Cardinal’s first view of the infamous prison on Buru island west of Ambon was the leaning watch-tower known as ‘Pisa’. He was accompanied by four armed soldiers on the three-hour journey, first by helicopter to a clearing north-east of the island and then by motor boat down the muddy Wayupa River to the prison landing site.
Cardinal could see a barbed-wire fence around the buildings, which needed repair. The small contingent was forced to wait in the tall alang grass outside the main gate while one of the rifle-toting sentries climbed listlessly from a tower. Cardinal leant against the gate and it seemed to give a little under his weight. He thought that one hard shove could bring the whole Jerry-built construction tumbling down.
Cardinal was marched alone to the commandant’s offices in a cabin of split logs, and was left in a spartan room. He could see the soldiers leaving the prison grounds as the commandant appeared. He looked as if he had been the victim of napalm. His facial skin had purple splotches and was stretched across his flat cheekbones like a hideous mask. His tall, lean frame was bent as he shuffled past Cardinal to a cluttered desk. He sat down without acknowledging him and stared at scribbled notes. He lifted his eyes to meet Cardinal’s gaze. The commandant sniffed and rubbed his face, which heightened the colourful patches.
‘You are accused of murder and subversive activity,’ he said in stilted English. ‘Do you wish to make a confession?’
‘I only wish to speak with the American Ambassador to Indonesia,’ Cardinal replied.
‘Answer my question.’
‘I do not wish to make a confession - only to speak with the American Ambassador.’
‘The ambassador can not help you. This is Bum.’ The commandant spoke throatily.
‘On what authority are you detaining me?’
The commandant frowned.
‘Where were you three nights ago?’ he said, looking at his notes.
‘On vacation.’
The commandant stared at the ground. He brought a fist down on the desk. ‘You murdered a member of the Kampuchean Embassy!’
Cardinal felt numb. He looked out the office window and could just see the heads of the retreating soldiers above the grass.
‘Why did you commit this crime?’
Cardinal was about to ask whom he was supposed to have killed, but checked himself.
‘I don’t have to answer anything,’ he said defiantly. ‘The ambassador’s name is David Temple. Please contact him.’
The commandant stared up at Cardinal and stood up.
‘My advice is to co-operate, Mr Cardinal. You are in big trouble.’
He searched Cardinal’s face for a sign of capitulation. ‘You are a professional CIA assassin? Yes?’
Cardinal shook his head. The commandant flicked a hand at the guards and snapped orders.
They seized Cardinal and led him to a wooden two-level cell block a hundred metres from the commandant’s office.
Cardinal was marched upstairs to a long wide corridor with cells on either side. Prisoners straggled to their cell bars and watched the new arrival. Cardinal noted their emaciated appearance and felt a sharp wave of depression wash over him. His cell was isolated and contained just a bunk and bucket. There was one small window above eye level which provided the only view and air in the fetid room.
Cardinal heard the key turn in the lock. He stood on the bunk to see twenty men being walked around in the midday heat.
He sat on the bunk and was attacked by biting gnats. He tried to think positively, but could not see any way out of his predicament. He recalled what a fellow-inmate had said to him in a POW camp in China: ‘If you have nothing, you always have hope.’ His main expectation was that Webb would raise the alarm and alert the American Embassy.
Rhonda sat at one end of the table.
‘We feel that the story must be done through Ken Cardinal’s eyes.’
Network managing director, Bill Hartford, sixty, balding and rubber-lipped, sat at the other end in a three-piece suit, which looked ready to burst at the vest buttons. Either side of him were corporation lawyers and two senior executives. One of them was Rhonda’s ex-husband.
‘Cardinal creates the human-interest thread,’ she said, ‘and I think that’s the best way to present it.’
‘The story revolves around him trying to find out what happened to his son,’ she went on, ‘and we should orient it to beg the question of whether his son is dead or alive, with the inference being that he may well be alive.’
‘You mean slant it to hint the son is alive?’ her ex-husband asked.
‘Let me run through the story,’ Rhonda replied, ‘then make your own judgement.’ She looked up at the faces at the other end.
