The Rybinsk Deception (5 page)

‘Aren’t there children at the village?’

‘Of course there are children.’

‘Well then, I can write a report on them. You don’t have to be so angry. I took you out to the
Rybinsk
, so why shouldn’t you show me round this village of yours?’

‘It’s not my village.’ How the hell he was going to explain, he didn’t know. All he did know was that either the IMB had gone mad, or that a senior member of the board must have owed her godfather some enormous favour.

‘I nearly forgot,’ she said. ‘Mr Armstrong says that if you’re not happy about this, you should call him from Singapore.’

Coburn didn’t trust himself to reply, keeping his thoughts to himself until the plane had taken off and only then reopening the conversation.

‘You and I need to sort out a few things,’ he said.

‘We don’t have to do that now, though, do we?’ She pointed out the window. ‘Look.’

Stretched out below and obscured by smoke was the curving shoreline of the shipyards. Here and there he could make out the shapes of half-broken hulls and see bright pinpoints of light where the fires were burning.

The smoke was the best reminder, he decided, a dark, evil-looking shroud smothering a Bay of Bengal beach that was slowly dying in its own filth, and a means of concealing a forgotten part of the world that any self-respecting God would have long ago abandoned and given up for good.

U
NTIL TODAY, FOR
the whole of the time Coburn had been based in Singapore, not once had he entertained a young woman in his apartment. There had been plenty of young women, two with apartments of their own, and another whose name he couldn’t remember who had a self-contained flat on the ground floor of her parent’s home. But he’d invited none of them back here, nor had he bothered to see any of them again.

With Heather Cameron he’d been forced to make an exception. She’d arrived on time five minutes ago and was sitting by the window holding the cup of coffee he’d made her while she waited to discover if anything had changed in the two weeks since he’d seen her last.

‘Is your hotel OK?’ he asked.

‘After Fauzdarhat, anywhere with running water is better than OK.’

‘And your leg’s healed up all right?’

‘Yes, thank you. Are you still angry about having to take me to the village with you?’

‘Depends how much trouble you’re going to be when you hear about where you’ll be staying.’

‘You didn’t say anything about that when you phoned.’

‘I hadn’t spoken to Hari then. Hari is the guy who runs the village.’

He took her empty cup and put it on the counter. ‘Did you get your shipyard report off to UNICEF?’

‘One day late, but it won’t matter. I’ve been spending too much time catching up on what’s happening in the rest of the world. I can’t believe the media are still making such a fuss about the
Rybinsk. The Singapore
 
Strait Times
have been running stories about it almost every day – you know, about North Korea being a threat to world peace unless somebody stops them. The Americans are the worst. They’re paranoid – either that or they’re trying to get other countries on their side.’

‘They think they’ve got the most to lose,’ Coburn said. ‘Or maybe they think they might not have got things right.’

‘How? In what way?’

He didn’t feel like explaining. In the days immediately following his return to Singapore he’d been curious enough to make a few enquiries, but once the new shipping manifests had started arriving from London he’d largely lost interest in the
Rybinsk
and wasn’t in the mood to go over the ground again.

She was waiting for him to answer her question. ‘Was there something O’Halloran didn’t tell us?’ she asked.

‘No. I just figured that seeing as how I got talked in to babysitting you, Armstrong ought to be happy to tie up a couple of loose ends for me.’

‘What loose ends?’

‘For a start, find out how well the Japanese coastguard got on. The only time the
Rybinsk
was anywhere close to Japanese territorial waters it was two hundred miles south of North Korea, so I thought I’d see how many Koreans had been caught up in their anti-piracy sweep.’

She frowned. ‘Is that what you asked Armstrong to do – find out?’

‘He asked the CIA to check with the Japanese, then phoned me back to say the whole campaign had been pretty much of a disaster because of a storm that hit the Sea of Japan at the wrong time. The coastguard spent the best part of four days rescuing fishermen who were trying to make it back to Honshu. Do you want to guess how many of them were Korean?’

She shook her head. ‘If there weren’t any, what do you think it means?’

‘I have no idea.’ Coburn had long since given up wondering. ‘O’Halloran was happy to worry about the missing crates, so he can worry about the missing Koreans.’

‘You said loose ends. What else did you ask Armstrong?’

‘Not a lot – just that I figured it might be an idea to see if
O’Halloran had spoken to whoever it was who made that call to the army. They’d have had a better look at the truck driver than I did, so there’s a chance they might have recognized him.’

She smiled. ‘I know what you’re going to say. O’Halloran couldn’t find anyone who’d admit using the phone because they would have been scared of making more trouble.’

‘That’s what the Americans told Armstrong.’ Coburn decided it was time to change the subject. He pointed to the carryall at her feet. ‘What have you got in there?’

‘Clothes, antibiotics, electrolytes for diarrhoea, paracetamol, hydrogen peroxide and eye ointment. I didn’t know how much stuff to bring because when we spoke on the phone you didn’t say how many days we’d be away.’

‘As long as the freighter comes through the Strait when it’s supposed to, and if Hari doesn’t change his mind at the last minute, we ought to be back here by the weekend.’

