The cool bush air was refreshing as Rhonda eased her car up the steep drive to Bill Hewson’s house at Eltham, east of Melbourne. It had been carved out of a thickly-forested hill of eucalypts.
Hewson had avoided seeing her in the usual places, but had finally invited her to his home. He had given her a strange route down dirt tracks, and she wondered if he always asked visitors to go through such a maze. Hewson proudly showed her over the house, which he had designed himself. Apart from the polished pine walls, Rhonda found it a little sterile and pristine, a reflection, she thought, of his clinical mind. A saving grace to her was a superb library of books and classical records.
‘They’ve all been catalogued,’ Hewson said, when Rhonda remarked on the number of volumes he had.
‘Of course,’ she said, thinking of her messy study, ‘just like my library.’
Hewson took her outside to a crescent-shaped pool, which formed a half moat around the rear of the house and acted as a firebreak. Bush-fires were always a threat when Melbourne scorched in February.
‘I wish you would drop the project,’ he told her. They sat down to champagne by the pool.
‘I thought you had been encouraging me.’
‘I had helped because you wanted it.’
‘Well, I’m asking again now.’
Hewson looked away. He seemed troubled. ‘I wouldn’t want anything to happen to you. You’re into dangerous territory.’
‘I know I’m not making a fashion documentary. I was tailed in Sydney. Think it was the same van that followed Ken.’
Hewson looked at her. His eye was more unnerving than ever. ‘You may be under constant surveillance.’
‘No one followed me here. I nearly got lost following your bloody dirt tracks.’
Hewson beckoned her to a telescope which he angled towards the city. ‘You can see the main road from here.’
Rhonda put her eye to it. She adjusted the focus and settled on a car waiting by the side of the road.
‘You were followed,’ he said.
‘That Jaguar?’
‘Yes. I watched you turn off. It was a few seconds behind. It gave up after another kilometre or so and went back to the main road.’
‘At least they’re using a car in keeping with their quarry this time,’ she said.
‘You’ll have to take another route home.’
‘Who is it?’
‘I really can’t tell you.’
Rhonda straightened up. ‘Can’t or won’t?’
‘I’m advising you to stay away from this.’
Rhonda resumed her seat and the champagne. ‘Can’t and won’t,’ she said. ‘Are you going to help or not?’
Hewson sat down and studied her. ‘Really, you won’t get far anyway. The whole ball game has shifted. Our American cousins have informed us they think Richardson’s hijacked uranium has been flown to Kampuchea.’
‘Where, in Kampuchea?’
Hewson excused himself and returned with a map of South-East Asia. He placed a finger on the Cardomom Mountains near the Thai border and the Gulf of Thailand.
‘You won’t get a film crew in there,’ he said. ‘If the Khmer Rouge don’t get you, the Vietnamese will. Forget it.’
‘Can I ask what your info’s based on?’
‘Satellite photos.’
‘Who were the hijackers?’
‘The Khmer Rouge.’
‘I’ve been told that there was some kind of co-operation between the Americans and Khmer Rouge,’ she probed.
‘Was is the operative word. There may have been a split.’
‘Is that why the CIA has passed on these photos?’
‘Probably.’
‘Then wouldn’t it be useful for me to continue the project?’
‘Don’t be naive, Rhonda. Your story would expose the CIA’s follies. They hardly want that public’
‘So you want to cut me off because you’re back in bed with the CIA.’
Hewson flushed. ‘I don’t want you getting in too deep. I like you. It’s my duty to warn you.’
Rhonda waited. She could see he was troubled.
‘It’s all getting nasty,’ he said, grimacing. ‘The unofficial Kampuchean Embassy in Jakarta suffered an attack earlier in the week. Now it has been evacuated, according to our Jakarta Embassy.’
‘Anyone killed?’
‘One person. An important Khmer Rouge leader was also hit and wounded. His name is Chan.’
Rhonda fidgeted.
‘Thought you might be interested in that.’
‘This Chan survived?’
Hewson nodded. ‘Whatever happened has also upset Utun,’ he said. ‘The Bandung reactor has been sealed off. So has the Van der Holland home nearby. We think the Khmer Rouge cleared out with a little excess baggage.’
‘Hartina?’
