ADAM HALL: Quiller Salamander

'Please excuse the interruption.'

Pringle picked up the red telephone and I told Flockhart, 'All right, you'd fly your sniper out there at least one hour before first light, and the pilot would be told to put down somewhere here, two kilometres east of the village. Bracken would guide him in with lights or flares or whatever he's got available.'

Pringle was talking on the telephone behind me. Control had hotline access, then, to King Sihanouk and his army commanders, presumably through the good offices of the British prime minister. I would have expected that.

'The pilot,' I went on, 'would stand by at the landing point while Bracken drove the sniper — by this track here — to within a mile of his attack position. He would cover that mile on foot and by moonlight — '

'Following the shot,' Flockhart said, 'he'll have to run back over that mile, to — '

'No. When Bracken hears Kheng's chopper coming in he can use its sound cover to move his vehicle right up to the sniper's position and turn it round, leaving the engine running. It's deep jungle here, but the track runs through it to the camp.' I shrugged. 'It's not perfect, but I've cut down on the risk factors all I can.'

In a moment, 'This is how you would proceed?'

'Give or take a few changes according to how things were going.'

'Excuse me, sir.' Pringle.

Flockhart turned to him.

'Compliments of the officer commanding, Phnom Penh. The helicopter is lined up and the ETA Pouthisat is forty-five minutes from now.'

'Thank you.' Flockhart looked at his watch. In profile his face showed the stress that he managed to blank out when he looked at people.

'The deadline you've got to work with now,' I told him, 'is 0400 hours. Your aircraft will have to take off at that time, one hour before first light, to give the sniper time to reach his position.'

Flockhart nodded, not looking at me, didn't want me to see the frustration in his eyes, the anger. He'd flown out from London to push this mission personally into the end phase and the objective was attainable, almost in his hands, except for this obstinate bloody executive who valued his principles more than the lives of a million people, I could see his point, could feel for him, the man was a saint, could be a saviour if he could only find the instrument he lacked: a man with a gun and the will to fire it.

'Why not ask the army for a sniper?' I asked him.

Impatiently — 'That's out of the question.'

I just thought he might have taken a chance, that was all. It's perfectly clear in the book of books in London: No person, civilian or military, shall be entrusted with the ultimate sanction in any operation of any kind directed by an officer of this organization unless he is himself an accredited officer of the same organization with a specific assignment in the field.

Flockhart was running a rogue mission but he was still an officer of the Bureau and it must have been tempting for him to break the rules — at this stage with so much on the line. But perhaps he too had his principles.

'And the risks?' I heard him ask.

'The risks are about what you'd expect: the chopper could make a bad night-landing; there could be mechanical trouble with the jeep; the sniper could miss the target first time and have to put more shots in and give his position away. Nothing's going to be certain on this one, or easy.'

'But you deem it viable.'

'Technically.'

He began prowling again. 'And the weapon?'

'You can't use any kind of missile or mortar because the noise and the smoke would expose the sniper and bring immediate return fire. The range for this set-up is close to a hundred yards, so you'll need something like a Finnish-made bolt-action Sako TRG-21 with a — '

'Excuse me,' Flockhart said, and looked at Pringle. 'Can you put this on tape?'

I had to wait for him to set up the Sony but it gave me more time to think. 'All right, something like a Finnish-made bolt-action Sako TRG-21 with a ten-round box magazine. Ideally you'd want a 168-grain hollow-point boat-tail bullet, ideally a Matchking. And try for a Bausch and Lomb 10 x 40 tactical scope with a Mil-dot reticle — he'll be sighting in early-morning light.'

Pringle left the recorder running.

Flockhart asked, 'Can we find a weapon like that?'

'There are two people in the black market here,' Pringle told him, 'who trade in guns. If I gave them this one as a model, maybe they could come close.'

'The moment we finish here.'

'Yes, sir.' He shut down the Sony.

This was at 01:13.

'I need sleep,' I said.

'But of course.' Courteous to the last, though he had nothing but hate for me. 'You should know that in view of the information you brought in tonight I intend to contact the prime minister and suggest he advises King Sihanouk to order the capital evacuated as soon as possible, to prevent at least some loss of life when the missiles are fired. Meanwhile we shall set up your operation and try to find someone to take it on.' He took a step towards me. 'However, if at some time before the deadline is reached you should for any reason change your mind…' He left it.

There was nothing I could say that hadn't been said.

As I turned towards the steps I noticed that the little salamander had gone from the wall.

I slept, on and off, lying uncovered on my bed in the stifling warmth of the night, the bed with the young girl's hair still caught in the split bamboo.

Sometimes shots woke me from the distant streets; sometimes I woke to the thin plaintive song of the Chinese woman, thinking I could still hear it. And then, soon after three o'clock, the sound of footsteps brought me out of my sleep and I heard an urgent knocking at the door of the house and then the voice of my host, demanding to know who was there.

It was Flockhart, and he gave me the news.

The air was still, here at the edge of the jungle.

The helicopter turned through forty degrees, forty-five, then settled on the pad across the lake. The power was shut down and the rotors began slowing.

As I lifted the gun I saw Flockhart for an instant in my mind as I'd seen him earlier, his face drained and his eyes burning as he gave me the news and at last a reason I could call my own.

Then the memory was gone and I sighted through the scope as the door of the helicopter came open and a man stood there in battledress, and as he thrust his arm above his head with his fist clenched a shout went up from the rebel soldiers who were there to welcome their leader.

I centred the target in the cross-hairs — Pour toi, Gabrielle — and coloured the morning with the blood of General Kheng.

The End