotland, and it's basically a copy of the Metropolitan Police system with all its own divisions and bureaucracy.

MI5 and MI6 were created during World War II. (The MI stands for Military Intelligence, and Section Five and Section Six are just reduced to the numbers in general parlance.)

The National Crime Agency was also created in 2013 to lead efforts against organized crime, including sex- and drugs-trafficking.

FSB and SVR are the remnants of the old KGB, Putin's old employer.

Cast of Principal Characters

Philippa Bernard—DGSI agent

Harold Harry Bond—Bristol PD DCI

Jeremy Brand—director of MI5’s Counterterrorism Division

Cheryl Burrows—the victim in Owen’s murder case

Henry Clayton—MI5 agent and ex-American CIA agent

Harold Gregg—Newcastle PD DI

Alan Hempsted—Dora’s PA

Dora James—director of the Bristol Relocation Service

Stewart James—Dora’s husband

Kanzi Kimachu—Bristol PD SOCO

Hal Leonard—American MI5 consultant and ex-Interpol agent

Siwan Llywelyn—Owen’s sister-in-law

Ma Haitao-Sile—Chinese agent killed in the North Sea

Jim McLaughlin—MI5 agent in charge of Carl’s task force

Steve Morgan—Bristol PD DI

Dan Murray—MI5 agent

Betsy O’Toole—Bristol PD DS

Joseph Stephenson—MI5 agent

Gerald Ting—restaurant owner

Bastiann van Coevorden—Dutch MI5 consultant and ex-Interpol agent

Gretchen Williams—director of the NCA’s Narcotics Interdiction Program

Owen Wilson—Bristol PD DS

Ben Wong—director of Bristol Futures

Clarisse Workman—Bristol PD DI

Yu Kai-Shan—Subdirector of the MSS's Western Europe Division

Prologue

Ma Haitao-Sile often had difficulty understanding the orders he received from his MSS masters. His last ones had come from the VIP who’d called him in to say, An assignment for you, Ma, a good one so that you can acquire some valuable field experience abroad. Let’s say that our government has made some investments in England. Your task will be a simple one: Go see if our funds are being used wisely.

The Subdirector of the Ministry of State Security's Western Europe Division, Yu Kai-Shan, had said all that without looking up from his laptop, which he now did. He eyed his subordinate with an intense scowl, perhaps expecting an argument; the scowl was more pronounced because his expression was usually a scowl, reflecting his sour disposition. Ma was used to it but didn’t have to like it. He also knew it was the practiced and arrogant look of any VIP in President Xi Jinping’s regime.

The Subdirector stood and walked over to his window that looked down upon the entrance to MSS HQ in Beijing, now a lovely, landscaped entrance that belied the ugliness of the utilitarian building and what some would say was the evil inside it. Only MSS VIPs had windows in their offices, so Yu always made sure he called attention to his, a signal to subordinates that they were inferior creatures who must always obey him because they could only exist at his whim. Yu was an important man in the Chinese state’s massive security apparatus, and he wasn’t about to let inferiors forget that. Those who did often ended up in the work camps alongside the Uighurs. 

Ma and many other MSS agents felt no love for the Subdirector, not even respect. He’d risen to his position by deceit and murder and ordered them to do the same, for the glory of the state at home and abroad. He was short, muscular, and compact, an old ex-army man who'd gone a bit soft but still exercised every day. His salt-and-pepper hair was mere stubble; his eyebrows framed his chiseled face instead, and they were cold and calculating as he made the agent wait for his orders.

And Ma wasn’t a complete fool. The agent knew that despite what he considered to be his many successes, he was so low in the pecking order that MSS VIPs considered him expendable if anything went wrong. Chinese leaders from Xi on down placed little value on human lives, even those who served them faithfully, because in their autocratic system, nobody could trust anyone, and only fear led to obedience. And they all knew that everyone was replaceable because they were only cogs in an evil fascist machine; with the large Chinese population, there would always be live bodies to replace the living sent to Chinese prison camps and those murdered by the autocratic government.

Yet all had gone well on his journey until he arrived in Hamburg, Germany, when he’d paid an exorbitant price to the captain of an old freighter to take him to Newcastle-on-Tyne, England. Once there, he was to travel to Durham and find the owner of a Chinese restaurant who would provide him with more detailed orders. Assuming he’d survive the seasickness—he’d never been on a freighter at sea before—he’d be looking forward to that, to getting on with his mission.

The trip to England wasn’t unpleasant until near its end. The thin, wiry man would often stand on the boat’s stern or aft, looking back where the freighter had been, its wake pointing off into the distance; or looking forward where they were going, towards the distant English shore, seen only towards the end of the journey. His thin, black hair would blow in the wind and his keen eyes would tear up from the ocean breezes as he felt a freedom he’d never enjoyed in China. He was as nearly content as he’d ever been, first as an orphan in Macao, the old Portuguese colony, then on the mean streets of Hong Kong, where the MSS had drafted him long after China had received that colony from the British—rather forced the English to return what was theirs, as the Chinese government put it.

