No Man's Land

by Roland Fishman

  “Now stand on the right-hand side of the entrance.”

  She moved at once and stood with her back flush against the wall, so the door would open in front of her, creating a shield.

  Her right hand slipped into the folds of her dark dress and, to Carter’s surprise, extracted a compact Beretta 92 handgun with a silencer attached.

  It only used .25 caliber cartridges, but at close range it’d get the job done.

  8

  The gun shook in Kemala’s hand, making Carter question whether she had what it took to pull the trigger and shoot a man in cold blood.

  They’d find out soon enough.

  Her dark eyes sought his.

  He lifted his head a fraction and gave her a small, confident nod.

  Outside, the footsteps stopped.

  He turned to Erina.

  Neither uttered a word. They were ready to seize any opportunity that presented itself, no matter how heavily the odds were stacked against them.

  A key slid into the lock and turned, one way and then back again.

  Carter mentally kicked himself for failing to tell Kemala to lock it.

  The door flew forward.

  Two clansmen wearing fatigues and black caps marched in, dragging a body between them.

  They dropped it on the floor like a sack of flour. One of them used the toe of his boot to roll the body on its back.

  Carter turned his head as far as he could.

  Muklas’s dead eyes stared at him. There was a bullet wound in the middle of his forehead.

  Carter swore to himself and clenched his hands into tight fists. He wondered how they’d caught him. Perhaps when Carter and Erina had failed to return to the bunker at the agreed time that morning, Muklas had chosen to come after them rather than calling in Detachment 88.

  There was nothing to be done about that now. Kemala needed their help. She was hidden behind the open door.

  He glared at the two clansmen in an effort to draw their attention to him. They returned his gaze full of cold hatred.

  The taller of the two unslung an Uzi from his shoulder, pointed it at Carter’s head and switched the safety off.

  The shorter guy drew a handgun, a SIG, from his shoulder holster and moved to stand over Carter.

  “Who unlocked the door?” he asked in perfect English.

  “Dunno what you’re talking about,” Carter said, keeping his tone conversational.

  The guy pressed the cool barrel of the SIG against Carter’s temple. “Tell me who unlocked the door, you fucking arsehole.”

  Carter said nothing.

  The guy swung the SIG toward Erina’s feet. “Answer me. Or I blow this worthless whore’s foot off and let her bleed to death.”

  “Take it easy,” Carter said, wanting to keep the focus on himself.

  The guy whipped the gun back and pointed it at Carter’s right eye.

  “It obviously wasn’t one of us,” Carter said. “We’ve been pretty much tied up.”

  The man gave him a filthy look, no doubt itching to pull the SIG’s trigger and personally send a westerner and a member of the order to hell. The only thing stopping him would be orders to keep them alive, for now.

  “We’ll see how smart you are in a couple of hours,” he said.

  “Why’s that?” Carter asked.

  “That’s when the first stone will smash your miserable skull to pulp. Samudra wants every one of the faithful to witness your execution. Unless I decide to shoot you first, like that worthless motherfucker.”

  He pointed his gun toward Muklas’s body, like he was proud of what he’d done.

  “Go ahead,” Carter said. “Put us out of our misery.”

  To his right Erina cut in. “Just be quick about it. Kill us in cold blood and go to hell.”

  The guy with the Uzi jabbed the weapon toward her. “Shut up, whore!”

  Carter lifted his head. “Come on and shoot, you gutless wonders.”

  They were doing all they could to keep the two armed men’s attention on them and away from the door that hid Kemala, hoping she would find the strength to shoot sooner rather than later.

  The shorter man pointed his SIG at Carter and grinned. “You think we’re stupid. A quick death is too good for you western pigs.”

  He reversed his grip on the weapon, held it by the barrel, and then, in a whipping motion, smashed the butt into the side of Carter’s head, just above the temple.

  A shooting pain exploded in Carter’s brain.

  He closed his eyes and gritted his teeth.

