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  Jim turned right off Hasanudin Street and onto the paths that snaked alongside the river through the city’s parklands. Following, Mac stayed behind an entwined couple.

  So if the people cleared from the villages of the south coast weren’t being tested with a vaccine for SARS, what were they dying from? The conclusions chased him around in circles about as fast as the questions, and as Jim stopped at a park bench and sat down, Mac edged behind a family group and keyed his phone. The narrow point of all the information he’d seen so far – on Lombok, Sudarto, Lee Wa Dae and Haryono – was Jim himself. Jim had apparently been at Fort Detrick at some point in his career, which didn’t necessarily mean anything. Detrick was certainly the American headquarters of research into bio-weapons, but intelligence people were regularly trained in specific disciplines before being sent into the field. Mac had been trained in economic and financial sabotage, he’d done a rotation at the US Army’s Aberdeen testing grounds and also with Israel’s domestic intelligence service. It didn’t mean much.

  Mac just wanted to chat with Jim, see what was really going on. Waiting for the phone to answer, Mac sidled behind a tree and kept an eye on the American.

  ‘Yep,’ came the gruff reply after the phone had rung several times.

  ‘Scotty,’ said Mac. ‘It’s Albion.’

  ‘Macca!’ said Mac’s first mentor in the Aussie SIS, Rod Scott. ‘How’s it going?’

  ‘Good, mate,’ said Mac, glad to hear Scotty’s voice again, even as he sucked on his ever-present cigarettes. ‘How’s Canberra? Cold enough for you?’

  ‘Fuck, mate,’ said Scotty. ‘Jack Ormiston took me out sailing on the lake last weekend. Never been so cold, mate – had to get the barman to liberate that bottle of Glayva, didn’t I, Macca? Warm a bloke up.’

  ‘Doctor’s orders,’ said Mac, laughing.

  ‘So what can I do you for?’ said Scotty.

  ‘I needed a quick reminder on someone I’m dealing with up here.’

  ‘Yeah?’ said Scotty.

  ‘Yeah, bloke called Jim – DIA,’ said Mac, hoping that Scotty wasn’t going to stonewall him, pull any cellular bullshit.

  ‘About your size, five years older? Sandy hair, Annapolis ring?’ said Scotty, who had spent most of his career with the firm in the Middle East, ensuring Canadian and Russian wheat growers never gained an advantage over Australian exporters.

  ‘That’s the one – thought you might have run into him during UNSCOM or INVO,’ said Mac, referring to the weapons inspection teams in Iraq.

  ‘I remember him from the Rasheed Hotel in Baggers,’ said Scotty. ‘He was a funny bugger.’

  ‘Yeah?’ asked Mac.

  ‘Yeah, very intense – he played cat-and-mouse for months with this Asian guy who was working for Saddam. Next thing I heard, Jim was punching out a State Department luncher after being refused a place on UNSCOM Four.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘State Department sided with the White House and allowed Saddam to blackball DIA’s appointments. And Jim knocked out someone’s teeth.’

  ‘That’s it?’

  ‘I was never dealing with him, Macca,’ said Scotty. ‘But Jim’s up there? Jakarta? Denpasar?’

  ‘That surprise you?’ asked Mac, none the wiser.

  ‘It’s just that – well, you know Jim’s background?’

  ‘Fort Detrick?’ said Mac.

  ‘Yeah, but I think his taskings come from the Twentieth Support Command,’ said Scotty.

  ‘Oh shit,’ uttered Mac.

  ‘Yeah, mate – that’s why the Iraqis wouldn’t let him onto that inspection team,’ said Scotty. ‘He doesn’t inspect bio-weapons – he shuts them down.’

  The Balinese man in the suit but no tie walked past Jim, and Mac slipped from behind his tree to approach the American. As Mac set out, the Balinese man stopped at the railing beside the river and looked at a folded newspaper. Then Jim stood and walked to him.

  Leaping behind a set of shrubs that got him out of sight, Mac peeked around and saw Jim stand next to the Balinese man, and then Jim was walking towards Mac, the newspaper now under his arm.

  His breathing getting faster, Mac tried to plot the best course. But then Jim came into sight and slowed as he saw Mac.

  ‘Nice afternoon for a walk,’ said Mac, as they both stopped.

  ‘Beautiful,’ said Jim, recovering from the surprise and continuing on his way.

  ‘Mind if I join you?’ asked Mac, and fell in with Jim as he strolled by.

