‘Seem to be doing okay,’ said Mac. ‘Sounds like you can handle a gun.’
‘I’m a farm girl – trucks and tractors are no problem, either,’ she said. ‘I was just annoyed with my government for letting my dad disappear without making any attempt to find him.’
‘Maybe they were?’ asked Mac, unobtrusively clocking every set of eyes in the pedestrian traffic.
‘Well, maybe,’ she shrugged. ‘But if that American – Jim – hadn’t hooked me up with Manny, I wouldn’t have lasted long.’
‘What about your mother? Brothers or sisters?’ asked Mac. ‘They pitching in?’
‘Only child… and Mum hates Dad,’ she said, in a matter-of-fact tone. ‘They divorced when I was fourteen, and even though our comfortable life ran on his money, she made it hard to know him.’
‘Handy dad for a place like UCLA,’ said Mac. ‘It’s not cheap.’
‘Actually,’ she said, fixing him with a stare, ‘Dad pays my fees and accommodation – I work for everything else.’
‘Really?’ asked Mac. ‘You work?’
Sighing at him, she crossed her tanned arms. ‘Wednesdays, Thursdays, Fridays at a campus bookstore, and I do telemarketing for a company in Century City. And there’s no end in sight now I’m in the School of Law.’
‘Okay,’ said Mac, surrendering.
‘Oh, and you might have noticed – I buy my own drinks.’
‘Amen to that,’ said Mac, raising his glass.
‘Dinner doesn’t count,’ said Jessica, clinking glasses and giggling. ‘I’m independent, but I don’t go Dutch.’
Jessica made a production of ordering the dishes, but without losing her sense of humour. And as she handed the menu to the bowing waitress, she fixed Mac with a grin.
‘So, Richard – how does a man trying to find sandalwood opportunities end up driving around with someone like Manny Alvarez?’
‘Same as you,’ said Mac, as light as he could. ‘You stay in hotels like the Turismo often enough, then you meet people like Manny. If you find them useful to travel with, you make a friendship, come to an arrangement.’
Sipping at the excellent New Zealand sauvignon blanc, Mac wished Jessica would get off the occupational line. He lived his work and there were times when he just wanted to enjoy the wine, appreciate the company and not have to do the dance of the seven veils.
‘You know, Jessica, I’ve been wondering about you.’
‘That’s a good start,’ she said.
‘Well, actually – you’re probably sick of talking about you,’ said Mac, smiling.
‘Oh, you bastard!’ she shrieked, but finding it funny. ‘That’s not fair.’
‘I was wondering why you don’t have a boyfriend? I mean, you’re -’
‘You mean, am I a psycho?’
‘It had occurred to me,’ said Mac.
‘Ha!’ she laughed, looking around. ‘I had a boyfriend. Wayne.’
‘Can he still chew food?’ asked Mac.
‘Very funny, Mr Richard!’
‘Social issue?’ Mac asked.
‘Like?’
‘Like at fifty-seven, why’s Wayne living with Mum?’
Jessica chuckled and then lowered her voice. ‘Actually, when men say they like a smart girl, they don’t always mean it.’
‘What happened?’
‘Undergraduate was fine – making law school was a bridge too far for a man just starting his career as a junior marketing manager.’
‘So?’ asked Mac.
‘We were dating. I got accepted. We broke up. The end,’ she said, shrugging but sad.
Sipping in silence, they avoided one another’s eyes until Jessica put her hand across the table and grasped Mac’s forearm.
Opening her mouth to speak, nothing came out.
‘Yes?’ said Mac.
‘Umm – nothing,’ said Jessica, releasing her grip and sitting back. ‘Where’s the bathroom?’
Standing beside the taxi as it idled outside the officer apartments, Mac was torn. He could get in the cab, do the Harold Holt and go to Darwin airport, or he could try to make amends with Jessica. Perhaps say a proper goodbye. The past few days had been emotional for both of them, worsened by his reticence about starting a relationship with a girl who didn’t even know his real name. If they’d met while he was visiting his folks in Rockhampton, he’d have been plain old Alan McQueen. But, short of marrying her – not on the cards at this stage of his career – Mac was not going to reveal his true identity. There was no statute of limitations on the kind of anger he’d engendered in his professional life. His only protection was hiding his identity, an advantage ruined once you revealed it to a civilian woman.
But there was one conversation he could have with her, if he could convince himself that it wouldn’t ruin his other objectives.
‘Shit!’ he said to himself finally, and asked the driver to hold for a minute.
Knocking on Jessica’s door, he was edgy, even if he hadn’t worked out what he was going to say.
‘Go away,’ came Jessica’s muffled voice from behind the door.
‘Look, Jessica,’ he whispered, not wanting half the base to come out and ask him what was up. ‘I’m sorry about the flight, okay?’
‘Oh piss off!’ came the response.
‘It was the only flight to Denpasar, and my company booked me on it – I’m sorry,’ said Mac, trying not to yell.
‘Sorry?!’ she said, the door opening with a flourish. ‘You take me to dinner, and take me to bed, and then as an afterthought you tell me you’re flying out tonight?’
‘Can we keep it down?’ asked Mac, looking around. ‘People are trying to sleep.’
‘It’s ten past nine,’ said Jessica, and Mac could see her eyes were puffy. ‘I wanted to spend time with you, Richard – I can’t do this on my own.’
‘I know,’ said Mac, putting his arms around her.
‘I’m scared,’ she sobbed into his neck. ‘ Really scared.’
Over Jessica’s shoulder, Mac saw Gillian Baddely emerge from an apartment, give him a nasty look and shake her head.
‘I have a plane to catch,’ mumbled Mac, and pushing himself away he headed for the cab, trying to put Jessica’s sobs out of his mind.
The one thing he could have told her was that her father was last seen in the Kota Baru barracks in Baucau. But Mac had decided not to, and he didn’t want Jessica looking into his eyes.
CHAPTER 32
Mac’s new Nokia buzzed while he was standing with other travellers at Bali International Airport, waiting for the stragglers to assemble in front of the minivan driver with the Natour Bali sign. Looking at the phone, Mac dialled into the secure voicemail servers in Canberra and got a message from Marty Atkins: the late-night debrief meeting was postponed, new time eleven o’clock the following morning.
After running some basic security checks on his bungalow at the Natour, Mac jammed a chair under the door handle, stripped and made for the bathroom. The shower felt good and Mac sensed his energy making a comeback as he padded through the spacious bungalow at the Natour, keeping the lights down and checking the windows from the side of the curtains. Grabbing a cold Bintang from the mini-bar, he sat at the writing desk and opened his
