Cave Diver

by Jake Avila

  He passed her a glass of iced tea. ‘You know, I can’t get that night in Jayapura out of my mind.’ His eyes gleamed over the rim of the glass. ‘Perhaps I might find you in my tent this evening?’

  Sura produced a wicked smile. ‘Sounds tempting. But I won’t be able to relax until we have what we came for. Perhaps we can celebrate then?’

  Alatas drained his glass and banged it down on the table. ‘Well, we’d best get this show on the road.’

  The tent filled with his troops, who stood at the back while Rob Nash and Mia Carter were seated on chairs in the front row. Beside Alatas, Jaap towered over the whiteboard, his face grim. Sura knew he was getting jealous again, and that Alatas’s familiarity was the cause.

  Alatas cleared his throat. ‘Rain is imminent, so listen carefully to Mba Suyanto because I want this matter expedited as a matter of extreme urgency.’

  With a suggestive grin, he passed her the whiteboard marker, which she promptly tossed across to the glowering big man.

  ‘Jaap, would you please take us through the plan of attack?’

  Stooping down, Boerman drew a narrow bucket to represent the sinkhole, and then the outline of the curved submarine within. This elicited a few sniggers from the back row.

  ‘Are you boys or men?’ Sura stared them into silence.

  Boerman added two vertical lines bisecting the submarine’s outline.

  ‘There are two decks inside each pressure hull.’ Then he drew a cross on the upper starboard side, about halfway to the bow. ‘The gold store is here, but it’s a long way from the split in the hull, over here. So, we’ll blow a hole in the side, right next to the gold store, to expedite access and retrieval.’ With the back of the marker he tapped the lower half of the submarine. ‘While we weren’t able to access the stern, we know there are compartments full of opium. So, we will also cut a hole just aft of the rear deck gun.’

  ‘Thank you, Jaap. Are there any questions?’

  Nash promptly put his hand up. ‘Are you seriously proposing to use explosives near the torpedo room? It’s barely ten metres away.’

  Jaap frowned. ‘It will be a controlled demolition, Nash. Do you have a problem with that?’

  Alatas raised an eyebrow. ‘How many torpedoes are we talking about?’

  Sura consulted her notes on the Sentoku weapon systems.

  ‘Assuming none were fired, twenty half-tonne warheads, plus several tonnes of bombs, and in the hangar, there are light torpedoes for the seaplanes.’

  ‘That’s at least thirteen tonnes of high explosive!’ Alatas turned to Jaap and shook his head. ‘Are you barking mad? You will cut your way inside with the oxy – do you understand?’

  Jaap flushed.

  ‘That means no explosives! Acknowledge.’

  ‘Ja, ja, I heard you the first time.’

  Sura shot Jaap a warning look before checking her watch.

  ‘It’s already 1700 hours, which means we only have two hours of daylight left.’

  In a loud voice, she issued their instructions. A small group would ferry the oxyacetylene kit into the submarine so Boerman could cut through before dark. Another would relieve Ricki up at the cave. The rest would continue building the winch to remove the opium. Sura abruptly broke off as she realised the entire Kopassus contingent of thirteen was present.

  ‘Who, pray tell, is guarding Frank Douglas?’

  Two soldiers at the rear stared at each other in alarm, then jumped to their feet and dashed out.

  ‘This is unacceptable.’ Sura glanced angrily at Alatas.

  ‘More like fucking incompetent,’ murmured Jaap cheerfully.

  They heard yelling and then a moment later, one of the terrified guards burst back inside.

  ‘Dia tertidur! Dia tertidur!’

  ‘He’s asleep?’ Alatas guffawed. ‘Well, no harm done.’

  ‘I expect better, Kapten,’ Sura seethed.

  He gave an indifferent laugh. ‘Shall I order a firing squad? Now, what say you and I partake of something stronger. I have some very nice Scotch whi—’

  His words were drowned out by an almighty thunderclap that seemed to roll across the roof of the world. Heavy drops began thumping into the canvas, as if they wanted to punch right through it. Within seconds, the camp was enveloped in a deafening tropical downpour.

  Sura silently cursed her luck. The wet had arrived.

