The Mac Ambrose Series: 1-3 (Boxed Set)

by HN Wake

  Her breath caught: Dominick sat next to Josh Halloway. Josh’s smile was so huge it crinkled his eyes. His skin was lightly tanned, and his chest was toned.

  God, Josh, where are you? How can I help you if I can’t find you?

  She flipped through the emails to emilysassyboots21@hotmail.com.

  One was dated one week ago, just before Dominick had been killed and Josh had disappeared. “We’re sneaking up to the rainforest near Mount Mulu tomorrow. The government officials don’t let foreigners into the rainforests.”

  Dominick’s next email to emilysassyboots21@hotmail.com had been sent the day before he had been killed. “I’m so mad I could scream. Alghaba is the Devil.”

  Mac’s heart froze.

  Out in the hallway, a door slammed.

  She reached over the side of the bed, grabbed her courier bag, and fished out her bank Blackberry. She pulled up the last email from Meredith Coldwell.

  The name of the attachment was AlghabaFinancing.doc

  Alghaba.

  The Agency chat room pinged on her laptop.

  Another note from 89 had arrived. “I just got that facial recognition. Your thug’s name is Eddy Mudzaffar. He is originally from Pendang in the north of Malaysia. Somebody said he has claims to the Kedah Sultanate. It’s the oldest sultanate in the world, so, probably well connected in the elite circles in Malaysia. He was former Malaysian Special Branch, but was discharged for conduct unworthy. He has a house in Miri. He is currently Head of Security for Alghaba.”

  Just like that, the border of the jigsaw puzzle snapped together: the one common thread between the death of Dominick French and the disappearance of Josh Halloway was the company Alghaba.

  Josh, I’m coming to get you. Hold on. I’ve got the full backing of the Agency. You are not alone. Now I know the answer to “who.”

  Part Two: Saturation

  She moved among people but did not belong to any of them. She was close but not entangled. She could always walk away.

  - Rose Lichter-Marck

  15

  Miri, Sarawak Province, Malaysia

  Just before sunrise, Mac left the Marriott in running gear and took a right out of the hotel’s drive. The ocean was agitated and the waves broke heavily against the bulkhead. Out on the horizon, the pink sunrise was lightening the sky.

  She stretched and checked behind and ahead. Only one car passed, its headlights bouncing. Her shoes crunched pebbles. A lifetime runner, movement soothed her, had the ability to turn off the endless mental loop of worry and anxiety.

  She settled into a brisk run and reviewed the facts. Josh had disappeared. The Head of Security for Alghaba had tossed Josh’s apartment. Dominick French had been murdered. Josh and Dominick had become friends. The clues were pointing very directly toward something having happened in the rainforest and in connection to the timber company Alghaba. It felt sinister.

  What the hell was this Alghaba?

  She slowed her pace and pulled out a burner cellphone. She replaced the sim card with a new one and called the US Embassy in KL, and asked for Chief of Station, Roger Shipman.

  When he came on the line, she said, “It’s Mac Ambrose.”

  “What do you want?”

  “Nice, Shipman. Very collegial. And a good morning to you too.”

  “What do you want?”

  “Are you following Alghaba?”

  “Define following.”

  “Is Alghaba on your radar as a company of interest?”

  “Why would they be?”

  “You tell me.”

  Shipman sighed. “They’re the third largest company in Malaysia and tenth largest on the Hong Kong stock exchange. The family is the fourth richest in Singapore. Their estimated worth is somewhere in the three billion dollar range. Alghaba is into timber, paper, palm oil, among other things. Upstream and downstream. So, if you’re asking me if they are on my radar, I’d be a huge asshole if they weren’t.”

  “Is the US government watching them?”

  “As much as they would any person of interest with that kind of wealth and influence in a particular country.”

  “Are they dirty?”

  “This is Malaysia. It can be switched in Webster’s for the word kleptocracy.”

  “So, big family, big money, big in politics?”

  “Correct,” he said.

  “Anything stand out?”