  His mind felt like it was immersed in a heavy liquid, fuzzy and out of sync with reality.

  A voice inside his head told him to relax, go to sleep and it’d all be over.

  But he dug deep, fought off his body’s overriding urge to shut down and forced his eyes open.

  Warm blood flowed down the right side of his head and into his eye.

  His vision blurred.

  The guy with the Uzi aimed it at a point between his eyes, holding the barrel rock-steady.

  Carter shook his head, as much as the manacle around his throat would allow, in an effort to clear his muddy thinking.

  He heard the door to the cell creak and glimpsed a shadow moving out from behind it.

  Kemala.

  The guy lowered his Uzi and began to turn toward the door.

  Carter tried to speak, to distract the guy, but no words came out, just a meaningless croak.

  “You fucking cowards,” Erina screeched in a hoarse shout. “Murdering unarmed women who can’t defend themselves. Look at me and tell me you didn’t just shoot defenseless Muslim women!”

  Through his blurred vision Carter saw the clansmen turn toward her. She’d hit a raw nerve.

  “What did they do?” she taunted. “Show their faces in public?”

  The guy with the SIG said, “Shut your dirty mouth, bitch.”

  Carter heard a fist strike Erina’s face and her manacles rattle. She let out a muffled gasp.

  Then four silenced shots spurted through the air, one after the other.

  Carter felt himself slipping out of consciousness and drifting into a black void.

  9

  As Carter came to, he heard loud moaning coming from the floor to his left. He had no idea how long he’d been out. His head felt like it was ready to split in two. He forced his eyes open and turned toward the sound, ignoring the pulsating pain.

  The clan member who had struck him with the butt of his SIG lay on his stomach squirming. He’d been hit in the right shoulder and left thigh by low-caliber bullets. His weapon had skidded ten feet in front of him.

  His mate lay facedown to Carter’s right, the Uzi near his head. He’d been hit in the right buttock and just below the shoulder.

  They were down for the count, but not yet out.

  Kemala needed to finish the job.

  The final, deliberate shot – the one you took to kill a defenseless and wounded opponent – was by far the toughest, even for a trained assassin.

  But in a situation like this, it had to be done.

  Kemala stood paralyzed in front of the open door, holding the Beretta by her side, staring at the wounded men.

  “Shoot them,” Carter said, struggling to get the words out clearly.

  She didn’t seem to hear him. It felt like he was speaking underwater. The guy to his right started pushing himself onto his hands and knees.

  Kemala didn’t react.

  The clansman to his left began sliding in slow motion toward the SIG, leaving a trail of blood.

  “For God’s sake, Kemala, shoot!” Erina said. “Then find the keys to these locks.”

  The woman just stood frozen to the spot, in shock, unable to take anything in.

  Carter worked some saliva into his mouth and was about to speak when a gravelly whisper came from where Thomas lay.

  “Kemala. You must finish this.”

  She turned toward Thomas slowly.

  The clansman was within a few
feet of the SIG, reaching out toward it.

  “Trust God and be strong,” Thomas said. “For all of us.”

  Still she hesitated.

  “Look what they did to Muklas. Do it for him.”

  She glanced at Muklas’s body. Her focus hardened and she turned back toward the man reaching for the SIG.

  He had just gripped the weapon’s stock.

  She raised the shaking Beretta with two hands in front of her and pulled the trigger.

  His body stopped moving.

  She swung the weapon in a ninety-degree arc toward the other man, who was on his hands and knees, about to grab the Uzi. She pointed the Beretta at the back of his head and squeezed the trigger.

  Another round spat out.

  The man’s body jerked as the bullet struck him between the shoulders. He collapsed and lay still.

  Thomas spoke in a barely audible whisper. “Good. Now the keys. Free Carter and Erina first.”

  The Beretta dropped to the floor with a thud. Kemala stared at the bodies as if she couldn’t believe what she’d done.

  “It’s all right,” Thomas whispered. “You did what you needed to do. Ask God for forgiveness later. Now you need his courage.”

