A large boot swept from behind and dug into the ribs of the dog. It let go of Tom’s leg, squealed and ran into the undergrowth. A gruff voice whispered into his ear.
‘Don’t move, don’t speak and keep your eyes open.’
There was an accent, but it wasn’t Indonesian. Indian, or even Scots? Tom’s leg hurt like hell, blood was seeping through his light cotton trousers. He felt sick but had no opportunity to disobey his captor as there was still a large hand clamped around his mouth. The voice spoke again.
‘We ought to get out of here, if they see that dog with blood in its mouth they’ll come looking. Now keep very quiet and turn around very slowly.’
The hand slipped from his mouth and moved on to his shoulder. Tom was gently spun around to confront a large white man wearing a black ski hat.
‘Pleased to meet you, I’m Nick Coburn, friend of Geoff Sykes. Now follow me back under that wire and I’ll see what I can do with that leg of yours.’
Tom was dizzy and confused, he was sure he had heard the name Geoff Sykes. Who was this guy? He meekly followed the man and was helped under the fence. Nick Coburn propped him against the base of a palm tree, pulled out a knife and cut off Tom’s trouser leg below the knee.
‘Not too deep, you’ll be all right.’ Nick took a flask from his back pocket. ‘Now this will sting, but don’t shout out, we’re still within earshot.’
The warning came just in time, a searing pain knifed into his leg as the liquid was poured onto the wound. It was all that Tom could do to stifle a scream.
‘Good lad,’ said Nick ripping a strip of Tom’s trouser leg and using it as a bandage. ‘Hurt me more than it did you; that was a fine malt.’
Tom had started to compose himself. It was obvious that this guy wasn’t from the laboratory. He had a rugged yet friendly face and had mentioned the name of Geoff Sykes, but what on earth was he doing here at nightfall in the middle of an Indonesian jungle?
‘Geoff Sykes? You said the name Geoff Sykes. Who are you?’
‘Thought I said that? Coburn, Nick Coburn, mate of Geoff’s. Well maybe he wouldn’t put it that way, let’s say an employee. Now let’s get you back to my jeep and I’ll fill you in.’
‘Your jeep? I’ve come in a car.’
‘Oh, that buggered off the minute you were out of sight. Lucky for you I hired a 4×4; didn’t take much time to catch up.’
Still in a daze Tom was helped back to the main road. Nick was right, his driver was nowhere to be seen and, instead, a pristine Cherokee jeep was parked on the verge. They got in, Nick spun it around and they were on their way back to Sidoarjo.
‘Sitting comfortably?’ Nick glanced down at Tom’s leg. ‘Okay perhaps not, but here’s the story. There I was lounging in the Hong Kong Mandarin at a client’s expense when I get a call from Mr Sykes – has a young researcher next door. Next door! Typical of Geoff. Think he had a prick of conscience, sending a young kid into the lion’s den. Anyway thought you might need a bit of help. Knew I had a few contacts with some gentlemen in the Surabaya police force and paid me his usual miserly rate to come over. So here I am.’
Tom stared at the burly Scot, the accent was obvious now. ‘You work for Bagatelle?’
‘Not exactly, odd job man. Met Geoff some years ago; from time to time he finds me useful. If I can help out…’
‘As a film director?’
‘No way, no head for cameras. Military background; a few contacts, you know the sort of thing.’
Tom didn’t but could make a shrewd guess by looking at the man’s frame and scarred face. He’d been pretty useful with that dog.
‘I haven’t thanked you for what you did back there.’
‘No problem, as I said odd job man.’
‘How did you find me?’
‘Not difficult, was told where you were staying and your boyfriend told me where you were going.’
‘Boyfriend?’
‘Well he seemed pretty keen on you; guy at reception, was worried about your driver. He was right there. Would have been a long walk back.’
‘I told him to wait.’
‘Hundred thousand rupiah would have been better.’
