by Barry Heard
There were other snatches of recall from a grab bag of uncertain moments. The hoods had blocked so much; both had separate versions. A gate squealing open. A house maybe? After staggering down steps without a handrail, had they reached this basement? Their handcuffs had been removed, a bright light turned on, a door slammed shut. They removed the hoods themselves. No windows, bars, a thick wooden door, interruptions all night. Abrupt commands that meant nothing. No other sounds, some steps maybe, not sure?
Basil, aware of what was about to happen, chose to remain upstairs, fiddling on the spare computer left behind by John, reading the Australian Stockwhip Collectors web page. There wasn’t much new there, yet so much was happening — best keep it quiet for the moment. Everyone else was downstairs, setting up in the coolroom; Basil was only a buzzer away. The guard was tending to the front garden, near the house. Anyone approaching the gate would trigger the alarm hanging off the guard’s neck, as well as a bell in the house and an alert on Rick’s phone. The guard had cover and a good vantage point from the garden.
The ominous steel door opened, and Mike, Adam, and Rick entered the basement. All wore face masks, and Adam and Rick carried pistols. Mike hauled in two chairs and placed them against the wall, and Rick ordered their captives to sit down, arms behind their backs. Mike handcuffed Rio and Bagus, and secured the two chairs to the wall with strong wire. As the three ex-soldiers left, Rick turned off the bright lights. After a night of enervating illumination, the darkness was absolute darkness. There were no sounds but those of the captives’ breathing, or words if they spoke. Yet for some time, they didn’t say a word. They had guessed — something horrifying was about to happen (how insightful).
The heavy steel door slammed shut, and the two men jumped — as far as their bonds would allow, which wasn’t far. Their hearts raced and they could hear nothing other than the blood in their ears.
On the other side of the door, as if they had done this before, the ex-soldiers removed their masks and fell into individual routines. Mike picked up a make-up kit, Rick flicked through print outs, and Adam started tapping at his computer, double-checking lists:
bank account numbers, passwords
investments or hidden funds, trusts, offshore accounts
all property, both owned and shared
business connections, boards, shareholdings
all contacts — team, crews, police, politicians
past Australian victims; future victims’ details.
He had no doubt that Rio and Bagus would fill the gaps in their intelligence, and he assessed the items calmly. The next list was totally different:
true and assigned identities of girls on heroin used as prostitutes
their family details
the scheme, the details, those involved — dealers, suppliers, kidnappers, procurers …
The known information here was patchier and the stakes higher, lives literally at risk. The more they could find out, the safer the girls and young women would be. The less they could find out, the harder they’d have to go in. In that case, the jemmy they’d open the door with had been provided by Azka. After tearing apart the criminal team’s files with their programs, the name John and Marcus had found common to both kidnapping schemes was Azka’s. The Azka files revealed a brief history of himself and his daughter, the qualities that had seen them targeted. Harry had contacted the station manager in Bandung and arranged a meeting on behalf of Bagus, claiming that a new plan was about to begin and that Azka was to be a large part of it. It was Adam who met with Azka, at Bandung Station, where Azka retold the story of his precious Layla, including the location of the hotel where he’d tracked her to. Adam burned with quiet fury to think of Layla and the many other victims of this scheme.
Masks on.
The three men entered the dark basement. Mike turned on the bright lights and shut the steel door before their captives’ vision adjusted. Rio and Bagus sat with their eyes squeezed shut; they looked tired, hungry, and stiff from lack of movement. As they blinked at their captors, they frowned.
Mike wore a Batman mask. He opened the steel door theatrically. In and out, he brought chairs, a desk, Adam’s computer, manila folders. He set up the basement calmly, fussily, as if he were going to interview the two men tied to chairs. Then he pushed in an old-fashioned wheelchair. No comments or instructions were uttered. Adam and Rick simply stood and stared.
The furnishings arranged, the three returned to the coolroom, shutting the door behind them.
‘Turn on the fan,’ said Rick, ‘and take that stinking bucket outside. Mike, do we have any air freshener?’
Mike laughed, but he switched on the basement fan, returned to the room, grabbed the bucket, and disappeared through the wooden door, the bucket held at arm’s length.