‘Your guess is as good as ours on that one,’ Hewson said phlegmatically. ‘Suffice to say that Utun is not happy with the Khmer Rouge or the CIA. The CIA is unhappy with Utun and the Khmer Rouge. So everybody is accusing everybody else, and we have been listening to all the bitching. The Russians are laughing and so are the French.’
‘I can understand the Russian position,’ Rhonda said, ‘but why should the French be so happy?’
Hewson opened his hands. ‘The Khmer Rouge and the French have always had a special relationship. Pol Pot and company have maintained it since their student days. The French are very interested in a pay off.’
‘With the Americans out of the picture?’
‘Put it this way. If Van der Holland is caught up with the Khmer Rouge, she would only be there for one purpose: to develop laser technology. The French would like a share of it. They’ve been more interested in laser weaponry than just about anyone.’
Rhonda examined the stem of her glass.
‘Australia’s involved because two of our best people have gone missing,’ Hewson said.
Rhonda had extracted much more from Hewson than she had expected. It was time to leave. She used the telescope to take one last look. The Jaguar was still there.
Perdonny and Webb flew to Sydney for a debriefing by ASIO; Cardinal stayed a night in Darwin and Burra invited him to his house for a meal.
‘Judy is bloody inquisitive,’ Burra said as they dined. The old woman skulked away from the dinner table and sat in front of television. ‘She asks too many questions.’
‘Like what?’
‘She wanted to know if you were still having trouble at night, with those nightmares.’
‘Did I talk in my sleep?’ Cardinal asked her.
She muttered to herself, her eyes fixed on television.
‘My people, especially her generation,’ Burra said, ‘place enormous store in dreaming.’
‘So you said about Jimmy Goyong,’ Cardinal prompted.
‘You don’t want to know about that stuff,’ Burra said, zipping the top of another beer for both of them. ‘You would find it bullshit.’
Cardinal glanced at Judy. ‘I am still having trouble with those damned dreams.’
She half turned her head, the black sockets of her eyes glaring at her son-in-law.
‘Can I tell you about them?’ Cardinal asked.
Judy looked straight at him. She stood up and joined him at the table. Burra handed her a can. Cardinal told them of the dream where the figure was half buried.
‘The earth is symbolic of death to Aborigines,’ Burra explained. ‘Those nightmares mean that you and your son are in danger.’
Cardinal looked at Judy. ‘Is that why I tried to pull him from the grave . . . the earth?’
Judy listened with her eyes. ‘It’s broader than that. It suggests that your son’s life is on a road of self-destruction, and yours too, if you continue the way you are going.’
‘My whole life?’ Cardinal asked. ‘Or my current problem?’
‘Your dreams reflect your whole life,’ Burra said. ‘But it does not mean you cannot change direction.’
‘I want to know one other thing,’ Cardinal said. ‘Does all this dreaming mean I’m obsessed? Does it mean I can’t face my son’s death, or what?’
Judy responded.
‘She says you doubt he is dead,’ Burra explained, ‘and that you should stop having doubts and follow your instincts.’
Cardinal opened another can of beer.
‘We believe that all the symbols of our dreams are universal,’ Burra said. ‘We believe in a sort of universal, unconscious truth that all men know in their hearts and minds if they search for it.’
‘You said something like that before,’ Cardinal said, ‘that dreaming provides the clues to reality.’
Burra nodded.
‘In that case,’ Cardinal said, turning to Judy, ‘you are telling me I know the truth.’
She stared at him.
‘You are saying Harry is alive.’
Judy shook her grey, lank hair. ‘No. You are telling you.’
‘What do you think they’ll do about the Khmer Rouge?’ Webb said to Perdonny as their plane approached Sydney. ‘Would they consider taking out their base in the Cardomom mountains?’
‘You mean use commandos?’ Perdonny said.
‘That’s what they’re trained for.’
‘No,’ Perdonny said. ‘That won’t be an option. For one thing, the Khmer Rouge control a big section of those mountains. They’ll have dug in against the Vietnamese. If they can’t dislodge the Khmer Rouge, then not even ten Australian commando forces could. For another thing, the whole area will be crawling with Vietnamese troops. They’re on the offensive, it’s the dry season. Any effort by us to go in would meet dual opposition from the Khmers and the Vietnamese.’
