Authors: Mark Abernethy
Chapter 63
Vincent Loh Han started with the history of the Saigon Racing Club and then explained why he attended the Magic Millions sales on the Gold Coast each year.
‘There’s only one legal horse-racing track in Vietnam,’ said the gangster. ‘So the Asian trainer don’t concentrate on Saigon – we get the tired or the spelled horse from Thailand, Malaysia, Hong Kong. They either building up, or they on the way down.’
‘They look okay to me.’
‘Now they look okay, Mr McQueen,’ said Loh Han, taking the gin and tonic that was delivered to him, ‘because I went to Magic Million for many year buying the good bloodstock and the fast yearling.’
‘Expensive hobby,’ said Mac, taking his beer from the waiter.
‘Yes, and popular,’ said Loh Han. ‘Vietnamese people love the Aussie horse – maybe not the long bone of Europe and North America, but the big heart.’
‘I know people who go to the sales, Mr Loh Han, and they say that it doesn’t matter how much you spend, there’s no certainties in this sport,’ said Mac.
‘Ha.’ Loh Han shook a playful finger at Mac. ‘That the Aussie wisdom – I like that.’
The race finished and while Loh Han’s horse came fourth, he had a win on his betting. The aide took fresh orders for the next race and Loh Han doled out cash from a black leather overnight bag.
‘Chanthe is one of the favourite people in my whole family,’ said Loh Han, as the aide departed. ‘She is very honest and well meaning – and I don’t have a daughter of my own.’
‘Sure,’ said Mac, sipping the beer.
‘Beautiful and intelligent too,’ said Loh Han. ‘And as we know, such women can be very insecure, easily exploited by certain men.’
‘I guess so,’ said Mac, careful.
‘I want you to know that Chanthe likes you perhaps more than professionally.’
‘Look, I –’ said Mac, a little stunned.
Loh Han raised his hand. ‘I also know that you have not pressed your advantage in that regard, and that makes you a gentleman.’
‘It makes me married, Mr Loh Han,’ said Mac. ‘It’s not as if I haven’t seen what she looks like.’
‘Ha,’ said the gangster. ‘Good answer.’
As the fifth race was loading into the starting barrier, Loh Han stopped the small talk, and drew closer to Mac.
‘I have embarrassed myself, Mr McQueen,’ said Loh Han, lighting a short cigar. ‘I allied myself with some people who could now destroy my country, bring war to this region.’
‘The general?’
‘Pao Peng, yes,’ said Loh Han. ‘This started because I helped the general acquire certain technologies that would help his ambitions. My family has long ties with his and I allowed myself to help.’
‘You started managed funds that bought the assets?’
‘Yes,’ said Loh Han. ‘These are technologies open to sale and purchase on the world markets and I did not see a crime – I had some discussions with my chief money adviser and he set up the fund, started buying selected technology companies.’
‘Ray Hu?’
‘Correct,’ said Loh Han. ‘The general felt that if the fund was managed by a man famous for buying defence-related stocks and companies, then we would attract less attention from the various governments.’
‘And he’s an Australian fund manager, operating from Singapore?’ said Mac. ‘The Americans and British would ask the Aussies to do the audit?’
‘I believe that was the idea,’ said Loh Han. ‘Ray and I were very close – I spoke with him about many things, not just money. I shall miss his wisdom and humour.’
‘So will I,’ said Mac.
‘You knew Ray well?’
‘When I see something funny, I think of Ray laughing,’ said Mac, remembering how Ray would get drunk and hold forth on what an idiot some politician was, his cruel imitations reducing people to tears.
‘When I see a problem, I see Ray being three moves ahead already,’ said Loh Han. ‘I see how easily he beat me at chess – I’m his fool’s mate.’
‘Fool’s mate?’ said Mac.
‘Yes,’ said Loh Han. ‘It’s a chess strategy that creates checkmate in four moves. It’s what Ray would say if he was about to beat another bidder to a parcel of shares or make a takeover offer that he knew the directors couldn’t block.’
‘So, Ray was running this fund?’
‘Yes – I make money, the general is happy and Ray is making more money than ever.’
