The sky’s brief splash of black and red gave way rapidly to a pale blue as dawn broke over Jakarta. Cardinal, who had been waiting nervously in the street market behind his hotel, jumped into the front seat of Perdonny’s car when it arrived. Bani began driving east of the city rather than west to the airport.
‘Danger,’ Bani explained. ‘Too many soldiers; too many police at airport.’
‘But they’re not looking for me,’ Cardinal protested.
‘Anyone travelling out of the city is suspect,’ Bani said, shaking his head.
Cardinal gave a heavy sigh. He thought of Rhonda’s call in the night. It had given him hope that Harry was alive. But where was he? Cardinal wondered. He was already thinking how he could track him down. On the one hand, he was anxious to get out of the country fast. On the other, he was tempted by the possibility that Harry was in Indonesia, possibly at the Bandung reactor with Hartina.
Bani drove them to the heart of Chinatown, about fifty metres from the restaurant at which he had first met Perdonny. They pulled up next to a flower stall. A small boy offered Cardinal a bunch of fragrant honeysuckle flowers, and they were soon followed along one street by a dozen children. Bani led him down a narrow road of stalls and barrows alive with Chinese small-scale merchants. Minor sellers of everything from live chickens to specialist second-hand wash-basins advertised their wares. The more acceptable smells of sandalwood incense and barbecued mutton changed to that of sewage as they reached the stairs of a two-storey wooden house backing onto a small canal. Perdonny was waiting for them in the flat on the second level.
‘Is Chan dead?’ Cardinal asked. He tossed his suitcase on a chair.
‘We don’t know,’ Perdonny said. ‘The hearse went straight to the Jakarta hospital. It has returned to the Embassy.’
‘Why can’t I leave?’ Cardinal asked.
‘One of our people works at the airport. Bakin got out there in force about two hours ago.’
‘Then how the hell am I going to get out?’
‘We have a plane at Bogor that could take you to Bali tomorrow morning. Then, as planned, you would have to wait a few days until we could get you on a commercial carrier.’
‘Have you rested?’ Perdonny asked.
‘Hell, no!’ Cardinal said, slumping on a bed and kicking off his shoes. ‘I could hardly relax at the hotel’
‘You have done a magnificent job,’ Perdonny said, ‘even if Chan is not dead.’
‘I got two shots in. I thought I hit him. Maybe it’s better if he’s not dead.’
‘Why?’ Perdonny said, astonished.
‘Rhonda called me. She reckons a lot of evidence points to Harry’s still being alive.’
Perdonny frowned. ‘Do not wish Chan alive, please. The man is responsible . . .’
‘I don’t give a damn!’ Cardinal interjected angrily. ‘I’m not a professional hit-man!’
Perdonny pulled a curtain across a front window.
‘Would you like something to eat?’
‘Yes, I’m famished!’
‘Did you take the magic cake?’
‘Is that what you call it? Yes, I did.’
‘Did it help?’
‘I wouldn’t have gone to the Embassy without it,’ Cardinal said ruefully.
‘You don’t think anyone recognised you?’ Perdonny asked.
‘I had the face mask and anorak on. I can’t remember anyone looking at me until I was at the bus stop.’
‘If everything goes well, we can have you driven to Bogor.’
‘And if things go wrong?’ Cardinal asked. He was tired and irritable. ‘What do I do then?’
‘The important thing is for you to get out of Jakarta. Bakin is looking for you.’
Cardinal watched Perdonny intently. He had lost his appetite.
‘There’s a train to Bandung at three-thirty. I think this is the best way out.’
‘Why not by car?’
‘Every route out of the city is blocked.’
‘Then won’t they check out the trains too?’
‘They’ll check people getting on in Jakarta, but we can get you on the train on the city outskirts.’
Three hours later Perdonny ordered Bani to cruise past the main Gambir train station.
He passed Cardinal some binoculars as they waited for the guard to buy a ticket. The station was crowded with scores of workers pushing crates and trolleys. Cardinal bit his lip as he caught sight of military people waiting for trains, with hundreds of other travellers. There were two small groups of Europeans.
‘See those people under the clock?’ Perdonny said to Cardinal, who adjusted the binoculars. Some Europeans were the subject of activity. Passports were being fossicked out of luggage and handed to Javanese men in dark glasses.
‘Bakin,’ Perdonny said.
Cardinal cursed.
‘If they’re checking people here,’ Perdonny said, ‘they are unlikely to be doing it along the track.’
The guard returned with a ticket just as the train pulled into the station. There was a rush of hundreds of passengers to get on and off. Perdonny ordered his driver to beat the train to a station forty kilometres south-west of Gambir.
They passed a block at a road leading out of the city on the main route to Bogor but did not have to move through it. Perdonny scribbled down an address in Bandung.
‘I’ve sent my assistant to Bandung by plane,’ he said. ‘She’ll wait for you there. We’ll have a car for you to drive back to Bogor at three tomorrow morning.’
‘What happens if I have to get off the train in a hurry?’ Cardinal asked.
Perdonny began sketching a rough map of the train route. He marked key stations, bridges and tunnels and noted the approximate times through them.
‘If you have to get off before this point,’ Perdonny said, underlining a spot about half-way, ‘you will have to find your own way to Bogor. After that, you must wait another two hours until you’re through the mountains. To get off in the high country would leave you with little chance of making it to Bogor.’
Cardinal pocketed the map. They pulled up at the small station where a handful of travellers, all Indonesians, waited. He shook hands with Perdonny, thanked him.
‘I’ll ring you at Bandung,’ he said as Cardinal grabbed his suitcase from the trunk.
Cardinal waited ten minutes until the train rumbled in. He glanced back to see Perdonny wave from his vehicle.
All the carriages were full, and people were spilling into the aisles. Cardinal moved through three carriages, found a place to stand, and hoisted his case into a luggage rack. The carriage was hot and stuffy with only a couple of the many roof fans working.
Cardinal hurled his suitcase into a rack and found a seat at the other end of the carriage in a cubicle occupied by a young family. The train pulled out of Gambir. The woman sitting opposite Cardinal pushed out a firm breast and began feeding her baby. He looked out the window at a village in the jungle by the tracks. Women were washing cjothes in a canal. An old man was having his hair cut outside a hut on stilts. Cardinal began to wonder about Harry. I just might have a chance to find out if he’s in Bandung, Cardinal thought. The rush of animation and green gave way to rice fields and children riding buffalo, then the yellow-brown earth of a cemetery.