‘But surely something will be done,’ Webb said. ‘I can’t see ASIO and the CIA sitting on their bums knowing that our uranium and scientists are there!’
‘I doubt there’ll be much co-operation with the CIA,’ Perdonny said. ‘Besides, any attack on the mountain base could endanger the scientists.’
‘But something has to be done!’ Webb said. ‘Otherwise the Vietnamese will take out the base.’
‘They could if they located it.’
‘Do you think Harry Cardinal is with the Khmer Rouge?’
‘It is a big problem if both he and Van der Holland have been captured. The CIA is worried.’
‘Why do you say that?’
‘Well, why else would it be scrambling to get our help? Things are out of hand.’
‘I would love to get into those damned mountains,’ Webb said.
Perdonny gave him a quizzical look. ‘You’re crazy, Spider! Do you want to commit suicide?’
Webb’s large nose bent as he broke into a mysterious grin. ‘Not necessarily. We have been told the French may be trying to fill the support vacuum for the Khmer Rouge.’
‘So?’
‘So the French will have to send somebody to negotiate,’ Webb said. ‘We could intercept them.’
‘How the hell would we do that?’
‘It’s not so tough, Robert. If the CIA had a connection to the Khmers, as you suspected, they would have had contacts in Bangkok or in the Khmer Rouge refugee camps on the Thai-Kampuchean border. The French will go to the same people.’
‘Okay,’ Perdonny said, in a less sceptical note. ‘Suppose we found the French, intercepted them, and even posed as them with the Khmer Rouge representatives in the camp . . .”
‘And they led us into the mountains,’ Webb interjected, ‘to the Khmer base.’
‘I’m intrigued. What then? What if we got agents in? What could they do? Wipe out the base and grab Van der Holland and the yellowcake and make an escape?’
‘No. But those observers could gain enough intelligence on the route, and the base, to prepare something bigger.’
Perdonny was sceptical.
‘Don’t you think we owe it to Van der Holland and Ken Cardinal’s son, if he is alive, to try to help them?’ Webb asked.
‘Why the change in attitude?’ Perdonny said. ‘You weren’t so gung-ho about helping Cardinal.’
‘I thought Bum was a suicide mission,’ Webb said. ‘You knew the damned place. You had been there before.’
‘Well, do you know Kampuchea?’
‘You bet your sweet Ambonese arse I do!’ Webb said.
Cardinal awoke with the early morning sun streaming through the balcony window of his son’s Bronte home. Rhonda was asleep next to him, and although he was far from content he was riding high: he had survived Buru.
Cardinal made fresh filtered coffee and sat on the balcony watching surfers. A strong breeze was building consistent waves. He was joined by Rhonda who draped an arm around him and kissed him.
‘What’s wrong with you?’
‘I’ve been thinking,’ Cardinal said.
‘Why would you actually use your brain on a lovely morning like this?’ Rhonda said with a laugh.
He smiled.
‘Okay, Mr Art Dealer, what’s on that complex mind of yours?’ she said, kissing his forehead.
‘This interview you want,’ he said, ‘I can’t do it.’
‘I still want to find Harry, if I can. Publicity is not what I need.’
‘All I want is to do the interview with you. We don’t broadcast it until you’re satisfied and ready.’
‘Have you that much editorial control?’
‘All you have to do is stipulate the conditions you want, and I’ll get them. And there’s money in it for you.’
Cardinal looked surprised.
‘This is an exclusive. We are not a poor network. The exclusivity is worth much to us.’
Cardinal drew breath. ‘I don’t want to disclose too much. I was, after all, a wanted man. I’m a fugitive from the Indonesians.’
‘Have you done anything wrong?’
‘If I have, would you want to expose it?’
‘Not if it got you into trouble.’
‘But can’t you see? It would cause me problems!’
‘Did you shoot Chan?’
‘If I had, would you want it to be known?’
Rhonda did not know what to say.
‘I wouldn’t want that sort of notoriety,’ he said.
‘But the world would support your action!’ Rhonda said, testing him. ‘You would be seen as a hero. God! How many people would have the guts to track down someone like Chan?’
‘If that’s the angle you want,’ he said angrily, ‘forget it.’
‘I didn’t say it was,’ Rhonda said, backtracking.
‘Some people would see me as revenge mad, crazy!’
‘All I want is to ask questions,’ she said, ‘so we have you on tape.’
