by Barry Heard
‘He doesn’t know, but this all started at his place. Poor bugger. That’ll put the wind up him when he finds out.’
Carefully, John said, ‘I won’t go into detail just now, Dad, but in fact Steve’s security guard was in on the kidnapping. For the moment, we haven’t told Steve. Rick will set up a call between the two of you when he can.’
‘Hell, it’s a nightmare, this bloody kidnapping ordeal. But you’re here now. Do the guys have a plan, son?’
‘Sure do, Dad. It’s complicated, but if nothing else I have the deepest respect for your Vet mates and Adam and Rick. They will do anything to get you out of this mess.’
Wally ordered in a coffee and cake. He made a supreme effort to act normal: they were just a father and son in a hotel room on holiday. If he’d been brutally honest with his son, he would have simply begged John to take him home, to Meredith, Stratford, the family. He didn’t care how his kidnapping had come about — bribery, corruption, whatever — just get me home. He also knew that doing a runner didn’t make much sense, but, while his heart controlled his mind — it made all too much sense.
Yet there was a wider world than Wally’s desires. Other factors had to be taken into account. He was already aware that this kidnapping affair was very complicated. Before quitting, Diyab had discovered that police were putting up posters in Cianjur, asking for information about Mr Wally Flannagan. Cianjur, where he had first sought refuge in a hotel. Diyab had made use of his key to the hotel’s emergency stairs and slipped a note under Wally’s door, explaining the police activities. Wally was glad of the safety of this hotel room, relieved that the few times he’d left the room, he had worn those large sunglasses and the scarf, just in case. There were no posters in this city …
But Wally was a wanted man. The kidnappers were determined to find him. There was so much at stake.
A knock came at the door. Five slow, two quick.
‘It’s Rick, Wally.’
Wally opened the door and Rick walked in. It was time to pack up and move. An SUV was waiting for them downstairs, some distance from the hotel. Wally would come down last and jump in the front seat.
While Wally checked he had gathered up everything, in the street the SUV’s driver got out to wipe the windscreen and headlights with a red-and-white rag. Diyab got up and walked downstairs, handed the driver a card with a pig on it, and stepped into the SUV, disappearing behind its dark tinted windows. David, observing this from nearby, put a cap on his head, walked to the SUV, and got in. Diyab almost squealed with excitement — David was wearing a maroon Pig cap, with ‘7RAR’ printed under the pig. He sat next to Diyab and they shook hands.
Wally sat alone in his room, the man bag hanging from his neck, the scarf and sunglasses concealing his identity. The others had left, taking the rest of his luggage. He rang reception, told them Mr Wayne Smith was checking out, and then moved downstairs to do so. He was outside, standing on the front step of the hotel, as the SUV drove up. The driver let him into the front passenger seat, and drove off without delay.
Wally turned in his seat and stared in astonishment.
John, Rick, David, and Diyab all sat looking at him.
‘Glad to see you’ve still got that handbag, mate.’
‘You know you’re supposed to wear it over your shoulder, right?’
After a rush of comments, insults, and laughter, Rick took control of their conversation. First, he explained that Diyab was now part of the team. Yes, and he was sorry he hadn’t kept Wally up to speed.
The taxi meandered its way through the traffic. The briefing continued until the driver parked in the undercover car park of another hotel, the hotel Diyab was due to start working at in two days. The passengers were welcomed like royalty, their luggage taken up to a family suite with an adjoining room — perfect. The rooms had been booked by Rick with appropriate aliases. Diyab was provided with his own private room, set aside for senior staff, but he quickly returned to the family suite.
Feeling comfortable and in control, no one jumped at the loud rap on the suite’s door. It was Harry; he had been sitting in the lobby, watching for their arrival and anything of interest that might happen immediately after — nothing had. Wally was stunned, once more, to see Harry, and the light banter started up again.
