Blood Is a Stranger (34 page)

‘Reckon,' Topfist said, as he drove on to the bitumen area leading to the tarmac. ‘It was supposed to be bringing in non-drilling equipment this week.'

‘O'Laughlin inspected it and gave it the all clear,' Burra said. He checked his weapon. ‘So what's it doing taking off in the middle of the night?'

The sky was lit up as they approached the airfield. The control tower was on fire. Men were battling to put out fires near the yellowcake building. Grenades had hit a vehicle and a forklift truck. The area close to the building was strewn with bodies and upturned drums, two of which had spilt their precious golden contents. Topfist pulled the Ford up at the base of the control tower. Its top half was hanging at a precarious angle, and it was in danger of being engulfed by fire. People trapped inside it were screaming. A forklift's bucket was swung close to the top of the tower. It smashed a hole in its window. Four figures scrambled onto the bucket. They were lowered to the ground not far from the Ford. Burra and Topfist jumped
out and helped the people climb down. Among them was a bloodied and burnt Bull Richardson.

Over the next few days the restrictions on Perdonny increased. His phone was cut off, his mail censored, and he was asked to check with local police twice a day. He was still allowed to move around the island, but whenever he went more than ten kilometres he had to be accompanied by a policeman. Even his legitimate oil business was curtailed to the point where he was obliged to apply to fly over the area to inspect Ausminex's exploration wells.

Perdonny was still able to operate but with some difficulty. His isolation began to lessen his effectiveness, and he soon came to a decision to flee Indonesia. His main problem was with his wife. He could not risk her escaping with him, so he asked that she be allowed to travel to their other home on Bali. If that was allowed, Perdonny expected her to be able to catch a commercial airliner out.

His exit was going to be much tougher, and he had to rely on help from Webb, who had been given permission to fly to Darwin on normal Ausminex business, and back to Ambon.

With the inevitable tag looking on, they met at night at Cafe Bali Bali, one of the town's best restaurants.

‘There was another airlift of yellowcake from the Ginga mine,' Webb told Perdonny.

‘Utun's forces again?'

‘No. This was a genuine hijack. Darwin airport was crawling with military aircraft and bigwigs. It has been kept from the press, but it will probably leak out. Apparently Richardson was caught in the attack. A light plane brought the hijackers in west of Darwin at one of the old coastal airstrips used by drug smugglers. They took a van to the mine area and, just as a Hercules was being loaded
with yellowcake, they struck. Killed fifteen men, mostly Richardson's people, and took off with the Hercules.'

‘Where?' Perdonny asked, fascinated. ‘Who were they?'

‘Nobody really knows, but no one seems to think they were Indonesians. The only clue is that the attackers wore black uniforms.'

‘The special force Chan had been training at Ujung Pandang?'

Webb shrugged. ‘They paid cash for the van in Darwin and the used-car guy who sold it to them swore they weren't Indonesians, and he should know. He's Chinese. He swears they were Khmers.'

Perdonny pushed his meal aside and sipped the local Ambonese tea.

‘What makes you think it wasn't Chan's terrorists working for Utun?'

‘They may have been Chan's squad,' Webb said. An Ambonese family sat down at the next sidewalk table. ‘But they didn't have Utun's authority. He and Richardson had obviously done some deal on the last airlift. But not this time. Apart from the men killed, Bull himself got injured in the attack. He was in the control tower when the van arrived and blew the place up. He got multiple burns and a broken arm. Utun wouldn't have done that.' Webb leaned forward. ‘We heard a reliable rumour that Utun rang Bull as soon as he heard about it to say it wasn't him. Anyway, Bull has told the Australian military not to start sparring with the Indonesians. He's certain it wasn't them.'

‘A good thing for Australian-Indonesian relations,' Perdonny said.

‘A bloody good thing! If it had been Jakarta-inspired we would now be at war, for sure!'

‘My wife will be able to leave Ambon soon,' Perdonny said. ‘I'm wanting to go myself.'

‘When?' Webb asked uneasily.

‘Next available flight.'

‘You've forgotten about heroics over Cardinal?' Webb asked.

‘Yes.'

‘Have you heard anything?'

‘He was tortured badly by Chan.'

‘That was five days ago. Is he alive?'

‘I don't know.'

Webb shook his head. ‘Silly bastard. He got what he deserved.'

‘We've got to worry about us now,' Perdonny said. His tone was maudlin.

‘I'm supposed to check our wells around Buru tomorrow,' Webb said. ‘It's already been cleared. If you can be ready in the morning, we may be able to get you out.'

Day by long arduous day, Cardinal's condition had improved. Each night after joining the contingent of fifty men working in the jungle he was treated for his burns and cuts, and by the sixth day since the torture he felt recovered enough to contemplate escape.

