Cut to the Chase (17 page)

The other man did so, while Kalim was busy tidying up the room. He picked up the brandy bottle and placed it in a leather brief case. Then he produced a fresh, nearly empty bottle, placed it on the table and poured an iota of liquor into the glasses and swilled them around before replacing the glasses on the table. He was wearing gloves.

Then Wallace heard a report, it took Wallace a few moments to realise what had happened. Then it hit him. A gun had been fired, presumably fitted with a silencer, at the luckless man they had been carrying, who beforehand was either dead or out cold. Whatever he was, he was clearly dead now.

‘Good!' Wallace heard Kalim say. ‘Now get him back onto the floor, make sure he's more or less in line with this chair here and where the bullet hit the wall. I think we are ready for our friend Wallace.'

‘Where is he now?' the waiter asked.

‘We put him in the bedroom, best he was out of the way while we set the scene in here.'

‘He passed out when he got here did he?' asked the waiter. ‘He should have been out like a light in the restaurant, we gave him enough of the stuff, how the hell did he manage to walk out?'

‘I have no idea, Juan. I can only assume that being an Australian he can hold liquor like a sponge.'

Wallace bridled at that, bloody cheek!

‘Liquor yes, but not what we were giving him,' snapped the waiter, Juan.

‘I gave him some more while he was here. With the quantity in his system, I doubt he'll survive the night.'

Wallace froze as the implications of the conversation sank in, he nearly puked with fear. He felt faintness starting to envelope him but angrily fought it off. Now was definitely NOT the time to pass out. He decided to head back for the bedroom to see if there was a way out.

‘Didn't he suspect when you didn't drink as well?' it was another voice, probably one of the two Jakarta men.

‘I did drink!' snarled Kalim. ‘What sort of a bloody fool do you take me for? Juan gave him Scotch whisky and doctored wine and supplied me with cold tea and lemonade. He consumed everything we gave him, we should have had to carry him out – that was the plan and we had the ambulance ready, but the bastard actually walked out.'

So that was it. That was how Kalim had managed to maintain his cool and sobriety and presumably placate his Muslim ethics. He had been stone cold sober, but even he had had to visit the urinal periodically as the vast quantities of cold tea and lemonade had passed through his system. Just as well for Wallace that he had, it had enabled him to get rid of most of the drink that had come his way, together with whatever Juan the waiter had been putting into it. It also explained the ambulance that had been sitting outside the restaurant.

‘Well, are we ready?'

‘Just as soon Tara returns.'

Wallace turned and prepared to tiptoe back to the bedroom. He was cold with horror. What were they going to do with him? And who were they? He suddenly remembered afresh the Jakarta trip and cursed Bramble and Major Lincoln. He hoped that bloody grenade on Lincoln's desk would blow up!

He heard a knock at the front door to the apartment and arrested his move back to the bedroom to see who it was.

‘Tara's here.'

‘About time too, tell him to hurry up.'

Wallace heard the front apartment door open and they admitted another man. It was the second Jakarta chaser.

‘Where the bloody hell have you been?' Kalim snarled; his tone of voice and vocabulary had undergone a marked change since Wallace last conversed with him.

‘Getting here without being seen,' Tara replied with spirit, clearly he had had a rough trip and wasn't in the mood for taking any old buck.

‘Come on then, let's get the job done and get the hell out of here. Have you got the stuff?'

‘Yes, it's here.'

‘Good, put it in the jacket pocket down here, hurry up man.'

Wallace saw them place some plastic packets in the dead man's jacket pocket. He was still transfixed with horror and was nearly riveted to the spot. Any thoughts of making a dash for the main door into the corridor were negative; he was too unsteady on his legs to have got very far before being caught.

‘Well, let's go and get Wallace,' he heard Kalim say and Wallace hastily made his way back to the bedroom. As he returned to it commonsense percolated through and dispelled some of the panic.

He could not hide nor escape, even if he climbed through the bathroom window it was five storeys up. The only plan was to be what they thought he was, comatose. If they were intending to kill him there was nothing he could do about it, but he had the feeling that they thought they had already done that with whatever they had fed to him. Unpleasant though the nausea and sickness had been, possibly it had saved Wallace's life. His actions in cutting down his consumption had made an overdose or possible fatal dose merely one of severe sickness.

