The Travel Mate

by Mark Green

  ‘Such a lovely girl,’ said Maddie, following Kao’s progress skipping towards the bus.

  ‘Where’s she heading?’ asked Victoria.

  ‘Oh, she’s on an epic trip. From Phnom Penh she’s catching a boat south into Vietnam, heading for Ho Chi Minh City. Then she’s getting the coast train north, home to China to go back to university,’ said Gabby.

  The low rasping of a small motorbike engine sped across the grimy concrete, racing a second bike which pulled out and buzzed past the first, accelerating with maximum sound and minimum speed. It slowed at the last minute, squealing non-existent brake pads grating against bare metal. Barney leapt off the pillion seat of the tiny machine wearing his hefty backpack. ‘Whoop, whoop!’ he yelled, holding his hand up to high-five the young Cambodian rider.

  Barney turned to face the other bike, rapidly decelerating behind him. He formed the letter ‘L’ with a thumb and finger and held it against his forehead. ‘Loooooossssser!’ he shouted, prancing and spinning around on the spot.

  Charlie climbed off from behind the second bike’s rider, red faced. He wobbled on his feet under the weight of the backpack, glanced sheepishly over at the group and turned to pay his fare, taking a moment to compose himself.

  ‘Great. Evil friggin’ Kin-weasel and Steady Eddy, the cuddly teddy …’ Victoria muttered, shooting Maddie a playful look.

  Barney dumped his pack by Victoria’s feet and swept into a low bow, lifting her hand in his, wetting his lips with his tongue, then puckering them firmly onto the back of her wrist.

  ‘Oh, yuk!’ Victoria squealed, yanking her hand away and wiping it on her shorts.

  Barney lunged one leg forwards, flexing down to the ground. He sprung back up and swapped legs, repeating the scissor action, his hands propped on his hips, head rolling around. ‘Morning English minions! Keeping fit for zee temples, ya!’

  ‘Hey Barney, you need to change your dealer – those happy-happy ingredients, they’re too hardcore for this early in the morning. Have a normal smoke,’ said Victoria, holding out a packet of cigarettes.

  ‘Ah, cancer drugs. Wonderbra!’

  Maddie watched Barney jump upright, spin round and robotically moonwalk backwards to collect the cigarette from Victoria’s outstretched hand. ‘Good gear last night, Barney?’ she asked, watching as he tossed his lighter into the air, spun around three hundred and sixty degrees, caught it, and flicked it into a flame in one smooth motion.

  ‘Very … simulating,’ he said.

  ‘You mean, stimulating?’

  ‘Nooooo … think around it.’ He tapped the side of his head with his cigarette hand, which swirled smoke around him.

  The low growl of an old engine rumbled off the main road, drawing the group’s attention. An ancient bus with faded paint and peeling chrome lacquer bumpers revved hard as it built speed towards them, smoke trailing in its wake. The engine faltered for a second as one wheel crunched down a pothole, before resuming its uneven rhythmic clatter, pausing briefly to allow cogs to graunch into the next gear with a teeth-grinding screech.

  ‘Gotta love this first class executive travel,’ Victoria muttered, raising a hand and gesturing for Barney to help pull her up.

  Maddie climbed up the narrow steps past the driver and glanced down the rows of passengers already on the coach. She began to make her way towards a spare seat midway along, pausing to smile at Sandy who’d sat down next to Rose. ‘Hi, I didn’t know you were both heading to Siam Reap,’ she said.

  ‘Rose was already booked on, last-minute decision for me,’ said Sandy, pulling himself upright and reaching out to encompass her in a gentle hug. ‘Great to see you.’

  Maddie pulled back before he released her. She sat down on the seat behind them. Rose knelt up and turned to face her. ‘How’s everything going?’

  ‘Good, I think. The Cambodian people are really friendly and the kids are fantastic – so enthusiastic.’

  ‘I know, aren’t they wonderful? I can’t wait to start work at the hospital.’

  ‘How long will you be there?’

  ‘A few months, depending how it goes.’ Rose turned to glance over her shoulder at Charlie, stood in the walkway beside Maddie’s seat.

  ‘Do you mind if I—’

  Maddie looked up at him. ‘Not at all.’

  ‘Thanks. I’m escaping from our mad German companion.’