The train curled south through alluvial lowlands of the Surakarta basin of east Java for about twenty-five kilometres to the first stop in the small town of Suka.
He felt his stomach tighten as he spotted six militia and one man in plainclothes and tell-tale dark glasses waiting on the platform. Cardinal prayed that they would not get on the train. He craned his neck to look along the platform. The one Cardinal assumed was a Bakin officer seemed to be speaking officiously to the train guard. To Cardinal’s horror all the militia and the Bakin man began to climb aboard.
His instincts were to make a run for it. But he judged that by the time he scrambled through the carriage the train would be well underway. Besides that, the militia carried hip-holstered guns.
Cardinal slipped his wallet and passport into a side pocket of the suitcase and moved a few paces from it. The militia were moving down the carriages checking the IDs of some Indonesians. When they entered his carriage, he had his back to them. The Bakin officer took his time eyeing each cubicle as the militia did their job. He ignored Cardinal as he brusquely cleared people from seats in the cubicle nearest him. The officer, a nuggety, thick-necked man, came over to Cardinal.
‘Passport?’ he asked crisply.
Cardinal feigned surprise. ‘My Embassy suggested I leave it with them in Jakarta.’
‘Which Embassy?’
‘British.’
‘You American?’ the officer asked in clipped, shorthand English.
‘No, British.’
You got on in Jakarta?’
‘Yes.’
‘What are you looking for?’ Cardinal asked.
‘An American terrorist.’
‘What has he done?’
‘Which hotel you stay at in Jakarta?’ the officer asked, ignoring Cardinal’s question.
‘Borobodur.’
‘Where you go?’
‘Bandung.’
The officer seemed disconcerted. He pointed to the empty cubicle.
‘Sit,’ he said. Cardinal obeyed. The officer sat opposite him.
‘Why you go Bandung?’ he asked. He pulled a silver cigarette-case from a breast pocket. He had not removed his glasses. Cardinal found it off-putting. He put his own sun glasses on and pretended to look out the window. The officer repeated the question.
‘I’m a tourist,’ Cardinal replied.
‘Which hotel you stay at in Bandung?’
‘The Savoy Homann.’
The officer clapped his hands. One of the hovering militia handed him a notepad and pen.
‘Name?’
‘Carson.’
‘What?’
‘Keith Harold Carson.’
The officer repeated each word slowly as Cardinal carried him through the name.
‘Dangerous for tourists,’ the officer said. ‘We take you to Savoy Homann.’
‘Thank you,’ Cardinal said flatly.
The officer snapped orders. Two of the militia sat in the cubicle, the other four continued their work along the train.
Cardinal reached for his cigar case. There were three cigars left. He lit one and was about to put the case away when the officer asked Cardinal to give it to him.
‘Gold?’ he asked as he fingered the case and played with the catch. Cardinal nodded as the Bakin man eyed the embossed initials: KHC. He glanced at his notes and handed it back. Cardinal pretended to stare out the window and puffed at the cigar. He felt he must try to escape.
‘You have bag?’ the officer asked him after twenty minutes without conversation.
Cardinal shook his head. ‘I was only planning to stay a night.’
‘You have money?’
Cardinal pulled a roll of Indonesian money from his coat pocket.
The Indonesian leant forward and inspected it.
Cardinal could feel his suspicion growing. The dark glasses hid the man’s eyes, but Cardinal could see from his facial expression that they were flicking around the carriage, probably trying to work out which case might be his. Cardinal tried to make conversation with him. When he had finished his cigarette, Cardinal offered him a cigar. The officer accepted it.
‘American?’ he asked, fondling the cigar as if it might be booby-trapped.
‘No, Cuban,’ Cardinal said with a smile. I bought these in London.’
‘Where in London?’
‘St James’s. Have you been there?’
‘I went with the president,’ he said arrogantly.
Cardinal acted as if he was impressed. ‘His personal security?’
The man nodded. ‘I toured London.’
‘Wonderful place,’ Cardinal said.
A boy came around with a food trolley. Cardinal bought chicken sandwiches and a can of Coke and asked where they were from. The Bakin officer was Javanese. He asked Cardinal what he did for a living. Cardinal said he worked in advertising. He named the company his wife had worked for in London. The officer wrote it down and asked for his home address. Cardinal gave him his old address in West Hampstead and detected a slight thaw in his attitude. The two militia next to them began to sleep and an hour passed without further chat.
The train swept south-west and stopped at the city of Bogor. About fifty people got off but were replaced by another hundred travellers for the journey west to Bandung. The train then cut through tunnels in the rugged Rembang plateau, and the several times passed unsteadily over flimsy bridges spanning ravines between the volcanic mountain cones a thousand metres high.
Cardinal felt increasingly trapped. It would be difficult to get off the train, but not impossible, if he could escape his unwanted escort. If there was a chance to jump off, he thought it had to be when the train slowed to a crawl to negotiate bridges.
Cardinal made calculations based on the map Perdonny had marked for him. The last tunnel was the longest at four minutes. It ended forty kilometres south of Bandung, which meant that he could feasibly get to that city by hitching a ride if he escaped close to a road.
The drink and food trolley returned. Cardinal asked for a sandwich and some coffee and paid for it. The officer did the same.
Cardinal stretched his neck to see out the window. As the train curled through a pass, he could see a tunnel opening in a mountain ahead. He sipped his coffee, put the cup down and stood up.
‘May I go to the toilet?’
The Bakin officer looked up at him for several seconds.
‘Toilet?’ Cardinal repeated, pointing to a door.
The officer still stared but nodded and barked an order at one of the militia next to them. He followed Cardinal to the toilets, both of which were occupied. Cardinal shrugged at the militia, glanced back at the watching officer and stood waiting, within reach of his suitcase.
As they were plunged into darkness. Cardinal grabbed his case, swung it down and stepped around several people to the end of the carriage. He slid the door across and moved outside, making sure not to let it crash back. He slipped into the next carriage and stumbled his way over bodies. He heard the door slam shut as he edged outside again. He was two carriages away from the end of the train. He hurried to the beginning of the last one as the train began to slow down, which was the signal that it was coming out of the tunnel. Cardinal judged that the place the officer had been sitting would be out of the dark.
He leant his body out of the train between the last two carriages ready to jump as soon as he saw daylight. But he had to check himself. The train had moved out the other side of the mountain and on to a bridge, and he was looking down over air and a river cradled thousands of metres below.