Tom sat back and pondered his position. The jeep’s headlights ran against the grasses at the side of the road. The rest was pitch black. Not a dwelling, not a light. He had found the laboratory, he was sure of that, and they didn’t want intruders, but wasn’t that the case for all industrial plants? And this guy, he sounded kosher but could he be sure? A few probing questions might help.
‘What’s Geoff told you about the project?’
‘Not much, never was good on detail. Understand you’re following up on a possible terrorist lead. Think that building back there is manufacturing some sort of biological weapons. If it is, a stupid way of finding out. Stumbling around there in the dark.’
‘Natasha the director asked me to take a look.’
‘You mean Nathalie. Nice one Tom, always good to check out who you’re talking to. Great girl, I’m not supposed to say that; why, I’m not sure? Great woman sounds crap. Nathalie wouldn’t give a toss what I called her. Good at her job that one. Anything else you’d like to ask me?’
Tom felt that listening to Nick’s soft Scottish tones was like hearing a British Airways pilot’s announcement during turbulence, comforting in an alien environment.
‘Just being careful, I’m still in a bit of shock if I’m honest, don’t want to make any more cock-ups.’
‘No worries laddie, you sit back and take a rest.’ He turned a wrist to look at his enormous watch. ‘Wouldn’t ring Geoff now, it’s about lunchtime there; he’s grumpy at the best of times. We’ll go back to the hotel for a meal, check in with your office and have an early night. First thing in the morning, we’ll sit down to make a plan over breakfast. How does that sound?’
Tom’s breakfast was a slice of papaya and a glass of mango juice. Nick had already eaten and was making a few phone calls.
‘Any more news from your governor?’ he asked, throwing his cell phone onto the table.
‘Internet down but we exchanged a few short texts last evening. He said that you knew what you were doing.’
‘Praise indeed,’ said Nick pushing a fork into one of Tom’s slices of papaya. ‘I wouldn’t go that far but I think we’ve hit lucky.’
Tom raised an eyebrow.
Nick looked around, the coffee shop was empty. ‘Yesterday evening I called an old friend at the Surabaya police station. We met on an op a few years back. Asked him about the lab. He said he’d make some enquiries, just been on the phone to him this morning. You going to eat that papaya?’
Tom pulled the plate of papaya away from Nick. ‘What did he say?’
‘No wonder you’re so skinny if that’s all you eat. Shall I ask Rafi to rustle up some more of that chicken porridge? I could do with another bowlful.’
Tom winced. ‘Chicken porridge? No thank you. The papaya is fine as long as you don’t keep eating it all. Your guy, what did he say?’
Nick sat down at the table opposite, pulled out his phone and scrolled through the texts. ‘Gita Suparmanputri,’ he pronounced slowly.
‘Gita who?’ said Tom.
‘I’m not saying it again; one of my mate’s cousins. And before you say it, not that coincidental, I think the whole population of Java is one of his cousins.’
Tom shook his head. ‘You’re losing me.’
‘This Gita thingamajig happens to work as an assistant at our hideaway laboratory. Just out of university, got a job there about a month ago, had to sign some sort of secret agreement. Not that secret as she seems to have blabbed it halfway round Sidoarjo district.’
Tom’s jaw dropped. ‘What is she doing there, you think she knows something? Can we talk to her?’
‘Whoa there Tom, softly softly. We don’t want to go jumping in with our two left feet again do we? Let’s find out where she lives, what she does in the evenings and perhaps we could casually bump into her.’ Nick started to key in a number on his phone. ‘And when I say we, I mean you. I’m sure she will feel more comfortable being chatted up by a young tourist than a six foot three war veteran don’t you?’
