Blood Is a Stranger (16 page)

Rhonda, stuck in her hotel room, had rung Perdonny for help, and he had told her to take a circuitous route to his home, which necessitated two changes of taxi and a walk to a rendezvous where Perdonny's driver, Bani, had picked her up. He had driven at speed through east Jakarta's slums into open country, the hills and tea plantations. Then he had doubled back to the edge of the city and the villa in a secluded spot down a twisting road near the village of Tebuka.

Rhonda admired the home's white portico entrance,
spacious oval windows and flat roof of fluted tiles. She stepped up to the wooden double-door front entrance, which was ornately carved with Balinese figures. A German Shepherd confronted her. It snarled. The door was opened and a fat servant rushed out to calm the animal. The servant spoke earnestly to the dog. Rhonda stood frozen to the spot. The dog's manner changed. It wandered over to her, ears down and tail wagging, and wrapped its huge teeth lightly around her wrist.

‘Has it been fed today?' Rhonda asked.

‘It's okay! It's okay!' the servant said, fussing around her, and then addressing the dog said, ‘Go to Robert! Go to Robert!'

Rhonda found herself being led around the side of the villa past amused guards to a backyard with a pool. The dog took her to a table, and trotted away, his job done.

‘Handy dog,' Rhonda said. ‘He's on my side, I hope.'

Perdonny grinned as he climbed from the water and draped himself in a towel.

‘Utun won't hold you more than a day or two,' he said, ‘otherwise he would have found some reason for detaining you at your hotel, or even in prison.'

‘I'm scared to return to the hotel,' she said.

‘You are welcome to stay here tonight,' he said, ‘but it might be wise for you to make an appearance at your hotel tomorrow, otherwise they'll suspect you're preparing other reports.'

Rhonda was relieved. Perdonny clapped his hands and within minutes a huge meal was laid out in front of them.

‘The army joining us tonight?' Rhonda said, eyeing the food. ‘The tension is making me a light eater. If there's any light, I start eating.' Perdonny grinned and asked about her investigation.

‘Afraid that has been less than fruitful,' she said. ‘I blew it by trying to interview Utun. I have to leave. I haven't uncovered anything.'

‘We can confirm that Hartina Van der Holland is staying
at her mother's home in Bandung,' Perdonny said. Three servants bustled around them serving spring rolls, noodles, vegetables and spice; sesame prawn toast and nasi goreng. The strong crisp whiff of barbecued pork lingered. ‘There are also four other scientists staying at the Savoy Homann hotel in Bandung who are given a police escort to the reactor each morning for work.'

Rhonda groaned. ‘I wish I could follow up on that.'

‘My people will continue to monitor them. There are two local scientists – laser specialists – and two Europeans. We think they're English or French.'

‘And those military exercises at Ujung Pandang,' Rhonda began, ‘have you learnt anymore?'

‘That Kampuchean we saw has a base in Jakarta,' Perdonny said. ‘We are trying to discover his identity. We know he is in daily contact with Utun.'

‘How?' Rhonda asked.

‘He and a squad of six or seven – all Kampucheans -have taken up residence at a disused Embassy in Mentang, a central suburb. They're having it refurbished and have hired a team of fifty labourers. We have planted one of our people there.'

‘You don't miss a trick!' Rhonda said. She waded into the food. Perdonny worked up a clockwork smile, which displayed a huge set of teeth.

‘We're trying to have the leader photographed,' he said, ‘and we are learning his movements. He made a trip to the Bandung reactor this morning.'

Rhonda stopped eating.

‘Thought that would interest you,' he said. ‘We are tailing him tonight.'

‘Where?' Rhonda whispered.

‘The docks at Priok.'

‘What's going on?'

‘Some big meeting with another party. They've been preparing for it the last two days. The Kampucheans even questioned my man and other labourers about the docks.
Seems the meeting is being made without Utun's knowledge. Otherwise the Palace would have given them the information.

‘You going?'

‘I expect so.'

‘Could I come?'

‘Are you up to it?' He had reservations after the dangers encountered at Ujung Pandung.

‘I've had a rough day,' Rhonda said, ‘and I admit I was worried at the airport. But if I have to stay, I might as well make it worthwhile.'

‘See how you feel when you've rested.'

‘Who's the other party at the meeting?'

Perdonny shrugged. ‘Whoever picked the time and place certainly has the Kampucheans jumping.'

Two hundred Aborigines watched as the last of the convoy carrying the drill snorted away from Cahill's Crossing en route to Darwin. When the vehicles were out of sight, they began to celebrate around a campfire. It was a stark compound surrounded by a fence topped with barbed wire. Cardinal remarked that it had the austerity of a concentration camp.

‘It was my idea,' Burra told him. They joined the festivities at the bar.

‘Has it worked?' Cardinal asked. He looked around at the growing crowd.

‘You saw old Jimmy,' Burra replied. ‘Alcoholism is one of our worst problems.'

A police car pulled up. Three cops got out and began to circulate.