  ‘It’s not what you think, McQueen,’ said Jim as they walked through the park.

  ‘What do I think?’ said Mac.

  ‘This isn’t the time for games, pal,’ said Jim, lips whitening.

  ‘Good,’ said Mac. ‘So let’s talk.’

  ‘What do you want?’ said Jim, casing the park and then moving to a bench facing the river. ‘And can we make it quick?’

  Sitting beside Jim, Mac tried to be clear. ‘I guess when Aussies deal with the Americans, we can get a bit dazzled by it all.’

  ‘Dazzled?’ said Jim, smirking.

  ‘Yeah, the confidence and the power,’ said Mac. ‘I’m seconded to Defense Intelligence Agency and because I trust the man who seconded me, I don’t question too much the people I’m being briefed by.’

  ‘I see,’ said Jim.

  ‘So I think I’m chasing a woman called Blackbird because she has the key to a military operation called Boa,’ said Mac. ‘But there’s also an unrelated facility I have to infiltrate while I’m over there and the only intel I’m given by the Americans is that it’s part of a vaccine program and it’s connected to a drug lord.’

  ‘Okay,’ said Jim, lighting a cigarette.

  ‘So there I am, down in this underground hell, being shot at in the darkness, and I can’t really see what’s in front of my eyes because I can only see it in the context of what I’ve been supplied. I’m looking for a vaccine program and a drug lab – and I have eyes staring back at me. Human eyes!’

  ‘I’m sorry -’

  ‘And then, after I’m back, and I’m more confused than when I started, I realise that the place I should have begun is you, Jim, and who exactly you are.’

  ‘I’m sure you’re going to tell me.’

  ‘You’re not a DIA generalist, sent to observe the East Timor situation for the US government,’ said Mac. ‘You work for the Twentieth Support Command of the US Army.’

  ‘Look, McQueen -’

  ‘You’re a bio-weapons expert who got ejected from UNSCOM Four and you believe Lombok AgriCorp is a bio-weapons facility, don’t you?’

  Silence lingered for a moment as Jim focused on his cigarette.

  ‘Things are complicated right now, McQueen,’ said Jim finally. ‘I’m sorry if you feel misled in any way.’

  ‘You sound like a politician, Jim,’ said Mac.

  ‘I’m telling the truth, McQueen. Just about any vaccine program can look like a bio-weapons facility,’ he said. ‘From experience I’ve learned that you have to build a totally airtight case for it being bio-weapons, or the politicians won’t act and the bad guys scuttle away under their rocks. So yes, it’s complicated.’

  ‘So uncomplicate it,’ said Mac.

  ‘What do you want from me?’ asked the American. ‘You going to beat me to death with your bare hands? That’s your reputation, right?’

  ‘I’m not beating anyone, Jim,’ said Mac. ‘I’m trying to do my job, and right now my job is to resolve the intel on the Lombok facility and try to get something cogent to my government.’

  ‘Okay, buddy,’ said the American, suddenly looking tired. ‘Feel like a drink?’

  ‘Sure,’ said Mac.

  ‘Meet you at six – Bar Barong on Gajah Mada Street. Know it?’

  ‘See you then,’ said Mac.

  ‘And that wasn’t what you thought,’ said Jim, handing over the newspaper he’d taken from the Balinese man.

  Taking the paper, Mac unfolded it and took out a filing card. The wo
rds were written in black ballpoint: Boa rumor – planned Sept. 4 or 5.

  Mac handed back the newspaper and watched Jim leave. If he timed it right, he’d be able to meet with Davidson before having a drink with Jim.

  ‘What are these?’ asked Mac as he and Davidson grabbed an early meal in a Balinese restaurant on the edge of Puputan Square. On the table in front of him were three black-and-white eight-by-fives showing two headless corpses, without hands or feet.

  ‘Just in this arvo,’ said Davidson, eating a crab leg. ‘Fished out of the bay at Dili early this morning.’

  ‘Who?’ asked Mac, thinking he recognised one of the bodies.

  ‘One on the right is Adam Moerpati,’ said Davidson, wiping his fingers. ‘Executed.’

  ‘Any ideas?’ asked Mac.

  ‘Could be the Koreans,’ said Davidson. ‘Two million of their dollars go missing, so they target a couple of people they’ve vaguely suspected of spying, and whack ’em to prove a point. It’s a pity – Moerpati was a brave guy.’

  ‘That’s our connection to the President’s office ruined,’ said Mac, peering at the other man in the photo. ‘Who’s the other one? He looks familiar.’