The moment the last carriage reached the other side, Cardinal threw his case clear, jumped and landed inelegantly on his back. He scrambled to his feet, grabbed the case and dashed for the undergrowth. He glanced over his shoulder as he heard the train shunting to a halt.
He charged further into the jungle. Someone shouted orders. Shots echoed over the ravine. Cardinal hurried on, his case over his shoulders.
After twenty minutes of crashing aimlessly, he stopped and lay flat, his chest heaving. He pulled out Perdonny’s map and judged he was close to a road into Bandung. The city seemed about thirty kilometres south-west. The sun was setting in a fast slide into some distant gorge in a fierce splash of red, blue and black. He waited a few precious minutes until he had recovered and then set off in the direction he thought the road might be, using the sun as a rough reference. By chance he found a path and he stuck to it, for darkness was gathering fast. It led to a road.
Cardinal stayed under the cover and moved up a hill until he reached the brow. He let an old car pass him before he moved onto the road. At first he was encouraged by the sight of more vehicles winding their way towards him. But when he squinted at the bottom of the hill, he could see a police car. In the fading light he could just see figures fanning out into the jungle from which he had emerged.
Cardinal was cornered. He could either abandon his case and push on, or try to hitch a ride. He decided to hitch. He let two cars pass by and then moved out of the scrub to flag down a third. Instead of stopping it changed gears and sped past him. He kept his eye on the activity below and tried again, this time giving the oncoming vehicle much more warning of his presence. It swerved by. Cardinal stayed on the road and was nearly collected by an old truck. The driver braked hard. Cardinal stepped around to the window and looked square in the face of a bristly old man who looked at him uncertainly.
‘Bandung! Bandung!’ Cardinal called. Four children in the back began to giggle when Cardinal returned their stares. He smiled. The driver broke into a toothless grin and opened the passenger door. Cardinal jumped in.
‘Wayang,’ the man said, with a wave at the children.
‘Bandung,’ Cardinal said, with an anxious glance behind them.
The old man shook his head. ‘Wayang,’ he said, and gabbled so that Cardinal had no hope of comprehending. One of the children held up a glove puppet and then he understood. They were on their way to the Wayang - an Indonesian puppet show.
The truck moved at a leisurely pace. A police car overtook them, and Cardinal slid down as it sped by and honked the horn for good measure.
They rattled on for twenty kilometres until they reached a small village. All stalls had been closed down for the night, but one large, open restaurant on stilts was still doing business. The strong smells of curries and spices reminded Cardinal that he had not eaten for a day.
It was the end of the lift for Cardinal, and he asked the old man, resorting to sign language, if any buses came through.
‘After Wayang,’ the old man assured him.
Cardinal was told the show would last an hour.
It was nearly seven, and he had no desire to go on foot. He wandered to the restaurant and sat among the other thirty diners under a bamboo roof. About eighty metres away, in a clearing at the edge of a rice field, an audience of two hundred were seated cross-legged watching the Wayang.
Cardinal ordered a beef stew and vegetables, and a beer. As he ate, the crowd became increasingly involved in the show of two dimensional puppets’ shadows, which slid and bounced on a screen.
After the meal, Cardinal wandered down to the show and stood to one side, with a view of the bicycles and cars coming and going from the small car-park next to the restaurant. Just as he decided to sit down, an army truck came revving up a hill. Cardinal stepped away into the shadows of some huts and watched. Four soldiers jumped out and entered the restaurant, and a minute later marched over to the crowd. It was dispersing. The show was finished. The soldiers approached the huts. Cardinal crouched low. He could see the soldiers about twenty metres away. They put down their rifles and lit cigarettes.
The bus to Bandung chugged up to the restaurant. People began to embark. The soldiers talked and laughed as they relaxed. Cardinal watched the bus line thin, and resigned himself to missing it. A sergeant gave a low, throaty order, and the soldiers threw away their cigarettes, picked up their rifles and ran to the truck.
Cardinal emerged from the shadows when it was out of sight. The bus started up and he made a dash for it.
Perdonny stood watching the pilot working on the twin-propeller Beachcraft under lantern light. The dark hulks of three big explorer-transporters and two other light planes threw shadows over the Bogor airport hangar’s walls. The pilot — Philip Oswald Webb - an Australian known to everyone as ‘Spider’ worked on a part-time basis for Perdonny’s company.
Webb was fit. The only sign of age was his thinning hair, which he went to great lengths to disguise. He had a prominent nose and jug ears that danced when, rarely, he smiled. Webb’s light green eyes never stopped darting about. Although he was just medium height, his muscular build and broad shoulders gave him an imposing appearance. He stretched out a hand that seemed to swallow Perdonny’s.
‘What’s so important you gotta come in person, mate?’ Webb asked.
‘Special assignment, Spider,’ Perdonny said. ‘I want somebody exited fast.’
‘The TV reporter?’
‘No, an American.’
Webb continued to work on the plane. ‘What’s the big hurry?’
‘He has done a few things for us,’ Perdonny said.
‘Like what?’
‘It doesn’t matter. We want to help him out.’
Webb stopped what he was doing and stared at Perdonny. ‘It matters to me,’ he said, tapping his chest. ‘I’m not risking my cover for some dumb Yank!’
‘It’s a straight job. Just fly him to Darwin.’
‘Just fly him to bloody Darwin!’ Webb mimicked. ‘Do you know how tight security is right now? A bloody Qantas cargo plane was attacked the other night. The whole Indonesian military is crazy!’
‘I appreciate the difficulty,’ Perdonny said, ‘but I want it done.’
‘It’s not worth risking my cover!’
‘Spider, it’s your job!’
‘Part of my job, mate, just part,’ he said wiping his hands with a greasy rag. ‘I would want Canberra to confirm this.’
‘You know that takes time!’
‘Yeah, well, I don’t want the job.’
‘You work for me! Can’t you co-operate?’
‘Did this guy have anything to do with the Cambodian Embassy attack last night?’
‘No. How did you hear about that?’
‘I heard. I also heard that an American could have been involved.’
Perdonny ignored the remark. ‘I want you to take this man out tomorrow.’
‘Only if bloody Canberra says so.’ Webb turned on his heel and left.
The canal water shimmered in the struggling moonlight opposite an old two-storey apartment. Cardinal had caught a bus after the Wayang to the Bandung depot and then had walked to the safehouse on the fringe of the city’s central area.