  She bowed her head and mumbled what looked like a prayer. Then she took a few shaky steps forward and started fumbling through the pockets of the guy who’d been wielding the SIG.

  Carter heard the jangle of metal. Kemala stood and then came to his side. Her hands were still trembling as she unlocked the manacles around his throat, arms, waist and legs. He sat up slowly.

  She ripped a section of cloth from the bottom of her dress and wrapped it around the wounds on his head before moving off toward Erina.

  His whole body was numb, and his head continued to throb.

  To his right Kemala hunched over Erina, who said, “Thank you. I know that wasn’t easy.”

  He placed his feet on the ground and tried to stand. Pins and needles shot through his legs, forcing him to sit back down.

  He worked his feet and ankles back and forth, flexing and relaxing the muscles to get the blood flowing. He glanced back toward Erina.

  She tried to stand too, but couldn’t.

  “Let me help you,” Kemala said.

  She put an arm around Erina’s shoulders and supported her as they both shuffled toward Thomas.

  Kemala unlocked his manacles, squeezed his hand and then moved toward the unconscious Wayan.

  Carter managed to stay on his feet on the second attempt and walked over to join Kemala. He leaned over Wayan and stroked his forehead.

  There was nothing else he could do.

  When Kemala had freed him, Carter lifted the boy up and gently placed him over his left shoulder, careful to exert minimum pressure on his chest and stomach, suspecting he had suffered internal injuries.

  After balancing Wayan’s weight evenly, he moved to the center of the room, knelt down and picked up the Uzi lying next to the fallen clan member. The stock was slippery with blood.

  “Come on,” he said. “We need to move.”

  Thomas was now on his feet. Kemala and Erina stood on either side of him, supporting him under his armpits, taking most of his weight. Erina held the SIG in her left hand.

  Erina leaned in to her father and said, “We’re so sorry.”

  Her father’s voice was still faint. “There’s nothing for either of you to be sorry about.”

  With Erina and Kemala beside him, he started moving toward the door.

  Carter followed, glancing at Muklas. He hated leaving his body behind, but they had no choice.

  10

  The gathering gloom of dusk approached. The entrance to the tunnel that led to the bunker was set three-quarters of the way down a steep and rocky cliff, a hundred yards to the east of the compound.

  The Japanese had chosen the entrance to the tunnel strategically. A rock ledge hid it from anyone looking down from above, and from the ocean below it would be invisible.

  Carter sat just inside the entrance, where he could still see and hear what was going on outside. The air was calm, and gentle waves lapped against the rocks fifty feet below.

  Behind him Kemala and Erina tended to Thomas and Wayan. Djoran had stocked the bunker with food, water, basic medical supplies and a small gas burner, along with an inflatable dinghy, two oars and a small outboard motor.

  For over an hour Carter had watched out for any clan activity.

  Foot patrols had passed above him, but none had ventured down the cliff. Twice, the helicopter had buzzed overhead, causing him to move deeper inside the tunnel. And roughly every twenty minutes a fishing boat powered by an outboard motor cruised past. The next one was due in approximately ten minutes.

  From above, in the creeping darkness, two Indonesian voices drifted down through the still dusk air.

  Another patrol.

  His right hand reached for the Uzi. He switched the safety off and cradled it in his lap.

  Thirty seconds later the voices trailed off and he laid the weapon at his side.

  This was the third patrol he’d heard, yet none had come exploring in the direction of the tunnel, which meant the mujaheddin must have remained ignorant of the bunker’s existence.

  As full darkness approached, the chances of anyone venturing down such rugged, steep terrain grew more remote, but it was still a possibility. In the morning they’d be far more exposed and vulnerable, and the clan’s search would become more desperate and detailed.

  Carter was loath to move Thomas and Wayan until their condition stabilized, but staying where they were any longer than necessary was out of the question. They needed to get off the island that night. He had the rubber dinghy prepped and ready to go. They needed to get moving shortly after complete darkness fell.

