with the Indonesians had specifi cally precluded any ‘wider linkages’ than those sanctioned, and the scientists stuck to tests for anfo, C4 and potassium chlorate, the bomb materials of choice for Asian bombers.
Toni’s analysis had revealed signifi cantly raised levels of triated water in the Sari Club crater, compared with the ‘control’ water of a house water tank in Denpasar.
He set Toni’s paper aside and looked at the last one, a partially burnt piece of A4 that he had never shown Freddi. He could still smell that airfi eld with its whiffs of ash and fi re, and he stared at it as he slugged on the Vittel. The handwritten note said N W, which could have meant anything. It might have had nothing to do with the Hassan crew or the Kuta bombings. He’d asked around about it
– asked Indons, Americans, Aussies, Malaysians – anyone who might have even a faint idea. The only thing that came back was that if you had Pakistanis involved, and N W, then it probably referred to the North-West Frontier. Which hadn’t helped Mac at all.
Mac and Edwin were fi ve minutes away from MMC Hospital when Jenny phoned back. It was good to hear her voice but when she put her Nokia down for Rachel to say her bit, his daughter went silent. All he could hear was Jen whispering, ‘ Say hi to Daddy, say hi.’
‘So Mr Macca,’ said Jenny, sounding cheerful as she got back on the line, ‘that wasn’t you in Jakkers, right?’
‘Wasn’t me what?’ asked Mac, confused.
‘You didn’t get my voicemails?’
‘No, actually, I -‘
‘There was a shooting up there yesterday, remember?’ said Jen.
Mac groaned inwardly. ‘Umm, yeah – but it’s, you know -‘ He wasn’t going to discuss it, hadn’t even had a chance to digest it properly himself.
‘Can’t talk?’
‘Umm, yeah, Jen -‘ he said, glancing at a box of chocolates and bunch of fl owers sitting in the back seat.
Jen was inquisitive and not always in a good way. ‘I’m hearing there’re two Australians dead and a British national in hospital,’ she said in a tone that made Mac cringe.
‘Yeah, mate,’ he said, going for casual. ‘I’m on my way out to MMC right now.’
‘The Brit is a female, right?’
Mac felt like one of her suspects and he was about to tell her who it was but she stole the moment. ‘It’s Diane, right? Diane Ellison?’
Mac breathed out. ‘Yeah – she took two bullets.’
‘Okay,’ said Jenny, in that way that women say okay when it’s not okay. ‘So don’t tell me, she was the wife, right?’
‘Jen, I can’t discuss -‘
‘ Fuck, Macca!’
‘Okay. Yes, she was my partner -‘
‘Oh that’s great, Macca. Partner, yeah, right!’
‘Jen, look I need -‘
‘Macca, I have a partner, okay?’ she snapped. ‘But that doesn’t involve me in the same bed, or running around pretending to be his wife.’
‘I wasn’t in the bed with -‘
‘Oh whatever!’
He tried to think of something to say but there wasn’t much point. Jenny had hung up.
CHAPTER 39
Carl wasn’t guarding Diane’s room and there was no sign of Danny Fitzgibbon, so Mac pushed at the door to Diane’s room with one arm, keeping the chocolates and the fl owers hidden behind his body.
Peeking around the door he saw an elderly Indon woman sleeping on her back. Pulling back out into the hallway Mac looked around, wondering what the hell was going on. It was a new shift and nurses and orderlies rushed past him like he wasn’t there. Down at the nursing sister’s station, the supervisor didn’t know who he was and didn’t want to give out any information about a patient to a non-family member. Tired and confused, Mac turned from the station to fi nd a younger nurse approaching him. ‘Hello mister. You Mr Richard?’ she asked.
He nodded.
‘Miss Diane give me this,’ she smiled, pulling something from the pocket of her tunic. It was a piece of folded paper of newsprint quality. Bloody Diane had torn a page out of her Gideon’s.
Written in dark blue biro was the message, Dad wants me in the compound. Sorry. Beneath were an address and phone number with the Sydney 02 prefi x and the words Sarah + Felicity.
He thanked the girl, and asked her when Diane had left.
‘Hour go, mister,’ she said.
On the way out Mac saw a young woman with a shaven head, gaunt face and sunken eyes. She was being pushed the other way in a wheelchair.
‘G’day,’ he said, smiling.
‘Well, hello,’ she gushed with a big American smile that lit up the corridor. Mac had her as northern California.
Mac presented her with the fl owers and chocolates. ‘Don’t eat them all at once. Might get fat,’ he said with a wink.
She was still laughing as he got into the lift.
The Nokia trilled as they stopped and started through the Jakarta traffi c.
Snapping out of his reverie about Diane and Hassan, Mac looked at his phone. ‘Hi, Jen,’ he mumbled, wary of another attack.
‘Sorry about before. I forgot to ask – how are you, darl?’
‘I’m fi ne, really,’ he said.
‘You sure?’ she pushed. ‘Is the gig over?’
Mac wiped his face as if the harder he pushed the more he’d drive away the fatigue. ‘Some loose ends. Another two days, max,’ he said.
There was a long pause, then Jenny spoke. ‘I’m sorry about Diane.
I mean, you know, is she okay?’
‘Yeah, she got one in the shoulder but it was the one in the stomach that was tricky.’
‘Ouch!’
‘Yeah, there’s a lot of internal bleeding and they had to operate on the intestine – took three inches out of it, apparently. She’s in a lot of pain but the liver’s only grazed and can heal by itself.’
‘Shit, Macca!’
‘Yeah, I know,’ he said, trying to stay strong despite his fatigue.
‘So, the shooters got away?’
‘For now, but she hit one in the leg -‘
‘Good girl.’
‘And we know who they are.’
Silence stretched between them.
‘ We? ‘
‘Well, you know, the guys.’
‘Chrissakes, Macca. What happened to due diligence and a bit of low-risk corporate cover?’
‘Jen…’
‘Don’t Jen me! When we went out the other night you said it’s like being a lawyer or an accountant, only not using your real name.’
‘Well, look…’
