by Barry Heard
Rick looked Wally in the eye. ‘No, you were the tough bastards. They admired you. Yes, you young blokes who literally stepped off farms, jobs, the street and were suddenly in a war, a cruel, sick, violent war. And you did the job. The way our country treated you on return was crap. Never again will that happen. I get so pissed off when I hear those words, brave, courageous, fine, upstanding young men. We know the reality of combat: look out for your mates, do what you must, and, when it’s finished — shake, shit yourself, and vomit. Just hope that you all made it, and, if not, that scene — your dead mate or mates — that moment will torment you forever. Then our bloody politicians, bloody memorials, and bullshit fine words … shit, sorry, haven’t blabbered like that for years.’
Wally looked down, touched by the comments, then reached over and rubbed Rick’s shoulder. Such a special bond.
Rick thumped his forehead, looked at Wally. ‘Enough! Get the phone.’
‘Should you take the gold bracelets and stuff?’
‘No, I wasn’t told to take the bracelets, just the mobile.’
Rick locked the mobile in his carry bag and handed Wally a small green device and a cord.
‘Phone, charger. Ring me if it’s urgent. Just push the number seven and it will ring me automatically. It’s a fully encoded military phone. You must wear it all times, around your neck, like a dog tag. Never take it off except to recharge it, and then stay close. It vibrates, doesn’t ring unless it’s plugged into the power. Ring me, no one else. If by chance you cannot reach me, dial seventy-seven, but you will need all your decoding skills to talk. Shouldn’t be a problem, they tell me you were one of the best. It’s very high security, but your mates reckon you can handle it if need be. Your son John has one, as does Adam — he was a good soldier, smart. However, you can only ring John via me. I will transfer the call. All set up by tomorrow, okay?’
Wally nodded.
‘Be careful pushing the button on the dial. If you stuff up, the phone will go dead and will cease to function until an expert reboots it with a special code. Charge it once a month, so don’t even bother, I hope we have you well and truly home by then.’
Wally was impressed, yet he had one doubt. ‘Will John be okay? You know, with the army phone? He hasn’t had the experience we Vets have had.’
‘Good question. Already, both John and Marcus have been interviewed by SAS commanders. They’ve ticked all the boxes. No phone for Marcus for now; best he just helps John with the computer stuff. It is still early days. For the moment, mate, the priority is to get you home. That will be a big challenge. If your name pops up at a hotel, the airport, a bank, customs, whatever, have no doubt, the Indonesian police will be alerted by those kidnappers and the cops will have you behind bars in an instant. Your kidnappers, given the slightest chance, will dob on you.’
Rick drew a deep breath.
‘Two things. Meredith wants to know about your medicine. Is it all up to date and do you have enough? Secondly, this young man, Diyab, the Indonesian lad, we need to speak to him, ensure he is safe and aware of what he needs to do to prevent those kidnapping bastards finding him. They think they’re so smart, but we’ll see. We’re in the throes of getting Diyab another job, closer to his home, a better job, at a better hotel — a lot of Australian functions held there by our embassy, diplomats and so on. He’s handled himself well, and he’s got all the right training and a clean background.’
‘And someone to vouch for him.’
‘And someone to vouch for him,’ said Rick. ‘You should tell him.’ He handed over the details of Diyab’s new job.
‘Thanks,’ said Wally. ‘He, Diyab, deserves this.’
‘Meantime, after you pass on this info, I want you to have little to do with him, okay?’
Wally looked down again. That comment hurt. He had grown very fond of Diyab, and his family, though their meetings had been brief. Yet he also understood. He gave Rick Diyab’s personal contact details. If he could trust anyone, he could trust Rick. Finally, he asked Rick to pass on to Meredith that he had at least two weeks’ medication; he’d already told her via Australian Stockwhip Collectors, but sometimes communication was about more than its overt content.
The men hugged tightly, both close to tears. Then Rick left.
Lunch break, day five. John Flannagan, standing outside his work in Perth’s CBD, was waved over by a uniformed driver.