  He sensed someone coming toward him from behind and Erina’s voice echoed in the tunnel. “Dinner is served.”

  “I didn’t know you cooked.”

  She sat down next to him and handed him a plastic mug of steaming tea and two energy bars. “I’m glad I can still surprise you.”

  He placed the tea beside him, unwrapped a fruit and nut bar and took a large bite. He’d forgotten how hungry he was.

  “How are they doing?” he asked.

  “Thomas is in great pain,” she said, “but he’s eating and drinking. You know how strong and stubborn he can be – he’ll recover.”

  “And Wayan?”

  “Still unconscious. His breathing is shallow and his heart rate is very weak. Moving him again will be extremely dangerous.”

  Carter sat motionless, weighing up their options. They didn’t have any. They needed to get off the island as soon as possible. It’d only be a matter of time before the clansmen found them. It was one of those decisions he loathed having to make, but it had to be done.

  “We need to get Thomas and Wayan comfortably settled in the dinghy as soon as it gets fully dark and we’ll head off when there’s a break in the patrols.”

  Erina hesitated before answering and stood up. “I’ll tell the others.”

  Carter took a sip of hot tea and stared out over the darkening ocean.

  11

  At 9.20 p.m., Carter stopped rowing the heavily laden rubber dinghy and pulled in the fiberglass oars. They’d been travelling at roughly six knots for over an hour and a half – luckily, the outgoing tide was with them and had made the job easier.

  Kemala sat at the bow, facing the stern. Erina was in the aft seat near the outboard engine and Carter was in the middle. Thomas and Wayan lay on their backs on the deck inside the gunnels on either side of the boat. Thomas’s head faced the bow and Kemala. They had positioned the still unconscious Wayan with his head toward the aft section.

  Carter glanced over his shoulder. The island and Samudra’s compound were nothing more than a dull glow about five miles behind them. The time had come to assess their position and consider starting the outboard engine.

  The boat was laden with weapons and supp
lies, and they had pushed off from the rocky shore at 7.45 p.m. The plan was to reach the surf camp known as Legends, situated on a small island a hundred miles west of Sumatra, early next morning. Carter had set a course on the GPS device Djoran had provided and expected to be there in six to eight hours.

  The camp had a full-time doctor and a light plane that made regular trips to Bali. Carter knew the owner, a former pro-surfer, well. He’d arrange for Carter and Erina to fly to Bali the same day they arrived or the following day. They’d then head to Sydney from Denpasar Airport on either 29 or 30 December, depending on what obstacles they encountered in the meantime.

  Hopefully by the time they touched down in Australia, Djoran would’ve discovered Samudra’s plans for the terrorist attack. Putting himself into Samudra’s head and taking into account the fact that the mujaheddin were heading for Sydney the next day, 29 December, it seemed highly probable that New Year’s Eve was the likely date of the clan’s planned attack.

  But there was no point speculating about that now. First they had to get Thomas and Wayan to the surf camp.

  Though Thomas had spoken only a few words, he remained conscious and seemed to be aware of everything going on around him. In contrast Wayan hadn’t moved or uttered a word. They all knew deep down that it was only a matter of time for him. He needed urgent medical attention. There was little chance he’d survive the journey.

  Carter kept reminding himself that they hadn’t had a choice. Staying on the island wasn’t an option. But that fact didn’t make him feel any better about the decision he’d made.

  He reached down and touched Wayan’s forehead.

  It was cold. There was no need to check his pulse.

  Carter’s head dropped. A numbness rose through his stomach and chest before settling in his heart.

  He felt Erina’s warm hand touch the back of his shoulder.

  He ran his fingers down Wayan’s cold cheek, triggering a deep-seated regret that he’d acted so selfishly over the last year by leaving and putting his own wellbeing above that of the order.

  Maybe Erina had been right. If he hadn’t left when he did, maybe all of this could’ve been prevented.

  Erina climbed forward and sat to his left. “This is not on you,” she said.