Blood Is a Stranger

by Roland Perry

  The train swept south-west and stopped at the city of Bogor. About fifty people got off but were replaced by another hundred travellers for the journey west to Bandung. The train then cut through tunnels in the rugged Rembang plateau, and the several times passed unsteadily over flimsy bridges spanning ravines between the volcanic mountain cones a thousand metres high.

  Cardinal felt increasingly trapped. It would be difficult to get off the train, but not impossible, if he could escape his unwanted escort. If there was a chance to jump off, he thought it had to be when the train slowed to a crawl to negotiate bridges.

  Cardinal made calculations based on the map Perdonny had marked for him. The last tunnel was the longest at four minutes. It ended forty kilometres south of Bandung, which meant that he could feasibly get to that city by hitching a ride if he escaped close to a road.

  The drink and food trolley returned. Cardinal asked for a sandwich and some coffee and paid for it. The officer did the same.

  Cardinal stretched his neck to see out the window. As the train curled through a pass, he could see a tunnel opening in a mountain ahead. He sipped his coffee, put the cup down and stood up.

  ‘May I go to the toilet?’

  The Bakin officer looked up at him for several seconds.

  ‘Toilet?’ Cardinal repeated, pointing to a door.

  The officer still stared but nodded and barked an order at one of the militia next to them. He followed Cardinal to the toilets, both of which were occupied. Cardinal shrugged at the militia, glanced back at the watching officer and stood waiting, within reach of his suitcase.

  As they were plunged into darkness. Cardinal grabbed his case, swung it down and stepped around several people to the end of the carriage. He slid the door across and moved outside, making sure not to let it crash back. He slipped into the next carriage and stumbled his way over bodies. He heard the door slam shut as he edged outside again. He was two carriages away from the end of the train. He hurried to the beginning of the last one as the train began to slow down, which was the signal that it was coming out of the tunnel. Cardinal judged that the place the officer had been sitting would be out of the dark.

  He leant his body out of the train between the last two carriages ready to jump as soon as he saw daylight. But he had to check himself. The train had moved out the other side of the mountain and on to a bridge, and he was looking down over air and a river cradled thousands of metres below.

  The moment the last carriage reached the other side, Cardinal threw his case clear, jumped and landed inelegantly on his back. He scrambled to his feet, grabbed the case and dashed for the undergrowth. He glanced over his shoulder as he heard the train shunting to a halt.

  He charged further into the jungle. Someone shouted orders. Shots echoed over the ravine. Cardinal hurried on, his case over his shoulders.

  After twenty minutes of crashing aimlessly, he stopped and lay flat, his chest heaving. He pulled out Perdonny’s map and judged he was close to a road into Bandung. The city seemed about thirty kilometres south-west. The sun was setting in a fast slide into some distant gorge in a fierce splash of red, blue and black. He waited a few precious minutes until he had recovered and then set off in the direction he thought the road might be, using the sun as a rough reference. By chance he found a path and he stuck to it, for darkness was gathering fast. It led to a road.

  Cardinal stayed under the cover and moved up a hill until he reached the brow. He let an old car pass him before he moved onto the road. At first he was encouraged by the sight of more vehicles winding their way towards him. But when he squinted at the bottom of the hill, he could see a police car. In the fading light he could just see figures fanning out into the jungle from which he had emerged.

  Cardinal was cornered. He could either abandon his case and push on, or try to hitch a ride. He decided to hitch. He let two cars pass by and then moved out of the scrub to flag down a third. Instead of stopping it changed gears and sped past him. He kept his eye on the activity below and tried again, this time giving the oncoming vehicle much more warning of his presence. It swerved by. Cardinal stayed on the road and was nearly collected by an old truck. The driver braked hard. Cardinal stepped around to the window and looked square in the face of a bristly old man who looked at him uncertainly.

  ‘Bandung! Bandung!’ Cardinal called. Four children in the back began to giggle when Cardinal returned their stares. He smiled. The driver broke into a toothless grin and opened the passenger door. Cardinal jumped in.

  ‘Wayang,’ the man said, with a wave at the children.

  ‘Bandung,’ Cardinal said, with an anxious glance behind them.