The driver talked little on their hour-long trip.
Pulling to a stop outside RAAF Base Pearce, the driver wound down his window and spoke to the guard at the security gate. The vehicle was waved through, and John was escorted to a small office. He was scanned, photographed, questioned, and fingerprinted. The fingerprints, voice pattern, and facial record, he was informed, were now government property. This unsettling experience was followed by an interview with a person who radiated authority. Rick Gordon joined the interview by teleconference from Jakarta.
By dusk, John was standing alongside the runway as a RAAF transport plane touched down and taxied towards the base. Prompted by his chaperone, he walked onto the edge of the tarmac with several highly ranked officers. He glanced at his watch. What had Dad got him into?
When the plane’s engines stopped, many servicemen and -women came down the steps of the aircraft. One had a large computer bag handcuffed to his wrist. This man walked directly towards the officers standing to the side of John. The courier, John had been informed, was an SAS commander. There were no handshakes, just salutes, from one officer to another. Then the commander handed John a satchel. According to John’s briefing, it contained a military computer, flight and accommodation details, names, contact numbers, and money. Some blunt words passed between the officers, but John didn’t follow what was being said. Suddenly, the commander stood to attention, turned, and left. John held the satchel tightly.
Soon enough, he was standing outside the air base’s main office. The whole day had been like some strange dream. The army car with the same uniformed driver pulled up in front of him; the driver opened the passenger door and John climbed in alongside him. As he was about to drive off, John leant out the window and thanked the officer who had organised it all.
The man replied, ‘Your dad’s a Vietnam Vet, John.’
John, taken aback, could only nod before the car moved away.
The car took him home, a suburb in Perth. Nothing was said during the forty-five-minute trip. As he got out of the car, he said a simple, ‘Thanks.’
‘Not a problem, sir. Goodnight.’
After a short meal, during which he explained what he could to his wife, John retired to his study. Briefed by Rick on how to do this, he removed the notebook computer he’d been given from its secure bag and turned it on. He focused on doing everything right — correctly — precisely. This was the way he worked. The sophisticated computer presented him with a series of login screens, and he methodically entered the required passwords. He waited, not nervous but very cautious. This wasn’t some commercial-in-confidence VPN or even the Australian Stockwhip Collectors website; he had been granted the privilege and responsibility of accessing military data networks, a parallel internet. On Rick’s authority, he would communicate with Rick in Jakarta and Marcus in Norway. Once connected to Rick and his Jakarta team, he was to download the data from Leon’s phone onto a custom USB drive, also found in the satchel.
For the first time in his life, he began to understand the true meaning of the word ‘risk’. Here he was, about to take responsibility for a dangerous and delicate communications procedure. He stopped tapping the keyboard and leant back in his comfortable office chair, thinking, What if I stuff up, can’t get the information, lack the skills? Hell, and here I am at home, safe, with people just a key touch away to assist me. How did Dad cope in that jungle on that radio with so much responsibility?
He had to get it right — no, perfect.
John, Marcus
, and Rick, countries and continents apart, met via teleconference to discuss the results from analysing Leon’s phone. Though each appeared to the others only on a computer screen, it was an exciting meeting.
The military network had provided them with raw computer power through a refined interface, giving them capabilities neither John nor Marcus had experienced before. They’d smashed through the consumer-grade protections on the data stored on Leon’s phone. Then, using the mobile numbers and other details they found there, they’d used their combined computer-science knowledge to develop a method of tracking the connections between the criminal network, the outer circle, the inner team, and Rio and Bagus in particular. They had gathered the necessary information to locate most of the culprits involved in the kidnapping scheme: GPS trails, photographs, voicemails. They had taken control of phones, iPads, desktop computers, and servers; they’d accessed email accounts and bank accounts. Throughout, they continued to encounter intrusion detection and countermeasures, but they worked around those, too. It was scary what the two men had found in so short a time; they were in awe of what was possible. (Ironically, the military system they’d been connected to had one of the lowest security classifications, and was used by many different ranks in the service.)
