Counter Attack

Chapter 19

The steaming-hot taxi ride back to the Southern Scholastic offices took forever. Saigon’s traffic congestion was fast approaching that of Jakarta or Manila but motorbikes and cyclos still dominated the roads.

Popping another T3 capsule and washing it down with water, Mac thought about Captain Loan and the case she was pursuing. McHugh was pretending to be kidnapped and getting Quirk to make regular trips to the Mekong Saloon? Well, Mac was one step ahead of that story: he’d seen what Quirk was doing at the club. He’d seen the computer terminal he was being forced to work on and he’d heard a conversation about it. How did it go? Something like, I don’t care about your passwords — we want access.

Slugging at the water again, Mac glimpsed the Reunification Palace down a cross street on his left as they neared the destination. Relaxing, he tried to replay the conversation between Red Shirt and Quirk. It wasn’t just about passwords and access. There was another noun in there that he just couldn’t remember.

Paying the cabbie, Mac got out east of the tax department and limped towards the river, stopping like a tourist every few shops to have a look and see who was tailing him. It annoyed him that Loan had played him so well; rather than harass him or bring him down to the Cong An station, she’d gambled that a bit of curiosity would change Mac’s attitude. And she was probably going to win that bet: from the second he walked into Geraldine McHugh’s apartment, he’d been trying to work out how to stay assigned in Saigon and close to the Quirk murder. He’d technically screwed up by being in that club, but he’d done it and now he was part of it, and his next step was to find Red Shirt and this Dodo character. If they were the same person, Geraldine McHugh was in trouble.

At the top of the stairs, outside the door to Southern Scholastic, Mac heard the satellite TV news — it sounded like the CNN feed out of Honkers. Inputting his security code, Mac knew he was late for the meet and that the Quirk surveillance was technically over. But if this Kendrick was as smart as Scotty claimed, then Operation Dragon might be expanded slightly. He’d have to talk with Scotty and maybe Tobin, see how it developed.

Walking into the conference room area, Mac clocked Tranh leaning against the kitchenette counter, playing with his mobile phone. Standing up straight when he saw Mac, Tranh nodded quickly at the two sofas that faced the TV screen.

Looking over, Mac saw a shaggy-haired bloke in his twenties on one sofa and an older man on the other.

‘Hi, darling, I’m home,’ said Mac, walking around to the TV area.

Snapping out of his TV torpor, the younger bloke stood, running his palms down his jeans. He wore a loud Hawaiian shirt and an ironic goatee.

‘Lance,’ he said, offering his hand.

The TV was turned off as Mac shook. ‘Richard — Richard Davis,’ he said, tightly enough that Lance Kendrick and his guest understood Mac’s cover.

Turning, he came face to face with someone he knew well.

‘Dave,’ said Mac, shaking Dave Urquhart’s hand. ‘The fuck are you doing here?’

The phone rang in Mac’s office and Urquhart kicked at something on the floor. The moment broken, Mac moved away.

Picking up the handset as he swung the door shut, Mac gasped with pain while pushing sideways into his desk chair.

‘Yep — Davis.’

‘Mate, Paragon,’ came the strong Aussie accent. ‘The sky is blue?’

‘And the clouds are white,’ said Mac, confirming he didn’t have a gun pointed at him. ‘How are you, Scotty?’

‘I’m good, mate, but the chaps have shut down Dragon.’

Breathing out, Mac tried to stay calm. Through the glass panel of his office he could see Urquhart shoving his hands into his trouser pockets and rocking back on the balls of his feet as he spoke to Kendrick.

‘They’ve canned it?’ said Mac. ‘It’s just getting going.’

‘Dragon was surveillance,’ said Scotty, that tone from last night coming through again.

‘Yeah, I know, mate — so the surveillance now shifts to the shooters, to the Aussie connections.’

‘Aussie connections?’ said Scotty. ‘Australian government?’

‘Maybe.’