When at last they settled down, all sat around a small dining table. John took out a folder containing the research he and Marcus had been working on and handed it to his father. After briefly perusing it, Wally shook his head.
‘You got all of this from Leon’s phone?’
‘Some. Some details we simply followed a lead, be it a phone number or an email address we found in the contacts folder on his phone. What with search engines and Google Earth, you can find an amazing amount of info, Dad, no need to hack.’ Well, that wasn’t the whole story, but the military demanded that some secrets be kept, at least for the time being …
Wally was perturbed and said as much.
‘Here,’ said John, ‘let me show you.’
John turned on his iPad, and did a search for his father’s name, town, state, and country. Wally sat frowning. Within seconds, John had Wally’s address and phone number.
‘You are joking.’
John just smiled. ‘Hang on, Dad.’
He typed the address into Google Maps, then tapped the Street View icon. The screen now showed an image of Wally’s farm. Yes, his farm, the house, and their car parked out the front. John tapped the address bar, made a few deft changes to the URL, and pressed Enter. The browser reloaded with the same scene, but now the numberplate was as clear as day. Anyone who didn’t need a magnifying glass or strong glasses could read it. Wally, along with David and Harry, was stunned.
John grinned.
‘And that’s only scratching the surface. Honestly, Dad, most people have no idea. No one thinks too hard about what’s available about them on the internet. That’s what makes it so easy to locate almost anyone if you know what you’re doing. Facebook is the main culprit, I reckon.’
Wally shook his head. ‘So where to now?’
‘We’re on the move again tomorrow, Dad, to a safe house. This house has a strong internet connection, it’s vital we have that. Second, it’s close to this hotel, has enough spare bedrooms, a basement, and an adjoining coolroom. We need a basement. Rick organised it all. The house belongs to Rick’s wife’s sister and her husband — he’s a secret person, like Rick. They’re on holidays. It has a strong security set-up.’
Wally made to interrupt, but John just said, ‘Dad, ease off, mate, it’s all under control. We have the accommodation organised. Tomorrow, we are picking up a fifteen-seater hire bus. Hutchy’s son has designed a logo we’ll stick on the side. We’ll be a tour bus, full of tourists. Over the next two days, all the guys will be here, sorry I haven’t kept you in the loop, but like Mum says, you would have panicked and, knowing you, want to run the show.’
Rick started to explain which of the Vets would be joining them and also what part they would have to play in their complicated little exercise. He was talking about Basil when Diyab started to clap. The rest frowned and looked at him for an explanation, but he was now giggling.
‘They are all,’ he finally managed, ‘Pigs or related to Pigs?’
Rick smiled. ‘Yes, I am the odd one out here. All are bloody Pigs or sons of Pigs. What makes that so bloody exciting?’
Wally butted in. ‘Two reasons, Rick. We are all very good-looking and, more importantly, not one of us is an officer. But seriously, Diyab has had dealings with the Pigs, some time back, in Melbourne. He loves us — all of us. Diyab and I will explain it all one day. It’s a great yarn.’
Eventually, the time came to bid one another goodnight. Even in their present numbers, not all would be staying at the hotel. Wally eyes teared up as they left. Diyab and Rick were the last to go.
‘I am going to
my room,’ said Diyab. ‘I will see you tomorrow, Wally. Oh, but Rick is driving me home first, dropping me off, it’s not far. This is all so good. He will give me an hour, then pick me up and bring me back. I need to get some things.’
Wally raised his hands in mock alarm. ‘Take care, Diyab, I’m not sure an officer can drive!’
Rick snorted. ‘I don’t drive. I am an officer. We have a batman and driver. We are superior to you bloody grunts, and my driver will be outside, waiting. And incidentally — get stuffed, Wally.’
Again Diyab laughed. How was it that Australians enjoyed this type of banter? Now that was a question many foreigners have asked.
