by Roland Perry
THE INCENTIVES
By evening, Jacinta realised that Cavalier was not going to make an appearance. She met with Azelaporn once more in his office. She did not have any suspects to present except for the Swede, but even then, she had only his photo, not him in person.
‘That is so bad!’ the chief said. He was not angry, though. He had slept off the whisky in the afternoon, and was now riding high on several cups of black coffee and a dose of yaba.
‘We can still say he is a suspect,’ she said. ‘We have his photo. He is missing. There is a second Swede who has gone missing from the hotel, but for two days before Mendez’s assassination. We have his photo too.’
‘This is getting better! And that Australian?’
‘We can’t find him either. He has left his Bangkok hotel and disappeared. But we have a few leads.’
‘Photo?’
‘Yes. There is a wiki entry on him as a crime reporter.’
‘Excellent! Then we have three suspects to present. Not so bad inside twenty-four hours! A good thing you have a boss like me who can bring the best out in you!’
Jacinta knew this was the yaba talking. For as long as it lasted, he would be optimistic and buoyant, and would take all the credit for everything that was worth taking credit for.
‘I think we should have a prime suspect, don’t you?’ he said.
‘But we don’t have any evidence. There was not one useful fingerprint in room fifty-eight.’
‘Uh . . . uh . . . uh! We find it, my dear; we discover it.’ This had always been the chief ’s word for planting evidence. ‘I think we should discover material on the Australian,’ he said, as if a bright idea had struck him. ‘This is what you do. You take fingerprint evidence from his hotel and you plant it in room fifty-eight at Majestic Suites.’
Jacinta was furious, but hid this to see how far he would go.
‘Did he ever say anything about the king, or any of the royals?’ he asked.
‘What are you getting at?’
‘Lèse-majesté is what I’m getting at. Has your Aussie friend ever talked about the royal family?’
‘Not to me.’
‘We shall find something. Half the lèse-majesté cases have been helped along by unusual evidence, where people dared say scandalous things, crazy things, such as that our beloved king shot his own brother to take the throne in 1946. Such a scandalous lie! Or that his dear, dear son has AIDS. How could anyone start such a shocking rumour! So untrue!’
‘He never, ever referred to the royals in my presence.’
‘Perhaps you should refresh your memory.’
Jacinta stared at him. At such moments, she hated being dependent for her livelihood on such an unscrupulous individual.
‘Your coffin’s here,’ David Rafferty said in a text to Cavalier from Bangkok, ‘but you aren’t. Or have I missed something? Are you in the coffin?!’
Cavalier allowed himself his first laugh in days. He texted back: ‘Sorry, David. Won’t be playing. Will explain later.’
Jacinta entered Azelaporn’s office again at 8 p.m. Two burly armed cops were in the room, and the chief asked them to wait outside. He turned his computer around to show her a screen with three passport photographs of Cavalier, James Bolt and Lars Nystrom.
‘I’ve had our facial recog people do some analysis,’ he said, eyeing her for a reaction. ‘They say there is a more than thirty per cent chance that these three people are one and the same.’
Jacinta scowled but said nothing. She had seen her boss pursue other suspects this way and knew there was no stopping him.
‘I have a plan,’ he said slowly, now without making eye contact, ‘and you will be part of it. I want you to contact Cavalier. The odds are that he is somewhere in Cambodia. You will tell him you have an escape route for him.’
Jacinta didn’t react.
Azelaporn added: ‘We’ve been in contact with Ya t’ing at his monastery in Phnom Penh. We have told him that all “kiddy fiddling” charges will be dropped and he can return to Thailand as a free man. That’s if he cooperates. If he doesn’t, we’ll round him up, bring him back here and charge him with multiple acts of paedophilia. Which means he will be publicly humiliated.’
Jacinta shook her head in disgust. ‘But he’s not a paedophile!’ she said.
‘That’s irrelevant. If he is charged, he will be stigmatised for life. The temples will never indulge him again.’
She said nothing.
Azelaporn continued: ‘There is something in it for you too. The Mexicans are willing to pay you a hundred thousand dollars if you cooperate in this. They like you, Jacinta, they really do. They loved the way you fought. They want Mendez’s killer as much as I do.’
