‘But they aren’t terrorists. They’re freedom fighters or something.’
Morgs reached over and squeezed Paul’s arm. ‘I don’t think the authorities will make that distinction, mate. We need to act and we need to do it now if we are going to survive this.’ He looked at each of his friends in turn. ‘Agreed?’
Todd held Morgs’ gaze for a few seconds and then nodded. ‘Agreed. But when?’
‘No time like the present.’
Wilkie placed a restraining hand on Morgs’ arm. ‘Let’s think this through, mate.’
Todd had known the other three boys since kindergarten. Morgs had always been the impulsive one, often leading them into trouble. He glanced at the guards in the breezeway, at the automatic weapons in their hands and the way their eyes flicked about as they studied the passengers. This was no time to throw caution to the wind. ‘Wilkie’s right, mate. These blokes are all fired up. Maybe we should let them settle down a bit before we try something?’
Morgs nodded, seeing the sense in their reasoning. ‘We need some sort of distraction – a diversion. Otherwise it’s suicide.’
***
The Shenka class fast attack boat sliced through the waters of Tonle Sap at a respectable twenty-eight knots. Of Russian design, the Shenka was armed with two 55 mm deck guns, one forward of the bridge and one on the fantail. She also sported two torpedo launchers on either side of the aft deck, though these were empty of their munitions due to budget constraints gripping the Royal Cambodian Navy.
Chakara Bourey sat in the skipper’s seat on the open bridge and relished the cool breeze playing on his face. Around him, his crew were in high spirits after two days of shore leave in Siem Reap where they were able to burn off a little energy in the waterfront bars and brothels. They had weighed anchor at 04.00 and Chakara had them running south on radar through the darkness and the mist. They would make the passage into the river a little before 11.00, in broad daylight, and tonight they would anchor in their home port of Phnom Penh.
‘Radar contact, Skipper. Bearing 280 relative. Nine kilometres.’
Chakara looked at the radar operator then lifted a pair of large binoculars to his face. The image in the lenses swam momentarily then clarified as he worked the focus. In a few seconds he had the target vessel in sight.
‘Cargo barge. She’s crossing from our port to starboard. Helmsman? Come port to 150 true. Maintain present speed.’
‘Port to 150. Maintain present speed. Aye, sir.’
The deck beneath Chakara tilted slightly as the helmsman made the necessary adjustment. He lifted the binoculars again and swept ninety degrees either side of the Shenka’s path. This new course would take them close to the northern shore of the lake and his concern now was for small fishing craft that would not show up on radar. A rice barge, empty and high in the water, sat off their starboard beam. A few dark dots that could be either small boats or masses of water hyacinth speckled the distance. None of them were in the Shenka’s path. However, Chakara was a cautious captain.
‘Mr Chea? Two men with binoculars in the wings. Let’s not ruin some fisherman’s day.’
Satisfied he had done all he could to mitigate the possibility of a collision, Chakara settled back into the chair. He half-closed his eyes, but watched the cargo barge until it was well off their starboard quarter.
‘Radar contact, Skipper. Four kilometres at 330 relative.’
‘Four kilometres?’
‘Sorry, Skipper. She’s close in to the lakeshore. It took me a little while to distinguish her from the clutter.’
‘I have her, Boss.’ The port lookout pointed out across the water at the distant tree line. ‘Tourist boat by the look of her.’
Chakara focused the vessel in the field of his binoculars. It was a tourist boat, heading north along the lake shore at maybe two knots. Lieutenant Chea came up beside him.
‘Maybe they lost someone overboard?’
‘Yes. Some fat Westerner with too much booze in his belly, probably.’ He played the binoculars along the length of the vessel from stern to bow. The decks and walkways appeared empty. Several figures stood in the wheelhouse, just silhouettes against the sky and water. He found the name painted on the bow in black letters.
Mekong Dawn.
‘We’d better go and see if she needs a hand with whatever it is she’s doing. Radio, see if you can raise her. Helm, course to intercept, if you please.’
***
Malko watched the patrol boat turn towards them and slammed his fist into the control console.
