The Division Collection

by Angus McLean

  ‘All clear as far as I can tell,’ he said brusquely, not worrying about talking in code. They had deliberately not booked ahead until they were in the airport terminal waiting for their luggage. Having travelled on their own passports there was always the chance that one or both of them could be on a watch list with the Thai authorities, which could easily lead to their hotel room being electronically surveilled. Last minute moves mitigated the risk as much as possible.

  It concerned Travis that they were unarmed but that should be remedied soon enough.

  ‘How’s my bed looking in there?’ Susie enquired, tossing her chin towards the bedroom with a smile.

  ‘Looks great. Hope it gives you back ache.’ He gestured towards the sofa. ‘That looks very comfy, and almost long enough for a pygmy to stretch out on.’

  Susie laughed and headed to the kitchenette. ‘How about you check in with home while I call our friends?’

  Travis nodded and dug out the cell phone he’d purchased at the airport. It was a pre-pay burn phone with no saved contacts. He tapped in a text to a number he’d committed to memory, giving Ingoe the hotel name and suite number, along with a code word to confirm it was him sending the text and he was not under any duress. Within a minute he received an acknowledgement back.

  Don’t enjoy it too much.

  It was Ingoe’s not-so-subtle way of reminding to keep it professional. Travis grinned to himself. Susie Q, as she was apparently known in the Service, was hardly his type. If she was anything like most other spooks he’d met she’d be too academic and airy fairy. Theory and policies and speculation might be fine in the briefing room with a latte at hand, but when the chips were down and lives were at stake – usually your own – Travis had always found a wide gap between spooks and operators. Hence the need for the babysitters, he guessed.

  Having said that, she seemed to have relaxed somewhat since they had hit the airport to fly out. She had a sense of humour, which was always a good start. The real test, he knew, would be when things went wrong. Watching her end her own call he was hopeful that wouldn’t happen.

  Susie turned to him again and waggled her burn phone. ‘Good to go. We’re to make our way to a bar and there’ll be a brush pass. We’ll pick our gear up from a coat-check and go from there. All good?’

  Travis nodded. ‘Let’s go.’

  ‘Easy, tiger. I need to freshen up first, and we’ve got plenty of time. The brush-by will be at six, so if we’re in place half an hour before that we’ve got an hour and a half.’ She dimpled when she smiled. ‘Just relax, kick back. It’s going to be fine.’

  ‘If everything goes to plan, I’m sure it will be,’ he replied evenly. ‘It’s for when things turn to rat shit that we need to plan.’

  Susie pouted and raised a questioning eyebrow at him. ‘I’m not some rookie, you know Jack.’ He noticed it was the first time she’d used his Christian name. ‘I have done this before, okay?’

  ‘Fine,’ he said, irritated now. ‘So what was it like when your cover got blown and you had a gun to your head?’

  Anger flashed in her hazel eyes. ‘Don’t be so goddamn...’

  ‘Condescending? Rude? Sorry, but we’ve hit the ground without catching our breath on this, and I know practically nothing about you or your capabilities in the field.’ He paused, taking a breath to ease off. ‘I’m not trying to be rude, but if shit goes down there’s only you and me.’

  ‘Well I don’t know that much about you, either,’ she countered. ‘Jedi told me a bit without telling me much at all.’

  Travis smiled inwardly. He knew Ingoe well enough to know how that conversation would have gone. ‘What’d he say?’

  Susie pouted again. ‘He said “He’s done eighteen years in the fuckin’ Special Air Service, what else do you need to know?”’

  Travis gave a small grin. ‘What else?’

  ‘He said you only left because you broke the wrong nose, whatever the hell that’s supposed to mean.’

  ‘And I suppose you expect me to believe you haven’t read up on your own files?’

  She looked at him shrewdly. ‘What files?’

  Travis scoffed. ‘Come on Susie, everyone knows the Service keeps files on the Group. You’d be a fool not to have checked up on me, make sure I’m not a security risk.’ He gave a short shake of the head. ‘And you’re no fool.’

