Cave Diver

by Jake Avila

  ‘Tell me, Frank, how on earth did you wangle this?’

  Douglas gave him a lopsided grin. ‘After the Indonesians couldn’t get on to you, they came a-knocking on bended knee. For two hundred grand I agreed to get your signature, but only if they signed me on as pilot!’ He patted Nash’s forearm with a trembling hand. ‘The team’s back in business, Robbie my lad. Now, how about buying me one for the road?’

  Chapter 5

  Kebayoran Baru, Jakarta, Indonesia, one month previously

  ‘For you, my darling, a token of my appreciation.’

  Sura stared in utter disbelief at the gleaming gold bar, for the chrysanthemum seal and Japanese logographs were unmistakable.

  ‘You found it already?’ She forced herself to smile through the turmoil raging within. One pathetic bar . . . How would she fund a new life with that?

  Wijaya sat back in his chair, looking satisfied. ‘I’m afraid there was only a small cache at the mission, but thanks to you we now have the location of the submarine and an estimated two metric tonnes of gold bullion.’

  Sura breathed again. ‘How wonderful! Where?’

  ‘Under our friend Martin Heider’s command, the I-403 was indeed sailed up the Sepik and Hoosenbeck rivers, before being hidden inside a huge cave at the end of the Hoosenbeck Gorge. The founder of the Ford Mission removed approximately half the gold before it sank in the 1950s.’

  Sura’s head was spinning. ‘And they stayed up there? What on earth happened, Father?’

  Wijaya pulled a face. ‘I’m afraid by that stage Doctor Paul Ford was unable to provide more detailed explanations.’ He pushed a box of assorted papers and journals across the desk. ‘I thought you might be able to find out more in his grandfather’s diaries. I’ve had them translated, they’re quite fascinating.’

  Sura was privately furious at the needless loss of precious information. Her father’s goons were expert in violence and little else.

  Wijaya got to his feet. ‘I have already actioned a plan to locate the submarine and retrieve the gold. It will involve deep-water salvage inside an unexplored cave system.’

  Sura sat up hopefully and he patted her head as one would an eager pet.

  ‘Believe me, I am grateful for your acumen, darling. Who would ever have believed it? Hundreds of millions, just sitting there in the jungle. With that money, we will be able to build significant ties in the region. You know how difficult it is for me there.’

  She nodded politely. Kopassus was one of his constant grievances, and they had the western sector of Indonesian Papua sewn up like a fiefdom. To combat their influence, her father had to bribe the émigré landholders who now controlled significant interests in timber and mining.

  ‘Which is why I am going to send the recovery expedition in via the back door,’ he continued.

  At this she frowned. ‘Papua New Guinea?’

  ‘PNG’s defence minister, Sir Julius Michaels, has agreed to a covert mission. In return for half the proceeds, he will provide both right of passage and a crew to sail my ship up the Sepik.’ Wijaya smiled merrily. ‘We will extract the gold and opium right under the noses of Kopassus.’

  Half the proceeds? Sura was reeling, stunned and appalled by the thought of an inconsequential politician pocketing a fortune that was rightfully hers.

  ‘But, Father,’ she blurted out, ‘I had hoped for a legitimate share of the enterprise!’

  His eyes narrowed to two cold slits. ‘You forget your place, Sura. This is not some grubby personal windfall. Sir Julius will use his share to buy his way to the prime minister’s office, and when I am president, the money we will make from mining contracts in PNG will make two metric tonnes of gold pale into insignificance.’

  She had thought Paris would make a nice base. A large ivy-covered house in the Avenue Montaigne, ski trips to the Alps by private helicopter, endless European sojourns – the freedom to enjoy great wealth, not just be surrounded by it like a pretty bird in a gilded cage. Above all, what she craved was the freedom to pursue her own life, to break free of Wijaya’s relentless march to power; and now, yet again, he was taking it all away from her.

  He stood there, looking down at her while she fought to get her disappointment under control.

