He also had contacts in the highest and lowest places, and he often teased that he was owed many favours. For what, Weaver had never been able to discover. Any enquiries into Jerry’s life before he’d appeared on the scene had led to dead ends. Weaver assumed he’d been involved in something covert and very probably illegal, but she didn’t care. Whether his was a good heart or bad, Jerry had his uses.
She tried to rein in her excitement, but as soon as Jerry started asking how she was, what the weather was like, and whether she’d seen the news about something-or-other, she almost leapt down his throat.
“Hey, Jerry, just tell me, okay?”
“Okay,” he said, but the son of a bitch still paused for a second before saying, “You’re in.”
“Really? Oh God, thank you.” She crooked the phone between her cheek and shoulder, keeping her eyes on the photo as she used tongs once again to lift it into the fixer tray.
“Here are the details.”
“Okay, wait, let me grab a pen.” She plucked up a pen and scoured the messy desk for a spare sheet of paper. In the end she wrote on the back of her hand. “Okay, go.”
“It’s the Athena, docked in Bangkok, eighteen hundred tomorrow.”
“Got it. Seriously, I owe you.” Dropping the pen, she rinsed the picture and hung it to dry. The little girl stared at her. Where are you now? Weaver wondered, and she hoped the girl was well. She always felt a duty to her photographs but, strangely, rarely to their subjects. Weaver was there to record and share, in the hope that her work might prompt understanding and action from those who saw it. It was curious now that this girl’s plight returned to her with such an impact. It must have been her eyes.
It served to reveal the power of photography.
“What makes you think this is anything special?” Jerry asked.
“Huh? Jerry, when three sources tell you the same thing, word for word, you know they’re lying.”
“Not everyone’s a liar,” Jerry said, but she heard the smile in his voice and thought, Takes one to know one.
“There’s something else going on about this op,” she said. The girl in her photo watched with approval. “Something nobody’s talking about. This isn’t just a survey mission, and I won’t be on it just looking for nature shots.”
“Just take care,” Jerry said.
“You know me.”
“Yeah. I know you. So take care.” He rung off and Weaver was left in the darkroom, bathed in red light and staring at the information written on the back of her hand.
It was time to pack her kit.
FIVE
Captain James Conrad was wondering what he’d got himself into. Another mission, another paycheck, and while he had been happy with both, this was something bigger than he’d been led to expect. All that cloak-and-dagger stuff in the gambling house from the two civilians had painted a picture of a small, well-funded jaunt to some godforsaken island, with shovels, drilling equipment, and sample bags for whatever came up. A few people. Nothing major.
This was something else.
Bangkok docks was always a busy place, but this evening most of the hustle and bustle seemed to be directed around the ship he was heading for at Dock 62. The Athena was a huge weather-beaten transport ship, centre of a chaotic convergence of delivery trucks, swinging cranes, and people hurrying around on board and across the surrounding dockside. Piles of supplies and boxed goods were stacked on the dock, gradually being carried up several gangways. Several Hueys and a bigger Sea Stallion were parked on the Athena’s aft helicopter deck, rotors folded away and landing skids being tied down. There wasn’t a drill or a shovel in sight.
Conrad was also surprised to see a good helping of military clothing. It was hardly a surprise, with the helicopters being used as transports most readily available from the US Army. What was a surprise was the boxes of military hardware he saw stacked along the dockside. Others might not have realised what they were looking at, but he knew ammunition and weapons boxes when he saw them. He could even tell what some of the weapons were from their packaging. Someone here thought it necessary to bring the big guns.
Conrad shrugged his backpack higher on his shoulders and paused, trying to make sense of the scene. He’d done and seen a lot in his short life, both at war and at home, and he’d developed what he thought of as a healthy cynicism. It was often a case of self-preservation. Things were rarely exactly what people said, especially when there was money involved. In this instance, there was definitely real money behind this expedition. Randa and Brooks had shown that when they’d lobbed a wad of cash at him, and it was even more evident here.
Money twisted hearts and shadowed minds. Conrad knew that as well as anyone. He’d have to be careful.
As he headed for the Athena, an open jeep idled by. There were several military men in the back, and Conrad picked up from their insignia that they were chopper crew. He saw the griffin symbol of the Sky Devils. He’d worked with some of them before, although these guys were not known to him.
“A day away from going home,” one of them said. “Oh man, one day away. And now another damn island, another damn jungle.”
“Vietnam’s not an island, Mills, you dumbass,” another said.
“Key West is,” Mills said. “That’s where I should be right now, with a drink in my hand.”
“Key West isn’t an island either. It’s a key.” The man speaking caught Conrad’s eye and held it as the jeep pulled ahead.
Conrad followed at his own pace. These were experienced fighting men, close to shipping home now that their war was over. If this was a private mission it must have government backing of some sort. Great. With money and politics involved, things could only go from bad to worse.
Closer to the ship he saw the final helicopter being loaded, lifted by the heavy cranes, deposited on deck next to the others, and then quickly tied down and covered. There was security at the gangways, but as soon as he flashed his ID he was waved through. They were expecting him.
As usual, Weaver was late. Running along the dock, she saw that all but one of the gangways were already raised, tie ropes released, and the Athena’s smokestacks were billowing at the dark sky. Her kit bag banged against her hip as she ran, and across the other shoulder she carried her camera equipment bag. If she had to drop one, it would be the kit. She’d happily live in one set of clothing for several weeks if it meant she got the shots. It wouldn’t be the first time.
It was all about the shots.
Approaching the one remaining gangway, she dodged past a couple of dock hands and went to run up the metal walkway. A man stopped her.
“Woah, no unauthorized people beyond this point,” he said.
“I’m authorized… Steve,” Weaver said, picking his name from a name-tag on his weird blue jacket. Not military, still it had the appearance of a uniform.
Steve’s only reply was to hold out his hand. He held a clipboard in his other hand, and she had the distinct impression he was unused to bearing any sort of power. Well, if this was his idea of power, he was welcome to it.
She dug out her credentials and handed them over. While he perused her press card and letter of appointment, she checked out the ship. The Athena was already looking like a much larger operation than she’d anticipated. It was a big vessel, with a helicopter deck wide enough to house six Hueys and a Sea Stallion, and supplies tied down beneath tarpaulins. Sure, it could have been a science operation, and at its heart it probably was.