‘Is this a freighter the CIA think might be shipping nuclear material from Pakistan to North Korea?’

‘Apparently.’ He wished he could be certain. ‘According to the manifest, a whole lot of zinc ingots have been put on board as well. Pure zinc is worth around seven thousand dollars a ton, and ingots are easy for Hari to trade. That’s why he’s going after them.’

‘This man you call Hari doesn’t know you work for the IMB, though, does he?’

‘Sure he does. He just thinks I’m making a few dollars for myself on the side. I sell him copies of ships’ manifests and he sells me information about other pirate groups in the Strait. That way I get intelligence to pass on to the Singapore Government, and Hari gets his opposition taken out for him by the government. It’s a good deal for both of us.’

‘Except that you think I’ve come along to spoil things.’

‘No I don’t.’ Coburn decided this was the time to hit her with a few truths. ‘That’s why we’re having this talk,’ he said. ‘You have to understand this whole idea of yours is only going to work if Hari believes I picked you up in Bangladesh. It’s OK for you to play at being a nurse, even though you won’t have any work to do, but for as long as we’re at the village you have to pretend you’re my girlfriend. That means
whether you like it or not, we’ll be living and sleeping in the same hut.’

‘Really.’ She had the amused expression on her face he’d seen before. ‘You’ve already told Hari I’m your girlfriend, have you?’

‘Sort of – when he called round to see if I’d got any new manifests for him. He’s looking forward to meeting you.’

‘Should I be looking forward to meeting him?’

‘Probably. He’s a smart guy. He was born in France, but when he was nineteen he left the country after he got in to some kind of trouble and wound up living in a godforsaken mining town in Madagascar. He spent over ten years there dodging bullets and 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 diesels.’

‘Everything except a name – just like the village.’

‘It was called the
Selina
before Hari bought it and painted the whole thing black. The villagers still call it the
Selina
.’

‘You’re being waved at again,’ she said.

Hari wasn’t just waving. To show he was about to open the throttles he was making a circular motion with his hand.

‘Come on,’ Coburn said. ‘If we stay here we’re going to get wet.’

Accompanied by a shuddering of the hull and a deepening growl from the engines the
Selina
was quick to gather speed, throwing up sheets of spray from the bow they only just managed to avoid.

Hari was grinning, standing in the wheelhouse with a cigarette hanging from his lips. ‘I nearly catch you,’ he said.

‘Stop showing off.’ Coburn steadied himself against the hatch. ‘What’s the hurry?’

‘I wish Miss Cameron to see this is not an ordinary boat.’

‘My first name’s Heather.’ She smiled at him. ‘I didn’t think it was an ordinary boat.’

‘It is still best for us to make good progress, then you will have an opportunity to see around the village before dark.’

‘How long will we be at sea?’ she asked.

‘Four hours – perhaps a little less.’ After an inspection of his radar screen, Hari eased back on the throttle. ‘From the chart you can see we have not so far to go.’

Although by now the
Selina
was travelling at a speed for which it had never been designed, for a blunt-nosed trawler cruising at nearly 20 knots, it was handling the conditions well, Coburn thought, and at this rate, providing the sea remained flat further out in the Strait, they’d reach the north east coast of Sumatra in good time and be at the mouth of the estuary by late afternoon.

Heather was still waiting for him to show her where they were going. She was holding on to a rail, squinting in the sunlight watching the receding skyline of the city.

‘Bit nicer than Chittagong,’ he said. ‘No smoke.’

‘I never saw Chittagong or Fauzdarhat from the sea. If we have to cross the Strait, why are we heading north-west instead of west?’

‘Because the village is here.’ Coburn placed his finger on a laminated chart that was mounted on the wheelhouse wall. ‘It’s best for us to keep out of Indonesian waters for as long as we can. This way we don’t have to cross the Strait until we’re more or less level with the island.’

‘This one?’ She pushed his finger aside. ‘Bengkalis island?’

‘Yep. Once we’re round the top of it we’ll be in the estuary of the Panjang river. The village is on the left where that dot is.’

‘Where all these funny little signs are?’

‘They’re marsh symbols,’ Coburn said. ‘The whole east coast of Sumatra is one big peat swamp. That’s why it’s good pirate country. You can’t reach the marshes by land, hardly anyone lives there, and if you’re in the business of raiding ships, every year you’ve got something like fifty thousand of them passing through the Strait right on your doorstep. Nearly half of all the pirate attacks in the world happen right here in the Strait of Malacca.’

‘How many is that?’

‘Seventy-nine last year. It depends a bit on the weather, but this year isn’t shaping up to be much better.’ Because Coburn had been trying not to look at the flecks in her eyes, he was glad when Hari asked him to take the wheel.

‘Time for lunch, I think.’ The Frenchman produced a cool-box from behind the binnacle. ‘At my hotel this morning I ask them to prepare sandwiches and coffee for us.’ He handed Heather a packet. ‘It is not so much, but for today it is the best I can do.’

For the next three hours, the best Coburn could do was to keep the
Selina
on some kind of reasonably direct course, navigating his way around what seemed to be an unending succession of slow-moving freighters and tankers until they cleared the tip of Bengkalis where Hari once again took over the helm.