Counter Attack

Chapter 24

The tail didn’t last long. The tuc-tuc carrying the Chinese men stopped at an intersection and then the two men who’d followed Boo Bray to the Ozzie Bar emerged from the cab and walked to a red Toyota Camry parked in front of a fruit store.

Mac got a look at them as his own tuc-tuc paused thirty metres behind the Toyota: one was tallish and slim, the other older — perhaps Mac’s age — and stocky but a smooth mover. Probably ex-military, decided Mac; most special forces soldiers eventually walked with their hips so their shoulders remained stable.

‘That them,’ said Tranh, as the older of the two men looked briefly in their direction before ducking into the passenger seat of the Toyota.

‘Them who?’ said Mac, abandoning the tuc-tuc to hail a taxi.

‘The strong one,’ said Tranh as a battered Nissan slowed to pick them up. ‘The one taking our picture.’

‘In Vietnam?’ said Mac, getting into the taxi.

‘In the red Patrol that passed us,’ said Tranh, frowning.

The tail wound westward through the changing territory of Phnom Penh, the taxi maintaining a hundred-metre distance from the red Camry. Phnom Penh was still an enigma, all these years after Mac had first explored it: some streets were cosmopolitan and Western — or at least Hong Kong — in outlook, while others looked and smelled like something out of the nineteenth century. Wafts of sewage and rotten cabbage suddenly gave way to miasmas of incense outside trendy restaurants. In some blocks, people slept on the streets, guarded by dead-eyed men in shorts and singlets, while neighbouring blocks were well-lit and seemed as prosperous as Singapore.

Mac’s mind was spinning as they moved further away from the river. What was going on? The crew who’d killed Jim Quirk in Saigon now runs over Boo Bray in Phnom Penh? Were the Chinese spies part of the same gig?

There was another problem, thought Mac as he keyed his phone.

‘Lance — Mac,’ he said, cupping his mouth.

‘Shit, McQueen!’ said the novice, his breath short. ‘I mean — sorry.’

‘It’s okay, mate. Can you talk?’

‘Yep,’ said Lance, almost panting.

‘You at the hospital?’

‘Yep, shit, I —’

‘Contact the embassy?’

‘Um, yeah — dip-sec’s here.’

‘Warren or something?’ said Mac.

‘Warner, Luke Warner,’ said Lance. ‘But there’s —’

‘Cops collared you yet?’

‘They tried.’

‘You weren’t there, saw nothing, don’t know the bloke, right?’

‘Yes,’ said Lance. ‘Just being the good Aussie Samaritan.’

‘Good man,’ said Mac, as the taxi took a right and sped down Mao Tse Tung Boulevard after the Camry. ‘How’s Boo?’

Lance’s tone changed. ‘He’s alive, but there’s something else.’

‘Like what?’ said Mac, not wanting anything else.

‘The detective asked me if I was travelling with Barry Bray, and I said no.’

‘Yeah?’ said Mac.

‘Then he asks me if I’m travelling with Marlon T’avai and I said no.’

‘So?’ asked Mac.

‘So then he wants my passport and hotel address and I say that I wasn’t driving the hit-and-run car, and he says he knows that — he’s investigating an attempted homicide!’

‘Okay, mate, stay calm,’ said Mac, keeping his eyes on the Camry.

Lance sounded close to losing it. ‘This was a murder?’

‘Not yet, mate,’ said Mac. ‘Did you give the Hawaii as your address?’

‘Yeah,’ said Lance.

Mac pushed further. ‘You sweet with this cop?’

‘Yep, I think so.’

‘Good. I want you to walk out of there and go find a tourist bar, have a few beers, sit where you can see all the entries, buy your own drinks and try not to look at surveillance cameras, okay?’

‘Yep, sure,’ said Lance, sounding anything but.

Mac could only hope that the kid would be okay. ‘I’ll call when I know the hotel’s not blown — and Lance?’

‘Yes, boss?’

‘If a good-looking bird wants to befriend you, and it seems too good to be true…’

‘Yeah, yeah — I know,’ said Lance, regaining his composure. ‘I’ll wait for your call.’

‘If you haven’t heard by midnight, go to Red Fallback.’

‘Got it,’ said Lance and rang off.

Just west of the Hotel InterContinental the Camry suddenly lurched to the right of the westbound lanes and the scenario finally made sense.

‘They tailing someone,’ said Tranh.

‘Ask the driver to close up — thirty metres,’ said Mac, eyes now scanning the lanes ahead of the Camry.

‘So, what did Lance try to get out of you?’ said Mac as the taxi accelerated.

‘Tried to get me talk about myself and then talk about Saigon and then talk about what I’m doing with you.’

‘And?’ said Mac.

‘Two out of three ain’t very bad,’ said Tranh.

‘Well done, Mr Tranh — any clues from Mr Lance?’

‘He interested in Apricot,’ said Tranh. ‘But he referred to him two times as “they”.’

‘They?’ said Mac.

‘Yes, like Mr Apricot is with someone else.’

The red Camry slowed and turned right into an area of affluent Western-style serviced apartments of the type that travelling executives and businesspeople rented when they were in Cambodia for more than a few weeks. The Camry pulled to the kerb in front of them and Tranh snapped a command at the cabbie, who pulled in about fifty metres back.

Peering through the darkness, looking for the Chinese agents’ quarry, they saw a brief flash of light as a motorised garage door opened and a vehicle moved forwards under the four-storey residential building. They couldn’t make out the colour, but the shape of the vehicle was distinct.

‘Prado?’ said Mac.

Tranh nodded.

Swallowing the stress, Mac and Tranh focused like a couple of hawks as the taxi driver’s eyes grew large with fear in the rear mirror.

‘He say it the end of his shift,’ said Tranh after the driver had whispered something.

Pointing at Tranh’s pocket, Mac turned back to his surveillance. The Chinese were staying in the car.

Tranh paid the cabbie but Mac didn’t want to break cover. He didn’t know if they’d been made but he didn’t want to toss a coin on it — he’d rather wait to see what the other players were going to do.

‘How we looking at our six?’ said Mac.

‘What?’

‘Behind us — anyone running around in a ninja suit?’

Turning, Tranh confirmed negative.

They sat still as the driver squirmed, wanting to be elsewhere. There was a faint movement at a third-floor window — a curtain closing — and then a faint glow of light from behind it.

Whatever else was happening, the lunatics in that green Prado were pros: always shut the curtain before you switch on the light, and use table lamps if they’re available. No need to light up the street-facing room.

The two Chinese men in the Camry emerged onto the footpath, conferring in the darkness of a tree.

Pulling the Ruger from his waistband, Mac handed it back to Tranh. ‘That’s yours, mate.’

Tranh looked confused. ‘We going in?’

‘Just for a look,’ said Mac as he pulled out Boo Bray’s gun. Checking for safety and load in the stainless-steel Colt Defender, he found a full clip and nothing in the spout, giving him seven shots.

The Chinese moved towards the apartment building, one of them pausing beside the Camry and taking what looked like a Heckler & Koch submachine gun from the passenger seat.

‘What about the driver?’ said Tranh, pointing at the red Camry, where a plume of smoke flew out the driver’s window followed by a spent match.

Mac ignored the question. he wasn’t planning on being made by the Camry driver. ‘Last job of the night for our driver — take us to the service lane.’

The driver sighed and shook his head at Tranh’s command. But Tranh produced more US dollars and the driver put the Nissan in gear.