The Assassin on the Bangkok Express Read online

  *

  Cavalier was alerted to movement. His glasses picked up shapes.

  ‘Wait,’ he whispered. He could see a person running across the paddy field towards the train. He scanned along the railway track. Another person was striding forward along it. He detected a third figure, with no obvious weapon, also running in the field.

  Cavalier concentrated on the person about seventy metres away in the paddy field. He fired at what appeared to be a backpack. The resultant explosion sent a fireball up a tree close to the field’s edge. The train shook.

  ‘Jesus!’ Dempster said. ‘What was that?’

  ‘Suicide bomber.’

  ‘How did you know?’

  ‘Didn’t. I aimed at a backpack.’

  ‘I see one on the track,’ Jacinta said. She took aim and fired, felling the target. He struggled to his feet and stumbled into the field. Jacinta and Cavalier fired again. There was a second explosion, smaller than the first, but enough to blow the bomber to pieces.

  ‘I can’t see a thing,’ Dempster complained.

  ‘Don’t worry, just follow our lead,’ Jacinta repeated. ‘When we fire, you follow.’

  Cavalier lined up the third assailant he had spotted, who was a smaller figure. He heard a high-pitched, continuous scream. He paused a precious ten seconds, believing the oncoming figure could be a child. Jacinta glanced at Cavalier. Seeing his hesitation, she took aim and fired. The second explosion, closer than the others, was bigger than the first two. It shook the carriage again and lit up the track. Cavalier scanned the area. Jacinta’s target was nowhere to be seen and he assumed had been eliminated.

  The several seconds of sustained light from the bomb was enough for Jacinta to take aim and fire at a fourth attacker, who went down. There was no explosion. Cavalier fired a few seconds later, aiming at the fourth bomber’s backpack. He hit it, but still the bomb remained intact. An eerie silence followed for about twenty seconds before the noise of a concerted attack at the other end of the train filled the air.

  *

  Hercules, hidden in the undergrowth with his ten Filipino charges near the rear of the Express, checked his backpack of explosives. He intended to set them off once the gold was secured. The terrorists hoped to immobilise the train and cause maximum chaos to the railway system running through Malaysia. Hercules had five of his men one side of the observation car and the other five with him. He prepared a flare, which would be the signal for the terrorists to attack. Before that he and his men all swallowed strong-dose, fast-acting methamphetamine pills and waited several minutes.

  ‘Remember, martyrs,’ he whispered to those close to him, ‘if you die, you see the face of Allah! If you live, we wait for another chance to be in his great presence!’

  He then ordered them to drink from hip flasks of rum meant to fortify them in the initial burst. Hercules then lit the flare, which shot high and burst well clear of the train. He then lifted his assault rifle, the signal to attack. He burst out of the darkness, screaming, ‘Allah! Allah! Allan is great!’

  All Mexican eyes lifted skyward as the flare lit up the night sky and the area around for several hundred metres in every direction. Moments later they were startled when the terrorists’ screams from both sides of the car cut the still, humid air. Instinctively two Mexicans stood and aimed the weapons at the noise. They were cut down, one falling from the rear of the train, the other slumping forward in the carriage.

  Hercules reached the railing at the train’s rear. Two Mexicans fired from the other end of the carriage and missed, but hit two Filipinos close behind him. One was killed; the other slumped back and crawled along the track away from the train. Alberto charged at Hercules with his machete, bringing it down hard on his left hand that gripped the railing. Hercules screamed, but it did not stop him. With his hand dangling by a few tendons, he straddled the railing. Alberto swung his machete again, this time into Hercules’ mighty torso. Hercules fell to the track. A Mexican fired, missed Hercules and hit his pack. It exploded, killing Hercules and three of the Mexicans, who had advanced to help Alberto. He was brought down but not killed by the blast.

  The observation car roof and walls caught fire. Seeing their leader struck down, the Filipino attackers fell back. Alberto was on his side in the observation car, stunned and badly injured. One of the Mexicans rushed to stem the flow of blood from his shoulder and chest as the fire threatened to engulf the entire carriage and spread.

