Chapter 76: Australian Secret Intelligence Service

TL: LittlePeach

The moment I wrapped everything up, brrring.

"Huh."

One of the two bastards' phones started ringing.

The Western man lifted the phone slightly to show me.

"Looks like it's the driver waiting outside."

"We'll have to take him down too. To get out of here, I think we'll need to commandeer these guys' van."

"Agreed. There won't be any taxis running around here anyway."

"Don't answer it. I'll be right back, so wait here."

"Need cover?"

"I'm good."

After we quickly split up the roles, I opened the door and stepped straight outside.

I checked the room number of the cell I'd just come out of.

[107]

Not one of the people moving up and down the hallway paid any attention to my unfamiliar face.

The kidnappers had let out a few screams a little while ago, sure, but that was somebody else's problem, and around here it was an everyday occurrence.

'Let's see...'

Ambling across the hallway, I took in the rough layout of the crime complex.

Down both sides of the long hallway, like an apartment-office block, rows of tightly shut iron doors stood in a line, and now and then noisy shouts or chatter leaked through the gaps.

Stairs were set at intervals along the hallway, giving a clear view of the floors above.

'Since I've come this far, might as well gather a bit more intel.'

Walking all the way up the stairs, I found the building was three stories tall.

As I sauntered across the hallway, I made eye contact with a few gang members planted at the corners on lookout.

Flinching at a moment like this is something only amateurs do.

'What. You got a problem.'

When I glared right back as if to say what are you looking at, they quietly lowered their eyes and pretended not to notice.

It was proof that they didn't really know one another, who I was, or what organizations were running inside this building.

'Just how many more places like this are there in Cambodia?'

I had no intention of picking this building apart any further right now.

After a rough sweep from the third floor down to the first, I slipped out of the building.

Right in front of the long stretch of parking lot, the very car I was looking for sat there in plain sight.

"Ah, goddammit. Why the hell won't he pick up? It's not like he's having any fun in there. Hkkk, ptooey."

I spotted a Korean-Chinese man perched half-out of the wide-open driver's seat, grumbling to himself.

As I closed the distance in a few strides, the man shot me a sidelong, crooked look.

"The hell are you...."

Thwack.

"Gurk."

I gave his jaw a light turn too.

After shoving the body sprawled across the driver's seat roughly into the back of the van, I bound his arms and legs with a cable tie rolling around in the corner.

A search of his belongings turned up nothing much different from the others.

I picked up the phone the man had dropped and opened the map app first.

'Not that far.'

An outlying area a fair distance from downtown Sihanoukville.

After checking the map, I headed straight back into the building.

On my way through the hallway, yet another gang member from somewhere fixed me with a brazen stare.

With infiltration, the more brazen the approach, the better it worked.

"Hkkk, ptooey."

"...."

When I hocked a gob of phlegm right at his feet, he quietly dropped his eyes and looked away.

Clang.

When I opened the iron door and stepped into the room, the Western man, eyes wide, went slack with relief the instant he saw me.

"You didn't come back, so I thought maybe you'd been done in."

"I was just taking a look around, inside and out."

"Bold of you."

"I've secured the van, so let's get out right now."

"Good. We take one each and head out."

We each hoisted an unconscious kidnapper over our shoulders.

When I looked back, the Asian man was still frozen, pale as a corpse.

"Don't be scared. Follow behind us, as confidently as you can."

"Y-yes, sir!"

As we crossed the hallway, a few gazes naturally trailed after us.

Hauling a bound person out of the building was an everyday occurrence inside these walls, so nobody found the sight of us the least bit odd.

I opened the back door of the parked van and shoved them roughly inside.

"Care to drive?"

"Sure. Downtown, right?"

"Yes."

A rhythm that clicked into place with just a few words, plus that ease unique to a veteran.

I was rather taking a liking to this Western man.

Maybe he felt the same way, because he kept shooting me odd little glances too.

"Where should we drop you off?"

"S-sorry?"

When I turned around from the passenger seat, the Asian man was still stiff with fear.

Wedged in and hunched among the kidnappers sprawled like corpses, he could hardly help it.

"Uh, well... all my stuff is at the Avangart Resort downtown."

"We'll take you there. It'd be best if you kept what happened today to yourself as much as possible."

"Is it, is it really okay for this to end so simply?"

"Of course."

The Asian man looked like he simply couldn't believe how things were unfolding.

Only that morning he'd been a kidnapping victim, trembling and sobbing, and now here he was, on his way home having kidnapped the kidnappers instead.

"Honestly, just got lucky. Good thing they were amateurs."

"A-and if you hadn't been lucky?"

"If it'd been bad, well..."

I gave a light shrug.

"I'd have walked out a corpse, I suppose?"

"...."

In many ways, it was a lucky day for everyone.

Wriggle.

"Eek! I-it moved!"

"It's fine. They're tied up tight, so wriggling is all they can do."

"Ah, aah..."

Well, for somebody, it was bound to be a hideously unlucky day, of course.

Anyway.

First, we pulled up in no time in front of the Avangart Resort downtown and stopped the car.

"Thank you both so much! Really... you saved my life!"

"Just think of today as a bad dream and forget it as fast as you can."

"Yes, yes!"

The man bolted into the resort like a shot, without a single glance back.

He'd probably catch the first bus tomorrow morning, or whatever, and get out of Sihanoukville.

"Mmph! Mmmph!"

"Hnngh! Hnngh!"

"Ngh, nnngh..."

With the civilian safely off, only five of us were left in the van.

Three amateur kidnappers, awake from their brief nap and writhing furiously, and two veteran secret agents.

Stepping on the gas again as he drove, the Western man glanced over at me.

