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  Waiting for Didge to get to the top on the rappel rope, Mac wondered whether Robbo was maintaining silence or if the commandos had become engaged in the battle above them. At the top of the rope, Mac clambered over the edge of the venting shaft and duck-walked to where Didge crouched under a bush, his mask on the ground as he slapped a fresh magazine into his SIG Sauer.

  Chucking away his own mask, Mac looked across to the Lombok buildings, where fighting was carrying on sporadically but intensely around the main compound.

  ‘What’ve we got, mate?’ asked Mac, trying to work out who was fighting. ‘Is it our guys?’

  ‘Can’t see any of ours,’ murmured Didge. ‘It looks like Indonesian soldiers against irregulars.’

  Keying the radio, Mac asked for Blue Leader and stood by, but only dead air came back. Mac tried again. Nothing.

  ‘How’s the wound?’ asked Mac, scanning the ground.

  ‘Okay, but I’m losing blood,’ said Didge. ‘Got any binos, McQueen?’

  Foraging in his rucksack, Mac passed the mini Leicas and then tried again on the radio. He didn’t want to be running across open ground, just the two of them, while there were unfriendlies out there shooting at people.

  ‘Fucking classic,’ snarled Didge, the Leicas focused on a group of shooters crouched behind an army truck in the main courtyard.

  ‘What?’ asked Mac.

  ‘Thought these brothers were all a myth,’ chuckled Didge.

  ‘Myth?’ asked Mac.

  ‘All that noise? That’s Falintil.’

  Mac and Didge took the long way back to the field base, breaking out of the fence on the north side, then trekking around behind the guard houses at the end of the compound, up into the jungle to the ridge from which Robbo was supposed to be running the op.

  Mac tried to keep Didge’s spirits up, assuring him he’d only sustained a flesh wound, there wasn’t too much bleeding, and Toolie would be able to deal with it.

  Slowing for the approach to the base, Didge crouched with a wince and gestured Mac closer.

  ‘What -’ Mac started, before realising the barrel of an assault rifle was trained on him. He raised his hands, dropping his gun.

  Someone grabbed Mac’s shirt, dragging him into a standing position. Their three captors were skinny locals, badly dressed in various types of jungle fatigues, suggesting they were Falintil.

  ‘How’s it going?’ said Mac to the mestizo guerrilla who was obviously in charge. There was no response as gunfire rattled in the background and an explosion boomed. The lead man waited for a moment then gestured with his G3, and Mac’s rucksack was taken from him.

  Mac’s mind spun with the possibilities as he and Didge were led through the jungle at gunpoint. Was being Australian an advantage or, given Canberra’s acquiescence with the Indonesian occupation, would it get them killed? And if they were in open conflict with the Falintil guerrillas, were Robbo and his men even alive? It was a tall order to deal with Falintil on their own ground; fighting Falintil at night was virtually impossible. The might of the Indonesian military had spent a quarter of a century attempting to do it and had failed repeatedly.

  They paused before dropping to the commandos’ field base and as they came into the clearing, Mac was pushed in the back and stumbled into Robbo, Toolie and Mitch, who were sitting on the forest floor, hands bound behind their backs.

  Hitting the dirt beside Robbo, Mac decided to try his luck.

  ‘Got an injured guy here, mate,’ said Mac to the leader, pointing at Didge. ‘Can we get a medic on him?’

  The leader stared, stony-faced, and Mitch leapt into the awkward pause, making the same request in Bahasa Indonesia. Nodding slowly, the Falintil leader issued a command while the guerrillas found the commandos’ medic pack. The guerrillas had already checked the packs, noticed Mac, and he was happy that he’d found a hiding place for the US dollars before he’d gone on the gig. It might turn out to be the only leverage he had.

  The guerrilla medic knelt beside Didge and worked on the leg injury, as another guerrilla knelt behind Mac and bound his wrists.

  Turning to the leader, Mac tried to keep it friendly. ‘We’re Aussies, mate – we’re on your side, okay? I was with you guys a few days ago -’

  The leader raised his hand slightly to stop Mac from talking. It was dark in the jungle and the silence of the guerrillas against the boom and crack of a fight in the Lombok compound was a strange mix. Johnno and Beast were still out there somewhere and Mac hoped they were alive and working on a rescue.