  ‘Really?’ She canted her head to the side inquisitively. ‘You sound like you’ve done your own homework.’

  He ticked points off his fingers as he spoke. ‘A Master’s degree in forensic accounting, finished through the air force. Seven years with the RNZAF, leaving as a Flight Lieutenant – sounds like you were on the fast track to the top. Seconded to military intelligence for a while and then on to the spooks.’

  ‘Wow,’ Susie said, calmer now and obviously impressed. ‘No flies on you, are there?’

  ‘Just because I’m a grunt, doesn’t mean I’m a knucklehead.’

  ‘I never said...’

  ‘I know,’ he interjected, ‘just as long as we’re both clear. I don’t have your skills and you don’t have mine. But together we should be okay. Right?’

  ‘Aye aye, Sarn’t Major,’ she smirked, giving him a mock salute. ‘Now time’s ticking, so I better get moving. I’m sure you can amuse yourself for a little bit.’

  ‘If my experience of high maintenance women is anything to go by, I’ve got a good hour. I’m going to beat the feet.’

  As he headed to the door he heard her call out behind him. ‘I am not high maintenance!’

  Chapter Eight

  Philip Stephenson operated out of a villa just outside the port hub of Nathon on the northwest coast of Koh Samui, the second largest Thai island after the traditional tourist destination of Phuket.

  He had lived there for the last couple of years, with Prasong installed as the resident security and cook. Terry lived closer to the port with a middle aged Thai madam, when they weren’t fighting, which was when he came looking for a bed at the villa. Stephenson hoped things were okay upon the older man’s return home – he had enough on his plate right now without sorting out domestic issues.

  Enough on his plate was a fucking understatement. He had had no joy in getting hold of the boys he’d been using in the Mog, which was never a good sign. He’d passed that task on to Terry to sort out – right now, making sure Ashkir didn’t send some badass to slot him was a higher priority. The warlord was not known for his easy going nature, and losing a shipment of weapons was severely inconvenient.

  He finally got through on his sat phone and spoke briefly to one of Ashkir’s assistants. When he identified himself, the man passed the phone over.

  Ashkir’s voice was at fever pitch when he came on the line.

  ‘Where the fuck are my guns you fuckin’ thief? I pay you good money and you dare to rip me off – me! Who the fuck you think you dealin’ with, you little honky bitch!’

  Stephenson tried to interject, keeping his tone soothing, but the warlord was having none of it. He continued screaming down the line at Stephenson for five solid minutes. The Kiwi sat and listened. Finally the Somali’s tirade eased and Stephenson slipped in.

  ‘I’m doing everything possible to recover the shipment for you, believe me. I already have some leads on it and I know-I know-I can get them back.’ He paused, but Ashkir stayed silent. ‘I just need some time.’

  There was silence down the line for nearly half a minute. He could hear the warlord breathing in his ear.

  ‘Two days. You have two days, Mr Stephenson.’ The pretence of “Mr McFee” was gone. The message was clear. ‘They arrive here safe and sound, with ten percent more, there be no problem.’ He paused for effect. ‘You don’t keep your end of the deal…I kill you.’

  ‘Understood.’ Stephenson’s mouth was dry but the flood of relief was palpable. Time was good; he could work with time.

  ‘I keep my promises, Mr Stephenson. Don’t make me come looking for you.’

  ‘I won�
�t,’ Stephenson replied. The line died in his ear and he put the phone down.

  He rubbed his face and stared out the window at the jungle beyond.

  He had no doubt that Ashkir would keep his word, and not a clue how to prevent it.

  In his office in Mogadishu, Ashkir put the phone down and tapped his chin thoughtfully.

  He was a tall, skinny man with coal black skin and a goatee. He was somewhere in his thirties and had never lived outside Mogadishu. From an early age he was running with criminal gangs and had first killed before he hit puberty.

  One of his fondest childhood memories was of chasing the American columns of soldiers as they tried to escape the city in 1993, after one of their Blackhawk helicopters had been shot down. Ashkir had seen the Hollywood movie of the incident several times and laughed every time he watched it. It was a very different account to how he remembered the incident.