  “You mean other than the Alghaba kids own half of California through intermediaries?”

  “Are we watching them in the US?”

  “Not that I know of. I have not heard they are a threat to national security. But with that kind of money, I wouldn’t be surprised if they are on a number of lists back home.” He breathed in heavily. “I take it you didn’t find him?”

  She didn’t respond.

  “To answer your next question, I am not read in on—“ he said using Agency lingo—“any information, if it does exist, regarding any kind of connection between Josh Halloway and Alghaba. You’ll need to go a bit higher up the food chain for that, I’m afraid.”

  She clicked off, switched the sim card, and immediately dialed the Hong Kong cell phone of Meredith Coldwell. Meredith was Head of Risk for the bank in Asia. She kept an eye on all things that could pose a risk to the bank. She was unassuming but tenacious and her intelligence was fierce.

  “You’re up early.” Meredith was a study of calm. “Where are you?”

  Mac swallowed and forced her voice into a slow, chatty pace. “I’m in Miri, in Sarawak. Alghaba is headquartered here.”

  “Ah, good. You taking the weekend off?”

  “Yes. I got some diving in.”

  “Fantastic.”

  “I’ve read over the client documents.”

  “Good, good. So you feel up to speed on Alghaba?”

  The sun had risen much higher over the ocean, shoving off the night’s darkness. The waves had softened with the light.

  Mac said, “I think so. Timber company--forestry, palm oil. One of the big six timber companies in Malaysia—”

  “Correct,” Meredith pushed quickly to explain, comfortable leading the discussion. “They have permitted rights all over the province of Sarawak. Their financials are good. They had massive reserves from the eighties, but they started expanding globally in the nineties. They’re asking for a capital loan to build out downstream into commodities, particularly into expanded palm oil production. They want to put in to more palm plantations and palm refineries. Palm oil. It’s huge. We have a conference call on Monday with our KL team. Nazir, the bank’s Malaysian CEO, is a tough nut. He’s connected to big families in Malaysia. Lots of personal schmoozing going on behind the scenes. He sees Alghaba as a massive potential client.” Meredith paused. “And, unusually, Stuart was just down here asking me about it. It’s funny…” she trailed off.

  Mac stopped walking. Meredith meant Stuart Fairbanks. As in the Stuart Fairbanks, the CEO for Asia. Captain of the ship in the up-and-coming powerhouse region for the bank. He was the sixth most powerful guy in the whole, global bank. He was charming and quick witted. Unusually, everybody liked him. Rumor had it he was angling for the top job back in New York.

  He was also the only one in the bank who knew Mac was Agency. In fact, he had arranged her position.

  The bank’s Human Resource office had followed all the proper procedures in her recruitment and hiring. She interviewed with eight bankers the day they flew her in from Jakarta. The questions were tough and the attitudes were bullish. The final meeting had been with Stuart in his top floor office. His haircut was perfect, his teeth white, and his eyes intelligent. He wasn’t wearing a wedding ring.

  “Thanks for going through the interviews, Mac,” he had said. “I appreciate the time and patience to make this all look as normal as possible. I’m the only one in the bank who knows your real identity. There can be some loose lips in a bank, even though we like to pretend there aren’t. Your cover role is to support Meredith Coldwell and the risk
team. Just to be clear, she isn’t aware of your cover. We clear on that?”

  “Crystal.”

  Mac had liked him. He seemed like a straight shooter, a no-nonsense individual who hadn’t let power go to his ego.

  He had said, “I won’t ask and you won’t tell me about your Agency work. Got it?”

  “Got it.”

  “So welcome to Legion. We’ll be making you a formal offer this week.” He stood and came around to shake her hand.

  Along the Miri road, a second lone car passed as she began walking again. She asked, “Stuart asked about Alghaba?”

  “Yeah. Odd that he’s so interested in a particular client. I think it may have something to do with the black tie coming up.”

  “Black tie?”

  “It’s the fiftieth anniversary of the bank and they’re having a black tie dinner here in a few days for the Managing Directors’ and their clients. They are putting on a spread. Celebrities, a world famous violinist from China.”