  The guerrilla finished tying Mac’s wrists and stood with his rucksack. Out came the Nikon and the field-glasses, and Mac prayed they wouldn’t destroy the camera or the samples.

  ‘Easy on the camera, eh boys?’ said Mac, as the guerrilla threw it to the leader. Mac’s heart beat against his chest – the last thing he needed was a bunch of hungry freedom fighters finding the digital images he’d taken of the Timorese in those inhalation chambers. He thought back to the argument he’d had with Didge, as he refused to release those captives. Should he have released those people in the inhalation chamber, like Didge wanted? Would his refusal to do the right thing get both of them killed now?

  Rodrigo and Yohannes were also absent – a particularly bad development if those kids told the guerrillas that Aussie soldiers were taking children hostage.

  ‘What do they want?’ Mac asked Robbo.

  ‘Waiting for someone, I think,’ said Robbo.

  ‘What’s the damage, Didge?’ Robbo asked, as the soldier’s wound was bandaged.

  ‘Rifle – M16 I think. Through the thigh muscle,’ grunted Didge, staunch in spite of the pain.

  There was a small commotion and then a group of four men entered the camp, senior by the look of how their captors came to attention. After some muffled discussions in the darkness, Mac saw the glow of the Nikon’s viewing panel light up.

  Mac’s adrenaline surged as the chatter around the Nikon became animated. He held his breath, waiting for one of them to take exception to what he’d been photographing.

  Finally the tall figure in dark fatigues who was handling the camera came out of the darkness and crouched where Mac could see his face.

  ‘Well, Mr Richard,’ he said, holding a Browning handgun at Mac’s throat. ‘Decided to return to sunny Timor-Leste?’

  ‘Well it’s cheaper than Bali,’ said Mac with no conviction. ‘How you been, anyway, Joao?’

  CHAPTER 47

  A huge explosion shook the trees and they looked down at the Lombok facility, parts of which were now engulfed in flames.

  ‘So tell me what you saw down there, Mr Richard,’ said Joao.

  ‘The buildings you can see house an official vaccine program, registered with the WHO and everything,’ said Mac.

  ‘Vaccine program?’ asked Joao.

  ‘Yeah, but there’s a hidden underground facility. It’s three, four times as big as the one you can see. I thought it was a drug lab, but there’s a lot of people down there.’

  ‘People?’ said Joao.

  ‘Hundreds – I think they’re being used for testing,’ said Mac, still trying to work it out for himself.

  ‘Testing? What, they’re guinea pigs for the vaccine?’ asked Joao, even and calm.

  ‘I don’t know – that’s what the pics are for,’ said Mac, working towards an information swap that would set them free and perhaps create the diversion he needed for the Blackbird snatch.

  ‘Alive?’ asked Joao.

  ‘Some,’ said Mac. ‘About eighty or so.’

  ‘So people are dying from this vaccine?’ asked Joao.

  ‘Too early to tell,’ nodded Mac. ‘We saw a lot of bodies being loaded onto the back of a truck, taken to the incinerator.’

  ‘A vaccine that kills people? Sounds more like a weapon,’ said Joao.

  Pausing at Joao’s comment, Mac wondered; surely the Indonesians wouldn’t have a bio-weapons program.

  ‘I understand this vaccine covers the sup
er-pneumonia they’re calling SARS,’ said Mac. ‘Maybe they’re using their manmade SARS on human beings to create a better vaccine? Either way, it’s entirely illegal.’

  Going silent for a moment, Joao grew pensive as he looked down at the burning hulk of Lombok AgriCorp. ‘Is this anything to do with the camp we found behind Memo?’

  ‘I have no idea,’ said Mac, slightly taken aback.

  Looking over his shoulder, Joao called forth one of his lieutenants and issued a command which saw some of his men run off into the bush.

  ‘You’re not a salesman, I take it?’ said Joao, watching a posse of Falintil run from the jungle and race towards the Lombok buildings. Soon they were leading their comrades towards the ventilators in the paddock. Although annoyed at being made, Mac was elated that some survivors would get out of there.

