ADAM HALL - Quiller Salamander

'Not much. The track runs through valleys most of the time.'

Flockhart got out of his chair, I thought a little wearily. He wouldn't have slept much on the flight from London through Kuwait; this burning energy of his would have kept him restless. He began pacing, hands dug into his pockets, and on the wall the salamander trickled towards the grille.

'Do you think we should put a vehicle there, a mile or so from the camp, concealed in the jungle and manned round the clock?'

He wasn't looking at either of us so I waited for Pringle, who gestured with a hand, giving the question to me.

'On principle,' I said, 'yes.' Flockhart was going by the book: having located the opposition it's good practice to set up surveillance.

Control looked at Pringle: 'Bracket is what, a sleeper or an AIP?'

'Bracken, sir. Actually he's stand-by support.'

Flockhart looked down at him. 'Better still. Is he married?'

I liked him for that. Doing a peep single-handed on an encampment of twelve thousand armed men was a short-fuse assignment.

'No, sir.'

'He's experienced?'

'He led the support group for Cobra in Pakistan.'

'Indeed. You did well to have him available.'

'Thank you, sir.' Liked being stroked. But in fact he'd done well, yes, because he'd not only had to bring the man in but he'd had to keep him from getting assigned to the next official mission to hit the signals room.

'I suggest we send Bracken out there,' Flockhart told him, as soon as we're finished here. You have a radio available?'

'Yes, sir. We can receive on this one.'

'Give it to him.' To me, with a swing of his head — 'How are you off for sleep?'

Either it showed or he was simply assessing my resources, had something lined up for me.

'I need a few hours.'

'Get them.' He took another turn and came back and stood with his hands on the back of a chair. 'Then as soon as you can, I want you to locate General Kheng. There can be no hope of a decision from London, obviously, until we know for certain where he is; an air strike at his forces alone could well fail if he remains at large. The moment you have any information I can contact the prime minister direct on his hotline from here. Will you need any kind of back-up?'

'No.'

'Have you any questions?'

I looked at Pringle. 'Did you mount a peep on Slavsky?'

'Yes, with a contact in support.'

'I think that's it,' I told Flockhart.

'Very well.' He hesitated, looking at neither of us as he went on quietly, 'We should keep it in mind that if in fact General Kheng intends to launch a missile attack on the capital on the nineteenth, we have only until midnight to stop him.'

Kim woke me just before noon.

He was the man Pringle used as a contact, knew where to find me, at the house of the one-legged girl. He told me that Slavsky, the Russian, had gone to the airfield.

I drove there in the Mine Action van I'd used before: they were perfect camouflage, you saw them everywhere looking for those bloody toys.

The peep was waiting for me inside the gate to the freight area, short, round-shouldered, pointed face, bush jacket, looked like a pleasant rat, the way Disney would draw one.

'Symes,' he said. Pringle had flown him in from Bangkok, said he was first class.

We hadn't made contact before so we exchanged code introductions and he got it wrong the first time and I had to insist before I was sure of security, I wasn't worried, it sometimes happens, you just have to check it out. Then I got him aboard the van.

'Did you signal the DIF?' I asked him.

'Yes, from the airline office.' Trans-Kampuchean Air Services.

'Where's Slavsky now?'

'Over there. The three jeeps and the staff car. He's in the car.'

A motorcade, looked important. Breakthrough?

We were standing off the target by a hundred yards so I got my 10 x 50s and focused, still couldn't see anything more of Slavsky but a pale blurred face behind the window.

'Where's your vehicle?' I asked Symes.

'By the gate.'

Battered jeep, and I noted the number plate. 'Stand off somewhere on the perimeter road,' I told him, 'and take up station when we move. If I lose the staff car, stay with it and contact the DIF when you can, give him the score. I'll pick it up from him as soon as I can find a phone.'

'Roger.' He slipped out of the van, moved at a loping walk to the nearest cover, the chain-link fence, shoulders hunched as you often see in surveillance people, the unconscious physical expression of their conscious need to hide.

I began watching the sky.

The noon heat was down, spreading a mirage across the airfield and leaving the line of sugar palms beyond the perimeter track standing in water.

We should keep it in mind that if in fact General Kheng intends to launch a missile attack on the capital on the nineteenth, we have only until midnight to stop him.

Did he think we didn't know that, for God's sake?

Chopper.

Did he think we couldn't count, read a calendar, know how to synchronize watches, manage our buttons, see the bloody obvious when it was staring us in the face?

Chopper, coming in low from the south, a Kamov KA-26, twin rotors, the same type, possibly the same machine, that had brought Colonel Choen here from Phnom Penh.

This was at noon plus twenty-six and I began noting the time because Salamander was obviously shifting into a new phase and it could be important for Pringle to know how things were developing, to know the time of the arrival and departure of vehicles and their travel patterns simply as a matter of keeping a moving target in the sights. This didn't mean he might not have to sit at his base for hours on end without a shred of information coming in from the field as the day drew out: it would depend on how and when we could find a telephone without breaking cover.

The Kamov was drifting in across the sugar palms towards the freight area, turning a few degrees before it touched down and blew the mirage beyond it into swirling mists.

I fine-tuned the focus again.

Two men got out of the staff car: Slavsky and a Cambodian in battledress with a Western-style army beret, officer rank. Five, six men climbed down from the helicopter, one of them leading the others across the tarmac. Salutes were exchanged, and as Slavsky came forward to shake hands I recognized the leader of the visiting group. I hadn't seen him before but he was the Khmer Rouge officer in the photographs I'd seen at the villa in Phnom Penh, standing close to Pol Pot in every shot, a younger man in jungle battledress with epaulettes and a peaked cap, one picture with his name below it: General Kheng.

16:12.

I'd started thinking by the twenty-four hour clock at this stage because signals were being exchanged and Pringle would be keeping an official record as they came in: I'd phoned him from an American drugstore opposite the Hotel du Lac soon after Slavsky and General Kheng had arrived there from the airfield.

Thirty minutes later they'd come out of the hotel together, shaking hands before Slavsky had got into his rental Chevrolet and turned south, possibly back to the airfield: I wasn't curious. Kheng was now the target and he'd climbed into the staff car, moving off with one of the camouflaged jeeps ahead of him and one behind.

He was still inside the white two-storey building next to the temple where I'd kept watch before, waiting for Colonel Choen. The general had been there for more than three hours now. There was no sign above the bullet-scarred doors but the building was obviously the local headquarters of the Khmer Rouge: since I'd been here I'd seen half a dozen jeeps arriving and leaving again, some carrying an officer with an escort, some with only a driver.