The Honourable Assassin
Page 1
Vic Cavalier has certainly had better weeks. His newspaper editor is hell-bent on showing him the door, his footy team lost its last game, and his drinking habit is winning the war with his better angels. And then there's the man with the bullet in his head and links to a Mexican drug-cartel lying in a Carlton laneway. When his editor wants the story Cavalier finds himself in Bangkok uncomfortably close to the action and under the watchful eye of a local cop with an intriguing background herself.
In the steamy violent world of Thai elite power plays and the chaos of a coup Cavalier's motivation becomes clear - this same cartel is implicated in the disappearance and possible murder of his daughter. He has no choice but to pursue them - whatever it takes.
Weaving together a face-paced, all-too-real story The Honourable Assassin is part psychological thriller and part today's headlines about massive illegal drug trafficking in Australia and corruption at the highest levels in South East Asia.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Author Roland Perry is one of Australia’s most prolific and versatile writers. The Honourable Assassin is his 29th book, and fourth work of fiction. He published his first novel, Program for a Puppet, which was an international bestseller, in 1979. His non-fiction works include The Queen, Her Lover and the Most Notorious Spy in History; Bill the Bastard and Horrie: the War Dog. His other non-fiction bestsellers include The Don, the definitive biography of Sir Donald Bradman; Monash: the Outsider Who Won a War and The Australian Light Horse.
First published in 2015
Copyright © Roland Perry 2015
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without prior permission in writing from the publisher. The Australian Copyright Act 1968 (the Act) allows a maximum of one chapter or 10 per cent of this book, whichever is the greater, to be photocopied by any educational institution for its educational purposes provided that the educational institution (or body that administers it) has given a remuneration notice to the Copyright Agency (Australia) under the Act.
Allen & Unwin
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ISBN 978 1 76029 142 6
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Typeset by Midland Typesetters, Australia
Also by Roland Perry
Fiction
Program for a Puppet
Blood is a Stranger
Faces in the Rain
Non-Fiction
The Queen, Her Lover and the Most Notorious
Spy in History
Horrie: the War Dog
Bill the Bastard
The Fight for Australia [aka Pacific 360]
The Changi Brownlow
The Australian Light Horse
Last of the Cold War Spies
The Fifth Man
Monash: The Outsider Who Won a War
The Programming of the President
The Exile: Wilfred Burchett, Reporter of Conflict
Mel Gibson, Actor, Director, Producer
Lethal Hero
Sailing to the Moon
Elections Sur Ordinateur
Bradman’s Invincibles
The Ashes
Miller’s Luck: The Life and Loves of Keith Miller,
Australia’s Greatest All-Rounder
Bradman’s Best
Bradman’s Best Ashes Teams
The Don
Captain Australia: A History of the Celebrated Captains
of Australian Test Cricket
Bold Warnie
Waugh’s Way
Shane Warne, Master Spinner
Documentary Films
The Programming of the President
The Raising of a Galleon’s Ghost
Strike Swiftly
Ted Kennedy & the Pollsters
The Force
To Waewdow Tapea
CONTENTS
PROLOGUE
DEATH OF A DEPUTY
A PERSON OF INTEREST
THE ATTACK
THE INDUCEMENT
A CHANGE OF HEART
POLLY AND THE WOMBAT
THE GOOD SHOOTER’S PRACTICE
THE BUDDHA’S WAI
SOME FEDERAL ASSISTANCE
THE IMPERSONATOR
INTO THE CAULDRON
SATAN’S CAVE
HELL IN MEXICO
TO THE RIVER KWAI
THROUGH THE PASS
INCIDENT AT THREE PAGODAS PASS
CHIANG MAI HIGH
THE SIGHTING
SMALL ITEM ON PAGE FIVE
THE TIMELY INNINGS
SHOOTING FOR NUMBER 81
BANGKOK CLOSED
THE MONK
THE LULL
THREAT OF THE ACHILLES
FIGHT NIGHT
BEFORE THE KILL
NIGHT OF THE ASSASSINS
ONE WAY OUT
A RUSSIAN WARNING
THE INCENTIVES
THE BUDDHA’S ASSISTANCE
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
PROLOGUE
35 YEARS AGO
Two hours before dawn on a cool August morning, one hundred athletic men lined up at Dog Rock on the Middleton Beach Road, just outside Albany, Western Australia. Only thirty of this elite group would be selected for the next batch of recruits to join Australia’s Special Air Service Regiment commando force.
So far, these hardened specimens from all over the nation had been through an extraordinarily gruelling physical and mental examination. Over four weeks, they had been weeded out from the three hundred and eighty-three-strong starting squad, on the basis of their aptitudes for combat, swimming, running, shooting (rifle and small arms), and weaponry, which included machine guns, hand-held rocket launchers and detonation. They had all been grilled to assess their acuity in mathematics, English expression, map reading, tactical skills, general discipline and team work.
