Mekong Dawn, Page 3

  As quickly as it started, the shooting stopped. Echoes faded into the distance as Malko stepped into the carnage, surprised to discover Wong still alive. The Chinaman had several bullet holes ripped through his torso and he seemed to look up at Malko with a questioning gaze.

  Malko pulled the Browning from his pocket. ‘I have no money to give you, Wong. But you have given me the means to generate my much-needed funds. Thankyou.’ With that he shot Wong in the head.

  Chapter Three

  Cambodia. Present day.

  The aircraft’s tyres hit the runway at Siem Reap with a thud and Scott Morris gripped the arms of the chair, his knuckles turning white with effort. He closed his eyes tightly, but then reminded himself that he was being irrational. He was on the ground and the flying behind him. He opened his eyes to a blur of palm trees and thatched roofs, already slowing as the engines screamed in reverse thrust and the brakes came on.

  Nancy leaned across him and peered through the window. ‘It looks rather tropical.’ On both legs of the flight out from Australia she had strategically positioned herself between Scott and the aisle, a gesture intended to calm him, but one that had only succeeded in making him feel like a trapped animal.

  ‘It looks bloody hot and humid.’

  ‘It’s romantic. Ten wonderful nights on the Mekong River,’ she countered.

  He forced a smile. ‘You sound just like the brochure.’

  The aircraft taxied to a stop on the apron. Moments later the doors swung open and warm, tropical air flooded into the cabin. They followed the rest of the passengers down the steps and onto the sun-baked tarmac, hurrying for the shade of the terminal building.

  Standing at the baggage carousel, they watched the endless line of suitcases and satchels parade past.

  ‘Here’s one of ours.’ Nancy nudged Scott in the ribs. ‘And another.’

  Scott pulled the suitcases from the conveyor belt and stood them on the floor beside him.

  ‘One to go.’ Nancy craned her head to examine the streamer curtain from which the luggage appeared.

  Ten minutes later the conveyor belt was empty. Their bag hadn’t appeared.

  ‘I bet they lost it in Singapore.’

  Scott rubbed his sweaty palms on his thighs. ‘I don’t care where they lost it. We need that bag. You know what was in it, don’t you?’

  Nancy reached for his hand and tried to deliver one of her calming squeezes. He saw it coming and snatched his hand away.

  ‘I’m sure the bag will turn up, Scotty. If not, we’ll find a chemist or drug store or whatever they’re called here. They’re bound to have some in stock.’ She couldn’t meet his angry look and cast her eyes about the baggage hall. ‘Look, there’s the lost luggage desk. Let’s do the paperwork and worry about the bag later.’

  With the lost baggage form completed and customs and immigration formalities behind them, they wandered into the arrivals hall to be greeted by a local holding up a sheet of paper with their names printed on it.

  ‘Mr and Mrs Morris?’

  ‘That’s us.’

  ‘Welcome to Cambodia. Please, follow me.’ He led them outside and they waited at the curb until a car pulled up. Scott helped load their luggage into the boot then slid thankfully into the cool beside Nancy.

  The airport was about twenty minutes from Siem Reap. Normally Scott would have been fascinated by the mixture of dilapidated and modern buildings lining the streets, but his thoughts kept drifting back to the missing bag. He wiped the palms of his hands on the legs of his trousers and tried not to think about it. Nancy would fix it. She always did.

  Their hotel had been built in French colonial times, a whitewashed three-storey structure with terracotta tiles. The louvered shutters on the windows had been recently lacquered and the gardens were an immaculate blaze of colour.

  Nancy's head turned left and right, trying to take it all in as they walked up to the reception desk in the open-air foyer. ‘Isn’t this just beautiful?’

  ‘Yeah, it’s great!’ Scott sneered, and instantly felt bad. This was her holiday, too. Nancy deserved better after the hard months behind them. He softened his tone. ‘Really, I like it.’

  With room key in hand and the struggling bellhop following behind, they made their way up to their room on the second floor. Scott tipped the boy five dollars U.S from a wad in his pocket.

  Nancy kicked her shoes off and sprawled on the bed. ‘What do you want to do first?’

  ‘A shower first. Then a bit of exploring. What do you reckon?’

