by Barry Heard
Wally recalled that this was the first part of the long, detailed plan. He leant back, exhausted and close to tears, and put out his left arm.
But instead of injecting him, Bagus ordered Wally to read the plan again.
Wally shook his head. ‘No need. I could almost repeat it back to you word for word. Ask me.’
His captors roared with laughter.
There was a time when Wally’s characterisation of his memory had been true. As a young adult, he had an excellent memory. Old age had taken its toll, but for him to recite the core of the note, to repeat specific details, was still well within his capabilities.
Once again, he read the dossier. Bagus asked ten questions. Wally answered each question correctly. His captors nodded approval.
He put out his arm. As the needle slid into a vein, Bagus leant forwards and took off Wally’s glasses. He put them in a plastic bag marked ‘Leon’. Then he called in the servant, and barked blunt instructions to take this white man and dress him as instructed. Bagus reminded the servant to place all the man’s clothes in the suitcase labelled ‘Wally Flannagan’.
Forty minutes later, the Audi, driven by a chauffeur, began the lengthy trip to a countryside train station, Maseng, far from South Jakarta. Rio sat in the front passenger seat, while Bagus sat in the rear with their victim. Wally rolled his head from side to side, as if in a trance. The drug was doing its job. To any observer, he would appear old and infirm.
Chapter 10
The men arrived in Maseng with the car radio blasting music and the cabin filled with smoke and laughter. The drive from South Jakarta was annoying but necessary, and there was no reason for Rio and Bagus not to make the most of their little trip.
At the station, Bagus and Rio covered themselves with large work robes, and on Wally tied a scarf, a typical attire locally as smog and dust were a common trigger for asthma and the like. All three donned straw hats. The driver carefully moved Wally onto a bench seat on the station platform before departing politely.
The seat where Wally sat had some cover, which was a blessing as rain started to fall. Wally sat with his head swaying slightly, mumbled nothings, and even giggled occasionally. Rio and Bagus sat quietly, smoking. Under their low-brimmed straw hats, they looked like locals and drew no attention.
When the train arrived, Azka, holding a large umbrella, stepped off. He recognised Bagus, who had tipped up his straw hat to reveal his sunglass-masked face. Bagus took the umbrella from Azka and gestured towards the luggage. Azka picked up Wally’s suitcase and man bag, while Bagus raised Wally to lean on his shoulder, shielding Wally, Rio, and himself with the umbrella as they boarded the carriage. On shutting the door, Azka informed Bagus in English that the two minders were waiting.
Bagus, shouting, pushed his way through the jam-packed carriage, half-dragging Wally, and the others followed, Azka at the rear. When they reached the designated seats, Bagus and Rio took off their loose robes and threw them out of the nearby window. The onlookers stared in amazement. Both men were now revealed to be wearing sharp suits and glossy leather shoes; they combed their untidy hair with vigour. However, a bigger surprise awaited the passengers. While Wally stood gripping an overhead rail, the two minders who had got on earlier tended to him, holding him as he swayed gently and looked about with a foggy stare. They removed his old sarong and checked shirt. Everything changed in a moment — as now the carriage beheld a well-dressed old man who radiated power. He wore a smart white suit and tie, a purple shirt, gold bangles on one wrist, and a huge Rolex on the other.
The local passengers, aghast, crushed backwards, away from the five intimidating men. Most looked down in fear of eye contact and its potential repercussions.
It was time to settle in. Bagus acknowledged the minders. They had done well: one row empty; enough room for seating and filming.
On the back of the seat facing them, but not blocking their view, a skinny young boy of twelve or fourteen, with bare feet, a pair of baggy shorts, and one filthy oversized T-shirt, stood, his arms stretched overhead to keep a box in place. The minders dismissed his presence with a joke, and Bagus and Rio laughed.
One minder now placed Wally’s suitcase on the overhead rack, securing it with a thin cable and padlock, while the other put a leather bag at Wally’s feet and hung the man bag around Wally’s neck.