‘So what happened?’
‘I am introduced to a Jew who I do not like,’ said Loh Han, looking at his cigar. ‘He has charm and intellect, Mr McQueen, but it is corrupted charm. You know this type of man?’
‘I know Joel Dozsa,’ said Mac. ‘And he’s all that.’
‘Well, the general says Dozsa has an idea that will allow me to print real American currency – and that gets my attention because he can get all the codes from the US printing service, the . . .’
‘The BEP,’ said Mac.
‘Yes, that. And because I owe Pao Peng for getting the contract to supply new toilet bowls to the PLA’s barracks renovations, I go along with the counterfeit idea – we help with logistic and freight, and we provide premises and other things.’
‘An office at the Mekong Saloon?’
‘Yes, and an airline and –’
‘Airline? Is North Air a Loh Han business?’
‘Controlling interest,’ said Loh Han.
Mac’s heart sank. Loh Han pilots probably didn’t log genuine flight plans.
The gangster watched the horses jump from the barrier. ‘So, this Dozsa starts to change things.’
‘Yeah?’
‘I have lunch one day with Ray – at this restaurant right here,’ he said, pointing over Mac’s shoulder at the VIP suites at the back of the grandstand. ‘And Ray ask me what the new fund is really for.’
‘Harbour Pacific?’
‘Yes – and I know nothing about a new fund; it was supposed to be Highland Pacific. So after I argue with the general about Harbour Pacific, it seem Dozsa has overstepped and just forget to tell me about this fund; he thought the general had told me.’
‘Okay,’ said Mac, smiling.
‘Yes. So three weeks ago, I find out that Dozsa has not helped me print some real US dollars for my own amusement – he has built a factory in the forest and is printing the US currency by the billion.’
‘That annoy you?’
‘Yes, Mr McQueen, it annoyed me,’ said Loh Han, finishing his drink. ‘I am a businessman. Most of my income is from my banking and lending interests. We have assets in freight, shipping and trucks; we own hotels and we rent more motor scooters to tourists in South-East Asia than any other company.’
‘So?’
‘So a man printing US notes by the billions is not trying to get rich – he is trying to collapse a currency and, with it, the economy,’ said Loh Han. ‘People are rude about me because they say I the gangster, right?’
‘Sure,’ said Mac.
‘But I do not want the US currency to collapse in Asia,’ said Loh Han, eyes wide. ‘That the exchange currency for business – that’s our benchmark currency! Why I want to ruin that currency?’
‘You don’t, I suppose.’
‘No. So when I hear that an Aussie spy is coming to Saigon to follow the corrupt Australian, I try to get Tranh to be the driver, right?’
‘You did – he’s a good man.’
‘A good kid,’ said Loh Han. ‘But he reporting back and I realise you not following Geraldine McHugh, the currency traitor. You following her husband, Jim Quirk.’
‘Surprised?’
‘Sure,’ said Loh Han. ‘I ask why. I dig deeper, I follow you and then I follow the Americans.’
‘And?’
‘And the Americans are following you and their phone calls are talking about HARPAC, and I think this can’t be Harbour Pacific, can it? This can’t be my fund that I didn’t even start?’
‘Shit,’ said Mac, breath hissing out of him. If the various arms of Aussie intel had worked together – and the Prime Minister’s office wasn’t so keen to outsmart the spooks – Mac would have known about the Harbour Pacific problems a month ago. He wouldn’t have put Ray in that position with Lao at the Pan Pac Hotel.
‘So, what happened?’ said Mac.
‘I made one of the great mistakes of my life,’ said Loh Han. ‘I rang Ray, said I wanted to come down and go through the Harbour Pacific books, to see what we were really buying. My private jet was being used by my accountants in Honolulu, so I flew Singapore Airlines and stayed with Ray and Liesl.’
Loh Han paused as the aide returned with a heavy chunk of cash in a canvas bank bag. Loh Han took the bag, issued orders for more bets and handed out a wad of cash. Mac laughed to himself: Loh Han kept every bag of winnings along with the betting chit – he probably checked his payouts later to ensure his own people weren’t stealing.