  ‘Oh, yeah. I noticed he’s a bit wired.’

  Charlie pushed his bag onto the floor between his knees and swivelled round to face her. ‘Sorry again, about the camera, in the caves – wasn’t thinking.’

  ‘Oh, that. Forget it. No harm done.’

  ‘Cool, thanks. Thought I’d blown it,’ he added quietly.

  Maddie looked away from Charlie’s enquiring eyes to stare out of the window. The bus engine turned over, firing in a bone-shaking, full throttle roar. In front of them, Sandy chuckled, glanced around at the other travellers. ‘Yeah, give it some beans, man!’

  Maddie watched through the window as they pulled away from the depot, obscured through the smog of dust and thick, oily exhaust smoke.

  ‘Do you know how long the bus journey is?’ asked Charlie.

  Maddie rolled her eyes and turned to face him. ‘I think around eight hours?’

  ‘Cool. Lots of time to catch up with what’s been going on with you.’

  ‘Oh, yeah. And, um … other stuff – music, for example. Bit early for conversation – I’m not really a morning person. Gonna plug in, catch up on sleep. Do you mind?’ Maddie reached into her bag, rummaged for her headphones.

  ‘Is that such a good idea, switching your phone on?’

  ‘Oh, it’s fine. I know Rupert, he’ll have given up and gone home ages ago. He won’t allow me to continue being an irritation.’ Maddie tilted the phone screen away from Charlie and tried to switch it on. The blank screen stared stubbornly back at her.

  Great. Best Bangkok phone charger. Time for another quality purchase.

  She pretended to be listening, jiggling her head to the rhythm of an uplifting song and snuck a sideways glance at Charlie.

  Illusion that music is on. Check.

  Maddie laid the phone face-down beside her.

  Overly inquisitive but intriguing travel guy, silenced. Check.

  Twenty-Two

  ‘We’ve got updated locations. One phone is heading south east, the other two, north west. The north west phones are located within the same triangulation zone. Both sets of signals are travelling at speeds which vary from twenty-five to seventy kilometres per hour, calculated between different signal masts.’ Fender looked up from his iPad and checked his watch. ‘If Maddie’s still travelling with some of the original minibus group, she’s most likely caught an early morning bus, which these speeds and directions of travel support. So which way is she heading … north, or south?’

  Fender unfolded a map of Cambodia. ‘Heading north on the main road to Sisophon leads to a junction: west from there is the popular route to the Thai border near Poipet. Alternatively, east is towards Siem Reap and the temples of Angkor. Whereas the other phone’s route south from Battambang leads to the capital, Phnom Penh.’

  ‘Maddie doesn’t do budget travel. She likes her luxury boutique hotels,’ said Rupert, looking over at Fender.

  ‘The most obvious route from Sisophon, given where they entered Cambodia, is to head east to Siem Reap. The temples at Angkor are a big tourist draw. If we were to follow the bigger more luxurious hotel theory, the other route, south to the capital Phnom Penh is also a strong contender. So it’s a straight choice between north or south. However, she could still be in Battambang, whilst the others travel on. We currently only have three phones from the original twelve travellers to monitor. What if she’s with some other members of the group whose phone numbers we don’t have?’

  ‘Which leaves us a bit stuck,’ said Rupert.

  ‘Maybe, maybe not.’

  ‘What about ringing each number, asking if they’re with Maddie
?’

  ‘We don’t know her situation, or state of mind. There’s a risk that if she doesn’t want to be found, she’ll separate from the group – if in fact she’s still travelling with any of them. Our initial play is to get across the border, maintaining a track on all three phones. When we get to Battambang, it’s decision time.’

  • • •

  Maddie reached into her bag and lifted out Liz’s paperback, Survival in the Killing Fields. She wriggled to get comfy, rotated away from Charlie’s gaze and found her page, marked with her redundant airline ticket. She dropped her eyes and immersed herself in the text.

  Through the window outside the bus, the miles fell away in glorious, uninterrupted tranquillity.

  • • •

  Fender counted out three ten-dollar bills and handed them to the taxi driver, nodding at the chap’s enthusiastic bowed-head prayer gesture. He led Rupert away from the taxi, towards the Thai border crossing. ‘Are you carrying anything else I should know about?’

