He heard voices from the direction of the Mekong Dawn, raised, angry voices. He was too far away to make out any words and wouldn’t understand the language even if he could. Then another noise drowned out the voices, a high-pitched roar. A smaller boat appeared from beyond the Mekong Dawn, propelled by powerful outboard engines. It turned behind the stern of the larger vessel and raced towards the trees. Todd counted five armed men crouched in the boat.
***
Bullets churned the surface about him as Paul came up for air. He struggled on in a panicked, overarm thrashing, too breathless to try and swim underwater any farther. Bullets zinged past to his left and right, raising little muddy brown geysers. By some miracle he reached the trees unhurt. He crowded as close as he could to the nearest tree and turned to see if the others were behind him.
A head surfaced about ten metres out from the shadows of the overhead branches, then another came up about three metres to the right of the first.
Morgs and Wilky.
The gunmen on the Mekong Dawn now had targets to aim at and the shooting started again. Paul watched in horror as geysers erupted about his friends. Morgs and Wilky pulled hard for the trees, foaming the water with their frantic efforts. A line of geysers raced past them, paused, came back, searching.
‘Swim Morgs, you’re nearly here. Wilky, for Christ’s sake, swim.’
The line of geysers found Wilky. He threw his arms into the air as bullets tore into him. He seemed to shudder with the impact and Paul heard the scream of terror. Then the geysers moved on towards Morgs’ thrashing form. Paul heard the bullets meaty strike as they plunged into his friend’s body.
The shooting stopped and Morgs and Wilky floated face-down in the water twenty metres away, bobbing about like discarded refuse.
Paul turned from the horror and pushed himself away from the tree, swimming deeper into the swamp. Tears streamed down his pale face as he dog paddled towards the darkest patch of shadow he could see. He heard the noise of outboard engines behind him and broke into an overarm stroke, kicking as hard as he could.
***
Ky crouched in the bow of the RHIB and directed the helmsman with waves of his arm. The boat skipped across the water, the engines screaming. Ahead he could see two bodies cut down by gunfire from the Mekong Dawn and he directed the helmsman towards them. When they were close he gave the cut-out signal and the bow dropped into the water as the boat settled and its speed bled off.
‘Get them out of the water.’
The men with him dragged the bullet-riddled bodies from the water as Ky searched the trees with a pair of binoculars. He easily picked out one frantically swimming figure as it struggled to get away from the boat.
That one will be easy to catch.
He shifted his search to the right, sure one of the escaping men had swum aft of the vessel for a short distance. He would be in the trees somewhere back there. Ky studied the waterline around the closer trees, but was unable to pick out anything unusual.
The two bodies were pulled into the boat and Ky pointed into the swamp at the swimming figure.
‘That one next.’
The helmsman engaged the gearbox and the boat started forward again, slower this time as they entered the tree-line. Ky saw the swimmer stop, roll onto his back and look at the pursuing boat in wide-eyed fear. He tried to duck away to the right, but his efforts were slow, exhausted. Ky waved his arm and the helmsman brought the boat ahead of the escapee. As the bow loomed over the swimmer, Ky reached down and grabbed a handful of red hair, yanking hard. The man gave a breathless scream. The other men helped him drag the swimmer into the boat where he sprawled in the bottom panting and sobbing, but Ky was already searching for the remaining escaped passenger and payed no heed to the almost incoherent pleas.
***
From his hiding place among hanging tree roots Todd watched his friends being dragged into the boat. It wasn’t until he saw their lifeless forms dragged over the gunwale like dead fish that he fully realised the danger of his position. He had believed that if he were captured he would simply be returned to the dining saloon with the other passengers. Seeing the gunshot bodies of Morgs and Wilky pulled out of the water drove home the deadliness of his position, the lengths the gunmen would go to to prevent escape. If he was recaptured it would mean certain death at the hands of the hijackers.