Wallace realised he owed the vendor of that damned meat roll a vote of thanks, by upsetting his stomach he had probably saved Wallace's life…so far! Whatever they had in store now he had to go along with it. He had one advantage, they thought he was unconscious, he had better continue with that.

He re-entered the bedroom and realised the en suite light was still on. He lurched over and switched it off, then reeled back to the spot where he'd been lying on the floor and lay down again, trying to remember how he had been lying when he woke up.

The door opened and light flooded in from the hallway. He saw the silhouettes of three men and hastily closed his eyes, remembering not to screw them up which was his first instinct. He was seized roughly, so roughly he fell to the floor again; it took all of his self control not to instinctively try to cushion the fall.

‘Watch it you clumsy fuckwit!' Juan muttered and Wallace heard Tara answer in a language that was unfamiliar, though his enunciation and tone left no doubt as to his sentiments.

They hit Wallace's head on the doorpost as they carried him out; he began to wonder if death was preferable. He managed to loll lifelessly in their grip as they half carried and half dragged him along the hallway and into the sitting room.

‘Be bloody careful,' he heard Kalim hiss furiously as one of Wallace's knees hit the doorpost. It was so painful that Wallace nearly gave the game away. ‘If you break any bones now you'll ruin everything.'

It was quite incredible how much a man's voice and aura could change in such a short period of time. Wallace dared not open his eyes to observe him though he was sorely tempted, he hung limp and lifeless, inwardly flinching as he waited for another part of his anatomy to come into violent contact with another item of furniture, or else be dropped from a great height.

He was pleasantly surprised to find himself lowered into an armchair as he had been half expecting to be flung onto the floor. His legs were straightened out, a relief as his testicles had caught between his thighs when he was initially put down and it was agonising, but he dared not make any movement to adjust matters.

He heard the sound of furniture being shifted around and then nearly jumped in the air as he felt something being pressed into his hand; in his hysterical state the first thought that occurred to him was that it was a snake. But it was hard, his fingers were pressed all over it, it felt like a handgun.

‘I think that's about it,' Kalim said.

‘Where do we leave the cash?'

‘On the bureau over there.'

Something was placed noisily on the bureau.

‘Do we give him another shot?'

‘No point. He's had enough already to kill a horse, and we don't want any needle marks on him. He's supposed to have been sniffing drugs with our friend here, and then he shot him when he got as high as a kite,' Wallace heard Juan say.

‘He had a fair amount of the brandy I gave him,' Kalim said. ‘He was stashing it away like a Trojan all night.'

‘Yes, I managed to lace one or two when I was serving drinks, he'll be all right,' said Juan. ‘Nobody could survive what we pushed into him, but he might survive long enough to be incoherent when the police arrive.'

Wallace had a feeling that Kalim was confusing his metaphors; did Trojans have a reputation for drinking heavily? But he had more serious matters to consider. One point was now clear, what he should have imbibed was enough to render a horse unconscious and eventually kill, it sounded as though they expected the police to find him dead when they arrived. Wallace wondered what state the potted plant in the restaurant was in, and also the vase of flowers in the apartment. Of the prescribed dosage he had to imbibe for their plan, he must have taken less than 10% of it, if that. This would probably have been enough to knock him out but the intervening and unpredictable factor was that meat roll which had caused him to throw it all back up.

‘Who is he, anyway?'

‘Nobody of any importance,' Wallace heard Kalim say. ‘An ASIO stooge who got in the way in Jakarta, it suits our plan in that it will divert attention. It's almost a quid pro quo, he smuggled some information out of Jakarta some months ago. He's paid a heavy price for his ASIO gold!'

Wallace felt a sensation of indignation. What the hell did he mean? Nobody of any importance! He also recalled Bramble's words…”easy isn't it?”…that he had uttered in that snide patronising manner of his as he had first suggested that Jakarta caper. And as for gold…Christ! Bloody pennies more like!

