Blood Is a Stranger

by Roland Perry

  ‘I can’t believe the States would allow even a “friendly” power like Indonesia to have the bomb.’

  ‘Perhaps Utun was going to get it, anyway,’ Perdonny suggested. ‘Someone like Blundell could do a deal to speed the inevitable along. After all, Indonesia, even under communist rule, would be no threat to your country.’

  ‘So are you going to try to assassinate the Kampuchean?” Cardinal asked.

  ‘As I said, there are difficulties.’ They strolled back towards the pool. ‘I hope you are staying for dinner tonight?’

  ‘Thank you,’ Cardinal said, trying to fathom his host.

  ‘Why not a swim beforehand?’ Perdonny said. ‘We have excellent girls to massage you. After last night you need to relax.’

  Cardinal nodded.

  ‘Tomorrow I would like to drive you past the Kampuchean Embassy so you can see our problems at first hand.’

  6

  Three hundred Moslem demonstrators pressed close to the Soviet Embassy’s front fence just as Cardinal got out of his taxi. He hesitated as bottles and rocks were hurled into the compound. A tank rolled forward flanked by police and soldiers wearing gas masks, who charged across busy Japan Thamrin. Two tear-gas grenades scattered protesters. Cardinal saw his chance. He skirted the billowing cloud and hurried through the iron gates that were armed by Embassy staff. A petrol bomb smashed and caught fire fifteen metres from him. A rock the size of a baseball missed him by centimetres as he ran for the Embassy entrance. He presented his invitation card to the ‘October 1917 Anniversary Celebration’ to machine-gun toting guards and was searched.

  Inside, the lobby was a crush of guests who had just avoided the demonstration. An elevated bust of Lenin sitting on a marble shelf dominated a wall. Portraits of the Soviet Communist Party secretary and the president were hung either side of it.

  The throng squeezed through to meet Soviet Ambassador Leonard Volkov, a heavy-featured Georgian with a wad of grey and black hair, clipped short back and sides. His chest was festooned with medals, including a polished Order of Lenin, which gave him forward ballast.

  When Cardinal was not far from Volkov, he saw an official look in his direction and whisper something in the ambassador’s ear. As Cardinal stepped up to him, Volkov thrust out a hand.

  ‘Mr Cardinal,’ he said. ‘Good of you to come. Please enjoy our contemporary art.’

  Cardinal wondered about Pedonny’s pull with the Soviets.

  Hundreds of guests had congregated in a big reception room, and Cardinal began circulating in the hope of seeing Hartina or even Tien, whom Rhonda had described to him. He juggled a champagne from a waiter. An explosion outside shook the building. People screamed, and guards made a dash for the compound grounds. Volkov stopped receiving guests and started moving from group to group. Muffled machine-gun fire caused uneasiness despite the gregariousness of Volkov and his staff. The air was soon thick with cigarette and cigar smoke which the old-fashioned roof fans could not disperse. Drink waiters were working at the double dispensing vodka at a rate that would have impressed the hardiest Russian peasant. Cardinal found himself next to a tall, elegant woman from Chad.

  ‘This party has certainly gone off with a bang,’ he said.

  Her grin turned into a nervous intake of breath as a volley of shots rang out. Windows in the lobby shattered in slow motion. Another group of arrivals threw themselves through the front doors. The doors were slammed shut behind them.

  Automatic fire echoed around the building. Not even the ebullient Volkov could calm the people who were gathering in helpless knots, questioning the latest guests.

  Cardinal continued to move about, a vivid impression of Hartina in his mind. He spun around as he caught a glimpse of a tall brunette. Cardinal shouldered his way past a bevy of diplomats to reach her, but stopped short. The woman, he realised, was European. Cardinal circled the perimeter of the room and ended up near the doors. Volkov was telling a group of anxious diplomats that no one could leave the Embassy until he said so.

  Cardinal found a circle of Russians and inquired if any more guests were expected.

  ‘Not now,’ one said.

  A drink waiter touched Cardinal’s arm. ‘The lady over there wishes your company.’

  Cardinal turned and caught the eye of a tall, elegant woman in a black evening dress. Attractive flecks of grey in her hair had been highlighted and she carried herself like an aristocrat.