‘We went through the asset manifests, Mr McQueen, and we made a lot of calls. Ray talks to many people in defence technology so he was calling his friends in the Netherlands, Germany, United States and Japan. And it all added up to one thing.’
‘Yes?’
‘Harbour Pacific had the asset that allow us to control the launch of North Korean ballistic missile system,’ said Loh Han. ‘The last piece was a micro-transceiver that sits between the general staff’s key and mission controller – only when both are accessed at the same time can the missile be launched and controlled. Harbour Pacific owned the British firm that make the silicon-copper switch for this safety device – we had total control. It didn’t make me feel powerful, Mr McQueen, it made me feel sick.’
‘What about the vetting?’
‘An agent of the Australian Tax Office had visited two weeks earlier, demanding to audit Harbour Pacific because Ray was the Australian citizen.’
‘Who was the tax guy?’ said Mac.
‘Ray assumed he was spy from Aussie intelligence,’ said the gangster. ‘I took the tape from Ray’s office and showed it to my friends.’
‘And?’
‘The auditor was James Quirk – recruited by ASIO while still a student, then joined trade department of your diplomatic corps, and from time to time was asked to vet sensitive purchases in South-East Asia. When I see his photo in the paper, matters became clear.’
‘What did Ray want to do?’ said Mac.
‘He wiped the asset manifests and all technical specs from his fund hard drives. He said it couldn’t be used by someone like Pao Peng.’
‘Wiped it? Completely?’
‘No, he kept a secret copy for us,’ said Loh Han. ‘And he said the Aussie intel copy from the vetting was safe in Canberra and would never be accessed by Dozsa or Pao Peng.’
Mac’s guts churned: he now knew what he’d been witnessing that night when Dozsa demanded Quirk work on that terminal. And he knew why the SD card was so valuable. Quirk had accessed his audit hard drives in Canberra and downloaded Harbour Pacific’s assets and technical specs to the chip. The whole lot was sitting in Mac’s pocket for two days, and he’d had no idea what he was carrying.
Loh Han continued. ‘Ray said we’d sit on the secret file because the next day he was meeting someone who would know what to do.’
‘At the Pan Pac?’ said Mac, wincing.
‘Yes,’ said Loh Han. ‘That was you?’
‘Shit,’ said Mac, rubbing his temples. ‘That’s all he said?’
‘He was confident you’d resolve everything – called it fool’s mate.’
Looking out at the race track, Mac fought reflux. He was confused and tired, and his leg would need more painkillers in the next half-hour. Mac had been Ray’s solution but Mac had been in the dark. He blamed himself for leaving the Firm for two years and falling behind on the kinds of things he should have known about. He blamed himself for not being more paranoid about those SingTel technicians when he first saw them outside the Pan Pacific Hotel that afternoon.
‘I have a proposition, Mr McQueen,’ said Loh Han. ‘I help you shut down this missile madness.’
‘And?’
‘And you give me the person who killed my old friend.’
Mac sensed a trick. Loh Han knew Mac would not want to give up Dozsa, not before ASIS had its chance at a long debrief. The gangster was luring him into a lie.
‘I can tell you the name, but I can’t let you have him,’ said Mac, trying to avoid the man’s eyes.
‘The name,’ said Loh Han. ‘You were there, Mr McQueen – you know who did this. I need that name.’
‘Joel Dozsa,’ said Mac.
Loh Han’s eyes flashed wide before narrowing again. ‘
Him!
’
‘I found out yesterday,’ said Mac. ‘He also whacked Jim Quirk, at your club in Cholon.’
‘What have I done?’ said Loh Han, easing back in his seat and lifting his field-glasses as the jockeys took their mounts for a warm-up down the back straight.
‘If the situation allows it, you can have him,’ said Mac, standing. ‘But I need something from you.’
‘Haven’t I just given you what you want?’
‘No,’ said Mac. ‘You’ve given yourself a way out of your predicament while staying sweet with a powerful general in the PLA.’
‘Ha,’ said Loh Han. ‘You’re a smart man – you need a job? I put you in charge of my hotels, see if you can stop the managers robbing me.’