  Rupert frowned, shook his head as he studied Fender’s expression. ‘No. That was because I had to.’

  ‘Was it your first time?’

  ‘Yes, of course – I’m not a drugs trafficker.’

  ‘Once is all it takes.’

  They drew to a halt at the small Thai customs building. Fender nodded at the guard and handed his passport through the hatch, watching him make obligatory checks. He accepted his stamped passport and moved aside for Rupert to approach the kiosk.

  ‘You’re not going to ask them if Maddie’s crossed here?’

  ‘No need. I’ve already confirmed that Maddie came through with the minibus group, three days ago.’

  ‘So you have names of the rest of her group now?’

  A small smile creased Fender’s lips. ‘Bravo, Rupert, welcome to the programme. Late last night, I had more intel. Six new names to investigate. If we’re lucky, some of them will have purchased local pre-paid SIMs, in which case there’ll soon be more mobile numbers to light up our placement map.’

  Rupert pocketed his passport and followed Fender around the faded red and white barrier. ‘Doesn’t that complicate things? More people to follow, I mean. What if they all split up?’

  ‘It could, in the short term. But once we’re closing in on Maddie’s locale, it means we’re less likely to miss the one person she may have hooked up with, who doesn’t have a phone we can track.’

  ‘But if she takes off on her own, we’re screwed.’

  ‘Potentially. But we’ll still have the list of travellers and their last known locations to assist us. So we check and discount them, one by one.’

  ‘How do you get hold of all this information?’

  ‘Your creditors have associates. They have contacts, open to financial persuasion.’

  ‘Government contacts?’

  Fender shot Rupert a devious look. ‘Everyone has a price.’

  • • •

  Maddie stepped down from the bus onto the dusty gravel car park and wandered over to Gabby and Victoria.

  ‘Food stop and comfort break,’ said Charlie, latching onto her side.

  ‘Yes, I thought it might be.’

  ‘How’s the book going?’

  Maddie slowed her walk, pausing before answering. ‘I’m only a third of the way in, but it’s building into a compulsory read.’

  ‘Excellent. Do you fancy a bite to eat? My shout.’

  ‘No, thank you. I’ve misplaced my appetite.’ Maddie walked on to catch up with the other girls, Charlie still trotting along at her side. She stepped away from him and leant in towards Gabby. ‘Do you know where the ladies are?’

  Gabby pointed to a path down the side of a corrugated tin roofed building. ‘Past the kitchen, hang a left. Loos are just there. Have you got toilet paper?’

  Maddie shook her head. Gabby opened her bag, passed Maddie a packet of Kleenex. ‘Thanks.’ Maddie strolled off on the path. She glanced to her side at Charlie, shadowing her.

  Great.

  Maddie followed Gabby’s directions behind the building, heading for a door with peeling varnish and ‘WC’ letters marked with chalk beside a crude sketch of a stick woman wearing a triangular skirt.

  ‘I think I can manage from here,’ she said to Charlie, a curt edge to her voice.

  ‘Oh, right, sorry. I didn’t mean to … I’m heading over there,’ he said, pointing to the door with a stick man.

  ‘That is a relief.’ Maddie shoved the door open, shaking her head, muttering, ‘You men, always same-same.’

  • • •

  ‘Of all the taxis in all the fleapits in all of the Asian world …’

  Fender poked his head through the open door and stared at Rupert, sat on the back seat. ‘Funny, I never took you for someone with a sense of humour, Rupert. The heat getting to you?’

  ‘Just trying to lighten the mood, bond with my captor.’

  ‘Don’t. Attachments formed in a crisis are rarely sustainable.’

  ‘Can’t blame me for trying to increase the odds of a positive outcome.’

  ‘Based on your current predicament, there’s not a fluffy bunny in an alligator pen’s chance of that.’

  Fender slid onto the seat beside Rupert, pulled the door shut and patted him on the knee. Rupert returned a confused, apprehensive look. ‘Just engaging in banter with my hostage,’ said Fender, handing Rupert a clump of printed pages. ‘Worth a perusal – background info on the six missing travellers.’

  ‘Oh, right. Any more surprises?’

  ‘Take a look.’