  Two explosions crashed down like thunder. The lights flickered, came on again and then faded out. In the hysteria that followed, Cardinal lost Tien. The Russian guards inside began to struggle with guests who tried to open the doors.

  Volkov’s voice boomed above the screams. He called for calm and ordered his staff to hand around torches and candles. The mix of lights illuminated eerie shadows and the faces of panic. Volkov then inspected damaged windows in the lobby. Accompanied by four guards, he stepped through the shattered glass into the grounds. There were only soldiers in the street. Having done their worst, the demonstrators had fled. Volkov returned to the party.

  ‘Please, ladies and gentlemen,’ he said using a loud-hailer, ‘do not attempt to leave until we are sure the streets are clear. I shall announce this shortly. But I would like you to stay and enjoy yourselves! You will never forget the Russian Revolution, eh?’

  There was some nervous applause. Lights came on again.

  ‘Cocktail?’ a waiter said to Cardinal.

  ‘Molotov?’ he said. This brought an unwarranted roar of laughter from a group of relieved guests. Camaraderie was magnified as diplomats from different embassies, who would not normally be seen near each other, embraced. Volkov, now with his chubby, attractive wife at his side, weaved among the crowd encouraging everyone to relax.

  Cardinal caught sight of the woman he thought might be Tien and made his way to her.

  ‘Mr Cardinal,’ she said. She offered her hand. ‘I’m Tien Van der Holland.’

  ‘Is your daughter here?’ Cardinal asked. ‘I really must speak with her!’

  ‘She wanted to come,’ Tien said, coming close to him, ‘but she was detained in Bandung. She thanks you for the flowers.’

  Tien linked Cardinal’s arm in hers and led him to a corner where coffee was being served.

  ‘I want to know who killed my son,’ Cardinal said.

  ‘Chan,’ she said. ‘I wish someone would kill him!’

  ‘She is sure?’ Cardinal said, holding her by the forearms. He searched her face.

  ‘There were two involved,’ Tien said. ‘Chan used a shot-gun. An accomplice used a hand-gun.’

  ‘But if she saw it . . . ?’

  ‘It happened very quickly, Mr Cardinal,’ Tien said, moving her arms as his grip tightened, ‘but she is certain about Chan.’

  His hands fell to his side.

  ‘You must help us!’ Tien said. ‘Chan is coming to Bandung.’

  ‘When?’

  ‘In two days. We don’t trust him! He is going to double-cross Utun!’

  Tien paused and looked deep into Cardinal’s eyes before she added, ‘Do something for the memory of Harry.’

  Rhonda stared at the phone. She was compelled to call Cardinal in Jakarta but was reluctant to pass on the results of her research. Rhonda had obtained a copy of the coroner’s report, which included a detailed comparison of Harry Cardinal’s medical record and that of the body found at Lucas Heights. They were identical. Rhonda had also gone to Harry’s Bronte house to examine the pictures of him. One showed him with a gold ring on his left hand and another with the same or a similar ring on his right hand. Cardinal had been worried about the time of Harry’s death, but everything Rhonda had been able to put together was plausible. Harry had left Lucas Heights at ten in the morning; the body had been discovered seven hours later, at five. A day had elapsed before the body had been examined. The coroner had put the time of death at between thirty and ninety-six hours before the autopsy. These details fitted Cardinal’s version.

  Rho
nda had made up her mind to call when the phone rang. It was her producer, Jenny Dunstan.

  ‘Good news and bad news,’ she said. ‘The prime minister’s office has been in touch with our superiors. He has asked that we do nothing with your interview with Utun, and he was adamant that we do not report the president’s assault on you.’

  ‘Bastard!’

  ‘But predictable, darling,’ Jenny said. ‘We must never rock the boat with Indonesia. Our government has been scared of doing that for thirty years.’

  ‘So that’s it?’

  ‘Afraid so. But now the good news. I’ve lined up a meeting with the managing director so we can make a pitch for a budget for the Cardinal story.’

  Rhonda felt uncomfortable. Her former husband would probably attend.

  ‘Have you any footage on Cardinal?’ Jenny asked.

  ‘Not yet.’

  ‘You better plan some.’

  Rhonda reached for the phone to call the Sari Pacific.