  He looked across the room to where his lieutenant sat against the wall, a folding stock AK in his lap. Kablan was his most trusted man; they had lived and fought together since they were children. Kablan’s right eye was a milky white, the result of a knife fight many years ago.

  ‘I do not trust this man, Stephenson,’ Ashkir said. ‘But I have given him two days.’

  Kablan nodded. ‘It is most generous, Ashkir. I would have given him two bullets.’

  Ashkir smiled. ‘You might just need to, my friend. I want you to take three of the men and go to Mr Stephenson. Make sure he either delivers on his promise, or we deliver on ours. Understand?’

  Kablan nodded again. ‘Of course. I will need money and clean passports.’

  Ashkir waved a hand dismissively. ‘You know who to see. Go now, I want you there before the deadline. At forty eight hours and one minute, Mr Stephenson is to see the error of his ways.’

  Kablan stood and walked to the door, the AK hanging loosely in one hand. He was ready. He was always ready.

  Chapter Nine

  The hotel was in the China Town district, heavily populated by tourists and everything that catered for them.

  Travis wended his way through the crowds, melting in with his khaki shorts, loose white shirt and sunglasses. The air was hot and heavy with the smells of cooking, exhaust fumes and body heat. Small Thais and chubby tourists of every denomination bustled everywhere, street hawkers offered all types of goods for sale and noisy tuk-tuks buzzed past constantly. He stopped to buy a map of the area and a bottle of water from a vendor, taking the time to check his tail again. He doubled back the way he’d come and cut across the road abruptly, hoping to flush out any watchers that might be lurking about.

  Nobody made themselves obvious. He did a circuit of the block then extended to the next block, sussing out the local shops and restaurants. As he went he drew a mental map in his head, noting escape routes from the hotel if things went wrong and possible rendezvous points. He had been to the city before and had a passion for Thai food, which had become extremely popular back home, and before he knew it he’d wandered further than he’d intended and more than half an hour was up.

  He took a few moments to reflect on what he knew so far about this phase of the job. The Pastor was a former intelligence agent named Philip Stephenson. His short career in the NZSIS had come to an inglorious end when he was caught selling secrets to a Chinese businessman with strong links to the intelligence service of his own country.

  It transpired that Stephenson had a gambling problem and ended up in hock to an organised crime group. Having insufficient money to repay the debt, he instead sold his soul. He had been allowed to flee the country with no further action taken, mainly due to a threat from the Chinese authorities that a significant export deal would disappear if the matter ever came to light. The liberal Government of the day backed down and allowed the traitor to walk free, leaving a bitter taste in the mouths of many.

  Susie herself had not known him, but the legend lived on. The spooks had kept tabs on him as best they could from afar, and knew his current situation was basically as a trader of anything going. He wasn’t known to be a player in the intelligence scene any more, but it was pretty clear that the Director would dearly love some payback if the opportunity arose.

  Travis tossed his empty water bottle into a nearby bin, only to see a beggar immediately dive in and snatch it, probably for resale. Pausing in a corner doorway to check his map, he realised he was being watched. A Thai in his late twenties was across the road, talking on a cell phone while staring straight at Travis. He looked away quickly when Travis spotted him. At the same time a younger Thai also with a cell phone to his ear jogged around the corner, breaking stride as he realised Travis was right there, then slowing to a hurried walk as he made his way past. He ducked into a doorway further up.

  Travis rolled the map and kept it in his hand, stepping out into the crowds again and striding past the doorway where the younger man was pretending to be deep in conversation. He ignored the man and walked on, senses on full alert now. If they were members of any of the national intelligence agencies, they weren’t very good, which meant they were probably either muggers or contractors of some sort. Either way they were a problem that he wanted gone.

  He sensed the younger Thai tag in behind him and he also spotted the older one across the road trailing them in his peripheral vision. The hotel and its questionable sanctity were still a block and a half away. Up ahead he spotted a third watcher, this one another Thai in his late fifties with a paunch and the sallow skin of a heavy smoker. He was making no secret of his presence, standing near a street vendor and staring straight down the footpath in Travis’ direction.

