Authors: Mark Abernethy
‘Dozsa never intended to do a swap?’
‘No,’ said Mac, trying to work it out. ‘He did what we’d do – created a diversion and let the good guys chase that.’
‘That’s a very Mossad trick,’ said Scotty.
‘By way of deception – one of the craft skills you develop when you want your neighbourhood enemies hating each other, not you.’
Scotty focused. ‘You’re saying Dozsa wanted you to steal the chip from Grimshaw, and he probably knew Sandy Beech was around?’
‘That’s it,’ said Mac. ‘Or he thought Grimshaw would bust me and there’d be a big blue between the Yanks and Aussies.’
‘Which there sort of is,’ said Scotty.
‘While we fight among ourselves for the memory card, Dozsa is somewhere else and getting another copy, or even the original. And if we think it’s over, and there’s no more UAVs in the air or tracks on mobile phones, Dozsa disappears off the map.’
‘So where’s Dozsa?’ said Scotty, puffing beer fumes.
‘That’s the other thing about the call,’ said Mac. ‘Dozsa’s on a satellite phone, right?’
‘Yeah.’
‘When you call a sat phone from a cell phone, it takes about twenty seconds to get a connection.’
‘It’s going through the satellite system as well as the ground stations,’ said Scotty. ‘And there’s a propagation delay.’
‘But when you call a sat phone that’s in your local area, what happens?’
‘It connects straight through,’ said Scotty. ‘Sat-phone accounts link to local cell towers and charge back to your account – that’s why they’re so expensive.’
‘Yeah,’ said Mac. ‘So Dozsa’s phone connected immediately.’
‘That’s interesting,’ said Scotty. ‘Local call?’
‘I think Captain Loan and Jen are on the right track,’ said Mac.
‘They’re heading for Stung Treng aren’t they?’ said Scotty, smiling in the dark.
‘Yep,’ said Mac. ‘But it’d be a pity to let a couple of cops scare off our mate Joel.’
‘Joel deserves better,’ said Scotty. ‘Let me have a shower.’
Chapter 60
Staggering into the early morning dampness, Mac keyed his phone while Scotty paid the guest house manager.
Jenny’s phone was still out of range and he hoped she was avoiding trouble – she tended to pick fights with people who’d rather shoot than argue.
Standing at Scotty’s rental car, the pain just starting again in his leg, Mac wondered about firearms.
‘Got anything in the boot?’ he asked as Scotty reached the car, the hangover making his face fall off him in waves.
‘Got a Glock that has to be given back to the dip-sec in Saigon when I leave, and the bags you packed for last night. That’s it.’
Popping the boot, Mac inspected the gear bags: two M4 assault rifles, three flash-bang grenades and a single Beretta handgun with one spare clip. In the other bag were three Kevlar vests. It was the kind of cache that would get you locked up for eighteen months in a Western country, but going into Dozsa’s territory it looked puny.
‘Worth giving Sandy a call?’ said Scotty, gulping down bottled water, bloodshot eyes popping out of his head.
Mac thought about it. ‘Better if you call.’
‘Okay,’ said Scotty, pulling his phone out of his pocket. ‘But he’ll tell me to get fucked.’
Scotty lit a smoke. ‘G’day, Sandy – Scotty here, mate.’
Mac chuckled as he saw Scotty try to dodge the obvious: that it was ten to five in the morning.
‘Look, we need the navy boys up here for something this morning –’
Scotty was cut short. ‘He did? You want me to tell him now?’ He covered the mouthpiece. ‘Says you set the NSA on them and now they’ve got one American dead, another injured and Grimshaw as a prisoner – thanks a fucking lot, McQueen.’
Holding his hand out, Mac gestured for the phone.
‘Sandy,’ said Mac, effusive. ‘How are you, darling?’
‘Get fucked, McQueen,’ said the military spook.
‘You helped with the rescue, in spite of yourselves,’ said Mac.
Sandy exhaled. ‘I’m sure we’re all happy for that, mate, but I don’t appreciate being dive-bombed by a helo when I’m crossing a border.’
‘Charles came at you in a chopper?’
‘Sure did – the only thing going for us was you didn’t tell him who was in the car with me.’
‘You don’t need Maddo’s boys anymore. Can you release them to Scotty?’
‘You been drinking?’ said Beech, yelling slightly. ‘I’m trying to get out of Indochina with a file stolen from an ex-Mossad mercenary and we’re being chased by Chinese cadres and the NSA. You really think I’m about to give you Maddo?’
On the way out of town they passed the Palace Guest House. Seeing it, Mac asked Scotty to circle back.
‘What are we doing here?’ said Scotty, pulling up behind a tree. ‘Thought Grimshaw was down south.’
‘Exactly,’ said Mac. ‘He won’t miss all those firearms.’
The dim bulbs of the hallway looked vaguely menacing as Mac worked his bump key into the lock, pulling it back slightly until the pins fell then opening it with one decent left-and-right of the key.
Easing themselves inside, Scotty covered the room with his Glock. They stood still in the darkness as they took in the scene.