It was one in the morning in London and Nathalie couldn’t sleep. She got out of bed and powered up her computer. The Rob Barnes’ thing was still worrying her. She pulled back the blind from her Fulham flat window. It had been raining and the streets were streaked with the reflections from the sodium lights. A car passed, the spray falling from its tyres; she was not the only one up tonight. The computer bleeped at her, ready for business. She sat down at the keyboard and typed in the words Alzheimer’s, Biomedivac and Zormax. Nothing more other than the familiar corporate spiel. She switched the engine to Google Scholar, an in-depth academic site. The information and papers here were quite abstruse but she had enough scientific background to get the gist of them. Robert Barnes’ name came up more than once. First as a co-author under Professor Townes, and then in a couple of more obscure articles for a trade pharma magazine. Reading between the lines she detected a cynicism of recent Alzheimer’s research trial results. No company was mentioned but it wouldn’t take an expert too long to tie these in with Biomedivac.
The projection of lights from another passing car fanned across the ceiling. Nathalie got up to close the blinds and returned to try an alternative search word – Ebola. Another connection with Rob Barnes. This time a more subjective article in an epidemiological journal. The premise that the recent Ebola outbreaks may have come from African bats and how the fight against it should be renewed with progressive antiviral medications. No mention of the success of Biomedivac’s latest drug. Professor Townes would not be at all pleased. But perhaps this fascination with Biomedivac and their drugs was taking her away from her real purpose: exposing WEXA’s threat of giving the West a dose of an ‘African disease’. She still had not heard from Lloyd and her immunisation shoot in Zimbabwe was scheduled for seven days’ time. He had been left alone long enough, she would call him first thing in the morning.
The Foreplay Club was in the middle of Surabaya not far from the city zoo. Nick had thought that most appropriate when he had heard the club’s name. He and Tom had spent the day in the Sun Hotel phoning around and checking out the area. Fortunately it was a Saturday and Nick’s policeman friend had discovered that Gita visited her parents in Surabaya every weekend and was not unknown to party in the city. A few more calls involving the resources of the Surabaya police force and they found out that Gita and a friend were planning to go to the Foreplay that evening. At midnight Nick and Tom took the Cherokee jeep and made good time on the sparsely trafficked roads towards East Java’s capital. On the outskirts Tom struggled with the map.
‘It says here it’s on Aditawarman Street, but if you just follow the signs to the zoo I’m sure we’ll find it.’
Nick slowed as he hit the city traffic. ‘Bloody marvellous, as long as you know the Indonesian for zoo we are well in.’
‘It’s a tourist place, there’s sure to be a sign in English, or perhaps a symbol like an elephant.’
‘Would have been easy if Ebenezer Sykes had booked a jeep with a satnav; have you tried maps on your phone?’
‘No signal.’ Tom glanced up. ‘Look there, told you, elephant.’
‘In the bloody city?’
‘No, not a real one, on the sign. Left here now.’
The wheels of the jeep screeched as Nick slew it round the corner at the last minute. ‘A bit more warning next time young Tom but, you’re right, here’s the zoo, we must be close. There’s a hotel coming up, I’ll park in there. Two white guys, they’ll think we’re residents.’
The Foreplay Club was housed in a mall. Shops by day, bars by night. Young girls dressed in too-tight skirts hovered around the entrance waiting for a promising partner to pay their entrance fee. The fee was a hundred thousand local, about eight US dollars, and Tom and Nick were offered a packet of complimentary cigarettes and a free beer as they made their way to the neon lit bar. Nick downed his in one and raised his eyes in surprise when the barman asked for two hundred thousand for his second.
‘That’s nearly twenty dollars, more than New York.’
The barman didn’t reply, just waited for his money. Nick handed it over.
‘Good job I’m not thirsty, be bankrupt by the end of the evening.’
They took their drinks to a table in the corner where they could get a good view of the clientele. A DJ, set up on one side of the bar, was playing extremely loud music. The dance floor in the middle was slightly raised and the house photographer was persuading young girls to dance for him whilst he took some shots. Most of the other clubbers stood around the periphery satisfied with taking selfies rather than taking to the floor.
‘Rubbish music,’ shouted Tom. ‘Old-school house and rave, no taste.’
‘Thought it might be your thing,’ Nick shouted back. ‘Loud enough to burst your eardrums anyway. You’re going to find it difficult to chat up this young lady in here, that’s if we can find her.’
