Scott finished cleaning the console and turned his attention to the controls. There was nothing he could do about the blood that had soaked into the seat, nor would he take the time with it anyway.
‘Why did Ky keep you alive?’ Scott didn’t look up as he asked the question. ‘He seems as keen on killing as Malko is.’
‘He was going to present me to Malko as a gift.’
‘A gift? But why?
Ang was silent and Scott turned to see the policeman gazing thoughtfully out across the water.
‘To finish something he started over thirty years ago.’ Ang walked around to the other side of the helicopter and opened the door. He patted his right cheek. ‘Did you notice that scar Malko has on his face?’
‘Yeah?’
‘My mother did that to him. Then he killed her and dropped her body in a pit with hundreds of others. I was next. But while my mother fought him I had the chance to run away. I have hunted him ever since. Through my years as a policeman I have chased Malko from one rat-infested hole to another. This is the closest I have ever been to making him pay for what he did.’
‘Then we had better make sure we catch up with him.’ Scott finished wiping and tossed the rag into the distance. ‘Strap in. I’ll do a quick walk-around and we’ll be on our way.’
The tail boom had a bullet hole in it. Scott placed his eye to the hole and could see daylight on the far side. It didn’t look like the bullet had struck anything vital. He completed his external check of the aircraft without finding any other damage, so he closed the aft sliding doors and climbed into the pilot’s seat.
The instrument layout was exactly like the Kiowa he’d flown in the army. He hadn’t thought to rummage through the pilot’s flight bag and find the checklists, but knew his memory would see him through. He reached for the battery switch. His hand shook so much he had to try twice before he managed to flip the toggle. Ang saw the fumble but said nothing as a dull whine filled the cockpit and the gauges moved from their rests.
The nausea started deep down in the pit of Scott’s stomach. He closed his eyes but that only brought a vision of tree branches and rushing ground, so he opened them. Two deep breaths put the nausea in check. It was still there, just not getting any worse, so he placed his feet on the pedals and worked them back and forth.
His breathing steadied a little as he gripped the controls to test their range of motion. The grips felt familiar in his hands and did a little to ease his racing mind. Next, he ran through the fuel checks, only fumbling once as he flipped switches and opened valves. He raised a concerned eyebrow at the fuel quantity gauge. Barely an eighth of total capacity remained. Maybe forty minutes flying at most, he calculated.
Bloody hell, Scotty, you’re starting to think like a pilot.
With that thought the feeling of nausea lifted like a curtain. Sitting in the pilot’s seat of the helicopter, Scott Morris suddenly felt functional. Better than he had ever felt in months.
He reached for the starter switch and his hand was as steady as any surgeon’s in the operating theatre.
The turbine whined into life and the main rotors sped into a blur. Scott settled the headphones on his ears and nodded for Ang to do the same, then he pulled the helicopter into a hover.
The machine rocked gently in the air as he ran his gaze over the instruments. Everything appeared normal so he applied more power and climbed above the trees.
‘Which way, Ang?’
The policeman fumbled for the intercom switch on his headphones. ‘Malko should be out on the lake by now. Head southwest. He’ll probably be the fastest moving boat in this area, heading northwest to Siem Reap.’
Scott clicked the intercom button on the cyclic in acknowledgement and dropped the nose. The helicopter gained speed and he turned southwest. As they climbed higher he could see a faint haze on the horizon. At three thousand feet the silver waters of Tonle Sap became visible through the haze. The far shoreline was still hidden below the horizon. Scott had the impression he was flying out to sea.
Three specks were visible on the water, boats traversing the lake. Ang rummaged through the door pocket and pulled out a pair of binoculars then studied the vessels.
‘Heading south. They look like fishermen.’ He swept the binoculars in a slow arc to the right.
A few more specks materialised in the distance as Scott began his turn into the northwest.
‘Fisherman. Fisherman.’ Ang’s voice carried a tone of disappointment as he bracketed each vessel in his field of view. ‘Malko will be moving very fast in that boat of his. Can we go higher? We may be able to pick out his wake.’