‘The boys in blue make sure none of the tribe gets too obstreperous,' Burra said. He handed Cardinal a beer.

‘Do you really believe Jimmy saw somebody?' Cardinal said. ‘Those sketches were woeful.'

‘I believe him,' Burra said. ‘It's not the first time Jimmy
has spotted Richardson with unusual guests.'

Several blacks wanted to buy Cardinal a drink. He had won honorary status.

‘What sort of guests?' Cardinal asked.

‘We know Bull has hosted some representatives of the French nuclear industry,' Burra said with a sly grin, ‘even though this country is not supposed to be selling yellow-cake to the French.'

‘Meaning?' Cardinal asked as he unwrapped a cigar.

‘Meaning Bull would be working out a way of selling the yellowcake to a third party who could pass it on to the frogs. We know he has done the same thing with a key rep. of Colonel Gadaffi's.'

‘Your government let a Libyan come here and negotiate with him?'

‘They had a trade delegation here last year,' Burra said. ‘It was supposed to be buying buffalo meat and hides.' He winked at Cardinal. ‘Just like the French.'

Cardinal slept on a couch in the living room at Burra's home. For the second time he dreamt of the morgue and the shallow grave near Lucas Heights. He woke up around five feeling disturbed and wrestled with the nightmare about Harry. It concerned the gold ring on the corpse's left hand. He remembered it being on Harry's right hand.

There were other things about the dream that bothered him. In it the corpse had a face that was not his son's. It also spoke to him, but he couldn't remember the conversation. The corpse was shorter than his son and had black hair.

Cardinal had to get up. He pulled on some shorts and crept out of the house. The rain had stopped. A cool breeze carried fresh smells of bottle brush and myrtle.

Cardinal went back inside for a cigar and remembered he had a photo of Harry tucked away in a folder. His son had his right hand on Cardinal's shoulder. A ring was visible
on the little finger. Cardinal went outside again, lit his cigar and tried to think rationally. He didn't need a psychiatrist to tell him that the dreams were manifestations of his own inability to accept his son's demise. The ring, he told himself, could be explained. Other photos might show that Harry sometimes wore it on his left hand, although Cardinal had it fixed in his mind that it had always been on the right. Cardinal turned to see Burra behind him.

‘You couldn't sleep?'

‘No,' Cardinal said, reluctant to divulge the reason.

‘Whites have trouble accepting death,' Burra said, ‘whereas for us it's a part of life.'

‘It's going to take time,' Cardinal said, puffing smoke. It hung in the air like a grey apparition.

‘I want to take you back to see Jimmy,' Burra said.

Cardinal shrugged. ‘Let the old guy sleep.'

‘He gets up before six to start his work. He'll be sober.'

Cardinal shook his head.

‘If for no other reason,' Burra persisted, ‘I want you to see his gallery. You might want to buy some of his stuff. He's damned good.'

‘I would rather we got an early start for Darwin.'

‘I thought you dealers gave artists a break?'

‘Okay,' Cardinal said. He laughed.

It was still dark when they arrived at Jimmy's. One of the dogs howled his usual greeting and then returned to his mattress. They picked their way through the bottles and cans, and a couple of young blacks who did not even begin to stir. They found Jimmy.

Burra turned on a light and slapped his face.

‘Jesus, Burra!' Jimmy protested, ‘what the fuck are you doing? Can't you let a genius sleep? How can I get up in the morning if you buggers keep comin' around to hound me?'

‘It is morning,' Burra said. ‘I want you to do those sketches.'

The old man groaned and turned over. ‘Come back at lunchtime.'

‘Mate, this guy's a buyer. You ought to show him your gallery. He may buy some for an exhibit in New York.'

‘New York, eh?' he croaked. ‘Terrific, man.'

Seconds later he was back to sleep.

‘I'll show you the gallery,' Burra said, shaking the old man. He pulled his legs off the bed.

‘Let him be,' Cardinal said.

‘No, bugger it!' Burra said. ‘He's going to help.' He threw Jimmy's arm around his shoulder and walked him into an adjoining gallery that was cluttered with incomplete oil paintings. Burra admonished the old man for not finishing so many of his works. Cardinal was in his element. He picked up a painting. It was a mushroom cloud billowing over Mount Brockman and the Green Ant boulders. Good brushwork and colour, Cardinal thought. He wondered if he could sell a few in New York. He selected three more while Burra made coffee for the old man.

‘I would like to buy these,' Cardinal said, lining them up.

‘They're not for sale,' Jimmy said, scratching his beard.

‘That's too bad,' Cardinal said. ‘I think they're great.'

‘For you, mate,' he said, ‘they don't cost anything.'

Cardinal looked at Burra.

‘He knows what you did for me at the pub,' Burra explained.

‘I was there when he made Mad Mick back off from killin' you too!' Jimmy said.

‘If I was to make a donation to any cause you wished,' Cardinal said, ‘would that be okay?'

‘I'll think about it, mate,' Jimmy said. He looked around the room. ‘I left a half bottle of Johnny Walker in here somewhere . . .”