‘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 words 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.’