He had been given a light detail of piling up and burning off the growth cut away by the others. While the hours in the sun stretched, he knew he was getting a reasonable deal from the commandant. Even his meals improved and were supplemented by fresh fruit and the occasional vegetable, and an ample supply of water. Each morning before parade, the commandant would check on his condition with the nurse who had been able to give him limited but adequate treatment. Cardinal always asked when he would be released. The commandant shrugged and said nothing.

‘You should be pleased that maniac has not returned,' he said on the sixth morning before Cardinal trooped off to the clearing three kilometres from the compound. ‘He won't bother you again.'

On the other side of the island, Webb flew his Beachcraft over ghostly ‘donkey' rigs just offshore. They could be seen doing their silent exploration as they nodded rhythmically, unimpeded by the surf crashing over them. Perdonny sat behind him. He reached into his suitcase and pulled out a Magnum hand-gun. He leaned over to Webb.

‘Land it,' he said.

‘You crazy bastard!' Webb said. ‘What are you doing!? There's no strip!'

‘Either you do it,' Perdonny said, ‘or I will.'

Webb circled a field dotted with a solitary hut. He cursed and protested that it was impossible to land.

‘Use the rigs as markers,' Perdonny said, ‘and come in flat. Exaggerate it as much as you can. You've done it in choppers, you can do it in this!'

Webb came in as instructed but was worried by the gale-force winds whipping the plane about. He pulled out before his descent got under way. On the second attempt he almost touched down but overshot the field and had to pull up over the jungle.

‘Skim those trees!' Perdonny yelled, waving the Magnum.

Webb wobbled the plane in, and it thudded into the soft, brown earth, which cushioned the Beachcraft in more comfortably than expected.

Perdonny pointed to a deflated rubber boat which all their planes carried. ‘Take the Zodiac down to the river and assemble it. I'll carry the motor.'

A figure waved to them from the tin hut set near the edge of the jungle, and called out as they struggled out with the equipment.

‘It's only old Charlie,' Perdonny said. ‘He's been here forty years.'

‘You sound like you know him,' Webb said. ‘I've never
spotted him before.'

‘That's because he's scared of Europeans. He always comes to the chopper when we check the rigs,' Perdonny replied, ‘and he has taken me to the prison on three occasions.'

‘What the hell for?'

‘I was delegated to check the treatment of political prisoners.'

‘He'll let someone know.'

‘Who? There is no one from here to prison.'

The wizened man in his eighties shook hands with both of them. Charlie was short and wiry, with tufts of thinning white hair. He was wary of the Magnum as he helped them carry the Zodiac and the motor to the river some metres from his hut, which was the general store for the prison settlement. It carried everything from chocolate to malaria pills. Webb bought repellant to combat the island's nagging insect plagues. Even inside the hut each man wore a halo of bugs.

The Chinese smiled at Webb. ‘You Australian, yes?' he chortled. ‘In war, first Japanese come in planes, then Aussies run away.' He bowed and pointed out to sea. ‘Then Aussies come back, and Japanese run away! That war!' He giggled. ‘Now you come in plane. When do Japanese come again?'

‘When do you go to the settlement with supplies?' Perdonny asked.

‘Once a week. Tomorrow is next time.'

‘Could you go today?'

Charlie considered the Magnum. ‘What you want?'

‘Do the prisoners still work in the field?'

‘Every day. Sun up. Sun down.'

‘Has anyone escaped?'

Charlie smiled.'They run away sometime,' Charlie said. ‘It is easy. Guards always sleep in afternoon.'

‘But they can't get off the island.'

‘Impossible. Too many snake in jungle.' He giggled
again. ‘Too many shark in water.'

‘The guards round them up?'

‘Sometime, yes. Sometime they come here, and guard chase them. Prisoners know Charlie has food.' He pulled his hair back from his forehead to show an ugly scar. ‘Once I hit,' he said, glancing at the Magnum. His eyes met Perdonny's. ‘You take what you want, Mr Robert. What you want? You like Coke? Everybody want Coca Cola.'

Perdonny pulled some paper from a pocket and drew a map of the island and the prison. He and Charlie discussed the best route to the field.

‘Why you go there?' Charlie asked.

‘To bring a friend out.'

‘I know who,' Charlie said. ‘The big American.'

‘Are you coming with us?' Perdonny asked Webb.

‘I don't seem to have much choice,' Webb said.

‘Yes you do. I can disengage the plane and you can wait here . . .'

‘You'll get us all killed!'

‘No. The prison has always been slack. The guards have a lazy life because they know no one can escape. The prisoners will be guarded by maybe four guards. They'll be isolated from the compound.'

‘It's all right for you,' Webb said, ‘you're a bloody Ambonese, but I'm going to stand out like dogs' balls!'

Perdonny eyed Webb. ‘I might need your support, but you have the choice.'

‘I must take my rifle,' Webb said.

‘I'll get it,' Perdonny said, ‘and it will stay with me . . .'