  Nancy nodded. ‘Sounds like a plan.’

  ‘Who wants first shower?’ he asked.

  A cheeky grin slid onto her face. ‘Well, it’s big enough for two.’

  She rushed into the bathroom and Scott heard water running. He stared at the two suitcases on the wooden bench and bemoaned the missing bag. He swallowed and ran his sweating palms down the leg of his pants, not realising the material was already stained. Nancy’s voice roused him.

  ‘Scotty! You coming in or not?’

  Chapter Four

  The streets of Phnom Penh buzzed with traffic as Ky motored his scooter past the Royal Palace. The King’s residence stood in stark contrast to the buildings around it; gilded frescos and glaring white roofs amongst rusted tin and cracked concrete. To his left, many flagpoles stood along the riverbank, flying the flags of those nations Cambodia considered friends. Ky glared contemptuously at the flags as he navigated the scooter between a bus loaded with tourists and an old truck overcrowded with labourers. He turned into a side street, winding his way through back-alleys to an old building protected by high walls and steel gates.

  Parking his scooter at the kerb, he walked to the gates and knocked sharply beside a small covered window. The hatch slid aside and a set of eyes studied him, widening in surprise as they recognised him. Heavy bolts slipped and the left gate opened partially, allowing him to step into the courtyard. The gatekeeper lowered his AK74 as Ky passed. It was one of the new ones, all gleaming black metal and shiny varnish on the woodwork. Two other men lounged in the shade of the wall, their weapons close at hand.

  Crossing the courtyard, he entered the ramshackle two-storey building and climbed a set of concrete steps to a room off the first-floor landing.

  Malko sat in a wicker chair by the window. Another man Ky didn't recognise sat opposite the colonel. The room was full of tobacco smoke. Malko placed his Vietnamese cigarette in an ashtray and smiled at Ky.

  ‘You have the information?’

  ‘Yes, Colonel.’

  The older man’s face broke into a grin, the scar contorting his features into a grotesque grimace. He gestured Ky into the chair beside him.

  ‘Tell me.’

  Ky sat. The breeze coming through the open window felt cool on his skin. Out beyond the roofs he could see the Mekong River, a muddy expanse of brown water, the far bank just a vague silhouette through tropical haze.

  ‘I received an email from my contact in the company’s booking office a little over an hour ago. The times are confirmed. The vessel is at anchor in the north of Tonle Sap, reprovisioning and awaiting the arrival of her passengers. She is due to sail in two days. ’ Ky said.

  ‘Excellent!’ The colonel picked up his cigarette and drew on it hard, holding the smoke in his lungs. ‘And the other arrangements?’

  ‘All is in place.’

  The colonel nodded. ‘You have done well, Ky. Soon we will have the funds to finance our cause. We have started down the path that will return Cambodia to greatness.’

  Ky allowed himself the barest hint of a smile. He cast his eyes about the sparsely furnished room – at the faded and peeling paint, the threadbare carpet and the makeshift table on which sat the plans for revolution. There were men in government, the corrupt and ill-managed government, who would crush them if given the chance and prosecute them as traitors. For the past five years they had been forced to hide away in dingy little backrooms like this, plotting in secret, moving
deep underground when the authorities came searching. No longer!

  Ky looked earnestly at the colonel. ‘A vessel of that size will be hard to conceal. We have the camouflage netting, but that won’t stop any locals from coming for a closer look if they happen by.’

  Malko blew a cloud of tobacco smoke towards the ceiling. ‘This is Van.’ He waved his cigarette at the other man. ‘He was a barge captain on the river for many years. The concealment of the vessel is his responsibility.’

  Ky looked at the man sitting in the chair opposite Malko. Van had a thin face and bloodshot eyes. His hands rested on the arms of the chair, the skin on their backs parched and dried like old rawhide from years of exposure to the sun in the wheelhouses of riverboats. ‘You know where a boat of such size can be hidden?’

  Van nodded and Malko picked up a notebook and pencil from a side table.

  ‘Show him.’ He tossed the pad and pencil onto Van’s lap.