  ‘Unidentified, according to my Polri guy.’

  Shuffling to the last photo, Mac’s heart thumped. The final shot was a close-up of the unidentified man’s back, and a tattooed Conquistador cross with the legend INRI inscribed on the cross bar.

  ‘Fuck!’ he cried.

  ‘Everything okay?’ asked Davidson.

  ‘Bongo,’ said Mac, shaking his head. ‘I think this is Bongo Morales.’

  Davidson was quiet, knowing not to talk. It was one of the comforting aspects of Australian males that they were more relaxed with silences than any other type of human being. If there was nothing to say, don’t say it.

  Gulping it down, and feeling more upset with the Bongo revelation than he really wanted to feel, Mac manned up. ‘So, what do I do now, Tony? Back to Canberra? Manila?’

  ‘Nah, get some sleep, and I’ll keep you posted,’ said Davidson.

  ‘Mission totally possible,’ said Mac.

  Davidson suddenly got serious and pointed his spoon at Mac. ‘Get drunk, find a girlfriend – I don’t care, right? But whatever you do, stay away from Atkins.’

  ‘Okay, but I’m not the leak,’ said Mac, still annoyed that his own firm might think he compromised the Blackbird debrief.

  ‘Of course you’re not,’ said Davidson. ‘But you go looking for a fight with Atkins and they’ll get you on a plane to Canberra or Tokyo before the last word’s out of your mouth.’

  ‘Okay, okay,’ sighed Mac.

  ‘Stay in your box for once, mate, and leave the office shenanigans to me.’

  Staring at Davidson, Mac felt some pieces come together. ‘Box? Did you say box?’

  Going back to his nasi goreng, Davidson looked puzzled. ‘That’s what I said, mate.’

  ‘Okay,’ said Mac, his mind buzzing.

  ‘What’s up?’ asked Davidson, wiping his mouth with a napkin and looking around the room.

  ‘There was no reason for Blackbird to know about the drop boxes at Santa Cruz cemetery, right?’ asked Mac, grabbing at his beer as he looked out onto the streets of Denpasar, where the street vendors were starting to pack up.

  ‘None that I can think of.’

  ‘Absolutely not,’ said Mac. ‘So we can check with Atkins and Tobin about this, but those drop boxes at the cemetery were for the cut-out we used – that lawyer in Dili. They weren’t used by Blackbird, right?’

  ‘Of course not,’ said Davidson. ‘Otherwise, what’s the point of a cut-out?’

  ‘Precisely,’ said Mac, leaning in. ‘So I’m out in the bush with Blackbird and she’s losing it at me about being caught between Aussie and Indon intelligence, and she’s telling me that she’s done everything asked of her, she’s taken the files and done the drop box.’

  ‘Why would she do a drop?’ asked Davidson, confused. ‘She’s meeting direct with the Canadian.’

  ‘What I thought,’ smiled Mac.

  ‘So she was using a drop box in Dili…’ said Davidson.

  ‘Maybe for emergencies, maybe for files that were too hot to carry around Dili…’

  ‘Files about post-ballot contingencies…’

  ‘Files like Operasi Boa…’

  ‘Especially if you’re under surveillance by the Indonesians, by Kopassus,’ said Davidson.

  ‘By a person who’s threatened to kill your family,’ said Mac.

  ‘Maybe,’ said Davidson, slugging at his beer. ‘And maybe not.’

  ‘It’s worth a look, right, boss?’ said Mac. ‘I mean, Blackbird and this damn Boa file were important enough that we went into Bobonaro, invaded a Kopassus compound and then exfiltrated the girl to Darwin, but what if the file is sitting somewhere in Dili? There could a hundred reasons why she would try to park a dangerous document until the heat is off.’

  Davidson looked out into the crowded street. ‘I know what you’re thinking, mate, but it’s too risky. I’m not sure I want you back in Dili – I’m not sure I can go back in there either.’

  ‘Why don’t we confirm the drop box first?’ asked Mac, not wanting to be left out. ‘Atkins told me about two – there could be more.’

  ‘I know where it is,’ sighed Davidson, reading the label on the beer bottle. ‘But that’s not the point.’

  ‘No, boss,’ smiled Mac. ‘The point is whether you’d rather send Atkins or Garvey.’

  ‘Okay, Macca,’ said Davidson, staring him in the eye. ‘For the purposes of discussion, you’re in, but -’

  ‘I’ll be okay,’ winked Mac, wondering where lost sleep went to.