The next day, Basil arrived at Husein Sastranegara Airport. He was met by a man, holding his name on a large card, who escorted him to the pick-up area. There, Basil joined Rick in the back seat of the SUV. In the front were the driver and a well-built man who turned and nodded at Basil, saying, ‘Mike.’ They drove out into the busy traffic of Bandung, Rick explaining points of interest as they drove. Mike said nothing. After a long journey, the driver stopped at a large house in what looked like a small palm plantation. It had a security fence, a magnificent garden, and a sign: ‘24-hour Surveillance and Security — Keep Out’.
A guard appeared at the entrance, and the three got out of the SUV, with Mike indicating to the man to carry their gear. Rick gave him a thumbs up, and the three walked through the the solid steel gate as it rolled open briefly. In front of them extended a splendid laneway, bordered as it was by hanging orchids, palm trees, and ornamental ponds. The gate guard bowed to Rick and collected Basil’s gear, loading it into a small buggy. Rick pointed out security features to Basil. Mike walked alongside the guard’s bouncing buggy until they reached the verandah, then unloaded Basil’s stuff and disappeared into the house.
A safe house, said Rick. Basil thought it sounded more like a prison. Before he entered to join his mates, he made a comment that raised Rick’s eyebrows.
‘Not long after I got back from Vietnam, I heard that a close mate had cleared off. Got himself a job in Port Moresby as a security guard. His job was to guard the places where Europeans or the wealthy lived, like an exclusive suburb. Big houses, high fences, lights. And rolling gates that allowed people to enter — after he checked them. He also lived in a set of flats that resembled a prison. High fences, floodlights, dogs, and armed guards. Lotta problems, those days. This house reminds me, he’s not with us anymore, that mate.’
With all the Vets inside the house, the affection, hugs, crude comments, and insults flowed freely. Adam stood to one side, alone, in the passage. Basil moved to greet him, but John placed a restraining hand on his shoulder. When Basil raised a quizzical eyebrow, John only shook his head and placed a finger on his lips.
With the greetings and personal updates behind them, the team sat in the large lounge room of this beautiful house. They sipped their coffees or chewed on snacks, but all fell silent as Harry stood. Briefly, he outlined the roster for food, beds, and other minor housekeeping details, then turned to Rick and John: explaining the next stage was their domain.
So it began — every last detail was covered, questions were met with direct answers, the momentum of the plan seemed unstoppable, until Rick got to Adam. Rick’s only comment then was that Adam had a serious job: to convince or coerce a certain person to be at the house tomorrow. No more details. Now that had the Vets sitting on the edge of their seats. They wanted to know.
The plot — well. These men had seen war, but the plot was almost like something from a movie. Several times came gasps of disbelief. No questions now. The plan proclaimed its own grim logic. It would be perfect or it would be nothing.
Rick turned the briefing over to Mike. He stood out among the old men and young, with a shaven head, bulging trapezius muscles, and some serious firepower straining against the long sleeves of his shirt. His talk was precise, clear, and blunt. It all centred around a man called Joko, or, more precisely, Joko’s brother, Gus — Adam’s target man.
Chapter 26
Rio and Bagus sat chatting, smoking, and smiling. There was good reason to smile — the day before, Rio had received the best news. Wally, their kidnap victim, had been not only located, but also captured and made secure.
It was 6.00 p.m. when the call came through. Rio was sitting in his office, anxious, unable to concentrate on the work in front of him. The ring of his personal mobile snapped him to attention. The claims the caller made then — unbelievable.
The caller, Mike, spoke in Bahasa with an accent. He wanted to meet the next day, outside the animal-welfare administration’s headquarters, at 4.00 p.m. He would be wearing dark glasses and a baseball cap with ‘Darwin, Australia’ written across the brim — oh, and he had dreadlocks. He would be driving a tourist bus, white, with ‘Java Tours’ written on the sides, in English.
Who was this man? He seemed to know too much about Rio, while Rio knew nothing about him.
