‘So, what happened?’ said Mac.
‘I made one of the great mistakes of my life,’ said Loh Han. ‘I rang Ray, said I wanted to come down and go through the Harbour Pacific books, to see what we were really buying. My private jet was being used by my accountants in Honolulu, so I flew Singapore Airlines and stayed with Ray and Liesl.’
Loh Han paused as the aide returned with a heavy chunk of cash in a canvas bank bag. Loh Han took the bag, issued orders for more bets and handed out a wad of cash. Mac laughed to himself: Loh Han kept every bag of winnings along with the betting chit — he probably checked his payouts later to ensure his own people weren’t stealing.
‘We went through the asset manifests, Mr McQueen, and we made a lot of calls. Ray talks to many people in defence technology so he was calling his friends in the Netherlands, Germany, United States and Japan. And it all added up to one thing.’
‘Yes?’
‘Harbour Pacific had the asset that allow us to control the launch of North Korean ballistic missile system,’ said Loh Han. ‘The last piece was a micro-transceiver that sits between the general staff’s key and mission controller — only when both are accessed at the same time can the missile be launched and controlled. Harbour Pacific owned the British firm that make the silicon-copper switch for this safety device — we had total control. It didn’t make me feel powerful, Mr McQueen, it made me feel sick.’
‘What about the vetting?’
‘An agent of the Australian Tax Office had visited two weeks earlier, demanding to audit Harbour Pacific because Ray was the Australian citizen.’
‘Who was the tax guy?’ said Mac.
‘Ray assumed he was spy from Aussie intelligence,’ said the gangster. ‘I took the tape from Ray’s office and showed it to my friends.’
‘And?’
‘The auditor was James Quirk — recruited by ASIO while still a student, then joined trade department of your diplomatic corps, and from time to time was asked to vet sensitive purchases in South-East Asia. When I see his photo in the paper, matters became clear.’
‘What did Ray want to do?’ said Mac.
‘He wiped the asset manifests and all technical specs from his fund hard drives. He said it couldn’t be used by someone like Pao Peng.’
‘Wiped it? Completely?’
‘No, he kept a secret copy for us,’ said Loh Han. ‘And he said the Aussie intel copy from the vetting was safe in Canberra and would never be accessed by Dozsa or Pao Peng.’
Mac’s guts churned: he now knew what he’d been witnessing that night when Dozsa demanded Quirk work on that terminal. And he knew why the SD card was so valuable. Quirk had accessed his audit hard drives in Canberra and downloaded Harbour Pacific’s assets and technical specs to the chip. The whole lot was sitting in Mac’s pocket for two days, and he’d had no idea what he was carrying.
Loh Han continued. ‘Ray said we’d sit on the secret file because the next day he was meeting someone who would know what to do.’
‘At the Pan Pac?’ said Mac, wincing.
‘Yes,’ said Loh Han. ‘That was you?’
‘Shit,’ said Mac, rubbing his temples. ‘That’s all he said?’
‘He was confident you’d resolve everything — called it fool’s mate.’
Looking out at the race track, Mac fought reflux. He was confused and tired, and his leg would need more painkillers in the next half-hour. Mac had been Ray’s solution but Mac had been in the dark. He blamed himself for leaving the Firm for two years and falling behind on the kinds of things he should have known about. He blamed himself for not being more paranoid about those SingTel technicians when he first saw them outside the Pan Pacific Hotel that afternoon.
‘I have a proposition, Mr McQueen,’ said Loh Han. ‘I help you shut down this missile madness.’
‘And?’
‘And you give me the person who killed my old friend.’
Mac sensed a trick. Loh Han knew Mac would not want to give up Dozsa, not before ASIS had its chance at a long debrief. The gangster was luring him into a lie.
‘I can tell you the name, but I can’t let you have him,’ said Mac, trying to avoid the man’s eyes.
‘The name,’ said Loh Han. ‘You were there, Mr McQueen — you know who did this. I need that name.’
‘Joel Dozsa,’ said Mac.
Loh Han’s eyes flashed wide before narrowing again. ‘Him!’
‘I found out yesterday,’ said Mac. ‘He also whacked Jim Quirk, at your club in Cholon.’
‘What have I done?’ said Loh Han, easing back in his seat and lifting his field-glasses as the jockeys took their mounts for a warm-up down the back straight.
‘If the situation allows it, you can have him,’ said Mac, standing. ‘But I need something from you.’
‘Haven’t I just given you what you want?’
‘No,’ said Mac. ‘You’ve given yourself a way out of your predicament while staying sweet with a powerful general in the PLA.’
‘Ha,’ said Loh Han. ‘You’re a smart man — you need a job? I put you in charge of my hotels, see if you can stop the managers robbing me.’
‘I need to know the whereabouts of a shipload of kids last seen on the Mekong south of Kratie.’
‘That’s a big river.’
‘Registration K 4217,’ said Mac, gesturing to an aide and getting a pad and pen. ‘This was last night.’
‘Why would I know about a shipload of children?’ said Loh Han, slow and icy.
‘Because the vessel was crawling with PLA cadres from the counterfeiting factory,’ said Mac, writing Jenny’s phone number on the pad. ‘They were Dozsa’s people. This number is for Agent Toohey, Australian Federal Police — just call anonymously and give her the location, and don’t get into an argument with her.’
Loh Han took the paper and crooked a finger at a minder who’d been sitting at the gangster’s right. He whispered something to the minder, then watched him leave before turning back to Mac.
‘So we’re square,’ said Loh Han. ‘Those two men who flew you here? They’re yours for now, Mr McQueen. Leave the Jew to me.’
Chapter 64
Buckling himself into the forward-facing seat in the jet, Mac ran through his list. He’d have Scotty and Sammy waiting for him at Stung Treng, but then what? Where was the Harbour Pacific file kept by Ray? And where was Dozsa?
The engines revved and Jon — the senior minder — went to lift the stairs inside.
Looking up, Mac saw an argument at the hatch and Jon waving. Finally, Jon dropped the stairs and an athletic Vietnamese man bounced into the cabin and took a seat facing Mac.
‘Hello, Mr Richard,’ said Tranh, smiling despite the heavy bandage on his left hand.
Mac smiled too. ‘Well, it’s Harry Houdini.’
Jon came over. ‘He can’t come with us, Mr Richard,’ said the minder, a heavily built man who looked like a young version of Bongo.
‘Why not?’ said Mac.
‘Because the boss don’t want him being shot no more,’ said Jon.
‘I’m the boss now,’ said Mac.
Jon and Mac stared at one another until the Vietnamese broke.
‘Sure, boss,’ he said, pulling up the stairs and securing the hatch.
The flight time to Stung Treng was a shade over twenty minutes but it gave Mac a chance to talk with Tranh, who said he’d been ordered to stand down by his uncle after the shootout in Saigon, but he’d kept one step ahead of Vincent’s heavies so he could go to Phnom Penh with Mac.
‘You defied your uncle?’ said Mac.
‘I was ashamed,’ said Tranh. ‘This Dozsa is behaving this way, and working for my family? I wanted to help you.’