by Barry Heard
The phone went quiet. Rio urged a reply, but Joko’s comments struck like a whip.
‘I will call you back, shortly. What a complete mess.’
Half an hour later, Rio was back in his office. No sooner had he arrived than his phone rang. It was Joko, who, in fact, was now just doors away.
‘I have talked with Hanif. We have plans, already in train. First implemented via computer, and then, if needed, phone calls. We will hack every hospital, hotel, motel, and police station in the area where we believe Mr Flannagan disembarked. Further, we will escalate surveillance on his computer, phone, and contacts. I am almost sure we will have a hit. Most importantly, leave us alone, unless you have some pertinent information. This is sensitive and demanding work.’
‘What about the rest of the team?’
‘Rio, this is your team, your scheme, your responsibility, and your call. As I just said, Hanif and I, we have a massive task ahead of us.’
With that, Joko hung up.
Rio had already made his first big decision. While on the train, without consulting his team, he put in place a safeguard, in case Wally handed himself over to the police or was reported to them for some reason. Rio believed it was a good idea to go public, but with the vaguest of information. An enterprising police officer would be happy to help in exchange for consideration, Rio well knew.
He tapped out the story quickly, a bullet-point report of an incident involving an Australian man, in his sixties or seventies, travelling by train in Java. The Australian seen dealing drugs, receiving vast sums of money. A confrontation (why not?) resulting in a badly injured passenger. The Australian brandishing a pistol. The story claimed that this Australian had earlier eluded authorities by pretending to be a tourist on a special excursion with a group about to visit an exotic plant. Rio gave no precise details or names — which train, going where? There was only an Australian man dealing drugs. The important question: where was he now?
It took Rio half an hour to produce and release this story to his contacts in the Indonesian media. From there, it went to the Australian press.
The eastern-Australian media, being in a time zone several hours ahead, had the story of the drug lord in all the daily papers for the next morning, in the world-news section — not highlighted or sensationalised but ominous in its implications. Nevertheless, the lack of detail offered a lack of purchase. During the day, the story received little interest. No television or radio reporters picked it up. Like so many others, the story was an overnight blip that attracted no attention and hence was quickly forgotten.
Yet it did spark some attention. When one of Wally’s mates read the article, it rang alarm bells. He quickly contacted other mates. They located the various versions in their various newspapers. Exotic flower? Too much of a coincidence, they thought. What the hell was going on? Basil Hester, Wally’s closest mate, took over. He tried to ring Wally — no luck. Finally, it was decided that Basil would try to ask Wally for information on Facebook, their main channel of communication. It would be quicker and surer than email. They all posted or checked their private group daily.
Then, like Wally, perhaps visited by the same ghost, Basil hesitated. Something isn’t right. We have all been here before. What if the media really were talking about Wally Flannagan? No one had heard from Wally for several days, which was a first since he’d been dragged onto the social network. Thinking hard, Basil realised they would need to be careful — but he and Wally could communicate in a way few people would understand.
Bingo, a win — Joko had a hit. Not through Hanif’s computer programs, but through Joko’s own simple scheme, inspired by telemarketing. A small group had been paid to make a series of planned calls. Every hotel along the line from Sukabumi to Bandung would receive a call, offering details of Wally Flannagan, his attire, and a return phone number — for a spare phone that lay within reach of Joko. But the most important part of each call was the offer of a reward for any useful information provided.
All Joko’s men jumped when that spare phone rang. But each returned call turned out to be a false positive.
Then that answer, the one they hoped for. A hotel in Cianjur. The caller confirmed they had encountered the ‘White Suit’, had his name — Mr Wally Flannagan. He had checked in to their hotel for several nights, and hadn’t left his room. He’d looked exhausted and probably needed a big sleep.
‘Best we leave our guests to themselves,’ the caller said.
‘That white suit scares everyone,’ said Joko.
Silence. Then, the staff member replied, ‘Very scary, I have never been so frightened.’
Then all the details were given: hotel name, address, room, contact details. Joko thanked the staff member and confirmed he would personally receive a handsome reward, handed over shortly by a visitor, ‘a friend of Mr Flannagan’.
Joko giggled with excitement as he hung up. The others, except Hanif, clapped.
Joko passed the information to Rio. Elated by the news, Rio set a new plan in motion. Within fifteen minutes, a local minder they often hired was on his way to the hotel.
In less than twenty minutes, the minder arrived at the hotel. After initial enquiries, he soon found himself escorted to Wally’s room by the staff member who had called. The minder stood back as the man knocked on Wally’s door. No answer.
‘Asleep maybe, sir?’
‘Knock again. Louder.’
Nothing.
‘Call his name,’ ordered the minder. ‘Louder.’
‘Maybe come back later?’
‘Open the door.’
‘Sorry, but I need permission to open the door. Mr Flannagan must be sleeping.’
The minder watched passively as the staffer scurried off to the front desk and his manager, then he turned and kicked the door in.
By the time the manager arrived, wincing at the damage as he came in, the minder was angry and had produced a gun.
‘Where is he?’
The manager had no answer. He simply stood as the gunman ripped at curtains and toppled furniture. Upon confirming that the room was empty, the minder suggested they all return to reception. There, he asked for any more details the staff could provide.