  “So it seems there is some interest in Alghaba? Is the call on Monday going to be contentious?”

  “Not if you don’t find anything,” Meredith said shrewdly.

  “What if I find something?”

  “Maybe you won’t.”

  “But what if I do?”

  “Then I’ll put a hand brake on the deal. That’s what I do.”

  “As Chief Risk Officer in Asia?”

  “Exactly.”

  “I bet the bankers love you.”

  Meredith snickered. “They don’t scare me. A lot of them are all bluff. At the end of the day, they do what the bank tells them to do. They know where their bread is buttered. Trust me, it’s slathered on for these guys. If the Risk Officer says no, it’s a no. Not to put it too lightly, I have a lot of influence here.”

  Meredith was tough and confident. It was refreshing.

  She continued, “Anyway, we’re all here to make a shit ton of money, not friends. Keep your head on straight and you’ll do fine here. We were lucky to get you and I don’t want you becoming disillusioned.”

  “Understood.”

  “Okay, I gotta go back to work. Go do your recon on Alghaba and let me know how it goes.”

  Mac had only one choice. She had to retrace Josh and Dominick’s path up into the rainforest. She had to find out what Alghaba was up to. And there was only one person she knew who could help get her access the rainforest quickly.

  She replaced the sim card with a third, and called Johnson Koh in Hong Kong. “Johnson, it’s Mac Ambrose. We met in Soho with Aiden Reese.”

  “Sure,” he said. “How are you, Mac?”

  That forced British accent grated her. “Who do you have in Sarawak?”

  “What are you doing in Sarawak?” he asked.

  “Who do you have in Sarawak?”

  He tried a different tact. “What do you need in Sarawak?”

  “I need to go up into the rainforest. Up north from Miri. Near Mount Mulu.”

  The air went dead across the line. Finally, he said, “That’s Alghaba territory.”

  She remained silent.

  Johnson understood immediately she was looking into Alghaba for Legion Bank. “I can be there quickly.”

  Absolutely not, she thought. I am not having to deal with you again. Out loud she said, “I don’t need you to come out. I just need you to lend me one of your people.”

  “I’ll organize the trek.”

  There was the pitbull. “I don’t need you here. I work alone.”

  “I can be there in a few hours.”

  She calmed herself and considered the implications of Johnson accompanying her. Either way, he’d find out where she was going. She admitted that his high level knowledge of the industry could actually be an advantage. He could inform her assessment of Alghaba. But she hesitated. She pictured his relentless stare and his uncompromising stubbornness. She’d just have to manage him. “Okay,” she said. “But we need to agree on the ground rules. First, the bank can never know you were here with me. You’re persona non grata to them. Activist, wild card, the whole nine yards.”

  “Yes, I agree to that.”

  “If the end results are not to your liking, you can’t squeal.”

  “Agreed.”

  “I’m going to do this undercover.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I’m using an alias.”

  “What? What’s your alias?”

  “Vivian Maier. I’m a reporter with the South China Morning Post.”

  “I find that incredibly weird.”

  Her annoyance ratcheted. “Johnson, I want the truth—unfiltered. If people know I’m with a bank, they won’t be as authentic.”

  “It’s still odd.”

  Seriously? “Johnson, this isn’t open for a debate.”

  “But it’s inexplicable. Why are you doing that?”

  “Jesus. Do you agree or not?”

  “Agreed,” he said. “But with reservations. These people aren’t going to give you up. I feel using an alias is incredibly deceptive”

  She moved on. “And it’s you and me only.”

  “We’ll need our guy Azly,” he said. “He’s our liaison to the Penan, the folks up in the rainforest. He’ll get them to talk openly. They trust him. He can lead the trek.”

  This made sense. It would also provide a nice reprieve from his badgering. Hopefully, a third, objective person would help ease the discomfort of traipsing through the rainforest with some tenacious environmentalist with bad hair lecturing her about big, evil banks. “Okay.”