  ‘Look, Joao, we’re friendlies, okay? We’re on the same side – those were Indonesians who shot Didge down there,’ said Mac, trying to work out if divulging the Blackbird gig to Joao might help him. ‘And we’ve got business in Maliana.’

  In the distance, the sound of helos boomed against the hills, signalling that the Indonesian Army’s Kodim 1636 in Maliana was mobilised. That wasn’t totally bad news for Mac so long as he could get himself and his escort out of the area before the soldiers came and engaged the Falintil fighters.

  ‘Maliana’s hot,’ said Joao, still observing Mac with scepticism.

  ‘I don’t have a choice,’ said Mac.

  ‘Who?’ asked Joao.

  ‘No one important,’ said Mac.

  ‘I’ve got the gun, Mr Richard. And I have every reason to shoot you.’

  ‘What was I going to do with eighty people, Joao?’ snapped Mac, knowing he sounded guilty.

  ‘Letting them go home would have been a start,’ said Joao.

  ‘They wouldn’t have got home, Joao, and you know it,’ said Mac.

  ‘Okay,’ nodded the guerrilla. ‘But standing there, taking their photo – that was the best you could do?’

  The helos’ thromping was coming closer and Mac could see the lights of four of the aircraft heading their way.

  ‘Could have done much better than that, Joao,’ agreed Mac.

  Joao was quiet, thinking, and Mac decided to try another tack. ‘Well, that’s me, mate – what are your guys doing here?’

  Joao’s face darkened. ‘Some of the southcoast villages have been losing people – they’ve been disappearing. That camp at Memo was a dead-end, right, but then we got word that they were also being taken here.’

  Mac waited, sensing he shouldn’t push any further.

  ‘You’ve put me in a position,’ snarled Joao. ‘I’ve got an Aussie spy and Aussie soldiers working undercover in the jungle, and by morning half of Falintil is going to be saying that you stood by and took photos of genocide – of our people!’

  ‘Look, Joao -’

  ‘And these same people kidnapped a couple of local boys, faked their deaths, made their families think they’d gone.’

  ‘Okay, so -’

  ‘And by the time that story has gone around the island, they’re going to be asking one question.’

  ‘Joao -’

  ‘They gonna say, Why the priest let those Aussies go? Why they not pig-food? ’

  ‘Okay, mate,’ said Mac. ‘But let the soldiers go, okay? They’re just an escort and they wanted to open those doors, let the prisoners go free.’

  ‘Really?’ said Joao.

  ‘Yes, and I argued it would compromise all of us – no way the Indonesians would allow those people to tell the world what happened. They’d be caught and shot.’

  Joao stood silently as the helos flared over the Lombok buildings. Mac could see he was tired and angry. Looking Mac in the eye, Joao stepped forward and held his Browning to Mac’s forehead. Closing his eyes, Mac prepared for death as he decided to try one final option.

  ‘Does Falintil need money?’ asked Mac, opening one eye. ‘US dollars, cash, tax-free?’

  ‘US dollars?’ asked Joao, pulling the gun’s muzzle away from Mac’s skin.

  ‘One hundred thousand now – could be as much as two million later,’ said Mac as he exhaled.

  Joao made a face that said Don’t manipulate me you arrogant Australian prick. Lack of funds was always a big issue for Falintil, especially if independence should win the day in the East Timor ballot. It was one thing to have an independent new nation, but without a financial base the Falintil freedom fighters would lose the subsequent political battle to the returning bankers, industrialists and powerful families – all the elites who cleared out in 1975.

  ‘And let me guess, Mr Richard – you show me how to get this money, and you get to live, right?’

  ‘Could be a plan,’ said Mac, smiling thinly.

  ‘Just a pity more Timorese don’t have that kind of cash floating around, eh Mr Richard? Wouldn’t have to sit in a cage, being fed a disease.’

  ‘Falintil’s going to need cash for East Timor’s new nationhood,’ said Mac, trying not to seem cocky. ‘You don’t win the peace – you buy it.’

  ‘You think I needed a privileged white man to tell me that?’ asked Joao, shouldering Mac out of the way as he left.

  Sitting with the commandos, Mac tried to send his photos while Toolie rechecked Didge’s wound. At the base of the hill, fighting still raged, most of it now underground.

  ‘At least one transmission is working,’ said Robbo, pointing at the American sat phone which Mac was trying to connect to the Nikon.

