Double back am-3

by Mark Abernethy

  ‘Clever guy,’ said Mac.

  ‘But you,’ said Simon, pointing at Mac, ‘the boy scout from Australia – you found that camp up in Memo, and you had no idea what you’d stumbled on, did you?’

  ‘Looked like a refugee camp that had got out of hand,’ shrugged Mac. ‘Turned into a death camp.’

  ‘Yeah, but they thought they knew,’ he said, indicating Jim and Tommy. ‘And suddenly, these idiots who were supposed to be monitoring Lombok are now sending an Aussie in there to take photos and have a look? I was thinking, “Holy shit! A bunch of morons from intel are going to unravel this whole thing?”’

  The room buzzed as Haryono and Sudarto returned.

  ‘Base is secure – it’s just them,’ said the major-general.

  ‘So we’re clear for Boa?’ asked Simon.

  ‘Clear,’ said Haryono.

  ‘Just a pity you’re not getting the bonus, eh Ishy?’ said Bongo, an island of calm in an adrenaline-charged room. ‘Would have been nice – buy that private jet, get you to Surfers Paradise faster, yeah?’

  Simon threw Jessica to the floor and moved at Bongo, threatening him with the gun. ‘Shut up, moron.’

  ‘Wait,’ said Haryono, advancing on Bongo. ‘Last thing I heard about you, Morales, you were flying a Mirage jet from Manila to Colombo.’

  ‘A 737, actually,’ said Bongo.

  ‘Still a cheeky little monkey, I see,’ said Haryono, pulling up a chair to face Bongo. ‘What you know about a bonus?’

  ‘He’s lying -’ said Simon, but stopping at Haryono’s raised hand.

  ‘I want to hear this from the legendary Bongo Morales – might be the last lie he ever tells,’ said Haryono, prompting laughter from the Kopassus officers.

  ‘Simple, Ishy,’ said Bongo. ‘Simon’s spent your bonus.’

  Staring at Bongo, Haryono’s eyes went through several emotional seasons before arriving back at the indulgent uncle.

  ‘Spent it?’ said Haryono, very slow.

  ‘The whole forty mill,’ said Bongo, like ice ran in his veins.

  Mac gulped at his dry throat, wondering where Bongo got the balls. Swapping a look with Jim, he saw the American beside himself with fear; if there was one thing guaranteed to incite unpredictable acts of violence, it was stealing money from a Javanese soldier.

  ‘He’s messing with us -’ Simon started again, but this time a burly Kopassus second lieutenant moved in closer from the American’s three o’clock, silencing him immediately.

  ‘Tell me,’ said Haryono, smiling at Bongo with big white teeth.

  ‘Got a laptop?’ asked Bongo.

  ‘I think so,’ said Haryono, looking at Amir Sudarto and getting a nod.

  ‘See that bag over there,’ nodded Bongo at the backpack Jim had hauled through the jungle. ‘There’s a sat phone in there, it lets you connect with the internet, lets you see the trust account at the Koryo.’

  ‘Trust account? How he know that?’ said Haryono, turning on Simon like a shark. ‘How he know it Koryo?!’

  ‘He’s lying – we have bigger things -’ stammered Simon, stopping now as he realised the second lieutenant had a gun trained on him.

  Snapping a command in Bahasa Indonesia, Haryono looked Bongo in the eye as the bag was brought to him and an officer retrieved a laptop.

  Opening the laptop and connecting the data cable to the sat phone, Bongo remained calm while Mac’s heart did backflips – Haryono was waiting to confirm that Bongo was making a fool of him, at which point it was likely he’d personally execute the Filipino.

  ‘The Koryo website,’ said Bongo, turning the laptop for Haryono. ‘Put in your numbers and let’s see.’

  Tapping at the keyboard, Haryono looked up momentarily with an expression which suggested Bongo was already dead. Then the laptop buzzed, there was a change of light reflected on Haryono’s face, and his eyes refocused.

  Jessica writhed on the floor, hands busy behind her back, looking Mac in the eye. Mac wanted to tell her to stay down, stay tied up, but he didn’t dare speak.

  Suddenly, Haryono’s hands flew away from the computer as if it was a leper and he erupted in a blast of Bahasa Indonesia. The second lieutenant pushed his gun into Simon’s ear, and confiscated the American’s handgun as Haryono stood in front of him.

  ‘We agreed, Mr Simon,’ said Haryono, putting out his hand for a SIG Sauer 9mm. ‘We bring Operasi Boa to a successful conclusion, and there is a bonus of forty million dollars US.’