"Let's start with names, shall we? Mine's Frank."

"I'm Sunny Kick."

Hearing my name, Frank made a curious face.

A puzzling reaction, as far as I was concerned.

"Sunny Kick? That's a name I've heard somewhere before..."

"Is it?"

Sunny Kick wasn't exactly a common name.

It was a name I'd only used back when I was knocking around the PMC Cherny Group, so anyone who recognized it was, in one way or another, connected to my old colleagues.

Still, blurting out 'You wouldn't happen to know the Cherny Group?' on the spot felt like making too big a deal of it, so I kept my mouth shut and stayed quiet.

Nothing came to him in the end, apparently, and after groping through his memory for a moment, Frank gave a light shrug.

"Can't place it. It'll come to me eventually."

He pulled the car over at a suitably out-of-the-way spot first.

Draping an arm over the wheel, he glanced back at me.

"So, what are you planning to do now?"

"Do you have a plan of your own?"

"I do. I plan to take these guys to our safe house and gather intel. If you want, you're welcome to come along and join in."

Since going undercover into the Mango Farm was off the table now, it was an offer to at least share whatever intel we could wring out of them.

I shook my head, pretending to mull it over for a moment.

"Why don't you just take the whole lot? Treat it like I was never even here."

"...Why? These guys alone would make for a pretty tidy result. Any reason to just hand them over to me?"

"The thing is, I'm actually on vacation right now."

"Ah."

Why go out of my way to volunteer for a headache?

Frank wore a blank look for a beat, but then, ever the Westerner, he nodded as if to say he'd respect my vacation.

"I understand. Work-life balance matters, and vacation's a precious thing."

With that, Frank drew a notebook from his jacket, scribbled something down, and handed it to me.

It was a local phone number.

"Let me introduce myself properly, one more time. I'm Frank, Narcotics Team 3 leader for the Australian Secret Intelligence Service."

"Oh."

The Australian Secret Intelligence Service.

At least in the neighboring Southeast Asia region, it was a fairly high-caliber intelligence agency, commanding an information network vast enough to surpass even the Americans'.

That was because it boasted a solid pedigree, having imported Britain's espionage system wholesale during the Cold War and built up its own capabilities on that foundation.

Why else would the United States, Britain, Canada, Australia, and New Zealand, all five, be bundled together under the name Five Eyes?

"Is the Mango Farm you're investigating right now maybe a place that supplies product to Australia?"

"That's right. The place was originally a farm set up by Malaysian overseas Chinese, but the Italian Mafia moved in as partners and turned it into their Southeast Asia branch. They're running drugs through that farm into Australia."

"Aha."

Australia might wear the public image of pristine natural scenery, but its standing as the world's number-one country for drug consumption was common knowledge.

I'd heard bits and pieces about how the Australian Secret Intelligence Service worked hard behind the scenes all over the world to scrub away that stigma.

"Sounds like a lot of hard work."

"Not at all."

"As it happens, our side's right in the middle of dealing with a drug organization too, so I might have reason to get in touch before long."

"Oh? Mind if I ask which organization you were tracking?"

"I did stir up a place called the Irobuchi-kai recently."

"Hmm. The Irobuchi-kai. I know them well."

"You do?"

"If you ever need information on them, feel free to call my number anytime."

"Thanks. Since we're at it, take my number too."

"Sure."

It wasn't uncommon for foreign intelligence agencies to seek cooperation from other countries' services this way.

The calculus was that trading and cooperating actually paid off more than keeping one's identity tightly under wraps.

After saving each other's numbers, we shook hands.

"Take care, Frank."

"Yeah. See you around."

The moment I stepped out, the van full of kidnappers vanished into the darkness of Sihanoukville.

I'd wondered if I'd gotten tangled up in something pointless on my vacation, but in the end I'd come away with a like-minded contact.

'I'd better give the dispatch squad agents a heads-up before they waste any more effort out here.'

On top of that, I'd learned that Sihanoukville's Mango Farm was an outfit whose client was Australia, not South Korea.

As far as vacation mishaps went, this was a pretty decent haul.

*****

The rowdy night passed, and the next morning dawned.

The moment I woke up, brrring.

"Oh."

I checked my phone, and it was Owl No. 11's number.

As it happened, I had intel about the Mango Farm to pass along to him, so it was welcome timing indeed.

"Yes, hello?"

–Good morning, sir. Have you been getting some good rest?

"Yes. Thanks to you. You've been well?"

–I wouldn't quite go so far as to say well, but...

But Owl No. 11's tone on the other end of the line was decidedly odd.

I cracked open a bottle of water from the fridge and waited for his answer.

–It's nothing much, only there's a matter I need to report separately.

"What is it?"

–Uh... Agent Sparrow No. 10 is currently out of contact.

"Out of contact?"

About to flop down onto the bed, I stopped and pushed myself upright instead.

Out of contact, which was to say, a crisis situation.

–Let me start by briefly running you through how things stand. This is going to sound like a real stretch, but last night Sparrow was going on with some silly bragging about how he'd gotten picked up by some blonde bombshell.

"...."

A blonde bombshell, getting picked up?

A powerful sense of déjà vu flashed through my mind.

–At the time I just let it slide, but on the off chance, I tried calling this morning, and he's not answering at all.

"Is there no way to confirm his last known location?"

–I went by the guesthouse room he's staying in and asked, and they said he hasn't come back to his room since yesterday.

By the looks of it, Owl No. 11 and I had reached the same conclusion at the very same moment.

"By the looks of it, he's gone in undercover."

–By the looks of it, he's been kidnapped.

"...What?"

–What?

....

Guess we weren't on the same page after all.