  His overtness was not a good sign. It was time to go on the offensive.

  Travis turned abruptly on his heel and walked briskly back the way he had come. The younger Thai was caught on the hop and had nowhere to go. Travis made a beeline for him, the younger man becoming suddenly flustered and looking everywhere but at him. He stepped to the side as if to cross the road and even looked both ways before glancing back over his shoulder for his “mark.”

  Travis was right on him and it was too late. Using his body to shield the action from any pedestrians behind him, Travis slammed a vicious jab to the man’s kidney, causing the man to drop his cell phone and cry out in pain. Travis caught him as he started to buckle at the knees and jammed a thumb into the crevice of the man’s right elbow, gripping hard and applying intense pressure to the muscles and tendons there. The man paled and his arm went limp. Travis checked his belt quickly for weapons and found a battered snub nosed revolver, which he tossed overhead onto the awning over the footpath behind him. The man started to fight back and Travis swept his legs from under him, dropping him to the ground and leaving him on the road.

  He darted across the road, dodging tuk-tuks and heading straight for the other watcher. The guy was already moving away, cell phone to his ear. Travis turned and spotted the older watcher on the opposite side, moving rapidly to the fallen man who was now propping himself up against a power pole and looking in pain. The older man, who Travis presumed was the boss, caught Travis’ eye and scowled ferociously.

  Travis ignored him and moved after the watcher ahead of him, who wasn’t wasting any time as he pushed his way through the crowds. Another guy in his twenties popped into view, dashing across the road at an angle from Travis’ left, moving to intercept him.

  Travis turned and ducked into a shop doorway, pushing past a couple of tourists who were trying on bead necklaces. The impeccably-presented girl behind the counter approached Travis with a wide smile. The smile disappeared quickly as Travis stepped behind the counter and through a hanging curtain into the back room. An elderly man with long whiskers looked up from a bowl of food and chattered excitedly, waving chopsticks at the white intruder. The girl was shouting at him from behind and he heard the shop door bang open again, a loud male voice joining the din.

  The back door opened at a push and Travis found himself in a rear alley, surrounded by rubbish bins a
nd pieces of junk. He slammed the door shut and pulled a bin across it before sprinting for the end of the alley, where he could see a busy street. He’d only gone a few metres when the boss of the watchers appeared at the end ahead of him, his hand going under his shirt as he shouted something in Thai.

  Travis spun and went the other way, hoping he didn’t catch a bullet in his back. The rubbish bin he’d moved clattered to the side as the shop’s back door burst open, and the watcher he’d been following popped out, cell phone in one hand and a pistol in the other.

  He saw Travis coming too late. Travis threw a hand straight into his face, the heel of his palm slamming under the man’s jaw and snapping his head back. The man went down immediately, his pistol discharging into the concrete wall opposite. Travis bolted past, pumping his legs and arms hard and lining up the brick wall at the end of the alley. He hit it at speed, getting a foot part way up and pushing up, stretching out for the top of the wall. His fingers hooked over the top and he hauled himself up, scrabbling with his feet and getting a knee up to lever himself onto the top. He caught a quick glimpse of the older man running down the alley towards him, still shouting, as he rolled over the wall and dropped into a service yard.

  He wasted no time getting back onto the street and mingling with the crowds. His shirt was dirty and ripped and he was sweating with the exertion. He dug the cell phone out and rang Susie’s number. It rang through to voicemail and he tried again. Still no response.

  He jammed the phone back into his pocket with a curse, hoping she was safe. He jumped into the nearest tuk-tuk and shoved an American twenty at the driver.

  ‘Golden Key Hotel mate,’ he panted, ‘no stops, no sponsor’s shops, yeah?’

  The driver opened his mouth to protest and Travis waved the greenback at him. He knew it was standard practice for the drivers to divert any passengers to the business of a sponsor, who paid them for the service. He didn’t have time to dick around.