Indonesian Gold (77 page)

‘No, stay where you are,'
the chief raised his voice,
‘or my men will shoot!'

The Captain glanced over his shoulder. It was obvious he
was considering escape.

‘Don't be foolish. Come, let's talk!'
Jonathan said something to the others who remained standing where they were,
while the chief advanced towards the pilot.

‘Where have you taken the woman?'
Subandi nervously stood his ground.

‘
She is still here.
'

‘
Show her to me!
'

‘Not yet, first we talk.'
Jonathan approached the
Kopassus
Captain.
‘You can have the woman back if you
pay the ransom.'

Subandi's natural reaction was to threaten, as trained.
Under any other circumstances he would have a hundred crack troops pouring over this area within
hours.
‘Dayaks don't kidnap for ransom,'
he challenged,
‘why are you doing
this?'

Jonathan Dau stared the man down.
‘Once, I was a pilot,
like you. Now I am a kidnapper.'

The Captain was unsure how to treat this man.
‘You were
a pilot?'

The chief watched the other man's face.
‘MIGs,'
then left the rest hanging.

Subandi eye's narrowed.
‘What happened?'

‘
You don't want to talk anymore about your
woman?
'

‘
All I have is the gold.
'

‘
It's not enough. We want a million
dollars
.'

‘What?'
Subandi,
staggered with the suggestion,
‘Where would a pilot get a million dollars?'

‘I don't know,'
Jonathan answered, solemnly.
‘But that's what it's going to take to get your woman
back.'

‘
The amount's absurd!
'

‘
Call it reparations, for what your corps has done to
my people.
'

‘I don't have that sort of money – just the
gold!'

Jonathan registered that the Captain had not refuted the
accusation. His heart became stone.
‘I'll give you three months – then she
dies.'

Subandi could not believe his ears.
Why wasn't this man
listening? ‘I need to take her with me now.'

‘
No, she goes with us into the mountains; another
precaution against your doing something stupid. When you have the money, come back here. My men
will then contact you.
'

‘
It's impossible. You're crazy to believe I can raise
that sort of money!
'

‘
You'll think of something.
'

‘Not on an air force salary – look, there has to be
another way?'

‘No.'

The pilot shook his head at the stupidity of this man.
‘It's an impossible sum. Where would I get a million dollars?'

‘Perhaps from your girlfriend's family?'

Jonathan raised his fist and waved, Subandi removing his
sunglasses for a clearer view into the shadowy forest. An older man appeared with his prisoner,
at this distance the pilot was unable to see that it was Angela Dau, her hair tied away from the
neck and hidden by the wide-brimmed hat. She was dressed in the familiar jodhpurs and sleeveless
jacket and he immediately recognized the Akubra

– his mind failing to question how this could be there.
The pilot broke into a run, calling her name, Jonathan raising outstretched arms, blocking his
path.
‘Stop, or she dies now!'

‘Sharon?'
Subandi
yelled, his stomach churning when Udir appeared to handle his captive roughly, forcing her back
behind the first line of trees.
‘Where's he taking her?

‘
You have to ask her family for the money.
'
‘
How would I know if they have such
an amount?
'
‘She has told
us all.
'
‘About
what?'
The pilot feigned ignorance
.
‘About how you were to share the
insurance.'
It was obvious from

the collapsed expression on Subandi's face that the chief
had scored.

He continued with his fishing expedition.
‘So, if you
want her back, you will have to pay us, one million. I understand these things. It will take time
before the insurance company pays, that is why we will give you three months. If you don't agree
to our demands, we shall cut off her head.'

Subandi gasped, his face turning white.
‘I can't get
the money without her help. I'm not sure what it is that I have to do!
'

‘
You will have to find a way.
'

‘
Please. Let me talk to her, just for a
moment?
'

‘
No. Now you must leave.
'

‘
You don't understand, I have to ask her what to
do!
'

‘Contact her family in the Philippines,'
Jonathan suggested.

‘
I cannot leave without talking to her. Please, I beg
you.
'

‘If you want her, come back with the money.'

In desperation,
‘I'll give you the gold I have in the
aircraft if you just let me speak to her for a minute?'

Jonathan's mouth turned into a cruel smile.
‘I'm going
to take that, anyway.'

‘You've got to let me speak to her!'

The
Penehing
chief continued to ignore his pleas.
‘We require that you contact us at the end of each month. You are to come here, or send
someone with a report on how it is all proceeding. If you miss the first month, we will remove
her ears – the second month, her tongue. Who knows, we may even reconsider what to do if you miss
the third month as well. We could always send her back to the authorities. Might be very
embarrassing if you were required to explain how she came to be still alive,
Captain?'

Subandi knew he had lost – game, set, match. The Dayak had
the woman he so desperately loved – and there was nothing he could do to remedy the situation. He
raised his head and called out to the woman he'd just seen.
‘Sharon, don't give up hope! I'll
get them the money. Wherever you are, I'll find you!'
He waved, hoping she would see. A
midmorning breeze gently tilted the Bell 205's main rotor blades as it passed, unseen. Beaten,
the Javanese pilot faced Jonathan with surrender in his eyes.
‘All right, you bastard – I'll
do what you ask. I'll contact her family in Manila, and tell them the score.'
And then,
threateningly,
‘But, when I return, if Sharon has been harmed in any

way…'

‘Good,'
Dau
interrupted, extremely pleased with himself.
‘You know what is required. If you want her back
in one piece, don't let us down. Now, I'll have that gold you spoke of.'