‘OK! Time we went – do we leave the light on?'

‘What do you think you bloody fool?' Juan rasped furiously and Tara muttered something that could have been anything.

‘They would hardly have been sitting in here getting high in the dark, would they? And he's not likely to have hit his target if he couldn't see anything is he?' snapped Kalim.

‘Well he's supposed to be high on drugs isn't he?' Tara responded with some spirit. ‘He'll hit just as well in the dark as he would…!'

‘Shut your mouth!' snarled Juan the waiter.

‘The light stays on,' ordered Kalim. ‘This is supposed to be a political assignation that's gone wrong because of drugs and a shot is fired. They wouldn't be arguing in the dark would they?'

‘Nor shooting accurately,' snapped Juan. ‘Wallace is supposed to have hit him with one shot. He wouldn't do that in the dark, not too sure I would either.'

Juan appeared to be in charge of this particular operation, so far as Wallace could make out with his eyes shut, while Kalim and his masters were the policy makers. He wondered who Juan was, he certainly was not Indonesian, he looked and sounded more like a Spaniard to Wallace, from what little he'd seen of him.

‘When do the police arrive?' Kalim asked.

‘I'd say we arrange that for about…hmmm…let me see…about 4.00 am. That's about an hour's time,' Wallace heard Juan say. ‘Now get around and wipe everything except for those items over there with Wallace's finger prints on them.'

There was some shuffling around and once someone brushed against Wallace's leg. It was brusquely kicked and he nearly gave the game away there and then, quelling his reaction with an effort.

Kalim and Juan finally appeared to be satisfied, and there were sounds that suggested glasses being placed on the table, presumably including the one with Wallace's finger prints on it.

‘Got everything?'

‘Yes,' Wallace heard Tara's sulky response.

‘That's what you said last time when we did that job in Paris, remember?' Juan said acidly. ‘You left the keys behind, probably with all our finger prints all over them.'

‘Well they hadn't got us on file.'

‘I wouldn't bank on that, the French are not bloody stupid,' snarled Juan. ‘After that balls up I'd say they have now!'

‘Just stop bickering and look around will you!' Kalim said testily. ‘Hurry up! I'm off to Albrighton in a few hours. I'm staying at the safe house there until this blows over.'

Wallace heard more rummaging around and Tara grunted something.

‘Good!' said Kalim. ‘Let's go then, and quietly. Have you got the car keys this time?'

‘Fino's got them,' Tara answered.

There were more sounds of movement and Wallace felt a current of air as someone walked near to him. Then footsteps went over to the door which opened and closed quietly. Wallace lay still in the chair, he had the fear that someone may have stayed behind to check on him, but the place stayed as quiet as the grave – as it turned out an unfortunate parallel.

Wallace slowly opened one eye, the one furthest from the direction of the door, in case there was anyone still in the room. Then he had another bad shock. It was Ravindran. He was lying on the floor in a crumpled heap near the buffet, with blood on his chest. Wallace‘s eyes opened with horror and the gun fell from his nerveless fingers. He fell on his knees by the side of Ravindran but he was clearly dead.

He heard a car drive away from the street below, then nausea overcame him once more. He ran for the bathroom and made the toilet just in time. Afterwards he crept back into the room, wondering if it had all been a bad dream, but Ravindran was still there. Shock and horror coursed through his system and finally his body surrendered and he had to depart for the bathroom again where he wretched and heaved, but this time very little came – there couldn't have been much left to vomit out.

He didn't think he took long; he rose shakily from his knees from his position before the toilet pan, flushed it and rose to his feet after having the presence of mind to wipe any prints from the flush lever. He had to get out. He returned to the other room and had a quick look around it to check he had left nothing behind and had a last look at Ravindran.

Tears welled into his eyes as he thought of the meetings and conversations with the man, he even found himself mouthing some silent prayer as he looked at him, despite not being a religious man he hoped that his prayers were heard by someone somewhere. Then he wiped the brandy bottle clean of his fingerprints and pocketed the brandy glass. Holding the gun he headed for the door, peered cautiously along the corridor and let himself out.