The boat moved into the trees maybe sixty or seventy metres from where Todd hid. For the moment it was out of sight and he took the opportunity to better survey his surroundings. The men were sure to come back this way, looking for him. Farther into the swamp he could see a thicker clump of trees. They grew close enough together to prevent the boat from getting in amongst them. Better still, a large clump of water hyacinth had been pushed into the trees by the current and its leafy-green mass would offer excellent concealment if he could get to it.
Carefully, Todd aligned himself with the trees. He stole one last glance in the direction of the boat and could just make out its bow in the distance. Still out of sight for the moment, he took three long, deep breaths, held the third one and slipped beneath the water. Instantly he heard the whine of the outboards, but muted with distance. He used his good leg to push off from the tree and struck out, hoping the current wouldn’t push him off course. It was maybe thirty metres of swimming. He could do it in one breath easily, even with his injured leg.
Todd estimated he was halfway to his goal when he heard the whine of the outboards grow louder. The whine grew to a scream and he angled deeper. A turbulent wash of water buffeted him about. Then, just as suddenly, the turbulence was gone as the RHIB sped on and Todd was swimming through calm water once more. The propellers on the outboard motors must have missed him by mere centimetres.
He could hear the noise of the boat in the distance. The driver powered down and the whine became a throbbing pulse as the boat idled through the trees. Then Todd slammed up against something so hard it almost knocked the wind out of him. He resisted the urge to thrash to the surface and felt about.
Wood and slime.
More tree roots. He had reached the clump of trees. Probing upwards with his hand he found a stringy, spongy mass on the surface. The water hyacinth.
A new wave of fear gripped him as he realised the water hyacinth may prevent him from getting to air. But, as he probed with his hand, he found he was able to tear the leafy mass apart slightly. He tore at it for several seconds then pressed his face to the opening to breathe, treading water and clutching at the floating plant. With his ears below the surface he could hear the outboard motors idling in the distance, but it was impossible to gauge direction. The sound came from everywhere. Only the volume gave any indication of distance.
Very carefully Todd tore at the water hyacinth around his face, trying to improve his vision without exposing his hiding place. With more of the plant removed he was able to push his whole head into the opening. It was like looking up through a tangled green tube. The water hyacinth grew to thirty centimetres above the top of his fully emerged head. He could see the trees high above him, their shadowy underside dappled with bright sunshine reflected from the water. The trees crowded around him on all sides. His dead reckoning had taken him almost to the centre of the grove. Better still, once his eyes adjusted to the gloom, he discovered that he was able to see through the tangle of intertwining stems and leaves, but anyone on the outside would be hard put to see in. With the water drained from his ears he could also hear the outboard in the distance, somewhere off to his right. He turned in that direction and saw the RHIB about a hundred metres away, moving closer but at a tangent to where he hid.
Machinegun fire filled the air. No bullets came near Todd, but he guessed what the gunmen were doing. After collecting the other three escapees, they had sped as fast as they could to the farthest possible point that Todd could have reached. Now they were working their way back through the swamp, shooting up any likely hiding places they couldn’t get the boat into. Todd’s heart raced
as he realised his seemingly safe hide-out would soon be sprayed with bullets.
The outboards gave a brief burst of power and through the water hyacinth he watched the boat speed to another clump of trees. Moments later gunfire ripped out. They were close now and he knew his hiding place must be next.
There was only one thing Todd could do. He started taking deep breaths, hyperventilating as he prepared for a long submergence. The outboards gave another burst of power and he heard them heading for his clump of trees. The bow of the RHIB appeared through the tangle of foliage and the helmsman cut the power, gliding in the last few metres. Todd took a last deep breath and held it. He pushed himself below the surface and swam deep.
The bottom was about three metres down and covered with a layer of silty mud. He wriggled into it as far as he could just as the noise of the motor reached idle and a newer, deadlier sound replaced it.
Pfffft-pfffft-pfffft-pfffft-pfffft.