Mr Wally Flannagan had not checked out. He was still checked in to that room, for which he had paid cash in advance.
‘Perhaps,’ said the manager, ‘he has gone for a walk? A meal? Shopping?’
The staffer who had taken the minder to Wally’s room now stood behind the reception desk, head down. When the minder asked who had checked in this guest, the same staffer stepped forwards, visibly scared. However, he offered no new insight. He’d already told Joko everything — bar one fact. He did not mention Diyab’s involvement. When the White Suit checked in, the staff had spoken with concern for the young man accompanying him. All believed the young man had been coerced into helping his older companion. They would not speak against him.
‘Did he, Mr Wally Flannagan, look beaten up or as if he had been in a fight? Were there bruises, blood?’
This raised a few eyebrows. The White Suit was an old man, struggling to walk, but he had looked unhurt, showing no sign of injury. He had just been tired or a little drunk, or he should have had a walking stick.
Rio had specifically asked the minder to report on any damage Wally had suffered. Not out of care or goodwill, but simply to ensure their victim could be moved. Rio was prepared to fly to the hotel and attend to any of Wally’s medical issues himself. He’d had no doubt that Wally would be where Joko had located him.
If not at the hotel, then nearby. Over a series of calls to Rio, another plan emerged. It required several people, and the minder identified a suitable gang in the vicinity of the hotel. Local knowledge would make the search quicker. Joko and Hanif would send material to their smartphones: a photo of Wally, a map, and a plan of places they must visit — not only lodgings, bu
t also hire-car depots, taxi ranks, and the train station. They were to use the photo, show it at every place they searched. Someone surely would have seen or been told of the White Suit.
The minder and the gang, duly assembled in the hotel lobby, retrieved their emails and got the staff to help them print hard copies of the relevant maps. Before they left, the minder asked some final questions. What luggage did Wally bring? How far did the staff think he could walk? Since Diyab had carried Wally’s suitcase, their answers were confused, but everyone agreed that Mr Flannagan wouldn’t get very far. The minder affected bafflement; from their strident insistence on this point, it seemed strange that the man wasn’t still in the room with them.
The moment the gang left, a blunt interaction took place among the staff.
When we phoned that number and reported we had this man staying here, look what happened.
No money, no bribe, no bonus, no thanks, nothing.
Door damaged, curtains torn.
Call the police?
Not worth the risk, criminals need many friends.
Don’t make a fuss. Notice the pistol inside his vest?
As Bagus joined the rest of the team in Rio’s office, a tense atmosphere prevailed. Each tried to cover his own back as anger began to flare. Rio demanded calm. They talked through what they knew. Bagus recalled that Wally’s phone was hidden in his suitcase. The suitcase was missing with Wally. Why hadn’t Joko picked him up using this phone? But there was still no word from Joko, Hanif, and the IT crew.
The minder and his gang visited and revisited the train station, the one where the White Suit had leapt from the carriage. The station staff had all heard the story of the White Suit. By now, the incident had gained notoriety. One staffer’s sister was there when the White Suit leapt or was thrown from the train. She heard his shout, in English, and, like the rest, she withdrew, or tried to get away into the crowd. But moments later, she saw — like so many saw — the White Suit struggling towards the first available place to sit. Someone helped the White Suit, she said. Someone carried his suitcase. She — and most — believed this person had been threatened or bullied. Yes, several suggested this, and the White Suit was the talk of many a household that night. The stories started at the station, but all ended at the hotel. Two people in a shop next to the hotel confirmed that the White Suit had entered the hotel that day. Somehow, his helper had vanished upon entry. And the White Suit had vanished shortly after.
By the next evening, the gang had given up. Fatigued and lacking ideas, they knew the reality: they had nothing. No concrete evidence. Even the hotel room had been cleaned thoroughly, the curtains repaired. Had the bed been used before the sheets were replaced? They couldn’t remember.
The minder handed out small sums of money to the gang, shared a meal with the men, and rang Rio.
Rio received no response from the media outlets he had emailed. He sat alone, the only one in his office. The IT crew remained holed up in Joko’s office; everyone else had gone home. Rio, the normally calm and clever boss, now began to panic. If the police got to Wally Flannagan first, what would happen? Money talked, but he wasn’t the only one with money. Several of his team, he was aware, were already busy securing alibis. Wally could have stolen information from Leon — how might that affect any outcome? He needed to take decisive action.
He sent an email to the team. He adopted a friendly tone, requesting that they attend a meeting at his office scheduled for 6.00 p.m. the next day.
He arrived very early the next morning. He had many work commitments, an unwelcome distraction. By midmorning, he sat exhausted. His mind worked over the failure of their plan, the missing Wally Flannagan, and what else? He tried to do the necessary paperwork, but he refused to take calls. In no time, his secretary was aware that something was wrong — very wrong. She offered condolences, assuming a family member or friend had met with tragedy. Rio said nothing, but failed to complete the simplest of jobs.