‘I need to know the whereabouts of a shipload of kids last seen on the Mekong south of Kratie.’
‘That’s a big river.’
‘Registration K 4217,’ said Mac, gesturing to an aide and getting a pad and pen. ‘This was last night.’
‘Why would I know about a shipload of children?’ said Loh Han, slow and icy.
‘Because the vessel was crawling with PLA cadres from the counterfeiting factory,’ said Mac, writing Jenny’s phone number on the pad. ‘They were Dozsa’s people. This number is for Agent Toohey, Australian Federal Police – just call anonymously and give her the location, and don’t get into an argument with her.’
Loh Han took the paper and crooked a finger at a minder who’d been sitting at the gangster’s right. He whispered something to the minder, then watched him leave before turning back to Mac.
‘So we’re square,’ said Loh Han. ‘Those two men who flew you here? They’re yours for now, Mr McQueen. Leave the Jew to me.’
Chapter 64
Buckling himself into the forward-facing seat in the jet, Mac ran through his list. He’d have Scotty and Sammy waiting for him at Stung Treng, but then what? Where was the Harbour Pacific file kept by Ray? And where was Dozsa?
The engines revved and Jon – the senior minder – went to lift the stairs inside.
Looking up, Mac saw an argument at the hatch and Jon waving. Finally, Jon dropped the stairs and an athletic Vietnamese man bounced into the cabin and took a seat facing Mac.
‘Hello, Mr Richard,’ said Tranh, smiling despite the heavy bandage on his left hand.
Mac smiled too. ‘Well, it’s Harry Houdini.’
Jon came over. ‘He can’t come with us, Mr Richard,’ said the minder, a heavily built man who looked like a young version of Bongo.
‘Why not?’ said Mac.
‘Because the boss don’t want him being shot no more,’ said Jon.
‘I’m the boss now,’ said Mac.
Jon and Mac stared at one another until the Vietnamese broke.
‘Sure, boss,’ he said, pulling up the stairs and securing the hatch.
The flight time to Stung Treng was a shade over twenty minutes but it gave Mac a chance to talk with Tranh, who said he’d been ordered to stand down by his uncle after the shootout in Saigon, but he’d kept one step ahead of Vincent’s heavies so he could go to Phnom Penh with Mac.
‘You defied your uncle?’ said Mac.
‘I was ashamed,’ said Tranh. ‘This Dozsa is behaving this way, and working for my family? I wanted to help you.’
‘Why’d you steal that memory card from me, Tranh?’ said Mac, wanting to trust him again but not so sure.
‘I saw the way Lance looked at it in the van,’ said Tranh. ‘Then, when I take him for a drink, he went to the lavatory and he taking some time. I go into the lavatory to make sure he okay, and I hear him in the booth, talking into a phone.’
‘Yeah?’ said Mac, laughing.
‘Yep – and he telling someone that the memory card’s in the pocket of your backpack and he’ll grab it when he gets away from me.’
Mac remembered why he liked this bloke.
‘So when Lance come out I have a new bourbon and Coke for him, and then I say I have to buy more credit for my phone and for him to stay there.’
‘And you go back to the hotel and grab the SD card before Lance can get it?’
‘Yes, and hide it in my phone. Then all the hell is breaking loose and I forget to tell you. Then I am shot and I lose my phone, which is where –’
‘You hid the chip,’ said Mac. ‘Where did you go after we were ambushed at the apartment building?’
‘I run through the smash window, my hand shot, and I am caught by Jon,’ said Tranh, pointing. ‘So I am back to Saigon and in hiding and told to forget it, but I cannot forget it.’
‘Jon?’ said Mac, getting the heavy’s attention. ‘Luc still working for the boss?’
‘Sure,’ said Jon.
‘Can we get Luc and find out exactly where he’s flying today?’
Jon moved to the back of the cramped cabin where a Harris radio was mounted on the toilet bulkhead.
‘So,’ said Mac, ‘you were shot by the Americans?’
‘They were Chinese,’ said Tranh. ‘They shot me.’
‘Was it an accident?’
‘They shot the lady and when I run away they don’t shoot no more.’