‘I don’t do anything until you pay me six hundred thousand baht for the fight.’
‘Hasn’t it been transferred to your bank?’
She shook her head.
‘I’ll make sure it is there by tomorrow morning,’ he said.
‘And the two hundred thousand dollars from the Mexicans too.’
‘A hundred thousand dollars!’
‘No; two hundred thousand. I want a hundred thousand each for the families of my two murdered friends. That money is to be paid to me, regardless of what happens with Cavalier.’ Azelaporn took a deep breath. ‘Oh, Jacinta, Jacinta!’ he said. ‘I’ll see what I can do.’
‘What’s your plan?’ she asked.
‘We’re not going to kill anyone,’ he said. ‘We need a day to set this up. We’ll fly a contingent to the border of Cambodia and Vietnam, probably by chopper. Your monk friend is to make contact and take him down the Mekong in his boat. We’ll arrest Cavalier at the river border between Cambodia and Vietnam.’
‘Who is in the contingent?’
‘The Mexicans will send their own squad of three, with you as the arresting officer.’
Jacinta didn’t react.
Azelaporn added: ‘We need you to be there to make sure your brother monk and Australian friend don’t get harmed. I want to parade someone in front of TV cameras. It will be good for our department.’
‘Have that money couriered to my flat by midnight,’ she said, ‘and I’ll let you know my decision in the morning.’
Just after 9 p.m., Cavalier received a text from Rafferty:
‘Showed Big Betty to the guys. Can you explain why she’s so light now? Very baffling. Has your fat bat been on a diet? Plize expline. Coffin will be sent to Aus tomorrow. Cheers Chips R.’
*
Just before 11 p.m., Jacinta received a parcel at her home. It was the two hundred thousand dollars, made up of hundred-dollar bills. A half-hour later, she sent Cavalier a text: ‘Meet Ya t’ing at the Mekong jetty number 4 in 24 hours from now. He will take you by boat to Vietnam.’
Cavalier rang Jacinta. ‘What’s going on?’ he said, without saying who it was. ‘Why are you telling me this?’
‘That ride means freedom.’
Cavalier mulled this over. He knew that she would probably be sympathetic to his plight. Yet, it was also unlikely that she would risk helping him escape.
‘Will I have a greeting party?’ he asked.
‘It is your only chance,’ Jacinta said. ‘Take it.’
Then she rang off.
THE BUDDHA’S ASSISTANCE
It was just before 11 p.m. the following day when Cavalier alighted from a taxi about four hundred metres from the small jetty number 4 on the Mekong River. Carrying a backpack, he circled the wharf and scanned the area with his binoculars. Not a soul was in sight except for Ya t’ing, who was standing near the wheel of his wooden boat. The robed monk seemed fidgety.
Instead of taking the steps to the jetty, Cavalier climbed down the cliff to the water’s edge and crept towards the boat. He stopped and used his binoculars to examine the area again. There was no movement. If he were being set up, he concluded, it was not here. Moments later, Cavalier hurried to the boat, lifted a rope from a bollard and jumped on board, startling the monk.
Ya t’ing obeyed. He started the engine and guided the boat south.
‘Where did you intend to take me?’ Cavalier asked.
‘The Vietnam border,’ the monk replied nervously. ‘The Mekong Delta.’
‘From memory, that’ll take more than four hours. Have you enough fuel?’
The monk waved a hand at the fuel gauge. It registered a full tank. Cavalier dropped his backpack onto one of the cabin’s sixteen seats and then rejoined him on the deck. Cavalier scanned the area with his binoculars again, searching for anyone on the bank or other craft. The sky was black and there was no moonlight. He sensed the monk was fearful as they chugged on in the dark, a red and black Cambodian flag fluttering above a light. They passed well-lit fishing vessels coming the other way.
‘Let me get this clear,’ Cavalier said in Thai. ‘We have to show passports at the Cambodian border, and soon afterwards at the Vietnamese border?’
‘Yes, yes, passport checks at the two borders,’ the monk said, his eyes ahead as he steered the boat.
‘How long between the two borders?’
‘About twenty minutes via the river.’
‘And the deal is you take me down the Mekong and well into Vietnamese waters, right?’