The firing went on and on as the water hyacinth was raked with bullets. Then the firing stopped but the boat remained overhead, waiting. Todd guessed the gunmen were watching for any sign that they had hit him. It was only seconds, but to Todd it seemed like ages before he heard the outboards increase power and the boat move away towards the next clump of trees.
He let himself rise to the surface under his own buoyancy. The water hyacinth had been tattered and blown into a hundred separate pieces by machinegun fire so he had no trouble finding an opening from which he could draw breath. Another burst of gunfire sounded as his head came clear of the water, but off to his left, at least fifty metres away. He waited until the boat moved on again and pivoted in that direction just in time to see it disappear into the distant gloom.
Will they give up when they don’t find me, or will they come back and do a more thorough job?
Todd turned towards the lake. The sunlight out on the open water looked bright and inviting, but he knew he couldn’t go in that direction. He would be too easily seen out there. Turning again, he examined the depths of the swamp. Water and trees disappeared into shadowed distance. There was no sign of a bank or a shoreline or any sort of island or firm ground. It looked as foreboding as a dark alley in a rough part of town. But Todd knew that if he stood any chance of making it out alive, then he had to go deeper into the swamp. That was where he would find cover and concealment if the gunmen came back again.
He sank below the surface and swam out from beneath the water hyacinth. Once clear, he broke into a lazy breaststroke that didn’t splash the water too much.
Turning his back on the sunlight, he swam into the shadows.
***
Ky stormed up the boarding steps, shoving the boy ahead of him. He wanted to remain in the swamps and find the last escapee, but they couldn’t delay any longer. They had to get the Mekong Dawn into the channel before it was seen by another vessel.
Malko stood at the top of the boarding steps and looked down at the two dead bodies in the RHIB.
‘Only three, Ky?’ His face carried a look of anger that made the scar on his cheek puff out like a welt.
‘The other one is dead, Colonel. I am sure of it. I machine-gunned every possible hiding place he could be in. His body has sunk to the bottom and is feeding the eels.’
‘I hope you are right. Take the live one to the top deck. We need to demonstrate our resolve.’
‘And the other bodies?’
‘Leave them in the boat until we are deep in the swamps then throw them over the side.’
***
Scott watched the hijackers drag one of the boys past the dining room doors and up the companionway to the sundeck. Their captors were talking excitedly in Khmer and he had no idea what they were saying, although the ashen looks on the faces of the crew told him the topic was not a happy one. Malko and three men appeared in the breezeway and the guards ordered everyone to stand and move to the sundeck.
‘What’s going on do you reckon?’ Fred was behind Scott as they climbed the companionway.
‘Nothing good.’ Scott could feel Nancy’s terrified grip on his arm, her fingers sinking deep into his flesh.
The captors assembled the passengers and crew along the port rail. The recaptured boy knelt at the starboard rail, his hands secured behind his back by a black plastic cable-tie. The lad faced out towards the swamp, his shoulders heaving as he sobbed uncontrollably.
‘Please! Please!’ He tried to turn towards the unwilling audience but the one named Ky grabbed a handful of hair and twisted the youth’s head back to the rail. ‘I didn’t want to do it. The others made me. It wasn’t my idea.’
Scott watched in horror as Ky drew his knife from the sheath and realised what was about to happen. The other passengers realised too and pleaded for the young man’s life.
Malko ignored the pleas as he walked to a position in front of the passengers. He carried an old mahogany pick handle that had split at some time in the past and been repaired with red electrical tape. The pleading faded as Malko pointed the pick handle at the passengers.
‘It seems that some of you are not prepared to take me or my men seriously. You need a demonstration.’ His face turned beet-red and the scar on his cheek stood out as an ugly white line. He turned to the young man. ‘What is your name?’
Ky forced the boy’s face towards Malko.
‘Paul. Paul Karlsson. Please, sir! It wasn’t my idea. God, please, I just want to go home.’