  ‘It was working,’ said Mac, failing to connect the data cable to the mangled jack in the camera. ‘Teach me to go dropping the damn thing on a concrete floor.’

  ‘So what did the Falintil bloke say?’ asked Robbo, crouching.

  ‘You mean after he told me he was going to execute me for not letting those people go?’ said Mac, putting the data cable and camera into his rucksack.

  ‘Yeah,’ said Robbo, with an edge.

  ‘He decided that two million US dollars into Falintil’s pocket was a good exchange for our lives,’ said Mac, not mentioning that he also wanted the mule line of money heisted to further break the connection between North Korea and the Indonesian military. ‘Rodrigo and Yohannes are going to be helpful on that score.’

  ‘So he’s out of our hair?’ said Robbo, looking suspicious.

  ‘Don’t know for certain,’ said Mac truthfully. ‘But he knows we have business in Maliana, and I’m pretty sure his crew will leave us alone.’

  ‘So, we’re still going in? To Maliana?’ said Robbo.

  ‘Yep,’ said Mac. ‘I’m thinking this mess is as good a distraction as we could have hoped for.’

  ‘In that case, we’d better move now,’ said Robbo, standing. ‘By the way, about before – I know you don’t dream up these operations, but I need warning -’

  ‘Would it make the boys any happier?’ asked Mac.

  ‘Not happier, mate, but you holding back reflects badly on me.’

  ‘Can you imagine tabbing all the way across Timor when the boys know that the target is a facility that grows a deadly disease?’ said Mac, drinking water. ‘Next thing you know, you have soldiers drawing straws and getting all political with each other, see who gets to suit up and who doesn’t, right?’

  Robbo nodded, conceding the truth of what Mac was saying. In general, soldiers did not like going into the environment that existed at Lombok, regardless of their training.

  ‘I needed to be down there with the best, not with the guy who got the short straw or who’s out of favour with Robbo,’ said Mac. ‘Maybe even the person who was taking a piss when the warning order was made.’

  ‘Fair enough,’ said Robbo.

  ‘You simply gave me the best, and we did the gig, mate,’ said Mac, checking his rucksack. ‘I’ll buy you a beer if we nail it – but you know what, Robbo?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I’d do it the same way again,’ said Mac.

  ***

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nbsp; Spirits lifted among the troop when Beast and Johnno reappeared, having been cut off from the base by the gunfight. As they regrouped and checked their gear, Robbo told them that the time to hit the Kopassus compound was now, while the distraction at Lombok was active.

  As they walked through the darkness, tension high, Mac went over the recent events, trying to piece them together. The Americans at DIA had briefed Mac on the possibility of a secret facility underground at Lombok but, having found it, he wasn’t sure that Lee Wa Dae and Ishy Haryono were making nightclub drugs for Australia and Japan. He’d never heard of a drug lord using inhalation chambers – that sort of terminology was associated with vaccine testing on animals. What had Haryono got himself into at Lombok, wondered Mac. It was either illegal vaccine testing or it was bioweapons. And the scientists packing up to leave? Had they succeeded or failed in their research?

  There was one thing that niggled at Mac. The people still alive in one bank of inhalation chambers were all Portuguese and mestizo – straight-haired East Timorese. The bodies that Mac saw loaded onto that Hino truck came from the other bank of inhalation chambers, and they all seemed to have been Maubere – the native Melanesians of East Timor. It was probably nothing, thought Mac.

  At a little after 9.30 they entered the farm belt that surrounded Maliana.

  Didge halted at a ridge and looked down. ‘That’s it, boss,’ he said, pointing.

  Stepping up, Robbo peered through his field-glasses at a large compound with a main group of buildings next to a smaller compound of buildings – the Kopassus camp.

  ‘Looks quiet,’ whispered Robbo, handing the glasses to Mac. ‘And I never trust quiet. Check the main gate – I make it three, regular infantry.’

  Mac nodded.

  ‘Behind all that, you have that secondary compound which is the Kopassus intel base,’ said Robbo. ‘I’m assuming that any prisoner would be kept in the interrogation centre right inside the entrance, that white building with the six windows. See it?’

  ‘So what’s the call?’ asked Mac.