Cut to the Chase (5 page)

‘We have arranged for you and our contact to meet in a setting somewhere in the city, where you can meet casually and exchange views – and the package. Then you bring it back here, and we place it in the Diplomatic Bag. Simple isn't it?'

‘Er…yes,' it did sound simple and confidence began to return. ‘I haven't got to take it out of the country then?'

‘No. Leave that to us.'

Wallace raised one eyebrow. He seemed to recall that Diplomatic Bags were, by international protocol, not to be used for espionage or intelligence. He mentioned that to Lincoln.

‘This isn't espionage, this is information inasmuch as it relates to Australia,' Lincoln said somewhat curtly. Wallace pursed his lips and dismissed it, he didn't want to become involved in an argument about semantics, presumably the diplomats knew the rules and it was not up to him to question it. Another thought occurred to him.

‘How do I meet this courier of yours?'

‘You will have an appointment with Mr Fernandes, he runs a theatrical agency style business, and he will allocate the assignment for you. All is taken care of.'

I bloody well hope so, Wallace thought bitterly, and cursed Bramble again.

‘One further point, if there are people watching the embassy, won't they know that I've been to see you?'

‘No because you haven't.' Lincoln replied. ‘Your appointment was with the Commercial Attaché not with me.'

‘Is that why I wasn't in the appointment book?'

‘I beg your pardon?'

‘Is that why your receptionist couldn't find my appointment in the book?'

‘It was in the book!' Lincoln snapped.

‘No it wasn't, that is…when I asked for you and gave her my name, she couldn't find any trace of me anywhere.'

‘You did what?' for once Lincoln was jolted out of his military precision and composure, his wrist brushed the coffee cup and caused some waves on the surface that probably exceeded regulation height.

‘I asked…!'

‘I heard you the first time. Shit!' Lincoln ejaculated. ‘Didn't Bramble brief you to ask for Mr Miller?'

‘No!' Wallace answered shortly, and all of his unease returned. Bramble had not briefed him on that, the name of Miller didn't ring a bell at all.

‘Christ Almighty!' Lincoln drew his sleeve across his forehead in a, for once, imprecise gesture. ‘I'll chew someone up for this.'

Wallace hoped the chewing up candidate would be Bramble.

‘Is there a problem?' he asked, with some trepidation.

‘No, I think not. I guess all embassies are paranoid about informers within them; we tolerate them for being useful for passing incorrect information at times. But we don't like people calling upon me to be noted, that's all, as you can understand. However, we are fortunate in that one suspected informer is off sick today.'

‘I see.'

‘Nevertheless, I'll have someone's guts for this.'

Wallace shuddered, hoping that his would still be intact by the time he reached Australia again.

On return to his room Wallace found his mobile telephone didn't work, he had left it on charge but the battery was still flat. On trying the room phone he found that didn't work either. He emerged into the corridor heading for reception and found a porter hovering around outside the room. He seemed to know what the trouble was and Wallace began to smell a rat.

‘How long will it be out of order?'

The porter shrugged and spread out his hands and Wallace's suspicions grew. Indonesia, like so many of the nations based near the Equator – and many that weren't – had a reputation for the sustenance of services being reliant upon an unauthorised supply of credit, in short, unless you have about $50 your telephone, which has suddenly ceased to work, will continue not to work this side of Ramadan, until the said $50 has changed hands.

‘Who do I have to see?'

‘No problem, I have a friend who knows how to fix these things, the Telephone Authorities will charge you about $100 to have it re-connected, my friend can…!'

‘Shit!' Wallace hissed with such venom that the porter blenched. He eyed him uneasily, clearly not sure whether he was going to be a paying proposition or a punching one.

‘How much?' Wallace snapped.

‘$50 American.'

Which was probably God knows how much in Australian currency. Wallace's expletive had brought down the price, which had then been raised by the rate of exchange. Wallace half folded his arms and drummed his fingers on his upper arms.

‘I'll see you in about half an hour,' he said. ‘I don't want to use the telephone now, but maybe I'll need it later in the day. Leave it for now.'

That clearly was not the answer that was expected. Nevertheless Wallace was in a filthy temper as he went down to lunch. He strongly doubted whether the hotel had any connivance, he reckoned the porter was working on his own account. Wallace had to telephone his afternoon appointment to confirm it, but his mobile phone battery had been suspect for some time and it looked as though it had finally given up the ghost. He didn't fancy using the phone in the lobby as it would entail feeding coins into it. On the other hand, he detested any form of corruption.

It was a fair bet that if the hotel management was asked to fix it, the task could take several hours. The whole idea of a “fix” was that the job would be done quickly, and that was why the porter and his contacts thought he would be willing to pay. Clearly the same individual would be doing the job whether it went through the porter or the management, it would just that the technician would take longer if it went through the latter.

