Blood Is a Stranger (15 page)

Cardinal was close to the plain that led to the escarpment. He eased his way to the end of the gorge and then out to the plain. The grass was high, and he had second thoughts about marching through it because of Burra's warning about snakes. He felt an urge to explore the
escarpment, but it occurred to him that Burra might be anxious. He could make it in less than ten minutes if he hurried. He had only taken a few paces forward when he was stopped by a familiar sound. A helicopter hurtled skywards from behind the escarpment. Cardinal dashed to the gorge. Seconds later the chopper was hovering overhead as he scrambled along the narrow trail to the boulders. He zig-zagged through them and heard the ping of a bullet. It ricocheted off a boulder close to him. He looked up. The chopper was above him and being angled so that a rifle could be aimed at him. There was no hiding place except in the gorge, which was forty metres away, so Cardinal had to risk a sprint for the fence. He heard another shot. It did not seem to come from the chopper. Cardinal ran for the stream and onto the log but lost his balance as another shot rippled the water beneath him. He fell to the other side clutching the bag. He got to his feet and hurled himself up the slope.

Another shot zipped close to him. He could see Burra aiming at the chopper, which seemed to be coming closer. Cardinal threw himself at the hole in the fence, and Burra leapt into the ute and reversed it into the wire. The black pushed the passenger door open and changed into forward gear; Cardinal jumped in. The ute was gunned into tea-trees as the chopper swooped low. A volley of shots furrowed the ground around them.

‘The bastard is shooting blind!' Burra yelled. They were camouflaged in the thick tea-trees and could hear the machine swooping low. Its shadow slid over their vehicle as it banked and dived before the sound of its rotors faded.

Rhonda waited in a line of passengers at Halim airport who were coming through customs. She was apprehensive. Although she had filed her interview with Utun, she thought it was so innocuous it would probably not be used, especially as she had failed to get anything on film.
Her producers had suggested she leave the country on the next flight. Garuda had a flight to Sydney at 4.30 pm and Rhonda had thrown her clothes in her suitcase and rushed to the airport by taxi.

A woman in front of Rhonda was ordered out of the airline counter line, told to empty out the contents of her luggage. Four inspectors examined every item including a toothpaste tube, which was squeezed to see if anything had been sealed into it. Cans of hair-spray were shaken hard. They're probably looking for drugs, Rhonda thought.

Rhonda was asked to step up. The laconic official went through her passport. He smiled, and Rhonda thought she was through. But he nodded at her suitcase and pointed to inspectors. They opened the case.

‘Be careful,' she whispered, ‘killer toothpaste.'

One of the inspectors grabbed her recorder.

‘Hey,' she protested. ‘You can't take that!'

Another official removed the tapes she made with Utun and Tien.

‘I want that recorder!' she said to the customs official.

He spoke in Indonesian to the inspectors. They dumped her belongings back into the suitcase. The recorder was last to go in. The tapes were confiscated.

Rhonda found a place in the line. The official began ushering people past her. She tapped her watch.

‘What's going on?' she said. ‘I have a plane to catch.'

Seeing Rhonda's problem, a big Australian, dressed like a farmer in check shirt and corduroys, stepped forward.

‘Let the lady through,' he said. The tone of his voice forced the official's hand.

A young Javanese woman in dark glasses appeared at the counter. She took Rhonda aside. ‘You cannot leave, Ms Mills.'

‘What do you mean?' Rhonda asked.

‘You are under investigation.'

‘Am I under arrest or what?!'

The woman smiled.

‘No,' she replied, ‘find accommodation and speak to your Embassy tomorrow.'

O'Laughlin examined the photos and debris.

‘Who gave you Burra as a contact?' he asked.

‘A TV journalist, Rhonda Mills.'

O'Laughlin seemed impressed.

‘I'll have to speak to Richardson,' O'Laughlin said.

‘Tell him I've already spoken to the Minister for Aboriginal Affairs,' Burra remarked. ‘He said he would be informing the PM and ringing Richardson.'

Cardinal noted Burra's tact. He made it sound as if he was giving O'Laughlin inside information.

‘What did you say to the minister?' O'Laughlin asked.

‘I told him we had evidence that sacred sites had been desecrated, far worse to us than the smashing of a church or an ANZAC war memorial would be to whites.'

There was a hint of satisfaction in O'Laughlin's expression as he turned to his men. He ordered his deputy to restrain the convoy. In the meantime he was going to a local police station to phone Richardson. O'Laughlin shook hands with the Bididgee people and Cardinal, and marched off towards the causeway, three of his men close at heel.

Thunder began rolling in from the north, and Cardinal remembered Judy's prediction: ‘Storm tonight.'