  The taxi accelerated away from the Cambodian border. Fender checked his watch. ‘We’ve got about an hour. I’ve just had confirmation of mobile phone numbers associated with four out of the six new names and the location of the last signal masts their SIMs communicated with. Read them out, I’ll find them on the screen.’

  Rupert shuffled through the wodge of paper. ‘You got all this from border control?’

  ‘Indirectly, for a small consideration. London has useful friends.’

  ‘Money talks, eh?’

  ‘Always.’

  • • •

  Rupert looked up at the paint peeling from the hotel’s wood shutters, then dropped his gaze to the electronic device held in Fender’s palm, about the size of a handheld VHF radio.

  ‘That looks expensive.’

  ‘Not as much as you’d think.’

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘A type of mini Stingray. Unlike its bigger brother, which mimics a cellphone mast to pinpoint a phone’s location, this device listens for a cellphone’s signal ping, communicating with the nearest mast. This one’s called a Wolfhound. There are other versions – Jugular, for example.’

  ‘Catchy names.’

  ‘Indeed.’ Fender glanced down at the screen. ‘Signal’s getting stronger … this way.’

  Rupert trotted up to Fender’s side. They headed for a run-down looking hotel doorway.

  ‘So what’s the plan, wait until he gets back and …’ Rupert caught Fender’s reproachful expression. ‘What?’

  ‘Rodney Sharp. Born January 5th, 1998. He’s eighteen years old.’ Fender offered up his watch up for Rupert to see. ‘It’s ten-fifteen in the morning. No eighteen year old on a gap year travelling around Asia is going to be out of bed at this hour by choice.’

  ‘Okay, I take your point. So we knock on his door and—’

  Fender opened his wallet and withdrew a five dollar bill. ‘Hard currency generally opens doors far easier than a shoulder barge.’

  The lightweight wood door rattled in its frame, Fender’s clenched-fist rat-a-tat-tat echoing around the corridor. He stepped back, allowing the receptionist to unlock the door and ease it open. Inside the room, movement stirred beneath a thin cotton sheet. A pimply, spotty face twitched on the grubby pillow next to a mane of soft black hair spilling out from under the covers, her face nuzzling into his neck.

  ‘I hope she’s legal, sonny.’

  The sl
eeping boy’s eyelids sprung open. His head jerked up, startled pupils staring at the open door. The receptionist flicked his eyes inside the room, then scurried away, armed with a set of hotel master keys in one hand, a five dollar bill in the other. Fender stepped into the room, followed by Rupert, a few tentative steps behind. ‘Morning Rod … you look a little jaded. It is Rod, isn’t it, rather than—’

  ‘Who the hell are you?’ Rod shrank back against the headboard. His young female companion jumped up, clutching the sheet around her chest, trembling. Rod yelped, dropping his hands to shield his naked groin. ‘What do you want?’

  Fender pressed his finger to his lips, then gently eased the door back into its frame, leaving it slightly ajar. He turned to face the girl, pulling out his wallet. ‘How much?’

  ‘Five – dollars.’

  Fender glanced at Rupert. ‘Seems to be the going rate for irregular requests. Here’s ten dollars. Collect your clothes, enjoy your day.’ Fender lay the money on the edge of the bed, pinched his shirt, then jerked his thumb over his shoulder. The girl nodded.

  ‘Turn around.’ Fender said to Rupert, rotating on his heels to face the door.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘To be respectful.’

  ‘But she’s a prostitute.’

  ‘Yes, I know,’ he snapped, glaring back at Rupert, before softening his tone. ‘She’s also a teenager – someone’s daughter.’ Fender held his first finger up, then pointed it at his belt buckle. ‘You don’t want me to ask a second time.’

  Rupert shuddered and turned around.

  ‘Good boy.’

  The girl slipped between them. ‘Khawp jqi. Saba-dee.’ She pulled the door open and scurried away.

  Fender took a step forwards, closed the door and twisted the locking catch half a turn. He turned to face Rod, cowering at the far side of the bed, his hands covering his manhood.

  ‘Mister Rodney Sharp, 14 Sykes Lane, Uxbridge, United Kingdom. All I need from you is a brief look at your mobile phone and some information about a fellow traveller, Madeline Bryce – Maddie, to her friends. I believe you shared a minibus with her from Bangkok, across the border into Cambodia.’