‘That Minh has sold me petrol infested with water.’
‘I told you, Father. He left the bung out of the drum when it rained. We should have bought petrol from Mr Tan.’
‘Tan has tight purse strings. He wants his money up front. My credit is good at Minh’s.’
‘Soon we will have a full load of wood, Father, and you will be able to buy good petrol.’
‘And you will have a new dress as promised, my princess.’ He smiled at her across the top of the engine and Soo-Li couldn’t help but giggle with delight.
Her father tinkered with the engine for another ten minutes then tried to start it. The old four cylinder car motor whined over and gave a cough. It fired and ran for three seconds then stopped. Her father hit the starter again. This time he managed to keep it running by applying generous amounts of throttle. The motor ran roughly for a minute before settling into a normal idle. He lowered the propeller shaft into the water and the boat moved forward.
‘We’re on our way, Princess.’ He steered the boat towards the channel that led to Boeng Tonle Chhma and the Mountain of the Sun.
Soo-Li settled into the bows, the breeze blowing her dark hair behind her and her thoughts drifting to the dress she would pick out at the markets when they returned.
***
Scott lifted his face to the breeze as the water taxi made its way along a jungle-shrouded waterway. The humidity at the waterfront had hit him like a wall as he stepped off the air-conditioned coach and the cool against his skin was welcome. Beside him, Nancy held a camera and snapped away at the scenery gliding by. She seemed immune to the heat, a smile on her lips. She was smiling more often lately. The thought made Scott feel a little ashamed at his reaction over the lost bag. A hotel employee had brought the wayward bag to their room soon after dinner on the first night in Siem Reap. Scott was so happy he had tipped the man twenty dollars.
The boat rounded a headland and the waterway opened up. It was as if they were entering the open sea, but he realised this must be Tonle Sap, the largest lake in south-east Asia. The channel behind them was calm, but here the water rolled with a small swell and the bow of the water taxi sent out bursts of spray that caused Nancy to return the camera to its bag.
The Mekong Dawn lay at anchor about a kilometre away. She resembled a Mississippi paddle steamer without the wheel. Two decks of cabins, ringed by walkways, rose above a dark-blue hull. Above the cabins an awning-covered sundeck ran the full length of the boat. The blunt stern hung towards them, an exhaust giving off a powerful throb from a large diesel engine.
The water taxi manoeuvred alongside a gangway where crewmen were waiting to secure the lines. On the teak deck a jovial-faced man in a white uniform greeted everyone individually and directed them forward to the saloon.
Nancy lowered herself into one of the cane lounge chairs and accepted an umbrella-adorned cocktail from a smiling waitress. ‘I could get used to this very quickly.’
Scott removed the umbrella from his glass and sipped tentatively at the green liquid. ‘Not bad at all’
A matronly looking woman in her late fifties sat on the lounge chair opposite. She leant over the low table. ‘Fellow Aussies I hear by the accent, or lack of it.’
‘I’m Nancy Morris. This is my husband Scott.’
‘Collette Deakin.’ The woman’s smile was open and friendly. Her shoulder-length auburn hair reminded Scott of his fifth grade teacher. ‘This big bear here is my hubby Fred.’
Scott leant across the table and shook the offered hand – and felt his fingers crushed. Fred Deakin had forsaken the shorts and T-shirt worn by most of the other passengers, opting for a pair of white cotton trousers with blue rubber-soled boating shoes and blue polo shirt. With a mane of thinning, silver hair combed back over his scalp and a square-jawed, matinee idol face, he looked like a retired movie star.
‘Pleased to meet you, Scott.’
‘Likewise, Fred.’
A dark-haired man sat alone on the other lounge at their table, clutching a laptop bag to his side. ‘Sorry, mate. A bit rude of us to leave you out of things.’ Scott offered his hand.
The man jerked upright. He looked at Scott’s hand uncertainly and shifted the bag to his other hand before he shook.
‘Simon Western.’
