Double Back (38 page)

Sliding back the large door of the ninth helo, Mac fished for the grenade, primed it and threw it in front of the tank.

His left calf muscle now feeling like it was on fire, Mac turned and tried to run but resigned himself to not making Bongo’s helicopter. He couldn’t fend off the approaching shooters in the LandCruiser and also run for his ride. He’d have to make a choice. Feeling hopeless, yet also strangely powerful, Mac ran in a limp towards the hangar rather than Bongo’s helo. Stopping behind a wall, Mac looked around and fired two bursts of three-shot at the Cruiser, which veered into another hangar as its windscreen shattered.

Turning to look at Jim, who gestured for Mac to get in the helo, Mac waved them away and turned back to face the shooters who now stealthed towards Mac – not Indonesian Kopassus, but Saffas and Aussies from Berger’s crew.

The window smashed above Jim’s head and he ducked, and Bongo pulled the Black Hawk into the air as the steel cladding on the wall Mac was hiding behind was torn apart by bullets. Putting out more rounds at a soldier who ran around the flames from a helo, Mac dived behind a stack of oil drums as the final grenade made the Black Hawk rupture from the inside out.

Mac tried to move back along the burning helo to where he now thought the shooters would be coming from. Ducking down, he looked under the burning aircraft and saw three sets of ankles about forty metres away, and one set of pale blue eyes below a head bandage that wrapped across the forehead.

Shit, thought Mac, locking eyes with Pik Berger.

The South African’s Steyr spewed rounds at Mac as he dived to the side. Landing, Mac aimed up and shot at one set of ankles which was quickly followed by a soldier falling to the ground and clutching his leg in agony. Then he aimed at Berger’s ankles as he ran into the hangar. Mac got off one round and the rifle clicked – out of rounds.

Cursing, Mac looked back and waved away Bongo’s helo which was now hovering a metre above the runway, throwing lime dust and fine gravel for a hundred metres.

Pulling his last grenade from his bag, Mac pulled the pin and threw it towards the hangar Berger had disappeared into. As the grenade exploded, Mac, losing blood, was vaguely aware of another helo coming in to land. And then Bongo’s helo was gone and, through the smoke and dust, Mac heard the soldiers approaching, their panicked commands clearly audible over the roar of fire, and Mac was running, but as in a dream, unable to reach top speed. He ran along the runway until he collapsed into the lime dust.

Pushing himself onto his elbows and then his knees, Mac turned and saw Berger, Sudarto and a posse of the mercenaries – mostly in underwear and T-shirts – approaching out of the smoke and the dust. As Mac put his weight on his right leg and slowly stood, Pik Berger fixed him with a glare and screamed at the men not to shoot.

‘He’s mine,’ said the South African, handing his Steyr to a subordinate and approaching Mac like a big cat.

In the periphery of his vision, Mac was aware of Bongo’s helo pulling away into the sky, but another helicopter alighting on the airfield.

‘So, it’s Mr Jeffries – our kaffir-lover,’ said Berger, bare-chested and half of his face smeared with shave soap.

‘Actually, I’m a fighter not a lover,’ said Mac, as Berger kicked him in the solar plexus and followed with an elbow to the jaw.

Teetering on his good, right leg, Mac stayed upright as Berger kneed him in the balls. Doubling over, Mac thought ‘what the heck?’ and launched a flying head-butt at the Saffa’s face.

Turning slightly, Berger took a glancing blow on the cheek-bone and Mac lurched forward, hopelessly off balance.

Swinging a fast right hook, Berger connected with Mac’s left jaw bone, instantly dropping him to his knees. Instinctively, Mac raised his arm in defence but Berger’s boot came through with such force that it connected with Mac’s chin. Feeling his teeth move in their gums, Mac’s head snapped back and he hit the ground face-first.

Lying back, Mac tried to breathe as he felt unconsciousness beckoning. And then Pik Berger was kicking him in the ribs from one side and Amir Sudarto looked down from the other.

‘Next time you come at me, kaffir-lover, you’d better put me in the grave,’ said Berger, chest heaving.

‘Consider it done,’ said Mac, pushing himself into a sitting position.

‘Still the smart lip – our Kakatua,’ said Sudarto, using the Bahasa Indonesia term for the cockatoo.

‘That bandage suits you, Amy,’ said Mac, nodding at the Indonesian’s broken nose. ‘Might be more where that came from, you play it right.’

Sudarto lashed out with a kick and turning his head slightly, Mac took it on the ear and fell sideways.

Waiting for death, Mac thought about a good life, a loving family and a lot of luck. He thought about the chances he’d had to show courage and how many times he’d failed, but also the times he’d prevailed – like the time 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.’

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.’

Looking away and seeming confused, Yarrow looked back. ‘You got me, didn’t you?’

‘Well, I -’ started Mac.

‘You came for me,’ whispered Bill Yarrow, and then he was crying; big heaving child-like sobs, his bottom lip quivering and tears bouncing off it.

‘Look, it was more the army boys…’

‘I thought I was in hell,’ he whimpered, dabbing his eyes with his cotton blanket. ‘Thank you, sir. Thank you so much.’

‘Look,’ said Mac, not expecting this. He’d spent so much time thinking about this chap as The Canadian, as the criminal, the informer and the procurer of bio-weapons feedstock, that to suddenly accept him as fully human was difficult. ‘I was just doing my job.’

‘No,’ said Yarrow, shaking his head. ‘You didn’t need to come for me – I’m a pariah who procures supplies to make the weapons of evil. I’m a leper.’

‘Look…’ said Mac, unable to go on with it. Yarrow was telling the truth: he was all those things, plus a customs-and-excise cheat who had cost the Australian taxpayer millions of dollars, quite aside from making the Ethno-Bomb possible. Mac had fought ASIS and DFAT and the Commonwealth for the right to retrieve this man, he’d gone into a Kopassus base to do it, and he’d done it for reasons that he hadn’t properly articulated. The value of a bio-weapons procurement expert to Western intelligence was how Mac had sold it to Davidson. But those weren’t Mac’s personal motivations.

‘You have to tell me, Mr Davis – why did you come for me?’ asked Yarrow.

‘Yes, Mr Davis,’ came a voice behind him. ‘Why come back for my dad?’

Turning, Mac took her in. Still cheeky and beautiful, Jessica was looking better in a white T-shirt and jeans than most women looked in a five-thousand-dollar ballgown.

Hugging Mac and giving him a kiss, she dragged him closer to Bill Yarrow. ‘Why do it?’ she asked with a big smile. ‘Why risk your life for an embarrassment?’

‘Maybe I had to square it up with Bongo?’ said Mac, not entirely sure of his reasoning.

‘Bongo?’ smiled Jessica fondly.

‘He woke me up to myself,’ said Mac. ‘Reminded me of a few things.’

‘What?’ asked Jessica, moving to him and holding her father’s hand.

‘Remember what Bongo said in the jungle?’ asked Mac.

‘Which one?’ she asked.

‘When I didn’t want to help the women, and he did?’

‘I remember,’ she said, putting her arms around his neck, the tears welling again. ‘You’re a wonderful man, you know that?’

‘What did this Bongo say?’ asked Yarrow, confused.

‘Either we all matter,’ said Jessica.

‘Or none of us do,’ said Mac.