The thing that Mac should never have overlooked with Diane was the occasion when he knew she was at a big IT trade show down at the Jakarta Convention Centre. He’d found her at the Atlas Network Security stand and surprised her. Atlas was in the same area as the stand for a computer security organisation called ASIS.
Mac had looked across, seen the ASIS – ADVANCING SECURITY
WORLDWIDE signage and quipped that the name certainly had a ring to it. Diane had touched her nose, eyes darting to the left and back again. Now why would a Pommie IT maven have even a clue what Mac had been smiling about, let alone react to it like that?
It was amazing how much information a bit of love could gloss over. But it sat there in your subconscious, waiting for the moment when you were ready. And suddenly there was the information, clear as day. A warning light you’d never miss if the agent was a hairy fella with bad breath.
It reeked of the old squirrel-grip. That and Chanel No. 5.
Sonny leaned around from his position in the front passenger seat of the LandCruiser. ‘Any big ideas, Chalks?’
Mac shook his head, ‘I’m waiting for a call from Zam. I don’t know what’s going on.’
‘That doesn’t help me, does it?’ said Sonny.
Mac shrugged, overcome with exhaustion, suffering excru ciating pain in his wrist and still in shock at the news about Diane. He was rooted.
‘Let me say that another way,’ said Sonny, getting annoyed. ‘It doesn’t help us much, right?’
‘I’ll talk to Cookie if you want, say it’s my fault,’ said Mac, looking out the window at the passing scenery.
They were on their way to Hasanuddin Air Base, the military facility that fringed the commercial airport outside of Makassar.
They’d opted for the scenic route to the Eurocopter because of certain cargo in the luggage compartment – a bound and gagged bloke Mac knew as Ray-Bans.
Sonny ignored Mac’s offer. ‘You get something out of that cunt back there and no one will have to take the blame for anything.
I mean, you’re the spook, right Chalks?’
This was the time that the military guy looked at the intel guy and said, Okay smartarse, do your thing.
But Mac had no answers. He wasn’t a torturer, didn’t get off on that kind of interaction. Hemi and Sonny had already beaten their captive to a bleeding pulp and it was amazing the bloke was still alive, let alone conscious. Mac had no insights into what the guy might know or not know. Garrison was Agency and Sabaya’s techniques were notoriously cellular, so they’d both be secretive. And Diane was starting to look like a very smart operator who would not be giving much away to the hired help. If Ray-Bans said he didn’t know what was going on then Mac was inclined to give him a fi fty per cent assumption of honesty. He didn’t think the bloke knew anything.
He was a Sabaya henchman, hired to get Mac out of the way.
‘The answer is in the Macassar Strait. Garrison and Sabaya are out there, you can bet on it,’ said Mac.
‘I don’t want to bet on anything, McQueen. Understand?’ Sonny fi red back.
Mac could see why Cookie used him.
Sonny and his team were being called back by Cookie for a mining situation – something that required a little more pressure than the local cops could exert. They’d want to know that they’d taken care of their excess baggage problems before they left.
Mac had got Boo and his boys spared on the basis that they weren’t so unlike Sonny and his boys. Mac had had to work on that, emphasising that dead APS blokes would bring POLRI’s Criminal Investigation detectives in from Jakkers. But he didn’t know about the bloke in the luggage compartment.
They drove past the turn-off to a popular family swimming hole where the waterfall emptied straight into a big pool. Mac’s mind worked overtime, struggling to work out what Garrison and Sabaya were doing, what the missing container in Manila contained and why Garrison had Diane working as a double agent months before this thing had gone down. He had to stay clear on that without the feeling of betrayal muddying everything.
His immediate goal was to create a scenario where the guy in the back didn’t have to die.
Mac leaned forward, whispered in Sonny’s ear, ‘I reckon I can get something out of this bloke if we’re alone. You guys go on, leave him with me. Whaddya reckon?’
‘I don’t care if you want to fuck him, make him your missus. All I want is something I can take to Mr B. Got that?’
Mac nodded.
Sonny’s sat phone trilled and he took the call before passing it back to Mac.
‘Hello,’ Mac rasped.
Cookie Banderjong wanted Mac to stay in touch. Reckoned there was still life in the Garrison-Sabaya thing. Said, ‘Don’t be a stranger, mate. Remember your friends.’
Cookie was really saying, The trail’s dead for now but if you come back to this island, you’re dealing with me.
Mac’s head spun and he struggled to breathe properly.
As Cookie was signing off Mac had a sudden thought. ‘Mr B, if the US military is shipping something to Johnston, what are they doing?’ he said.
Cookie chuckled. ‘They’re burying their mistakes, mate.’
Mac said nothing; he was beyond riddles.
‘Johnston Atoll is a US Army base about two hundred miles south of Hawaii. It’s a huge incinerator plant out there in the Pacifi c. Hush-hush, run by DIA,’ said Cookie.
‘What do they burn?’ asked Mac.
‘All their CBNRE stuff – diseases that don’t work, explosives that don’t meet stability specs, dogs with two heads. All that scientist shit.’
Mac was totally awake again, his heart thumping.
Behind him, someone groaned. A long, animal-like exhalation of pain.
‘Mr B, the secret cache at Clark – what was it?’ demanded Mac.
‘Oh that. About four thousand tons of VX gas,’ said Cookie. ‘Nerve agent. Nasty shit.’
CHAPTER 27
Mac tore the grey duct tape off Ray-Bans’ mouth, sliced the white fl exi cuffs from his wrists, and watched him slump to the carpeted fl oor of the HiAce van. It was late afternoon, the temperature was low thirties, and dust seemed to fl oat on the heat. Wafts of kerosene and scorched rubber came from the helos and military air-lifters around Hasanuddin Air Base and the F-111s from the Indonesian Air Force’s Eastern Command screamed as they took off.
The HiAce sat beside Cookie’s LandCruiser in a private hangar that looked over the whole spread of Hasanuddin Air Base and the airport.
A security bloke strolled with a German shepherd about eighty metres away near the huge sliding doors.
Mac put a bottle of water in front of Ray-Bans. Watched the guy squirm and wriggle to get comfortable. Blood was smeared down his dark red polo shirt and across the thighs of his cream chinos, and his right eye was puffed, dark purple and about to get a nice yellow yolk in the middle. Struggling onto his right elbow, he pushed himself up against the wall of the HiAce with his boat shoes. He put his hand out for the water, revealing a heavily muscled arm. Couldn’t reach it, so Mac opened the top and gave it to him.
Mac stayed at arm’s length. The guy was an athlete and Mac was in no shape to go close-range with him.
Ray-Bans drank, convulsed slightly, then wiped his mouth and spat. A tooth bounced on the black nylon carpet.
‘This when I die?’ he asked, in a London accent.