Scott recognised the lilt of South Africa and was about to politely question his origins, but a small bell rang, bringing everyone to silence. An Asian man, dressed in an immaculate white officer’s uniform, placed the bell on the bar and turned to address the passengers.
‘I am Tamko, your purser for our ten day voyage to Mytho in Vietnam.’ His broad smile lit up the room. ‘Soon you will be shown to your cabins. But first, I must bring to your attention the safety aspects of the Mekong Dawn.’
Tamko rattled through the safety briefing in a well-rehearsed monologue. When he finished, stewards were waiting by the door to escort the passengers to their cabins.
Fred turned back over his shoulder. ‘We’ll catch up for a drink later.’ He and Collette were bustled towards the companionway.
‘You bet.’ Scott turned to invite the other man, Simon Western, to join them. The South African was gone. Scott caught a glimpse of his back as he hurried up the companionway, urging his assigned steward onwards.
***
Jenkins followed the steward along the walkway to his cabin. A humid breeze stirred the surface of the lake into a mild chop. Large clumps of water hyacinth drifted past. Somewhere up near the bow he could hear the anchor chain clanking as it was winched in. The deck beneath his feet trembled to a different beat and he realised the Mekong Dawn was about to get underway. The girl opened the cabin door and ushered him inside. An airconditioner hummed away in the corner and the cool air was a welcome relief from the humidity of the lake. He watched with feigned interest as she pointed out the limited features of the cabin and bathroom. There was no television. Damn. He had hoped to spend most of the voyage in his cabin, out of the way. The steward was pointing out something in the small wardrobe.
A safe! That helps. With the bag locked in the safe he would be able to leave the cabin sometimes. But never for too long. He couldn’t risk it.
Chapter Seven
Major Sinh Ang of the Cambodian National Police (Security Division) scowled at the documents waiting on his desk. There always seemed to be a mountain of forms and briefs sitting in his in-tray and, no matter how hard he worked, the mountain never shrank. A police officer for nineteen years, he was well aware that more crimes were solved by doing the hard yards on the street than by completing forms. But the paperwork needed to be done in order for his department to function. Most of the trivial stuff could be left to his secretary sitting at her desk in the outer office, but there were always matters of importance that the woman couldn’t deal with and passed through for his attention.
He lit a cigarette and reluctantly opened the top file, a requisition for several computers for Kampong Cham, a department under his supervision. The machines would be of great benefit to the small team, enabling rapid correlation of information, getting people out of the office and onto the streets where they could do the most good. The senior man there sent through a requisition every month, and every month Ang was forced to deny the request on the grounds of lack of funds. Like most police forces the world over, the Cambodian Police ran on a budget barely large enough to get the job done. The trouble was, Ang knew, that corruption ran rife through the government and heads of departments. A lot of the funding, some of it from foreign aid, was filtered off before it got down to the people who needed it most.
Four years ago he had been lucky enough to be selected for special training under an assistance program run by Australia. Ang had spent eight months in Canberra and Sydney, being trained by the Australian Federal Police, a time he counted as one of the most fulfilling in his life. He had learned elements of police work he never even dreamed existed and had seen machines and equipment that made it a lot easier for the officer on th
e street to do his duty. But the experience had been a double-edged sword. He had been given a glimpse of what might be if Cambodia could get past the culture of corruption and petty infighting, a situation he knew would be near impossible to rectify.
Halfway through his apologetic refusal of the requisition, a loud knock sounded from the door.
‘Come.’
The door opened swiftly. Captain Klim, Ang’s immediate subordinate and assistant, stood at the threshold, not bothering to enter before divulging his news.
‘One of our informers has a recent sighting of Malko.’
Ang dropped the file onto his desk. ‘How long ago?’
‘Yesterday, sir.’
‘Yesterday?’ The displeasure in Ang’s voice made Klim squirm. ‘Why am I only hearing this today? Twenty-four hours is too long when dealing with Malko.’
