‘I can’t sleep anymore,’ she said, and then took a deep breath. ‘Did Manny tell you that after the gunfight we went with the guerrillas to their camp in the hill?’
‘No’ said Mac.
‘There were women and kids and grandparents in this camp, Richard. It wasn’t a bunch of boozed freedom fighters. They weren’t preaching Marxism.’
‘For some East Timorese, Falintil means safety and food,’ said Mac.
‘I saw something terrible,’ she said, nestling into Mac’s chest so he could feel her warm tears through his shirt. ‘We arrived in the evening and there were all these children who looked strange – something was wrong with them but I couldn’t work it out. There was only the firelight.’
‘Yes,’ said Mac.
‘One of the mothers saw me staring, and she told me why they looked different,’ she said, bottom lip quivering.
‘She told me the militias had cut their ears off, Richard. Their fucking ears! The army offered a bounty payment for Timorese ears! I can’t get it out of my head!’
Mac held her while she sobbed and it took some time before she had recovered enough to speak.
‘My father’s not alive, is he?’ she said, her beauty and sadness a heart-rending combination. ‘I mean… that place, I…’ She tried to go on, before breaking off, tears in her eyes.
Mac was tempted to say something gallant, but it was a luxury he couldn’t permit himself.
‘I didn’t find Dad,’ said Jessica, almost talking to herself. ‘And if I was missing, Dad would find me, I know he would.’
They held a stare for too long.
‘Look, Jessica, East Timor is a disgrace,’ said Mac quietly. ‘You’re braver than ten men to go in there and demand answers about your father. Most people would spend one afternoon in that hotel and be on the next flight out – scared witless. You did what you could.’
‘You’ve probably heard the rumours about my father, and maybe they’re true,’ she said, flicking hair out of her eyes. ‘Dad’s not perfect, but he’s my father and I can’t just walk away.’
Silence fell between them. Mac had been in this situation before, as a young intelligence officer in Cambodia. He’d promised more than he could deliver and had vowed never to do it again. But Mac knew from his own family that you didn’t walk away from kin.
‘Manny’s still on the island,’ said Mac. ‘But I beg you – don’t go back there, okay?’
‘I don’t know if I can go back,’ she admitted. ‘But I don’t know if I can just do nothing. Manny’s still there?’
‘Yes, but he knows what he’s doing,’ said Mac quickly. ‘Leave it to him – I’m sure he’ll keep an eye on it.’
‘I hope so,’ said Jessica. ‘The Americans didn’t pay him to take a holiday.’
Stiffening, Mac pushed her away slightly. ‘The Americans?’
Jessica admitted that Bongo’s protection services were not contracted between them at the Hotel Turismo, as they’d led Mac to believe. An officer from the US consulate in Denpasar had helpfully insisted that she go to Dili with Bongo, who would keep an eye on her.
Thinking back on the pictures of Jessica and Jim at the Denpasar cafe, Mac realised the consulate guy was ‘Jim’ from DIA. He was relieved that at least Jessica’s involvement seemed to be purely civilian.
But he wasn’t happy with Bongo. Working for DIA was something Bongo should have shared with Mac. Not because Bongo was compromised, but because it showed that the Pentagon was interested in Bill Yarrow.
CHAPTER 30
Mac ran up the front steps of Arafura Imports in central Darwin, and entered the reception area, pushing up his sunglasses.
‘Just in time for your new phone, Mr Davis,’ said Sally the receptionist, pushing a brown box across the counter. The Arafura Imports office on Cavanagh Street was a corporate front for Australian SIS, and Sally sometimes found herself working as a stewardess in Qantas first class or as a concierge in the Marriott group.
‘Suppose a nine-mill is out of the question?’ joked Mac, as he signed the receipt docket.
Sally found a spare mug, poured Mac a coffee and escorted him through two PIN-enabled security doors and into one of the meeting rooms, where Tony Davidson sat at a conference table, phone to his ear.
Putting his coffee and bags down, Mac took a seat on the other side of the table and listened to his boss make placatory sounds to a desk-jockey. As the phone hit its cradle, Davidson stood to his bearish six foot five and extended a paw.
‘Macca,’ he said with a smile. ‘Didn’t your mother tell you to stay out of fights?’
Shaking his boss’s hand, Mac smiled back and said his hellos. His face was still a mess: two black eyes, a fat lip and a big lumpy shiner on his left cheekbone. Whatever disagreements Mac had with Bongo’s operating style, he now had total empathy with the Filipino’s need for payback – Bongo could have Benni Sudarto, Mac would take Amir.
‘Larrakeyah okay?’ asked Davidson, taking off his suit jacket and hanging it on the back of the door. ‘No one playing at nosey-buggers?’
‘No, it seems fine – but if you want me staying five-star, I’m game,’ said Mac. ‘Sheraton will do.’
Starting with a brief story of the East Timor mission and its dual goals – Blackbird and Boa – Mac included Bongo’s role as subtly as he could, although it still elicited a wince from Davidson.
‘Shit, Macca – Morales is a hit man, isn’t he?’
‘He was also at the meet where we lost the Canadian and Blackbird,’ said Mac. ‘I wanted him to brief me, and, well we came to an arrangement and he rode security for me.’
‘Okay,’ said Davidson, a little annoyed.
Answering some basic questions about the operation, Mac went over the meetings in Dili, describing how the Indonesian military-commercial establishment was still operating as if they expected no political change in East Timor. Then Mac told of being invited to the Lombok facility in Bobonaro district and being asked to do some procuring for Major-General Damajat, the man who appeared to be running the show. Putting the vial from Damajat’s office on the desk, Mac disclosed where he’d stolen it from.
‘It might be nothing,’ said Mac, nodding at the vial. ‘He says it’s about re-engineering a disease in order to cure it. But their procurement is covert and I’m fairly certain the Canadian was doing this job before me.’
‘Sydney’ll take too long – be faster to get it analysed by the Americans in Denpasar,’ said Davidson, poking at the clear vial which contained a tobacco-coloured liquid. ‘So, you’re in his office and Damajat thinks you’re the Canadian’s replacement – but then the Sudartos make you?’
‘Yeah – I’m Damajat’s best buddy, and then I get jumped by Amir Sudarto and a couple of Kopassus intel goons.’
‘So, a possible schism in the Indonesian military?’ said Davidson, making a small note in his ever-present detective’s pad. ‘Sudartos and Damajat not working to the same agenda?’
‘Perhaps,’ said Mac.
‘What about this death camp?’
‘Between a hundred and a hundred and thirty bodies, all ages and genders, all dead,’ said Mac, pausing as he remembered the sight. ‘Actually, one girl was still alive – Falintil rescued her.’
‘Were they shot?’ asked Davidson.
‘Poison, probably.’
‘Official?’ asked Davidson. ‘A military operation?’
‘Kopassus, for sure,’ said Mac. ‘I had an eyewitness account, third party. Joao – the Falintil leader – told me that a bloke called Antonio who had defected from the 1635 Regiment, was -’
‘That’s the locals’ regiment?’
‘That’s them,’ said Mac. ‘This Antonio drove an army truck in Bobonaro district and he said that he’d delivered supplies to this secret camp up in the hills behind Memo.’