Myrta answered his knock and led him in, along an ill-lit hallway and up some creaking stairs. Cardinal slung his suitcase down in the room and lay on a narrow bed under a window. On his mind was the probable dragnet in Bandung. After the train incident he felt sure Bakin’s attention would switch to the city.
If Harry is alive, Cardinal thought, he could be very close. Hartina, he figured, held the key.
Cardinal was thinking about the implications when Myrta called him.
‘Robert is on the phone.’
‘You must stay hidden in Bandung,’ Perdonny said. ‘Don’t go out of the apartment. Myrta will arrange a car for you. Leave at three, at the latest, for Bogor and be careful of road blocks.
‘There should be only a few airport guards around,’ he said, ‘and you can avoid them at night. Head for the Aus-minex hangar. The door will be open. Go straight to the plane and see if you can hide in it.
‘Spider’s very tough, but cautious. An ex-SAS turned Intelligence field operator. He’s not pleased about having to get you out.’
‘Why?’
‘He’s frightened it could blow his cover.’
‘Is he sure to do it?’
‘I’m putting on as much pressure as I can,’ Perdonny said. ‘You’ll have to get to Bogor and judge for yourself.’ He paused. ‘I wish you luck.’
‘I’m going to try to sleep for three hours,’ he told her. ‘Could you wake me at, say, midnight?’
Myrta nodded. ‘Then I’ll show you the car.’
Cardinal dreamt for the first time in three nights, and the images were depressing. He saw a figure he did not recognise in the shallow grave, but this time there were some distinct differences from his earlier nightmares. Cardinal himself was also buried in the grave with the mutilated figure and, although it did not look like his son, the voice emanating from it was Harry’s. In their suffocating state, the images could still converse, and his son’s voice spoke about Chan and their connection. Cardinal struggled to help Harry from the grave and the confusion ended with a woman trying to haul him out.
Myrta had to shake him by the shoulder to awaken him.
‘Jesus!’ Cardinal muttered, as he sat up. ‘Thanks for getting me out of that!’
‘You were talking in your sleep,’ she said.
The images were still dancing with him. ‘What the hell was that all about?’
‘It’s midnight,’ Myrta said. ‘Do you want to see the car?’
‘Yeah,’ Cardinal said, hauling on his clothes, ‘I’ll be right down.’
‘I’m going crazy!’ Cardinal mumbled as parts of the dream returned to him. He felt an overwhelming urge to contact Hartina.
‘The car is garaged,’ Myrta told him. She led him to an adjoining building. ‘It looks old, but it is good.’
She slid a door across, and a rusted twenty-year-old Mercedes sedan came into view.
Cardinal got in, started it up and played with the gear shift.
‘No problems with anything,’ she said.
He tried the brakes and turned the steering wheel. Cardinal took some money from his wallet.
‘It’s okay,’ Myrta said and laughed.
‘I take a little for petrol, maybe,’ she said.
Cardinal insisted, but she laughed again. ‘It cost us nothing. It is stolen.’
‘Just want to make one call,’ he said as they returned to the flat.
‘Robert say to be careful about any contact in Bandung,’ Myrta said. She looked worried.
Cardinal waited until she had gone to her study at the end of the hall before dialling the Van den Hollands’ number. He began to perspire as the number rang.
Tien answered in her ice-cold, but clear voice.
‘Donald Blundell, here,’ he said, sounding as much as he could like the CIA man. ‘Is your daughter about?’
He heard her hand go over the phone and her muffled voice said, ‘It’s Blundell again. He only rang you this morning. What’s wrong now?’
‘It’s urgent,’ Cardinal said loudly.
He heard Tien beckon someone else to the phone.
‘Yes, Mr Blundell, what is it?’ a younger voice said curtly.
‘I was just a little worried about Harry,’ Cardinal said. ‘Are you happy with the way things are going?’
There was a moment’s silence, and Cardinal felt he may have blown it.
‘I thought we made that clear this morning,’ the woman said. She sounded irritated.
‘I know,’ Cardinal said. Sweat from his brow dripped on the receiver. ‘But I wanted to speak to you alone.’
There was a lull at the other end.
‘You know how worried we are.’
‘About Chan?’ Cardinal said evenly, as if he were stating the obvious.
‘Isn’t this conversation dangerous?’
‘Yeah, could we meet?’ Cardinal asked. ‘I would come to you, only I have other business at my hotel. Is there somewhere we can talk?’
Hartina put her hand over the phone and spoke softly to her mother. Cardinal couldn’t hear a word.
‘You understand me?’ Cardinal said.
‘Mother wants to know if we should get our belongings together?’
‘I want to discuss things with you, first.’
‘You know where we all had dinner, the university cafe?’
‘Of course.’
‘It’s the only thing open at this hour.’
‘See you in, say, forty-five minutes?’
‘You make it sound easy! If I can escape, I’ll make it in an hour; if not, forget it. But I’ll need an excuse. You could ring the guard, but they normally only take orders from Chan.’
‘I could try,’ Cardinal said lamely.
‘I could say I had to go to the reactor,’ she said. ‘I’ll pass by and then talk my way into a drink at the cafe, if I can.’
‘See you in an hour?’
‘I’ll do my best.’
Cardinal held the receiver for more than a minute after the conversation had ended.
‘Are you all right?’ Myrta asked.
‘The university cafe,’ Cardinal said. ‘Do you know where that is?’
‘Yes, but Robert said . . .”
‘Draw me a map, please!’
‘It’s behind the hospital,’ Myrta said. She followed Cardinal upstairs.
‘I’m going to Bogor after I visit the cafe,’ he said. He tossed his clothes into his suitcase.
‘Many militia are in the streets,’ she said. ‘They may be looking for you!’
Cardinal thanked her and rushed to the Mercedes, which he drove slowly along beside the canal until he became familiar with its stiff gear shift.
Black clouds had moved across the moon, and the poorly lit streets limited visibility. He had to swerve to miss a pedestrian and then a pedicab before he came to a T-junction. He turned right towards the city centre and drove three kilometres to the main city market.
The narrow, crowded streets forced him to leave the car there and go on foot a further five hundred metres to the hospital, an ornate nineteenth-century building.
Curfews did not seem to be in force as there were many people still eating in sidewalk cafes.
He examined the buildings opposite the university cafe on Jalan Braga, which had an intellectual ambience with papers, magazines and books provided for patrons. He wanted a hidden vantage point. The levels above the shops opposite were run-down and unused.