  ‘It’s a trick,’ said Simon, wide-eyed. ‘Bongo’s a con man, you know who he -’

  ‘Do not tell me what I know,’ said Haryono. ‘Tell me what I don’t know, like where is my forty million dollars?’

  ‘It’s there!’ screamed Simon, pointing at the laptop. ‘It was there this morning – I checked because the first bonus was going to be paid tomorrow.’

  ‘Look for yourself,’ gestured Haryono.

  Taking the laptop from Bongo, Simon sat and scrolled up and down frenetically, his face dropping as his eyes confirmed Haryono’s anger.

  ‘I can’t… it’s not possible,’ he said, then looked at Bongo. ‘What did you do with it?’ he yelled, going for Bongo’s throat.

  Slapping Simon to the floor, Bongo looked at Haryono and shrugged.

  Waving the handgun, Haryono fixed Bongo with a homicidal stare. ‘So, Morales – what do you know about this problem?’

  ‘Not much, Ishy,’ said Bongo, smoother than honey pouring out of a jar. ‘Just got a call from Joao about an hour ago.’

  ‘Joao?’ said Haryono, his face darkening. ‘Yeah, he’d just been told about a very large, very recent deposit in the bank,’ said Bongo. ‘He thought I might see the funny side of it.’

  ‘Joao?!’ yelled Simon. ‘Who the fuck is Joao?! ’

  ‘Silence!’ barked Amir Sudarto, training his gun on the American scientist.

  The room fell quiet, except for the sounds of Simon whimpering on the carpet. Haryono stood over him and looked at his SIG. ‘It’s one thing for a man to get greedy, steal something for himself, for his family,’ said Haryono.

  ‘You can’t -’ said Simon.

  ‘But when a man steals from me and then adds the insult, then it is time for the hard hand, right?’ said Haryono, almost whispering.

  ‘He did it!’ cried Simon, pointing at Bongo.

  ‘How would Bongo get bank codes for the North Korean Department of Defense bank?’ asked Haryono, pointing the SIG at Simon. ‘Unless you gave them to him? Bongo pretends to be homosexual at the Lar, he drug passenger in first class and then search their bags. Bongo not the computer thief, Mr Simon. That you.’

  ‘It’s them,’ spluttered Simon, sweeping his arm at Mac, Tommy and Jim. ‘They’re spies, they set this up!’

  ‘Really?’ asked Haryono.

  ‘Yes – they traced Lee Wa Dae through the Koryo Bank.’

  ‘You know how I know you the liar?’ asked Haryono, his face impassive.

  ‘No, I -’

  ‘Look at where the money gone!’

  ‘To the Sentosa Pacific Bank in Singapore,’ said Simon, having seen the transfer. ‘It’s one of McQueen’s accounts!’

  ‘Really?’ asked Haryono. ‘So the spies steal forty million dollars from me, and then they travel all the way here, into army compound in East Timor – four against two hundred – to say hello to me?’

  ‘Well…’ said Simon.

  ‘But it the insult,’ said Haryono, doing a big Javanese shrug. ‘You had to send my money to these people?’

  ‘What people?’ asked Simon, confused.

  ‘Look at the account,’ instructed Haryono, grabbing Simon by the hair and forcing his face at the screen.

  ‘It’s… I… I don’t know any Santa Cruz Trust,’ said Simon, looking at the details on the screen, tears streaming down his face. ‘What is -’

  ‘Santa Cruz Trust Number Three,’ snarled Haryono, cocking the SIG with his thumb. ‘Think – what communist organisation in Tim-Tim woul
d name their bank accounts after the Santa Cruz cemetery?’

  Simon wiped his tears and looked up at Haryono. ‘Look, Ish, I -’

  ‘Which organisation?!’ screamed Haryono.

  ‘Falinitil?’ asked Simon quietly.

  ‘Correct,’ said Haryono, shooting the American in the face. ‘And do not call me Ish.’

  CHAPTER 66

  The pre-dawn birdsong started and Mac felt Jessica snoring on his chest. The first grey light snuck in through the barred window at the top of the cell wall, illuminating Bongo, who was pacing beside the door, mumbling.

  ‘What’s up?’ whispered Mac, as Bongo raised his hand for silence.

  Bongo’s mumbled conversations had started up each time they’d heard footfalls in the stockade outside their cell door. The base stockade was staffed by soldiers of the 1635 Regiment, and Bongo was conversing with them in Tetum, the native dialect of East Timor.