  The old man shook his head. ‘Wayang,’ he said, and gabbled so that Cardinal had no hope of comprehending. One of the children held up a glove puppet and then he understood. They were on their way to the Wayang - an Indonesian puppet show.

  The truck moved at a leisurely pace. A police car overtook them, and Cardinal slid down as it sped by and honked the horn for good measure.

  They rattled on for twenty kilometres until they reached a small village. All stalls had been closed down for the night, but one large, open restaurant on stilts was still doing business. The strong smells of curries and spices reminded Cardinal that he had not eaten for a day.

  It was the end of the lift for Cardinal, and he asked the old man, resorting to sign language, if any buses came through.

  ‘After Wayang,’ the old man assured him.

  Cardinal was told the show would last an hour.

  It was nearly seven, and he had no desire to go on foot. He wandered to the restaurant and sat among the other thirty diners under a bamboo roof. About eighty metres away, in a clearing at the edge of a rice field, an audience of two hundred were seated cross-legged watching the Wayang.

  Cardinal ordered a beef stew and vegetables, and a beer. As he ate, the crowd became increasingly involved in the show of two dimensional puppets’ shadows, which slid and bounced on a screen.

  After the meal, Cardinal wandered down to the show and stood to one side, with a view of the bicycles and cars coming and going from the small car-park next to the restaurant. Just as he decided to sit down, an army truck came revving up a hill. Cardinal stepped away into the shadows of some huts and watched. Four soldiers jumped out and entered the restaurant, and a minute later marched over to the crowd. It was dispersing. The show was finished. The soldiers approached the huts. Cardinal crouched low. He could see the soldiers about twenty metres away. They put down their rifles and lit cigarettes.

  The bus to Bandung chugged up to the restaurant. People began to embark. The soldiers talked and laughed as they relaxed. Cardinal watched the bus line thin, and resigned himself to missing it. A sergeant gave a low, throaty order, and the soldiers threw away their cigarettes, picked up their rifles and ran to the truck.

  Cardinal emerged from the shadows when it was out of sight. The bus started up and he made a dash for it.

  Perdonny stood watching the pilot working on the twin-propeller Beachcraft under lantern light. The dark hulks of three big explorer-transporters and two other light planes threw shadows over the Bogor airport hangar’s walls. The pilot — Philip Oswald Webb - an Australian known to everyone as ‘Spider’ worked on a part-time basis for Perdonny’s company.

  Webb was fit. The only sign of age was his thinning hair, which he went to great lengths to disguise. He had a prominent nose and jug ears that danced when, rarely, he smiled. Webb’s light green eyes never stopped darting about. Although he was just medium height, his muscular build and broad shoulders gave him an imposing appearance. He stretched out a hand that seemed to swallow Perdonny’s.

  ‘What’s so important you gotta come in person, mate?’ Webb asked.

  ‘Special assignment, Spider,’ Perdonny said. ‘I want somebody exited fast.’

  ‘The TV reporter?’

  ‘No, an American.’

  Webb continued to work on the plane. ‘What’s the big h
urry?’

  ‘He has done a few things for us,’ Perdonny said.

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘It doesn’t matter. We want to help him out.’

  Webb stopped what he was doing and stared at Perdonny. ‘It matters to me,’ he said, tapping his chest. ‘I’m not risking my cover for some dumb Yank!’

  ‘It’s a straight job. Just fly him to Darwin.’

  ‘Just fly him to bloody Darwin!’ Webb mimicked. ‘Do you know how tight security is right now? A bloody Qantas cargo plane was attacked the other night. The whole Indonesian military is crazy!’

  ‘I appreciate the difficulty,’ Perdonny said, ‘but I want it done.’

  ‘It’s not worth risking my cover!’

  ‘Spider, it’s your job!’

  ‘Part of my job, mate, just part,’ he said wiping his hands with a greasy rag. ‘I would want Canberra to confirm this.’

  ‘You know that takes time!’

  ‘Yeah, well, I don’t want the job.’

  ‘You work for me! Can’t you co-operate?’

  ‘Did this guy have anything to do with the Cambodian Embassy attack last night?’

  ‘No. How did you hear about that?’