‘This is bad. Where is this accursed channel of yours, Van?’
‘Still two kilometres away. The captain anchored farther down the lake than I…’
‘No time for excuses. Get us there and get us hidden as soon as possible.’
‘What about the patrol boat?’
‘You leave that to me.’
Malko stepped out of the starboard door of the wheelhouse. The purser’s office was one cabin aft. Malko’s men were using it as a store for their equipment. He saw Ky near the breezeway and waved him forward.
‘What’s wrong?’
‘There’s a Navy patrol boat bearing down on us.’
Ky’s eyes flew wide. ‘What are we going to do?’
‘Take care of it.’ He pointed at one of the olive-painted crates on the floor of the purser’s office. ‘Set that up for me. Bring it forward when you are ready. But hurry. And keep low. We don’t want anyone on the patrol boat to see it.’
Malko hurried back to the wheelhouse. Van had a portable radio tuned to the maritime frequency, and it was squawking.
‘… is Cambodian Warship. State the nature of your operations.’
Van pointed a thumb at the radio. ‘That’s the second time they’ve called.’
‘Have you responded?’
‘No. But –’
‘Don’t. We want them to come as close as possible.’
‘We do?’
Ky stepped into the wheelhouse, the RPG7 held low in his left hand.
Malko took the weapon and moved towards the forward deck, stooping low below the level of the gunwale.
***
‘Would you look at that?’ Fred pointed through one of the picture windows.
Scott turned and saw it instantly. A large vessel approached the Mekong Dawn, her bow throwing out foaming waves as she cut through the water. The hull was painted off-white like a lot of other vessels on the lake, but the gun mounted on the forward deck made her purpose unmistakable.
‘Cambodian Navy!’
‘That would be my guess.’ Fred squinted against the morning glare. ‘Fast attack boat. Looks as if she means to intercept us. I think these boys are in for a rough time.’
Scott looked at the guards in the breezeway door. They were fidgeting and changing their grips on their weapons. They couldn’t help but look at the warship rushing towards them.
He allowed a smile to creep onto his face. ‘This might all be over shortly.’
***
‘Mr Chea, a crew to the forward gun. Full battle rig. That boat is full of tourists. Let’s show them the Royal Cambodian Navy at its best.’
‘Aye, Skipper.’
Men rushed to take up their positions. Chakara watched them go and felt a little excitement as the cover came off the 55 mm gun. ‘Radio? Any luck with raising the Mekong Dawn?’
‘Negative, Skipper. She’s not responding.’
‘Captain’s probably misdialled the frequency. Or listening to a conversation on another channel.’ Chakara felt something gnawing in the pit of his stomach. A boat that size would have more than one radio. And the captain must have seen the patrol boat approaching. What the hell is he playing at?
‘Helm. Reduce speed to twelve knots. Bring us onto her from astern then match course and speed.’
‘Aye, Skipper.’
***
‘They’re manning the gun! They intend to shoot us!’ Ky yelled.
Malko
had one hand on the RPG7 and one hand on Ky’s shoulder. He could see the patrol boat through the port hawser hole. ‘No. If they were going to open fire on us, they could have done that from four kilometres away. They’re just flying the flag while they see what we are up to. Showing off to the tourists.’
The patrol boat angled towards the aft of the Mekong Dawn, but as he watched, it began a turn to come onto a parallel heading.
Malko flicked up the sight on the RPG7. ‘They are making it too easy.’
The patrol boat came level with the Mekong Dawn’s stern. The bow wave diminished as the power came off and she settled lower into the water.
‘Be ready with the reloads, Ky. The bridge first. Then the gun. Then one into the hull at the waterline. Ready?’
Out of the corner of his eye he saw Ky give a curt nod then turned his attention back to the patrol boat. The RPG7 had a clear plastic sight with range increments etched into the surface. In order to fire the weapon, the firer must judge the range to target and place the correct increment on the target. Through the hawser hole, Malko judged the distance to the patrol boat’s bridge as eighty metres. He stood up and lifted the weapon to his right shoulder, feeling Ky’s hand on his left shoulder, out to the side and away from the back-blast.