  ‘He says one of the white people will be found in a helicopter, after the spraying,’ said Bongo. ‘The others will be found in the rubble of the base – they’re dynamiting the whole place.’

  Their first plan had been to turn Haryono against Simon, which had worked too well. Simon was dead, and the rest of them – with Jessica along for the ride – now looked like being the fall guys for Operasi Boa. The Indonesian Army would find their bodies, connect them with the SARS deaths and the helicopters, and the story would hit the newspapers. Mac already knew what part he’d play – he was connected with Shareholder Services under his Don Jeffries alias, and he had no doubt he’d be ‘found’ in a downed helo belonging to Pik Berger’s company, filled with the SARS bio-weapon. He’d be just another greedy Aussie mercenary, and the papers would love it.

  ‘These local soldiers don’t care what’s being sprayed on their own families?’ asked Jim, annoyed.

  ‘I didn’t say that,’ said Bongo, sliding down the concrete wall to take a seat on the floor. ‘They don’t understand what I’m talking about. Spraying a disease onto a village is something they don’t comprehend – they think it’s a joke.’

  Stirring, Jessica pushed herself off Mac’s chest and yawned. She was filthy, her face drawn, eyes puffy from fatigue and from crying; she’d been overwhelmed by Simon’s shooting.

  ‘Where are we?’ she asked.

  ‘Jail,’ said Mac. ‘But I have to ask – where were you?’

  ‘Would you believe Kota Baru barracks?’ she said sheepishly.

  ‘Kota Baru?!’ said Mac. ‘That’s in East Timor. Are you crazy? I thought you were heading back to California?’

  ‘I was, but a very nice woman at Larrakeyah Army Base told me that Dad was seen at Kota Baru,’ said Jessica, looking pointedly at Mac and then Bongo.

  ‘Really?’ asked Mac, thinking that Gillian Baddely should keep her scheming female mind to herself.

  ‘Yeah, so I decided to go up there and see if I could make a deal and they arrested me,’ she said, shrugging. ‘Next thing I know, I’m taken to an airfield and this crazy American is telling me what a genius he is.’

  ‘Jesus,’ said Mac. ‘You drove up to the Kota Baru barracks to cut a deal with Kopassus?’

  ‘Don’t mess with me, buster!’ said Jessica, sitting up. ‘What was that finely tuned operation in the mess? And by the way, I guess I’m now calling you McQueen? And Manny – you’re Bongo, right?

  ‘Sure,’ said Bongo. ‘You okay?’

  ‘Yeah, I’ll live,’ she said. ‘This happened before, in Guatemala.’

  ‘Guatemala?’ asked Mac, surprised.

  ‘I was doing charity work through BruinCorps, building schools and stuff, and I got caught by the local Marxists,’ said Jessica, matter-of-fact.

  ‘And?’ asked Mac.

  ‘We talked about their grievances and they let me go,’ she said.

  ‘But – hang on,’ said Mac. ‘ Guatemala? What were you doing down there?’

  ‘Remember I told you Dad paid my college fees?’ said Jessica.

  ‘Yep,’ said Mac.

  ‘He said I had to do a week of community service each year – he didn’t want me to become a spoiled brat.’

  ‘A brat?’ said Mac, chuckling.

  ‘It was a drag at first,’ said Jessica. ‘But in my second year at UCLA, I started spending most of the summer vacation down there.’

  ‘You hear that?’ asked Bongo, laughing and kicking at Mac’s foot.

  ‘Yeah, I heard it,’ said Mac, avoiding Jessica’s gaze.

  ‘So, you guys soldiers, spies – something like that?’ asked Jessica, sitting cross-legged.

  ‘Nothing like that,’ said Mac.

  ‘And you two?’ asked Jessica, turning to Jim and Tommy, who just smiled noncommittally.

  ‘So what is this place?’ asked Jessica.

  ‘See the helicopters?’ asked Mac. ‘And those tanks, and the booms that attach to the underside of the helos?’

  ‘Yes, I did,’ said Jessica.

  ‘They spray a bio-weapon,’ said Mac, so tired he could barely keep his eyelids from dropping.

  ‘Bio-weapon?’ asked Jessica. ‘You mean like anthrax or something?’

  ‘Like that,’ said Jim. ‘But this one won’t kill most people.’

  ‘So -’

  ‘It gives most people a bad cold,’ said Jim, sounding resigned. ‘But Melanesian – and perhaps Polynesian – people contract a powerful pneumonia and die within forty-eight hours.’

