‘They didn’t hurt me,’ she said, long black hair held up in a topknot. ‘Just lots of questions.’
‘Benni ask you the questions, Maria?’
In the slight hesitation that followed, Mac could see her constructing a lie. It was the immutable law of his profession that the true liars always believed they were going unnoticed.
‘Benni?’ she asked, sipping some water.
‘Benni wasn’t asking the questions?’
‘I not know -’
‘Florita said you knew him, Maria,’ said Mac softly, then let the silence hang. It was Blackbird’s turn to do the running.
Pulling his small first-aid pack from the rucksack, Mac found some packets of Xanax and Mogadon. Burrowing deeper into the small zippered bag, he found the Nurofens, typically used with snatchees who felt nauseous from the benzodiazepines Mac gave the uncooperative ones.
Pushing a couple of the painkillers from the foil, he passed them to Blackbird, who was looking sadly into her water.
‘You know my sister?’ she asked finally.
‘I met her a week ago, in a hut with some soldiers.’
‘Was she okay?’ said Blackbird, snapping out of her sulk. ‘Tell me she was okay!’
‘We helped her out, Maria.’
‘She okay now? She home?’ she wanted to know, concern in her dark eyes.
‘She was fine, but anything that happened was against her will, okay?’
‘You do not have to tell me that!’ she said, firing up. ‘Florita is a good girl!’
After a quiet sorry, Mac mused on the pride of the Timorese even as the women accepted the risk of official rape and the boys knew that a military execution might result from a simple cheeky comment.
Wiping tears from her cheeks, Blackbird tried to regain her composure. ‘What did Florita tell you?’
‘She told me about Benni Sudarto,’ said Mac.
‘What did she say?!’ she snapped.
‘Why don’t you tell me?’ asked Mac.
Blackbird looked away, her back heaving through the sweatshirt.
‘You have no right!’ she cried. ‘Do not come in my country and be the judge of me.’
‘It was a question, Maria – not a judgment. What is your relationship with Benni Sudarto?’
Shaking her head slowly, she gave him a hard look. ‘You people – the Indonesi, the Australi – you come to Timor and play with us like a chess game.’
‘That’s not -’
‘All I wanted was to go to the university in Surabaya, okay?’ she said, defiant. ‘First, Indonesi army say, Work for us for a year and we maybe sponsor you to Surabaya. Then Australi say, Tell us the Indonesi secrets and we’ll send you and Florita to any university you want; Surabaya, Sydney, Queensland – you naming it, Maria! Then Captain Sudarto, he take me out in his car, and he tell me, Work for me, Maria, and your family will live. Let me down, and I kill them in front of you.’ She was really sobbing now, tears streaming down her cheeks.
‘What’s Operasi Boa?’ asked Mac, thinking he might be able to unhinge her.
‘Boa?’ she said, recovering her former poise. ‘I don’t even know who you are.’
‘I told -’
‘You could be anyone, you could be working for anybody. I never met you.’
Shrugging, Mac conceded her point. His job was to bring her out of East Timor, and then her trusted controller – Atkins most likely – would run the debrief.
‘I am sorry to waste your time and make you run around in jungle,’ she said, with kind eyes. ‘But I did what you asked, I took the files and did the drop box, so please do not ask me to betray my own family.’
‘I thought the Timorese were proud people,’ said Mac, trying for one last manipulation to turn her back.
‘We are,’ smiled the young woman, sniffling. ‘And I am proud to keep my family alive.’
Looking out over the beach, Mac assessed possible problem points for the exfil. The tide was in and by midnight it would be almost back in the same place. He would have to be careful to bring the boat in between a couple of markers and, walking to the water’s edge, he identified the distinctive rocks, gave them names and committed them to memory. He wanted to be able to give the navy boat crew some basic trig points to get them to shore without being snagged on the reef just below the surface.
Looking at his G-Shock, he felt a wave of fatigue and wondered if he shouldn’t take a nap while the commandos were still guarding the perimeter.
Making a single round of the crow’s nest, he made back to his hide and slugged at his water while Blackbird slept. It was amazing how sweet water tasted when it was all you had, he mused. As he replaced the bottle in his rucksack, he noticed the water was slightly milky. Licking at his lips, he realised it actually was sweet – his thirst had nothing to do with it.
Mind spinning, Mac reached for his rucksack, eyelids starting to droop. Pulling out the first-aid kit, he clocked that one of the benzo boxes had been torn open, the half-empty foil beside it.
‘Fuck,’ thought Mac, ‘she’s used half a packet.’
Darkness closed in from the sides of his vision and a warm, safe sleepiness engulfed him. After nine years of pushing them into people’s mouths, he finally knew what Mogadon felt like.
The onshore wind felt beautiful on Mac’s face as he opened his eyes, becoming aware of the crashing surf and the night sky through the swishing palms.
Leaning over him, Beast peered and waved his hand from side to side. ‘Awake, Macca?’ he asked, squinting.
‘Think so,’ croaked Mac, his voice sounding like it was coming from a thousand miles away.
Robbo appeared beside Beast and they pulled him up into a sitting position, Mac’s brain swirling like a top.
‘Sorry, boys…’ he started, and then leaned to the side and vomited as Beast jumped back to keep his pants clean.
He felt foggy in the brain and hungry in the stomach, but mostly Mac was confused. ‘What’s up, guys?’ he asked, wiping his mouth with his shirt front.
‘You lost the girl,’ said Robbo, pushing up Mac’s eyeballs and shining his flashlight in them. ‘You were out to it, mate – girl drugged you. Mogadon by the looks of it.’
Shaking some clarity into his brain, Mac recalled some of the morning’s events and moaned as he realised he’d been duped.
‘She gone?’ he slurred.
‘No, we caught her,’ said Robbo. ‘But we had to move, and you have to get on the net, re-call the exfil.’
‘ I do?’ asked Mac, still waking up.
Behind Robbo, Blackbird’s hair blew in the sea breeze. Locking eyes with Mac, she gave a shrug that might have been an apology.
‘Our position was blown,’ said Robbo. ‘And you’re the one with the exfil call signs – we’ve been waiting for you to wake up.’
‘We’ve been made?’ said Mac.
‘No, mate – we moved before that,’ said Robbo, offering him another banana.
‘How did you know we were blown?’ asked Mac, confused.
‘The girl took off with your sat phone.’
‘Bitch,’ sighed Mac, despite some begrudging admiration.
‘Something like that,’ said Robbo.
CHAPTER 50
