Someone grabbed Mac’s shirt, dragging him into a standing position. Their three captors were skinny locals, badly dressed in various types of jungle fatigues, suggesting they were Falintil.
‘How’s it going?’ said Mac to the mestizo guerrilla who was obviously in charge. There was no response as gunfire rattled in the background and an explosion boomed. The lead man waited for a moment then gestured with his G3, and Mac’s rucksack was taken from him.
Mac’s mind spun with the possibilities as he and Didge were led through the jungle at gunpoint. Was being Australian an advantage or, given Canberra’s acquiescence with the Indonesian occupation, would it get them killed? And if they were in open conflict with the Falintil guerrillas, were Robbo and his men even alive? It was a tall order to deal with Falintil on their own ground; fighting Falintil at night was virtually impossible. The might of the Indonesian military had spent a quarter of a century attempting to do it and had failed repeatedly.
They paused before dropping to the commandos’ field base and as they came into the clearing, Mac was pushed in the back and stumbled into Robbo, Toolie and Mitch, who were sitting on the forest floor, hands bound behind their backs.
Hitting the dirt beside Robbo, Mac decided to try his luck.
‘Got an injured guy here, mate,’ said Mac to the leader, pointing at Didge. ‘Can we get a medic on him?’
The leader stared, stony-faced, and Mitch leapt into the awkward pause, making the same request in Bahasa Indonesia. Nodding slowly, the Falintil leader issued a command while the guerrillas found the commandos’ medic pack. The guerrillas had already checked the packs, noticed Mac, and he was happy that he’d found a hiding place for the US dollars before he’d gone on the gig. It might turn out to be the only leverage he had.
The guerrilla medic knelt beside Didge and worked on the leg injury, as another guerrilla knelt behind Mac and bound his wrists.
Turning to the leader, Mac tried to keep it friendly. ‘We’re Aussies, mate – we’re on your side, okay? I was with you guys a few days ago -’
The leader raised his hand slightly to stop Mac from talking. It was dark in the jungle and the silence of the guerrillas against the boom and crack of a fight in the Lombok compound was a strange mix. Johnno and Beast were still out there somewhere and Mac hoped they were alive and working on a rescue.
The guerrilla finished tying Mac’s wrists and stood with his rucksack. Out came the Nikon and the field- glasses, and Mac prayed they wouldn’t destroy the camera or the samples.
‘Easy on the camera, eh boys?’ said Mac, as the guerrilla threw it to the leader. Mac’s heart beat against his chest – the last thing he needed was a bunch of hungry freedom fighters finding the digital images he’d taken of the Timorese in those inhalation chambers. He thought back to the argument he’d had with Didge, as he refused to release those captives. Should he have released those people in the inhalation chamber, like Didge wanted? Would his refusal to do the right thing get both of them killed now?
Rodrigo and Yohannes were also absent – a particularly bad development if those kids told the guerrillas that Aussie soldiers were taking children hostage.
‘What do they want?’ Mac asked Robbo.
‘Waiting for someone, I think,’ said Robbo.
‘What’s the damage, Didge?’ Robbo asked, as the soldier’s wound was bandaged.
‘Rifle – M16 I think. Through the thigh muscle,’ grunted Didge, staunch in spite of the pain.
There was a small commotion and then a group of four men entered the camp, senior by the look of how their captors came to attention. After some muffled discussions in the darkness, Mac saw the glow of the Nikon’s viewing panel light up.
Mac’s adrenaline surged as the chatter around the Nikon became animated. He held his breath, waiting for one of them to take exception to what he’d been photographing.
Finally the tall figure in dark fatigues who was handling the camera came out of the darkness and crouched where Mac could see his face.
‘Well, Mr Richard,’ he said, holding a Browning handgun at Mac’s throat. ‘Decided to return to sunny Timor- Leste?’
‘Well it’s cheaper than Bali,’ said Mac with no conviction. ‘How you been, anyway, Joao?’
CHAPTER 47
A huge explosion shook the trees and they looked down at the Lombok facility, parts of which were now engulfed in flames.
‘So tell me what you saw down there, Mr Richard,’ said Joao.
‘The buildings you can see house an official vaccine program, registered with the WHO and everything,’ said Mac.
‘Vaccine program?’ asked Joao.
‘Yeah, but there’s a hidden underground facility. It’s three, four times as big as the one you can see. I thought it was a drug lab, but there’s a lot of people down there.’
‘People?’ said Joao.
‘Hundreds – I think they’re being used for testing,’ said Mac, still trying to work it out for himself.
‘Testing? What, they’re guinea pigs for the vaccine?’ asked Joao, even and calm.
‘I don’t know – that’s what the pics are for,’ said Mac, working towards an information swap that would set them free and perhaps create the diversion he needed for the Blackbird snatch.
‘Alive?’ asked Joao.
‘Some,’ said Mac. ‘About eighty or so.’
‘So people are dying from this vaccine?’ asked Joao.
‘Too early to tell,’ nodded Mac. ‘We saw a lot of bodies being loaded onto the back of a truck, taken to the incinerator.’
‘A vaccine that kills people? Sounds more like a weapon,’ said Joao.
Pausing at Joao’s comment, Mac wondered; surely the Indonesians wouldn’t have a bio-weapons program.
‘I understand this vaccine covers the super-pneumonia they’re calling SARS,’ said Mac. ‘Maybe they’re using their manmade SARS on human beings to create a better vaccine? Either way, it’s entirely illegal.’
Going silent for a moment, Joao grew pensive as he looked down at the burning hulk of Lombok AgriCorp. ‘Is this anything to do with the camp we found behind Memo?’
‘I have no idea,’ said Mac, slightly taken aback.
Looking over his shoulder, Joao called forth one of his lieutenants and issued a command which saw some of his men run off into the bush.
‘You’re not a salesman, I take it?’ said Joao, watching a posse of Falintil run from the jungle and race towards the Lombok buildings. Soon they were leading their comrades towards the ventilators in the paddock. Although annoyed at being made, Mac was elated that some survivors would get out of there.
‘Look, Joao, we’re friendlies, okay? We’re on the same side – those were Indonesians who shot Didge down there,’ said Mac, trying to work out if divulging the Blackbird gig to Joao might help him. ‘And we’ve got business in Maliana.’
In the distance, the sound of helos boomed against the hills, signalling that the Indonesian Army’s Kodim 1636 in Maliana was mobilised. That wasn’t totally bad news for Mac so long as he could get himself and his escort out of the area before the soldiers came and engaged the Falintil fighters.
‘Maliana’s hot,’ said Joao, still observing Mac with scepticism.
‘I don’t have a choice,’ said Mac.
‘Who?’ asked Joao.
‘No one important,’ said Mac.
‘I’ve got the gun, Mr Richard. And I have every reason to shoot you.’
‘What was I going to do with eighty people, Joao?’ snapped Mac, knowing he sounded guilty.
‘Letting them go home would have been a start,’ said Joao.
‘They wouldn’t have got home, Joao, and you know it,’ said Mac.
