Counter Attack

Chapter 39

Standing in the cool of a fruit shop on Dong Du Street, Mac inspected the oranges while watching the sedan pull up in front of the cafe where he’d first spoken with Captain Loan. She got out of the passenger seat of the car, grabbed her phone and day book and walked to the cafe, flicking back her long black ponytail with a shake of her head.

One man remained in the sedan. Walking towards the car from the rear, Mac blindsided the cop, who was looking up and down the footpath. At the last minute, Mac banged his hand on the bonnet of the car as he walked around it, startling the driver.

Inside the cafe, Mac saw the captain at a table, talking into her cell phone. As he sat down she smiled and quickly finished her conversation.

‘Well, Mr Richard,’ she said, reaching out for a businesslike handshake. ‘Nice to have you back.’

‘Back?’ said Mac, wondering where this was going.

‘You crossed into Cambodia three days ago,’ said Loan with a kind smile. ‘You crossed back into Vietnam about sixteen hours ago.’

‘Yes, of course,’ said Mac, as green tea arrived.

‘Had a chance to think about Miss Geraldine?’ asked Loan, preparing the tea.

‘From what the Aussies are saying, I gather she works for Australian Treasury and she was divorcing Jim Quirk,’ said Mac.

‘What else are they saying?’

‘That whoever warned Anglos about Cholon, they weren’t kidding.’

‘You go down to Cholon, Mr Richard?’

‘Sure,’ said Mac. ‘Some great nightclubs down there.’

‘You don’t look like a book salesman,’ said Loan.

‘You don’t look like a detective,’ said Mac.

‘I showed the Mekong barman this picture,’ she said, pulling a colour print from her day book. It showed Mac emerging from the Grand Hotel, his face partially obscured by a baseball cap. ‘He said this was the Aussie soldier he served the night James Quirk died.’

‘I’m not a soldier,’ said Mac.

‘To Vietnamese people, you look like an Aussie soldier.’

‘We all look the same, right?’ said Mac.

‘I think you were in the Mekong Saloon the night Quirk was murdered.’

‘Really?’ said Mac, his heart thumping. ‘I was pretty hammered that night.’

‘What is it, the hammered? You mean you were drunk?’

‘Yes,’ said Mac. ‘I might have been in there for one drink — I couldn’t swear to it either way.’

‘So it might have been you?’

Mac shrugged. ‘I went to five or six bars in Cholon that night, and I could only name one of them. But I think I’d remember if I killed someone.’

‘I didn’t say you killed Quirk. I think you were there, at the Mekong Saloon.’

‘And I’m open to the suggestion that I was,’ said Mac, ‘but I couldn’t identify it by name or show you on a map.’

Captain Loan stared at him for twenty seconds before Mac looked down at his tea.

‘Same night, there was an altercation about ten blocks north-east of the Mekong Saloon,’ said Loan. ‘A fight between men, some shots fired. When we arrived, there was an unconscious man on the street — and he won’t talk. A woman saw it all, says a local man and an Aussie soldier were travelling on a motorbike.’

‘I see,’ said Mac, cold sweat on his brow. ‘She get the rego plates on the bike?’

‘No.’

‘I wish I could help,’ said Mac.

‘You can,’ said the captain. ‘I think Tranh was riding that bike — tell me where Tranh is hiding.’

Mac snapped out of his dissembling autopilot. ‘I don’t know.’

‘He didn’t cross back into Vietnam with you,’ said Loan. ‘So where is he?’

‘I don’t know,’ Mac repeated.

She leaned towards him slightly, adding a threat with her body language. ‘Where did you last see him?’

‘Phnom Penh,’ said Mac.

‘That’s a big city, Mr Richard.’

‘At an apartment building, on the west side — over by the InterContinental.’

‘What happened?’

‘Look,’ said Mac, gulping at the tea and trying to keep down the anxiety. ‘What’s this got to do with Jim —’

‘I asked you a question,’ said Captain Loan, abandoning the charm offensive. ‘What happened?’

‘We were ambushed in the lobby, lots of gunfire,’ said Mac, searching her eyes. Was the other cop about to fly in? Was the conversation being taped? ‘I was blinded by a burst of concrete dust, and when I recovered, Tranh was gone.’

He wondered how fast his red consular passport could be pouched into Saigon and whether Tobin would allow its use if Loan threw him in the basement. If he pushed Tobin to invoke the passport it would mark the first time in his eighteen-year intelligence career that he’d reverted to ‘declared’ while in the field and asked for consular protection.

Loan held his gaze. ‘I thought we were going to cooperate, Mr Richard. That was my impression.’

‘I am cooperating,’ said Mac, his voice croaking slightly.

Her face changed. ‘You know Alphonse Morales?’

‘No,’ said Mac, too fast.

‘Really? I saw a photograph of you two together. Our intelligence people showed me a file on Morales, and there was a photo of you and him in — where was it? Dili?’

‘Oh, you mean Bongo?’ said Mac, forcing a laugh. ‘I got confused. Yes, I have hired Mr Morales on occasions, for protection. Dili was not a safe place for an Australian salesman in the late 1990s, as I’m sure you can appreciate.’

‘Yes, I can,’ she said. ‘You know Morales is in Saigon? Asking questions about Geraldine McHugh?’

‘I didn’t know that,’ said Mac, his throat rasping like sandpaper.

‘Why didn’t you file a missing-persons report in Phnom Penh? And why not inform police in Saigon that your Vietnamese driver is missing?’

‘I was scared,’ said Mac. ‘I thought he might have been mixed up in things I couldn’t understand.’

‘I think you know what he’s mixed up in,’ she said. ‘Should we go down to the station?’

Mac didn’t answer, toying with the idea of declaring himself consular and making a call to Scotty or Tobin; he also toyed with the idea of hitting her and running.

‘I don’t want you in the cells, I don’t even want you in the criminal system,’ said Loan, leaning back as she looked around the cafe. ‘I can help you with McHugh, but I want Tranh.’

‘I’m sorry,’ said Mac, his heart fluttering with adrenaline. ‘I don’t even know his last name — I should have filed a report. I apologise.’

‘His last name is Loh,’ said the captain. ‘But if he were being formally introduced, it would be Loh Han Tranh.’

Breathing deeply through his nose, Mac tried to process the information. Tranh was a Loh Han? The most powerful tong in Cholon? At what level had this gig been compromised?

‘Loh Han?’ said Mac, very carefully. ‘As in Vincent Loh Han — the gangster?’

‘Tranh is Vincent’s nephew,’ said the captain, in a tone that had lost its hardness. ‘I want him back.’

‘You?’

‘I took the Vietnamese version of my name when I went to university in Melbourne,’ she said. ‘I was born Loh Han.’

‘I don’t understand,’ said Mac, his heart rate hitting one-seventy.

‘Look,’ she said, ‘I know who you are, Mr Richard, but I don’t want you in the cells and I don’t want you claiming consular protections. I will help you find Geraldine McHugh, but —’

‘But what?’

‘Mr Richard,’ she said, eyes full of fear and violence, ‘Tranh is my brother.’