Leaders had emerged in the first week, with, in the Australian tradition, the best taking command almost by osmosis, no matter their backgrounds. Nine of the hundred had tertiary qualifications. One was a doctor; another, a civil engineer. Nine were professional fighters of cage and ring, from boxing, wrestling, and martial arts, including Muay Thai. There were four circus performers, and eight former professional footballers, most from Australian Rules, which, of all ball games, demands the greatest stamina. The remaining seventy had come from three hundred and nineteen members of the armed forces who had originally applied to join this most formidable of all combat forces.
The most outstanding individual, twenty-three year-old Victor Cavalier, had come from the air force, where he had trained as both a navigator and pilot. In this group of men, he was not exceptional in build, at one hundred and eighty-three centimetres and eighty kilograms. But he topped the squad in physical endurance, stamina, strength, IQ, and ‘personality and interpersonal skills’. According to Major Thomas Gregory, the designer of the overall test, Cavalier was measurably physically superior by ten percentage points above all others in every trial, and up to twenty per cent better in all intelligence measures. His IQ was one hundred and fifty-one, which put him in a class that could succeed at just about any profession or discipline. But it was his EQ, lateral-thinking capacity, lightning-quick decision-making and leadership skills combined that marked him as something ultra-special. Then, after fifteen days
, Gregory asked each man to write down secretly the four in the squad he liked most and who he thought was best equipped to command the entire group. Cavalier was in everyone’s top four and ninety-one named him their chosen commander. In a decade of such trials, no one else had ever come close to being the most popular and also the almost universal choice to command.
The last, most important, challenge was along the remote, sometimes rugged and always picturesque Great Southern coastline, and would whittle down the number of new recruits to thirty. Each man would have to race a hundred kilometres—equivalent to two and a half marathons—with a fifty-kilogram pack on his back and carry a rifle. That was tough enough, but every ten kilometres they would have to swim four hundred metres, still with the pack and in water over their heads. Marshals along the route would enforce these rules, and anyone caught cheating would be disqualified from the race and lose any chance of joining the SAS. Anyone breaking down would suffer the same fate.
Just as lightning split the cool night air, the hundred took off at a steady pace. Cavalier was running eightieth as the group reached the lookout at Apex Drive on Middleton Beach, then cut down to the sand and swivelled along the water’s edge. At ten kilometres, the puffing participants plunged into the near-freezing water, known to be inhabited by whales, porpoises and less inviting sea creatures, such as great white sharks. By the end of the first swim, many competitors were struggling as they lumbered back to the sand, rifles strapped to their backpacks. Cavalier, a strong swimmer, had made up fifty places to be thirtieth and three hundred and fifty metres behind the lead pack. Above them, two helicopters and one noisy gunship swept the water, their light beams picking up the long spread of contestants in case anyone got into difficulties, especially in the sea.
After thirty kilometres of the run and three swims, dawn was breaking over the horizon. Very few of the men appreciated the spectacular start to the day, as lightning continued to sprinkle the view over King George Sound. Some were pacing themselves at the front, while others were now stumbling at the rear. Cavalier was pounding along in tenth place as they approached the end of the fourth ten-kilometre stretch, which meant they were nearing the end of the first marathon. He was fifty metres behind the lead pack when he entered the water and level with them when they emerged onto the sand. A marshal pointed the way and now encouraged each participant, like a football coach urging his players to lift their efforts. But they were not even halfway. It would take more than exhortation from army officials in tracksuits to keep them going. Eighteen men had dropped out, most of them lying slumped on the track. Several were in tears, their dreams of adventure in far-off lands shattered. Visions of returning to mundane jobs haunted them and the humiliation of failing even to reach fifty kilometres was overwhelming. All but two of the dropouts had to be treated by paramedics trundling in vehicles along the beach road, like jackals waiting for victims to fall.
In the fifth swim after fifty kilometres, Cavalier was a hundred metres ahead of the next man when he left the water, which had become choppy and even harder to negotiate. He looked back and saw the gunship hovering high above focusing a light beam on a struggling competitor. He tore off his pack and swam to the drowning man. Having managed to haul him to the shallows, he removed his pack, dragged him onto the sand and began to resuscitate him. The man had taken in a lot of water but within two minutes Cavalier had him breathing and conscious. Moments later, paramedics arrived and stretchered the man up a slope to an ambulance. To applause from some of the others, who had witnessed the rescue, Cavalier trotted back to his pack and then to a halfway station.
The group had the option to break for twenty minutes after four hours of non-stop endeavour, before turning around and repeating the runs and swims until they were back at the finish line at Dog Rock. Cavalier took a drink of water from his pack and stretched out his lower legs, then applied balm to his Achilles tendons and bandaged them before starting out again. Stopping to help a competitor had put him behind four others, who had taken only a few minutes at the halfway pit stop. But Cavalier had them covered before he entered the water for the sixth swim. He emerged ninety seconds ahead, and by the end of the seventh swim was a few kilometres clear of the next batch.
After the swim at eighty kilometres, Cavalier had a slight limp. His left Achilles tendon was hurting. He knew the stabbing pain well and how to stretch the tendon out. But the only real treatment was to stop running. He was five kilometres ahead of the second man, who was now down to a fast stride. Fifty-two of the hundred had dropped out, destroying their chances of being selected for the SAS. After the swim at the ninety-kilometre point, forty-four were still in the race, now only battling their own minds.