  ‘Wait!’ Alberto yelled to his men, who were firing blindly at the retreating Filipinos. ‘They will … come … again …’

  Three Mexicans dragged him clear of the observation car and into the next carriage just before the fire took hold. Moments later Alberto was dead.

  *

  Emboldened by the sight of the car on fire, the Filipinos rallied for a second assault, but without the fearless Hercules, the effort was not as organised or fulsome. One managed to climb into the burning car, but was shot in the leg. He fell forward into the fire. He was soon burning and suffocating. Two of his compatriots fired at the next car and attempted to climb the steps leading to the observation lounge into which the Mexicans had hastily moved. The invaders were met and sprayed with bullets from AK-15 assault rifles at only a few metres. They were both killed but not before a stray shot from one of them hit a Mexican in the throat and killed him. Two Filipinos rushed to drag one of their squad who had been shot in the abdomen when he was hit just behind Hercules. They were spotted.

  ‘There! Near the track!’ one Mexican called. This led to a continuous volley of shots from them, which killed the three Filipinos. One of the two remaining attackers received a call to his mobile. It was Basha.

  ‘Fidel, are you in?’ he demanded. ‘Have you secured the gold?’

  ‘No,’ the Filipino said, voice trembling, as he and the other surviving Filipinos hurried off in retreat.

  ‘What do you mean, no?’

  ‘We were outnumbered! We are coming back to the bridge …’

  ‘How many down?’

  ‘I think only me and Ejercito are left.’

  Basha cursed and used binoculars to look along the track at the train. He had heard explosions but the locomotive was intact. He was concerned now also with the train’s rear, where weapons’ fire had abated.

  ‘You!’ he yelled to two of the Malaysians. ‘Go to the locomotive and see what has happened! Use your grenades to destroy it!’

  The two terrorists hesitated.

  Basha fired his handgun over their heads, causing them to hurry off down the track.

  *

  The train’s two firemen and several Mexicans struggled to bring the fire in the observation car under control. Huloton, who had stayed clear of the fighting, now took charge again.

  ‘Form a bucket chain!’ he directed six stewards. ‘Use all basins and anything that will carry water! Hurry!’

  *

  In contrast to the torrent of shouting now at the bullion end of the Express, all was still quiet at the front. Cavalier, much to the protests of Jacinta and Dempster, had slipped out of the train and into the jungle near the paddy field. The first fingers of dawn were beginning to creep over the area, but he still needed the glasses to see his way through the undergrowth and alert him to further attacks. He had moved fifty metres clear of the train when two moving human shapes appeared on the railway track. Both carried rifles.

  Cavalier propped and fired, wounding one of them. Dempster and Jacinta could see them in the quarter-light, still some distance from the train and equidistant from the poles blocking the track. Then one moving figure fired down the track at the Express, causing Dempster and Jacinta to duck under the window frame. The figure hustled forward, enough for Cavalier to fix him in his sights. He fired twice, bringing him down. Cavalier then hastened to the track. The wounded Malaysian was lying on his side. He managed to train his AK-47 on the advancing Cavalier, who ducked behind a tree. When the AK-47 stopped spitting bullets, Cavalier moved in front of the tre
e. He propped and fired almost simultaneously with Jacinta and Dempster. The Malaysian terrorist was hit by at least three bullets. He fell on the track.

  Making sure there were no attackers on the move, Cavalier edged along beside the track and then into the open in the paddy field.

  ‘What the hell is he doing?’ Dempster asked.

  ‘I don’t know,’ Jacinta said quietly.

  Cavalier trained his glasses on the ground and could make out what appeared to be the remains of the smaller assailant. A rainbow of colours, dominated by red, almost made viewing impossible. He adjusted the glasses and kept searching. He accidentally touched the scorched tree, which was still burning, and it caused him to jump.

  Cavalier stopped and bent down. He could see a tiny severed hand of a female, judging from the gold rings on two fingers. He felt ill. The motto ‘kill or be killed’ always steeled him to be proactive, but there were limits. Seeing the scattered remains verified what he feared in those few seconds when he hesitated before Jacinta fired at the smaller assailant: the suicide bomber was a child or young person. Cavalier pocketed his glasses and moved briskly back to the locomotive, his heart thumping as he thought of his own daughter so near, but not yet secure from danger.