During all of this, Azka stood nearby — those were his instructions. Bagus gave Azka a thumbs up. Wally’s presence blazed like a huge neon light. Even the folded handkerchief in his suit’s breast pocket sparkled like the most expensive woven silver lace. Azka was glad to return to his post in carriage C, but he couldn’t stop thinking about carriage D — the perfect set for a movie scene …
Bagus, taller than most, stood and shouted. Silence filled the carriage in seconds. Was it Bagus’s voice or the pistol he held above his head?
‘Those nearby, no talking. Anyone seen using or holding a mobile phone or camera — our minders will shoot you. If you see someone, report to me, the reward is high. Questions?’
There were no questions.
The standing boy was captivated. What a story to tell his family at home tonight. Particularly the drug lord. What an unbelievable sight. What a sight to any onlooker — as during all this scary mayhem, the lord just sat, staring at nothing, smirking, and occasionally yawning.
The minders moved to select several passengers to be part of the filming.
Once everything was ready, and the minders stood guard at either end of the carriage, Bagus reiterated his threat: ‘Anyone not adhering to my instructions will be shot and thrown out the nearest window.’
Bagus took out his video camera and began filming. As expected, the passengers pressed well back, further than requested. They were jammed tightly, some holding another’s clothes or arm. Most believed Wally Flannagan was an underground lord, a tycoon, or a high-up criminal. All assumed he was very tired, maybe a little drunk, or himself on drugs. Somehow, the people standing in the packed carriage remained upright and assisted one another as the slow-moving train swayed and jerked regularly.
The only odd or unusual sight in this part of the carriage was that skinny twelve- or fourteen-year-old boy. Perhaps not unusual usually, but made so by the presence of Rio’s crew. Five people were packed on the narrow seat on which he stood, their heads all facing down, as if praying to avoid the attention of those sitting opposite. The boy, on his toes, was reaching up, holding a large cardboard box in place on the overhead rack. The box had a slender rope around it, but, as the train lurched continually, his job was to ensure the rope remained tight, so that the box didn’t slip down, tilt, or tip sideways. The task required balance, long arms, and dexterity. The boy had all three.
Earlier, when the two minders first arrived on the train and asked everyone to clear a small area, the boy hadn’t moved. When asked why, he explained his position. Perhaps because of the weight of the box or the fact of his job, the minders gave him the nod. The boy was relieved and stated as much. It was an income, his livelihood. He was paid to keep an eye on the box put into place originally by three strong local men.
He welcomed each station or stop that allowed another train to pass. The large box sat comfortably when the train remained stationary. That was his cigarette time.
The filming followed a well-rehearsed script. One minder stepped forwards with a person he had picked at random from those crushed in the crowd half looking on. This first ‘volunteer’ had been given several banknotes as props for his role, along with several blunt instructions. The minder now whispered, ‘Keep your back to the camera, head down, and ask for the drugs. You will be offered to taste a white powder. Just nod.’
The volunteer asked the other minder, the ‘dealer’, for a packet of ‘white rice’. Heroin. Sneering, the other dealer looked to the drug lord as if for approval, reached inside the large leather satchel, and produced a small plastic bag.
He unzipped the seal and offered the bag to the first minder, who licked a finger, dipped it into the white powder, and nodded. The passenger tasted the powder, nodded in return, and handed the dealer a wad of notes. If raised eyebrows had made noise, a roar would have risen from the onlookers. The dealer lifted the towel from his lap, moved the machine gun off his thighs, and pushed the money into a zipped pocket on the inside of the leather bag between Wally Flannagan’s legs. Then, as if to seal the deal, the dealer removed a whisky bottle from this same leather bag and poured a nip for his lord. A stunned Wally took the glass in one gulp.
Several deals followed this same pattern.
When they were done, Bagus and Rio reviewed the footage thoroughly. The drug transactions had all been filmed clearly on the first attempt. There were several excellent close-ups of Wally celebrating a payment with his glass held high. In one scene, he patted the dealer on his shoulder. The passengers sat a small distance away, making little or no noise. Perfect. When Wally’s family saw that video, there would be no hesitation in identifying him and what he was doing.