‘Two experts in lasers disappear from Lucas Heights. One is an Indonesian with both Australian and Indonesian citizenship. She may travel on a dual passport. This woman is abducted from Australia to Bandung where she works for the Indonesian government. Assumption: she is involved in two projects. One is to make nuclear bombs for Indonesia. The other is to create laser weapons for use by Kampuchean forces in the war against the Vietnamese.’
‘When you say assumption,’ a lawyer interjected, ‘have you got facts to back this up?’
‘Enough circumstantial evidence to make the documentary credible,’ Dunstan answered for Rhonda.
‘That’s dangerous ground,’ the lawyer said. ‘You’re accusing our most important near neighbour of making nuclear weapons!’
‘Let me finish,’ Rhonda said. ‘Indonesia gets the capacity to make the bomb as a trade-off with the CIA to allow it to use the Bandung reactor facilities to develop laser weapons for use by the Kampucheans. Originally the laser developments for nuclear bombs and Star Wars had been secretly carried out at Lucas Heights. With the change in government here, the nuclear bomb project continued but the Star Wars commission was thrown out. The CIA was forced to find another Pacific-Asian nation to carry on that project. The Indonesians were chosen. They had the facility and were willing to make it available if the Indonesian woman scientist was transferred to Bandung to head the work. That was done. Certain things suggest that the man who was supposed to have been murdered at Lucas Heights, Harold Ian Cardinal, may also have been moved to Bandung. He was the Star Wars specialist. He could help the woman on the bomb project for Indonesia and she could help him on the Star Wars work.’
‘But why would the CIA go to so much trouble?’ the executive asked.
‘It fits their aims,’ Rhonda replied. ‘They don’t want it known that there is American involvement in the Kampuchean’Vietnam war, while there is abundant evidence to suggest it has been supplying special arms to the Khmer Rouge for some time. A suitable war is needed to experiment with Star Wars weaponry. The Americans do not want to be seen breaching their agreements with the Soviets on Star Wars so they need a clandestine outlet. The battle with the Vietnamese is perfect. The Americans have wanted to curtail Vietnam’s expansion in South-East Asia. Letting the Khmer Rouge loose with Star Wars weapons is consistent with US foreign policy.’ All eyes were on Hartford.
‘So the CIA fakes the death of this key scientist so that he may secretly work on Star Wars in Indonesia?’ he asked.
Rhonda nodded.
‘Can you get the CIA to respond to all this?’ Hartford asked.
‘We could try,’ Dunstan said. ‘Of course, they would deny it.’
‘That’s okay,’ Hartford said, ‘just give them the chance to deny it.’ He turned to Rhonda again and asked, ‘Where is Cardinal now?’
‘I last spoke to him in Jakarta about three days ago.’
‘Well, I suggest you get him back here fast and interview him.’
‘Then you’re giving it the go ahead?’ Dunstan asked.
‘You’ve got your budget for it,’ Hartford said, ‘but 1 want to see a rough-cut before we make a decision on airing it. If you can satisfy our lawyers and me, we’ll run it.’
The prison guards left Cardinal alone through the first night and into the next day with only two indirect communications in the morning. Unpalatable grain in hot water was pushed through a latch in the door in return for the bucket. Both times the guard grunted something but was gone before Cardinal could conjure a suitable response from his limited Indonesian. There was a compelling desire to make verbal contact and vivid reminders of solitary confinement in Manchuria. Then, he had often reflected, his unformed intellect and strong body had given him a certain rigidity which stood him in good stead under pressure. Now softer in body and alone he was not confident of withstanding the desolation of prison.
His suitcase was hurled into the cell mid-morning, and Cardinal was surprised to see that nothing had been confiscated. He wondered if the commandant was letting him know he wasn’t going anywhere.
Cardinal filled in the rest of the morning by going through a two-hour exercise routine. Normally he would do about twenty minutes a day, but in the last week or so he had been intent on just making it through each day with little or no sleep, and his disciplines of yoga and swimming had not been possible.
He followed the long session by scribbling out things to think about through the rest of the day. He remembered the sketches of Chan in an inside pocket of the suitcase.