Scotty sighed, and Mac realised that his old mentor was being used as the reluctant messenger. In Mac’s two foreign operations since his return to the fold, three people had been executed. All on Mac’s watch, under conditions he’d designed himself. The Firm didn’t like coincidences and it didn’t like criminal investigations.

One of the reasons that intelligence organisations were so strict about agents declaring their medical consultations — especially for psychological problems — was the danger of personality disorders developing in long-term field officers. The classic symptoms were burnout, from sustained stress, or complacency, when false identities became normalised in the agent’s mind. Either disorder was a threat to the whole outfit and Mac could feel the judgment of his peers weighing on him.

‘Macca — time to pull up stumps and come home. Word’s come down,’ said Scotty.

‘It’s not over.’

‘When the deceased is an Aussie consular guy, that means the Feds will turn up,’ said Scotty. ‘And when the cops turn up, it’s over.’

Mac rubbed his temples. ‘Shit, Scotty.’

‘Let’s do it like pros, okay? Put it all in a bag, put a match to it and see if Qantas can’t find you a nice single malt in business class.’

‘I didn’t get Quirk killed,’ said Mac. ‘I’ve done a thousand recces like that without one of ours getting his head blown off.’

‘I know, I know,’ said Scotty. ‘We just get on with it, right? Like the wise man says: when it turns to shit, we start wearing brown.’

‘Ha!’ said Mac, laughing. ‘You’re a mad bastard, mate.’

‘That’s what my third wife screamed at me,’ said Scotty, ‘just before she called in the lawyers.’

Massaging his face with both hands, Mac barely heard the soft knock at the door. When he looked up, Dave Urquhart was easing into the office, a plunger of coffee in one hand and two mugs in the other.

‘Knee looks nasty,’ said Urquhart, as he took a seat. ‘Walk into a door?’

‘Wife beat me up,’ said Mac, straightening in his chair. ‘Sorry about the welcome — didn’t expect you here.’

‘No,’ said Urquhart, pouring the coffee. ‘Last minute thing, you know?’

Mac grabbed the coffee. ‘Come in from Bangers?’

‘Sure,’ said Urquhart.

‘You with Kendrick?’

‘I am now,’ said Urquhart with a smile. His suit, his shoes and his side parting were all perfect. It looked like he’d shaved in the cab from the airport and his colourless, plasticised skin refused to flush in the pre-monsoon heat — a quality that had earned him the nickname of ‘Madame Tussaud’ among certain crowds in Canberra.

‘So what can I do for you?’ said Mac, sipping the coffee.

‘Nothing much. I’ll be sharing the office for a couple of weeks.’

‘You know I’ve been recalled,’ said Mac, already annoyed by the passive slickness of his old friend. ‘So I won’t be sharing anything with you.’

‘Yes,’ said Urquhart. ‘Just didn’t think it was my place to bowl in here announcing it.’

Turning his mug, Mac decided to play Urquhart for all he was worth. ‘It’s a pity really,’ he said.

‘Oh?’

‘Yeah. I was going to call you today, bring you in on a few things I found out after our discussion in Canberra.’

Urquhart focused. ‘Really? I thought that was a brush-off?’

‘Yeah, but things change.’

‘They do?’ said Urquhart, drawing his mug across the desk but not taking his eyes off Mac.

‘That was Canberra,’ said Mac, pointing at the phone. ‘I’m on a plane tomorrow — Dragon’s over, burn the bag, the whole nine yards.’

As Urquhart’s eyes burrowed into him, Mac stood and made for the door. ‘It’s a shame, ’cos we —’

Urquhart’s arm went out, touching Mac on the stomach. ‘Steady — let’s not burn anything just yet.’

Stopping, Mac sat on the desk, looking down at Urquhart.

Urquhart cleared his throat. ‘So, what have you got?’

Mac sipped coffee. ‘Let’s start with what I get.’

‘I’m not really in a position —’

‘Well, then,’ said Mac, standing.

‘Shit, McQueen,’ Urquhart hissed. ‘You’re a difficult bastard.’

‘Who you working for?’ said Mac.

‘Executive branch,’ said Urquhart. ‘So what do you want?’