  ‘What were you looking for?’ Dempster asked.

  ‘Evidence,’ Cavalier said.

  ‘Of what?’

  ‘Just evidence,’ Cavalier said without elaboration. After a pause, he wondered aloud, ‘How many more?’

  He was answered by a prolonged silence at both ends of the train, except for some urgent yelling from those putting out the fire in the observation car. With no one running interference, the fire set off by the bomb explosion at the bullion end was extinguished in twenty minutes, leaving the carriage a burnt-out shell, yet still mobile.

  *

  Basha retreated to the truck convoy with the eight remaining Malaysian terrorists. They were soon joined by the two Filipino survivors from the fiasco at the train’s rear, bringing further bad news about the failed attack.

  ‘Get in the front truck!’ he screamed in a panic. ‘Everyone!’ He realised now that the mission was a complete disaster.

  He feared the reaction from his Syrian masters. Just as he planned to evacuate the area, squads of Malaysian police cars descended on the Gemencheh Bridge from three directions.

  39

  THE DISAPPEARANCE

  Cavalier and Dempster left the rifles they had used in the locomotive and walked back along the corridors the half-kilometre to his cabin. On the way they were confronted by Cowboy coming out of his suite with his mother.

  ‘Is it over?’ Hinkley asked them. ‘We heard shooting! The back of the train was on fire!’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Dempster said, attempting to move on, ‘I was at the front of the train …’

  ‘Excuse me, Madame,’ Cavalier said and brushed past her, moving quicker now to his cabin, ten carriages away. Once inside, he calmed himself.

  *

  Dawn had opened up a clear vista to the bridge, where another battle had broken out. Smoke from the suicide-bomber explosions and the weapon fire filtered across the paddy field and down the track to the train. The odour of cordite lingered with it. Malaysian police vehicles pulled up around the trucks. Police fired into the vehicles and the odd retaliatory rifle shot could be heard. Soon afterwards, the fight ended and the police moved in close on the trucks. Terrorists including Basha filed out of the trucks, hands behind their heads, and into waiting police wagons.

  With the fighting stopped, Huloton, who had been in touch with the Malaysian police a second time, and Makanathan, guarded by Jacinta and three of the train’s security men, wandered along the track. They noted the burnt-out tree trunk created by the explosion of the first suicide bomber. They could see the dismembered pieces of the bombers and their attire scattered over a wide area. The strong stench caused Makanathan to place a green handkerchief over her face. Vultures were in the fields and on the track picking at burnt flesh and cawing in appreciation. Makanathan, following her professional instincts, moved off the track and approached the prone figure of the bomber whose detonator had not gone off.

  ‘No, Doctor!’ Jacinta yelled. ‘Don’t examine him! His pack didn’t explode. It could be on a hair trigger right now.’

  ‘I’ll see that Malaysian police send a disposal squad.’ Makanathan tried to sound in command, but looked rattled as she backed off. ‘Who killed these terrorists?’ she asked.

  ‘I did,’ Jacinta said.

  Minutes later Makanathan had regained control and was reporting to the chief of the Malaysian police operation, a lean, mustachioed man of about forty. She told him that she was in charge of investigating everything that occurred on the train. He was only too happy to agree to this. The police had apprehended at least nine terrorists at the bridge and on the surface now seemed to have completed a successful mission to stop their deadly acts. The chief did not want the responsibility of probing into events on the Express. Any damage to the train or any passengers would only make it appear as if the Malaysian police efforts had been less than efficient. He was keen for the Express to move on to Singapore, if it could.

  He was less impressed when he was informed of the eight dead Filipinos, two Malaysians and four suicide bombers lying dead by the track. But that could be covered up and the media would not be informed. And even if the extra killings were ever made public, he would have the option of claiming his police squad had been responsible for the further fourteen terrorists’ deaths.

  Huloton spoke politely to him. ‘I hope, Monsieur that we can keep the Express side of it away from the media?’

