General Subianto.’
‘Technically, yes,’ he replied flatly. ‘And I want you to know, Mr McQueen, that despite what people may say, not all Javanese think that the East Timorese are non-human, okay?’
‘I understand, General,’ said Mac.
‘We can’t allow the army to depopulate an entire province,’ said the general. ‘The president wants a ballot for independence and that should be what happens.’
‘Agreed,’ said Mac. ‘We can count on yourselves, a couple of Aussies and, of course, the Yanks.’
‘Americans?’ asked the general, suspicious.
‘Yeah – DIA,’ said Mac. ‘They’re with us on this.’
‘I don’t understand,’ said the general, shaking his head. ‘DIA are involved with Operasi Boa.’
‘Involved?’ Mac stammered, sitting up.
‘Yes,’ said the general. ‘Know Lee Wa Dae?’
‘Sure,’ said Mac. ‘He’s dead now.’
‘I know,’ said the general. ‘He was working for DIA. He was an American agent.’
Mac finally overcame his stunned surprise.
‘Defense Intelligence Agency was running Lee Wa Dae? As an asset, double agent, informer? What are we talking about, General?’
‘Double agent is my guess,’ said the general. ‘And perhaps not official. Let’s say there are elements of DIA who are not to be trusted.’
‘You’ve been surveilling them?’ asked Mac.
‘We uncovered Boa by following Wa Dae, and that led to DIA. The Americans tried to wash his file, to accentuate his drug dealings. But as soon as anyone from the President’s office made a bio-weapons connection, the pressure to drop it was immense.’
Mac suddenly realised that Atkins was more advanced than he’d given him credit for.
‘I’m going to try to stop them,’ said Mac suddenly. ‘Can I count you in?’
‘Ha!’ said the general. ‘It may have gone too far. We’re on the verge of a coup and the world doesn’t care so long as the generals win. Just keep the shipping lanes stable, keep China and Japan happy – right, McQueen?’
‘What does Habibie want to do?’ asked Mac.
‘When the world finds out that the Indonesian Army dropped biological weapons on its civilians, Habibie and his administration are ruined – not the generals. We have to find a copy of Operasi Boa, to have something real to put in front of the world community.’
‘We still have time -’ started Mac, but the general lifted his hand, not hearing it.
‘It begins tomorrow morning, McQueen.’
‘We could ring the papers, CNN -’ said Mac.
‘That would sink Habibie even faster,’ the general cut in.
‘Is Habibie safe?’ asked Mac.
‘Physically, yes,’ said the general. ‘But his supporters in the military can’t be open about it. A small group of us run an inner circle that the President can trust, but people have been assassinated, fired, smeared, demoted – you know how it works.’
‘I guess Chloe was the latest?’ said Mac, mind on something else.
‘Yes, she was a patriot,’ said the general sadly.
‘She didn’t have much field experience?’
‘No, of course not,’ sighed the general, swinging in his chair to look out the window. ‘She was my secretary. She was trying to make a difference.’
‘She was a lioness,’ said Mac, feeling emptied.
‘Thank you, McQueen, she’d laugh to hear that,’ said the general.
Deciding it was now or never, Mac pushed his luck. ‘General, when the time comes, would you consider dusting off the fruit salad and pulling rank?’
‘When the time comes?’ said Subianto, shaking his head. ‘If Boa starts when the ballot result is announced, then we’re talking about less than twenty-four hours. What do you want from me?’
‘It might be that only Indonesians can stop an Indonesian crime,’ said Mac. ‘Can we rely on you if it comes down to enforcing the army’s own legal code?’
‘No promises, McQueen,’ said the general after a pause. ‘I have nine grandchildren, and I love them all.’
CHAPTER 62
Mac and Bongo stood to board their plane at Changi, both of them transfixed by BBC World running footage of the UN scrutineers in East Timor counting the independence votes. At every shot of a helicopter, Mac’s gut clenched.
They sat in silence for most of the night flight into Denpasar, Mac tired and stressed and feeling like a failure. The following morning, the ballot result would herald the start of Boa and there was nothing he could do about it. As the descent started, Mac cleared his throat.
‘Mate, what am I missing?’
‘You may be looking at the wrong part of the puzzle,’ said Bongo.
‘Tell me,’ said Mac, wishing there was a large packet of Percodan hiding in one of his pockets.
‘You’ve spent all your time collecting the information, which is your training,’ mused Bongo. ‘But they also trained you to educe, right?’
Mac nodded: all intelligence folks at some point had to educe information – that is, coerce it from unwilling subjects.
‘Sure, mate. So who do I torture? Benni or Amir?’
‘Forget the Sudartos,’ said Bongo. ‘Benni Sudarto is just me ten years ago, right?’
‘You were that pretty?’
‘Sure, and better teeth,’ said Bongo. ‘The key to this is Haryono, right?’
‘Okay,’ shrugged Mac. ‘What’s the deal?’
‘Deal is, we use some of those US dollars, and we buy some pictures.’
‘Of?’
‘Of Ishy Haryono, bro.’
‘Doing what?’ asked Mac. ‘Doing what he does when he thinks no one can see,’ said Bongo.
On the first drive-past of Ishy Haryono’s security compound in the lush streets where the Dutch merchants once built their mansions, Bongo threw a handful of micro listening devices in front of the guard house.
Finding a shady hide two blocks away, they parked the sedan and moved to the ‘Denpasar Cabling’ van, climbing into the back. Plugging his earphones into the receiver box, which he held between his legs, Bongo played with two knobs, trying to get the red LED read-outs to the numbers he wanted.
Satisfied, they changed into their tradie overalls and settled in, the heat and anxiety making both of them sweat. Nervously they slugged at their water bottles as they sweltered in their Kevlar vests, both of them exhausted having not slept much during the night.
Sitting in Bongo’s door pocket was a yellow manila envelope containing fourteen eight-by-five black-and- whites of Ishy Haryono in various states of loving congress with a variety of young men. Haryono may have been an evil genius, but he was also gay, and in the Javanese military community there was no room for men loving men. The Indonesian military would dump him immediately if they found out, but Haryono’s own Kopassus regiment would probably execute him for making a laughing-stock of the regiment.
‘That General Subianto,’ said Bongo as he found the right sound/noise levels on his receiver. ‘He was damned right about the Indonesian military.’
‘Yeah?’
‘Oh, yeah,’ said Bongo, staring out the windscreen at a boy on a bicycle. ‘They can be plain embarrassing.’
‘You found this from experience?’ asked Mac.
