‘Yeah,’ said Mac. ‘So Dozsa’s phone connected immediately.’
‘That’s interesting,’ said Scotty. ‘Local call?’
‘I think Captain Loan and Jen are on the right track,’ said Mac.
‘They’re heading for Stung Treng aren’t they?’ said Scotty, smiling in the dark.
‘Yep,’ said Mac. ‘But it’d be a pity to let a couple of cops scare off our mate Joel.’
‘Joel deserves better,’ said Scotty. ‘Let me have a shower.’
Chapter 60
Staggering into the early morning dampness, Mac keyed his phone while Scotty paid the guest house manager.
Jenny’s phone was still out of range and he hoped she was avoiding trouble — she tended to pick fights with people who’d rather shoot than argue.
Standing at Scotty’s rental car, the pain just starting again in his leg, Mac wondered about firearms.
‘Got anything in the boot?’ he asked as Scotty reached the car, the hangover making his face fall off him in waves.
‘Got a Glock that has to be given back to the dip-sec in Saigon when I leave, and the bags you packed for last night. That’s it.’
Popping the boot, Mac inspected the gear bags: two M4 assault rifles, three flash-bang grenades and a single Beretta handgun with one spare clip. In the other bag were three Kevlar vests. It was the kind of cache that would get you locked up for eighteen months in a Western country, but going into Dozsa’s territory it looked puny.
‘Worth giving Sandy a call?’ said Scotty, gulping down bottled water, bloodshot eyes popping out of his head.
Mac thought about it. ‘Better if you call.’
‘Okay,’ said Scotty, pulling his phone out of his pocket. ‘But he’ll tell me to get fucked.’
Scotty lit a smoke. ‘G’day, Sandy — Scotty here, mate.’
Mac chuckled as he saw Scotty try to dodge the obvious: that it was ten to five in the morning.
‘Look, we need the navy boys up here for something this morning —’
Scotty was cut short. ‘He did? You want me to tell him now?’ He covered the mouthpiece. ‘Says you set the NSA on them and now they’ve got one American dead, another injured and Grimshaw as a prisoner — thanks a fucking lot, McQueen.’
Holding his hand out, Mac gestured for the phone.
‘Sandy,’ said Mac, effusive. ‘How are you, darling?’
‘Get fucked, McQueen,’ said the military spook.
‘You helped with the rescue, in spite of yourselves,’ said Mac.
Sandy exhaled. ‘I’m sure we’re all happy for that, mate, but I don’t appreciate being dive-bombed by a helo when I’m crossing a border.’
‘Charles came at you in a chopper?’
‘Sure did — the only thing going for us was you didn’t tell him who was in the car with me.’
‘You don’t need Maddo’s boys anymore. Can you release them to Scotty?’
‘You been drinking?’ said Beech, yelling slightly. ‘I’m trying to get out of Indochina with a file stolen from an ex-Mossad mercenary and we’re being chased by Chinese cadres and the NSA. You really think I’m about to give you Maddo?’
On the way out of town they passed the Palace Guest House. Seeing it, Mac asked Scotty to circle back.
‘What are we doing here?’ said Scotty, pulling up behind a tree. ‘Thought Grimshaw was down south.’
‘Exactly,’ said Mac. ‘He won’t miss all those firearms.’
The dim bulbs of the hallway looked vaguely menacing as Mac worked his bump key into the lock, pulling it back slightly until the pins fell then opening it with one decent left-and-right of the key.
Easing themselves inside, Scotty covered the room with his Glock. They stood still in the darkness as they took in the scene.
‘Shit,’ said Mac, and turned on the light. The living area had been trashed, but by a professional. Drawers had been opened, sofa cushions unzipped and the rug rolled up.
Moving down through the suite, Scotty checked on the bedrooms.
‘Same,’ said Scotty as he came back. ‘Someone after something.’
‘Weapons, for a start,’ said Mac. ‘The place was crowded with them.’
Leaving the suite as quietly as they’d arrived, Mac had a thought.
‘Scotty,’ he said in a whisper, pointing at the next-door room where Sammy had been interrogated. ‘Might see if Sammy knows what’s going on. Might even want a drink of water.’
Mac needn’t have bothered lifting his bump key to the door — it was three inches ajar, the light on inside.
Following Scotty inside, Mac saw that the chair Sammy had been strapped to was covered in blood, but it was empty.
The Water Dragon Guest House sat about seven blocks back from the riverfront of Stung Treng, hidden behind a line of established banyans and frangipanis.
It was dark as Mac and Scotty made their first pass, the roads largely deserted except for the odd farmer or fisherman getting an early start.
‘See anything?’ said Scotty, as they reached the end of the road and stopped.
‘Cottages around a central garden,’ said Mac. ‘Some trees but mostly open ground.’
‘Why don’t I book in?’ said Scotty. ‘If Dozsa’s in there, he wouldn’t know me.’
‘Cover?’ said Mac, checking his SIG as a nervous tic.
‘Barry Hensall, from New Zealand,’ said Scotty, saying it Zilland. ‘Sales director for Waitemata Irrigation Systems.’
‘Had me fooled,’ said Mac. ‘Must have been the boozy breath and ginger moustache.’
‘Works every time,’ said Scotty, reaching his hand under the steering column cowling and coming up with a small package held in place with a rubber band. He took his real passport, credit cards and driver’s licence from his wallet, exchanged the documents, and put the legitimate collateral in the steering column hiding place.
‘Phones okay?’ said Scotty, folding down the vanity mirror and looking at himself.
‘I’ll be waiting,’ said Mac, getting out of the car.
The motel across the road from the Water Dragon was filled with backpackers, judging from all the campervans in the forecourt. Getting a street-front room, Mac put a chair on the double bed and found a line of sight through the partly opened curtains, giving him a view with his binos into the Water Dragon’s internal garden.
The phone rang at 6.53 am as the sunrise turned from purple to orange.
Scotty. ‘I’m in room five — the one with the old park bench outside it, on the lawn.’
‘Can’t get that angle,’ said Mac. ‘Dozsa around?’
‘No movement — you sure this is it?’
‘This is where the Cong An is coming to make inquiries of Joel Dozsa and associates,’ said Mac. ‘And my call to that sat phone suggests he was in the area.’
‘Any ideas?’
‘I saw a pet shop in town as we came through.’
‘You shitting me?’ said Scotty. ‘I taught you that one.’
‘Yeah, well, let’s see you do it, maestro.’
‘You’re a cheeky bugger. Know that?’
At quarter to nine, Mac watched as Scotty’s car arrived back in the guests’ drive that wound around the back of the cottages. Through his binos Mac saw Scotty get out of the car, drag a cat box from the back seat, and enter his cottage via the rear door.
The phone rang. ‘I’ll call every ten minutes,’ said Scotty. ‘Doors are open, so cover me, okay?’
‘Can do,’ said Mac.
Scotty chased the kitten across the internal garden. Kittens, puppies and children were one of the best ways of getting close to people and starting conversations — a highly intelligent woman would start a conversation with Nosferatu if he was playing with a kitten. If you couldn’t get the person you wanted out of their hide with such diversions, you could revert to knocking on doors and asking if anyone had seen your kitten or child. It wasn’t very complex, but the best ploys weren’t.