It would be easy for Joko and his crew in the IT office to make the final edit, adding English subtitles at the bottom. Joko’s crew would be handling two similar videos in the next three days. It was easier when the raw footage ticked every box. Bagus had done well; he always did.
The carriage settled as Bagus announced that they had finished their tasks and the passengers could spread out — a little.
Wally drifted in and out of smiling sleep, stirring when the train horn blasted or any loud noise entered the cabin.
One minder removed the ‘bought’ packets of heroin from his pockets while the other removed the rest from Wally’s bag. Then, to the shock of the onlookers, the first minder threw the whole lot out of the open window. White flour had little value.
Bagus checked the money before transferring it to the man bag around Wally’s neck. All could see who cared to look, but no one would dare touch that man or his bag.
Time to relax. Rio and Bagus decided to admire their efforts yet again. Both giggled as they replayed the video. It was very good. Bagus removed the memory card from the camera and handed it to a minder.
As the horn blasted and the train pulled to a stop at Sukabumi, the minders stepped off the carriage, the card containing the recording of the drug deals secure in their care. They shook hands with their friend, ‘the man’, Leon, as they left. Azka dutifully noted the meeting and welcomed Leon and his courier aboard.
Leon joined Bagus and Rio, who both shook his hand. Bagus produced Wally’s glasses in a plastic bag, and Leon placed them in his coat pocket, beside his pistol.
‘The suitcase keys are on a lanyard around his neck,’ said Bagus, ‘and that man bag hanging around his neck holds all the money and his personal stuff. Safest place, I believe. As for the leather bag, same old stuff. Have a snack.’
Leon gave him the thumbs up.
Azka stepped to one side as Bagus and Rio left the carriage and made their way to the front of the train, where they would enjoy a good drink, good food, good service, and wide, comfortable seats.
The train was crawling at its lowest speed but was about to accelerate. Azka stood close to the young courier, who was watching for any instructions from Leon. The courier seemed worried, Azka noticed. Was something wrong?
Nothing was wrong. It was just Leon. He was about to take control.
Brandishing his pistol, Leon screamed at the young boy standing atop the seat opposite Wally. This boy, enjoying his last puff on a cigarette as the train began to gently sway, reacted with shock. Leon told him to get down, leave, and, well, disappear. The lad jumped down, desperate and shaking. He hesitated, and was about to say something when an old man from the crowd grabbed him, clipped his ear, and pushed him into the mass. But the mass, quivering with fear, ejected him. The boy fell; Leon kicked him in the stomach, and he vomited. Leon touched his pistol to the boy’s skull.
‘You have five seconds. One … two …’
The boy dashed into the crowd, who let him pass this time, Leon’s will being crystal clear. A smart move — Leon never tolerated dissent, particularly from youngsters.
Azka shook his head in amazement and disgust at the appalling incident, and wished, somehow, he could have helped. But his instructions were absolute: do nothing; remain until Leon dismisses you. Following several more frenetic yells and threats to those in the carriage, Leon gave Azka that dismissal. He left, his stomach churning with pity and revulsion.
Leon replaced his pistol in its holster, and the carriage settled. Silence pervaded unnaturally. Leon stood out as a no-nonsense bully. He sat, lit a cigarette, and, after several puffs, pointed at the floor, indicating for the courier, his young cousin, to sit. The spot was thankfully far from the spatter of the skinny boy’s vomit. Leon eyed Wally, who was in a light sleep, his lips fluttering.
Satisfied all was to his liking, Leon checked his written schedule. As he read, the train sped up. After a five-minute wait, and after ensuring Wally had settled into slumber — no more mumbling — Leon sent his courier to complete the next task: find a man.
The courier got up, reached for the folded cardboard sign in the large leather bag, and walked into the crowd. Calling, tapping the sign, he asked any unsuspecting person close by — could they speak good, clear English? He held the sign high, calling out, requesting assistance, and continually pointing to the cardboard sign written in large English words.