  ‘I heard. I also heard that an American could have been involved.’

  Perdonny ignored the remark. ‘I want you to take this man out tomorrow.’

  ‘Only if bloody Canberra says so.’ Webb turned on his heel and left.

  The canal water shimmered in the struggling moonlight opposite an old two-storey apartment. Cardinal had caught a bus after the Wayang to the Bandung depot and then had walked to the safehouse on the fringe of the city’s central area.

  Myrta answered his knock and led him in, along an ill-lit hallway and up some creaking stairs. Cardinal slung his suitcase down in the room and lay on a narrow bed under a window. On his mind was the probable dragnet in Bandung. After the train incident he felt sure Bakin’s attention would switch to the city.

  If Harry is alive, Cardinal thought, he could be very close. Hartina, he figured, held the key.

  Cardinal was thinking about the implications when Myrta called him.

  ‘Robert is on the phone.’

  ‘You must stay hidden in Bandung,’ Perdonny said. ‘Don’t go out of the apartment. Myrta will arrange a car for you. Leave at three, at the latest, for Bogor and be careful of road blocks.

  ‘There should be only a few airport guards around,’ he said, ‘and you can avoid them at night. Head for the Aus-minex hangar. The door will be open. Go straight to the plane and see if you can hide in it.

  ‘Spider’s very tough, but cautious. An ex-SAS turned Intelligence field operator. He’s not pleased about having to get you out.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘He’s frightened it could blow his cover.’

  ‘Is he sure to do it?’

  ‘I’m putting on as much pressure as I can,’ Perdonny said. ‘You’ll have to get to Bogor and judge for yourself.’ He paused. ‘I wish you luck.’

  Cardinal found Myrta.

  ‘I’m going to try to sleep for three hours,’ he told her. ‘Could you wake me at, say, midnight?’

  Myrta nodded. ‘Then I’ll show you the car.’

  Cardinal dreamt for the first time in three nights, and the images were depressing. He saw a figure he did not recognise in the shallow grave, but this time there were some distinct differences from his earlier nightmares. Cardinal himself was also buried in the grave with the mutilated figure and, although it did not look like his son, the voice emanating from it was Harry’s. In their suffocating state, the images could still converse, and his son’s voice spoke about Chan and their connection. Cardinal struggled to help Harry from the grave and the confusion ended with a woman trying to haul him out.

  Myrta had to shake him by the shoulder to awaken him.

  ‘Jesus!’ Cardinal muttered, as he sat up. ‘Thanks for getting me out of that!’

  ‘You were talking in your sleep,’ she said.

  The images were still dancing with him. ‘What the hell was that all about?’

  ‘It’s midnight,’ Myrta said. ‘Do you want to see the car?’

  ‘Yeah,’ Cardinal said, hauling on his clothes, ‘I’ll be right down.’

  ‘I’m going crazy!’ Cardinal mumbled as parts of the dream returned to him. He felt an overwhelming urge to contact Hartina.

  ‘The car is garaged,’ Myrta told him. She led him to an adjoining building. ‘It looks old, but it is good.’

  She slid a door across, and a rusted twenty-year-old Mercedes sedan came into view.

  Cardinal got in, started it up and played with the gear shift.

  ‘No problems with anything,’ she said.

  He tried the brakes and turned the steering wheel. Cardinal took some money from his wallet.

  ‘It’s okay,’ Myrta said and laughed.

  ‘Take it,’ Cardinal said.

  ‘I take a little for petrol, maybe,’ she said.

  Cardinal insisted, but she laughed again. ‘It cost us nothing. It is stolen.’

  ‘Just want to make one call,’ he said as they returned to the flat.

  ‘Robert say to be careful about any contact in Bandung,’ Myrta said. She looked worried.

  Cardinal waited until she had gone to her study at the end of the hall before dialling the Van den Hollands’ number. He began to perspire as the number rang.

  Tien answered in her ice-cold, but clear voice.

  ‘Donald Blundell, here,’ he said, sounding as much as he could like the CIA man. ‘Is your daughter about?’

  He heard her hand go over the phone and her muffled voice said, ‘It’s Blundell again. He only rang you this morning. What’s wrong now?’