Malko ignored the hysterical sobbing and turned to one of his men who handed him a bundle of documents. Scott recognised the stack of passports Tamko had been forced to deliver up earlier that morning. Malko thumbed through the passports and picked one out. He held it up with the pages open and read aloud, like a thespian rehearsing for a part in a play.
‘Paul Robert Karlsson; Born 12th of August, 1993; Nationality Australian; Place of issue Cobar, New South Wales.’ He closed the passport and looked down at the young man. ‘Tell me, Paul Robert Karlsson, is your father a rich man in Cobar, New South Wales?’
Paul looked up at Malko, his face streaked with tears. Snot ran from his nose and dribbled from his chin.
C’mon, kid! Scott thought. Give the bastard the answer he wants to hear. For Christ’s sake!
‘My father?’ Paul had a quizzical look on his face.
‘Yes, your father. Is he a wealthy man? Would he pay a lot of money for your safe return to Cobar, New South Wales?’
Give him the answer that will save your life, kid.
A look of uncertainty crossed Paul’s face.
‘My father is a diesel mechanic. He doesn’t have much money. He works at the mine.’ Paul’s eyes flicked from Malko to the faces of his fellow passengers.
Scott felt his guts slide. Those words had just sealed the young man’s fate.
Malko gave a nod and Ky’s arm moved. The knife slashed across the boy’s throat, his eyes widening in surprise. A fantail of blood splashed across the deck and ran in rivulets along the boards. Women screamed as the passengers surged backwards in an effort to put as much distance as possible between themselves and this horrific sight.
One man, a member of the crew, made a break for the companionway. Malko swung the pick handle and caught him across the back of the neck with a sound like celery snapping. The man went down hard and slid into one of the life raft pods where his legs twitched in a wild spasm.
Ky let go of the dying boy and Paul slumped onto the deck, face down in his own blood. He managed to get one hand to that terrible wound in his throat and tried to stem the flow of life blood, but any effort would never be enough. The colour drained from the boy’s body as he bled out on the deck.
Malko signalled to two of his men and they moved to the little knot of crewmembers, dragging aside a man Scott recognised as the first officer. The man struggled in their grip, but was forced to kneel by the far rail, facing out over the water.
‘I have my own men to run this vessel,’ Malko stepped up behind the officer. He b
rought the pick handle up and swung hard into the back of the man’s head. The body shot forward under the force of the impact and slumped against the rails. The passengers screamed again and pleaded for mercy, but Malko’s men were already dragging the navigator and chief engineer to the rail.
Someone retched and the stink of bile filled Scott’s nostrils. Nancy had her face pressed into his side and he held her against him with all his strength.
‘Alas, an Asian man’s life is not worth the ransom of a Westerner.’ Malko grinned at the terrified passengers. ‘My little angel will see them on the way to their ancestors.’ He patted the pick handle then positioned himself beside the engineer.
Scott lifted his face to the clouds as Malko murdered the engineer and navigator. But he was unable to block out the screaming or the horrific sound of wood striking bone. The palms of his hands were sweaty and he thought of the box of tablets in his cabin.
He expected the hijackers to execute every member of the crew, including the catering staff, but Malko stepped over the twitching body of the engineer and used the pick handle to point below.
‘Take them back down to the dining saloon. I think they have seen enough of the fate that awaits should they defy me.’
Chapter Twelve
Ang leant over his desk, arms spread wide, palms flat on the large scale map as he and Klim studied it intently.
‘What would Malko want with this area? There is nothing but water and swamp,’ Ang said. There was something important here, some minor fact that could be a case breaker, the key piece to the puzzle. He knew it, but whatever it was remained beyond his grasp. ‘Show me the notebook again.’
Klim slid the notebook to Ang. He opened it to the first page and twisted it to the light. The peanut-shaped outline formed.
Ang looked for any distortion in the paper where Malko, or whoever had drawn the shape, might have placed his finger or pressed hard with the pen to highlight a particular area.