He unzipped it. They had been removed. Cardinal brought his fist down hard on the suitcase. ‘Damnit!’ he growled. He felt stupid for not having destroyed them.
The sun baked his cell, and sweat dripped from him. Cardinal fought a continuous listlessness as time acted like a loose anchor on his mind. He clutched at every mental game he had used when a Korean war POW. Cardinal had been a tops maths student at West Point, but when he tried to jot down some calculus, he found his sophisticated numeracy had been ravaged by the years. He made a chess board from loose pebbles in the cell, but after one game with himself became bored.
Cardinal wrote out all the poetry he could recall and included a verse by Robert Graves, ‘Love at first sight’.
Love at first sight, some say misnaming,
That feeling of twinned helplessness,
Against that first huge tug of procreation.
It made him think of Rhonda. He wrote a letter to her and put it in a grubby envelope which he addressed to her TV network and put in his trouser pocket.
At eight pm a bowl of foul-smelling, lukewarm meat and potato slid through the hatch. Cardinal considered it as it stopped at his feet. He had eaten little, but the heat had killed his appetite. Still he began to munch away for something to fill in the time.
He was distracted by the sound of a helicopter. Cardinal stepped on to the bunk to watch the big-bellied chopper settle on the other side of the administration building. Cardinal wondered who would be paying Bum a night visit. Initially it intrigued him, for Webb had been adamant about the dangers of flying any aircraft around the remote islands at night. Could it be something urgent, he mused. Could it have anything to do with him? When nothing happened, Cardinal tried to sleep but was only half successful. He lay for four hours in the thick stifling heat. Mosquitoes attacked him relentlessly. He sat up when he heard the sound of marching feet echoing down the corridor. Keys jangled in the lock as he rubbed his bloodshot eyes. Two guards growled orders at him and kicked his suitcase, indicating that they wanted him to dress. Cardinal obeyed, apprehensive because of their attitude, which was not that of people about to show benevolence. He hauled on jeans, a shirt and sneakers and was marched out of the cell block and across the compound to the com’ mandant’s office.
He was pushed into the sparse room. The compound lights were on, and he could see figures sitting in the chopper. To his horror they were both in the unusual black uniforms Perdonny and Rhonda had said were worn by the forces Utun had been training at Ujung Pandang. He walked to the window but stopped as the commandant sidled in followed by two guards. He eyed Cardinal and seemed on edge.
‘Sit on the chair,’ he said.
Cardinal obeyed and could hear the unsteady tread of someone else shuffling towards the room. In the split second the man entered Cardinal did not recognise him under the head bandage wrapped low enough to obscure the eyebrows. The man’s right arm was in a sling. But slowly he realised it was Chan! Cardinal rose from the chair automatically. The Khmer Rouge leader did not acknowledge Cardinal and moved to the only other chair in the room. Chan gritted his jagged and protruding teeth. He was sweating and used a red scarf to dab his brow. He waved a hand at the commandant and, in English, ordered him to open the window. His voice was shaky. His eyes lifted to meet Cardinal’s.
‘You thought I would be dead,’ he mumbled, ‘didn’t you?’
Cardinal glanced at the commandant who did not seem to have been expecting the night visitor. His hair was awry, and his tunic seemed to have been thrown on hurriedly.
‘Sit,’ the commandant said.
‘I want you to know,’ Chan said in a squeaky, faltering voice, ‘that we did not murder your son. You tried to kill me for no reason.’ His eyes fluttered as he spoke. ‘I wish to know who supported you in the preparation?’ Chan said. ‘Was it Blundell?’
Cardinal turned to the commandant. ‘Have you been in touch with the American Ambassador, David Temple?’
‘Tell me!’ Chan shrieked, ‘you must tell me if the CIA was behind the attempt . . . tell me, and nothing will happen to you! Nothing!’ Chan gripped the arm of the chair and breathed heavily.
He must have taken both bullets, Cardinal thought. Yet he travelled from Jakarta only seventy-two hours afterwards. He had to be keen on revenge, or concerned about his relationship with Blundell. Cardinal stalled; Chan called for the two men in the chopper. The two black-uniformed commandos came close to him.
‘Did Blundell get you to do this?’ Chan hissed.