  Van opened the pad and Ky positioned his chair so that he could see. Van started by drawing a long peanut shape from top left to bottom right. ‘This is Tonle Sap.’ He tapped the shape with the tip of the pencil then drew an oval to the right of the peanut. ‘This is Boeng Tonle Chhma. It is fed by the Mekong and linked to the larger lake by hundreds of narrow waterways, none of them big enough to take anything larger than a fishing boat.’

  ‘The target is much larger than a fishing boat,’ Ky said.

  Van gave a knowing smile and tapped the pencil to the south of the smaller lake. ‘Boeng Tonle Chhma is mostly surrounded by swamps. There are a few mountains rising out of the water. One such mountain is here.’ He tapped the pencil on the paper at a point due east of the smaller lake. ‘The Mountain of the Sun. Fourteen years ago a telecommunications company placed an antenna array on the summit of the mountain. To get the equipment there, a channel was dredged from Tonle Sap to a landing at the base of the mountain. I was one of the barge captains contracted to bring this equipment in. Once everything was in place the site at the landing was abandoned and the channel forgotten and allowed to silt up.’

  Ky studied the rough sketch. ‘But if the channel has silted up, how will you get the vessel down it?’

  ‘I have reconnoitred the channel over the past two weeks. The river is in flood cycle and the water will be rising for the next eight weeks. There are no places shallower than two and a half metres. The target of this operation draws one point eight metres. I expect no problems.'

  Ky glanced at Malko, but the colonel’s face showed no emotion. There had better not be any problems.

  ‘We will move out to the staging area tomorrow.’ Malko leant over and snatched up the notepad, tearing out the page with Van’s sketch. He drew hard on his cigarette and used the glowing tip to set the paper alight, turning it in his fingers so that nothing of the sketch was left. Not satisfied with that, he crumbled the charred remains to a fine powder. ‘Leave no trace.’

  Ky nodded. It was only by being careful that they had managed to elude the authorities for so long.

  Chapter Five

  The Cambodia – Laos border.

  Jenkins drew hard on his cigarette and held the bitter smoke in his lungs as he watched the distant jungle where the track disappeared into shadow. His eyes flicked to every movement, to every sound, but there was nothing but the track and the jungle and the noises of the creatures it contained. In his right hand he carried a laptop bag, an item that had not been out of his grasp for three days. He felt hot and sweaty and knew it would be at least another day before he reached civilisation and a meal and a shower.

  A vehicle approached, whining along in low gear as it climbed the foothills of the mountain range that separate Laos from Cambodia. Stepping deeper into the jungle, he waited and watched. A short-wheel-based Landcruiser emerged out of the evening gloom and came steadily towards him.

  His promised driver or a police patrol sent to hunt him down?

  The Landcruiser reached a position on the track almost opposite and slowed to a stop. There was only one man in the vehicle, an Asian with a weathered face and close-cropped hair. The driver’s head pivoted back and forth as he searched the surrounding jungle.

  Jenkins remained hidden, watching for a trap. He threw the cigarette to the ground and stepped on it. The horn on the Landcruiser suddenly blared, frightening a flock of birds out of the jungle and sending them screeching into the sky. Jenkins jumped, his heart racing. He hurried forward as another blast sounded and yanked open the passenger door. The driver had his face turned away, but he snapped his head around and gave a startled look as Jenkins yelled at him.

  ‘Stop that, you idiot!’

  The driver lifted his hand from the horn and his face broke into a grin. ‘Mr Jenkins?’

  ‘Who else would be waiting for you on a deserted stretch of jungle track?’

  The grin remained on the man’s face, who was obviously unaffected by Jenkins’ blustering tone. Jenkins reminded himself that he was alone and that the man could be armed and rob him of his possessions. He tightened his grip on the laptop bag and forced himself to calm down.

  ‘You have the documents?’

  The driver leant towards Jenkins, opened the glove compartment and removed a small bundle held together by an elastic band. He tossed the bundle to Jenkins and sat up, still grinning.

  Jenkins removed the elastic band and thumbed through the documents. The first was a South African passport in the name of Simon Western. He opened it to the photo page and studied his own likeness staring back at him. The forger had done an excellent job. The passport was worth every cent of the five thousand US dollars he’d paid for it. There were entry and exit stamps for various countries, including the ever important visa for Cambodia and an entry stamp dated two days ago.