They had found out more than they needed to rescue Wally, and more than they had bargained for. They’d delved deep.
‘It’s not just about Dad,’ said John. ‘This is so wrong. We have to put a stop to it somehow.’
The kidnapping scheme was worth millions in money and an unquantifiable amount in the terror it inflicted on so many families. It was extensive, sadistic, and cruel. Yet it was only a cunning scheme — in its way, an amusement for Rio’s team. What shocked John and Marcus were the details that emerged about Rio’s other activities. His team were also responsible for the kidnapping of young Indonesian girls. These girls were locked up, forced to take heroin, and, once addicted, made to work for a brothel syndicate — operated by Bagus. Almost incidentally, John and Marcus had found hundreds of names. Who knew how many more were yet to be found, or were already lost?
Having exposed this trail of shame and horror, the young men fell silent. Rick didn’t let the silence last.
‘We will crush Rio’s team. They have no idea of the pain they are about to suffer.’
Without being asked, the sons of Vets had already developed a plan, in the hope of convincing Rick to use this information to end Rio’s repulsive sex slavery. Once you had as much data as they did — places, times, people’s names — the strategies suggested themselves. Nevertheless, their ideas were somewhat academic; but Rick, with decades of operational experience, could see possibilities in them. He was impressed by the duo’s performance, and would share their findings and conclusions with his team.
Things began to happen very quickly.
At the Seasons Hotel, Wally read through all the messages on the Australian Stockwhip Collectors bulletin board. The website had twelve other members now: Meredith, John and Marcus, Rick, and eight Vet mates of Wally’s, including four former radio operators. The Vets were concerned about the security of the website, but John and Marcus assured them that it was safe — every trick in the book was being employed to keep it from prying eyes. Reassured by this, the Vets were pouring out their hearts to Wally. Meredith just wanted him home safe. It was only a matter of time, wrote Basil, but he couldn’t offer any details as yet.
The bulletin board was almost as good as Facebook, Wally thought, though perhaps Facebook had helped get him into this mess, and he wasn’t free to go where he pleased, post when he wanted. Despite its comfort, the hotel room was starting to feel more like a prison. There was little escape when, to go out, he had to wrap himself up and remember to keep looking over his shoulder.
Closing the browser, Wally shook his head and thought, I am so lucky, they are such great mates, I am so lucky …
Meanwhile, information was collated and plans were formulated. The plot to rescue Wally and deter the criminals from ever pursuing their schemes again was devised. Adam and Rick oversaw it all.
Basil and David organised themselves to fly to Indonesia. Funds were channelled through Marcus’s bank account. Fortunately, the men had up-to-date passports, medical records, and the required injections (like many older Australians, they enjoyed overseas travel). Time was of the essence. The other Vets wanted to come but would have to sit this one out; sure, they were keen, but updating their travel documents in a hurry was a problem.
Clarity began to emerge. Small additions were made to the plans. Many ideas were put forward, some brilliant.
The unfortunate news that Marcus couldn’t come to Jakarta was a disappointment, but that didn’t stop him participating from afar. Everyone understood and appreciated his contribution. He and John were like a two-man spy agency — Edgar Hoover, step aside. Their brilliance marked the criminals on a map — every name, from Rio right down to Azka.
The first part of the ultimate plan:
Let Wally know they were on their way — done.
Arrange a brief meeting for John and Wally.
Move Wally to a new location.
Put in place the final arrangements for Wally’s departure.
Contact Rio.
Chapter 25
Wally decided it was time to talk to Diyab. He quietly went to reception and left a note for his friend. Within half an hour, Diyab knocked gently on Wally’s door and announced himself. Wally opened the door. Diyab went to shake his hand, but Wally drew him into a hug. Diyab didn’t know what to make of this and tried not to drop the sandwiches he had brought.
‘Diyab,’ said Wally, ‘we Pigs always hug when we meet, particularly on special occasions. Today is a very special occasion. It will confuse you, what I am about to say, but believe me, it is all fine, good — a major change for you, my friend.’