Cardinal turned his body to face the two men but did not answer.
They were given an order, and one drew a baton that had been slung out of Cardinal’s vision.
Cardinal stood up to defend himself and was caught a hard fist blow to the stomach from the other man. The baton was slammed across his shoulders. He slumped to his knees, winded and in pain. Cardinal struggled to his feet and was pushed back in the chair. He was breathing fast.
‘Answer me now!’ Chan said, struggling to his feet with the commandant’s help.
Cardinal caught his breath. ‘I . . . don’t . . . know . . . what you are talking . . . about,’ Cardinal said with a trace of defiance.
Again, the baton was used, this time across the side of the head.
Cardinal fell to the ground. He was dazed like a boxer, down for the count, but he battled against unconsciousness and managed to get to his knees.
Four heavy boots went into his body, and he fell flat. He was hoisted into the chair.
Cardinal stared at Chan who stood behind the chair. Another brisk argument began between Chan and the commandant. The two commandos stood behind their quarry, waiting for the next opportunity.
Cardinal ran a shaking hand over his face, and blood smeared his palm and wrist. There was an eerie silence. Chan looked at him again. He seemed disappointed.
‘We will continue to smash you!’ Chan said through his teeth. ‘You tried to assassinate me! You made an error! Did the CIA help you?!’
Cardinal felt the two commandos preparing to strike out again. He lifted his elbows as if to defend himself and then swung them back into the stomachs of the two men, catching them unawares. He stood up and threw a punch at the man with the baton. He fell over the desk holding his jaw. Cardinal turned to defend himself from the other man, and the commandant bellowed at the two guards. Cardinal struck some heavy blows at the second commando before he was overpowered and held at rifle point.
Extra guards arrived as the commandant examined the injured commando.
‘His jaw’s broken,’ the commandant said. ‘He must go to the hospital.’
Cardinal began to cough up blood.
‘Better get him to hospital too,’ the commandant said.
‘No!’ Chan screamed. He barked an order at the remaining commando, who stumbled out of the room.
‘I don’t want a murder on my hands!’ the commandant objected. Chan fumbled an envelope from a coat pocket and shoved it at the commandant.
‘Utun has ordered that I may use whatever means possible to find out who tried to assassinate me.’
The commando returned with a cord attached to clamps.
‘Bastards!’ Cardinal yelled. I’m finished. I’m going to fight, he thought. He lashed out again. Two more commandos rushed in. It took five men to restrain him and tie him to the chair. The cord was attached to a power point. The clamps were placed on Cardinal’s wrists.
Cardinal swallowed and braced himself. Chan slid his chair close to him.
‘Were you working for the CIA?’ Chan said.
Cardinal’s mouth and throat were burning. He couldn’t answer.
‘Did Blundell order you to kill me?’
Cardinal tried to speak, but began to choke on his blood. Chan cursed. He gripped Cardinal’s hair.
‘Just nod your head!’
Cardinal gripped the chair’s arms and stared at Chan defiantly. Chan made a chopping motion. A commando flicked the switch. The shock whipped through Cardinal’s arms and stabbed his heart. His chest heaved and his wrists seared. Cold sweat broke out over his face.
Get it over with, you animal! Cardinal wanted to say, but could only think it. The switch was thrown again. Cardinal’s body convulsed and his legs kicked out. His chair jumped and fell sideways. Four commandos struggled to right it.
Chan leaned forward from the chair. ‘Blundell urged you to do it?’
Cardinal’s eyes met Chan’s. Cardinal lashed out with his foot and caught Chan hard on the shin. He clutched at his leg. Cardinal coughed and spat blood into the face of his tormentor. A commando lashed out at Cardinal and sent the chair flying backwards. The cord was wrenched from the wall, and the room was plunged into darkness. Cardinal again struggled to regain consciousness. Chan and the commandant were arguing fiercely. The chair was put upright, and torches were shone in Cardinal’s eyes. He felt himself being untied. He tried to stand but he could not control his limbs.
I’m paralysed, he thought. His head spun, and the dancing torch reflections on the floorboards fused into black.