When he returned, Rick and Adam were once more standing just outside the basement. The three nodded to each other. Rick twisted a large light switch in the anticlockwise direction and the lights dimmed considerably. The three moved in. Adam sat at the desk and started tapping at the computer; he wore a crazed Joker mask.
Rick was wearing another cartoon mask, but he now removed it. Beneath the mask, he wore an eye patch and his face was smeared with something dark — surely not blood? Around his forehead he wore a headband, and from over his shoulder he produced in his left hand a machete. Unmasked and armed, he started to shake then bob his head. Twisting his face to the left, he screamed, ‘Bring him in.’
Mike pushed the wheelchair back through the steel door. Two minutes later, he returned with it, bearing a man. The man wore a long robe, his arms covered; his wrists were tied to the armrests of the wheelchair. His left cheek was very swollen, his face otherwise very bruised. Mike parked the man beside the desk, facing the computer.
The man in the wheelchair whispered something only Adam could hear. Adam turned and glanced at Rick, who walked straight over and spat on the man, then turned the wheelchair around to face Rio and Bagus.
‘Turn the lights up,’ said Rick. Mike turned them up, just a fraction.
Rio gasped. Bagus struggled against his restraints.
‘We’ve done well,’ said Rick. ‘Got most of the stuff we need about how you run your kidnapping show. Took a bit of enticement, but we reckon we’ve got enough info to take over. Any comment?’
Bagus rasped, ‘Joko.’
‘Yep. Fell off the back of a truck, but nice bloke, very talkative. But seems to have forgotten a few details, can’t or won’t say any more. Thought we might show you how this works.’
Although shaking and twitching his head to the left, Rick appeared very calm, in control, like he was going to a fancy-dress party. He turned to Adam: ‘Go.’
Adam leant towards Joko, asked him about the algorithm his computer team used for breaking into travel agents’ websites. All in the basement heard the question. Joko tried to turn towards the voice, strained to lean back, and whispered while shaking his head. Only Adam heard the reply, and Adam promptly typed it out on the computer. Then he asked for a password. Joko said nothing. Adam shook his head in dismay. ‘I hate this,’ he muttered, but he turned to Rick and gave a thumbs down.
Like changing a channel on the TV, Rick transformed. He screamed, kicked the wall. Mike, standing to one side, took another step away from this ranting lunatic. It seemed fortunate that Rick carried only a machete and not a shotgun. Adam lowered his head. Turning his attention away from the wall, Rick strutted towards Joko. He lifted the injured man’s chin sharply — causing Joko to cry out — spat in his face again, released his chin, and stalked towards Rio and Bagus.
Almost face to face, both could see that Rick’s face was indeed covered with blood — but worse was to come. Rick reached for the patch covering his eye; he ripped it off. Bagus fought to remain focused. Rick had only one eye; from the other socket, pus oozed and two maggots protruded. Rick reached insid
e the ruined socket, screwed his finger to crush the two maggots before flicking them away. With the same finger, he pointed at Adam.
‘Time for a break. Show these two arseholes what we have on them already, what we need from Joko. Perhaps they may want to encourage him to talk. Go now.’
Mike strode across, turned the wheelchair, and pushed Joko back into the coolroom, Joko crying as he bumped over the tiny step. Adam walked over to Rio and Bagus, sat against the wall, opened a manila folder, and began to read.
Rick suddenly raised the machete and, with the accuracy of an athlete, threw it at the thick wooden door. It stuck, penetrating the small sign in the middle of the door: ‘No Smoking’.
Adam jumped up, dropping the folder. Rio and Bagus stared in amazement.
Naturally, Rick cheered, then turned and left, slamming the steel door behind him with such force that the whole room shuddered. Adam got down on his hands and knees, gathered up the loose sheets of paper, and continued to read. He stopped occasionally to listen to their questions. They had only one — Rio asked —
‘What do you want?’
Eventually, Adam returned to the desk. Mike wheeled in Joko and stood behind him, his grip fixed on the handles. Joko’s cheek was worse now, and blood ran from his nose and left ear. Rick pulled the machete from the door and stood in the middle of the room, turning slowly, slapping his hand against the blade of the machete, glancing everywhere — searching for the enemy?