‘Sorry, sir. The informer only came in a few minutes ago. I came straight to you after I finished debriefing him.’
‘What have you got for me?’
‘He was seen leaving a location in the old quarter of Phnom Penh early yesterday morning.’
‘Leaving! Always he is seen leaving. Never are we told where he is at any given time.’
‘Soon his luck must run out.’ Klim tried to sound positive.
‘You have an address?’
Klim waved a piece of paper. ‘Right here, sir.’
Ang stood and pushed the pile of paperwork away then reached for the webbing belt and his pistol.
‘Assemble the strike team. We will brief in fifteen minutes.’
***
The truck moved slowly through the streets. This late in the afternoon traffic was heavy as everyone headed home, but Ang was glad. The unmarked truck was just one more vehicle making its way through the old quarter, hardly worth the effort of a second glance.
The driver, a member of Ang’s team of hand-picked men, had his assault rifle resting across his lap. The men in the back of the truck with Klim would all have their weapons out of sight. None of them wore a police uniform. They were all dressed in the soiled clothing of labourers. Only at the last instant would the men put on vests identifying themselves as police officers.
Ang had a street map of the vicinity laid out on his lap. As they made their way through the back streets he followed their route with his finger, his face tilted down, but as they neared their objective he looked up.
The building was a squat, two-storey structure screened off from the street by a courtyard. The courtyard itself was secured by a pair of large iron-sheeted gates. As he’d been instructed, the driver eased the truck past. This was to be their only reconnaissance, Ang’s only chance at altering the briefed plan. He turned to the driver and laughed as if at a joke the man had made but his eyes roamed the steel gates and the brick wall. The place appeared deserted. Beyond the tangle of rusty barbed wire running along the top of the wall the building’s windows were closed. Some had drapes, others were shadowed. All were impossible to see into.
‘Go around the block.’ Ang turned to the open window behind him that linked the cab with the rear of the truck. ‘It is well secured. The gates are reinforced, but I think the brick wall is old and weak. When we come around again, we will disembark. We will use the truck to smash an opening for us.’ The driver’s face broke into a wicked grin. He reached up to his shoulder, pulled the seatbelt down and clicked it into the buckle.
Ang waited patiently as they completed a circuit of the block. Fifty metres from the target building he ordered the driver to stop. Almost instantly the traffic behind them started sounding their horns and angry voices drifted down from blocked vehicles.
‘Let’s go!’ Ang swung out of the cab. He put on his police vest as he ran to the rear of the truck. Klim and nine men poured out the back, pulled on their own vests and chambered rounds in their weapons. Behind them the honking and yelling died away. A few motorists tried to reverse up or perform rapid U turns. Those on scooters used the footpaths to flee.
Ang took his pistol from its holster and chambered a round. The men had split into two bricks, teams led by Ang and Klim. He waited until they were lined up and ready then slapped the side of the truck three times.
The truck’s gears grated and the driver revved the engine. With a lurch it started forward, rapidly picking up speed. It bucked as it mounted the curb and the brick wall exploded inwards under the impact of the reinforced steel bumper. Pieces of masonry and render fell onto the bonnet of the truck. The gears grated again as the driver found reverse gear and backed out of the opening.
***
Malko leapt to his feet at the the sound of crumbling masonry. The noise had come from behind the building, from the side facing the street. Yelling drifted up the stairwell and through the open door. He was the only leader in the building. Ky and Van were at the waterfront, preparing the boat for departure to the staging area.
Malko reached the door. One of his men stood on the landing. He could just see the top of his head.
‘What is going on?’
The man looked up. ‘A truck, Colonel. It crashed through the wall.’
Malko looked in the direction of the courtyard, but all he could see was the inside of the stairwell wall. More shouting drifted up from below, echoing in the confined space. Only one word was intelligible, cutting through the gabble.
Police!