  ‘Don’t be cocky,’ said Davidson.

  ‘You know me,’ laughed Mac. ‘By the way – this drop box, which one is it if it’s not at the cemetery?’

  ‘It’s the Hotel Resende,’ whispered Davidson, casing the room.

  ‘The Resende?!’ squawked Mac. ‘I thought that was a joke!’

  ‘No, mate, it’s real,’ said Davidson. ‘But just be careful, okay? This girl is with the Indonesians and she’s confused. I don’t want a hunch turning into a trap.’

  CHAPTER 52

  Cutting through the Pasar Badung markets in downtown, Mac made his way to the meeting with Jim.

  He thought about his hunch that Blackbird had dumped her copy of Boa in the ASIS drop box in the Resende. It was a location known to Mac, but only as a joke. The Resende was owned by a syndicate of generals and during the occupation years had been a home-away-from-home for the Indonesian Army officers and their families. One of the distinctive features of the Resende – aside from the listening devices – was the karaoke machines in the ballroom of the hotel. One of the generals in the owners’ syndicate reputedly loved singing ‘Da Doo Ron Ron’ and had equipped the Resende with the best karaoke technology.

  Just to show that Australians had a sense of humour, the original ASIS operative in Dili – back in the late 1970s – had created a drop box in the back of the largest karaoke machine, up on the small stage that the machines occupied. If this was the box that Blackbird had been talking about, then Mac was hoping the Operasi Boa documents were in there.

  The Bar Barwong was half full, rocking with locals and backpackers. Mac found Jim at one end of the bar and they ordered beers after greeting each other and checking the room for eyes. A TV screen on the wall was running a CNN bulletin featuring a coiffured woman standing in front of what looked like the Texas statehouse. Across the bottom of the screen ran the banner George W. Bush avoids questions on whether he ever used illegal drugs, and above it ran a small box saying, Viewer poll: is the media too hard on George W. Bush’s past personal life?

  They couldn’t hear what she was saying because ‘Living La Vida Loca’ was blasting out over the speaker system.

  ‘Never trust a man who can’t hold his drink,’ said Jim, pointing his bottle of Tiger at the footage of George W. Bush on the
screen.

  ‘Never trust a man who stands behind you at the urinal,’ said Mac, and they clinked bottles.

  ‘So,’ said Jim. ‘You want to know about Lombok AgriCorp?’

  ‘It would be nice,’ said Mac. ‘Since on the two occasions I’ve been up there someone’s tried to kill me.’

  ‘Might be simpler to start with Lee Wa Dae.’

  ‘The Korean drug guy,’ said Mac, wanting Jim to get on with it.

  ‘Not entirely,’ said Jim.

  ‘That’s what the file -’

  ‘That file came from us, McQueen,’ said Jim, looking exhausted. ‘We wanted him running, to be confident, so we washed his file.’

  ‘You mean, you fabricated intelligence that was shared with your allies?’

  ‘Okay,’ nodded Jim. ‘That’s what we did – after the snafu in Iraq, we became a little isolated, a bit paranoid perhaps. We didn’t want another situation where we were drawn into a joint operation like UNSCOM, only to have the bad guys reading our secret briefings word for word.’

  ‘That bad?’

  ‘Worse,’ said Jim, sipping his beer. ‘When I was tapped to join UNSCOM Four as the head of operations, Saddam’s goons vetoed me, went around UNSCOM to the UN Secretary-General’s office, which then won the support of my President. They knew everything about me and a whole lot of stuff I’d forgotten – I was deep-sixed.’

  ‘You punched out a guy from the State Department?’

  ‘It was a push that went too far,’ said Jim. ‘The jungle telegraph did the rest.’

  ‘So, Lee Wa Dae,’ said Mac.

  ‘He is a drug lord of sorts, but he’s also a master procurer of materiel and feedstock for chemical, biological and nuclear programs,’ said Jim. ‘Lee Wa Dae was always the bag man for the North Korean generals; he arranged joint-venture bio-weapons projects, which were essentially Korean R amp;D conducted in another country.’

  ‘How did he get in touch with Haryono?’ asked Mac.

  ‘Haryono had always run these highly profitable but bogus medical research projects, under the auspices of the Indonesian Army. As Soeharto’s power waned, and oversight was minimal, Lee Wa Dae approached him with a pay-to-play deal and Lombok AgriCorp was born. Haryono was a scammer, rather than a bio-weapons nutcase.’