‘Shit,’ said Mac, and turned on the light. The living area had been trashed, but by a professional. Drawers had been opened, sofa cushions unzipped and the rug rolled up.
Moving down through the suite, Scotty checked on the bedrooms.
‘Same,’ said Scotty as he came back. ‘Someone after something.’
‘Weapons, for a start,’ said Mac. ‘The place was crowded with them.’
Leaving the suite as quietly as they’d arrived, Mac had a thought.
‘Scotty,’ he said in a whisper, pointing at the next-door room where Sammy had been interrogated. ‘Might see if Sammy knows what’s going on. Might even want a drink of water.’
Mac needn’t have bothered lifting his bump key to the door – it was three inches ajar, the light on inside.
Following Scotty inside, Mac saw that the chair Sammy had been strapped to was covered in blood, but it was empty.
The Water Dragon Guest House sat about seven blocks back from the riverfront of Stung Treng, hidden behind a line of established banyans and frangipanis.
It was dark as Mac and Scotty made their first pass, the roads largely deserted except for the odd farmer or fisherman getting an early start.
‘See anything?’ said Scotty, as they reached the end of the road and stopped.
‘Cottages around a central garden,’ said Mac. ‘Some trees but mostly open ground.’
‘Why don’t I book in?’ said Scotty. ‘If Dozsa’s in there, he wouldn’t know me.’
‘Cover?’ said Mac, checking his SIG as a nervous tic.
‘Barry Hensall, from New Zealand,’ said Scotty, saying it
Zilland
. ‘Sales director for Waitemata Irrigation Systems.’
‘Had me fooled,’ said Mac. ‘Must have been the boozy breath and ginger moustache.’
‘Works every time,’ said Scotty, reaching his hand under the steering column cowling and coming up with a small package held in place with a rubber band. He took his real passport, credit cards and driver’s licence from his wallet, exchanged the documents, and put the legitimate collateral in the steering column hiding place.
‘Phones okay?’ said Scotty, folding down the vanity mirror and looking at himself.
‘I’ll be waiting,’ said Mac, getting out of the car.
The motel across the road from the Water Dragon was filled with backpackers, judging from all the campervans in the forecourt. Getting a street-front room, Mac put a chair on the double bed and found a line of sight through the partly opened curtains, giving him a view with his binos into the Water Dragon’s internal garden.
The phone rang at 6.53 am as the sunrise turned from purple to orange.
Scotty. ‘I’m in room five – the one with the old park bench outside it, on the lawn.’
‘Can’t get that angle,’ said Mac. ‘Dozsa around?’
‘No movement – you sure this is it?’
‘This is where the Cong An is coming to make inquiries of Joel Dozsa and associates,’ said Mac. ‘And my call to that sat phone suggests he was in the area.’
‘Any ideas?’
‘I saw a pet shop in town as we came through.’
‘You shitting me?’ said Scotty. ‘I taught you that one.’
‘Yeah, well, let’s see you do it, maestro.’
‘You’re a cheeky bugger. Know that?’
At quarter to nine, Mac watched as Scotty’s car arrived back in the guests’ drive that wound around the back of the cottages. Through his binos Mac saw Scotty get out of the car, drag a cat box from the back seat, and enter his cottage via the rear door.
The phone rang. ‘I’ll call every ten minutes,’ said Scotty. ‘Doors are open, so cover me, okay?’
‘Can do,’ said Mac.
Scotty chased the kitten across the internal garden. Kittens, puppies and children were one of the best ways of getting close to people and starting conversations – a highly intelligent woman would start a conversation with Nosferatu if he was playing with a kitten. If you couldn’t get the person you wanted out of their hide with such diversions, you could revert to knocking on doors and asking if anyone had seen your kitten or child. It wasn’t very complex, but the best ploys weren’t.
After eleven minutes, Scotty rang to check in. ‘Honeymoon couple from Belgium, mining guy from Darwin and the manager’s father, who
loves
cats.’
‘Any ideas?’
‘There’s a couple of cottages opposite mine – twelve and thirteen – with closed curtains. So we might shift to the lost kitten.’
‘Be careful,’ said Mac, scanning the scene with his field-glasses.
‘I’ll start with twelve,’ said Scotty.
Thirty seconds later, the kitten stowed in his room, Scotty moved across the garden and sauntered around the porch of number 12. Mac could make out Scotty’s feet and could guess what he was saying:
My kitten was around here somewhere – you seen her?
Someone moved into the garden behind Scotty – swarthy, muscular. Shifting to take it in, Mac recognised Dozsa’s driver.
Mac hurried his view back to Scotty and couldn’t find him. ‘Come on, come
on
,’ said Mac, heart rate building.
The driver disappeared into the other side of the garden and Mac jumped from the bed, gasping with pain as he landed on his wounded leg.
He ran down the external staircase, then waited for traffic and crossed the road in a blast of heat, insects and birds going crazy.
Circling around the rear driveway of the complex, Mac touched the SIG in his waistband as he got to Scotty’s cottage. Pushing through into the cool of the room, Mac smelled the cat immediately – Scotty hadn’t bought a litter box.