  “I’ll be there in a couple hours. You at the Marriott?”

  The Marriott was the best hotel in Miri; it was the choice of any expat with money. She hated being so predictable. “Yes,” she conceded.

  “I’ll take the next flight out.” He hung up before she could change her mind.

  She stared across the ocean at the full sun high in the sky, her eyes flinty and determined.

  Josh, I’m coming. I’m closing in on your footprints. Hold on. Here I come.

  16

  Miri, Sarawak Province, Malaysia

  The small, eight-seat plane rumbled loudly as it taxied down the runway of the Miri airport. The small, overhead air vents weakly pushed out half-chilled air and the old seats vibrated against the roar of the engine.

  Across the aisle from Mac, Johnson sat in awkward silence staring out the window. His worn hiking books, lightweight khakis, and a grey T-shirt suited him—as if he spent a good deal of time in the outdoors—and made him seem less pretentious. On the seat next to him was a small backpack with a bandana tied around one of the straps.

  Perhaps, she told herself, that accent will soften on our trek through nature. Regardless, she needed him. There was no way she could track Josh through the rainforest without him. She planned to reveal as little as possible to him about Legion’s interest in Alghaba or the Agency’s interest in Josh: he had proven that his tenacity was impressive.

  In the row behind her was the local Penan liaison officer from the Miri Worldwide Green office, Azly Rahman. In contrast to Johnson, Azly wore a new, crisp white T-shirt and sharply pressed khakis. He also sported new hiking boots. His broad smile exposed his gums and his dancing eyes spoke of an infectious demeanor.

  Mac knew a lot of people like Azly. Despite crushing poverty and limited opportunities, they never failed to remain optimistic. They might shrink slightly in crowds, especially crowds of educated foreigners, but their spirit remained strong. She had a real soft spot for the Azlys of the world.

  The plane sped to the end of the runway, the nose tipped upwards, and the wind hit the wings, lifting the metal contraption off the black tarmac. She always felt a small sense of foreboding on take-off. A metal car with wings, by nature, shouldn’t be able to ride the pressure of the air below it. The physics made sense, but her heart never fully accepted it.

  As the plane settled into a cruising altitude, Johnson turned toward her. She wished she
had her music and earphones to avoid small talk with him. He rummaged in his bag and handed her a glossy report. On the cover were two photos: one was of a verdant, overgrown forest—presumably virgin rain forest—the other was of a field of perfectly rowed, bushy palm plants. The title screamed across the top, Borneo’s Disappearing Rainforest: The Reign of Palm Oil.

  He said, “If we’re going to go see Alghaba’s operations, I thought you might like some background reading.”

  “You been up there?” She flipped through the brochure.

  “Of course.”

  She had mixed feelings about environmental activists. On one hand, she was glad someone was fighting the good fight. On the other, they could be narrow-minded and idealistic in the face of the world’s grim realities. Being around them made her feel guilty, judged.

  She wanted to avoid a lecture. “So, Johnson Koh, are you from Hong Kong originally?”

  “Yup, born there.” He relaxed back into his seat. “My family spent my formative years in London, but we moved back when I was going into high school. It wasn’t easy. Hong Kong high schools are severe, rote memorization, and inordinate amounts of homework. I have clear memories of sitting in my Gran’s house doing homework past midnight. They don’t exactly push individualism in Hong Kong. Not like I had learned in London.”

  “And college?”

  “I secretly applied to Uni back in England but got rejected. I ended up at the same college in Hong Kong both my parents went to. I got my degree in English. It was easy for me. To be honest, I had fun in college. A lot of fun. I know the bars pretty well in the city. I knew the security guards outside our dorms. Good guys, working guys. We were out there a lot late at night. Smoking, drinking, carousing.”

  “How did you get into…?”

  “Activism?”

  “Yeah.”

  “My parents took me into China to meet my relatives. I saw a lot of poverty while I was there. Poverty breeds environmental destruction. Poor people do what they can to feed themselves--”