‘Yes, yes. That is what Jacinta wanted.’
Cavalier kept looking at him, forcing the monk to return his gaze.
‘What’s wrong?’ Ya t’ing asked.
‘Nothing—well, not nothing,’ he said with a slight smile. ‘I know you’re leading me into a trap.’
‘No, no . . . that’s not true!’
‘Jacinta may not have told you,’ Cavalier said. He went below deck and called out, ‘I’m going to have a nap.’
Jacinta, Cortez and two Mexican sharpshooters flew in a light plane to a military base near the border with Cambodia, and then on a chopper to the Cambodian–Vietnamese border on the Mekong. The dynamics of who was in charge of the little armed contingent were ill-defined at the start of their mission to arrest Cavalier. But it soon became apparent that Jacinta would hold sway.
She wore her preferred uniform of a black jacket, tight black leather pants tucked into black boots, and a navy blue cap. Unlike her police attire, there were no tags or SIU insignias. This was an unauthorised mission. The Mexicans, including the enigmatic Cortez, were all wearing helmets, flak jackets and other protective gear. They were in awe of Jacinta, having witnessed her demolition of Yuri Goulov. She was also known to be a crack shot, and an experienced sniper. No one would have had the temerity to argue with her, despite her being armed only with a .45 ACP pistol. She had also brought an FNP90 submachine gun, and two sniper rifles, but had left them in the chopper, hoping a pistol would be sufficient for this exercise. Jacinta did not want to increase the killing urges of the Mexicans by brandishing a rifle, although they were all armed with them.
She insisted that they were to capture Cavalier alive, but conceded when Cortez insisted they defend themselves if fired upon. Jacinta was suspicious that Cortez was, as ever, bent on murder, especially as Azelaporn’s comments about what was expected when snaring the Australian had been unconvincing, and despite him saying that he wanted him alive. By contrast, Cortez had interpreted his mission as getting Cavalier dead or alive.
In a discussion at the Cambodian–Vietnamese border while waiting for the boat, Jacinta said to him, in front of his two sidekicks, ‘You will make every effort to arrest him, not kill him.’
Cortez fiddled with his weeping eye, but did not respond.
‘Is that understood, Señor Cortez?’ she said, looking into his one good eye.
He gave a curt nod and a wave of his hand.
In the cabin and out of sight of the monk, Cavalier opened his pack, removed five cylinders and began to piece together his sniper’s rifle. When it was assembled, he removed the two remaining gold-coloured bullets from the magazine and replaced them with four others. He then settled into the seat, the rifle on the floor beside him, and attempted another catnap. He managed to doze until he felt the boat slowing down. He glanced out the window. The river had narrowed to about two hundred metres. He could see lights on a small wharf that had a staircase up to several huts.
‘Pull over to the left of the river,’ Cavalier ordered.
The monk protested: ‘No! This is the border! We must stop here!’
Cavalier retrieved his rifle. This was enough for the monk to swing the boat hard to port.
‘Speed up!’ Cavalier ordered.
‘Border security will chase us! Please! They will shoot at us! Please!!’
‘Top speed!’
Cavalier rang Jacinta. She responded after about twenty rings. ‘The satellites take a while here, don’t they?’ he said.
‘This is a dangerous situation . . .’ Jacinta said nervously.
‘Are you going to chase us?’ he asked, as he saw several people hurrying down the steps at the border control and jumping into a patrol boat. ‘No need to answer that, I can see. I imagine you have Cortez with you?’
‘You should not do this,’ she said, ‘we only want you for questioning.’
‘I’ll ignore that. I know you wouldn’t be behind this.’
‘Just let us intercept you. Are you armed?’
Cavalier answered by saying: ‘Make sure you stay well under cover. Don’t be anywhere near the searchlight.’
‘Please, Victor, give yourself up.’
‘I have a message for Cortez, who I bet is with you!’ he said, keeping his eye on the patrol boat at the wharf. He paused. ‘Hey!’ he said, ‘why don’t you put him on the phone?’ He could see the hull of the patrol boat lift as it began its chase from three hundred metres away. After some encouragement from Jacinta, Cortez came to the phone.