  ‘Oh my God,’ said Jessica, looking from Mac to Bongo to make sure no one was pulling her leg. ‘It’s racially selective?’

  ‘No,’ said Jim. ‘It affects everyone, but it will kill the local Maubere people that it’s dropped on today. They have no immunity. It’s called an “Ethno-Bomb”.’

  ‘It even has a name?!’ said Jessica, amazed. ‘That’s disgusting! Why pick on people who already have so little?’

  The four men sighed and looked away – nothing left to say. They’d done what they could and been caught in an historical no-man’s-land, unable to move militarily on Lombok AgriCorp for fear of disrupting the democratic process, yet unable to act within democratic norms because the Indonesian military still ran East Timor. They held a terrible secret yet were unable to do anything about it. Even the US Defense Department, when faced with a rogue from DIA, wanted the embarrassment minimised rather than Operasi Boa shut down. Mac wondered what the East Timorese had done to deserve their lot.

  Grimacing in pain, Jessica fished in her pocket, pulled out a pocket knife and threw it to Bongo.

  ‘I forgot to give it back in Suai,’ said Jessica. ‘Although I guess you have no use for it now.’

  Eyes glowing as he picked it up, Bongo opened the blade and then a series of long steel picks.

  ‘Farrier’s pocket knife,’ said Bongo, standing. ‘The most useless tool known to man – unless he owns a horse…’

  ‘Or is locked in a cell,’ said Mac, joining Bongo at the door.

  Bongo removed the back-plate from the door and tumbled the last barrel in the old lock in less than five minutes.

  ‘I think the best we can do is disable the choppers and get out of here,’ whispered Jim. ‘I don’t know how to destroy that bio-weapon safely.’

  Bongo spoke Tetum through the door and there was no reply, so he pulled back on the cell door and moved into the stockade corridor.

  ‘Okay,’ he mouthed, and the rest followed him through.

  At the end of the hallway a fire axe was mounted on the wall, above a red pail. Grabbing the axe, Mac moved in behind Bongo, holding Jessica by the hand.

  Pausing at the vestibule that led into the provost’s office, Bongo peeked through the door and indicated two guards to Mac. Unclasping the long blade of the farrier’s pocket knife, Bongo showed that he’d go right, leaving the left guard for Mac.

  The bile rising in his throat, Mac watched Bongo count down from three and then they were through the door, the pale light before dawn gently caressing the sleepy young guard’s face as Mac broug
ht the axe to his throat and held it there.

  Waking with a start in his chair, the youngster from the 1635 Regiment tried to yell but Mac had a hand over his mouth. Grabbing the guards’ keys, Mac picked up their M16s and led them to a cell, threw them in and locked the door.

  Joining the other four back at the guard’s station, Mac listened to Bongo spell it out: there were no other officers in this part of the building, and the other two guards were down the end of the building.

  ‘Look at this, McQueen,’ whispered Jim.

  Following the American’s finger, Mac saw for the first time how close they were to the unmarked helicopters that would be doing the spraying. They were not thirty metres away, the large tanks obvious in their load space and the big spray booms attached to the undercarriage making them look like giant insects.

  ‘That true about your ability with aircraft?’ said Jim to Bongo. ‘That extend to Black Hawks?’

  ‘Not specifically,’ said Bongo, eyes scanning the ground in front of him.

  ‘Helicopters generally?’ asked Jim.

  ‘Not lately,’ said Bongo. ‘I say we aim for the hangars, get behind them so we’re shielded from the sentry posts at the gate, run around the length of the hangars, come out at the end. Take that last helo, okay?’

  ‘Sounds good,’ said Mac.

  ‘Can you fly us out of here?’ asked Jim, annoyed.

  ‘I have the ability, yes,’ said Bongo. ‘But we need some explosives.’

  Searching the stockade, they found a locked room and opened it with the confiscated keys. It was a small armoury and, hitting the lights, Mac and Bongo found a box of phosphorous grenades – perfect for sabotage – and loaded them into a small canvas carry bag.

  Flagging them through like a traffic warden, Bongo brought up the rear as they ran silently behind the first hangar.

  Pausing for breath in the lee of the steel-clad building, Mac looked back at the camp. No one had stirred. They ran the length of the hangars, jumping over piles of airfield junk, and arrived at the far end as the sun touched the horizon. Jessica stayed close to Mac – she was scared but composed, noticed Mac.