‘I’ve got my Thai contacts on the job too. But remember, within a couple of years as soon as you pass through a major Thai passport control, they’ll have your photo.’

‘I’ll use another way out of Thailand.’

‘Which is?’

‘There are border crossings into Burma where I can move undetected.’

2 WOMBAT ASSIGNMENT

2

WOMBAT ASSIGNMENT

‘How’s Pon going?’ Wombat asked Cavalier as the two men strolled Melbourne’s St Kilda beach. The sun was coming up on a warm late March day. Cargo ships could be seen on Port Phillip Bay’s horizon, trailing into port. Two female joggers were chatting as they moved along the beach path. A sole bike rider paced along. A short, muscular man emerged from the water.

‘Incredible. She’s recovered. After what she went through for so long in captivity to that Mexican cartel, and now this accident, she has to take it easy, but she’s shown no serious after effects. Pin is looking after her.’

‘How’s the relationship with your ex-wife? It’s been, what, eight years since you split?’

‘We rarely converse anymore,’ Cavalier said with a rueful look. ‘As you know, I’m being cautious about spending much time in Thailand, at least until I’m clear of the Bangkok Express episode.’

‘You reconnected with her after Pon’s accident, didn’t you?’

‘Pin was grateful that I saved Pon from the Mexicans, I’ll admit. But she was suspicious when I avoided telling her how I managed to extricate Pon from the train.’

‘Does she know?’

‘She’s very smart. She knows that my journalism work explains a certain amount of my travels but she’s suspicious of my sudden absences. She’s caught me cleaning my weapons in the past. That shook her. I lied, saying I sometimes went shooting abroad. Said I didn’t wish to alarm her or the kids. She didn’t buy it.’

‘You never considered getting back with her?’

‘No, Wombat, no. Why the interest in my long-ago marriage?’

Wombat smiled enigmatically.

‘I may have an assignment for you in which it would be better if you had a partner, as a cover. But I’m not ready to discuss it just yet.’

Two more bike riders flashed by. Walkers, mainly pairs of women, were doing their morning constitutional. Melbourne was wide awake with the build-up of traffic on the nearby Beach Road. Helicopters roared overhead.

‘Tell me about Al Haut.’

‘You might recall him coming to national prominence a few years ago when he organised small Tasmanian tin miners to lobby against restrictive quotas, when they were being gobbled up by big tin miners. MRT—Mineral Resources Tasmania—tried to shut him down, but the department’s inspector examined Haut’s tin products, including a pewter mug, and he then pulled out a craft licence. He had the right to make his own products, from digging it up to working with it on his kiln.’