At precisely 4.00 p.m., his private phone rang. It was Joko with some welcome news. Yes, thank goodness, evidence of Wally Flannagan. The old man had used a computer, accessed Facebook. No precise location. Joko would bring details to the meeting. He remained blunt, in no mood for a chat. Police, the wrong kind of police, haunted his thoughts.
Rio emailed everyone the news. Mr Flannagan was alive, possibly still in Cianjur. The 6.00 p.m. meeting — be there.
He then tried to ring Leon. No service. Next, Leon’s cousin, the courier. No service. Was his phone turned off, being charged?
Joko arrived ahead of the meeting, handed over print outs explaining the Facebook communication, and returned abruptly to his own office. He’d be back to brief the others.
Bagus was the next to arrive. Neither he nor Rio spoke as they waited for the rest of team.
Last — and now late — was Joko. All eyes turned to him. He looked exhausted, did not apologise, and radiated frustration. He explained that the Facebook posts were of little value. A christening notice, and a boast about having a big win at the races.
The team examined the messages themselves, as if they could will a helpful meaning into existence. They had to admit, Joko was right, it was just humour and other Aussie nonsense. One of Mr Flannagan’s mates was a known racing fanatic, and the latter type of posting on the group page was very common.
Joko added that, unfortunately, without a longer session online, it would be very difficult to trace where Wally had logged on. Finally, he made the comment no one wanted to hear — they’d reached a dead end. No more postings, comments, or interest. He emphasised with frustration that they had no idea where exactly their target was. It could be a library, coffee shop, house, hotel, or anywhere. He raised his palms in defeat and dismay.
Silence.
‘I’ve been thinking,’ ventured one of the men, ‘why do we need to find him, anyhow?’
Bagus answered.
‘I was hoping we would have found him by now. You see, something I haven’t mentioned is Leon. You will recall he was guarding Flannagan when this disaster started. What happened to Leon is a mystery. What happened to the temporary messenger he employed to hand over a note to the conductor — is a mystery. Then, how Flannagan unlocked the cable on the suitcase and got off the train, or who helped him, is a mystery. No one, not one person, on the train or in the street, the hotel, anywhere, as far as we can work out — no one has contacted the police or train authorities. If someone had stolen the property, Leon’s wallet or something belonging to Flannagan, why haven’t we heard?’
‘Hanif checked pawn shops and known dealers,’ said Joko. ‘Nothing.’
‘On the train,’ said Bagus, ‘Leon’s courier told me that all was going well. He mentioned that the messenger he’d found was very eager to return to Leon. After that … it is very confusing. It … appears someone or several people attacked Leon. Yes, I haven’t told you, but, late last night, Leon contacted me from hospital. He said he was attacked. He has no recall of the faces, and he put up a fight, but that’s all. They knocked him out cold. Took his gun, wallet, and whatever, crushed his phone.’
No one mentioned the leather satchel, the man bag, or the money, a lot of money. Someone was very happy. For the team, it was just bad luck. They had more important things to worry about.
‘However, if Leon was attacked,’ continued Bagus, ‘why did Flannagan get off the train alone? It is a long step, we are told, from that carriage to the ground, no platform. It looks like no one helped him or passed down his suitcase. Yet we have witness reports that once off the train, he either bribed or forced someone to help him to the hotel.’
Rio leant forwards. ‘We need Leon’s wallet,’ he said. ‘It could put us in danger or risk of being contacted by police, a con man, a hustler — we don’t know enough. Bagus found Leon’s phone, but the SIM card had been taken. It could be used against us. Thank you, Joko for pointing this out.’
‘His face and neck had severe blisters,’ said Bagus, ‘most likely acid burns. I spoke to the hospital doctor. He said the wounds on the back and side of Leon’s head indicate someone hit him with a very heavy object and then threw acid on him. There were batteries lying around him when I found him on the train.’
‘Many batteries taken to market by train,’ said Taufik. ‘A convenient weapon, a battery. It could have been used by Mr Flannagan, even, but I doubt it, given his state. Assuming Rio didn’t muck up the dose.’ He raised his hand to ward off his boss’s protest, and smiled. ‘So this other person knocks out Leon. Then the guy holds the battery upside down, the acid goes everywhere. Then those nearby, the beggars and the like, do several things. They drag the sleeping Mr Flannagan to the nearest door with a plan to throw him off the train. Before they do, they search both, take all their possessions, money, Leon’s along with Flannagan’s stuff. Then at the next stop, they throw Mr Flannagan off the train with an empty suitcase, and leave Leon out cold on the floor of the carriage.’
‘Too scared to wake him,’ added another.
‘But the passengers would have wanted Mr Flannagan off the train. He looked a serious threat. Cut off the head, and the fist is just an open hand.’
‘The jolt as he landed could have caused him to wake up,’ said Rio.
There were nods and murmurs of agreement around the table.
‘We have to find him soon, if we can, or we might have to lay low for a while.’
‘We still have one other kidnapping to wrap up. The local work runs itself.’
‘My main concern is, who has Leon’s and Wally Flannagan’s stuff?’
‘I am curious,’ said Joko, ‘as to why Mr Flannagan used the computer only once, days later, said nothing about what happened. It doesn’t add up. My point is, did he have all his faculties?’