‘Operasi Boa?’
‘No – not that one.’
‘And no copies of any army papers?’ said Mac, bringing his cadence down to suggest the end of a conversation.
‘No, mister,’ she said, her voice relieved.
‘Where did you hide the copies, Maria?’
‘I didn’t… I mean, I took no copies.’
‘The copies of Operasi Boa?’
Waving her hands, and then putting her face in them, Blackbird hesitated. ‘Now I all confused.’
‘Take your time, Maria,’ said Mac, like her best friend.
‘Okay,’ she sighed, breathing out.
Handing her a fresh bottle of water, Mac looked at his G-Shock. ‘Drink up, we’ll leave in five.’
Looking out through the bamboo walls, Mac’s heart was racing. Was there an ambush? Was the snatch a set-up? He did not know. What he did know was that Kopassus intel failing to ask Blackbird if she copied files during her time at army HQ was about as likely as the Ferrari F-1 pit crew turning up for a race without a single wrench. It was a spurious story, and meant that either Kopassus was after something totally different to what Mac and Tony Davidson assumed they were after, or Blackbird was walking both sides of the street.
Mac’s coded radio call to the Royal Australian Navy was successful and he got a commitment for an exfil at midnight, from the same place where he’d set down after the swim from the submarine. Getting close to finishing a successful gig, Mac’s excitement was counterbalanced by stress and fatigue. If someone gave him an air-bed, a shower and a proper pillow, he’d sleep for twelve hours without touching the sides. But for now he was buzzing along on adrenaline, trying to get to the finish line.
They made fast time across the river into West Timor and overland to the kijang ’s hide with Robbo and Beast as the escort. The soldiers flirted with Blackbird, who deflected their attentions with a cold politeness that she’d probably been practising since childhood. She was a cool cookie, this one, thought Mac, and he vowed to test her again before he handed her over.
At 7.03 am the soldiers led them to the head of the river valley that they’d run up two days ago, and Mac made his seven o’clock call to Jim at DIA.
‘Saturn recon was a success,’ said Mac. ‘But I can’t send the pics – busted the camera, so I’ll have to walk them out. Got samples too.’
‘That’ll do,’ said Jim.
‘There were a bunch of people in that underground facility,’ said Mac, wanting to know more about Lombok. ‘Most of them were dead.’
‘Okay – any alive?’ asked Jim.
‘Yeah, about eighty,’ said Mac, wanting Jim to do more of the explaining.
‘Do we have Blackbird?’ said Jim, before Mac could push.
‘She’s here, but she’s claiming no knowledge of Boa or any file copies,’ said Mac.
‘She lying?’ asked Jim.
‘I reckon,’ said Mac.
‘Well that’s unfortunate,’ said Jim.
‘Yeah?’
‘Yeah, because comms chatter from the Indonesian Army suggests Boa is being brought forward – looks like whatever it is will start around the ballot results.’
‘That’s a week away,’ said Mac.
‘Sure. That reminds me,’ said Jim, sounding concerned, ‘you didn’t start that direct action at Saturn?’
‘No, that was Falintil. Villagers on the south coast had been disappearing and they traced them to Saturn. The guards didn’t want to open the gates.’
‘Don’t want to pressure you, buddy,’ said Jim. ‘But Blackbird is now the key to this. Got an ETA?’
‘I’ll get her there as fast as I can,’ said Mac.
‘Drive safely, McQueen – Tony wants a word.’
‘Macca!’ came the greeting, so loud Mac had to pull his ear from the sat phone.
‘Tony, how’s it going?’ asked Mac.
‘Good, mate – just got back from Dili, where I had a chat with our friend.’
‘Yeah?’
‘Yep. Still don’t know who the President’s Men are in Jakarta, but he said Kopassus had been running some disinformation strategies.’
‘Like what?’ asked Mac.
‘Like the false flag Operation Extermination – which is really a cover for Boa,’ said Davidson. ‘Like some of the assurances that Canberra is relying on – assurances that the Indonesian military is trying to bring order to Timor, rather than supporting the militias.’
‘Okay,’ said Mac, distracted and tired. ‘Well Blackbird tells me she doesn’t know about Boa and she never copied a document that covers it.’
‘Does she just?’
‘Yeah, but I’ll bring her in, get to the bottom of it, right?’
‘Sure, Macca,’ said Davidson, a resigned tone in his voice. ‘Let’s see what this bird sings.’ He hung up.
‘That Jim as in DIA?’ asked Robbo, surprising Mac. ‘In Denpasar?’
‘Ah, yeah,’ said Mac, who didn’t like eavesdroppers. ‘Maybe.’
‘Come on, McQueen,’ said Robbo with a smile. ‘I remember him in Jordan, after he was kicked out of UNSCOM. I heard he was in Denpasar.’
‘UNSCOM?’ said Mac. ‘What was Jim doing with the weapons inspectors?’
‘Who knows?’ said Robbo, distracted by a bird flapping noisily out of a tree. ‘I think he was on loan from Detrick – Saddam’s people challenged him and the UN asked him to leave.’
‘Really?’ said Mac.
‘Yeah, mate,’ said Robbo, turning to go. ‘All that UN political shit.’
Head pounding with the possibilities, Mac tried not to dwell on it. Detrick was the nickname for the US Army’s Medical Research Institute for Infectious Disease. Fort Detrick was where you went when you wanted to know everything there was to know about biological weapons.
CHAPTER 49
The Timor Sea looked oily as the sun rose above the horizon, turning the ocean from a deep vermilion to green.
Mac’s hide looked over the point on the south coast where he’d come ashore two days earlier, and as the birds started their morning song, Robbo and Beast prepared a natural crow’s nest beneath the palms. Throwing a couple of field jackets on the sea grasses, they gave Blackbird a bed of sorts – somewhere to relax and lay low till the exfil at midnight.
‘Okay here, Macca?’ asked Robbo, M4 held across his forearm, sunnies pushed up. ‘Thought we’d recce the area, see who’s who.’
‘Yeah, sweet, mate,’ said Mac with a small yawn. ‘Might get a kip myself.’
As Robbo and Beast moved out into the surrounding beachhead, Mac built a sleeping hollow for himself at Blackbird’s nine o’clock, but higher in the crow’s nest where he could see anyone approaching.
Making to lie down, he noticed Blackbird sitting up and looking at him.
‘Have a headache,’ she groaned, rubbing the heel of her left hand into her forehead. ‘Shouldn’t wake me and then make me walk so far.’
‘I know the feeling,’ said Mac. ‘I haven’t slept properly for more than two days.’
Mac gave her his spare bottle of water and dug into his rucksack. ‘We thought you were being tortured up there.’