‘In case I was bumped off, or something?’
‘God! Ken! It would be a first-rate insurance policy for you.’
‘If anything did happen, it wouldn’t be much good to me, would it?’
‘I was worried it could come to this,’ she said. ‘Now you don’t trust me!’
Cardinal said nothing. He had lost confidence in himself, and it was affecting his attitude to her. His reaction had drawn out her fears and highlighted her conflict of interests. She wanted the story very much, and because it had been given approval from the top of the network, she felt the pressure to deliver. But she also wanted Cardinal.
‘You don’t trust me, do you?’ she pressed him.
‘It’s not so much trust,’ he said, touching her shoulder. ‘I’m not sure you should be burdened by the truth.’
‘I wouldn’t be,’ she said. ‘I don’t think trying to kill an animal like Chan is wrong.’
‘But how the hell would you get around that in your documentary?’
‘We would make you the central figure,’ she said, her enthusiasm evident. ‘The whole story would be sympathetic to you.’
‘I’m not sure I would benefit,’ he said pulling her to him.
‘Wouldn’t you do it for me?’ she said.
‘I’d do a lot of things for you. I like you very much.
‘How much?’
‘I think I love you.’ He took her by the hand.
‘Then you should help me,’ she said. ‘I feel the same about you.’
He slipped her towelling gown off her shoulders and began to knead them with his fingers. She looked at him approvingly. He kissed her neck and throat in the way he had learned that she liked. The gown swung open, and he craned his neck to her nipples: they had anticipated his tongue’s touch. The gown fell to the floor.
Rhonda held his shoulders and nudged him so that he rolled onto the bed. She climbed on him and gripped his forearms. Her hands slid to his wrist. She locked her knees against his ribcage. He winced. The bruises from Bum still hurt. Rhonda whispered an apology and let her hands slide to his fingers. Cardinal reached up and massaged her breasts. She slid down to his hips and pushed him deep into her.
‘Show me how you feel,’ Rhonda murmured.
‘Le plaisir est tout pour moi . . .” he said, and his confidence in their relationship returned.
‘Pol Pot is in Paris,’ Webb told Perdonny over the phone.
‘How did you learn that?’ Perdonny asked.
‘You might be interested in Indonesia, mate,’ Webb said, ‘but I’ve put in a special request to be involved in Khmer Rouge developments. Canberra didn’t know what to give me, so I got in first.’
‘You still think something could be done?’
‘I don’t know. I just want to be in the right place at the right time.’
‘Tell me more about Pol Pot.’
‘He’s negotiating with the Frogs.’
‘Over what?’
‘Only speculation. But the big rumour is that he wants money to go on with. Seems the scientific contingent in the Cardomom Mountains is eating up their dough. You know, equipment, and so on.’
‘Will the French get that involved?’
‘They are already,’ Webb said confidently. ‘We have to see who pops up in Bangkok.’
‘Don’t worry about the camera,’ Rhonda said. ‘Let it find you.’
Cardinal felt like a witness in court. He had to be careful with every response.
‘You were brilliant!’ she said at the end. ‘It’s bloody dynamite!’
‘I do want to see how you cut it together,’ he said as they left the studio.
‘The minute the editor and I have done it. Promise!’
They climbed into a waiting limousine. ‘I’ve got to fly to Melbourne first thing in the morning to get on with this, but may I take you to dinner tonight, sir, somewhere special?’
‘You’ll have to,’ he said ruefully. ‘I’ve run up a huge account on this vacation island near Ambon.’
‘Let me tell you, my darling,’ she said, squeezing his hand, ‘I asked for a fee for you. After your performance today, it will be pushed through without any trouble.’
Cardinal pulled an ingenuous smile. His mind was elsewhere.
‘Aren’t you interested in how much?’
‘How much?’
‘Ten grand.’
Cardinal leant across and kissed her. They reached the Harbour Bridge. ‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘It’ll come in handy.’
There’s more,’ Rhonda said. ‘I’ve got you a first-class return ticket to New York on top of the ten.’
‘Why return?’
‘Well you’ve got to see the final edit. And there may be a big promotion. We’ll need the star to face the press here.’
Cardinal thanked her.
‘Something is troubling you. Was it the interview?’