  Cardinal used binoculars to scan the Dutch Colonial mansion on Jalan Wijama in the affluent, leafy suburb of Kebayoran Baru. Chan had turned the building into a fortress complete with electrified wire atop a high brick fence. Four roving-eye cameras could be seen on the front facade. One guard on the roof to the portico entrance sat on a deck chair, a Sterling sub-machine gun on his lap.

  ‘Impossible to get in,’ Perdonny said from their vantage point in the car about a hundred metres away along Jalan Wijama. ‘The only way, we think, is to strike from there.’ He pointed to a footbridge with one metre high walls, a hundred metres from the front entrance. ‘If Chan could be made to get out of the hearse at those gates, he would be a target from the bridge.’

  ‘Do the gates open automatically?’ Cardinal asked.

  ‘They sometimes malfunction and only partly open. People have to get out of cars and walk through.’

  ‘But the gate is the only way in?’

  ‘Yes. Chan has been known to ride around the block and use a phone in the hearse to get it fixed first. It depends on his mood.’

  ‘How do you know about the gates?’

  ‘Our man on the inside has had to fix the gates.’

  ‘Could they be made to malfunction?’ Cardinal said. ‘Wouldn’t that force Chan to walk through the smaller gate?’

  ‘You mean, so the hearse couldn’t get through but the occupants could?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I’ll check.’

  Cardinal used the binoculars to look at the area again from the footbridge to the front gates.

  ‘Is the hearse left-hand drive or right?’ Cardinal asked.

  ‘Right, same as this.’

  ‘Then he probably sits where I am, left, to get the best field of vision, which means he would get out the left rear door. That would place him on the far side of the car from anyone aiming at him from the footbridge.’

  ‘A more difficult target.’

  ‘Head and shoulders only until he straightened up in front of the vehicle to get through the gate.’

  Perdonny asked the driver to pull in at a parking bay about a hundred metres beyond the bridge, and out of view of the Embassy building.

  ‘The bridge is vulnerable,’ Cardinal said. ‘The walls offer some protection, but you would have to have your whole torso exposed, even if you fired from the steps leading to and from the bridge.’

  ‘Getting there with a weapon without being seen would be difficult.’

  ‘I. would be more concerned about getting away.’

  ‘Pity we can’t walk it.’

  ‘Why not?’ Cardinal said. ‘I’ve counted a dozen people going over it since we’ve been here.’

  Perdonny looked around as they got out of the car. He asked his driver to wait.

  ‘Better go one at a time,’ Perdonny said. ‘When you see I’m over it, you follow. But don’t double back. Just keep walking and cross the road a few hundred metres further on.’

  Cardinal watched Perdonny stroll to the steps and counted them as he moved up. There were about forty. He watched him saunter across and move down the other side. From that distance it didn’t appear suspicious. Cardinal followed. From the bridge’s centre he could see the Embassy’s grounds. They needed some honest gardening. He stopped and looked each way and could feel a wind that had not been apparent from the ground. Cardinal moved on and glanced back to see the guard on the Embassy roof.

  Perdonny was waiting for Cardinal in the car. ‘You shouldn’t have stopped like that,’ he said as Cardinal got in. He ordered the driver to take them away.

  ‘I wanted to test the guy on the roof,’ Cardinal said.

  ‘Chan goes to Bandung on Friday,’ Perdonny said.

  ‘So you said.’

  ‘You would have to strike in the next thirty hours.’

  ‘It can’t be organised in that time.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Finding the right person, alone, takes time. You need a professional.’

  ‘I heard it was easy to have someone murdered here.’ Cardinal tried to draw out Perdonny.

  ‘You could get a killer for a hundred dollars, but he would fail. All the capable people we know would take a lot of tempting.’

  ‘You need someone from outside the country.’

  ‘Definitely.’

  ‘What about a weapon?’

  ‘Most pros have their own, but we have suitable weapons.’

  ‘I would like to see one.’

  Perdonny eyed Cardinal. ‘Why?’

  ‘I want to do it myself.’

  Three tries and two hours later, Rhonda got through to Cardinal at his hotel. They were cut off once and the line was bad, with voice-back and crackling making it difficult to talk easily.