‘Good morning Señor Cortez,’ Cavalier said, his voice calm. ‘I know you’re a student of Chinese general Sun Tzu. I want to remind you of a quote from him.’
Cortez grunted but said nothing.
‘ “Know the enemy; know yourself . . . your victory will never be endangered. Know the ground; know the weather; your victory will then be total.”’ Cavalier paused and added: ‘Let me remind you, señor, that the weather’s mine tonight. This jungle territory is not your ground. But it is mine. You are not getting a free shot in an urban setting. This is different. I will be in the jungle soon. If you pursue me, you will die. Ask yourself, is it worth the money you have been offered? You can’t spend it when you’re dead.’ He paused and added coldly, ‘Like your former boss.’
Cavalier rang off. The patrol boat was gaining ground. It was soon two hundred metres behind them.
On board the patrol boat, Cortez let the hand holding Jacinta’s phone drop to his side. He dabbed his weeping eye and touched the bandage on his fractured cheekbone. The two Mexican henchmen and Jacinta watched him.
‘He killed Mendez,’ he said softly. They could only just hear him above the patrol boat’s engine. Jacinta took her phone back. Cortez picked up his rifle and took aim at Ya t’ing’s vessel. She put her hand on the barrel and pushed it down.
‘No,’ she said firmly, ‘we take him alive.’
Jacinta demanded Cortez’s rifle. He handed it to her.
‘Warning shot only,’ she said, and took aim.
‘Head for the starboard bank!’ Cavalier ordered the fear-stricken monk. He spun the steering wheel, so that the boat was heading at right angles to its original direction. A bullet ripped into the aft woodwork. The monk scrambled for cover below. Cavalier steadied himself and fired, taking out the pursuing boat’s searchlight. Its Cambodian pilot steered erratically and then slowed, seemingly uncertain of how close he was to rocks and the port bank. Without the searchlight, the patrol boat lost sight of its quarry.
Cavalier now turned the wheel so that the boat hugged the starboard bank. They reached the Vietnamese checkpoint. He ordered the monk to take the wheel again. As they passed the checkpoint, he
could see people scrambling to the steps down to another patrol boat. Cavalier steadied himself once more by planting his feet wide apart. He fired two bullets into the fuel tanks of the patrol boat from about thirty metres. Petrol poured out in arcs to the water. The Vietnamese passport officers coming down the steps yelled and clambered up again. Cavalier fired at a land searchlight and took it out, leaving the jetty in darkness.
They chugged on through the black night for another ninety minutes with the first patrol boat in pursuit but about four hundred metres away. Cavalier allowed himself a fleeting smile when the monk replaced the Cambodian flag with the Vietnamese flag.
‘We are in Vietnamese waters now,’ Ya t’ing said.
Cavalier directed him to sail to the right and down a tributary to the Mekong. He recognised the acrid smell of a fish factory. The area was the same as when he was there thirty years earlier. Several ferry crossing points and other large, ugly factories were familiar. He could make out the odd light in shanty buildings to the right.
‘I know this area,’ he said to the monk. He pointed to a ferry jetty. ‘Pull in there.’
The monk let go of the wheel. ‘Are you going to kill me?! Please, no! Please! I am reformed! I have given my life to the Buddha!’
‘Jesus!’ Cavalier said, as he tried to stop the boat colliding with the jetty. It bumped hard, and slid along until he stopped it just short of a wall of rocks. He went below deck, secured his backpack, and rifle in hand, jumped onto the jetty.
‘You can go where you wish,’ he said to the monk, who had dropped to the floor of the boat. ‘Just don’t tell them where you let me off.’
Ya t’ing shook his head as Cavalier moved off into the scrub. After moving inland for half an hour and finding a track going south and parallel to the river, he paused to ring Jacinta.
She took the call while sitting on an aft railing of the patrol boat. ‘They’re debating what to do,’ she said in Thai, so that the Mexicans could not understand. ‘You have given Cortez pause. The others are also nervous.’
‘Tell them I have plenty of ammunition. I’m waiting for them with a good elevated view of the river. Your brother monk will no doubt tell them where he dropped me off. I’ll be able to see all of them long before they land. They’ll be in easy range for me.’