Only the stark cries of crows broke the early morning silence. Perdonny stood reading the names of the marble memorial commemorating the deaths of Allied forces -mainly Australians and Indians - on the island during the second world war. Like all the older members of the town he remembered the day when most of these allied fighters had been beheaded by the Japanese.
Perdonny knew he was being watched. He could see the Bakin car out of the corner of his eye. He wandered further into the memorial grounds. A taxi pulled into the gravel-pathed entrance. Webb got out. The car pulled over to the roadside and waited.
Webb approached Perdonny. ‘Did you see that car?’
‘They stayed outside my house last night,’ Perdonny said. ‘I’m allowed to move about, but they’re under strict orders not to let me out of their sight.’
They began to wander across the cemetery.
‘Cardinal has been taken to Bum,’ Perdonny said. ‘What the hell happened at the airport?’
‘I told him to come around the island,’ Webb said with a rueful sigh, ‘but they cornered him. I watched him bundled into a chopper.’
Perdonny acknowledged a toothless old gardener who bowed, all smiles. He was honoured to have the great man in his garden.
‘How do you know he was taken to Bum?’ Webb asked. ‘Several of my people saw his capture,’ Perdonny said. ‘The chopper flew west. There is only one destination in that direction.’ He glanced at the road. ‘We know the prison had some strange visitors during the night.’ Webb looked surprised.
‘You must have seen the military plane arrive,’ Perdonny said.
‘I was woken up by it,’ Webb said, scratching his head, ‘and a chopper took off again soon afterwards. So?’
‘Chan was on board.’
Webb’s forehead stretched. ‘Shit! Do you know what happened?’
‘Not yet. But if Cardinal is alive, we must try to get him out.’
‘You’re crazy! No one has ever escaped Bum.’
Perdonny stopped at a gravestone and read the inscription: ‘Greater love hath no man than he lay down his life for another.’
‘Listen, pal,’ Webb said. ‘I’m not laying down my life for some crazy Yank killer on a revenge kick! Not for you or Canberra or any bloody one!’
‘You wouldn’t have to do anything except fly us in and out,’ he said.
‘There’s no damned landing strip on Buru. Only a helipad in the prison.’
They wandered on, Perdonny stopping now and again to read other inscriptions.
‘Besides,’ Webb said, eyeing Perdonny, ‘how the hell would you get away from that tail on you everywhere?’
They began to stroll to the road.
‘If you got involved,’ Webb said under his breath, ‘your cover would be blown. You would have to escape.’
‘I’m aware of that.’
‘What about your wife and family?’ Webb persisted. ‘Would you be prepared to desert them?’
‘I think I have already been exposed, don’t you?’
Webb’s face clouded. He bit his lip and looked at the Bakin car.
‘You can count me out of any adventures on Bum,’ he said. ‘As far as those apes are concerned I’m in the clear. I just work for the company. I want it to stay that way.’
Perdonny looked up at Webb’s ice-green eyes. ‘Time’s running out, Spider, for all of us.’
In his concussed state, Cardinal had been trying to focus on a blur. It could have been hours or even days. Realisation seeped through the confusion, and his befuddled brain drew satisfaction from the discovery that it was a sneaker. He stared at it for another indeterminate period and found himself marvelling at the invention of every part, from the thread in the lace to the roll of the rubberised heel.
My soul mate, he thought to himself as he uncoiled from a foetal position on the floor. His brain told his body to sit up, but it took a long time to obey.
Slowly all his senses rolled into play. There was the nauseating smell of blood and vomit - his own. He touched his dry, burning mouth and tender nose. He heard voices. He was back in that confounded cell, and there were people somewhere outside. Perhaps they had been observing him through the hatch. He didn’t know, didn’t care. He would play dead on the floor. It wouldn’t be difficult, he thought. The voices faded. Cardinal lay quietly for another hour or so, forcing his memory to explain what had happened.
‘Chan,’ he whispered to himself, ‘was he real?’
He forced himself on to the bed but could not stand up. He wanted so desperately to look out into the light and see that chopper, but he could not straighten up. Cardinal lay on the bed flexing and massaging his muscles. He made a pathetic attempt to exercise, but after half a minute fell gasping for breath. He heart beat so fast he thought it would burst through his battered ribcage.