Cardinal walked down a road running perpendicular to Jalan Braga. He stopped at the rear of the shops and found a gate that led to a cobble-stoned alley. It was locked. He climbed over the gate. His feet made contact with a small animal that squealed and bit at his shoes. He stood still and peered down at black shapes that turned out to be rubbish bins. Swarming around one were a dozen darting rats. Cardinal picked up a rock and lobbed it at them. Instead of scattering, they became noisy and aggressive. He tore away a loose fence paling and swept a path past them and then hurried along the alley to a wooden fire escape to the second and third levels, which overlooked the cafe. He climbed the fire escape and reached a landing. He could see a jeep full of soldiers bristling with rifles pulling up in the road just short of Braga. A car stopped behind it, and a figure jumped out and began hissing orders to the soldiers. Cardinal watched them taking up positions inside restaurants. He eased into a dilapidated room that looked down into the street and was some twenty paces down from the university cafe. Heads turned to look at the hurrying new arrivals, and Cardinal began to wonder if it was a welcoming party for him.
The minutes ticked by and the cafe patrons forgot they had police company. Cardinal kept watching the cafe entrance for any new arrivals. A group of French tourists milled outside trying to make up their minds what they fancied. When they began to disperse, Cardinal caught sight of a tall dark woman crossing the road. She wavered at the cafe entrance and spoke to an aproned man who cleared a table for her on the sidewalk. She sat down and faced Cardinal’s way. He was certain it was Hartina. So near! he thought in frustration. He watched her eyeing passers by, especially European men, who were encouraged by her gaze. One German stopped and came over to her. She flicked a contemptuous hand at him. The man roared with laughter and rejoined his friends. Hartina kept looking at her watch. Cardinal felt a just controllable urge to call out to her.
Two men came to the cafe entrance. She turned to look at them. They nodded to her and went inside. Five minutes later they came out with drinks and sat with their backs to Hartina. The aproned proprietor began to encourage more tourists to sit outside as patrons began straggling in and out of other places.
At one the cafe began taking last orders. Two prostitutes who had been turned away minutes before were prompted to sit down, and the proprietor brought them coffees. They bantered with him and giggled at the unusual generosity. More lights were switched on so that the front awning lit up like a Christmas tree. Cardinal waited and watched from the shadows. At twenty minutes past one, the proprietor began to gesticulate to the two men, whom Cardinal thought were Bakin. The proprietor pointed to the door and tapped his wrist watch.
The prostitutes asked for more coffee and heckled as the proprietor became angry. Sharp conversation began between Hartina and the two men. She opened her hands and shrugged. A quarter of an hour later all the players began to disband. Hartina was led away and the soldiers began shuffling back to their jeep. Cardinal crept to the landing and watched the vehicles leave.
He waited until it was two before going down to the alley. He made his way along the road leading to the rear of the hospital. He passed a taxi rank and was tempted to hire one for the short ride, but it crossed his mind that drivers might have been alerted to his possible presence in the city. He walked on to the front of the hospital and stopped when he saw that some police had bailed up a group of European tourists. Cardinal retraced his steps and approached a taxi. The driver was asleep. Cardinal jumped in the back seat and shook him.
‘Market,’ Cardinal said. The driver looked at his watch.
‘Too early for market,’ the Sundanese driver said in Indonesian.
Cardinal repeated his request and the taxi crawled off. He crouched as they drove past the police and tourists. Cardinal ordered the driver to stop on the other side of the market from the Mercedes. He got out and waited until the taxi had crawled out of sight before running to his vehicle. Cardinal drove off and only moved into top gear on the outskirts of Bandung. But his progress was shortlived. He soon found himself in a long line of cars all slowing up. He remembered Perdonny’s warning about road blocks. If the city had been sealed off, it would explain the bank-up of vehicles trying to leave after midnight. A few minutes later Cardinal could see the flashing lights of stationary police cars at a block. He turned the car left and switched his headlights on high beam. He could see a steep slope leading to a flatish field. He pulled the car out of the line, rolled to the edge of the slope and stopped. He jumped out and ran down the gradient. He was encouraged by the sight of a thin track away from the road. Cardinal returned to the car and eased it down the slope and onto the track.
The ground became marshy, and Cardinal was forced to get out and walk ahead to test it. To his horror two cars from the line of traffic had spotlighted him on high beam. They came down the slope and across the path in his direction. He rushed to the Mercedes as the two cars roared passed. Cardinal followed.
One of the cars became bogged. Cardinal stayed on the trail of the other vehicle, which careered on through the uncertain terrain beyond the road block. Both cars negotiated the slope up by tackling it on an angle at high speed. It took them on to the main freeway to Jakarta.
Cardinal was exhilarated to be clear and felt bold enough to push on to Bogor. The speedometer bent around to more than a hundred and sixty kilometres an hour, and he was surprised at how well the vehicle stood the strain.
On one winding section he was forced to slow down. Two roadtrains had collided head-on. Rescue workers were struggling to separate the crushed and intertwined cabins where the drivers’ bodies were trapped. A little further on he encountered an abandoned overturned bus. Cardinal slowed to a more manageable speed.
It was not yet three. He was more than half-way to the airport, and on time.
‘How did you trace me?’ the scientist said. He ushered Rhonda into the laboratory at Sydney University.
‘I saw you at the crematorium,’ she said, ‘so I found out who the young, handsome friend of Harry Cardinal was. Andrew Shelton Coombes is on quite a few files.’
‘Thank you,’ Coombes blushed.
‘For calling you young?’
‘No, handsome.’
‘Don’t get carried away,’ Rhonda said, dead-pan. She giggled.
‘I felt you wanted to speak to me.’
‘I did, really,’ Coombes said, fiddling with buttons on his white coat. He offered Rhonda a seat near an elaborate gun barrel nosed into a chamber about five metres long and two metres wide.
‘You split your time between here and Lucas Heights?’ Rhonda asked, putting him at ease.
Coombes nodded. ‘I lecture in laser physics here.’
‘Have you been warned to keep quiet?’
‘The director at Lucas Heights told us anyone caught talking to the press would be fired and face breach of national security charges.’
Coombes pulled up a chair close to her and ran a hand through his unkempt hair.
‘I want your word that nothing I say is attributable to me,’ he said, wringing his hands. ‘Agreed,’ she said. They shook hands. Coombes pointed at the equipment.
‘This is a replica of the laser Harry made at Lucas Heights, without the special parts that make his design unique. We use it here to show students how to separate gases in the chamber.’ He stood up and rested his hands on mirrors at the front of the barrel.
