He wandered around the clinic area, checking on the tigress, who snarled and hissed at him as her cubs burrowed into her full belly.
Turning back, he heard the sound of kids yelling as the door swung open and then shut. Mari greeted him with a tray of fresh fruit, toast and a mug of what he prayed was coffee.
‘Morning,’ she said. She was quite tall and had the sort of athletic frame Mac liked, but he was happy she’d set him right the night before.
They sat at the table chatting as Mac buttered his toast, before noticing a bowl of what looked like dark red maple syrup.
‘Sumatran wild honey,’ said Mari, following his gaze. ‘Bunch of us buy it from the Batak people if they agree to stop burning the forest, killing the tigers.’
‘And it’s working?’ asked Mac.
‘Sure, but it’s the female economy,’ she said with a wry smile. ‘It’s the blokes who can’t resist Westerners coming in with all this money and wanting to shoot a tiger, grab an orang-utan.’
The honey was beautiful, sweet but also smoky.
‘So, what’s with the kids?’ asked Mac.
‘Some are orphans. Some have been rescued from the – you know
– the sex rackets.’
‘Shit!’ said Mac, sipping on the coffee. ‘So you keep the door locked in case they run away?’
‘No,’ said Mari, her face stony. ‘It’s to keep men out. No males are allowed in that area.’
‘Bit harsh, isn’t it?’
Mari shook her head. ‘Men have been the problem for those kids, not the solution.’
They talked and Mac gave her Jenny’s number in Jakarta; told her what Jenny did with the transnational sexual-servitude taskforce and how the key to Jenny’s work was intelligence gathering and intelligence networks. She needed people like Mari.
‘She sounds great. I’ll defi nitely contact her,’ said Mari, dropping the tough-chick act.
‘Sure is. You two would get on,’ said Mac.
‘Really?’ she said. ‘Why’s that?’
‘Because you’re both quite, umm, assertive about the difference between right and wrong,’ Mac replied, winking.
Mari laughed. ‘Beautifully put, Mr McQueen. Ten out of ten for diplomacy.’
There was a banging at the door and Mari went to it while Mac fi nished his coffee and looked around for his boots. ‘That’ll be Ari
– he’s picking me up. He’s a friendly.’
Mari opened the door and let Ari in. The Russian nodded at her and padded across the concrete slab, casing the place, walking like a bad guy in a Western movie. He was in Levis and a dark blue trop shirt. His holster-bag hung around his middle and his sunnies sat up on his thin sandy hair. Shaking Mac’s hand, he took a seat and helped himself to the fruit.
‘Okay there, champ?’ said Mac.
‘Okay if not so hungry,’ said Ari, not getting it.
‘This is Mari,’ said Mac as he grabbed his Hi-Tecs, got a sock on.
‘She’s a vet, from Australia. This is her set-up.’
‘Nice,’ said Ari, looking around. ‘Good location for the little animals.’
‘Thanks,’ said Mari.
‘And not such little animals,’ said Mac. ‘Mari’s got a tiger.’
Ari arced up, totally interested. ‘Tiger! I love the tigers.’
‘I’m just checking on her now,’ said Mari. ‘You can come and help me if you want.’
Ari got to his feet and they disappeared down the line of cages while Mac found his Heckler and checked the phones. Then he wandered down to the tiger cage and stopped as he saw Mari put her arm around Ari’s shoulder and whisper in his ear. He was about to say something smart when he saw Ari’s back heaving.
While Ari drove the silver Nissan Patrol to the Polonia, Mac fronted him with a simple choice. Pulling out the folded papers he’d grabbed from the Pulau airfi eld, he waved them in the Russian’s face. ‘Mate, these are yours to read, maybe copy – but we’ll have a quick chat fi rst, okay?’
Ari looked at him, looked at the bunch of papers. ‘Chat?’
‘Yeah,’ said Mac. ‘I don’t have the full picture. I don’t even know what I’m doing here, and some bastard is going to start with the explanations.’
‘Me?’
‘No one else in the room.’
Ari looked resigned. ‘What are these papers? Where did you get them?’
‘Know that airfi eld where Hassan’s team tried to land yesterday?’
‘And the Kopassus chased them off?’
‘Yep – I went out there and checked it out,’ said Mac. ‘These are the only papers remaining from a building that had been deliberately destroyed by fi re. And, Ari, I reckon the arsonists came back after they were chased off by Kopassus.’
‘So important, yes?’ said Ari, clearly interested.
‘Important enough so that someone tells me what the fuck’s going on.’
‘Okay,’ said Ari, fl ustered. ‘Ask me, but maybe I cannot say, yes?’
Mac started simple. ‘Was that a nuclear device in Kuta?’
‘I don’t know, McQueen. These JI camel-fuckers have been trying to increase their – how you say – their fi re strength…’
‘Firepower,’ said Mac.
‘Yes, increase their fi repower. They’ve been trying for a year. So they have this moneys from the al-Qaeda fuckers and they are speaking to many organisation. One of these organisation is the Dr Khan, and his chief of operations is Hassan.’
‘So, Kuta?’
‘You see, McQueen,’ said Ari, weighing his words, ‘Hassan has the access to many military application, including – how they say?
– CBRNE. You know this?’
Mac’s skin crawled. An acronym for weapons of mass destruction, CBRNE stood for Chemical, Biological, Radiological, Nuclear and enhanced Explosive. ‘Yes, Ari, I’ve heard of it.’
Ari shrugged as he stopped at a red light and lit a cigarette. ‘So what we know is that Hassan crew was in Kuta with the JI team of Abu Samir. Akbar was there too, but sailed before the bombings. What was it did they detonate? I was tailing you to understand this, yes?’
‘Sure.’
‘You and I both think that Paddy’s Bar was local terror bomb, perhaps ammonium nitrate or potassium chlorate, yes?’ said Ari.
Mac nodded.
‘But Sari Club – too big, too much destruction, hole in road much too big for fertiliser bomb. Hassan has access to enhanced military explosive, and he also has access to mini-nuke. What exploded in Kuta? That’s what I wanted you to help me fi nd out.’
Mac tried something else. ‘What are the Pakistanis doing in Indonesia?’
Ari wound down his window, letting in warm air, and fl icked his ash. ‘The Pakistanis are dangerous. Their military and their intelligence created the Taliban as a way of controlling Afghani opium production, you know this, yes?’
‘Yep. It’s not good.’
‘It is commercial business,’ said Ari. ‘The al-Qaeda have the money and the JI want the bombs. So Hassan gives bomb to JI and get moneys from Osama. Or, they give guns and power to Taliban, take money from Americans for the opium.’
Ari fl icked the ciggie as he pulled into the Polonia. ‘The Americans and the British think they are so smart allowing Pakistan to do this, but Russia will eventually have politicians who will not take this shit from the