Nick took out his phone and put up the picture he’d been sent.
‘Nice-looking girl, a beer for the one who spots her first.’
Tom looked at the photo and ignored the remark. A waiter asked if they would like more drinks and Tom ordered a whiskey and another beer.
‘That’s for my leg,’ he said, passing the tumbler to Nick, taking the receipt and rolling it like a cigarette. ‘Sorry it’s not a malt.’
Nick nodded appreciatively and knocked it back in one.
‘Over there by the door.’
Tom looked around to see two young women entering the club. They were a cut above the others present. Smartly dressed, intelligent faces. One of them sat at a table whilst the other sauntered up to the bar.
Nick leaned over and cupped his hand around Tom’s ear. ‘Now’s your chance, whilst she’s on her own. I’ll distract the one at the table.’ He picked up Tom’s untouched bottle of beer and made his way across the dance floor.
Tom had no option other than to approach Gita at the bar. He wasn’t used to this but, as Nick said, it was the best way of getting the information. He took a deep breath and sidled up to her.
‘Let me get that, and a beer for me,’ he said waving a note at the barman. Gita turned to face him and her expression of initial surprise turned into a smile.
‘Aren’t you a forward one,’ she replied. ‘And what makes you think I’ll take a drink from a stranger?’
‘Sorry, didn’t mean to be rude but seeing that you were on your own.’
Gita glanced at her companion now sitting at the table engrossed in conversation with Nick. ‘Well I wasn’t but looks like that’s changed. You on holiday or business?’
‘Pardon?’ shouted Tom.
‘Working or tourist,’ shouted back Gita.
‘Tourist, just finished my degree, on holiday.’
‘Me too.’
‘On holiday?’
‘No just finished my degree, now working.’
‘What degree?’
‘Microbiology.’
‘How funny, so was mine.’
The music was getting louder and the conversation turning into a shouting match. He would have to try to get her somewhere quieter. He remembered the packet of free cigarettes he was given earlier. Tom loathed everything about smoking, but this was the first time he’d ever tried picking up a girl, it might as well be his first cigarette.
He took the pack from his pocket and offered one to Gita. ‘It’s hot in here, fancy going outside for a smoke?
‘Why not, Dina seems happy enough, there’s a courtyard at the back.’
Nick watched the two of them leave the bar and make their way to an alcove in the far corner. He hoped they wouldn’t be long, his companion was hard work and racking up the bar bill. Nick had run out of small talk and was pleased when the girl said she was going to the restroom. He took the opportunity to check up on Tom. Avoiding the house photographer he moved around the edge of the room towards the rear exit, a small door half hidden behind a velvet curtain. He stared down the bouncer who stepped aside to let Nick pass. The door opened on to a small tiled courtyard surrounded by a high brick wall. Tom and the girl were nowhere to be seen. A noise came from behind. Just steam from a kitchen flue. The smell of greasy noodles hung in the tropical air. In the wall opposite a metal gate led to a narrow side alley. Nick looked up and down but it was empty apart from the odd fast-food carton. He dialled Tom’s number but all he got was the answerphone. He didn’t leave a message.
‘Fuck you, Tom,’ he said out loud. ‘How can I be your minder if you just piss off?’
Turning around to return to the club he noticed something wedged in the grille next to the kitchen vent. A rolled piece of paper tied in a small knot. He had commented on Tom playing with it at the table. It was the bar bill. Nick pulled it from the wall and carefully unfolded the chit. One beer, one whiskey and an exorbitant total. But on the chit there was something else scribbled in black, probably from a spent match. The word SITER.
‘Siter, what in the fuck is that meant to mean?’
It was nearly three in the morning. Geoff was going to kill him; losing the little bastard in the middle of Surabaya. ‘Look after him he’s only a kid,’ were Geoff’s last words. Still there wasn’t much he could do about it now. He would check into that hotel where the jeep was parked and visit the police station at daybreak.