Mac tried to link what he knew about Urquhart’s movements and motives with what might bring him suddenly to Saigon. It was starting to look obvious, and as little as he trusted the man, Urquhart’s secret mission might just keep Mac in Saigon.

‘I want to be seconded to you, Davo,’ said Mac. ‘I want an attachment to the McHugh case.’

Looking away, Urquhart lost his composure for a split second before recovering. ‘What’s the McHugh case?’

‘Geraldine McHugh — Quirk’s wife. I think that’s who you’re interested in.’

‘Really?’ said Urquhart with a fake chuckle. ‘Why would you say something like that?’

‘Because you’re hot for your traitor theory,’ said Mac. ‘And as soon as you heard about Quirk, you zap in here, have me thrown out, and I’ll bet the AFP liaison in Honkers, Manila and Singers have been deemed inadequate for this gig, right?’

‘Really?’ said Urquhart, a poor liar for one who practised so much.

‘Yeah, Davo. The AFP’ll have to fly someone in from Sydney or Perth, which gives you a day’s head start — those flights don’t land till almost four. It also means the visiting fed has no relationship with the Cong An.’

Urquhart recovered his superiority complex. ‘That’s all a wonder- ful theory, Macca, but I have no idea what you’re talking about.’

‘That’s a pity, Davo,’ said Mac, walking for the door. ‘Because when it comes to theories, that’s the one the Cong An is going with.’

‘What?’ said Urquhart, almost throwing himself at the door.

‘The Cong An — the cops.’

‘I know who the Cong An are — what do they know about Geraldine McHugh?’ said Urquhart, wide-eyed.

‘Thought you had no idea what I was —’

‘Okay, okay.’ Urquhart held his hand palm-down like Mac was the one who needed to relax. ‘The Cong An and McHugh?’

‘They’ve had her under surveillance,’ said Mac, casually.

‘How do you know this?’ He said it like an accusation.

Mac smiled. ‘I was in her apartment this morning, mate.’

‘Okay, this has gone far enough. I’m working for the Prime Minister’s office under authority of the Attorney-General,’ Urquhart said, meaning he had the right to break the law. ‘I’m invoking the Official Secrets Act on what you’ve just told me — the lot, okay?’

‘Sure — I was about to burn the bag, remember?’

Nostrils flaring, Dave Urquhart stood his ground in front of the door, his eyes darting downwards to the right — a man trying to put something together.

‘So, the Cong An is talking to you?’

‘Sure,’ said Mac.

‘And to the consulate — to Chester?’

‘No, just me,’ said Mac.

‘I think I can find a spot for you on the team,’ said Urquhart, chewing his lip. ‘But this will be a loop of two, right? You’ll be reporting to me, not to Scotty or Tobin.’

‘Okay, Davo,’ said Mac. ‘So long as it’s in writing, it’s a loop of two.’

‘You think you can take orders from me?’ said Urquhart.

‘As long as you don’t put me in danger.’

‘Fair enough,’ said Urquhart.

‘Oh,’ said Mac, ‘and Tranh comes with the deal.’

‘The local bloke?’

‘Yeah — he was promised two weeks’ work and he shouldn’t have to scratch-and-feed with DFAT accounts just to get a cheque.’

‘I thought we’d use Lance,’ said Urquhart. ‘He can do everything whatsisname is doing, and he’s TS-PV.’

‘No one can do what Tranh does,’ said Mac. ‘And by the way, Lance probably needs some work on his craft, and that’ll be my call.’

‘Okay, Macca — that’s your call, but you report to me,’ said Urquhart, his eyes burning with resentment. ‘Got a number?’

Reading out his mobile number, Mac made to go.

‘Where will you be?’ said Urquhart.

‘Don’t know,’ said Mac. ‘But it’ll have a big screen, the Wallabies will be playing and they’ll serve Bundy without adding too much ice.’

Urquhart stood aside as he brushed past.

‘Just tell me, Macca: why were you in her apartment?’

‘Simple,’ said Mac. ‘Cong An have fitted me for the murder.’