‘All good,’ he began. ‘My man reckons you can’t believe we got all those details he read to you. Not only past kidnappings, the minders, contacts, schemes, clever filming, like the one you did with Mr Wally Flannagan. Well, it took time. Joko and Hanif helped, but Leon was our main man, very helpful the information he gave on how you plan, very helpful before his untimely demise. When it came to IT stuff, Leon hadn’t a clue. There, he gave us the name of Hanif, your IT wizard. We questioned him, he gave us so many passwords and codes. However, Joko is our man now. Yep, Joko went right back to when it all started, we thought he was being very cooperative, helpful. Until it didn’t add up. I guess he felt we didn’t understand the geek talk, computer jargon. So we stopped asking him, too. And here we are, the final three, almost finished. But Joko’s not toeing the line, still hesitating. He’s in a bind, I reckon. If he tells us, you will screw him. Then the other side of the coin — he knows the outcome if he plays games with me. So, one last time with Joko. Then it’s just you two.’
He laughed like a maniac and sheathed the machete.
‘So there you go. Joko has his head around it all. Hanif was a genius but still new to the standover game. Before we start, I’d like to show you thugs some photos. You first, Joko.’
Rick, laughing, pulled a photo from his back pocket with one hand and rubbed his hollow eye socket with the other as he strutted over to Joko. He waved the photo in Joko’s face. After a brief glance, Joko recoiled, turned his head away. Mike released the chair to grip Joko’s head, forcing the man to look at the photos. Blood started to weep across Mike’s left hand.
Rick strode over to Rio and Bagus, producing a second photo. He held one in front of each man. ‘Turn the light on,’ he barked.
Bagus gagged with fear and revulsion as he focused on the photo. Rio, for the first time, shuddered, his eyes staring. Rio the doctor had thought he’d seen everything. But in front of him was a photo of Hanif … Rio and Bagus tried to turn away, their faces wet with tears of horror and dread. Rick roared, slapped them with the photos, held the images even closer. The picture was of Hanif, slightly blurred. His face, though recognisable, had been destroyed, attacked perhaps with a — chainsaw? Sobbing prevented a clear view.
Rick smiled. He appeared to enjoy watching them suffer.
‘Dim the lights.’
It was a small mercy.
‘Okay, gentlemen, time to start. Oh, and by the way, I only ordered the light to be lowered for their sake.’ He nodded in the direction of Adam and Mike. ‘They really hate what I’m about to do if your dog, little Joko, doesn’t behave. Time to start, me boy. Question time.’
The machete was back in his hands, and he slapped it against his leg and chuckled as Adam asked Joko one last question.
Silence. Joko hesitated, stared at Rio, looked to the photos abandoned on the floor, looked back at Rio, lowered his head, muttered something to Adam. Whatever it was he had said, Adam gave a thumbs down.
Rick, seething, walked over to Joko, lifted his machete, and slammed it down on the man’s bound arm. He hacked again and again until he severed the lower arm completely. Blood squirted free. The hand and short forearm rolled under Adam’s desk. The rest of the arm, no longer tied to the armrest, shot into the air. Blood splashed Adam.
Adam screamed and Mike swore, and Rick shouted, ‘Turn off the lights, you bloody wimp. And get him out of here.’
The lights died and they stood or sat in darkness until Mike opened the steel door. Adam followed Joko and Mike through it, but he soon returned with a mop and bucket. ‘Turn the bloody lights back on.’
Joko just lost half an arm?
The shock like a loud clap of thunder.
Quiet. No noise apart from sobs and gasps from Rio and Bagus. And one other — hateful, terrifying. The steel door, when it closed on their captors, didn’t quite muffle this sound: the mad ranting of Rick.
Thirty minutes later, the bright lights turned on full, Mike wheeled Joko back into the basement. Rio and Bagus were reluctant to look. Their friend groaned and breathed heavily. His top had been removed and his pants were soaked in blood. The stump of his left arm was crudely bandaged just below the elbow, held up in the air by a stick. Like an advertisement. Look at this. Joko was pale, sweaty.