  ‘Of course,’ the chief replied with a pleasant grin.

  Shortly afterwards, forty Gemas townspeople were helping train staff to clear the tracks of poles and sleepers.

  *

  While Makanathan was in touch with the Malaysian police, her husband began sweating profusely in their cabin. He checked his own pulse. It was erratic. He informed a guard, who helped him along the carriages to the infirmary, where a doctor attended to him.

  ‘I believe I’ve had a heart attack,’ the former surgeon said as calmly as if he was announcing he had a cold. The Thai doctor moved fast.

  ‘Lie down,’ he said, pointing to a single bed. He began hooking his new patient up to an electrocardiogram. ‘We’ll see if you have diagnosed yourself correctly …’

  A Thai nurse assisted.

  ‘He has gone grey,’ she commented urgently to the Thai doctor. ‘He is going to pass out.’

  *

  Cavalier heard the train whistle blow just on 7 a.m. Much to his relief the long snake of the Express, with its injured tail, began to limp on its way, slowly building speed for the last few hours ride into Singapore. He looked out the window at the palm plantations that dominated the early morning and imagined that the two green bags carrying Blenkiron’s now deceased identity were now some distance down the river.

  *

  In the frantic defence of the Express, the search for Cortez’s assassin had been forgotten by everyone except Cowboy, who nagged his mother with his own sign language gestures, grunts, banging of his fist and stomping of his foot.

  Makanathan’s priorities changed. She was upset to learn of her husband’s illness and was informed he had suffered a mild heart attack. The train doctor had treated him and his condition had been stabilised. It did not stop her carrying out her duties. Stoically, and assuming her role as coroner, which in effect she was in this event, she had to assess the scene of not one killing on the Express, but six. The five Mexicans killed were laid out next to Cortez in the refrigerator, all with name tags attached to their right big toes.

  ‘I understand why she is known as Doctor Death in Thailand,’ Huloton remarked in French to Cavalier when he knocked to collect his passport for the final ride over the Johor Causeway between Malaysia and Singapore. ‘She has positively revelled in the whole experience, despite her husband’s illness.
I heard her humming a tune, not too loudly of course, when she examined the bodies. It was French. I believe it was “La vie en rose”.’

  ‘A woman of unremarkable taste in clothes and hairstyle,’ Cavalier responded in French, ‘brave and with remarkable taste in ancient face powder and wonderful forensic skills.’

  ‘Nevertheless, she did not find the murderer of that horror of a person, Cortez. Were you aware, Monsieur that you were under suspicion for it?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘’Owever, as you did not leave your cabin during the fatal period, you are in the clear.’

  ‘As I should be, Monsieur,’ Cavalier said with a suitably Gallic shrug of indignation.

  ‘Of course, Sir, I told the good doctor of my certainty of your innocence. Would you believe, your next-door neighbour in the wheelchair was suspected also? Absurd, no?’

  ‘Suspected by whom?’

  ‘That Australian imbecile.’

  ‘Cowboy? He is no imbecile, I can assure you, Monsieur Huloton.’

  ‘Granted, Monsieur. I “mis-spoke”.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘It is a word the Americans use when they make an error.

  I’ve been watching the presidential election on TV.’

  ‘Cowboy’s views should be taken seriously. He has perfect recall, although, it should be said, perhaps not in perfect sequence, or of any consequence. His mind could well be quite brilliant and useful, like satellite junk in space: valuable if it could be captured, yet useless when floating to nowhere.’

  ‘Exactly.’

  Cavalier handed over his passport.

  ‘By the way, have you seen our American friend?’ Huloton asked. ‘I have just knocked on his door and there was no answer.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Have you ever spoken to him?’

  ‘I can honestly say I have not.’

  ‘That is most odd, Monsieur, seeing he has been next door to you.’

  ‘Bit reclusive, isn’t he?’

  ‘Yes, a recluse; that is the best description.’ Huloton gave a tight laugh and pouted. ‘One wonders why he bothered to take the trip in the first place. If you do see him, remind him we need his passport to enter Singapore. It is urgent.’