‘The questions about the Khmer Rouge, the yellowcake and Van der Holland,’ he said. ‘Where did they come from?’
‘I can’t say.’
‘Why didn’t you tell me before the interview?’
‘I wanted to know if you knew anything more.’
‘Where could I follow up on that?’ Cardinal said. ‘Couldn’t you let me speak with your source?’
‘If I did, he would never trust me again.’
Cardinal slammed his fist on the arm rest. ‘Where else could I find out about that?’
The chauffeur glanced into the rear-vision mirror.
‘Perdonny, maybe?’ Rhonda said.
‘Possibly,’ Cardinal said, ‘or perhaps Spider Webb.’
‘What are you planning?’
‘I would go to Kampuchea,’ he said, anguish etching itself into his expression for the first time in days, ‘if there was a chance to learn about Harry.’
The next morning – Rhonda had returned to Melbourne -Cardinal invited Webb to lunch at The Pitts. Gillie greeted Cardinal and, at his request, found a discreet table in a corner.
The Pitts was a lunch place for Sydney businessmen. Cardinal loathed the all-male atmosphere. The only women there were the young beauties personally chosen by Madame Gillie. She brought Webb to the table.
‘Like your choice of help,’ he said to her as he sat down.
‘Thank you,’ Gillie said. Her laugh was rich and convincing. ‘They’re all in honour of the figure I used to have twenty years ago.’
‘Is Kim Lim working today?’ Cardinal asked.
Gillie’s smile vanished. ‘Yes, why?’
‘I would like to speak with her.’
Gillie glanced at the guest-list.
‘Mr Cardinal, you’re . . .’
‘Harry’s father.’
Gillie hesitated. ‘There won’t be trouble?’
‘No, why?’
Gillie left and returned two minutes later. ‘I’m sorry, Mr Cardinal. I was wrong, she is on duty tomorrow.’
She wished them a good lunch and, with a sideways glance at Webb, moved off to greet new guests.
‘Who’s Kim Lim?’ he asked.
‘A friend of Harry’s,’ Cardinal said, his eyes following Gillie. Her nervousness was evident.
‘You never give up on Harry, do you?’ Webb said.
‘No, because I have more than a gut feeling,’ he said. ‘I believe my son’s alive.’ His hand was busy making an imaginary sketch of the Australian on the tablecloth. More symbols of the psyche. Cardinal withdrew his hand but kept on doodling on his thigh.
‘I happen to agree with you,’ Webb said.
Cardinal was surprised.
‘I’m interested in what has happened in Kampuchea. I’ve asked to be assigned to the whole Van der Holland, yellowcake hijack thing.’
‘What’s ASIO’s attitude? What’s the real thinking about it all?’
‘I can tell you it’s being monitored,’ Webb said, ‘closely.’
‘Is anybody going to do anything?’
‘Like what?’
‘Try to get them . . . Hartina . . . out?’
‘Impossible.’
Cardinal waited. Webb explained the problems, the French connection. The waitress brought their soup entrees.
‘Is it difficult to get in?’ Cardinal asked.
‘Have you been speaking to Perdonny?’ Webb said.
‘I haven’t seen or spoken to him since we got back to Australia.’
‘I was talking about this to him only yesterday.’
‘You sound as if you would like to do something.’
‘I do. But Canberra won’t budge.’
Cardinal gazed across the restaurant to the bar. It was a blur. He cracked each knuckle on his hand, his private ritual.
‘Your soup is getting cold,’ Webb said.
‘Why coudn’t we and Perdonny do something privately?’
‘Not with Perdonny,’ Webb said. ‘We don’t get on.’
‘Why?’
‘You ought to work with him,’ Webb said. ‘Besides, I don’t trust him. He has Russian links.’
‘You’re implying he would double-cross us?’
‘Don’t be blinded because he came along for the ride when we got you out of bloody Bum,’ Webb said. ‘I flew that plane in and out. I shot that boat out of the bloody water!’
‘I’m most grateful to both of you,’ Cardinal said.
‘You realise that the Vietnamese are Russian puppets?’ Webb began again. ‘One word from dear Robert to his Russian mates about a little expedition into the mountains with the Khmer Rouge, and we would have Vietnamese gunning for us the second we got off a plane in Bangkok!’
‘I wondered about his Russian links.’
‘He set you up in Jakarta.’