But it was the next statement from Mike’s mouth that floored Rio. He demanded a generous reward, before announcing that he already had half of the money. He then suggested Rio check his text messages — ‘but don’t hang up’. The phone buzzed twice against Rio’s ear. A pause as Rio scrutinised the two photographs. The first was of Wally holding the day’s newspaper, close enough that its date was legible and the front page unmistakeable. The second showed Wally holding five large rolls of money. The accompanying text message read, ‘Is there any more proof you want?’
Grasping the significance of the images, Rio returned the phone to his ear and told Mike, ‘Okay’ — whatever that meant. Mike repeated the time and place to meet up, and Rio confirmed he would be there, with Bagus. Mike knew Bagus, too, it seemed.
Rio tried to regain control. ‘We will not stand in the street. A guard will meet you in the car park. He will direct you to my office.’
‘Fine,’ said Mike, and hung up.
It had been a week since the debacle on the train. During that time, Rio and Bagus had spent many hours searching, dithering, and almost praying. Sure, there had been a glimpse of hope, a hotel, a Facebook login, but nothing that had turned into success. Wally Flannagan had checked in to a hotel under his name, dressed in the white suit they had given him, and they had lost him. Taxi stands, train stations, other hotels, informants — all came to dead ends.
The team was in disarray.
Leon, unhelpful as he’d been, was gone now.
Leon’s cousin, the courier, on hearing the news of Leon’s sad demise, had rung back, his memory jogged. He remembered that the young man they’d recruited had worn a shirt with a hotel logo on it, or perhaps a shop or business logo. He wasn’t sure. The man was maybe twenty-five years old.
Azka assented that the man may have been twenty-five. Had he been wearing a branded shirt? Azka wasn’t sure. He might have been wearing batik. Azka was forthright and demonstrably eager to help, but the answers added up to nothing much.
Unbeknownst to Rio, Azka wove a web of lies. Fear was one motive. He had so much to lose — Layla, his precious daughter … nothing would entice him to bungle that arrangement. A man who knew too much could be a liability. Or worse — too important to let go. Yet at other times he acknowledged to himself that telling these men could cause no harm, could in fact help his standing and that of Layla …
He informed Bagus that the courier’s memory had jogged his own. The uniform worn by the messenger was from a shop, but not a big chain, the name began with the letter r, the shirt was light-green, possibly blue …
However, Azka knew exactly all the details — right down to the name ‘Diyab’ and the hotel where he worked. It was a big decision for him to concoct untruths and then remain calm before the questions of Rio and Bagus. Later, they almost pleaded for any information.
He gave nothing. Azka was a man of honour.
Then came the phone call.
It was time to forget Azka’s contribution or any other hazy input. The photos were concrete. They were success. Rio could relax.
At four on the dot, Mike pulled into the car park of the animal-welfare administration building. A smartly dressed young security guard demanded he step out of the van. Two more guards checked no one else was in the vehicle. When they were satisfied, the first demanded that Mike give him the car keys. Mike complied, sweating profusely. He wore a long-sleeved shirt and baggy trousers. He took off his glasses and wiped the dreads from his brow; his face was red, as if sunburnt. He sucked on a bottle of water, took off his Darwin cap, and poured the remainder of the drink over his dishevelled hair. He was dripping and disgusting. The security guard stared in astonishment. Something was weird about this man, Mike. His sunglasses were actually large, dark lenses clipped onto ordinary glasses. He had a ring in his nose, and two in his left eyebrow. He looked very unfit, fat, his belly pushing at his shirt. Yet when the guard patted down Mike’s thighs and felt under his arms, his body was not flabby but hard.
‘Feel my gut, mate,’ offered Mike. ‘It’s hard as well. Years of fat food has paid off. No muscles, just hard fat, ha, ha, ha.’
The guard laughed in embarrassment and led him to Rio’s office. Even though they took the lift, Mike was somehow wheezing by the time the guard knocked on Rio’s door.