Magda got up to unload the dishwasher, which had begun to beep that it had finished its cycle. She was glad of the interruption. She looked out of the window; the sky was blue, and she wondered if the sky was blue over Jake. Deming had loved his sons; he had lavished them with gifts. Deming had given her more than she ever thought she would have—love, a family, a home. He had bought her the flat. He had encouraged her to start up the PIC. She owned the lease to the ground floor of that building. It never made any money—it was a charity—but it would be an asset to sell one day and it was a place where she could store things.

Magda nearly dropped the glass she was holding. She gripped the edge of the sink and screamed with joy. Yes! Her precious boxes of mementoes hadn’t been lost in the burglary at all. She had stored them at the PIC.

52

Mann was almost hoping they would put his cover to the test. The passport he gave them was fake. Ting from the Anti-Fraud division had done a great job on it but it didn’t list his occupation as ‘film producer’. Ting’s warped sense of humour had come to the fore and he had put him down as a psychiatrist.

‘What’s the problem, mate, no signal?’

‘Here’s Riley,’ whispered Sue, sighing with relief.

A tall, strong-looking guy was approaching from within the camp. He walked with a slight swagger. Even though he must have seen a few hard winters, he was still young-looking, with a muscular but agile build. He was wearing army shorts, an ancient Billabong T-shirt and thong sandals, the kind made from recycled rubber tyres. He went straight over to the policemen and offered them cigarettes. They all took one and the one who had started the trouble motioned Mann’s way.

‘Him?’ Riley shook his head as he pointed to Mann. The officers looked to Mann to be backing off. The first policeman, the budding actor, was laughing now, nodding enthusiastically and slapping Riley on the back. Riley walked over. The radio was put back inside the hut.

‘All right, mate?’

Riley shook his hand warmly. Mann hadn’t expected Riley to be an Australian. He had a Desperate Dan look about him with a stubbly long lower jaw like that of a hungry bear. He had short, bristling hair that was silvered at the temples and his green eyes had deep laughter lines around them.

He wiped his forehead with his sleeve; his tension was showing, but he kept a smile on his face. ‘Let’s get out of here.’

Sue reached into the back seat and pulled out her bag.

‘I’m off to the clinic.’ She gave Mann a smile and waved goodbye to Riley. ‘See you boys later.’ She walked away from the entrance, up to the right, and further into the camp.

Riley called after her. ‘Sue, any trouble, send word and I’ll come straightaway, okay?’

‘Don’t worry. I’ll catch up with you as soon as I’m done.’

‘Let’s go, mate.’ Riley turned away and led Mann into the main part of the camp. Once out of earshot of the policemen he muttered: ‘They are making a big display about security. Bunch of corrupt wankers. They would let anyone in if you paid them enough, they already did. We can talk and walk; I want you to meet someone.’

‘The overcrowding always this bad?’ asked Mann, looking around as they walked. It was as hectic as a small city and the place had a chaotic air, as if of implosion.

‘It varies. They have to make the most of the daylight hours. With no plumbing and no electricity, things shut down here early every evening.’ Riley stopped to speak to a youth as they walked on down the road. He was obviously getting a mild ticking-off of some kind, but it ended with smiles and handshakes. Riley turned back to Mann. ‘There’s a whole generation of teenagers who only know refugee life. They turn to what bored teenagers all over the world turn to—dope, drink and fighting over girls.’

‘How do they live?’

‘They get a government allowance of two kilos of rice per person a month. The rest they barter and hustle for.’

‘And work? What do they do all day?’

‘They are not allowed to work. Sometimes they sneak out to find work as labourers but the most they can hope to get is a hundred baht a day—it wouldn’t even buy a beer back home. Most don’t risk even looking for work because the penalties are too harsh. Did you see the road blocks on the way up here?’

‘There are a lot of them. The area seems to be well policed.’

A small child ran past their feet chasing a plastic ball.

‘Well policed in one way, but not in another. If you get caught by those guys they want a big payoff. Corruption is always a major factor out here. It takes a small fortune to bribe their way out of here. Otherwise they risk being marched back to the border and handed back to the Burmese—and believe me, there’s not going to be a good ending to that story.’

Mann kicked the ball back to the child who laughed and ran alongside them, dribbling the ball as he went.

‘How are they supposed to become less of a burden if they’re not allowed to work?’

Riley groaned with exasperation. ‘Exactly. Whilst we thank God for the Thai government’s generosity, it’s no life for these people. Many of them were born here. They live like rats in a barrel. They’re only allowed a four-metre square of dirt to build on. It’s not a lot for eight of you and more arrive every day.’

Mann’s young footballer had attracted two more lads keen to show off their footballing prowess. One of them kicked the ball high. Mann headed it back.

‘There is no hope for these people except to give what little they have to the KNLA and hope that they will achieve something with it.’

‘That’s some hope, Riley, isn’t it? They don’t have the money or the resources to win. It might be the longest running civil war in history but it’s one that they are unlikely to win. And now the world will be against them. Did you get to know the five volunteers?’

‘Yes. They were a good bunch of kids—willing, eager. Nothing was too much trouble for them. I liked these kids—the best we’ve had, shame it had to be them. Sometimes we get real whingers—some people I would have paid good money to have kidnapped—but they were young and enthusiastic…a breath of fresh air.’

‘You were responsible for what they did on a day-to-day basis here?’

‘Yes, to a degree. They were sent out by a company called NAP—a load of wankers, cutting corners, charging their volunteers a fortune and then ripping them off. They send them out here and the support stops and we’re supposed to take over for free.’

‘You don’t get paid for that?’

‘Okay, yeah, I get paid…but not much compared to what they’re making and they’re supposed to be a charity. Fuckers!’ He stopped and faced Mann. ‘My biggest regret is that I wasn’t here when the camp was attacked. I get bouts of malaria and I was in the middle of one when it happened. But they shouldn’t have been here either. Normally the volunteers arrive here by nine and leave by mid-afternoon. Nobody but the refugees are allowed to live here at camp. All the NGOs disappear by sundown—they usually have their own transport.’

‘A guy called Louis looked after them in Chiang Mai. Do you know him?’

‘Not well,’ Riley replied and he gave him a sidelong glance. Mann knew he was lying but he didn’t know why. ‘What about your background? Do you have special training in this sort of thing or are you personally involved?’

‘I am officially on vacation. I was asked to help by a friend who knows one of the girls’ mothers.’ Mann had decided that the less people who knew the truth, the better.

Riley looked out towards the mountains. The cloud was lifting; soon they would feel the blistering heat. ‘Christ, I hope they’re okay. I don’t suppose anything in their life has ever prepared them for this.’