‘Higher it is.’ Scott applied more collective. The helicopter responded by rising. When they reached five thousand feet he returned to level flight. The lake stretched away into the distance. Here and there a few boats moved about, but none seemed to be throwing out any sort of a wake.
‘Hold this course. We must come across them soon.’
Scott eyed the fuel gauge. The needle quivered near the bottom of the scale. He swallowed and tried to will it to move higher. But the needle refused to budge.
***
The RHIB bounced across light chop making it difficult for Nancy to get hold of the fuel line again. Every time her fingertips brushed against it the boat skipped over a wave and the fuel line bounced beyond her grasp. She struggled on, ignoring the pain in her wrists as the plastic strips bit deep. Then Ky flicked the wheel savagely to swerve around a floating island of water hyacinth. Unable to hold on, Nancy was thrown across the deck and slammed into the opposite gunwale, the non-slip deck scraping skin from her bare arms and backs of her hands.
She lay dazed on the deck until rough hands grabbed her and manhandled her back into her original position beside the tank.
‘You should be more careful, Mrs Morris.’ Malko grinned at her, the scar on his cheek pulling his face into a menacing grimace. ‘I would hate to see you hurt before we arrive at our destination.’
Nancy offered him her brightest smile by way of a thankyou. As Malko turned to look ahead she grasped the fuel line firmly in her fists.
At full power and sucking fuel at their maximum rate, the outboards ran down instantly as Nancy crimped the line.
***
Ang swung the binoculars back and forth as he scanned the surface of the lake. The waterway was a major part of Cambodia’s transportation system and there were at least twenty vessels within sight now, though none of them moved fast enough to create much of a wake.
Scott’s voice crackled through the intercom. ‘Check out that boat at one o’clock. Looks like he’s moving pretty quick. And going our way, too.’
Ang shifted his field of view to the right and immediately picked the large, white V formed by the wake of a fast moving boat. He followed the creamy lines to their apex where a long, cigar-shaped boat moved at high speed. The spaceship-like hull rode high out of the water and a foaming tail, spat out by powerful engines, flew twenty metres into the sky behind the boat.
‘It’s just the hydrofoil to Siem Reap.’ Ang lowered the binoculars and wiped at his eyes with a thumb. The sun sat above the western horizon and the lake had become a shimmering sheet of glare. He looked at Scott’s sunglasses with envy.
They flew on for another minute then Scott twisted in his seat and reached for the pilot’s flight bag. He lifted it up onto Ang’s lap.
‘Have a look in there. See if you can find an aeronautical chart.’
‘Why? We’re not lost. I know where we are.’
Scott pointed at one of the gauges on the instrument panel. ‘We’re on bingo fuel. We’ll have to put down somewhere. Preferably somewhere with jet fuel so we can fill up and get back into the search.’
‘Bingo fuel is not good?’
‘It means were down to our last few litres. We should be looking for somewhere to land.’
Ang reached into the bag and pulled out a folded map, but he didn’t have to look at it to know they were ou
t of luck.
‘Kampong Chhnang is about forty minutes flying time behind us. Siem Reap is an hour to the north. They are the only places I know of that have jet fuel.’
Scott took a hand from the control stick and pushed his sunglasses onto the bridge of his nose. He gave Ang a wry look. ‘Then I hope you can swim.’
Ang looked down at the lake. The golden water didn’t look too bad. He wasn’t sure how well the helicopter would land in water. ‘What do you suggest?’
Scott was quiet for a moment and Ang could see his head pivoting as he surveyed the lake. ‘We fly for as long as we can. When the engine flames out I’ll auto-rotate us close to one of those rice barges. Hopefully they’ll stop and pick us up. Sorry, Ang. We’ll just have to catch up with Malko some other way.’
Ang tossed the flight bag into the space behind him and slammed his fist into the door.
So, Malko was to escape yet again.
Will the murderous dog’s luck never run out?
With nothing to do but look, he picked up the binoculars and returned to scanning the lake. Defeat hung heavily in his stomach and he was too angry to concentrate. He brought one of the rice barges into view. The vessel steamed along at maybe six knots. Washing hung on a line strung behind the bridge, flapping in the wind like bunting at a parade. While he watched, a crewman came out onto the aft walkway and waved up at the helicopter.