‘These special dichroic mirrors,’ he said, dismantling one about the size of his hand to show Rhonda, ‘are vital to the laser. Harry Cardinal designed his own. When he died, I was put in charge of the equipment he had designed.’ Speaking in a whisper he added, ‘Four of those mirrors were missing from his laser.’
‘Were they stolen?’
‘Definitely. I reported it. The police came. There was an inquiry, and it was concluded that Hartina had taken them when she disappeared.’
‘Why would she do that?’
Coombes shrugged.
‘What did you think of her?’ she asked.
‘I didn’t trust her.’
‘In what way?’
‘You get to know someone’s mentality if you work with them for a couple of years. She only spoke to me when she wanted help.’
‘That doesn’t make her untrustworthy.’
‘Check when she took out Australian citizenship. It was at the end of her post-graduate research days when she knew she could get a job at Lucas Heights, if she became an Australian.’
‘What are you implying?’
‘You must understand the significance of her work,’ he said, looking around furtively. ‘She and Harry were at the forefront of an amazing breakthrough in bomb technology.’
‘Could you explain it simply? I’m ignorant of all that.’
‘There are some advantages to being a part-time teacher,’ he said with a fleeting smile. He turned to the equipment. ‘It’s easy in principle.’ Coombes replaced the mirror and switched on the laser. It began to hum. The gun vibrated, and he handed her a pair of goggles.
‘If you go over to the window,’ he said, ‘I’ll demonstrate. You can see different hues of a gas, right?’
Rhonda peered in through a window of the chamber at head height.
‘The gas is made up of uranium atoms mixed with fluoride,’ Coombes said. ‘In a moment you’ll see a red beam of light.’ He pushed a button. The beam speared into the gas and caused a flash.
‘That was a collision of the laser with certain atoms of the gas. In the gas you have atoms of uranium 235 arid uranium 238. The idea is to collect the 235, because that is the uranium used for nuclear energy, or to make bombs.’
Rhonda glanced at Coombes.
‘What were those flashes?’ she asked.
‘The collision is between the laser atoms of a certain wavelength and the gas atoms of the same wavelength. The laser collects the uranium 235 atoms and deposits them on a magnetic grid at the back of the chamber.’
He switched off the machine. Rhonda took off the goggles and frowned. ‘What’s the significance of the development?’ she asked, frowning. ‘Is it the speed, the accuracy . . . ?’
‘Until now we have needed a mountain of equipment and buildings to extract the U235 via the gaseous diffusion and other methods,’ Coombes remarked dropping his voice. ‘This laser is what you journalists might call the real ‘Pandora’s Box’ of the nuclear age! Any terrorist or country that wants to go nuclear can do it! All that’s needed is the design, one scientist in the field, and a chamber no bigger than this lab. Then bombs can be mass produced!’
Rhonda didn’t have a follow-up question. Her mind was on Chan’s Khmer Rouge, and this triggered her constant worry about Cardinal.
Rhonda would not have noticed the van if she had not been forewarned by Cardinal of the vehicle that tried to run him off the road in his first days in Sydney. Since then, wherever she went in the city, she noted suspicious vehicles, and sometimes took down number plates. The sight of the green VW, with its dark one-way windows, send a shiver through her.
Rhonda asked her taxi driver to pull over to check if they were being followed. They were. She managed to scribble down the van’s number, and then asked the driver to take her to a police station.
When they were near it, the van disappeared. Rhonda made a complaint. Hours later she rang the police to see if they had traced the van. According to a senior officer, the registration did not exist.
‘Look, I didn’t make a mistake!’ Rhonda said.
‘You must have, Ms Mills,’ the officer said.
‘The taxi driver checked the numbers too.’
‘So, it probably had false plates. Did it have any other markings?’
‘I can tell you it wasn’t a bloody bread van!’
‘There’s nothing else we can do, I’m sorry, Ms Mills.’
The thought of being followed, and the conversation with the police left her uneasy.
The sound of feet crunching on gravel woke Cardinal. A second later he was startled by a stern face peering at him through the Mercedes window. It was a security guard at tiny Bogor airport. Cardinal had slept in the car after arriving at four and finding the hangar locked up.
‘What are you doing here?’ the guard asked.
Cardinal sat up and pointed to lettering above the hangar entrance. ‘Have business with Ausminex,’ he said, opening the car door.
‘Who?’ the guard said, switching to English.
‘Mr Webb,’ Cardinal said, rounding each syllable. ‘Ausminex.’
The guard frowned and his left hand slid to a gun-holstered belt.
‘Spider Webb,’ Cardinal said. ‘I come to see . . .’
‘Ahh, Spider!’ the man said. His face broke into a broad grin. ‘He come at six. You half hour early.’
Cardinal’s fears were mitigated as the guard unlocked the hangar door and began to slide it across, exposing the company’s fleet of planes. Cardinal drove the Mercedes to the Beachcraft as instructed by Perdonny. He tried its cabin door, but it was locked. He hoisted his suitcase from the trunk of the Mercedes and placed it under the plane.
A late model Saab stopped outside the hangar. Webb bounced out, an overnight bag in hand.
‘You’re on time,’ Webb said with a strong handshake. ‘I like that.’ Webb unlocked the cabin door and lifted Cardinal’s case in.
‘Weather’s good,’ he said. ‘We’ll be off in fifteen minutes. We’re first out this morning.’ Webb taxied out on the deserted runway and used binoculars to focus on the control towers.
‘Buggers aren’t even awake yet.’
‘Does that mean we have to wait?’
‘No bloody fear.’ Webb adjusted his headphones.
‘Do you want me to hide in the back?’
‘Why?’
‘In case I’m seen.’
‘Don’t worry, mate. The guard has already seen you. Won’t make any difference.’
Minutes later they were airborne without any official clearance.
‘Next stop Bali,’ Webb said, ‘we hope.’
‘What do you mean?’
Webb held up a hand. ‘Something’s going on,’ he said. Webb looked concerned. ‘Bali’s not on.’
‘Why?’
‘Place is crawling with militia. Something’s being set-up for somebody. We’ll go for Ambon.’
‘Why can’t we go straight for Darwin?’
‘Too dangerous. The Indonesian airforce has been buzzing our commercial carriers. Don’t trust the bastards an inch.’
When they had levelled off at three thousand metres, Webb removed the headphones.
‘You fought in Korea?’ he said.
‘Yes, why?’ Cardinal replied.