Bodies might keep moving, but delirium set in as dehydration took hold. Others might have clear minds but bodies that now would not respond to the everyday instruction of putting one foot after the other. Some just lay on the track, their lungs heaving, hoping to be able to lift themselves to their feet. Officials and paramedics were now closer, ready to stretcher the increasing number of fallen to waiting ambulances.
In the final ten-kilometre stanza, Cavalier, sweat pouring from him, swallowed a painkiller as he ran, now distinctly favouring his left leg. Normally he would have stopped, knowing he could rupture the Achilles tendon, but instead he used the searing pain to focus—each stab meant he was another metre closer to Dog Rock. He began to count in rhythm with his now ungainly jog. At ninety-nine kilometres, an open-topped army vehicle pulled up next to him. He gave the rugged driver, thirty-year-old Major Gregory, a sideways glance.
‘You’re eight ks ahead of the next bloke!’ Gregory called. ‘If your leg’s buggered, you could walk it in from here and you’d still win easily.’
‘If I . . . stop . . . it might not let me . . . finish . . .’ Cavalier replied with a grimace, squeezing out the words.
‘What’s the problem?’
‘Achilles.’
‘I told your mum not to dip you in the River Styx!’
‘Never listens!’
Gregory grinned and said, ‘You’re giving new meaning to our motto . . .’
‘Who Dares Wins?’
‘Yeah. With you, it’s “Who Drags Back-leg Wins”.’
Gregory waved and drove off. Cavalier limped on until he reached the big rock shaped like a dog’s head. He had won.
Three days later, Cavalier, on crutches, met Gregory in an office in the greystone Town Hall in Albany’s York Street. The major scrutinised a report and squinted as he looked up at Cavalier.
‘You lost four kilos?’ Gregory asked.
Cavalier nodded.
‘Hope I don’t find them again.’
‘How’s your Achilles?’
‘Near enough to ruptured,’ Cavalier said without emotion. ‘I’ll be on crutches for two or three weeks.’
‘Thank you for saving that guy at the halfway point.’
‘He’s okay?’
‘Yeah, he only had a night in hospital. More than anything else, he’s depressed about what happened, because he didn’t make the cut. Wants to thank you for saving his life.’
Cavalier nodded.
‘You know you won every single test . . .’ Gregory began.
‘I’m aware,’ Cavalier said, with a wave of his hand.
‘But we can’t take you in,’ the major said, his voice heavy with regret. ‘The rules are clear. If anyone breaks down during or after a trial, they might do so in the field. That would make them a liability in any SAS operation.’
Cavalier ran his hands through his long fair hair. Sadness swept his face for an instant.
‘I’ve been running this test for several years,’ Gregory said, ‘and never had a recruit in your class. But . . .’ He broke off, rubbed his forehead and asked, ‘What will you do career-wise now?’
‘I’ve applied for a job as a journalist in Melbourne. It was a fallback in case . . .’
‘Will you get it?’
‘I think so. I’ve be
en contributing cricket reporting to the paper for five years. It may help me get a full-time job. I’d like to be an investigative journalist.’
‘You could always try TV reporting.’
Cavalier smiled and shook his head.
‘My wife saw your picture in the line-up of recruits,’ Gregory said, ‘reckons you’d be a hit on 60 Minutes. Says your flat nose makes you look sexy: like a cross between a young Elvis and a young Brando.’
‘She needs to have her eyes tested,’ Cavalier said, ‘and, anyway, the nose structure has been helped along by a cricket ball. It’s called natural plastic surgery.’
Gregory laughed. ‘No TV then?’ he said.
‘Too superficial; too lightweight. What you blokes do is the real thing. That’s for me.’
Gregory scratched his outsized chin and ruminated for several seconds. ‘Would you be open to some “unofficial” assignments?’ he said. ‘There would be overseas travel. Your exceptional skills would be put to good use.’
‘Such as?’
‘Can’t tell you that. Look,’ Gregory continued, while standing, ‘I’ve spoken to senior commanders about you. They agree that we should do more than keep in touch.’
‘Then do that, by all means,’ Cavalier said.
DEATH OF A DEPUTY
THE PRESENT
It was a professional hit. A man was felled by a single bullet to the head outside a brothel off Lygon Street in the Melbourne suburb of Carlton. The time was 10.25 p.m. on a Friday. The area was sealed off and police forensic experts were doing their thing, taking bullet fragments away and examining the area. No one had heard a sound, which indicated the killer had used a silencer. No one had seen anything either. Police searched the buildings and set up roadblocks.
Attention turned to identifying the murdered man. He had been protected by four armed bodyguards, who were unhappy about being taken into custody for questioning, along with six members of a Melbourne underworld gang. The gang members had hosted the victim and his guards at the Melbourne Cricket Ground, where they had watched a football match between Carlton and Melbourne. The sex workers and male clients at the brothel were also interrogated.