Ang ignored the waving crewman and shifted his gaze to the north. The waters of the lake blurred through the binoculars’ lenses. Something white flashed by and he shifted in his seat and tried to pick it up again. It took a moment before he found the creaming wake of a fast moving boat, another moment to adjust the focus. He could pick out four people in the open boat.
Ang lowered the binoculars and thumbed the intercom switch. ‘I think that’s Malko’s boat.’ He pointed through the Perspex at the wake, barely visible in the glare.
‘I see it.’
The RHIB was about five kilometres away, powering hard into the north. Ang lifted the binoculars to his eyes and could pick out little flashes of white water from beneath the bow as the boat skipped across wave tops. As he watched, something strange happened.
The RHIB suddenly lost headway and the frothing wake overtook it as it settled into the water. A figure moved aft to the engines and Ang recognised the swarthy bulk of Malko.
‘Something’s happened. They’ve stopped.’
‘I’m taking us lower.’
***
The RHIB carried on under its own momentum, bounced off a wave and the nose fell heavily into a trough. Nancy’s grip on the rubber line kept her from sliding forward, but Western rolled across the deck and cracked his head against the edge of the console.
Malko and Ky were luckier. They had the console to keep themselves upright. They ignored the injured Western and immediately set about trying to restart the engines.
‘What is wrong with these cursed motors?’ Malko made his way aft and tried the little priming pump again, working it savagely in his huge fist. ‘Try the starter, Ky.’
The engines wound over without firing. Nancy kept her grip on the line despite Malko’s proximity. She had no idea what her delaying tactics might achieve, but anything that kept Malko from his destination must be good.
Ky tried the starters for thirty seconds without result. ‘It has to be a fuel problem. Check the line.’
Nancy let go of the fuel line and managed to shuffle out of Malko’s way before he could grab her hair and drag her aside. He checked the large orange fuel tank and traced the line towards the motors. When he reached the area where Nancy had been sitting, he held up the line for closer inspection. Blood from her skinned knuckles had run into her hand and a bloody handprint could be seen on the black hose.
Malko looked at Nancy and threw the fuel line down on the deck. He reached down and took a handful of her hair. Nancy screamed in pain as he lifted her to her feet.
‘You bitch! You crimped the fuel line.’
Nancy tried to gather enough saliva to spit in Malko’s face but fear had dried her mouth.
Malko cocked his arm back and hit her hard across the face. The blow tore her hair out of his grip and sent her crashing onto the console. Bright points of light floated in Nancy’s vision. She tried to clear her head and shook it gently from side to side, but Malko grabbed her again and his arm went back. This time his fingers formed into a fist and Nancy closed her eyes.
A rhythmic beating filled the air, growing louder with each passing moment. Nancy opened her eyes and looked back past Malko’s cocked fist. A helicopter approached the boat from astern, about three kilometres away.
Malko paused, his arm ready to strike. He looked back at the helicopter. ‘Start the engines. Get us moving.’ He let go of Nancy, picked up his AK74 and flicked the safety catch.
***
Ang felt a sudden swoop in the pit of his stomach as the helicopter lost altitude. He lost the boat and found it again. Some sort of commotion had broken out among the four occupants. With a start, he realised that Malko was holding Nancy Morris by the hair, but he prudently kept this observation to himself.
The helicopter dropped through two thousand feet and closed rapidly on the RHIB.
Ang wondered what he would do now they had caught up with Malko. He was in a helicopter and Malko was in a boat with two hostages. There wasn’t a hell of a lot he could do.
You didn’t think this through too well, Ang.
The thought had barely formed in his mind when the water behind the boat surged into foam and the RHIB shot forward.
‘They’re moving again. Get us ahead of them.’ He lifted the AK74 and worked the action.
‘What are you going to do? My wife’s on that boat.’