  Cursing, grunting and shouting, Nash and two soldiers hauled, pushed and fought the wet and slippery oxyacetylene kit up the long vertical passageway, using nothing but a short knotted rope and raw muscle power. It was exhausting, difficult and dangerous, not least because they had prudently positioned Nash below, but at least it cost them two crushed fingernails and a broken thumb when he slipped, leaving them no choice but to take the strain of the massive cylinder.

  It took them almost an hour to manhandle it to the top deck, where Boerman impatiently waited. Free of the awful burden, Nash slumped against the inverted floor and tried to catch his breath.

  ‘Maybe next time you’ll keep your big mouth shut,’ snapped Boerman, pulling on a welding helmet. ‘Now fuck off and give me some space.’

  Only too glad to escape the noxious fumes, Nash joined the soldiers on the gantry and waited in the driving rain, which was whipping across them in sheets. The reflected glow of the cutting torch could be seen in the top deck cavity, and the occasional spark made it all the way down to the flimsy platform, before sputtering out in the puddles.

  The double hull was made of high-tensile steel, and Boerman was cutting for almost half an hour before a loud banging erupted inside the submarine.

  What is he doing? thought Nash, before flinching at the horrific grinding sound of a heavy steel plate sliding down the outer skin of the submarine.

  He realised Boerman had knocked the hull section outwards.

  The man is completely insane.

  In the near darkness, Nash caught a momentary glimpse of its bulk falling towards them. It seemed inevitable that it would smash the gantry to pieces and send them plummeting to their deaths, but with a juddering crash the sheet of curved steel bounced off the last jammed log, somehow missing the steel stays before plunging to the bottom of the sinkhole, where it landed with a gigantic splash.

  Nash’s ears pricked up at that.

  ‘Keep it coming, you bastard,’ he urged the rain clouds above.

  While he had absolutely no intention of diving, the chaos of the rising water was going to help them escape.

  ‘What? What did you say?’

  Over the torrential rain hammering the tent, it was impossible to hear the jabbering voice of her Jakarta contact, so Sura pressed the satellite telephone to her ear and buried her head under a thick towel.

  What she heard made her cringe.

  Alatas looked up from his camp chair.

  ‘News?’

  ‘I’ve just received word that my father left for Papua an hour ago.’

  The merriment in his eyes abruptly died and was replaced by an intense probing stare.

  ‘You told me he was under control.’ A ruthless undertone had crept into his silky voice, and for the first time she understood the reputation he had won in East Timor silencing the opposition.

  Sura kept her face composed. She had made no mention of falling out with her father. Why risk spooking Alatas and his master?

  ‘He must have got wind of something from Sir Julius. You know he’s no fool.’

  Alatas reluctantly tore his gaze away and swilled his whisky around before draining the glass. He brooded for a moment, then shrugged.

  ‘Well, it’s nothing we can’t handle.’

  Sura breathed out slowly. ‘How so?’

  ‘He won’t reach Jayapura until later tonight, and I can assure you we won’t be giving him a lift. If he has the balls to invade our turf, he will require helicopters from his base in Sorong, which will take six hours just to reach Jayapura and refuel.’

  Oh, he has the balls, Kapten, thought Su
ra grimly. In fact, they’re probably waiting for him at Jayapura already.

  Alatas got to his feet and reached for the bottle of whisky.

  ‘Worst-case scenario, I can’t see him getting here for at least twenty-four hours. That’s ample time to salvage the gold and some of the opium.’ Refilling his glass, he gave her a smile. ‘You don’t even have to risk him interdicting your ship. I can fly you back to Jayapura with your share of the gold.’

  ‘While you depart with three tonnes of opium worth at least thirty million US dollars? I’d hardly call that fair.’

  Alatas shrugged. ‘Assuming it’s there.’

  ‘Oh, it’s there, Kapten. Doctor Ford was very clear they never touched it.’

  ‘Sura, look around you. This operation has been awfully expensive. And don’t forget, we are sacrificing a quarter tonne of our share to expose your father’s dirty deal with Sir Julius.’

  ‘Oh, Kapten –’ she smiled mockingly – ‘just how much does your boss think the presidency of Indonesia is worth? I think Kopassus is doing very nicely indeed.’