‘Mr Richard?’ said Jon. ‘Luc’s heading for Singapore.’
‘Okay.’
‘And he say not to call back no more.’
‘He can’t talk?’
‘He sound scared,’ said Jon.
‘I bet he did,’ said Mac, holding out his hand for Jon’s satellite phone. ‘How do I call Australia on this thing?’
The heat and dust invaded the Citation’s cool atmosphere like a bad smell as Scotty and Sammy clambered into the jet on the tarmac at Stung Treng airport shortly after six pm.
‘Just had a call from Urquhart,’ said Scotty. ‘Wants to know where you are – says he has the PM’s authority.’
‘Does he?’
‘Not until Tobin tells me so,’ said Scotty. ‘Just warning you that the wheels are turning in Canberra.’
‘So where are we going?’ said Sammy.
‘You’ll see when we get there,’ said Mac, still not trusting the American. ‘In the meantime, I believe you’d like to apologise to my friend Tranh.’
Moving to the rear of the aircraft, Mac asked Scotty to join him.
‘What’s the kid doing here?’ said Scotty, inclining his head at Tranh as the jet roared to life and sped down the runway.
‘He’s Vincent Loh Han’s nephew, and he’s with us.’
Scotty frowned. ‘So what’s the plan?’
‘Dozsa’s about to land in Singapore,’ said Mac. ‘I think he’ll head for Ray’s house.’
‘Not Ray’s business?’
‘No, Dozsa knows that Ray wiped the missile details from the official fund records. So he’s looking for the one copy made by Ray and he probably thinks it’s in his house.’
‘We sure there’s only one file besides the one Sandy Beech is travelling with?’
‘The only other one is on an ASIO hard drive, from Quirk’s audits.’
Scotty checked for eavesdroppers. ‘This is embarrassing. You’re saying we send a bloke to audit the buy-up of technology used in the North Korean missiles, and our guy just downloads a copy for an ex-Mossad psycho?’
‘Under duress,’ said Mac. ‘This was a Canberra power couple, and Quirk was doing what he had to do to keep his wife out of prison. Here she is in this sting with the US Treasury, and suddenly Joel Dozsa’s back in her life.’
‘By the way,’ said Scotty, ‘I found a business centre at the airport and did some research on the computer Quirk was using.’
‘Yeah?’
‘It was bugging me, the way you described it.’
Scotty pulled a piece of paper folded into four squares from his pocket and handed it to Mac. Unfolding it, Mac saw a colour photograph of the same cream-coloured computer terminal that Jim Quirk died at in the Mekong Saloon.
‘Where’d you get this?’ said Mac. ‘This is it – see how the keyboard is built into the monitor and the hard drive?’
‘It’s the new TS series of desktops that ASIO had designed for the Australian government.’
A series of companies owned by Chinese intelligence had been buying the firms that made military-grade firewalls and anti-intrusion software. Realising that if the Chinese could control enough routers and firewalls they’d be inside the government’s systems, ASIO’s protective security people – T4 – commissioned a series of PCs for the Australian government. They were noteworthy because they couldn’t be networked and couldn’t be ‘queried’ by incoming or unsolicited pings from cyberspace. They were also ‘paired’ with designated routers built by the PC manufacturers. The designated routers would only respond to one of the numbered PCs.
‘I remember,’ said Mac. ‘So what was the terminal doing in a nightclub in Saigon?’
‘I had a chat to my guy, and it was probably stolen from the Jakarta intelligence section,’ said Scotty. ‘They’re doing that big shift to the new embassy – apparently there’s a report in the techie circles that they were short of one Top Secret PC after the move.’
‘There’s something else, mate,’ said Mac, keeping his voice low beneath the hiss of engines as the ascent continued. ‘And I don’t want you to get upset – we just have to think through some of the events.’
‘Okay,’ said Scotty.
‘Ray Hu and Vincent Loh Han are sitting in Ray’s study, making their calls and working out what this HARPAC fund is all about. Ray makes one copy – probably on a USB key or SD – and then uses his override passwords to wipe the information from the Harbour Pacific hard drives.’
Scotty nodded.