  ‘Wonderful.’ Jenkins closed the passport and examined the other items, two Visa credit cards issued to Simon Western and a South African driver’s licence in the same name.

  ‘Simon Western.’ He said the name aloud and wondered if there really was a Simon Western somewhere. The name sounded good - rolled off the tongue. When he finally made it out of Asia he might keep that name. He definitely couldn’t go back to Liam Jenkins. There would be too many people looking for that name. No, he decided, Liam Jenkins will vanish off the face of the earth. But Simon Western will have a wonderful life from this day forward.

  He reached into his pocket, removed a wad of U.S bills and handed them to the driver. The man pocketed the cash without so much as a second glance and gestured at the passenger seat.

  ‘Get in. I take you to Siem Reap.’

  Jenkins slid onto the seat and pulled the door closed. The driver let out the clutch and the Landcruiser trundled forward.

  The track picked its way through rocky jungle outcrops, twisting and turning as it climbed ever higher. At sunset they emerged on a ridge top and Jenkins had an unobstructed view back in the direction from which they had come. A few lights had winked on far below in the smoky distance. The sky remained clouded over with that perpetual south-east Asian haze. Jenkins had been in Laos for two years and couldn’t recall ever seeing the stars during that time. Having been raised in the wide open spaces of South Africa, he missed the night sky. Now he was glad of its absence, glad of the added darkness that would assist his illegal border crossing.

  The vehicle rounded a large boulder and Jenkins was given a view of the far side of the ridge. It was the same as the vista behind them; endless jungle and a few rice paddies with a sprinkling of evening lights.

  The driver pointed through the windscreen. ‘Cambodia.’

  For two hours they negotiated the far side of the ridge, descending towards the lowlands. Jenkins wasn’t so fond of the darkness when he realised his driver intended running without headlights. He used one hand to grip the bar on the dashboard and the other to hold the laptop bag tight against his side as the Landcruiser bucked and rolled over unseen obstacles. The driver must have travelled this mountain road, little more than a
goat track, many times, for he always seemed to know when the worst sections were approaching and was ready with a sharp dab on the brakes and quick shift to a lower gear.

  Finally, the track levelled out and became wider. The driver pulled over and got out.

  ‘I change plates.’

  Jenkins opened his door and slid from the seat. He smoked a cigarette as he watched the driver quickly remove the Laos number plates with a screwdriver and replace them with Cambodian ones. Then the driver went to the back of the vehicle, opened the rear door and removed two bottles of water, tossing one to Jenkins. Before he could close the door, Jenkins glimpsed several boxes concealed under a canvas tarp. It seemed he wasn’t the only item the driver was smuggling across the border tonight.

  Back in the vehicle Jenkins was delighted to see the driver turn on the headlights as they continued down the gravel road. An hour later they reached a sealed road running from left to right. The driver swung to the right and picked up speed.

  He grinned at Jenkins. ‘Soon Siem Reap.’

  Chapter Six

  The motor sputtered and coughed then died into silence. The open boat continued on, carried by momentum, but slowing fast. Nguyen Soo-Li turned from her seat in the bow to look back at her father who was frowning at the engine. He let go of the tiller and worked his way carefully towards the old car motor pressed into service to power the nine-metre wooden boat. She heard him mutter under his breath as he reached for a small plastic box of tools.

  Soo-Li was only able to see her father because they did not yet have a full load of firewood stacked amidships. When they returned from this foraging trip to the forests of the Mountain of the Sun the pile would be higher than her short eleven-year-old frame could reach and the boat at the very limits of balance and safety. In a fortnight they would sell the firewood in the floating village and Soo-Li would have a new dress.

  She turned her face toward the mountain, just visible through the broken canopy of trees. The forested slopes rose three hundred metres above the wetlands. Near the peak a few buttresses of dark rock were exposed to the sun. A solitary cloud hung above the summit, as if afraid to journey out over the myriad of waterways. She could see several antenna towers on the mountain, glinting in the sunshine, but had no idea what they were for. No-one lived there, no-one stayed with the antennas to maintain them.