The patrol boat filled the sights. He could see men at the forward gun, the barrel still pointing harmlessly dead ahead. Heads moved on the open bridge and arms waved as he was spotted in the bows of the Mekong Dawn, but too late. He settled the eighty metre increment on the bridge just below the windscreen and squeezed the trigger.
The rocket propelled grenade streaked away. It covered the eighty metres in a fraction of a second, a thin trail of blue smoke marking its passage over the water. The warhead, designed to take out tanks, struck the patrol boat’s bridge below the windscreen and exploded. The lightly constructed bridge was destroyed in an instant. Pieces of glass and metal rained down onto the lake and fell onto the Mekong Dawn like hailstones.
Malko dropped below the gunwale. The foredeck was filled with acrid smoke from the back-blast.
‘Reload!’
Ky slipped another RPG into the launcher and patted Malko’s shoulder.
Malko stood and placed the weapon on his shoulder. The patrol boat’s bridge was a smoking wreck of twisted metal. The engines still throbbed loudly, pushing the warship forward, but with no one at the controls. The forward gun was almost level with his position as he fired again.
The RPG screamed away and hit the gun near the mount. The explosion tore the weapon from the deck. The men manning it cartwheeled through the air.
‘Reload!’
Malko kept his feet as Ky slipped another warhead into the launcher. Across the silver waters of the lake smoke poured from the patrol boat and climbed into the hazy sky.
Half the length of the patrol boat was past the Mekong Dawn when Malko fired again, aiming low for the hull at the waterline. The warhead struck below one of the torpedo launchers. Malko heard the detonation and then was almost knocked off his feet as a second explosion lifted the stern of the patrol boat clear of the water. A wave of superheated air washed over the Mekong Dawn. Malko and Ky dropped below the gunwale.
‘I think you hit the fuel tanks.’ Ky had a huge grin on his face.
Malko placed his face to the hawser hole. The patrol boat was motionless in the water. A burning ring of fire expanded around the wreckage. The boat was sinking fast.
Not fast enough for Malko’s liking.
‘Van!’
A head appeared in the shattered windows of the wheelhouse.
‘A little more speed. Get us away from the smoke.’
***
The two nearest guards, the ones between Todd and the breezeway, were both looking at the burning patrol boat.
‘Here’s our chance.’ Morgs announced his intent as he was already in motion. A big man, he lifted the edge of the table as he came up on his feet and charged towards the two guards like a bulldozer.
The guards saw him coming. Both held their weapons with the barrels resting in the crooks of their elbows. They were standing less than a metre apart and had no time to evade the hurtling table or bring their guns up. Screaming like a banshee, Morgs and the table crashed into them, carrying them to the deck and pinning them there.
Some of the passengers screamed as Todd grabbed a bewildered Paul’s sleeve and pulled him towards the doors.
‘C’mon!’
Wilky was already moving, launching himself through the air. He landed on the table beside Morgs. Todd heard splintering wood as he pulled Paul into the breezeway. A shout came from behind somewhere, a language he didn’t understand. A shot crashed out, deafening in the confined space of the dining saloon. The passengers screamed louder. Todd glanced back to see some of them diving to the floor, husbands dragging wives down out of the line of fire.
‘Run, Paul! Run! Over the side and into the water.’
Morgs and Wilky rolled off the table and the two kicking, yelling guards beneath it. One of the gunmen at the far end of the saloon fired. The bullet stripped away wood from the doorway a foot from Todd’s head. Keeping low, Morgs and Wilky dove through the doorway and into the breezeway, almost knocking Todd off his feet. He grasped the wall to steady himself.
‘C’mon!’ He could hear more shouts from somewhere up forward as other gunmen ran towards the sound of firing. ‘We have to get into the water.’
