‘You name it. I’m assuming we have the same interests in East Timor.’
‘Okay,’ said Mac, looking at his watch – he wasn’t going to miss his date with Jessica. ‘Tell me – what’s Lee Wa Dae doing in Timor? He’s from the North Korean general staff, isn’t he?’
Running his hands down his thighs, Jim looked away. ‘Well, that’s fairly advanced, McQueen.’
‘What did you think I was doing in Timor?’
‘Looking for your Canadian friend and getting to know Bongo Morales a little better.’
‘Well?’
‘Shit, McQueen – I thought you’d want to know about Yarrow.’
‘And Maria Gersao.’
‘We’ve heard that Bill Yarrow was at the Kota Baru barracks in Baucau,’ said Jim.
‘That’s a Kopassus base, isn’t it?’ said Mac, his hope of finding the Canadian fading fast.
‘Sure is, McQueen – so don’t go getting that girl’s hopes up, I don’t care how pretty she is.’
‘Me?!’ spat Mac. ‘I’m not the one giving her a bodyguard, encouraging her to go wandering around the hills of East Timor!’
‘Yeah, well, you know how it is, McQueen,’ shrugged Jim. ‘It wasn’t planned that way.’
‘And Maria?’ asked Mac.
‘The local girl you’re running?’
‘Worked at army HQ,’ said Mac.
‘I’ll let you know if I know, okay?’
‘Okay, Jim.’
Mac thought about throwing the Canadian’s ‘Tupelo’ query into the mix, but decided to clear it with Atkins first.
‘So – the samples?’ asked Jim.
‘In a consular pouch to Denpasar.’
‘To us?’
‘Yep – the Defense Department lab will do ’em faster than Sydney.’
‘Great,’ said Jim, relaxing visibly. ‘I won’t cut you out, by the way.’
‘From your reaction to my mention of Lee Wa Dae, I’m assuming there’s more to discuss,’ said Mac.
‘What do you know about him?’ asked Jim, looking out to sea.
‘Right now, probably a lot more than your mob,’ countered Mac. ‘But officially, he handles the finance side of the North Korean heroin rackets.’
Jim chewed his lip. ‘You around? Not running off?’
‘I’m around, mate,’ lied Mac.
‘Good,’ said Jim, slapping Mac on the shoulder as he stood. ‘Then maybe we’ll talk again, huh?’
Opting for an outdoor table at a modern Japanese restaurant, Mac and Jessica watched the crowds go by on Mitchell Street. Busying himself with the wine list, Mac let Jessica run the food side of the equation.
‘I’m sorry I dragged you into this, Richard,’ said Jessica after the waiter had poured her glass. ‘I had no idea what I was doing.’
‘Seem to be doing okay,’ said Mac. ‘Sounds like you can handle a gun.’
‘I’m a farm girl – trucks and tractors are no problem, either,’ she said. ‘I was just annoyed with my government for letting my dad disappear without making any attempt to find him.’
‘Maybe they were?’ asked Mac, unobtrusively clocking every set of eyes in the pedestrian traffic.
‘Well, maybe,’ she shrugged. ‘But if that American – Jim – hadn’t hooked me up with Manny, I wouldn’t have lasted long.’
‘What about your mother? Brothers or sisters?’ asked Mac. ‘They pitching in?’
‘Only child… and Mum hates Dad,’ she said, in a matter-of-fact tone. ‘They divorced when I was fourteen, and even though our comfortable life ran on his money, she made it hard to know him.’
‘Handy dad for a place like UCLA,’ said Mac. ‘It’s not cheap.’
‘Actually,’ she said, fixing him with a stare, ‘Dad pays my fees and accommodation – I work for everything else.’
‘Really?’ asked Mac. ‘You work?’
Sighing at him, she crossed her tanned arms. ‘Wednesdays, Thursdays, Fridays at a campus bookstore, and I do telemarketing for a company in Century City. And there’s no end in sight now I’m in the School of Law.’
‘Okay,’ said Mac, surrendering.
‘Oh, and you might have noticed – I buy my own drinks.’
‘Amen to that,’ said Mac, raising his glass.
‘Dinner doesn’t count,’ said Jessica, clinking glasses and giggling. ‘I’m independent, but I don’t go Dutch.’
Jessica made a production of ordering the dishes, but without losing her sense of humour. And as she handed the menu to the bowing waitress, she fixed Mac with a grin.
‘So, Richard – how does a man trying to find sandalwood opportunities end up driving around with someone like Manny Alvarez?’
‘Same as you,’ said Mac, as light as he could. ‘You stay in hotels like the Turismo often enough, then you meet people like Manny. If you find them useful to travel with, you make a friendship, come to an arrangement.’
Sipping at the excellent New Zealand sauvignon blanc, Mac wished Jessica would get off the occupational line. He lived his work and there were times when he just wanted to enjoy the wine, appreciate the company and not have to do the dance of the seven veils.
‘You know, Jessica, I’ve been wondering about you.’
‘That’s a good start,’ she said.
‘Well, actually – you’re probably sick of talking about you,’ said Mac, smiling.
‘Oh, you bastard!’ she shrieked, but finding it funny. ‘That’s not fair.’
‘I was wondering why you don’t have a boyfriend? I mean, you’re -’
‘You mean, am I a psycho?’
‘It had occurred to me,’ said Mac.
‘Ha!’ she laughed, looking around. ‘I had a boyfriend. Wayne.’
‘Can he still chew food?’ asked Mac.
‘Very funny, Mr Richard!’
‘Social issue?’ Mac asked.
‘Like?’
‘Like at fifty-seven, why’s Wayne living with Mum?’
Jessica chuckled and then lowered her voice. ‘Actually, when men say they like a smart girl, they don’t always mean it.’
‘What happened?’
‘Undergraduate was fine – making law school was a bridge too far for a man just starting his career as a junior marketing manager.’
‘So?’ asked Mac.
‘We were dating. I got accepted. We broke up. The end,’ she said, shrugging but sad.
Sipping in silence, they avoided one another’s eyes until Jessica put her hand across the table and grasped Mac’s forearm.
Opening her mouth to speak, nothing came out.
‘Yes?’ said Mac.
‘Umm – nothing,’ said Jessica, releasing her grip and sitting back. ‘Where’s the bathroom?’
Standing beside the taxi as it idled outside the officer apartments, Mac was torn. He could get in the cab, do the Harold Holt and go to Darwin airport, or he could try to make amends with Jessica. Perhaps say a proper goodbye. The past few days had been emotional for both of them, worsened by his reticence about starting a relationship with a girl who didn’t even know his real name. If they’d met while he was visiting his folks in Rockhampton, he’d have been plain old Alan McQueen. But, short of marrying her – not on the cards at this stage of his career – Mac was not going to reveal his true identity. There was no statute of limitations on the kind of anger he’d engendered in his professional life. His only protection was hiding his identity, an advantage ruined once you revealed it to a civilian woman.
But there was one conversation he could have with her, if he could convince himself that it wouldn’t ruin his other objectives.
‘Shit!’ he said to himself finally, and asked the driver to hold for a minute.
Knocking on Jessica’s door, he was edgy, even if he hadn’t worked out what he was going to say.
‘Go away,’ came Jessica’s muffled voice from behind the door.
‘Look, Jessica,’ he whispered, not wanting half the base to come out and ask him what was up. ‘I’m sorry about the flight, okay?’
‘Oh piss off!’ came the response.
‘It was the only flight to Denpasar, and my company booked me on it – I’m sorry,’ said Mac, trying not to yell.