‘Just get us ahead. I’m going to let Malko know we’re onto him. Don’t worry, I won’t shoot the boat.’ Scott gave a curt nod and Ang turned his attention to the Perspex window in the door. The rubber seal had a wire running around the circumference of the window with a tab labelled, EMERGENCY ESCAPE - PULL. He grabbed the tab and pulled. The wire cut through the rubber like a scalpel and the Perspex fluttered away in the slipstream. Rushing wind filled the cockpit with a noise that drowned out the rotors.
The helicopter passed over the top of the boat at sixty metres. Ang poked the barrel of his AK74 through the window and squeezed the trigger on full automatic. The weapon jumped in his hands and a row of white geysers formed a path across the bow of the RHIB. Instantly, the RHIB went into a sharp left turn as the driver tried to avoid the bullets.
He saw Malko raise a rifle and then pinprick muzzle flashes as he returned fire. Several bullets struck somewhere aft on the helicopter with a sound like large hail hitting a tin roof. Then they were past the boat and Scott had them climbing again.
***
Empty shell casings rained down on Jenkins as Malko fired at the helicopter. With Ky and Malko preoccupied, he sawed his binding up and down the rib as hard as he could. The action caused a lot of friction and he could feel the heat of the plastic cable-tie against his wrists. He kept working as the helicopter climbed into the sky ahead of them.
Malko unclipped the magazine from his AK74 and replaced it with a fresh one. He and Ky gabbled away in Khmer, but their whole attention was on the helicopter.
Jenkins felt the resistance on his wrists suddenly part. The rapid blood flow back into his hands burned like fire and he groaned with the agony of it.
The helicopter was maybe a thousand feet up now and turning back towards the boat. Malko blazed away at it, on single shot now, taking careful aim down the open sights.
Wriggling his fingers, some of the feeling returned to Jenkins’ hands and he brought them around in front of his body. The Australian woman saw that he was free and nodded encouragement at him. Jenkins ignored her and lifted himself onto his feet, crouching low as he judged his moment.
Ky was the closer of the two terrorists, standing at the wheel with one hand holdin
g the throttles at full power. His AK74 had slid forward along the deck when the boat came to a crashing halt, but Jenkins would not need the weapon if he moved fast enough.
The helicopter turned away to move behind the boat, staying well out of range of Malko’s AK74. Malko followed it with the barrel of his weapon, firing every two or three seconds. Jenkins stood up and moved behind Ky. Neither Ky nor Malko saw him there. He grabbed Ky by his fatigues shirt and pulled him away from the console.
Ky gave a startled shout as Jenkins threw him hard against the gunwale. His feet came out from underneath him and Jenkins added to the momentum, giving him a push that sent him tumbling into the water.
Malko turned as Jenkins moved towards him. The barrel of the AK74 came down. Jenkins grabbed it and held it high. Malko fired and the barrel jarred in Jenkins hand, but the bullet flew harmlessly into the sky. He yanked the weapon towards him, dragging Malko with it, and drove his knee as hard as he could into the big man’s groin. Malko’s eyes rolled back into his head and Jenkins brought his knee up again and again. Malko let go of the AK74 and dropped onto the deck.
‘Where are my diamonds?’ He screamed at Malko over the roar of the engines. He bent and patted the man’s pockets. There was a lump in the right trouser pocket and he shoved his hand in. His fingers found the baize bag and he drew it out, holding it up triumphantly.
‘There you are my beauties!’
The boat skipped and slewed across a wave top, travelling at top speed with no one at the controls. Unable to keep his feet, Jenkins fell, but reached out a hand for the gunwale to steady himself. As he tried to stand a hand gripped his wrist. Malko punched him in the side of the head. Jenkins’ vision swam. He tried to pull away, but Malko had him in an unbreakable grip. Unable to kick, he mashed the bag of diamonds into the side of Malko’s head, but he might as well have hit him with a pillow for all the good it did. Reluctantly, he let go of the bag and formed a fist to fight back with.
Malko had recovered his senses and rolled his head to avoid the punch. Jenkins’ fist slammed into the deck and he screamed a mixture of rage and agony. He looked about for the AK74, but it had slid against the far gunwale.