‘Local girl?’ asked Robbo.
‘Yep,’ said Mac, showing the eight-by-five of Maria Gersao.
‘Where do you think she is?’ asked Robbo.
‘She could be in the Kodim’s detention centre, here beside their main barracks,’ said Mac, pointing it out.
‘I know the building,’ said Robbo. ‘Didn’t know it was the prison.’
‘It’s actually more likely she’s in the intelligence compound,’ said Mac, moving his finger across to a fenced precinct within the base.
Silence dragged out between the two men, Robbo’s eyes large and white in the gloom. ‘Intelligence compound?’ he asked, aggressive.
‘Yeah, mate,’ answered Mac, stammering slightly. ‘It’s this area up the back of the main Kodim -’
‘I know it, Macca,’ said Robbo, his jaw tensing, eyeballing Mac.
‘Okay, so -’
‘So there’s only six of us, mate.’
‘Seven if you -’
‘No offence, Macca.’
Staring at each other, Mac gulped first. It was never easy to sell these missions to the soldiers who bore the brunt of them. But in this case, they had less than two weeks before the ballot result was announced and Mac was under intense pressure to deliver Blackbird.
‘Okay, Macca, we’ll recce it and have a chat, okay? But it’s far from ideal.’
‘Sorry, mate, but -’ started Mac, but Robbo was already leaving.
Picking up his photos and replacing them in the satchel, Mac wondered how he could have sold it any better. The problem centred on the real occupants of the so-called intelligence compound at the Kodim Maliana. Robbo’s six commandos were being asked to snatch a girl from the second-largest Kopassus base in Timor.
Mac woke to the beeping of his G-Shock, his brain still craving sleep. It was 6.55 am and in five minutes he had to make his first call to Jim in Denpasar.
Sitting up in his sleeping bag, he saw Johnno scraping soap suds off his cheeks at the other side of the hide. Turning, the soldier offered him a smile, his face half-shaved.
‘Some rats for you, McQueen,’ he said, nodding at the water bottles and foil tins stacked beside Mac’s bed. ‘That top one’s the meat sauce and pasta – tastes okay cold.’
Thanking him, Mac stood and stretched in his undies, then took a look through the gaps in the bamboo and foliage walls of the hide. The morning was lighting up the jungle and the birds and monkeys were at full roar.
‘Where are the others?’ asked Mac, grabbing a bottle of water and slugging at it.
‘Scouting, observing,’ shrugged Johnno. ‘I was supposed to be here when you woke up, tell you not to go wandering out alone.’
‘Gotcha,’ said Mac.
Johnno left as Mac readied to talk with Jim. The call was as simple as a cell-phone conversation in a major city. The sat phone supplied by DIA operated via the Pentagon’s own satellite network. No communication that travelled through the atmosphere was one hundred per cent secure, but the Pentagon’s satellites were what they called ‘five nines’ – that was, 99.999 per cent secure. Virtually impossible to hack.
‘In place?’ asked Jim, a small sucking sound telling Mac that the American was smoking with his morning coffee.
‘Yeah, sweet as,’ yawned Mac. ‘Could have done without the swim, though.’
‘You can catch my Learjet home.’
‘Tell ’em I like my beer cold and chicks hot.’
‘Can do,’ laughed Jim. ‘Got Tony here – he’d like a word later. But first, we’re both getting heat about soldiers and spooks in-country for the start of the referendum on Monday. Tony and I have tossed it around, and your DIO guys have been up here too – sorry to put the bite on you, McQueen, but we want the lot of you out of there before sunrise on Sunday, copy?’
‘Fuck’s sake, Jim!’ spat Mac, latent fear rising in him. ‘It’s fucking Friday morning! Jesus!’
He knew if he didn’t calm down he’d get a visit from Johnno, so Mac deepened his breaths and attempted to quell the overreaction.
‘Sorry about that, McQueen,’ said Jim into the silence. ‘It’d be nice to do these things under perfect conditions, but there’s too much riding on this ballot. Washington and Canberra want to be cleanskins, you know, in case it turns to shit.’
Mac didn’t like doing anything to a politician’s timetable, but rushing something as dangerous as the Blackbird snatch was crazy. The way Jim was talking, they’d have to grab Blackbird by Saturday evening at the latest – regardless of the risk factors.
‘Here’s Tony,’ said the American, and Davidson came on the line.
‘You okay, Macca?’
‘Fine, mate,’ Mac lied.
‘Got back from Dili last night,’ said Davidson. ‘Made some progress.’
‘Speak with Moerpati?’ asked Mac.
‘Sure did – the guy’s like a rabbit in the headlights. Totally paranoid.’
‘What’s the story?’ asked Mac.
‘He and Rahmid were trying to get information on Operasi Boa, and getting nowhere. The President’s office is being undermined and the Habibie loyalists are worried that the generals are pushing Wiranto for a coup.’
‘Shit,’ said Mac.
‘The military wants a big display of power, and it looks like East Timor will be the unlucky recipient. There’s a lot of fear in Jakarta right now – just knowing about Boa can get you shot, which is why Rahmid was trying to connect with us. I guess it puts the disappearance of Blackbird and the Canadian into perspective.’
‘So, Tony, Jim was saying that Canberra and Washington want to be cleanskins on this, hence the new timetable.’
‘Sure, Macca.’
‘So what about my exfil?’ asked Mac. It had occurred to him that governments might not want their helicopters and reinforcements landing in foreign territory so close to a politically sensitive event like East Timor’s ballot.
‘Yeah, well – Jim hasn’t told you?’
‘No,’ snapped Mac, tired, hungry and sick of being dicked.
‘Well, Macca, there’s army infantry, Kopassus and Brimob flooding into Bobonaro right now and the military is massing undeclared forces just over the border.’
‘And?’ barked Mac, knowing what was coming.
‘So, the helo exfil is in the too-hard basket for now,’ said Davidson.
‘Really?’
‘Yeah, so it’s a navy pick-up, okay?’
‘Navy?’
‘Yep – you got radio comms, you got the call signs?’
‘Yeah, Tony – got all that,’ said Mac, rubbing his temples with his fingers. ‘We’ll do what we can, but with any luck we’ll be travelling with a nineteen-year-old girl. Understand?’
‘I know, Macca,’ said Davidson. ‘And getting her out has never been more crucial.’
‘Shit, Tony – anything else? Perhaps a double-axel with pike?’
Davidson’s laugh boomed down the line. ‘Like my old cricket coach used to say when I was about to bowl my first over…’
‘What?’ asked Mac.
‘Don’t fuck it up.’
CHAPTER 41
Sweat ran down Mac’s back like a river by the time they’d trekked two hours north of the OP through the overwhelming humidity of the tropical montane forest. When Robbo called for a smoko under a rocky overhang, they all drank deeply from their water bottles. Sitting in the shade, Mac noticed the rest of the troop avoiding eye contact and sitting away from him. Though he appreciated that soldiers entered their own zone on an op, he sensed trouble and knew that none of them wanted to be fed to a compound full of Kopassus.
Digging in his rucksack, he pulled out the Hershey bars Jim had packed.
‘Well, well, well,’ said Mac. ‘What ’ave we ’ere?’
Johnno dug Toolie in the ribs as Mac tore the bag open with his teeth. Next thing, they were all staring at Mac, and when he threw the whole bag to Johnno, the rest of the troop converged like hyenas. One of the first things you missed when you went bush in the army was sugar, and soldiers on operations always feasted on it when the opportunity arose.