had it to trade, not to drink.”
Loi would have loved a drink right then and admired the captain’s cool.
“We’ll keep it for evidence,” he snarled. “Tell women, take off jewellery.”
“Take off your jewellery,” the interpreter called to the women, adding, “I guess that means rings and bracelets too.”
Necklaces were undone and wedding rings slipped from fingers as the armed men moved among them, dropping the loot into a plastic bag. When they had finished, the officer shouted, “Show all hands!”
He holstered his weapon and began checking that all rings had been surrendered. He stopped at one woman who was still struggling to remove a wide and tight-fitting gold band.
He pulled out a knife and before anyone realised what he was about to do, took her hand and sliced cleanly through her knuckle, slipping the ring from the stump and throwing the twitching finger over the side.
She was so shocked she was silent for a moment, then her head dropped and her wail of shock and pain chilled them all. As her head shook her hair aside, torchlight reflected off diamonds hanging from her ears.
Quickly, while everyone was still coming to terms with what had happened, the officer pocketed the ring and grabbed the diamonds, tearing them from her lobes.
Her husband launched himself at the officer, his fingers grabbing at the knife, the other hand chopping towards his neck. Jewellery fell to the deck as the officer pushed him off. He was clubbed on the back of the neck with a rifle butt and fell, unconscious.
Loi realised they didn’t want to shoot anyone. If it was to happen it would have been then.
Two men rolled the unconscious husband off the fallen jewellery and collected it, adding it to the contents of the plastic bag.
Loi noted that the ring stayed in the officer’s pocket as he moved to the woman’s side, first holding her from falling, then easing her to the deck beside her husband.
Nobody spoke. They were completely at the mercy of the customs men and could only watch as they lifted saris, ripping off anklets and checking for necklaces that might be hidden under long hair. Then as quickly as they they’d come, they were gone.
The captain sprang for the medical kit and looked around for help.
Loi took it and began work on the woman, blood still pumping from her finger. He tied it off as the old diesel motor coughed to life and they were again underway.
He found a phial of morphine and injected it into her arm, then turned her husband onto his back, feeling his throat, searching for a pulse. It was only just there, but very fast. Fibrillation, he diagnosed and thumped his chest, then listened, ear against his shirt. He nodded his satisfaction and returned to the wife, searching through the supplies for needle and surgical thread.
The gunboat was still running parallel and he tensed for the machine gun burst that must come. ‘They’ll smash holes through the waterline and send us to the bottom,’ he thought, ‘and we’re not yet halfway!’
“How is she?” The captain had returned from the wheelhouse.
“She’ll be OK,” Loi answered. “It’s him I’m worried about.”
He rose and pulled the captain away. “Could be a broken neck. It might be kinder if he doesn’t wake up.”
He looked back towards the wife, being comforted by Lin Poi.
“I don’t like his chances.”
He moved back to the woman, sloshed some methylated spirit over the stump and began to sew. It was a small finger and skin soon came together to seal the wound.
He was no longer aware of the gunboat and turned his attention to the woman’s ears. He inserted just one stitch each side. Bleeding had already stopped.
When he looked again, the gunboat had peeled away to pursue another victim.
16. CSIRO
The cab paid off , he was about to approach the desk when serendipity intervened, with the appearance of a little guy walking towards him. Thin grey hair hung over his forehead almost to the bridge of a large nose that supported a pair of thick lenses. He was staring at Harry apparently attempting to bring him into focus.
‘Shit!’ he thought, ‘I know the guy from Vietnam. Engineer… That’s right, he worked on my Huey. What’s his name? Andy, Andy Spanner we called him. That’s right, Andrew Speight.”
“Hello Harry!” Speight called, hand outstretched to be shaken. “What the hell are you doing here? Long time no see!”
“Andy Spanner!” He laughed, taking his hand. “Good to see you too, Andy. I’m with the embassy. I thought I’d take a look at where our American dollars are going,” he laughed. “Not that we seem to care most of the time!”
“Any project in particular?”
“Well, I am interested in how the geosequestration research is going. Who’s doing that?”
Speight appeared surprised, then smiled conspiratorially. “Official?”
Harry returned the smile openly. He had a lot to thank Andy for, keeping him alive in Vietnam.
“Strictly unofficial, Andy; just personal interest.”
Speight’s smile disappeared and he became sceptical. “How unofficial?”
Harry laughed. “Absolutely unofficial. Just filling in time. I’m a tourist today. Why, is there a problem?”
Andy began laughing. He quickly checked himself, but laughed again. “What am I laughing at?” he chuckled. “It’s a joke but it’s no laughing matter.”
“Why? What do you know about it?”
Speight’s look told him he was suspicious of his motives. “You really don’t know what I do here?”
Harry could not believe his luck. “So you’re involved in the project!”
“A lot more than is comfortable, I’m afraid. Yes, I’m involved in the project.”
“Isn’t it working?”
“Well, yes, it’s working to a point, a very low point, so I say, ‘What’s the point?’”
Harry laughed. He really liked this little Aussie and recalled the black humour that masked a very smart and caring human being. “What isn’t working?”
He answered so softly that Harry had to lean closer to hear. “Leaks. We’ve got leaks. Well, we always expected leaks, but that’s not my problem. My problem is the bloody corruption. Political interference is corrupting the process. I’ve had just about enough.” He smiled wryly. “Look, I’m sure you don’t want to hear my gripes.”
“On the contrary, I always doubted it could ever match the hype,” said Harry. “So I’m