After lunch he went down into the lobby. He hadn't enough change so he went outside to the nearest newspaper stand to purchase an English language newspaper and re-entered the lobby armed with the paper and coins of small denominations. He entered a telephone booth, there were instructions in a variety of languages including English, and commenced to dial.

Fernandes did not seem to be a bad sort. He was obviously of Portuguese descent and had an eye for the girls. His receptionist was of a dark brown complexion with a skin like velvet, she had large eyes and full lips. Her bust line followed the same pattern; her legs were well shaped as were her thighs; considerable expanses of them were on view.

She escorted Wallace from reception into Fernandes' office and then turned on her heel with a flashing smile and walked out again. Fernandes' eyes followed her as she made her exit, as did Wallace's. Fernandes' thought processes were quite transparent, and quite frankly, having had more than a first look at the girl himself Wallace couldn't blame him. He felt his groin twitch as she walked out.

Fernandes licked his lips, his eyes registered a last lingering look before the door closed behind her before he turned to Wallace with an ingratiating smile. Wallace wondered if she could type.

‘You have heard of the Indonesia-Australia Society?'

‘No!' Wallace replied with perfect truth.

‘They are meeting the day after tomorrow. Can you give them a half hour presentation?'

‘Yes, I think so,' Wallace replied, and wondered how on earth he was supposed to contact Major Lincoln's courier, whoever he was. ‘What is the fee?'

‘$1,000 American.'

‘And this is for half an hour?'

Fernandes spread out his hands.

‘Half an hour, forty five minutes, there is some latitude, but no longer than forty five minutes.'

‘What subject?'

‘Friendship between our two nations seems a good idea,' suggested Fernandes.

Wallace wasn't sure if he was suggesting a speech subject or whether he was giving an opinion. He heard the door open behind him and Fernandes' eyes went slowly from minimum to maximum elevation, rather like the AA batteries on a destroyer as a flight of torpedo bombers approached. Wallace didn't need to turn his head to see who it was.

She placed a small tray on Fernandes' desk. Wallace could hear her thighs rubbing against the material of her tight dress. Once again his groin indicated that if the need arose it was ready for action, and Wallace hastily issued counter orders. As she straightened up she gave a flashing smile that instantly made him forget all of his forebodings and troubles. She did a heel turn that wouldn't have disgraced a ballet dancer and headed for the door. Fernandes watched her go, wrinkled his nose from side to side and licked his lips.

‘What was that?'

‘What was what, Senor Wallace?'

‘What you said. It was something about the Friendship Society?'

‘Ah yes,' Fernandes dragged himself back to reality with an effort as the door closed. Wallace wondered if her ears were burning.

‘Friendship…er…yes! Between our two nations. We are so close to each other that we must hold each other in mutual respect… No?'

‘No…er…yes,' Wallace hastily corrected himself. ‘All right, I can draft a presentation on those lines. Will you want to vet it first?'

‘It may be an idea,' agreed Fernandes. ‘I've no doubt you'll draft a good address, but there is always the danger of the odd word that could be misunderstood…eh?'

Wallace could certainly agree with that. He still squirmed at the memory of the day when he had used the word “durex” to a predominantly British audience – he had meant Sellotape, momentarily forgetting that in Britain “Durex” had other connotations. An American presenter he had met in San Diego had told him of a similar experience. When addressing a British audience he had talked of being out of his depth, using the expression…“up to your fanny in the mire”. He had been unaware one of the words had a different usage in the British Isles from that encountered in the United States. He had also been to a meal in a restaurant in London after delivering a seminar, sitting back and declaring to his astonished hosts that he was stuffed! He had merely meant that he couldn't eat any more!

‘Yes,' Wallace replied. ‘I agree there is.'

‘Hallo, Wallace.'

Wallace didn't like that. It was as though he was one of Lincoln's troops.

‘Hallo Major,' he replied coldly. ‘I have seen Fernandes and fixed up an engagement with the Australian – Indonesian Society.'

‘Don't you mean the Indonesia – Australia Society?'

‘Yes – probably,' Wallace didn't like his brusque correction as if he was a recalcitrant private caught idle on parade. ‘I am addressing them the day after tomorrow.'

‘What on?'

‘Friendship between our two nations.'

Lincoln digested this in silence for a moment.

‘Hmmm! What time are you doing it?'

‘Seven thirty pm.'

‘Good, leave it with me.'

They both hung up. As Wallace left the lobby he became aware of the hall porter who was swabbing down the main entrance hall, he had left a large wet patch near the front door, with a line of wetness extending down to the lobby phones where he was working now. Wallace felt his heel slip on the wet area and cursed as he nearly fell flat on his back. The porter was looking at Wallace as he recovered and entered the lift; he had a little smile on his face.