working the mines until he’d learned enough about the business to become a major trader in rubies, sapphires and garnets on the international black market. After he got tired of that, he spent eighteen months as a pirate running down ships off the coast of Somalia, then decided the Strait of Malacca might be a better hunting ground. He can be tough when he’s out on raids, but he’s OK once you get to know him.’
‘Have you gone with him on raids before?’
‘A couple of times. It’s good for my cover. He thinks I do it for kicks.’ Coburn checked his watch. ‘We’d better get moving. He’s expecting us at the wharf at eleven.’
‘You still haven’t told me exactly where the village is,’ she said. ‘What’s the name of it?’
‘It doesn’t have one.’
‘That’s silly. How can a village not have a name?’
‘You’ll see when we get there. We’ve got a fair trip ahead of us, so while I call for a taxi you might want to use the toilet. It’s at the end of the hall.’
Since she’d seemed unworried at the prospect of having to share a hut with him, he didn’t mention it again during their drive to the waterfront, less concerned about their accommodation than he was about whether Hari was going to like her.
He should have known better.
The effusive greeting she received at the wharf showed that Hari had already decided that the village had long been in need of a visit from someone exactly like Heather Cameron.
After introducing himself and unnecessarily kissing her hand he turned to Coburn. ‘So,’ he said, ‘you go to Bangladesh to search for an atomic bomb that is not there, but find this pretty girl instead.’
Hari Tan was in his mid forties, a large man who was running to fat, and of such mixed ancestry that it was impossible to tell where he might have come from. He had wide, square shoulders and greying shoulder-length hair that he refused to cut, either because he couldn’t be bothered or, as Coburn suspected, because he believed it was more suited to his image as a modern-day pirate and village chief.
Today he was evidently in good spirits, carrying Heather’s bag for her while he led her along the wharf to a gangplank that was resting on the deck of one of the village’s ocean-going fishing boats.
Hoping she wasn’t going to get seasick, Coburn followed them on board, making himself useful by pulling up the gangplank and stowing it away before he went to ask why Hari hadn’t brought one of the launches.
‘Ah.’ The Frenchman smiled. ‘Because yesterday when I come, I bring with me that big shipment of mobile phones which you will remember us taking from the Maltese freighter Comino one month ago. I am happy to say that last night in a bar at the Hotel Bedok I meet with a man who gives me a better price for them than I expected.’
‘That’s why you’re in a good mood, is it?’
‘Of course. But I am also glad you and your friend are coming to the village.’ Hari redirected his attention to Heather. ‘You should know my business is not so legal,’ he said. ‘But I am not yet as rich as the insurance companies who pay for the cargo that goes missing, so for a few more years I must keep working.’
‘It’s OK,’ Coburn said. ‘I’ve told her. She understands.’
‘Then if you would care to cast off our mooring we can be on our way before the tide changes and the sea becomes more rough.’ Leaving them at the bow, Hari went to the focsle, waving to Coburn once he’d started the diesels.
Heather had been inspecting one of the deck fittings. ‘What’s this for?’ She pointed at a ring of grease-filled holes in a steel plate that unlike the rest of the vessel was free of rust and showed signs of recent use.
‘Heavy machine-gun mount,’ Coburn said. ‘This isn’t just any old trawler. Don’t be fooled by how it looks. It’s been stripped out, it’s got full GPS, state of the art radar, depth finders, long-range tanks and a pair of brand new MTU
‘Have you gone with him on raids before?’
‘A couple of times. It’s good for my cover. He thinks I do it for kicks.’ Coburn checked his watch. ‘We’d better get moving. He’s expecting us at the wharf at eleven.’
‘You still haven’t told me exactly where the village is,’ she said. ‘What’s the name of it?’
‘It doesn’t have one.’
‘That’s silly. How can a village not have a name?’
‘You’ll see when we get there. We’ve got a fair trip ahead of us, so while I call for a taxi you might want to use the toilet. It’s at the end of the hall.’
Since she’d seemed unworried at the prospect of having to share a hut with him, he didn’t mention it again during their drive to the waterfront, less concerned about their accommodation than he was about whether Hari was going to like her.
He should have known better.
The effusive greeting she received at the wharf showed that Hari had already decided that the village had long been in need of a visit from someone exactly like Heather Cameron.
After introducing himself and unnecessarily kissing her hand he turned to Coburn. ‘So,’ he said, ‘you go to Bangladesh to search for an atomic bomb that is not there, but find this pretty girl instead.’
Hari Tan was in his mid forties, a large man who was running to fat, and of such mixed ancestry that it was impossible to tell where he might have come from. He had wide, square shoulders and greying shoulder-length hair that he refused to cut, either because he couldn’t be bothered or, as Coburn suspected, because he believed it was more suited to his image as a modern-day pirate and village chief.
Today he was evidently in good spirits, carrying Heather’s bag for her while he led her along the wharf to a gangplank that was resting on the deck of one of the village’s ocean-going fishing boats.
Hoping she wasn’t going to get seasick, Coburn followed them on board, making himself useful by pulling up the gangplank and stowing it away before he went to ask why Hari hadn’t brought one of the launches.
‘Ah.’ The Frenchman smiled. ‘Because yesterday when I come, I bring with me that big shipment of mobile phones which you will remember us taking from the Maltese freighter Comino one month ago. I am happy to say that last night in a bar at the Hotel Bedok I meet with a man who gives me a better price for them than I expected.’
‘That’s why you’re in a good mood, is it?’
‘Of course. But I am also glad you and your friend are coming to the village.’ Hari redirected his attention to Heather. ‘You should know my business is not so legal,’ he said. ‘But I am not yet as rich as the insurance companies who pay for the cargo that goes missing, so for a few more years I must keep working.’
‘It’s OK,’ Coburn said. ‘I’ve told her. She understands.’
‘Then if you would care to cast off our mooring we can be on our way before the tide changes and the sea becomes more rough.’ Leaving them at the bow, Hari went to the focsle, waving to Coburn once he’d started the diesels.
Heather had been inspecting one of the deck fittings. ‘What’s this for?’ She pointed at a ring of grease-filled holes in a steel plate that unlike the rest of the vessel was free of rust and showed signs of recent use.
‘Heavy machine-gun mount,’ Coburn said. ‘This isn’t just any old trawler. Don’t be fooled by how it looks. It’s been stripped out, it’s got full GPS, state of the art radar, depth finders, long-range tanks and a pair of brand new MTU
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