‘How do you mean?’
‘You got to the Soviet party courtesy of Perdonny, didn’t you?’
‘He told you about that?’
‘Yes, when we got back here. He probably got the Russians to influence Tien Van der Holland to come too.’
Cardinal munched a roll. ‘Are you saying he got her to lie about Chan?’
‘Well, someone must have,’ Webb said, opening his palms, ‘if your son is alive.’
‘It seems that Tien may have double-crossed me to protect her daughter,’ Cardinal said. ‘She expressed her fear that Chan would double-cross Utun. And he did.’
‘Probably right, and you were used by Perdonny to destabilise Utun’s regime. If you had been caught, it would have upset Utun’s relations with the Americans.’
‘Maybe. But I wanted to go after Chan. Perdonny backed me all the way and followed through.’
There was an uneasy silence. Cardinal asked Webb if he was thinking of going into Kampuchea.
‘Yeah, I am giving it thought.’
‘Why?’
‘I used to be in the SAS,’ he said. ‘I went on innumerable two, sometimes, one-man patrols in Vietnam and Kampuchea. I know the terrain. I reckon a good reccy could be done to see if we could get Van der Holland, and your son — if he’s there – out.’
‘I’ll come with you,’ Cardinal said, his eyes rivetted on Webb.
‘Look, mate,’ he said, with a fatherly smile, ‘I admire your guts. But you’ve been through a lot. Hell, it’s only a week since you were half-dead.’
‘It’s two weeks since the torture,’ Cardinal said. ‘Sure I’m still a bit sore here and there, but I’m running and swimming and exercising daily. Within a week, I’ll be good as new.’
Webb’s smile faded. ‘No, it would be too dangerous,’ he said. ‘Besides, I’d never be given time off.’
‘I thought you were your own man,’ Cardinal goaded him. ‘Why can’t you just take leave? You said yourself you wanted to go in.’
‘It’s not on, mate,’ Webb said as if to terminate the subject: just as their main fish courses were served. ‘You would be better off returning to your art gallery.’
Cardinal thought his tone snide. But he was used to Webb’s nature.
‘I’ll send you a dirty postcard,’ Webb said, ‘if we learn anything about Harry.’
‘Well, God bugger me dead!’ The stooped and wiry Willow Wilson muttered as he ushered Rhonda into his terrace home in Preston near Melbourne, a single-fronted red brick, with a tiny, neat garden on busy Kramer Street. His skin was leathery from years exposed to the scorching sun. A cigarette hung from one corner of his mouth.
‘You’re doin’ a story on Ken Cardinal?’ he said. He introduced Rhonda to his jut-jawed wife Raelene.
‘We would like you to talk about him,’ Rhonda said, settling on a floral sofa. ‘What he was like in the Korean war:
Rhonda accepted an offer of tea from Raelene. Wilson lifted the top off a Fosters bottle.
‘You going to put this on the telly?’ the man asked. ‘Jeez, I better be careful what I say.’
‘He’ll blather his mouth off for you,’ his wife assured Rhonda, ‘no worries.’
‘I got some pictures out for you,’ he said. ‘Want to see them?’
‘Great!’ Rhonda said. While Wilson fossicked in a drawer, she looked around the room. There were framed shots of Australian sports heroes.
‘That’s Cardinal,’ he said. He stood over her, smelling of sweat and tobacco. ‘He had more guts than a tennis racket factory. We were mates.’ He pointed to others. ‘That’s me, and that’s me other mate, Ernie Stone.’
‘Can we use these in the story?’
‘Yeah, no worries, as long as I get ‘em back.’
‘Of course.’
‘What do you want to know?’ Wilson said. He sat on a rocking chair. His eyes flicked to the cricket on the television.
‘First of all,’ Rhonda asked, ‘what was he like? What were your impressions of Cardinal?’
‘A really good bloke. The best. The sort of guy you would trust with your life. And 1 bloody did a couple of times. He saved my life, twice.’
‘Really?’
‘Cardinal and I were captured when our platoon crossed the Taedong River into Pyongyang – North Korea’s capital.’
‘What were you doing in an American platoon?’
‘I was a deserter from the Aussie army,’ he guffawed. He poured himself more beer. ‘We all rushed to the frontline. Anyway, we were captured, sec. We were ambushed. Couple of days later two Koreans marched us up a hill to shoot us, right? Shoot us so that we fell into a mass grave.’
