The Scottish Banker of Surabaya - By Ian Hamilton Page 0,120
doesn’t arrive, or if it arrives carrying a shipment of Italian silk scarves, or if it arrives and we end up in a gun battle with ten Italians . . . Do you understand?”
“You don’t want it all on you.”
“I don’t want any of it on me, or the Canadian government.”
“The plane will be there as described.”
“If you’re that convinced, why won’t your client agree to be there? He can confirm the amount of money it’s carrying. He can positively identify the Italians. And he has absolutely nothing to fear, given that an elite squad of Indonesian soldiers will be protecting him.”
“I’ll try to reach him.”
“Yes, please do that.”
“But I can’t promise —”
“Ms. Kwong, I want the man there.”
“I will do what I can.”
“No, you are not hearing me correctly. I want him there.”
“And I will do what I can,” Ava said.
“Okay, and while you’re doing that, I’m going to be talking to my friend the captain. Assuming your client agrees to make an appearance, his squad will fly into Surabaya tomorrow on a military plane.”
“And if I can’t reach my client?”
“Then no one will be going anywhere. We’ll wait until you can.”
“I think it’s important to move quickly.”
“That isn’t my problem.”
This man is not going to bend, Ava thought. “Mr. Poirier, given the problematic circumstances, would you be prepared to accept a substitute?”
“Who?”
“Me.”
“Are you serious?”
“Entirely. I mean, if the sole purpose of his being there is to have someone designated accountable if things get fucked up, then what difference does it make if it’s him or me? In fact, if you think about it, it’s more logical to have me there. I’m the one who’s been in contact with the Mounties and who’s passed along all the information they and you have.”
“I’m almost glad to hear you say that.”
“Why?”
“It gives me more faith that what you’ve been telling us may indeed be true.”
“I didn’t realize you doubted me.”
“You aren’t naive enough to think that I didn’t.”
“True . . . Now, how about my offer?”
“Are you guaranteeing I will see either you or your client tomorrow in Surabaya?”
“I am.”
“I have a strong feeling, Ms. Kwong, that it’s going to be you.”
“That won’t be such a bad thing,” she said.
( 45 )
It wasn’t until she was in line at passport control at HKIA that she felt a stab of doubt about her Hong Kong–issued Jennie Kwong passport. She had renewed it without any bother two years before but hadn’t used it in more than a year, and she had never used it to enter or leave Hong Kong. This time she had no choice. Ryan Poirier had her flight schedule, and she wasn’t taking any chances that he would check the manifest and not find Jennie Kwong on it.
There were twenty people ahead of her but the line moved quickly, the customs officer barely glancing up as he scanned passport bar codes and stamped documents. When it was her turn, he looked at the passport photo and then stared at her. She felt discomfort but held his gaze. Five minutes later she had cleared security and was walking to the Cathay Pacific business-class lounge. As she neared it, her phone rang and she saw Uncle’s number. She let it ring out. He was worrying, and she had enough worries of her own.
She had called Uncle late the night before to tell him the Canadians had bought into their deal and that the Indonesian government was willing to take the lead role. Their conversation went well enough until she told him she had decided to fly to Surabaya the next morning. She did not mention Ryan Poirier’s demand.
“I do not think you should go,” he said instantly.
“We have money coming in on that plane. Someone from our end needs to make sure it’s counted properly and signed for. A few days from now, when the Canadians have their information, I don’t want to get into arguments about how much money actually arrived and how much we’re to receive.”
“I would rather trust them than have you go back there.”
“Uncle, I also feel I have an obligation. I’ve initiated this entire series of events. The Canadian government on two levels has responded in a supportive and responsible way. I feel that the least I can do is be there.”
“And if the plane does not arrive?”
“Or if it arrives and is full of Italian silk scarves . . . ? Well, I’ll look stupid.”
“Or worse.”
“Uncle, I wouldn’t feel right doing this any other way.”