‘Then, when Loh Han goes off to bed, Ray hides his download and the next day he goes to the Pan Pac, to do a gig with me.’
Scotty’s eyes widened. ‘So how did Dozsa know to whack Ray? How did he know the deal was blown?’
‘That’s what I was thinking,’ said Mac. ‘Ray’s house and office were swept by our contractors every week – he wasn’t bugged.’
‘Well, shit,’ said Scotty. ‘There were only two people –’
‘Three,’ said Mac.
‘Ray, Loh Han . . .’ said Scotty, numbering them on his fingers.
‘And Liesl,’ said Mac.
Scotty gave Mac the death stare. ‘No
way.’
‘Who else?’
‘
Liesl?!
’
‘I’m just trying to work it through.’
‘Why would a girl who had everything be spying on her own husband?’
‘So where else did Dozsa get the information?’
Scotty looked away. ‘Don’t do this, Macca.’
‘Ray closes down the missile file and the next day he’s executed. Ray and Loh Han had no interest in telling anyone.’
‘So what was Liesl Hu’s interest?’
‘Look, I know she’s popular – we all love Liesl – but I don’t see another link.’
‘Well, maybe we should be thinking about something a bit simpler,’ said Scotty.
‘Like?’
‘Like where’s Liesl right now? And where’s Dozsa? And where’s Ray’s download?’
A black Escalade was waiting on the apron as the Citation pulled into its port at Singapore’s Seletar Airport. Night had fallen and Scotty arranged customs clearance.
‘Drop me here,’ said Sammy, as they drove past the Epiphany Church and made to hit the Tampines Expressway.
‘You sure?’ said Mac.
‘Check-in time,’ said Sammy, getting out of the SUV. ‘You know how it is.’
‘Is he cool?’ said Scotty, lighting a smoke and dropping his window as they accelerated away.
‘I have no idea,’ said Mac.
Turning right off Central into Holland Road twenty minutes later, Mac readied his SIG between his legs, stripping it and cleaning out the Mekong dirt before rebuilding it and checking for load and safety. The worst water damage to an automatic handgun was usually the loads and Mac had used a new clip and cartridges.
Mac could hear Tranh and Scotty in the back seat readying their weapons as they swung into Ray’s street, sweet frangipani drifting on the evening breeze.
‘Just here, thanks, Jon,’ said Mac, selecting a park that had a sight line to Ray Hu’s driveway while also sitting in the darkness of a large banyan.
Breathing out and in, Mac turned to Scotty. ‘Ready for this?’
‘Let’s make it fast,’ said Scotty.
Digging a radio set out of the gear bag, Mac gave the base handset to Tranh and plugged the other one into his ear, where it dangled, creating a mouthpiece.
Mac pushed the gun into his waistband. ‘If we’re not out in thirty minutes, come in – number sixty.’
Walking to the gate, Mac felt grimy. He hadn’t showered since his dip in the river and he had stubble growing on his jaw. Moving carefully down the drive he kept an eye out for traps and unwanted interlopers.
‘She’s gone,’ came a voice from through the trees, and Scotty cowered to a crouch.
‘Sorry,’ said the voice. ‘It’s just me – over here.’
Taking his hand away from the small of his back, Mac followed the voice and saw the outline of a man through the hedge that divided the Hus’ house from the retired vice-admiral’s.
Mac peered into the darkness. ‘Who’s gone?’
‘Liesl. I’m feeding her dog.’
‘I’m just here to pick up some things.’
‘They’ve already been, twenty minutes ago,’ said the neighbour. ‘Said they came for Liesl’s things.’
Mac tensed. ‘Did they take anything?’
‘No.’
‘Well, that’s why we’re here,’ said Mac, his face hurting as he smiled. ‘You know how women are.’
Waving Mac away, the neighbour returned to his house.
‘Shit,’ said Mac, as they got to the front door. ‘Is he still looking?’
‘He’s in the kitchen, having a stickybeak,’ said Scotty as Mac jiggled at the lock with a bump key.
The lock popped on the second go and Mac let it swing inwards.
‘Well, Christ,’ said Scotty. ‘Someone
was
here.’