Diyab, checking the fridge for chocolates, nodded, sat, and smiled.
‘This afternoon, a taxi will arrive at this hotel. My son John, my mate Basil, and another special man, called Rick, will come to reception. Rick visited me in this room this morning — he deliberately avoided contact with you. I am sorry, Diyab, I have explained very little about what’s going on. It’s safer for you that way. Those arriving at the hotel are going to help me in my journey back to Australia. Diyab, unless asked by your manager, have nothing to do with these visitors.’
‘I understand.’
‘Next is the big news.’ Wally, looking Diyab straight in the eye, said, ‘This will most likely be your last week at the Seasons Hotel. After you leave my room and return to reception, you must hand in your resignation, stating it is critical you resign. Tell them you must assist a friend in dire need in Bali, a nurse, your cousin, seriously injured in a car accident. You don’t know when you’ll be back, but it might not be for months.’
Diyab looked worried, but he said nothing.
‘The reason for this serious request to resign is that the kidnappers may be getting close to this hotel. We don’t know what they know about you, but my friends behind the plan to get me home believe we should never underestimate those animals. We don’t know what happened to Leon. Looking for me, they may be able to identify you.’ Wally hurried on before Diyab could question him: ‘If possible, the sooner you finish, the better. Straightaway would be ideal. Or at the very latest, by the end of the week. Just let me know via a note. Now here’s the good news, Diyab. You will not be going to Bali, but another hotel, closer to home. There is a very good job waiting for you. You take these details, I will be in touch. Please don’t contact me.’
Diyab reached out for the folded page of the highest quality paper. He unfolded it and read its contents. When he looked up, a strange glint had appeared in his eyes.
‘This is almost unbelievable,’ he said. ‘Yet I understand. Wally, my friend, I hope it all goes to plan for you. I will leave now. I love you. Take car
e.’
A hug, a handshake, and an envelope full of money later, Diyab left.
John flew out from Perth to Jakarta alone, an early start: 7.00 a.m. Midmorning, he met Rick at the airport in Indonesia. Thirty minutes later, they joined David. Within an hour, all three were travelling in an SUV — in fact, the man driving was not a guide but an Australian soldier wearing civilian clothes.
They arrived at Wally’s hotel after lunch. Diyab, no longer working at the hotel, watched from a balcony, leaning on the rail of the hotel cafe as he enjoyed his third lemon squash. It was a convenient location; he was waiting for a signal.
Another staffer escorted John to Wally’s room. Rick and David walked straight to the bar. They knew Wally would want some time alone with his precious boy.
At last, the moment came — father on one side of the door, son on the other. John knocked and said, ‘It’s me, Dad.’ Wally flung open the door, John hugged him, and both shared tears of love and joy.
Finally, John stood back, appraising his father.
‘You look good, Dad. I would have thought your hair would have turned white and your number of wrinkles doubled. But, my God, where is your moustache? Does Mum know?’
Again, they hugged. Wally asked about the grandchildren, John’s wife, the rest of the family; he asked about the grandkids’ school results, about Meredith, about John’s job — about anything other than the disaster that had befallen him. Until at last, the chatter exhausted, he was forced to ask the first awkward question.
‘Have you told Steve about what has happened? He must be worried sick, not hearing from me in a week.’
‘He is. I have. They’re all concerned for you in Jakarta. He tried to contact you, tried to contact your flower group, tried to contact the hotels you were supposed to be staying in. When he saw the story in the papers, it rang alarm bells and then he rang me. Basil had already told me what to say when it came to close friends or family. So smart, that mate of yours, Dad. We couldn’t know if he was being bugged or our phones were being monitored. Basil told me to say that we’d also lost contact, we’d also seen the story, and we were in touch with the Australian embassy, but there wasn’t much they could do. If we were being listened to, we didn’t want to give the villains anything that would make them suspicious. Well, Steve wasn’t happy with that, but I told him that we were doing everything we could, to sit tight, and we’d let him know if he could do anything. Once we started getting organised, Rick had someone contact Steve discreetly. He was so relieved, Dad.’