  ‘It’s urgent,’ Cardinal said loudly.

  He heard Tien beckon someone else to the phone.

  ‘Yes, Mr Blundell, what is it?’ a younger voice said curtly.

  ‘I was just a little worried about Harry,’ Cardinal said. ‘Are you happy with the way things are going?’

  There was a moment’s silence, and Cardinal felt he may have blown it.

  ‘I thought we made that clear this morning,’ the woman said. She sounded irritated.

  ‘I know,’ Cardinal said. Sweat from his brow dripped on the receiver. ‘But I wanted to speak to you alone.’

  There was a lull at the other end.

  ‘You know how worried we are.’

  ‘About Chan?’ Cardinal said evenly, as if he were stating the obvious.

  ‘Isn’t this conversation dangerous?’

  ‘Yeah, could we meet?’ Cardinal asked. ‘I would come to you, only I have other business at my hotel. Is there somewhere we can talk?’

  Hartina put her hand over the phone and spoke softly to her mother. Cardinal couldn’t hear a word.

  ‘You understand me?’ Cardinal said.

  ‘Mother wants to know if we should get our belongings together?’

  ‘I want to discuss things with you, first.’

  ‘You know where we all had dinner, the university cafe?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘It’s the only thing open at this hour.’

  ‘See you in, say, forty-five minutes?’

  ‘You make it sound easy! If I can escape, I’ll make it in an hour; if not, forget it. But I’ll need an excuse. You could ring the guard, but they normally only take orders from Chan.’

  ‘I could try,’ Cardinal said lamely.

  ‘I could say I had to go to the reactor,’ she said. ‘I’ll pass by and then talk my way into a drink at the cafe, if I can.’

  ‘See you in an hour?’

  ‘I’ll do my best.’

  Cardinal held the receiver for more than a minute after the conversation had ended.

  ‘Are you all right?’ Myrta asked.

  ‘The university cafe,’ Cardinal said. ‘Do you know where that is?’

  ‘Yes, but Robert said . . .”

  ‘Draw me a map, p
lease!’

  ‘It’s behind the hospital,’ Myrta said. She followed Cardinal upstairs.

  ‘I’m going to Bogor after I visit the cafe,’ he said. He tossed his clothes into his suitcase.

  ‘Many militia are in the streets,’ she said. ‘They may be looking for you!’

  Cardinal thanked her and rushed to the Mercedes, which he drove slowly along beside the canal until he became familiar with its stiff gear shift.

  Black clouds had moved across the moon, and the poorly lit streets limited visibility. He had to swerve to miss a pedestrian and then a pedicab before he came to a T-junction. He turned right towards the city centre and drove three kilometres to the main city market.

  The narrow, crowded streets forced him to leave the car there and go on foot a further five hundred metres to the hospital, an ornate nineteenth-century building.

  Curfews did not seem to be in force as there were many people still eating in sidewalk cafes.

  He examined the buildings opposite the university cafe on Jalan Braga, which had an intellectual ambience with papers, magazines and books provided for patrons. He wanted a hidden vantage point. The levels above the shops opposite were run-down and unused.

  Cardinal walked down a road running perpendicular to Jalan Braga. He stopped at the rear of the shops and found a gate that led to a cobble-stoned alley. It was locked. He climbed over the gate. His feet made contact with a small animal that squealed and bit at his shoes. He stood still and peered down at black shapes that turned out to be rubbish bins. Swarming around one were a dozen darting rats. Cardinal picked up a rock and lobbed it at them. Instead of scattering, they became noisy and aggressive. He tore away a loose fence paling and swept a path past them and then hurried along the alley to a wooden fire escape to the second and third levels, which overlooked the cafe. He climbed the fire escape and reached a landing. He could see a jeep full of soldiers bristling with rifles pulling up in the road just short of Braga. A car stopped behind it, and a figure jumped out and began hissing orders to the soldiers. Cardinal watched them taking up positions inside restaurants. He eased into a dilapidated room that looked down into the street and was some twenty paces down from the university cafe. Heads turned to look at the hurrying new arrivals, and Cardinal began to wonder if it was a welcoming party for him.