I’m too weak to even cry, he thought.
The latch on the bottom of the door pushed open and a bowl of food slithered across the floor. Cardinal watched it collide, as if in slow motion, with the vomit-stained sneaker. He fell off the bed in an effort to stop it spilling. He clawed at the contents, which seemed to be the same tasteless muck he had had before. It revolted him, but he was determined to keep something down.
He had just scooped up the last lump when he heard keys in the door. It was pushed open. A guard nodded and grunted at him, signalling that he wanted him to put on clothes. Cardinal blinked at his jeans lying crumpled in one corner. He crawled over to them and noticed they were streaked with blood. He gripped them and heaved them on. The guard stood impassively as Cardinal struggled with a shirt and then the sneakers. Another guard appeared and the two men hoisted him to his feet and half-walked and half-dragged him down from the cell into the compound. Cardinal looked for the chopper. There was no sign of it. He began to have doubts that an angel of death had visited him after all. The guards left Cardinal in the middle of the compound near a group of prisoners. He rested on his elbows. It was still well before noon. The sun’s rays were warm but not hot. Three prisoners shuffled over to him and offered him water, which he took gladly. It revived him and in the following minutes he looked around the buildings for some sign to help his splintered memory.
Workers were washing out the commandant’s office. He studied the faces of the guards outside the door and recognised one of them who was staring at him. A white-coated woman appeared from a hut next to the administration office and walked over to Cardinal. She was joined by the commandant who stood over Cardinal and spoke about him in Indonesian.
‘You are lucky to be alive, Mr Cardinal,’ the commandant said. ‘He wanted to kill you last night. Even after you collapsed.’
‘What stopped him?’ Cardinal rasped.
‘I did. I had not been told to let him commit murder in my prison.’
‘When will I be set free?’
‘I don’t know,’ the commandant said. ‘Chan wants to make sure you are executed. I have put a call through to the appropriate minister for a ruling.’ He turned and walked back to his office.
Rough hands lifted Cardinal to his feet, and he was helped into the jungle by the prisoners. The guards straggled some distance behind them.
‘Where are we going?’ Cardinal asked like a beleaguered drunk.
‘We work,’ one prisoner said with a sympathetic smile.
A day’s toil for the residents of Buru was about to begin.
The explosion shook the foundations of Burra’s home just after three am. He bounced out of bed, pulled on some clothes and loaded his shotgun. Elaine chased him to the door and tried to restrain him.
‘Phone Topfist and tell him to get the others!’ Burra said, shrugging her away. He jumped in the ute and headed for the mine. Half-way there his lights picked up an over-turned van in a ditch by the roadside. He realised it belonged to his son.
Burra pulled over and dashed to the vehicle. Silas and another Aborigine were sitting near it looking dazed.
‘We’re all right,’ Silas said. He held his head while his father examined the cuts on them. ‘We challenged a van, bigger than ours, at the Crossing. It just kept on going. We chased it. They fired shots, we lost control and went arse over tit!’
They were all startled by another series of explosions.
Burra cursed and ran to his ute.
‘Dad!’ Silas called. ‘Take it easy!’
Burra skidded back on to the road and pushed the ute until its panels began to rattle in protest.
He reached the checkpoint to the mine and was surprised to see the barrier open. He slowed down, expecting to see guards appear. But the hut and surrounding area were ominously still. Wary of an ambush, Burra stopped the vehicle well short of the barrier, switched off the lights and eased out, clutching his shot-gun. He came within ten metres of the guards’ hut. Its door swung lazily in a light breeze. It was empty. Burra took a few steps closer and then froze. Three bodies had been dragged into the bush and camouflaged. He pulled away branches and examined the bodies. Two had been garrotted and one knifed in the spine.
Burra could hear a vehicle speeding in his direction. It was driven by Topfist. Burra flagged him down and was about to show him the bodies, when their attention was diverted by a roar of plane engines from the mine area. They spotted the consistent flash of a plane’s lights as it climbed above the escarpment and was soon lost among the stars.
‘Was that Richardson’s Hercules?’ Burra asked. He hopped into the front of Topfist’s Ford.
