‘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?’