  ‘Did you speak to our friend?’ Rhonda asked. She was careful not to mention names.

  ‘No,’ Cardinal replied, his voice echoing down the line, ‘but her mother turned up.’

  ‘Did she tell you anything?’

  ‘Everything I wanted to know.’

  ‘Everything?’ Rhonda repeated. She was surprised, but reluctant to ask for details.

  ‘I’ve got what I want.’

  ‘So you’ll be coming back to Sydney soon?’

  ‘In a few days.’ His tone was chilly.

  ‘Why not immediately?’

  ‘Rhonda, I’ve much on my mind, but I’ve still been thinking about you. A hell of a lot.’

  ‘I’ve been thinking about you too. Do you know what day you’ll be in Sydney?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Have you made a booking?’ she asked more anxiously. ‘Ken, is there something wrong? You sound as warm as a Siberian winter.’

  ‘Nothing’s wrong,’ he said. ‘I’ll have to leave now. Goodbye, Rhonda.’

  She felt a knot tightening in her stomach as she replaced the receiver. ‘Perdonny,’ she mumbled as she reached for her diary, ‘must call Perdonny.’

  When Chan’s profile filled the rifle’s telescopic sight, Cardinal pulled the trigger.

  ‘Better,’ Perdonny said. He moved forward to inspect the piece of paper that had fallen from the tree trunk where it had been pinned. ‘Perhaps you should rest and practise again later.’

  Cardinal’s right shoulder was numb from the butt pressing into it, and his eyes were smarting from the sun and the need to squint into the sight. He followed Perdonny around the edge of the swamp at the rear of the villa and through a gate that led to the pool. The atmosphere was sticky as the red streaked sky rushed from sundown to dusk then darkness. Buildings on Jakarta’s skyline were changing rapidly into grey shapes. The green jungle beyond the swamp would soon be shadows. Servants served them scotch as they sat at the poolside table.

  ‘You’re a good shot,’ he said, raising a glass to Cardinal. ‘Do you feel comfortable with that rifle?’

  ‘It’s solid,’ Cardinal said. He patted the weapon. ‘What make is it? The brand seems to have been scraped off.’

  ‘It comes from the Soviet Unio
n.’

  ‘You seem to have good relations with them,’ Cardinal said.

  ‘I know you are suspicious of that,’ Perdonny said, ‘but we must have mutual trust at this moment.’

  ‘Do you work for the KGB?’ Cardinal asked bluntly.

  Perdonny shook his head. ‘That would be incompatible with my other work for Australia, but I do keep in good contact with the Soviet Embassy people. It will be useful when we are in power.’

  Cardinal wiped his brow.

  ‘We know Chan’s movements,’ Perdonny said, removing a folder from a briefcase and placing it on the table. ‘We only know for sure of the one time when he will return to the Embassy. That’s tonight at ten.’

  ‘Jesus,’ Cardinal muttered. ‘I was hoping for another day’s preparation.’

  Perdonny opened the folder. ‘You can always abandon this.’

  Cardinal did not react.

  Perdonny put on glasses to read from notes and then looked up. ‘Ten is a good time. The curfew is at midnight. You will have plenty of time to return to your hotel . . . afterwards.’

  ‘You think that’s wise?’

  ‘The idea is to act as normally as possible. But you must get out of Jakarta fast by plane.’

  ‘Won’t the police be checking Halim?’

  ‘Exactly. My idea is for you to fly to Bali. Planes go from Jakarta’s internal airport.’

  Cardinal frowned. ‘And then?’

  ‘Bali and Ambon are my two homes,’ Perdonny said. ‘My contacts will hide you. You’ll be safe until we arrange an external flight.’

  ‘When does the Bali flight leave?’

  ‘Six is the first. You should be at the airport at five-thirty. The curfew is lifted at five, so that’s okay.’

  ‘But the cops and soldiers will be on the look-out for . . .’

  ‘You’re a tourist. Act like one if you’re picked up. We’ll help by providing some diversions to keep Bakin and everyone else busy through the night.’

  Cardinal put down his drink. ‘I should be doing more practice.’

  Perdonny looked at the sky. ‘Wait until it’s dark, then you will be simulating conditions better . . .’