‘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 . . .’
The prisoners arrived at their haven in the jungle and stood around for the first hour like a bunch of stranded airline passengers. When the guards arrived, they split the fifty prisoners into groups and marked out work areas on the edge o{ the jungle, which was all the instruction they would be given for the day.
The guards relaxed in the shadiest spot they could find with hardly a glance at their charges, who toiled in the relentless heat. It seemed to intensify with the increasing hum of cicadas. Cardinal found it less a trial than being cooped up in the fetid cell. At least he did not feel claustrophobic, and he was among other human beings. Among the Buru crowd were poets, writers, communists, generals, actors and judges, all of whom had incurred the political wrath of regimes stretching back to before Sukarno. If they had not been executed, they had been banished to Buru.
Cardinal survived by copying other prisoners, for there was little effort to communicate with him, except in broken English. He soon saw that survival revolved around conserving water rations. There was a fine balance between desire and dehydration.
A kilometre from the prison settlement landing, Perdonny took the Zodiac close to the shore and told Webb to wade in through the shallows.
‘Stay close to the shoreline,’ Perdonny told him, ‘and wait about fifty metres in from the landing.’
‘What if I can’t find the track?’ Webb complained, ‘and what about at least giving me the bloody Magnum?’
‘Later,’ Perdonny said, ‘if we get Cardinal.’
‘You bastard!’ Webb hissed. ‘If I can’t find the track, I’m waiting right here till you come back, if you bloody come back!’
Webb disappeared into the thick jungle of vines. The Ambonese let Charlie take the wheel and hid his weapons under the stores they were delivering. The boat roared up to a broken-down pier. A guard lying on the ground reached for his rifle. He had been used to the Chinese arriving in a clapped-out junk with an engine that made an unthreatening, sluggish noise, when it was working.
‘You’re early this week,’ he commented. Charlie moored the boat and began unloading the supplies. Perdonny helped and kept his back to the guard as much as possible.
‘Bit fancy isn’t it?’ the guard said. ‘How could you afford to get that, old man?’
‘The army let me borrow it,’ Charlie said and went on unloading. ‘There are extra provisions this week.’
‘Bit generous for them.’ The guard began watching Perdonny.
‘He gave them lots of Coke,’ he said with an iron grin.
‘Any for me?’ the guard asked.
‘Sure,’ Charlie said, lifting the lid of a crate, ‘but it will be warm.’
The guard snatched a can from him and zipped it open. The liquid frothed out, and he guzzled it down as he returned to his spot under a tree.
Perdonny and Charlie struggled with some of the supplies a little way into the jungle. When well out of sight of the guard, Perdonny dropped the crate he was carrying.
‘Make your deliveries, Charlie,’ he said, ‘and then bring the boat back to the point where you dropped off the Australian. Clear?’
Charlie hesitated.
‘You won’t let me down?’ Perdonny said.
‘No, Mr Robert. I help you,’ Charlie replied.
‘Don’t be afraid,’ Perdonny said. ‘All you have to say later is that I held you at gunpoint.’
Charlie began to deliver the crates.
Perdonny swung around. Webb was close behind him. ‘I don’t blame the old bastard,’ Webb said. ‘This is crazy!’
‘You can still wait here,’ Perdonny said. ‘I can manage alone.’
‘I can’t be sure,’ Webb said, ‘and if you do bugger it up, I’m stuffed too.’ He looked savage. ‘I’ll have to help you!’ he said.
Cardinal sat alone under a tree. The sun blazed so fiercely that all work had been suspended for an hour. It was half-past three, and almost all the guards and prisoners were dozing or asleep.
He took a sip of water and sucked on an orange, making it last as long as possible. Cardinal flexed his legs and, although he still felt weak, was pleased that he had managed to walk the distance from the prison without aid for the first time.
He was stung by a stone that hit him in the shoulder. He swung around and noticed movement in the jungle thirty metres behind him. Cardinal glanced at the guards and a dozen prisoners close by. None stirred. The air was dominated by the steady drone of insects. A light breeze rustled trees. Cardinal crawled around so that he was facing the jungle.