Rhonda kept thinking how this would look on camera. Her eye told her that Willow Wilson would be a winner. He sipped his beer and coughed hard.
‘Ken said something like, “They’re going to bump us off up there,” see, and this Korean prods him with his bayonet, and Ken says,“I’ll take the bigger one on my right.” See, the Koreans didn’t know what we were saying, but they didn’t want us talking.’
‘How did you feel?’
‘How did I feel? Jesus! I was petrified. My brain was going numb, and I kept saying to myself, This is it, mate! Your number’s come up in the frame. Willow Wilson, retired hurt, one bullet in the head!’
Rhonda couldn’t help smiling.
‘I remember my knees knocking when we reached that grave. A lot of bodies, well, the flesh was gone. They were bones. I wanted to turn and run, but my legs wouldn’t have carried me.’
‘What was Cardinal doing?’
‘He was dragging his feet, see. He was pretending to be, well, lethargic, like he was resigned to what was about to happen. Then he struck like a bloody lightning bolt. He kicked one of the Koreans in the nuts and went for his throat. This distracted the other one long enough for me to jump him. I ran him through with his own bayonet. Cardinal throttled this guy, strangled him.’ He sipped his beer in silence.
‘Then we threw their bodies into the grave,’ he said, ‘where we should have been.’
‘And then?’
‘Then we pissed off, but we were captured again by the Chinese, on 26 November 1950. I remember it well because all the Americans were celebrating Thanksgiving when the Chinese hit us. And I mean hit. That was the battle of Kuni-Ri. A few days later we were smashed again at Changchon River. The Chinese took thousands of prisoners. Cardinal collected two or three bullets, as I recall. At least one in each leg, anyhow.’
Wilson stared blankly at the television. ‘We were driven like cattle in sub-zero temperatures across mountains into Manchuria.’
The Death March.’
‘That’s the one. About half of us survived. A lot died in the camp we ended up in. That was where Cardinal really saved me. A lot of prisoners cracked and confessed to war crimes. But Cardinal taught me bloody calculus! He burnt it into my brain forever. Me, a dummy that left school at thirteen! It kept our minds on other things. He was a terrific inspiration. Psyched some of us to resist our interrogators. And it worked. We never lost morale.’ His voice trailed off as if he had dried up. Wilson looked straight at Rhonda. ‘Do you want me to go on?’
‘Please.’
‘I was wondering how you found me?’
‘Cardinal had your address. He is in Sydney.’
‘Love to see him.’
‘When this story is put together.’
‘That’s great. How is he?’
‘Alive, thanks to your nephew. Ken wanted to let you know that Spider Webb saved his life.’ Rhonda stopped.
‘Nephew? I haven’t got a nephew.’
Rhonda looked at Raelene. ‘Your wife’s brother’s son . . .”
Wilson’s wife shook her head. ‘Raelene hasn’t got a brother. What was this guy’s name again?’
After sprinting along the beach, Cardinal raced Webb into the choppy surf. A handful of board-riders were braving the waters further out. The two men struggled to beat the vicious under-tow that had closed the beach for the morning.
Cardinal quit first. He lay heaving on the sand: Webb battled on.
‘You’re no iron man,’ Webb said to Cardinal when he came out, ‘but considering your age and what you’ve been through, I’m surprised.’
‘Thanks, Hercules,’ said Cardinal, saluting. He unwrapped a cigar.
‘They won’t help,’ Webb said.
‘I only smoke five or six a week,’ Webb said.
‘How virtuous.’
‘Why did you get out so quickly?’ Webb asked, with a nod at the surf.
‘Being bumped against the sand dampened my enthusiasm.’
Webb eyed him from behind sunglasses.
‘What did you want to see me about?’ Cardinal asked.
‘Kampuchea.’
‘What about it?’
Webb pointed. ‘Well look there. One of nature’s most perfect life forms.’
Cardinal shielded his eyes. He could make out a fin carving through the water beyond the surfers. ‘Jesus! We had better warn them!’ He looked up the beach. There was no one on duty.
‘Calm down, Kenny boy,’ Webb said. He leant back on his elbows. ‘They can probably see it. Besides, it’s too late now if it wants breakfast.’