While the gruff old captain, a short, surly, and ugly man all too often chewing on a smoldering cigar that would often send off fiery bits in those same breezes, and the burly first mate, a man twice Ma’s size, weren’t exactly friendly towards Ma, they and the rest of the crew tolerated him nearly to that journey’s end. That was when the captain and first mate approached him on the deck, the captain covering him with a gun as the first mate bound him with zip ties.

What’s the meaning of this? Ma demanded in their native German, a language that he spoke fluently after having survived the MSS’s intense training in European languages, including English.

The captain laughed at his hapless Chinese passenger and winked at the first mate.

Ah, slant-eyes, we’ve talked it over and decided that your presence here has put our main and more important cargo in jeopardy. You’re going to take a little ride in a lifeboat, Mr. Ma. Nothing personal. It’s all about business and profits, you see.

There wasn’t much the Chinese agent could do. He was set adrift in the boat. He’d just managed to cut through the plastic binding his wrists by rubbing against an iron fitting, a small victory, and was wondering what to do next to save himself, when they started to shell the boat from the freighter’s deck.

Chapter One

Offshore Newcastle-on-Tyne, England

Kanzi’s father, Gathi Kimachu, handed Steve Morgan his whiskey and soda and then flopped into his own deck chair. He took a sip of his gin and tonic and smiled at the Bristol police inspector. Steve had stopped watching waves for a moment to see if the old man was comfortably sorted. He was old but not feeble and had better sea legs than Steve. More practice, I dare say, he thought.

Despite the world of difference in their backgrounds, Steve already felt close to the old man. He was intelligent, well- and soft-spoken, and still enjoyed the life that fate had given him. He had passed on his high cheekbones, piercing eyes, and curly and kinky hair to his daughter but not her overall build, which more matched her mother’s.

Gathi was a successful businessman and well-known in the Newcastle area, although Steve suspected that anyone who could afford a nice boat had to be somewhat successful. He considered boats a luxury he would never be able to afford, even on a detective inspector’s salary that was only a bit better than detective sergeants and constables’.

Steve caught the old man studying him. What does he see? A white man lusting after his beautiful daughter? A future son-in-law who would love and protect her? So far, Kanzi’s family was welcoming and had been so from day one when Kanzi and he had arrived at the large family home near Newcastle. Of course, he might also see a man older than Kanzi, separated in years from her more than those separating him from his wife, Bisahara.

Gathi had learned that Steve had lost his parents and become a child lost in the foster care system until he joined the military at eighteen. Returning to England, Steve had still felt lost, but he’d found himself while doing policework at Scotland Yard and now at Bristol PD. How does Gathi feel about that? Steve hoped he was okay with it. After all, his own daughter worked for the police as a forensics scene-of-crime officer, a SOCO.

While Akina, Kanzi’s sister, Kanzi, and Bisahara were shopping in Newcastle center, a bit up the river Tyne, the men had gone for a sail on the North Sea, following Gathi’s suggestion that just the two of them pursue a more masculine activity alone. Steve had learned to ignore sexist remarks like that, many stemming from Gathi’s age and background that differed culturally and even internationally from Steve’s own.

The father used the small fishing boat more for rest and relaxation than for serious deep-sea fishing, though. The boat, about forty feet from aft to stern in Steve’s estimate, had only the bare essentials—two fishing chairs plus two deck chairs for guests on the stern deck and a tiny galley and head half a deck below the pilot’s cabin. It wouldn’t be a safe haven in a serious North Sea storm—that could cause problems even for larger craft—but the weather that day was good enough to go out. There was chop, but the sky was mostly blue with scudding white clouds moving towards the shore.

Do you miss Kenya? Steve said to the old man to break the silence.

Cheers was the first part of the old bloke’s answer as he took another sip and pondered the question. There was an uncomfortable pause, and his answer was a bit circumspect. I’d say it depends on what you mean by ‘miss.’ I left there as a boy, so I mostly only remember the good things: Fresh fruit and savory dishes at times; exotic and exciting animals, some dangerous, not far outside the city; the laidback lifestyle; and so forth. But my parents, Kanzi’s grandparents, had a lot more opportunity here in England. And my wife and I took a lot more advantage of that as well. He paused and smiled at his guest. I suppose you can’t understand. Our backgrounds differ somewhat, to say the least.

The man spoke perfect English, but there was a lilt to it that was pleasing to Steve’s ear.

Oh, I do understand. And what I also know now is that Kanzi has the wonderful family I never had. After my parents passed on, I bounced around from foster home to foster home and then enlisted in the army for lack of something better to do.

From what Kanzi has told us, your motivation was a lot more than that. You don’t like terrorists, period.

Steve nodded. I don’t like criminals, period, who so often terrorize and exploit innocent people. It’s just semantics what you might call those who do evil to others. He tapped his head. Something bad happens up here, and people can become fanatical and do evil things. Terrorists are maybe the worst examples of criminals, though, because they so often attack innocent people indiscriminately. Your common criminal often justifies his actions differently and claims to be motivated by other things than religious or ideological beliefs, and I suppose that’s true—greed, perversions, whatever. Afghanistan’s Taliban can be considered the former; I’m now more worried about the latter. Yet they often seem to overlap, making my job even more difficult.

He said all that while multitasking by remembering the unsatisfactory end to his first four murder cases, one that had threatened Kanzi, and the most recent one that had involved a con