  His mouth became a thin line. ‘And I think you’re greedy.’

  Sura shook her head. To live the rest of her life without constantly looking over her shoulder meant bulletproof identities, American and European addresses, expensive round-the-clock security.

  ‘Kapten, you do understand that there is no going back for me after this. My father will never stop seeking revenge, especially if he loses the presidency.’

  Sura suddenly felt cold at the thought of his imminent arrival.

  ‘I hate to see a beautiful creature afraid.’ Alatas came over and put his hands around her slim waist. ‘Why not stay with me, Sura? I have a remote villa in Brunei no one knows about – you could live there like a queen. Let me keep you safe.’

  She let Alatas nuzzle her neck. As his big hand slid up between her thighs, she pushed back, eliciting a small groan from him.

  Yes, you’d like that, wouldn’t you – at least for a while? I’d be a campaign trophy, and then, when the shine wore off, you could put two neat bullets in my head, and no one would ever know.

  Still, there was no harm in keeping Alatas keen. With her father on the warpath, only Kopassus had the muscle to delay him while she made her getaway.

  Heavy squelching boots approached the tent, and Sura pulled away a split second before a rain-soaked Jaap appeared in the doorway.

  ‘Don’t you know how to knock?’ Alatas snapped.

  Boerman’s eyes widened as he took in their body language.

  ‘What is it, Jaap?’ she asked quickly.

  With a face like stone, he held out two gleaming ingots.

  ‘We’re inside the bullion store. And it’s all there.’

  Chapter 36

  A drenched Nash crawled woodenly into the four-man tent and collapsed between Mia and Douglas, partially visible in the light thrown from the command post.

  ‘They’ve f-found it,’ he reported through chattering teeth. ‘Upper d-deck.’

  Mia felt his back. ‘You’re chilled to the bone!’

  She helped him peel off his soaked clothes, wrapped him in a blanket, and vigorously rubbed warmth into his frozen limbs.

  ‘Bet the bastards had no hot food for you, either,’ Douglas growled. ‘Here, laddie, get this into you.’

  It was a precious bar of chocolate. Nash was too famished to ask where it had come from, and wolfed it down. Infused with ginger and chilli, its sweet heat helped revive him enough to explain that with the sinkhole floor awash, the Indonesians would not risk getting the gold out until first light.

  ‘This may well be our last night, and I couldn’t get hold of a diversion.’

  ‘Is this diversion enough for you?’

  Nash gasped as the cold steel of the MP40 was pressed into his hands.

  ‘Jesus, Frank. How the hell did you get hold of this . . .?’ He broke off as he realised Douglas must have got it during the briefing.

  ‘It was under Boerman’s cot,’ Douglas chuckled. ‘I couldn’t manage the M60, but this thing is cleaned, loaded and ready to go.’

  ‘What if he finds it gone?’

  Nash had a vision of all hell breaking loose at any moment.

  ‘Then we make our stand. But I suspect he’s as buggered as you. So, I say we make our move first thing in the morning, when the main squad starts breakfast. I’ll take down the two jokers outside, you two grab their weapons, and together we fill that mess tent full of lead.’

  Nash bit his lip. The whole thing sounded like a fantasy.

  ‘Wouldn’t it be less risky to take them by surprise? Why not tonight, while they’re sleeping?’

  Douglas shook his head. ‘They’re spread out over four separate tents. By the time we deal with one, they’ll be coming at us from three sides. No, we need them bunched. And it will be daylight, which will help me find my way around the cockpit.’

  ‘Can you really fly that gunship?’ asked Mia.

  ‘Trust me, kid, I can fly anything.’

  It was essential they be able to fire the Kopassus weapons, and Douglas painstakingly explained how to cock a Brügger & Thomet MP9 submachine gun, manage its crossbar safety, and go with short bursts at the body, no matter what setting the fire selector was on when they picked it up. Nash was amazed by his knowledge.

  ‘How the hell do you know all this, Frank?’

  He laughed briefly. ‘Hanging around with mercenaries, there are only two topics of conversation.’

  Mia had gone very quiet, and Nash asked her what was wrong.

