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.
‘Get this tub going,’ Cavalier growled. ‘Now!’
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.’
‘And me? Am I a target?’
‘Never!’
‘I’m sorry for what has happened . . .’
‘Don’t concern yourself. I knew this was a set-up. Ya t’ing’s involvement was also a clue. Your poor “brother” needs some help.’
‘The Buddha has forgiven him for his transgressions.’
‘Oh, yes, the Buddha. He’s very generous.’
The Mexicans approached Jacinta. ‘I’ll be in touch later,’ she said.
Jacinta told Cortez: ‘That was him again. He says the monk will tell us where he dropped him off. I think he is inviting you to come after him. What you do is your choice, but I have researched this man. He was here on a special military assignment against the Khmer Rouge thirty years ago. He does know the terrain extremely well. And he is a very good, experienced sniper. His kills on Labasta and Mendez were the most expert executions I have ever encountered.’ She paused, letting the information permeate his reptilian mind. ‘I am in charge but I’ll let you decide. Personally, I wish to live.’
As the Mexicans debated what to do, Jacinta said, ‘You must make a decision soon. The longer you leave it, the more difficult it will be to track him.’
The Mexicans began to argue. Minutes later, Ya t’ing’s boat was chugging in their direction. The Mexicans took up assault positions, with rifles aimed at the oncoming vessel. Jacinta drew her handgun.
‘Don’t shoot!’ she said.
‘I am alone!’ the monk called in Thai. ‘I dropped him off near the fish factory!’
Jacinta stood at the helm and turned to the Mexicans.
‘Put down your weapons,’ she instructed. They obeyed.
It was obvious that Cavalier was not on board.
*
When the two boats were both anchored close to shore, the monk jumped onto Jacinta’s boat. She translated his words into English for them but added a few twists.
‘I could hear him meeting people!’ she translated. ‘There were several of them!’ She described the jetty as the monk had but placed it on the other side of the river, near the fish factory.
‘Who was he meeting?’ Cortez demanded to know.
‘They spoke English,’ Jacinta interpreted again. ‘He thinks they were Americans. It seemed he was leading you into a trap.’
Cortez’s face blanched as he, no doubt, contemplated that he was the most wanted man in the States. The Mexicans huddled again. Finally, Cortez said in a half-whisper to Jacinta, ‘There will be another time.’
Jacinta nodded. ‘Wise,’ she affirmed. ‘Very smart. You can choose your terms, your terrain.’
The Mexican nodded. She ordered the Cambodian pilot to take them back to the border post.
Cavalier trudged along a track until dawn, when he reached the town of Chau Doc, deep in the Mekong Delta. He checked his phone. There was an hour-old message from Jacinta: ‘Cortez has backed off. We are going to fly back to BKK.’
Cavalier dismantled his rifle, placed its pieces back in the canisters and put them in his backpack. He walked past floating fish farms on the banks of the Bassac River, which formed a T-junction with the Mekong tributary that he had sailed down. He stopped at The Victoria, a colonial-style hotel that was right on the water. Cavalier had no trouble booking a room using the James Bolt passport.
He was hungry and raided the hotel fridge of its chocolate bars. Then he assembled his weapon again. He pushed a heavy sofa against the door to his room and fell asleep with his rifle on the floor next to him. He slept for three hours until 10 a.m. and was dozing when his mobile rang. It was Gregory.
‘You haven’t been in contact for days!’ Gregory said, agitated, ‘we were worried.’
‘I’m in Vietnam. It’s all good. Really lovely hotel too.’ He pulled the curtain across to see light morning mist, an inviting pool, the river, and a continual run of boats in all directions.
‘There’s a strong whisper that a certain Mexican’s been dealt with,’ Gregory remarked.
‘Really?’
Gregory didn’t push it. ‘What will you do?’
‘I’d love to have a look at Hue. I’d like to see the temples and tombs there.’
‘Do you have a visa?’
‘No.’
‘How will you get out?’
‘Not a problem,’ Cavalier said.
Gregory observed with a chuckle: ‘I guess not. Never has been for you, mate.’
Later in the afternoon, Cavalier received a text message from Jacinta: ‘Thank you my very good friend. I owe you, forever.’
‘No, I think we can call it square.’
‘I told the Mexicans you had been responsible for Labasta’s demise, which created anxiety on top of Cortez thinking you liquidated Mendez. Am I right about Labasta?’
‘I’ll tell you that if you tell me it was you who sent me the tape about my daughter. I guess it came from Ronaldo?’
‘We can discuss all this another time. Thank you so much for caring enough to act as you did. It was an honourable thing to do.’
Cavalier was considering a very late breakfast when he received a further text from Jacinta: ‘Just heard Chief Azelaporn has been fired by the generals. No reason given yet but social media’s speculating it’s to do with the junta’s professed aim of cleaning up corruption. I may lose my job too, by association. No word yet.’
He responded: ‘I hope not. Wish you were here. We have much to celebrate.’
THE END