  ‘My best man, Goki, will lead the expedition. However, given the extreme nature of this remote cave, we are contracting an expert Australian cave diver and his associate. Of course, they will know nothing of our true purpose and will be terminated once their usefulness is at an end.’ He put his finger under her chin and raised it until he could look into her eyes. ‘Which is why I need you. Your film cover story is the perfect lure. Can I count on you to help me, my darling?’

  Taking his hand, she kissed it fervently.

  ‘Thank you, Father. Forgive my impulsiveness. I am always honoured and grateful to serve you.’

  * * *

  Being the truthful account of Dr Jürgen Fürth (George Ford), Wednesday, 30th May 1945

  My execution is certain if this is found. Yet the overriding emotion is a stubborn desire to record events, because the world must know of this crime and I do not believe I will return home to tell of it. Three days ago, SS Standartenführer Martin Heider and his Leiberstandarte honour guard seized the giant Japanese submarine I-403 conveying us back to Europe.

  Had we known of their plot, we would have alerted the Japanese. Unfortunately, their code of Bushido was their undoing. It was beyond Captain Nishigori’s comprehension that a member of the officer class could act so despicably, which is why he failed to disarm Heider and his brutes when the news came in that the Fatherland had surrendered. The SS struck in the middle of the day when the submarine was running deep, and most of the crew were asleep. To ensure they were not overwhelmed by weight of numbers, the cowardly SS closed the main crew compartment and threw in smoke canisters. More than a hundred sailors suffocated. The SS then seized the officers and engineers.

  We didn’t think the SS were capable of operating this vessel. The I-403 is like an underwater town, with multiple decks, weapons, stores and seaplanes, and can sail all the way to Europe without refuelling. We also thought it impossible that any of the surviving Japanese could be persuaded to help. However, the translator, Hideko, proved traitorous and convinced two engineers to join the conspiracy.

  Thus far, Heider has refused to tell us what his plans are. Ambassador Hartmann tells us that there are 4000 kilos of gold aboard, payment for German war technology, and he believes Heider is planning to steal it. The question is, where can he possibly go? It seems we are doomed. If he finds a haven, Heider will kill us to protect his gold, or the Americans will blow us out of the water.

  * * *

  Sura Suyanto hated it when Jaap Boerman stared at her with his mouth open, for it made him look like a big, stupid schoolboy.

  ‘You’re flying to Jayapura tonight?’ he groaned. ‘But why?’

  Putting down the diary entry, she sighed into the mirror on her dresser.

  ‘My father’s insatiable greed for power leaves me with no alternative. I’m meeting a high-level contact in Kopassus to arrange a secret alliance. It will be a complex and delicate negotiation which must be handled face to face.’

  ‘But surely Kopassus is under his command?’

  ‘I’ve explained this to you before. Our defence force is like a corporation – different arms compete for available resources. My father may be CEO, but Kopassus is a rival department, and believe me, they hate each other.’

  ‘But Jayapura is a shithole.’ He spread his big hands in consternation. ‘At least let me come and protect you.’

  ‘Negative. I will be quite safe, and you would stand out like a white elephant.’

  Boerman’s reflection was sullen. ‘I don’t like it. We should stay together.’

  Sura irritably checked her lipstick and mascara. Boerman’s possessiveness was setting her teeth on edge. She picked up her ivory comb and ran it through her glossy black hair.

&nb
sp; ‘I don’t like it either, but unless you prefer a world where you have to hide in my house, you must grow up.’

  Boerman capitulated and sat down on the bed. ‘When will you be back?’

  ‘Tomorrow.’

  There was a brief silence as he digested this.

  ‘How do you know you can trust this contact?’

  Sura smiled knowingly. ‘We are old friends, and no, Jaap, I am not attracted to him. She went over and he pressed his face against the naked skin of her belly. His beard tickled and she felt his tongue creep out. With a groan he slid his hand up her inner thigh. Gently she pushed it away. ‘I’m trying to set us up for life, don’t you understand that? It’s the only way we can ever be free.’

  He broke into an uncertain smile. ‘Do you really mean that?’

  Sura kissed the top of his head.

  ‘Stop feeling sorry for yourself and get me my kebaya. The delivery van leaves in ten minutes and I must be inside it.’