  ‘I’m sorry, but I’m not sure I can do this. And if I get it wrong, we’re all dead.’ Her voice was shaking.

  ‘Do nothing and we’re dead anyway.’ Douglas delivered this gently. ‘Look, kid, I know you’re about saving lives, but this is kill or be killed. Personally, I’d rather be around to feel bad about it afterwards. How about you?’

  ‘OK.’

  ‘Robbie?’

  ‘I’m in.’

  Douglas placed his hands on their shoulders.

  ‘Chin up. Our advantage is total surprise, because they don’t see us as a threat. No second thoughts in the morning. When we go, we go.’

  Nash lay there, trying to still his racing mind. It felt like madness to even think of taking on such highly trained troops, but he knew it was the fear talking. The Nazis had managed to kill a million innocent people at Treblinka with a tiny detachment of thugs, using fear and confusion to string people along who were desperately clinging to the belief that salvation might be just round the next corner. In contrast, they knew salvation wasn’t coming, but knowing that didn’t change the fact that killing people – even those who meant to kill you – was fundamentally abhorrent.

  Mia reached out and took his hand.

  ‘I’m too scared to sleep, Rob. Will you please hold me?’

  She nestled in with her back against his stomach, and he placed his arm around her waist. They listened to the rain steadily drumming down, and then Douglas began to snore. The sensation of Mia’s slim body in his arms was bittersweet. She was utterly delightful, a beautiful woman with brains and guts in equal measure. But he couldn’t let himself dwell on hopes for a future.

  ‘Have you ever anyone killed anyone?’ she whispered. ‘Sorry, I keep thinking there must be a way to just talk our way out of this.’

  Jonathan’s accusing stare came to his mind.

  ‘That depends on who you talk to.’

  She was silent for several moments, and then rolled over to face him.

  ‘Rob, Frank told me Natalie’s death was an accident. So why are you still blaming yourself? I’ve felt this . . . torment . . . in you since the day we met.’

  Had they been anywhere else, he might have – no, would have – opened up to her, because after last night in the cave, the doubt eroding him from within had returned with a vengeance. But he couldn’t dwell on Natalie, not now . . .

  Suddenly, Mia kissed him
hard on the lips. Then she placed his hand on her right breast. The shock of its firm weight, and especially her desire, ignited something primal in him. Devouring her succulent mouth, and running his hand down her flat stomach, Nash wanted to spread her wide and drive into her – for it was probably their last night on earth – but then Douglas began making that awful choking sound which heralded a new cycle of snoring.

  ‘Do you ever feel like you can’t catch a break?’ she whispered.

  Grudgingly glad of a circuit breaker, Nash chuckled softly.

  ‘I don’t know how he does it.’

  ‘Sleep at a time like this . . . or ruin ours?’

  He kissed her lips tenderly. ‘I want to know you, Mia.’

  ‘You will.’ She stroked his face, ran her hands through his hair. ‘You will.’

  Nash was still hearing those sweet words when he was woken at two thirty with savage kicks to the soles of his feet.

  ‘You come now!’ barked the panicking soldier, his torch flashing around the inside of the tent as he stamped his feet in the mud. ‘Get dressed. Hurry!’

  Douglas reached for the MP40, but Nash stayed his arm.

  ‘Wait.’

  Shielding his eyes from the dazzling torch beam, he asked the soldier what was wrong.

  ‘Mba Suyanto says you come now . . . too much water!’

  The rain was falling in solid curtains. Continuous thunder and pulsing flashes of reflected lightning told of the maelstrom in the mountains above. As they squelched up to the command tent, Nash could see Sura in animated discussion with the murderous Indonesian officer who had beaten Mia up.

  ‘I will fly the first load down tomorrow and send Ricki back for the second –’

  She broke off as Nash stepped inside. The overhead lantern light accentuated the fatigue on her face, and for the first time he saw her real age.

  ‘Mr Nash, the water has already reached the stern of the submarine. How much time do we have until the sinkhole fills?’

  ‘It will depend on how much rain falls.’

  ‘Jaap?’

  In the corner of the tent, Boerman sat like a statue in a collapsing chair.

  ‘We’ve had 175 millimetres in the last three hours.’