Parting the curtains on the front windows, he scoped cottages 12 and 13. They were painted blue, about forty metres away. An old Khmer man sat on the park bench in front of the window.
Checking his SIG for load and safety, Mac put the weapon in his waistband under the polo shirt and, grabbing the kitten, left the cottage.
Throwing the animal on the grass, Mac tried to herd it across the garden, keeping one eye on cottage number 12, holding his breath as he waited for someone to open that door and start blasting at him.
The cat veered to the left, between cottages 10 and 11, and Mac followed as the black and white beast bounced like a rabbit.
Once behind cottage 11, Mac forgot the cat and drew the handgun. There was no movement, but he heard the low rumble of male voices. Between the cottages was parked a green LandCruiser. Moving behind the cottage, he scoped the gap to cottage 12, and walked swiftly across it, making the back door without being seen.
As he leaned against the doorjamb, Mac’s heart banged and his breath rasped. Slowly turning his head against the frosted glass, he squinted and tried to make out what was happening. Where was Scotty?
Standing back, he took a deep breath and ran at the door, raising his right leg and kicking it from its locks, following through into the cottage, sweeping his SIG at the scene in front of him.
A man standing in the porch turned and Mac whacked him in the mouth with the butt of the SIG. He kept moving through, arcing the gun back and forth in a cup-and-saucer sweep, as Scotty became visible at the far end of the room.
‘It’s okay,’ said Scotty. ‘I’m fine, Macca.’
Turning back to the man on the ground, Mac held the SIG at his ear.
‘Hands where I can see them,’ he said.
Turning from his prone position, the man looked up, blood running from his mouth.
‘Shit, McQueen,’ said the American, looking dazed.
‘Sammy,’ said Mac, recovering. ‘What the hell are you doing here?’
‘You sure it’s them?’ said Scotty, looking through a chink in the bed- room curtains that gave a view across to cottage 13, ten metres away.
‘Three Israelis, one of them’s Dozsa,’ said Sammy, dabbing a wet flannel on his swollen lower lip.
‘I saw Dozsa’s driver from that night on the docks,’ said Mac. ‘How long you been here?’
‘Since last night. When Grimshaw took off I thought I’d give this place a try.’
‘Why?’ said Mac.
‘Does it matter?’ said Sammy.
‘I don’t know, you haven’t answered,’ said Mac. ‘Look – you shot me first, okay?’
Sammy shook his head. ‘Grimshaw took a call back in Kratie – I could hear him through the walls.’
‘And?’ said Scotty.
‘All I heard was Grimshaw saying, “Water Dragon Guest House in Stung Treng – are you sure that’s where he is?” I decided to check it out.’
‘Three of them?’ said Mac.
Sammy nodded. ‘I took the gear from Grimshaw’s room, but what was I going to do with one on three?’
Mac wondered how to raise the subject of the Grimshaw–Sammy split – he wanted the subject in the open.
‘Scotty and I dropped in this morning, make sure you had food and water,’ said Mac.
‘You’re a nosey son of a bitch, know that, McQueen?’
‘Lucky I get paid for it. What’s the story with you and Grimshaw?’
Sammy kicked at the carpet. ‘It’s old Washington shit – it’s not your battle.’
‘Grimshaw’s NSA?’ said Mac.
‘Yeah, and you’ve guessed where I’m from,’ said Sammy.
‘The Pentagon and NSA clash sometimes, but duct-taped to a chair?’
Sammy gave Mac a stare. ‘Maybe Grimshaw wanted to be taken to the HARPAC codes, but he didn’t want a Defense guy touching them.’
‘He beat you?’ said Mac.
‘He thought I’d allowed Bongo to take McHugh, and he thought I’d found the SD card. He decided I was working against him – he’s paranoid.’
‘The SD chip was in Tranh’s phone,’ said Mac. ‘He was carrying it in the memory slot beside the battery.’
‘Tranh?’
‘The Vietnamese driver I had in Phnom Penh,’ said Mac. ‘I think he was killed in the apartment building.’
Sammy nodded. ‘We got his phone, but he didn’t die.’
‘No?’
‘No, I winged him after he pulled on me,’ said Sammy. ‘And he was taken by another crew.’
‘Dozsa?’
‘No,’ said Sammy, ‘locals, gangsters – they appeared at the entry doors, grabbed your driver and took off.’
Mac was stunned by the revelation. ‘There was an ambulance – didn’t someone die?’
‘Yeah, it was a woman, an expat. She was waiting for the elevator and got between me and Tranh. It was an accident.’
‘Shit,’ said Mac, remembering the night and the woman taking her garbage out to the bins. She’d let Mac and Tranh into the building.
‘Two o’clock,’ said Scotty, pulling Mac to the right angle to see through the curtains.
‘Oh no,’ said Mac, seeing the figure walking to the door of cottage 13.
‘It’s that cop from Saigon,’ said Scotty. ‘Loh Han, isn’t it?’
‘Loan,’ said Mac. ‘And yes, it is.’