Perhaps unsurprisingly, it wasn’t until he entered the next carriage that he found a well-dressed and willing young man, quite happy to help. His name was Diyab. Briefly, the courier explained a dire situation requiring someone to assist this foreign man, an Australian, who could only speak English. Little did Diyab realise what was about to happen.
Within seconds of greeting Diyab, Leon was crudely cajoling this innocent young man by means of a half-hidden pistol to listen, repeat what he had just said, obey his every word, and be very careful, or else …
Diyab’s eyes were fixed on the drug lord, whose outfit heralded danger. Diyab hesitated, and Leon leant forwards, tapping his pistol on Diyab’s chest and demanding he kneel. Diyab was terrified, but Leon insisted that his part in the plan was simple but important. There must be no misunderstanding. The petrified Diyab nodded in submission. There was nowhere and no way to run.
To Leon’s questions, he answered, ‘My name is Diyab, and, yes, I speak English.’
‘Do you have a wallet, ID, or personal information on you?’
Diyab nodded again, and produced his wallet and mobile phone from a bag zipped around his waist.
Leon flicked through the wallet, pulled out several cards, and turned on the phone, demanding a passcode. Within minutes, he had written down the necessaries: Diyab’s full name, address, email, and phone number, along with other minor details.
He placed the phone on the floor and stomped his heel hard on the device. Smirking, he retrieved the shattered mobile and put all Diyab’s possessions into a small plastic bag that the courier had retrieved from the leather satchel between Wally’s feet. Leon held up the plastic bag, wiggled it softly, and put it back into the leather satchel.
‘For the moment, you are in an extremely dangerous position. It doesn’t matter that you speak English, we simply didn’t want a moron. That was a con to get you here, and yet the task I have already explained and am about to ask you to do is simple. The peril is if you mess it up. So, once again, listen very carefully. You, Diyab, will take this note, then, accompanied by my courier, move away and find the conductor in the next carriage. His name is Azka, it is written on the badge on his work shirt, along with the station name Bandung. What the note says is not important. Is that all clear so far?’
Diyab nodded, close to tears. He sat with his hands jammed between his knees.
Leon moved closer to Diyab, and his voice went
quiet, cold.
‘I repeat, the boy behind you right now, my courier, will follow and ensure the note is handed over to the conductor. He, the courier, will then move on, somewhere else. The conductor, he will give you a card. You will return here, hand over the card, and I will then return all your possessions, and you are free to go when we reach Bandung. Listen very carefully, this is what will happen if you refuse to do what I ask. I will have no option other than to send a message to another gunman watching us. His crew will follow you off the train. There, they will beat you to within an inch of your life. Further, they will then go to your address and have a fun time smashing furniture and the like. If you try to disappear while taking the note to the conductor, my men will visit your house or lodging. They enjoy killing people — is that clear?’
Diyab, petrified, simply bowed. He had heard every word, understood completely, and would not hesitate to comply. He stood, held out his hand to receive the note, and turned. The courier boy stepped in front of him, and they started away. The courier pushed his way to where he hoped he would find the conductor. Every third-class carriage held at least twice the recommended number of passengers. Most were standing, a mixture of workers, beggars, and locals visiting family. Some passengers were taking goods to market. Others sat on cane baskets of vegetables, cages of chooks, handwoven garments, carpets, and boxes of trinkets. The floor was almost covered, the overhead racks full to overflowing. (Outside, even more people sat on the dirty black linoleum-like material of the rooftop. All faced in the direction the train moved, in case they had to duck under a tunnel, low bridge, or powerline. They clutched at vents and ridge lines when the train moved fast, and dangled their feet over the edge when it moved slowly.)
Diyab and the courier were forcing their way through the next carriage when the train lurched and jerked violently. Loud shouts of pain and panic came from everywhere. Diyab, who had crashed heavily into a wall, quickly jumped up and offered numerous apologies. The courier got up, flicking his hand; he had cut himself on a garden shovel. It was only a small cut, but it was bleeding heavily. Diyab handed him a handkerchief. Passengers were rubbing sore shoulders, moaning, repacking belongings, and helping others. (Screams from outside signalled that several had fallen.) The train, now steady, continued on.