He saw Webb standing on the trail to the prison. Cardinal’s heart skipped a beat. He saw Perdonny, a rifle in one hand. They beckoned to him. Cardinal willed his battered body to move. He lay prone and slid on his stomach until he was out of sight of everyone. Then he got to his feet and, for a few fearful moments, felt vulnerable to a bullet in the back as he walked to the trail.
Perdonny and Webb helped him hobble down the track. They were forced to cut through the jungle to avoid other sentry patrols on the trails to the prison and landing. Perdonny had to use a knife several times to hack a path for them. It took twice as long, but no one seemed to have followed them. Charlie was waiting with the Zodiac. They all climbed in. Perdonny took the wheel and handed the rifle to Webb.
‘Use it if we’re followed,’ he said. Webb glared, and the tension between them was apparent to Cardinal. He and Charlie were told to lie flat as the boat picked up speed.
They had been going an hour when Webb tapped Cardinal on the shoulder, and he lifted his head to see a large crocodile on the bank. It moved like a race horse until it plunged into the river.
‘He better not come too close to this rubber duckie,’ Webb said. ‘Don’t fancy underwater ballet.’ Cardinal smiled.
They thumped along with the outboard at full throttle. A retort echoed behind them, and the water less than ten metres away rippled as a bullet drowned. Perdonny took the Zodiac closer to shore.
‘Over there!’ Cardinal said, pointing. A power boat swung around a bend in the river not one hundred metres behind them. Webb propped and fired the rifle three times, sending a flock of parakeets screaming skywards. There was an explosion from the pursuing craft as it swung out of control and sent up a wall of water.
‘That’ll slow them up!’ Webb yelled.
They were within striking distance of the small pier leading to Charlie’s hut. The tailing boat came into sight again. Webb lifted the rifle and, after taking careful aim, fired twice more. It made the power boat slow down.
Perdonny drove the Zodiac on to a beach, causing the engine to scrape against rocks and stall. They leapt ashore. Perdonny and Webb helped Cardinal while Charlie disappeared into his hut. With the plane only a hundred metres away, Cardinal and Perdonny stumbled on while Webb fired at the boat. It pitched and bounced near the abandoned Zodiac. The boat made a hasty, tight turn and retreated down-river another two hundred metres.
Webb dashed for the plane and was turning on the ignition as Perdonny helped Cardinal aboard. Webb had placed the rifle on the seat next to him. Perdonny grabbed it and began re-loading. Webb glared at him. The plane jumped forward.
‘Get us up!’ Perdonny ordered. ‘I’ll look after this!’ He pushed a window flap open, shoved the gun out and fired into the jungle. No one was yet in sight.
Webb taxied his plane as far as he dared into the undergrowth, and then the Beachcraft began its take off. The soft earth had Webb cursing, but the plane built power over the rough surface. It lifted with a wobble and a lurch that left their stomachs on the ground. It struggled to gain just enough height to clear the hut and trees.
Cardinal saw the flash of rifle fire seconds before cloud swallowed the Beachcraft. Webb yelled with relief as he jockeyed the aircraft above the cloud layer.
‘Say goodbye to Ambon,’ Webb said to Perdonny. ‘You may not be seeing it for some time.’
‘Just get us to Darwin,’ Perdonny said, giving Cardinal a sideways glance.
‘It’s a gamble,’ Webb declared after listening on his headphones. ‘Distance against time. Our main problem is Timor. They have military planes there. If someone raises the alarm before we hit Aussie waters, we’ll be shark bait!’
Thirty-five minutes later, Webb gave a whoop of delight.
I’ve got Darwin!’ he cried. ‘We can expect an escort!’
‘Ten o’clock!’ Perdonny shouted, and showing an unusual amount of animation, pointed to the horizon. Two specks grew into jet fighters with RAAF markings.
‘Shit!’ Webb said, pointing.
An Indonesian MIG fighter swooped under them. ‘Christ! It’s going to engage them.’
They watched as the MIG climbed towards the Australian fighters. Suddenly it banked and headed for cloud-cover. Through the static of the radio, Webb could hear the leader of the RAAF fighters warning the MIG that it was over Australian waters. They had made it.