It was dark when they arrived outside Jimmy Goyong's place. Two mangey dogs, who dropped from a mattress on the front porch, greeted them. Burra knocked. No reply. One dog howled.

It began to pour. Burra pushed open the door and they stepped into the makeshift home. They picked their way through a trail of cans and empty wine bottles. Thunder
crashed and lightning illuminated the next room and a body on a bed. Burra found a light switch and groaned in disappointment. The old artist was sprawled out, his handsome moustache stained at the edges with red wine from a bottle on the pillow next to him. Burra slapped him and spoke to him in his language. The man stirred and propped up on his elbows. He rubbed his eyes, which were streaked red. The stench of stale alcohol was overpowering.

‘Didn't I tell you the American was coming?' Burra said.

‘I dreamt I was in the middle of a storm,' Goyong said as lightning filled the room again. The rain was hammering so hard on the roof that his words were almost drowned out. ‘Maybe I wasn't dreaming.'

Burra rolled his eyes at Cardinal.

‘I told you to lay off the piss,' he said to Goyong. ‘I wanted you to do those sketches.'

Goyong struggled off the bed and stood unsteadily.

‘I did, Burra, honest,' he said. He took a step forward, slipped on a bottle and fell into Cardinal's arms.

‘They're here,' he said, launching himself from Cardinal to a cupboard.

He pulled out sketches, thrust them at Burra and then slumped back on the bed. Burra and Cardinal pored over the six drawings. But they were disappointed. The illustrations were half-finished.

Burra stood over Goyong. ‘They're bloody useless.'

‘I started them a few hours ago,' Goyong protested. ‘You know, after the meeting at Kelly's Clearing. Tom Beena gave me a lift home. He insisted we celebrate. The bastard wouldn't let me get on with them.'

‘The bastard, all right,' Burra mumbled. He waved the sketches at Goyong. ‘Hell, Jimmy! These are awful! Were you trying to do the guy who was with Bull Richardson or what?'

‘Yeah, I was,' he said squinting at his own work.

‘What nationality was he?' Cardinal asked.

‘Dunne'

‘You told me you thought he was Asian,' Burra said. ‘Was he Indonesian or Chinese?'

Goyong shook his head. ‘Burra, you know I've seen lots of Indos. He wasn't one, and he wasn't Chinese either. Seen lots of them, too. Used to be hundreds in the Territory, way back.'

‘How about the Boat People – Vietnamese?' Burra asked.

Goyong shook his head, and Burra gave Cardinal a hopeless look.

‘Close,' Goyong said.

‘What do you mean, close?' Burra persisted.

‘More like them Boat People who keep driftin' in.'

‘There have been a trickle of Kampucheans since the war with the Vietnamese began,' Burra prompted. ‘Some of our people have even claimed they've seen Thai pirates chasing the Kampuchean refugees in the Gulf north of here.'

‘That's right!' Goyong said.

‘Thais?'

‘No. The others.'

‘Kampucheans?'

‘I reckon,' Goyong said. ‘I dunno for sure, but . . .” He rolled on the bed. ‘Come back in the morning. Sleep on it.' He turned his head to face Cardinal. ‘Dream on it,' he mumbled.

Cardinal picked up the sketches, glanced through them again and tossed them on the floor.

‘I'm sorry, mate,' Burra said as they drove back along the waterlogged track. ‘He really was going to make a big effort. If it wasn't for that bastard Beena!'

‘You think he deliberately got the old man drunk?' Cardinal asked.

‘For sure. Jimmy would have told someone you were coming to his home. Beena would have learnt about it.' Cardinal was bitter but more at himself than anyone, for
expecting too much from the meeting, and the trip itself.

‘Do you think he was telling the truth about the Kam-pucheans?' he asked.

‘He's not a liar,' Burra said, ‘and although he does have a vivid imagination, he would want to tell me the truth. He was keyed up about doing those drawings.' He gritted his teeth. ‘I would like to kill Tom!'

They drove on in low gear as the ute negotiated potholes and flooded sections of the road. Visibility was down to a few metres as the storm worsened.

‘What did he mean by telling me to dream?' Cardinal asked.

‘Older Aborigines like Jimmy believe in dreaming,' Burra replied. ‘They believe that is reality – that's where the world's truths are. Dreams guide their waking time.'

‘But I don't understand why he told me to dream. He is supposed to have seen the Asian, not me.'

Burra stole a sideways glance at him. ‘He must think the answers have something to do with you.'

The early model Holden pulled up outside Perdonny's Jakarta home. The driver opened the passenger door for Rhonda. It was a Roman-style villa hidden by Chinese fan palms placed close to each other to provide privacy. It was also located on the edge of the city to ensure no surprise visits from Bakin, the Indonesian secret police.