A splash sounded from behind him as Paul dived over the side. Morgs and Wilky scrambled towards the rail as Todd pivoted on the balls of his feet and ran. The trees were close, maybe thirty metres away. He launched himself over the rail as more shouts came from behind, closer this time. The wind whistled in his ears as he plummeted towards the brown water, arms reaching forward and down. He had no idea how deep the water was here, certainly deep enough for the Mekong Dawn, maybe three or four metres. The instant before he hit the water he heard the ripping sound of machinegun fire, then the blood-warm water closed around him, the noise replaced by pfffft, pfffft sounds as bullets hit the water. Beyond that came the rhythmic pulse of the Mekong Dawn’s engines.
Todd angled deep, propelled onwards by his own momentum. He opened his eyes but couldn’t see anything through the muddy water.
Must keep my bearings. Keep my back to the ship. The engine noise helped. He placed it behind him and pulled away from it as hard as he could.
Pfffft pfffft.
More bullets struck the water somewhere above him then moved away to his left, their progress signalled by the diminishing sound. Pfffft pffft. Then the bullets stopped and he swam on through the murk. His lungs burned for air but he knew he had at least another fifteen seconds left in him, another ten before he would need to surface and take a breath.
Take a breath.
The thought brought a wave of panic. The gunmen would be at the ship’s rail, waiting with their weapons. Quickly, Todd formed a plan in his mind. They would be expecting the escapees to make directly for the trees – exactly what they were doing. He needed to throw them off somehow, make it harder for them to pick where he would surface. Once he got a new breath of air he would have to go deep again.
The dull burn in his lungs increased to a fiery ache as he turned to his right, angling aft of the Mekong Dawn, praying the change of direction would be enough. Had to be enough.
His head tingled and he knew the time was now. He pulled for the surface, exhaling as he went. As his nose and mouth broke through into air his lungs were empty and he drew in one deep breath. The water hadn’t even cleared from his eyes before he was back below the surface.
Pffft pffft. At least one of the gunmen on the Mekong Dawn had seen him surface. Bullets whizzed down all around. He angled deeper and turned for the trees. There had been no time to see where he was, no chance to take his bearings. Todd struck out hard in what he hoped was the right direction.
Have to make the trees this time. Have to! Have to!
Pffft pffft –
thwack!
Something slammed into his left calf muscle with a force that felt like a kick from a horse. The leg began to spasm, useless, a dead weight dragging behind him, slowing him. Todd struggled onwards, using his arms and hands to claw at the water, dragging himself forward, kicking frantically with his one good leg. The burn in his lungs was back, hadn’t really left him. He was out of breath again.
Have to make the …
The water around him went darker. For one panicked second he thought he had lost his bearings completely and swum back under the Mekong Dawn. Then his hand touched something – something hard and slimy. A tree root stretched across his path beneath the water. He’d made the trees. He was in the shadow of the leaf canopy.
Todd grasped the root with both hands and pulled himself under it. More roots brushed against him. They seemed to branch out from the tree like the framework of an umbrella. Still unseeing, he followed the root upwards with his hand until it broke through the surface. Then his head was through and he clung to the root, panting heavily as he drew in air that was tepid and moist and stunk of rotting vegetation, but was the sweetest air Todd had ever breathed.
He dragged himself closer to the bole of the tree, deeper into the tangle of roots. A swarm of insects, disturbed by his sudden emergence in their realm, buzzed about his head in an angry cloud. Todd didn’t care about the insects, didn’t care about the muddy water or what creatures it might contain. They were minor to the gunmen and the fact he had made it into the trees. He was safe – for now.
As his eyes cleared, Todd was able to take stock of his position. The tree he had swum into was a little farther back into the swamp. To his right the Mekong Dawn sat about two hundred metres away. The vessel was holding position as the gunmen searched for the escapees. He could see movement along the near rail, weapons aimed towards the tree-line and the sight of them made him slink deeper into the shadow of the roots. There was no sign of Paul, Morgs or Wilky.
Todd released one hand from the root and reached down his left side, feeling along his lower leg towards the pain, fearful of the wound he would find there. Carefully he probed the tender flesh, surprised to find the skin unbroken. The water must have taken away the bullet’s speed, slowing it enough to prevent it from penetrating. But even the gentle touch of his fingers set off another wave of muscular spasms.