Cardinal dashed to the water’s edge. He waved his arms, shouted and watched in horror as the shark skimmed closer to the three surfers, who were oblivious to any danger.
‘No need getting in a panic,’ Webb said with a big laugh. ‘I told you they couldn’t hear!’
The shark was moving ever closer and seemed to be out of the surfers’ line of vision. Because of the turbulent water, they appeared to be preoccupied with staying on their boards and watching for a decent wave.
Cardinal sprinted along the water’s edge, waving and yelling. He ran up a path and scrambled up a rock face to a vantage point. Cardinal hurled stones and yelled. He moved higher, into the surfers’ line of vision. One of them looked up and saw him. He struggled his way towards another board. Soon all three had spotted the shark, which was weaving among them. They caught whatever surf escalator they could into shore and away from the shark.
Cardinal walked down to the water’s edge to meet the surfers. They hurled their boards on the sand. All of them thank Cardinal laconically but there was no mistaking their gratitude.
‘Well, well,’ Webb said. ‘Done our good deed for the day, have we?’
Cardinal sat down and lit another cigar.
‘You bastard! You couldn’t have cared a damn!’
‘Those creeps know the dangers,’ Webb said dismissively. ‘You can’t play mother to everyone. If they want to go out that far on a no-surf day, then fuck ‘em!’
The surfers took off their wet suits and laid them on their boards to dry in the wind. They pointed out to sea. The shark had disappeared.
‘You watch those pricks,’ Webb said. ‘They’ll be out there again soon.’
Cardinal rolled over on to his elbows to face him. ‘You mentioned Kampuchea.’
‘Yeah,’ said Webb. ‘I’m going.’
Cardinal puffed on the cigar.
‘When?’
‘Two days, maybe three. We’ve heard that a couple of likely Froggies have booked a trip to Bangkok. Air France, first class.’ He added wistfully,’The Frogs always do it in style. The French hosties are the best after Gulf Air.’ He grinned at Cardinal. ‘I’m going to have a little gander. They tell me the fun places are the refugee camps along the Thai – Kampuchea border. Best whores in South-East Asia.’
‘What do you plan to do there?’
‘If the weather’s good, I might go Frog-hunting. Wonderful sport. Oddly enough, the last time I did that I went via Gulf Air to Oman. Picked up the best bloody hostess you’ve ever seen. A tremendous bird.’
Cardinal watched the surfers donning their wet-suits. They were returning to the water.
‘I was wondering,’ Webb said, ‘if you would like to come along?’
The TV monitor in the network’s Melbourne studios showed Dr Andrew Coombes demonstrating how the laser worked. The editor was talking, but Rhonda had lost concentration. She was thinking about Cardinal. She had left several messages on his answer machine in the last twenty-four hours. He had responded to the first two but had missed her, then there was nothing. He had promised he would come to Melbourne to stay with her and be ready for any additional questions she wished to ask him on camera. Rhonda half expected him to turn up and surprise her.
As the second day without any communication began, she became worried.
Rhonda rang Perdonny.
‘No, he said.’ I haven’t heard from him. I have been trying to catch Webb, and I haven’t heard from him, either. Did Cardinal say anything to you about him?’
‘Only that I should mention to his “uncle” that Webb had helped save his life,’ Rhonda said. ‘And that’s another thing. Willow Wilson says he has no nephew. Webb lied.’
‘That doesn’t surprise me.’
‘Why do you say that?’
‘I have never trusted him,’ Perdonny said. ‘I had to force him to help me get Cardinal off Bum.’
‘Why? Was he frightened?’
‘Fear is not one of his emotions,’ Perdonny said. ‘And that was what bothered me about his reluctance to fly in. I had to point a gun at him in the end.’
‘That doesn’t explain his motives.’
‘I was suspicious when Cardinal was caught on Ambon,’ he said.
‘What do you mean?’
‘I can’t believe that Bakin would arrest Cardinal and let the pilot helping him escape go free. And it was strange that I was put under house arrest at the same time.’
Rhonda was anxious. ‘You don’t think that Webb would have tried to get into Kampuchea with Ken?’
‘It’s possible.’
‘Could you find out if Webb has been given an assignment?’
‘I’ll do it now.’
‘Robert, get back to me as soon as you know.’