Webb grinned slyly. ‘Ever remember a Willow Wilson?
‘Sure, I do. Willow Wilson and Ernie Stone. I fought with them.’
‘Willow’s my uncle. He’s married to my father’s sister.’
‘How in the hell did you know that I knew Willow?’
‘After Perdonny pushed me about taking you to Darwin, I began to think about your name. I haven’t known too many Americans, but I had heard your name. Then it twigged. My uncle often used to speak about you when I was a kid. I pestered him to tell me about his war adventures. Your name used to come up all the time. Uncle Willow said you were a bit of a hero.’
‘Willow and Ernie were mates and mentors. I was just a kid of seventeen. They had fought in the second world war. They were real pros.’
‘Those adventures caused me to join the army,’ Webb said, ‘because all I ever wanted to do was what you’d done. I really wanted to join the Australian SAS, but you always had to have a regular army background to get in.’
‘Ever seen action?’
‘Plenty in Vietnam,’ Webb said, ‘and elsewhere.’
‘You know your uncle was a deserter,’ Cardinal said.
‘Bullshit!’
‘I’m not kidding. We heard that the Australians had landed a battalion in Korea and the next thing we learned was that every one of them had deserted. It’s the truth,’ Cardinal said with a laugh, ‘but let me tell you, everyone of them had deserted to join us at the front line.’ Webb’s eyes sparkled as Cardinal added, ‘They were the best brawlers I ever knew. Boy! They never stopped it. If they weren’t smashing the enemy, they would be beating up among themselves. They were crazy!’
‘Are you going to look Willow up?’
‘If I have time,’ Cardinal said.
They flew on over some low cloud, and Cardinal felt a surge of freedom.
‘I hear you got Chan.’
‘Did Robert tell you that?’
‘Yeah,’ Webb said. ‘That was a pretty gutsy effort, mate.’
‘Is Chan dead?’
‘Nobody seems to know. But Perdonny reckons somebody is. They buried someone in the embassy grounds late yesterday. Did you do it alone?’
‘I don’t want to talk about it.’
‘Did Perdonny help you?’
‘Did you hear me?’ Cardinal snapped.
‘Okay, pal,’ Webb said. ‘Keep your shirt on.’
The cloud began to get darker and soon they were being bounced around. With little warning they found them’ selves in a vicious electrical storm. It thoroughly tested Webb’s considerable flying skills. Cardinal hung on grimly as the pilot fought the controls. The strain showed as perspiration formed rivulets from Webb’s forehead to his chin.
‘Yell if you see rock!’ he shouted above the thunder. ‘We’re bloody close to mountains!’
Cardinal strained to see through the rain obscured windows and cloud.
‘That was the worst I have ever been in!’ Webb said. The plane slipped into calmer skies.
‘Glad you didn’t tell me before,’ Cardinal said.
Webb laughed.
They flew on untroubled for an hour.
‘Ambon,’ Webb said, pointing to an island ahead. He began nosing the plane down from a terrace of flimsy cloud. The Beachcraft made a tight turn to avoid a mountain that guarded the airport, and then made a smooth landing. Webb taxied from one side of the field to the other in search of a landing space.
‘Lot of military people in this morning,’ he said, ‘but we should be okay.’
The German Shepherd stood crouched in front of Perdonny’s villa, its lip curled, as a Subaru sedan pulled up. The driver sounded the horn, and moments later a guard and servant were at the front entrance.
‘Put that dog away,’ a smartly dressed Javanese in the back seat said angrily, ‘or we’ll have it shot!’
The guard spoke to the dog, which trotted to the side of the villa with some reluctance. It twice stopped to look at the men getting out of the car and had to be cajoled by the guard into continuing on to the pool area.
‘Is Robert Perdonny at home?’ one of the four men said.
The guard ordered the servant to fetch Perdonny, who appeared in a white towelling robe. The visitor stepped forward. He seemed on edge as he bowed and handed over a letter.
‘You are under house arrest, sir,’ the man said.
‘On whose authority?’ Perdonny asked. He tore open the letter.
‘The president.’
‘There are no reasons in this,’ Perdonny said. ‘On what grounds am I to be held?’
‘The president has not specified any, sir,’ the visitor said, deferentially.
‘What are the conditions for this detention?’ Perdonny said.
‘You and your wife must remain inside this property until further notice.’
‘My wife is on Ambon,’ Perdonny said.
The man said something to one of the others out of earshot of Perdonny.
‘She may stay there.’
‘Are you a Bakin officer?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘I would rather be held there,’ Perdonny said.
‘We must ask you to remain in your home,’ the Bakin officer said.
‘My official home for all purposes is on Ambon,’ Perdonny said coolly. ‘I suggest you speak to your superiors and remind them of this.’
The four men glanced at each other.
‘I’m sure the president won’t mind,’ Perdonny added with the hint of a smile. ‘I am more out of the way there.’
A search light swept the Ambon airport perimeter. Cardinal had been cooped up in the plane for twelve hours when Webb returned at nine.
‘Sorry, mate,’ Webb said, ‘the place was crawling with cops and soldiers. Couldn’t risk comin’ back till now.’
He handed Cardinal a tomato sandwich and a beer.
‘Had to check in with the customs and immigration people,’ Webb said. ‘They’re pretty bloody thorough. This is one of the islands for illegal immigration and drug smuggling to Australia.’
Cardinal munched in silence.
‘Don’t worry, we’re in good shape,’ Webb said, pointing to seismic equipment at the back of the plane. ‘Just got to deliver that gear in the morning and we’re off. There are no plans to hold up flights.’
‘When exactly can we take off?’ Cardinal stretched and did some knee-bends.
‘With luck by mid-morning. I’ve notified local authorities that I’ll be staying with the plane overnight.’
‘Why are you doing that?’
‘The bloody army around here is starved of its own planes. They like to commandeer commercial planes to hike soldiers around the islands.’
‘Will I stay here too?’
‘No. You’ll have to get out. Soldiers will be checking every plane before midnight. Jakarta has alerted the locals. They’re on the look-out for terrorists.’
‘Does that mean me?’
‘I don’t know. But we can’t take chances. I’ve got accommodation for you.’ Webb pointed beyond airport buildings. ‘You’ll see a car dip its headlights in a couple of minutes. Wait until the searchlight has passed over the plane, then go for it. The driver’s one of Perdonny’s people. He’ll take you to town.’
Cardinal picked up his suitcase.
