‘So it’s big?’
‘It’s an affront.’
Garrison shrugged at Mac as if to say Silly Muslims.
Mac thought about what Sabaya had said. The Chinese government had given the go-ahead to develop Macau as a huge ‘lifestyle resort’ zone. Roughly translated it meant a place where you had casinos, horse tracks, prize fi ghts and poker tournaments, all in the same area.
It would be fed by low-cost airlines from around Asia. The deal would be: if you gamble enough money, we’ll comp you a fl ight in from China or the Philippines or Burma. The General Staff were probably as cornerstone investors, like the mafi a was in Las Vegas.
Conservative Muslims thought gambling was against God.
Thought it tore apart families and kept poor people poor. Same as what some Christians thought.
Mac looked at Garrison. ‘You still Agency?’
Garrison sucked smoke. Exhaled. ‘Then I’d have to fuck ya.’ He laughed, slapped his leg again. ‘It’s not what it seems, kemosabe.’
‘No?’ said Mac.
Garrison shrugged, fl icked the smoke without looking where it went.
‘Look, Singapore is going to have a Chinese naval base on it regardless of what the Indians like you and I do about it. You may not understand this, Mr Boy Scout, but there are Americans – Agency big-wigs, swinging dicks from State – who think the world would be a better place if the Chinese Navy could deploy in the Malacca Strait.’
Mac couldn’t believe what he was hearing. ‘Oh, really? The Americans?’
Garrison pointed at Mac with his lighter. ‘You gotta stop with the Cold War theory, bro, and think about the future. No nations, just economies.’
Mac shook his head. ‘Sounds like something they’d teach you in a third-rate business school.’
‘You’re laughing, McQueen. But you’re just a worker bee like me.
I bet there’re people in your government who’ve already decided it’s a no-contest if the Chinese want warships in Singapore. Shit, I know a lot of Singaporeans who would sleep easier if the Chinese Navy was camped on the perimeter.’
Mac shrugged. He knew there were those theorists. Knew about the theory that Singapore was too small and vulnerable to control the economic and geopolitical importance it had inherited. That neither India nor China wanted Singapore and the Malacca Strait being the weak link in what would be the world’s biggest trade partnership within two decades.
Mac’s eyeballs pulsed and he winced. The Big Picture theorising of spooks was a well-worn cliche for Mac. Some spies were never happy just doing their job.
‘Look, the geopolitics is great, fellas. But about the VX…’ said Mac.
Garrison got serious. ‘Insurance, bro.’
‘Against what?’
‘Green Berets. DIA. SEALs. You been asleep?’
Mac looked around. Realised there were three more quad bikes parked on the trail. One had an object the size of a couple of basketballs strapped to its trailer, under a blanket.
Mac looked at Sabaya. ‘Please. Tell me that’s not the nerve agent.’
Sabaya deadpanned Mac.
‘Sure is, bro,’ said Garrison.
Mac held Sabaya’s stare but spoke to the American. ‘You know, Garrison, I may be a boy scout, but that’s a frigging warhead.’
‘Yeah, so?’
‘So, if it goes off it kills everything. Keeps on killing till it dissipates in the sea. And in the sea it becomes harmless in – what
– six weeks?’
‘Well then, DIA better back off, huh?’ said Garrison.
‘Think that’s going to protect the locals? Any kids live round here?’
Sabaya sneered at Mac.
Mac saw an opportunity. ‘Of course, a child’s welfare isn’t really your concern, eh Peter?’
Garrison looked confused.
‘I mean, with all those Cambodian kids locked in that container in your warehouse?’
Mac had a sudden fl ash of Jenny’s strength with those kids.
Garrison gulped, fl ashed a sideways glance at Sabaya, who stared at him. ‘Don’t know what you’re talking about, kemosabe.’
‘Sure you do, Peter. There were about seventy of them, mostly seven-, eight-, nine-year-olds. They were in your warehouse, mate.’
Sabaya talked soft, said to Garrison, ‘I told you not to use any place belonging to the Amron brothers.’
‘Yeah, but I just needed to get a place with no leasing problems.
I didn’t know they were still doing that shit. Honest to God, AT.’
Sabaya turned back to Mac, a new look in his eye. ‘I’ve heard enough. Time to move.’
Sabaya put his hand out and one of his sidekicks slapped a Browning in it. He held it up to Mac.
Mac took a breath, closed his eyes. Thought about a cold beer but saw Jenny instead.
There was a gunshot.
Mac was still alive. He opened his eyes, gulping for breath, and saw Garrison slumped on the quad bike. Saw him slip off and hit the ground.
Sabaya gave back the Browning, looked at Mac.
‘Here’s the deal, McQueen. You get the US Army to get that thing the hell out of my country. And I’ll let you do the same thing.’
Mac said nothing, thinking.
A sidekick went to the quad bike, unhitched the trailer with the VX on it.
Sabaya shook his head. ‘Never wanted that thing. Just wanted the gold.’
‘Pretty large stash to put in one place, isn’t it?’ asked Mac.
‘That’s why we’ve been dropping it all the way up here,’ said Sabaya.
It fi gured. Mac didn’t think that what he was seeing in the tunnels added up to what was stolen from Kaohsiung Holdings.
The thugs unhitched the trailer Mac was sitting on and started their quad bikes. The fi rst two accelerated away, along what in Queensland was called a fi re trail.
Sabaya found fi rst gear, but didn’t let the clutch out. ‘I heard you were the one who got the bodies out of the water. Arranged them on the deck?’ he said.
Mac didn’t know what he was talking about.
‘Tino’s mum thanked you at the funeral. Gave her a body to bury.’
Sabaya accelerated away, leaving Mac standing there in the jungle.
He walked over to Garrison. Ratted his SIG. Checked for load, checked the spout, made to walk away but thought again. He ratted the American’s pockets, found some money, found a Bic lighter. Turned him over, patted the rear chino pockets, felt something in the right one, undid the tortoiseshell button and shoved his hand in. Garrison was still warm.
He came out with a piece of white paper. Golden Dragon Line letterhead. Three lines of numbers. Coordinates in nautical format.
Trousered it.
Then he sat down. Vomited.
CHAPTER 52