Bagus vomited.
Rio, despite his iron pride, fainted.
Adam entered, head down, with a reluctant walk. Rick entered whistling. He bowed to the room, waved his hand in a circular motion, and spoke.
‘We have it. Thank you, Joko, you fool. You would have less bruises and more than one arm had you cooperated. I hope you two fine, well-dressed gentlemen have learnt from this. Sadly, so far, Joko is the only survivor of our enquiries.’
Joko let out a gurgling roar.
Everyone turned.
Gasping, Joko muttered to Mike.
‘What did he say?’ roared Rick. ‘What did that little dog say?’
Mike, his lips quivering, hesitated. Rick reached for his machete.
‘He knows you, Rick.’
‘What? You mean he knows my name, who I am?’
‘Yes.’
‘Get him out the back, Mike! Now.’
Mike exited with Joko once more. Adam went to follow, but Rick pushed him back into his seat. A second later, Rick pushed Joko from the coolroom and shut the door. The lights remained on.
‘This is total madness,’ said Rio. ‘What —’
‘Shut up,’ said Mike. ‘Just shut up.’
They sat in tense silence until a shot rang out. A gun, unmistakeable. Rio wet himself. Joko was dead.
Ten minutes later, Rick returned. He removed the captives’ handcuffs, shackled their ankles. He shoved pens and notepads in their hands.
‘Speak,’ he said to Adam.
In a quiet voice, Adam spoke. ‘This will most likely take all day. I have a list of questions. I will access accounts, send emails. You will make phone calls, confirming the emails. I will tell you exactly, word for word, what to say. The bank transactions should be confirmed within two or three days. You will remain here until they are confirmed. Even after that, you will remain here. The property transfers will take maybe three days. Finally, if you cooperate — good. If not, you will slowly walk down the same path as Joko. A longer walk for you two, as there is a lot more we require from you. Remember, you only need one hand to write. And really you don’t need any hands at all. Mike w
ill hold the phone for you, and we have examples of your signatures, simple enough to forge. You can do this together. Or apart. If together, everything’s confirmed by the computer. If apart, we check against the other first; if the information is different, he will return. When I have what we want, I will explain what happens next. It’s a much better path than the Joko or Hanif ones.’
Rick gestured at Mike. ‘The two of us will be upstairs. One of us will come down every twenty-five minutes and check on proceedings.’ He walked over and touched the deep cut in the wooden door in the middle of the ‘No Smoking’ sign. ‘These two wankers want it all to work. Me, I love killing. You probably heard our argument outside earlier. They gave me a drug to calm me down. Might need to smoke weed every hour for a while. So there you have it. Dickhead and Drongo are both in charge, for the moment. Come with me, Drongo.’
Adam watched them leave, the door thumping shut behind them.
‘Thank God.’ He glanced at Rio and Bagus. ‘Mad as a snake, bloody dangerous. I’ve had to sit and watch him cut off ears, push cigarettes into people’s eyes — and they’re the nice examples. Don’t, whatever you do, have me call for him. I’ve had enough of his sick, twisted, cruel world.’
He didn’t wait for a reply. John was due to connect via Skype any minute.
Three days later, they were all done. Every box ticked.
Five Years Later
Stratford, the dairy farm, the back lawn (mown). The garden beamed with native plants. A grandson, John’s oldest boy, was in charge of the barbecue. The smell was a smell of welcome — come, enjoy, and relax. There was one big table, people sitting close together. A photo was taken, checked, given the thumbs up. All except one was wearing a Pig cap — the non-wearer to be given one later. Chatter, laughter, and love flowed. Life, in moments like these, was so precious.
The old men were Wally, Basil, Harry, David, Bill, Paul, Frank, Chris, Rabbit, Bones, and Nobby. All from 7RAR, all jammed together, the closest of mates. Scattered around were family and friends: Meredith, John, Adam, Rick, Marcus, Azka, Layla, Gus, Diyab, his family (all seven of them — one new baby), and one other. (Mike was somewhere else in the world, ‘on business’, but supposedly wearing a Pig cap, too.)