he’d rescued a junior boy from the dorm bullies, the Lenihan brothers, at Nudgee College; how he’d been expected to back down to their threats like everyone else, but for some reason he’d found himself in the middle of a fight with both of them. He’d lost, busting his nose in the process, but that episode had seen him capped in the 1st XV as a fifteen-year-old. Not bad for a leaguey from Rockie, said his dad, Frank.
‘I’d do it all again, boys,’ said Mac, as Sudarto’s SIG levelled at Mac’s eyes. ‘Fuck youse all.’
The SIG cocked but then Haryono’s voice was shouting. ‘Leave him, leave him,’ said the major-general, as the other helo depowered behind them.
Suddenly, as Mac retched, they were surrounded by a mob of soldiers in darker greens – the 1635. Then, in his delirium, Mac thought Sudarto, Haryono and Berger were lifting their hands and dropping their weapons.
Sitting up while reeling for balance, Mac saw the mess of his left calf and the burning trail of destruction leading back to the camp. A familiar-looking man with captain rank in the 1635, stepped forward and ordered the men arrested.
‘Under whose authority?’ demanded Haryono, who Mac noticed had not dropped his SIG.
‘By mine,’ came a voice from behind Haryono.
Spinning, the major-general’s face dropped and he allowed a 1635 soldier to take his handgun.
‘Well, sir, this is a surprise,’ said Haryono. ‘But this is out of your jurisdiction – this is a Kopassus command.’
Mac turned his head to see who was pulling rank.
‘Actually, Major-General,’ said General Bambang Subianto, fully dressed in his As and fruit salad, ‘this is an army base and I’m an army general. You’ll get a fair trial by court martial, but for now I order you to stand down your men and allow yourself to be taken into detention; Lieutenant Sudarto, too, and whoever these mercenaries are.’
As the soldiers from the 1635 Regiment moved in to make the arrests, Mac took the hand offered by the 1635 captain.
‘Thanks, General,’ said Mac, standing up but not sure he’d be able to keep his balance.
‘Don’t thank me,’ said Subianto. ‘Thank Captain Setbal, here.’
‘Call me Mattias,’ said the captain, who shook Mac’s hand.
‘What’s up?’ said Mac, trying to shake out the wooziness.
‘The captain contacted me last night,’ said Subianto. ‘Seems your friend Mr Morales made quite an impression on the local soldiers while in the stockade. When Captain Setbal told me he wanted to lead an officers’ mutiny but needed the legal support, I decided I couldn’t sit in Singapore forever, doing nothing.’
‘Shit,’ said Mac, massaging his temples. ‘Glad you made it when you did.’
Laughing, Subianto slapped Mac on the shoulder. ‘No – I’m glad you found me when you did. You reminded me who I am.’
‘And you,’ said Mac to Mattias. ‘Don’t I know you?’
‘Perhaps my brother,’ said Mattias, his facial features now clearer to Mac. ‘He sends his regards – just don’t ask where you going, or say where you been.’
Joao! Mattias was Joao’s brother.
‘Wise words,’ said Mac, tears escaping as he tried to smile, ‘from a wise man.’
EPILOGUE
The Royal Australian Navy Seahawk landed on the rear decks of HMAS Sydney in light seas, and Mac took the arm of the loadmaster, who was lit up by the aft-deck floodlights.
‘Welcome back, sir,’ said the loadmaster, as Mac landed beside him with some pain in his left calf muscle, the soldiers disembarking around him and heading for the hatchway.
Standing back, Mac allowed the ship’s medic team to remove his quarry from the hold of the helo, strap him in a rescue sled and carry him down to the medical centre.
Going below himself, Mac let himself in to his private cabin, grabbed a cold VB that he’d saved from a buy-up at the ship’s canteen, and swigged on it as he slowly disrobed. Going over the snatch in his mind, he broke it down into pieces: the approach into Kota Baru barracks, the lack of serious security for the prison, the fast work that Robbo’s 4RAR Commandos made of grabbing the Canadian and getting him out without anyone getting hurt.
Snatches were so dangerous that whenever he did a smooth one, Mac said a little prayer.
Down the companionway, he could hear Robbo’s lads pulling the lids of a few beers and settling in for a drink. After ten minutes, the sounds of an improvised didge echoed, along with soldiers giggling. It made Mac feel good to be an Australian.
Looking at the clock, he saw it was 2.48 am, and lay on the bed. He was asleep almost before his head hit the pillow.
As they finished lunch at the Victoria Hotel in central Darwin, Davidson ran through the afternoon with Mac.
‘Technically, the Commonwealth offered Yarrow a resident visa and a fine-only penalty for the excise crimes,’ said Davidson, sipping at a beer. ‘But I’m thinking that we should throw in a deal with the Canadians, eh? I mean, the files I’ve seen suggest Ottawa wants Yarrow in the can for at least ten years.’
‘I saw that too,’ said Mac. ‘But let’s be fair, Tony. Yarrow was pulling some major frauds through Vancouver – it wasn’t a dodgy bottle of whisky at the bottom of the suitcase.’
‘Okay – point taken,’ said Davidson, standing. ‘Let’s see how the debrief goes and we’ll go from there. No promises yet, but I’d just like your support if we decide to throw him a line – not a good reputation to go around, that your intelligence assets are left to burn.’
‘By the way,’ said Mac, as Davidson turned to leave. ‘Just want to say thanks for making this whole operation happen. It means a lot to me.’
‘No worries, Macca,’ said Davidson. ‘In the end it worked the way it had to work – Indonesians holding other Indonesians accountable. Making the Indon Army move on its own corrupt elements was genius.’
‘You can thank a Filipino hit man for that,’ said Mac, smiling. ‘He’s hell when he’s well.’
‘We’ll debrief with Yarrow, find some of these supply networks,’ said Davidson. ‘It was a good call, mate – and the most important thing was stopping that Operation Boa before it started.’
The Larrakeyah Army Base hospital was bathed in light and Bill Yarrow’s bed caught most of it. Unfortunately, his injuries were so severe that he was still sedated while he was transferred to and from Darwin Hospital for facial reconstructions and chest surgery, and he was in no shape to speak when Mac and Davidson arrived.
After two days, and still no chat with Yarrow, Davidson left for Tokyo, asking Mac to conduct the debrief.
Using the balmy days to get fit in the pool and the gym, Mac recovered quickly and linked up with a regular rugby game between the army and navy. He ended up substituting for both – at fullback and centre, mainly, but also a glory stint at first five-eighth which featured a field goal from forty-six metres while some of the navy girls were watching.
One morning a nurse found Mac lying beside the Larrakeyah swimming pool.
‘Mr Davis? Patient Yarrow is conscious, sir.’
Standing, Mac detoured through his room to get dressed and grab his tape recorders and notebooks. Walking into Yarrow’s enclosure Mac was immediately aware that something was different. Sniffing, he realised it was the smell. Where did he know that from?
Standing at the end of Yarrow’s bed, the bandages taken from his face but the bandages and splints still in place for his broken fingers, Mac could tell that this had been a good-looking man, accustomed to being smiled at.
‘Bill Yarrow?’ said Mac. ‘Richard Davis, Foreign Affairs – wondering if we can have a chat?’
‘Sure, Mr Davis,’ Yarrow mumbled, sucking something off the inside of his mouth. ‘But I have a guest – can we make it fast?’
‘Yes, it’ll be quick – or I can wait till we have a good piece of time.’