  From an unmarked Kopassus Learjet 45XR, Sura observed the stunning night-time brilliance of Jakarta give way to a jagged black line as they crossed the coast on a westerly heading. Her four-hour flight bisected the very heart of the strong Indonesian archipelago. To the north lay the massive bulk of Borneo, and the jagged four-pronged island of Sulawesi. To the south, the necklace of islands beginning with Java, passing through Bali and Timor, and ending with Trangan. Her flight path crossed three conjoined seas: the Java, Flores, and finally the wide Banda, where on its far eastern shore, the lurking presence of Papua would have been completely invisible if it hadn’t been for a few coastal hamlets and the rich gas field of Bintuni Bay. Indeed, the last hour of the flight across the Papuan land mass was over a black nothingness as inhospitable as any ocean. It was disconcerting that a flight back to the Stone Age took just four hours. And as the Learjet descended, the modest glow of Papua’s capital, Jayapura, seemed to mock distant Javanese aspirations of control – a reminder to Sura that their occupation would always be tenuous and hard-fought.

  The driver of the shiny black van opened the door for her, his chiselled face expressionless.

  ‘You were not followed, Mba Suyanto.’ She’d always liked that about Kopassus men. Well trained.

  He weaved his way skilfully through mid-evening traffic to the Swiss-Belhotel and its discreet undercover parking. Then he escorted her to a top-floor suite. Rapping three times on the door, he was gone before it opened.

  ‘Sura, how wonderful to see you again.’

  The well-dressed man standing before her was fifty, fit and compact, and his roving brown eyes missed nothing. Well, she had chosen her most revealing kebaya.

  ‘Kapten Alatas.’ She received his kiss and inhaled his woody cologne. ‘It’s been too long.’

  He led her into the suite – luxurious by Jayapurian standards – and indicated she sit on the soft leather couch. The air conditioning was blissful, and she allowed herself a contented sigh.

  ‘Mojito?’

  His enquiring eyebrow was loaded with charm. Had it really been fifteen years since he’d taken her virginity at one of her father’s parties? She remembered him leading her through the gardens at Kebayoran Baru with a magnum of Bollinger. She’d got tipsy, and then he’d seduced her atop a marble pedestal in the Florentine grotto, within earshot of the courtyard balcony. While it had never happened again, the secret tryst had forged a bond between them. He’d given her some juicy leads over the years, and she had provided him with mostly harmless information on her father’s machinations at Tentara Nasional Indonesia or TNI – the headquarters of the Indonesian National Armed Forces.

  Alatas stood at the bar and stirred the drinks vigorously with a swizzle stick.

  ‘When are you going back to the Indostar news desk? I miss seeing you every night.’

  ‘I’m on a six-month sabbatical. After seven straight years, I needed a break.’

  ‘Seven years? I don’t believe it. You haven’t aged a bit.’ The smooth operator ensured their fingers touched when he passed her the chilled glass. ‘So, what’s this about, Sura? Why come all this way in the middle of the night to see little old me? Not that I’m unhappy about it, of course.’

  She batted her eyelashes seductively. Little was not a word you associated with this man. The low rank of kapten was nominal, designed to keep him under the radar. But those in the know were aware that Alatas was the second most powerful man in Kopassus, and that his boss, Major General Suparman Herianto, aka ‘Superman’ to his followers, was one of her father’s chief rivals for the leadership of Golkar.

  ‘You know that I’ve always struggled to get along with my father. He’s always been so busy with matters of state.’

  Alatas raised his glass in a sardonic toast. ‘A true nationalist.’

  Sura bared her teeth. ‘A ruthless, self-aggrandising plutocrat who treats his daughter like a chattel.’

  The sudden edge in her voice made him uncomfortable and he pursed his neat lips.

  ‘I imagine it was difficult growing up in such a milieu.’

  ‘Are you becoming a politician, too, Alatas?’

  He laughed. ‘Oh, please.’

  Sura crossed her legs and let the sarong ride a little further up her thigh.

  ‘What would you say if I told you my father was planning to swindle over 200 million US dollars from Kopassus territory with the help of a foreign power?’