‘I’ll phone you when we get the all-clear in the morning,’ he said. ‘The driver will bring you back here.’
Webb gave him the thumbs up sign. ‘Sleep well and relax. We’ll make it to Darwin, no worries.’ He walked across the tarmac and was bathed in the searchlight.
Cardinal kept his eye on the road leading to the terminal. He saw the signal and gripped the suitcase. The moment the light slid over the plane he jumped out. Cardinal waited a few seconds and then began jogging to hangars. He could see the silhouettes of soldiers in the terminal lounge about forty metres from him. He reached the car and slipped into the back seat.
‘You Aussie?’ the driver said, near the end of the one-hour journey around the coast road.
‘No, American, why?’
‘Many Aussie die there,’ the driver said, waving at a cemetery.
‘When?’
‘In war.’ The driver took a hand off the steering wheel and made a chopping motion. ‘Japanese. Five hundred in one day.’
‘Were there any survivors?’
‘Three. But one die in jungle, one die in water. Only one made it to Australia, on raft.’
Cardinal felt uncomfortable. The driver grinned into the rear-vision mirror. ‘You be okay,’ he said. ‘Robert’s wife tell me he come to Ambon soon.’
Perdonny waded through the early morning crowd of locals. They were dressed in traditional saris and skirts of red and white. They cheered their most successful son who had just flown in on a military aircraft from Jakarta. He waved, shook hands and moved into the terminal lounge to collect his luggage. He was about to leave when he noticed Webb huddled in a corner.
‘What the hell are you doing here?’ a tired-eyed Webb asked. ‘Let’s have breakfast.’
‘Where’s Cardinal?’ Perdonny asked, when they’d found a private spot.
‘I had to send him around the island,’ Webb said, his intense eyes darting to the lounge. ‘The place is crawling with Bakin!’
‘Is that who you were speaking to?’
‘Yes,’ Webb said lighting up a cigarette. ‘They’ve been asking a lot of bloody questions.’
‘Such as?’
‘Had I seen any Americans? Why did I switch routes and not go into Bali? What cargo was I carrying?’. Perdonny noticed that his hand was shaking. ‘I’ve been up all damned night. First the army threatened to take my plane. Then those bastards in there bailed me up.’
‘You’ll be able to get out, though?’
‘Shit! I hope so.’
‘With Cardinal?’
‘If things have cooled down by mid-morning.’
They ordered breakfast. Minutes later, eggs, bacon and toast was placed in front of them.
‘What restrictions have been placed on you?’ Webb asked.
‘I have to check in with the police every morning.’
Webb laughed. ‘Big deal. You own most of them, don’t you?’
Perdonny looked up at the Australian. ‘This is no joke,’ he said. ‘I can’t get off the island without permission. Nor can my wife. I’ll be watched.’
‘But this is your bloody island!’
‘People can be bought to betray me.’
‘Why do you think Utun did it?’ Webb asked. ‘Bit of a desperate move, wasn’t it?’
‘I don’t know what his motives were. But I do know I’m one step away from Buru.’
‘Utun wouldn’t have the nerve to put you on Buru!’ Webb scoffed.
Perdonny stared at him.
‘Do you want to get out?’ Webb asked, leaning forward.
‘No,’ Perdonny said. ‘I still have much to do here.’
‘But if more pressure is put on . . .’
‘I’m staying,’ he said. ‘You concentrate on getting Cardinal out. That’s more important at the moment.’
Cardinal had trouble sleeping in the guesthouse called Witsana in the heart of Ambon, a small Dutch colonial town. He had not liked the delay and was not comforted by Webb’s over-confident attitude.
He got up before dawn and wandered into the town to watch the sun rise. Its warmth cheered him as did the guesthouse proprietor, a bustling old Ambonese woman who fussed about making breakfast. As he sat down to eat the phone rang.
‘Spider.’ The woman grinned.
‘I’ve been grilled by Bakin this morning,’ Webb told Cardinal, ‘so things are tight. But come around the island in the next hour.’
‘Have you been given clearance for Darwin?’
‘Not yet. But we can go to other islands where the heat will be off.’
‘Well, where should I go? I can’t just wander into the terminal.’
‘Get out of the car at a turn in the road about a kilometre from the airport. You’ll see a well right there. Cut across the fields next to the airport and come around the back of the hangars. I will move the plane nearer to them and be on the look out for you.’
‘What about the soldiers?’
‘They’re all in or around the terminal. I can’t sit on the phone here too long. See you soon.’
On the return ride, Cardinal felt uneasy, his fears accentuated by the low-flying helicopter.
‘What’s he doing?’ Cardinal asked the driver as he craned his neck to see it.
The driver looked troubled and shook his head.
‘Sometime they do that,’ he said. ‘Army very powerful on Ambon.’
Cardinal kept his eyes on the chopper as it circled above and then drifted off north-east of the road. He could only just hear the dull roar of its engine when they reached the well. Cardinal asked the driver to pull over. He sat motionless in the rear seat scanning the field between the jungle and the airport. He was uncertain about moving straight across because it seemed to give him little or no cover. Instead he told the driver to reverse to the face of the jungle.
Cardinal stayed close to the field’s boundary and paused to hide in the undergrowth. He was about half-way across when he heard the sound of a chopper looming up from the airport area. It kept climbing almost vertically and then drifted across towards the field which it hovered above. Cardinal side-stepped into the foliage until it circled low and returned to the airfield. Just as he started to walk again, a jeep came careering out of the airport across the field. He glanced back at the road and saw several soldiers running his way. Everywhere he looked he could see figures running. He turned to the safety of the jungle but had not gone two metres when he stopped. Two soldiers were propped behind trees with rifles aimed at him. He dropped the suitcase and raised his arms.
An officer advanced from the field, shouting orders. He approached Cardinal cautiously and slid the suitcase away from him.
‘Passport!’ Passport!’ he yelled. Soldiers formed a tight ring around Cardinal. He nodded to the suitcase. The officer waved a revolver at Cardinal, knocking his Bogart off, and he fumbled in the side pouch and handed the document over. He grabbed his hat
The officer was ecstatic. He gabbled to the soldiers, and they guided Cardinal towards the jeep. He was bustled in and driven to the airport hangars where the chopper had landed. Its rotors were still spinning. Cardinal was pushed out of the jeep and ordered to run to it.
When Cardinal was aboard, the chopper took off. He looked down to the Beachcraft only thirty metres away. Webb was sitting in the cockpit. He seemed to be looking at him.