‘Another, mister?’ asked the barman.
Mac nodded, dropping the rupiah on the wooden counter as the commentators turned their hysteria to Ken Griffey’s ability to hit the advertising hoardings at the back of Fenway Park.
Bundy burning in his stomach, Mac slugged at the Bintang, deciding that the last thing he needed in his fatigued state was a female complication. Jessica Yarrow was beautiful and fun but she was way out of his price-range. Jessica was going to graduate from law school, join a big law firm and move to the suburbs with the perfect husband. By contrast, Mac had a detective father and his mother was a nursing sister at Rockie Base Hospital – he was a rugby league player who went to Nudgee College on scholarship to play rugby union. Thanks to Nudgee, Mac had gained the education and the self-belief to go to UQ and apply to the Department of Foreign Affairs and Trade. But in his heart he was still a footy player from Rockhampton who was never going to chase the kind of money that the Jessica Yarrows expected as their due.
‘Rubbish, mister?’ asked the barman, pointing to the letter on the counter after he’d picked up Mac’s empties.
‘No,’ said Mac, trying to think. ‘But it can go in the can.’
Watching the barman toss the letter in the trash, Mac felt something move inside him. It wasn’t relief.
The mango and rockmelon went down nicely with strong coffee for Mac, who was nursing a medium-sized hangover in his corner of the Natour Bali’s dining room. A Jakarta Post lay unopened at the empty table setting opposite and Mac picked it up to use as a prop to look around the breakfast crowd: corporate and government types, mostly, he surmised, and no eyes. The Natour was not the hotel you stayed in for a beach holiday. It was in the centre of Denpasar and Mac liked it because it was hard to hide behind a loud shirt or a silly holiday hat.
Jim appeared at the maitre d’s dais just before 9 am. Mac raised his hand unobtrusively and Jim made his way across the room, seeming casual but seeing everything.
‘Jim,’ said Mac, shaking hands. ‘Want to order something?’
‘No thanks,’ said the American, sitting. ‘Already ate.’
‘Hope you don’t mind,’ said Mac, buttering his toast.
‘No, go ahead. Nice place you’ve got here,’ said Jim, ostentatiously looking behind him, along the skirting board and up the walls to the ceilings.
‘Pretty sure we’re clean,’ said Mac, who’d already scouted for listening devices and cameras.
‘You’re in, I hear?’ said Jim.
‘Sure,’ said Mac, spreading honey.
‘Good. Welcome to Operation Totem.’ Jim leaned across and speared a piece of Mac’s rockmelon with his fork. ‘I guess you figured that we’re interested in that Lombok building in Maliana, right?’
‘Well, I got you a sample – the analysis says it’s a vaccine program for one of those super-pneumonias.’
‘Sure – it’s a vaccine, and it does have a WHO registration,’ said Jim.
‘So?’
‘We just want a closer look, okay?’
‘So what’s the gig?’ asked Mac, pouring coffee.
‘We’ll have a chat about the details,’ said Jim, thanking the waitress as she arrived with his cup. ‘But the number-one objective of Totem is to snatch Maria Gersao, bring her to safety.’
‘Thought you didn’t know who she was?’ said Mac.
‘You know how it is – we’ve had eyes on your Blackbird for some time, making sure she doesn’t get into trouble,’ said Jim. ‘Before we could bring her in, she disappeared.’
‘I see,’ said Mac. ‘So why is Blackbird so important?’
‘She photocopied a document at army HQ.’
‘A document?’ asked Mac. ‘What was it?’
‘It concerned something called Operasi Boa – you’re aware of it?’
‘Yes,’ said Mac, ‘but I don’t know what it is.’
‘We want any copies she made, and we’d like to talk with her,’ said Jim. ‘If we can get to her, we might just save her life.’
CHAPTER 36
Tommy aimed his pointer at the large black-and-white aerial photograph being projected onto the wall of the briefing room. One of the analysts with the Defense Intelligence Agency, Tommy was a swaggering, bearish operative whose job was to track the supply chains of medical and scientific research programs.
‘This is the Maliana area of Bobonaro regency, taken ten days ago,’ said Tommy.
Mac was sitting in the first-floor briefing room of the DIA building in Denpasar with Jim and a yuppie analyst called Simon who looked as if he would be happier in a stockbroker’s office.
‘Lombok is a vaccine facility,’ said Tommy in his no-nonsense Brooklyn accent. ‘And most matériel used in this program is DPI.’
‘Which is?’ asked Mac.
‘Dual-Purpose Items – they can be used for purposes other than those declared,’ said Tommy.
‘Don’t countries have to file reports on what these facilities do?’ asked Mac.
‘Yes, Mr McQueen,’ said Tommy, his black trop shirt rustling as he turned. ‘You’re talking about a Confidence-Building Measure. It’s a declaration of materials, weapons and processes that each state must make annually.’
‘So what do the Indonesians say about Lombok?’ asked Mac.
‘Indonesia has never filed a CBM return,’ said Tommy, as if Mac might be a bit slow.
Swapping a glance with Jim, Mac let the briefing continue.
‘The Lombok site is registered with WHO and it produces a vaccine that seems to work,’ said Tommy. ‘But we have some questions.’
The DIA people scrolled through their surveillance pictures and explained their concerns: the incinerator was burning too often and too hot to be destroying the waste Lombok officially produced, the food supplies to the site were too great for the residential staff, the water reservoir was eight times larger than required and the Siemens gas turbine that powered the Lombok site produced enough power to drive a small car plant.
‘We like this one,’ said Tommy, clicking to a photo of a dock worker standing in front of an open shipping container. ‘Lombok declared this as a shipment of Petri dishes from Malaysia, but when we bribed this fellow to open that container, we found something interesting.’
‘Yes?’ said Mac.
‘There was a single wall of boxes, and behind them were four sterile drying cabinets, made in Germany.’
‘That a bad thing?’ asked Mac.
‘It’s a good thing if you’re producing large amounts of methamphetamine – especially the crystal meth drug they’re calling “ice”.’
‘Okay, so Lombok is much bigger than they claim because a secret part of it is a drug lab?’ said Mac, swigging down his bad American coffee.
‘Perhaps,’ said Tommy, clicking his button until the area north and west of the Lombok buildings came back into the picture. ‘Hiding an illegal program with a legitimate one is a popular business decision in this part of the world.’
Nodding, Mac thought back to his recent infiltration of a medical research facility that turned out to be a paracetamol counterfeiting ring.
‘So where’s all the extra capacity?’ asked Mac.
‘Good question,’ said Tommy, aiming his pointer back at the screen. ‘The Lombok AgriCorp facility is built on a campus of about one hundred acres, with only a few buildings on it, grouped in one corner.’
Clicking, Tommy changed the photo to a close-up of the empty part of the campus, on which had been drawn parallel dotted lines along the ground linking six objects in the middle of the open area.