  ‘I’d say you were telling fibs.’ His eyes were glued to her legs. ‘We don’t have that kind of money, and he wouldn’t dare.’

  Reaching into her bag, she pulled out the Ford diary translation and put it on the table.

  ‘What if I told you that as well as embarrassing him, half of it could be yours in the next three weeks?’

  ‘I’d say, tell me what you’re offering.’

  Later, grinding her pussy into his face, she reflected on the aphrodisiacal nature of power. With a hundred million dollars – and the potential scalp of the second most powerful man in Indonesia – lending fervour to his lust, Alatas was as horny as a man half his age. It was easy for men, though. They could dream and scheme, and if they were strong-willed and wealthy enough, achieve their ambitions. For a woman in her country, though, power and wealth could only be enjoyed vicariously, which is why she was prepared to risk it all to escape.

  Chapter 6

  Nullarbor Plain, Western Australia

  The nondescript dirt track was just one of hundreds running off the Eyre Highway between Caiguna and Eucla, but Nash would never forget it. Shifting down a gear, he nursed the Land Cruiser over a battered stock grid, the victim of too many road trains, and took a long, slow breath. It had taken fourteen hours of hard driving to get here from Margaret River, and aside from fuel and coffee at Esperance, he hadn’t stopped.

  At least there had been plenty to think about. Shangri-La Productions were paying him a quarter of a million to lead the penetration, plus expenses and hire of his equipment, and he got to keep the rights to his own photography, which meant a glossy book down the track. It seemed too good to be true for an estimated one month’s work, but Nash had a 150,000 Australian dollar advance payment propping up his sagging mortgage account to prove it. Jacquie was ecstatic for him; she said it was the best medicine she could have hoped for and was making the chemo easier to bear.

  He felt uneasy concealing the Hoosenbeck from his family, though. As far as they were concerned, he was heading back to the Kaiserin Grotto to pick up where he’d left off. According to Douglas, the Indonesian subterfuge was about avoiding trouble with OPM – the Free Papua movement – and their sympathisers in PNG. Nash was sympathetic to their cause, but not enough – he had to admit – to pull out.

  Staring out at the wide Nullarbor landscape, it seemed inconceivable that he would be exchanging it for tropical jungle in just two weeks. His equipment was already on a container ship headed for Port Moresby, but there was something important he needed to do here first.

  The sun was low in the wes
tern sky when Nash passed the familiar outcrop of limestone rocks. A corrugated iron gate peppered with bullet holes appeared, and he felt his trepidation harden into something more. Had it really been a year since that dreadful day? The track descended into a depression dotted with saltbush and bluebush scrub. He was relieved to see there were no other vehicles present. Pulling up by a rough, barbed wire fence strung with ominous ‘keep out’ signs, he cut the engine. A glint of bright blue water marked the entrance pool.

  Life and death. Once they’d been abstract concepts, one taken for granted, the other deferred. This place, the Octopus, had taught him they were cold, hard reality.

  The cave got its name from its profile, which resembled an upside-down funnel with several arms radiating from its base. It lay ten kilometres south of the vast chambers of Cocklebiddy Cave, and many suspected a connection to that system lay hidden somewhere within the rockfall at the end of the longest tentacle.

  The light was fading fast. Too late to set up camp. He would sleep in the car tonight and get started early the next morning.

  Watching star belts wheel across an impossibly clear sky, Nash remembered their last moments together, and the aftermath. Like a worn tape, the sequence of events had been replayed in his mind so many times that he could dredge up every scene, dissect its beats, evaluate its import.

  Hindsight. If only he’d listened. If only he’d read the signs.

  He found himself fast-forwarding to the funeral. It had been a suitably bleak day. Riven with pain, he’d agreed Natalie should be buried in her home town of Melbourne. Natalie’s father, Brendan, had tried to be gracious and managed it for the most part. At the wake, Nash had found himself drunkenly apologising and tried to give him back the wedding money they’d used to help fund the renovations on the house, but they were both broken men whose gestures of goodwill could offer no consolation to each other. Natalie’s architect brother, Jonathan, on the other hand, had refused to even look at him.