In the kitchen, a stack of Straits Times lay on the bench, the top one opened to page five, where the ongoing murder investigation from the Pan Pac was being followed.
The place seemed untouched yet not like someone had gone on holiday. Woody came into the kitchen and Mac found a bag of chicken wings in the refrigerator, threw a few on the tiled floor and poured a bowl of water for the animal.
He wandered into the bedroom area of the house. Was she out with a friend? But left the back door unlocked? Had to leave suddenly? But tied up Woody without a water bowl?
In the master bedroom a dark green dress lay on the bed. Liesl had been getting ready to go out, but was surprised?
In the walk-in wardrobe, he noticed the full-length mirror at the end of the room was slightly off its hinges. Taking a closer look, he swung back the mirror and saw the large safe set into the concrete wall, door ajar. Using a pen, Mac pushed the door fully open and looked inside: a file box with the label Shares, another which said Bonds and three four-hundred-ounce gold ingots stamped with Tanaka Kikinzoku Kogyo. If Ray’s spy collateral had been in the safe, it was now gone, as was the tape in the surveillance machine housed under the safe.
‘Shit,’ muttered Mac, crouching to look at the black machine that looked much like a stereo tuner but had a small screen embedded in it.
‘Not enough for you?’ came the voice, and Mac spun, throwing himself sideways, as the light came on.
‘Easy, champ,’ said the tall man, who carried a bunch of flowers and a bottle of wine. ‘You’ll blow a fuse.’
‘Shit, Benny,’ said Mac, slumping on the carpet, his chest heaving with adrenaline. ‘You’ve got a timing problem, mate. Swear to God.’
The sounds of Benny Haskell barking orders into his mobile phone echoed around the large kitchen as Mac watched the head form on the beer in his glass. Benny had a team from his professional services firm working on Liesl’s possible disappearance; Mac was holding off on informing ASIS.
‘And when you speak with Max — and it has to be Max — you tell him this comes from me, right?’ said Benny into his phone, pausing to suck on his smoke. ‘And this is off the air, okay? We’re all buddies here, we’re not sending out the cavalry.’
Signing off, Benny poured a bottle of beer into his glass. Benny Haskell was at least twenty years older than Mac and a veteran of Aussie intelligence. A chartered accountant by profession, he’d worked in ASIS, held overseas posts as a trade commissioner, and had been one of the designers of the AUSTRAC system that tracked all banking transactions inside Australia and between Australia and the world. He now ran a firm in Singapore with a former legal executive from the Australian Taxation Office, facilitating banking options for people not officially residing on the island.
‘Got a line into SID,’ said Benny. The Security and Intelligence Division was Singapore’s ASIS. ‘We’ll see what comes back, but are you sure you don’t want the Firm to know about this?’
‘For now,’ said Mac, his mind spinning.
‘Why? ’Cos you’re not supposed to be here?’
‘Maybe,’ said Mac. ‘I’d like to start with the security.’
‘Like, there is none?’ said Benny, shifting his ashtray closer.
‘Yeah.’
‘Well, there’s no reason to put security on the wife of a random shooting victim.’ Benny shrugged skinny shoulders under a red polo shirt. ‘It was a hit on Lao, wasn’t it? Ray was wrong time, wrong place?’
‘Yeah,’ said Mac. ‘So what are you doing here?’
‘We spoke yesterday, when I was up in KL. She was going to get the barbecue going — there was something she needed to discuss.’
‘So you turn up with wine and flowers.’
‘She hates a drink,’ said Benny.
‘And…’
‘And I’m about to ring the bell when I see the front door’s open — but no lights on. A bloke gets curious.’
‘Fuck!’ said Mac, not liking the bit about the door being open. ‘There was someone in here?’
Benny ducked that. ‘I’m here for dinner. What’s your excuse?’
‘Liesl called me — thought I’d drop in on the way.’
‘To?’
‘Colombo,’ said Mac.
Benny lit another smoke. ‘What did she say?’
‘I don’t know if it’s relevant,’ said Mac.
‘If you’re crawling around in your friend’s safe, it’s relevant,’ said Benny.
Mac poured the remains of the beer into his glass. ‘Well, it was two voicemails, and in the second she said there might be Aussie involvement in Ray’s death.’
‘Was there?’ said Benny.
‘Mate!’ said Mac, in the long, drawn-out way that means do you mind?
‘So, either Liesl has found some evidence that Ray was working with the Firm when he was hit…’
‘Okay,’ said Mac, following the logic.
‘Or…’ said Benny.
‘Don’t make me say that,’ said Mac.
‘Been known to happen. McLean, Philby, Burgess…’
‘Fuck’s sake, Benny.’
The mobile phone on the marble bench top rang. Standing, Benny took the call, lowering his voice as he turned away.
‘Yeah, yeah, okay, mate — thanks,’ said Benny. ‘And you got that memo from Sally, about the earlier flight to Bangers?’
There was a pause while someone spoke.
‘Yeah, mate, I know five’s a little rude, but try to doze on the flight, okay?’
Folding the phone as he sat, Benny crushed his cigarette. ‘ISD’s involved,’ he said, referring to Singapore’s internal intelligence organisation. ‘So the Singaporeans think there’s a foreign government in this.’
‘Jesus,’ said Mac.
Benny looked into Mac’s eyes. ‘You telling me everything? I can’t help Liesl unless we’re a loop, okay, Macca?’
‘Yeah, Benny.’
‘Because it just occurred to me.’
‘What?’ said Mac.
‘Liesl didn’t know you were a spook — she thought you were a publishing executive doing deals with Ray’s fund.’
‘Yeah, well…’ said Mac, thinking.
‘So why was she calling you? What was a book salesman going to do for her?’
‘It wasn’t — look, Benny,’ said Mac, but Benny caught something.
He laughed. ‘Oh, fuck!’
‘What?’ said Mac, face burning red.
‘Don’t tell me you intercepted a call that was supposed to go to a certain federal cop?’ said Benny, slapping the bench top. ‘A certain cop who lives in your house? Oh, brother! You’re a brave man, mate.’
‘Yeah, yeah,’ said Mac.
‘Or fucking stupid,’ said Benny, his laughter bouncing around the house.
Chapter 10
The lines of war-era concrete bunkers slid past the windows as the 777 taxied to the Tan Son Nhat international terminal. Passing quickly through customs and immigration, Mac wove through the swirling human traffic of Terminal 2 towards the huge glassed exit. During Mac’s first visits to this city, the terminal was a converted hangar with an old Pan-American airstair bolted to the inside of the far wall, creating a stairway to the next level. Now it was a modern, open space, like a cross between Brisbane International and Toronto’s Pearson.
Emerging into the sticky mayhem of Vietnam at 9.20 am, Mac dodged the private taxi drivers, van owners and cyclo riders that teemed on the aprons, keeping his wheelie bag close and his travel documents jammed tightly under his armpit. On his left, officials with handheld radios tried to organise a crush of humanity onto the correct buses, while a long taxi queue had formed on his right, with all of the anarchy that thrived in the world’s most overregulated territory. Saigon was proof that the human heart beat harder than the fantasies of the totalitarians — even its Marxist — Leninist name, concocted to emphasise a Communist victory in the South, was never used by the people of this city.