‘Evacuate as briefed,’ he yelled. ‘Two men hold at the lower door for as long as you can. Fall back to the landing and then the first floor. You know what to do.’
The man nodded and sprinted down the stairs. Malko turned back into the room and started pulling maps and diagrams from the walls and off the makeshift table. He stuffed them into a rucksack and surveyed the room quickly. Only a few pieces of paper and pens remained. Nothing was left that would give the police any clue as to the coming operation. He shrugged the rucksack on, picked up his pistol and slid the magazine out.
Full.
Slamming the magazine back into the pistol, he turned for the window and opened it as wide as it would go. More yelling came from below, but the escape route was ready.
***
Ang led his team down the left side of the truck, pistol raised. The truck had made an opening in the wall about three metres wide. Barbed wire hung from either side and he ducked under it then leapt the debris lying in the courtyard. He was aware of Klim and his team on the right, fanning out as they covered that quarter, so he turned left, swinging his pistol. There were packing crates along the inside wall and an old scooter.
A door opened in the bottom of the building and the dark rectangle was momentarily illuminated by the muzzle flash of a weapon. A bullet whispered past Ang’s head and struck the wall behind him. He squeezed off two rounds at the doorway. Beside him, one of his men did the same. Dust and chips of masonry filled the opening and something slumped to the ground beyond the shadows.
Ang moved, his legs pumping fast as he covered the ground to the doorway. He pressed his back to the wall at the side and stole a brief glimpse around the jamb. A body lay on the bare concrete floor, an assault rifle in the dead man’s grip. A door led off the stairwell, padlocked closed. He could hear the sounds of feet retreating up the stairs. He pointed upwards and the man beside him rushed past. He took position at the bottom step, his weapon facing up towards the landing. Ang swung around the jamb and joined him. He could still hear feet running somewhere above him.
Two men? Three men? He wasn’t sure.
Ang braced himself, ready to run up the steps to the landing under the cover of his partner. Before he could take a step an egg-like object bounced off the wall at the back of the landing and rolled down the steps towards him.
‘Grenade!’
Even as he yelled he dived sideways for the door. His team were filling the bottom of the stairwell, eager to join the fight. They heard the shout and ran for the courtyard. Ang slammed into the last man. The man behind him crashed into his back as the grenade went off.
The explosion was terrible in the confined space of the stairwell. Someone screamed, and Ang was suddenly back in the sunlight, laying amongst a tangle of limbs.
He climbed to his feet and tried to shake his head clear. His ears rang from the concussive blast. The man behind him had been hit bad, his police vest torn open by shrapnel and blood running down the back of his pants. Two men grabbed his arms and dragged him towards the truck.
Ang shook his head again and tried to think.
They are retreating upwards?
He looked up at the building, at the two windows on this side. It was built against the walls of the neighbouring buildings and towered over them. Suddenly he saw the mistake in his plan.
They are escaping upwards?
‘Klim? Get your team around to the street. They are going to escape across the rooftops.’
Klim waved an acknowledgement and led his team back through the opening, turning right to get around the front of the neighbouring building.
Ang pointed to the man beside him. ‘With me!’ And they headed back into the stairwell, guns up.
The first-floor landing was empty. Two doors opened off it. Both closed. Ang pointed at the left hand one and tried the handle. It turned readily and he opened the door wide enough to toss in a flash-bang grenade. The crump of the detonation rattled plaster off the walls and Ang swung the door wide. The room was full of dust blown into the air by the grenade. Through the gloom he could see a bed and nothing else.
They turned their attention to the other door. Another flash-bang brought down more plaster. As the door swung open, a few pieces of paper fluttered about in the aftermath of the blast. This room was empty, too. Then, beyond the window, a shape, a running man, moved across the rooftops.
Ang sprinted to the window and took aim. Before he could fire, the man disappeared from sight behind a roof. He looked down. The window was about two metres above the roof of the adjoining building. There was a street just visible beyond the rusted guttering where someone was waving to him.