****

Without Sharon, Subandi decided there was no longer any
justification for continuing his flight to Samarinda. However, in order to maintain credibility
with respect to the ‘accident', the pilot was still obliged to carry out the charade, deciding
that everyone's interests could be best served should he return directly to the mining camp and
submit his report from there. He climbed back into the cockpit and started the Bell's engine, his
eyes locked on the man standing, watching him prepare for takeoff, their unspoken exchange filled
with hate. The helicopter vibrated and shook, then lifted, wallowing momentarily, Subandi turning
the aircraft recklessly, the tail rotor blades coming precariously close to where an unflinching
Jonathan Dau stood. The chopper hovered and the engine pitch changed, the pilot's anger growing
as he flew a circuitous route back to the Longdamai mining camp, where the fiasco had first been
conceived

– in the process, forgetting to alert the ship's crew off
the Samarinda coastline that he wouldn't be delivering their precious cargo.

****

Jonathan followed the helicopter until it disappeared from
sight then signaled the others to follow. When Angela reached his side the chief handed her the
aluminum case.
‘We'll use this to buy food and clothes from neighboring communities, for our
people. Come, we don't have much time.'
He led them along the riverbank to where so many of
their fellow villagers had been slaughtered, the riverside scene smothered with knee-deep ash,
burnt stumps all that was left of the once massive, timber structure. Carrion birds reluctantly
abandoning their feast to take flight, circled patiently, high above the intruders – the
suffocating smell of burnt flesh permeating the air causing Angela to tear a strip from Sharon's
blouse, and cover her nose.

‘
We will send another party down later, and they can
gather anything which may still be of use
.'

Moving through the ashes in quiet introspection, stepping
over unidentifiable remains, Angela relived the terror when the soldiers attacked and torched
their home, the enormity of what had transpired chiseled into her mind with each charred body
discovered.

‘When we rebuild, will it be here?
Angela viewed the devastation, once so filled with meaningful
memories.

‘That will be up to the council to decide. But first, we
have dead to farewell.'

Angela understood that she would be expected to assist her
father with these rites.
‘Tell me what it is that you want me to do, Father.'

Disturbed, the shaman glanced at his daughter standing
amongst the ruins, her face blotted with tears. Before this, she had always called him
‘Papa'
and, at that moment, Jonathan felt the weight of his mortality.

His body ached all over and the wound to his leg had
started bleeding through the filthy bandage again. And, as far as the eye could see in one
direction, there was nothing but ashes – and the bones of the two hundred plus who had
perished.

****

Off the Coast of Samarinda

The
M.V. Rager
lay off the East Kalimantan coast in
a calm sea, the occasional slapping against the hull a reminder of the gigantic oil and gas
vessels that plied the Makasar Straits. The ship's gaunt and bearded captain, Bartlett, leaned
lazily up against the wheelhouse maintaining surveillance with a beer in one hand and 8 x 30DIF
Nikon binoculars in the other. He finished the San Miguel and threw the crushed can forward into
the open hold, adjusted the Nikon's focus then casually scanned the sky again, before returning
to his maritime observations.

The small, coastal trader had sailed from the southern
Filipino port city of Zamboanga on the Moro Gulf, southwest, along the northern reaches of the
scattered Sulu Archipelago, before turning south and entering the Celebes Sea. At this point, the
ship left the Philippines' territorial waters, and entered Indonesia, continuing on its five-day
journey past Tarakan, Tanjungbatu and Talok. Three hundred miles south, the
Rager
had
Southern Borneo's Tanjung Mangkalihat off the starboard side, and the towering summit of
Sulawesi's Gunung Ogoamas, just fifty miles off port.

The mercenary ran a hand through thinned hair, leaned
inside and listened to the communications' broadcast in the Indonesian language. Although it had
been many years since the former ASIS operative and expatriate entrepreneur had reason to call
upon his Indonesian language skills, the man, who in an earlier life had been known as Stephen
Coleman never lost this asset. He switched to another frequency and concentrated on the military
traffic. An hour passed then another. Bartlett squinted up at the midday sun, then went in search
of another beer to pass the time while he waited for the helicopter carrying Sharon Ducay to
arrive.

He scratched his scalp out of nervous habit, his nails
following the scarred indentation on the side of his head – a souvenir of his past, left as a
constant reminder of a friend who had treacherously betrayed him. Over the years Bartlett had in
no way mellowed. He had killed, and on occasion, almost been killed. Now, his persona had evolved
into borderline anchoritic, which more suited his lesser, gregarious needs.

As owner-operator of the vessel, he enjoyed contracts that
required no other crew, these voyages often taking him to less salubrious ports throughout S.E
Asia. Bartlett accepted charters to Vietnam's southernmost coastline where he would deliver
contraband and sometimes take on those who wished to leave that perpetual communist regime, or
even transport weapons to the Moro Liberation Front and other separatist groups. Apolitical to
the core, Bartlett followed the dollar, many of his better paying deals originating with the CIA,
or their allies in the area, which included the late General Narciso Dominguez.