Chapter 24

Reception at the Seasons Hotel rang Wayne Smith’s room. He answered carefully, saying only his room number, and he pretended to talk to another person in his room. The message was delivered: ‘You have a visitor named Dustoff, a Russian.’ Wally told reception to send him up.

Six hours earlier, he had received a message from Basil on their secret web page: ‘Expect a visitor, Russian name Dustoff, five slow knocks, two quick on your door.’

Wally waited.

The knocks came: five slow, two quick. It was safe to open the door.

Wally stood looking at a man of maybe fifty, maybe even sixty, very fit and well dressed. The man held out his hand, not to shake Wally’s, but to pass over a card. Wally looked down at the card and smiled — there were no words on it, just a drawing of a pig. 7RAR. Now they shook hands.

‘Welcome,’ said Wally.

‘My name is Rick, ex-SAS, I believe you’ve read about me. I work in Jakarta, the embassy. We need to get going. First, I must get the phone you have from the train. Leon’s, right? I’ve arranged for its memory to be copied and delivered to our experts. You know some of them. Yes, Wally, your son and David’s son Marcus, plus some men from my surveillance team. All are keen to evaluate the information.’

Next, he outlined Adam’s role in the plan.

Finally, he smiled, sat in a chair, and said, ‘White, no sugar. We’ve got about fifteen minutes. Oh, and I am a major, so stand when you speak to me.’

Wally roared with laughter, patted Rick on the head, and volleyed, ‘An army major with a brain and a sense of humour, now that’s a first. But I’m not convinced — got any more proof?’

Light banter and merriment continued for a short period. Wally learnt that Rick had been in the army most of his life before moving to the security services. During his time in the army, he’d been wounded twice, lost an eye, and gained a bung leg. Their country trusted Rick, and he had got permission to help Wally with his little problem of having been kidnapped. Permission from the top — the very top.

Rick asked Wally about his time in Vietnam. Wally said little but mentioned he remembered the SAS.

‘We admired those tough bastards, moving in such small numbers, no support. Must have been hard. More importantly, they saved our arses once — we were in big trouble, radios jammed.’

Rick looked Wally in the eye. ‘No, you were the tough bastards. They admired you. Yes, you young blokes who literally stepped off farms, jobs, the street and were suddenly in a war, a cruel, sick, violent war. And you did the job. The way our country treated you on return was crap. Never again will that happen. I get so pissed off when I hear those words, brave, courageous, fine, upstanding young men. We know the reality of combat: look out for your mates, do what you must, and, when it’s finished — shake, shit yourself, and vomit. Just hope that you all made it, and, if not, that scene — your dead mate or mates — that moment will torment you forever. Then our bloody politicians, bloody memorials, and bullshit fine words … shit, sorry, haven’t blabbered like that for years.’

Wally looked down, touched by the comments, then reached over and rubbed Rick’s shoulder. Such a special bond.

Rick thumped his forehead, looked at Wally. ‘Enough! Get the phone.’

‘Should you take the gold bracelets and stuff?’

‘No, I wasn’t told to take the bracelets, just the mobile.’

Rick locked the mobile in his carry bag and handed Wally a small green device and a cord.

‘Phone, charger. Ring me if it’s urgent. Just push the number seven and it will ring me automatically. It’s a fully encoded military phone. You must wear it all times, around your neck, like a dog tag. Never take it off except to recharge it, and then stay close. It vibrates, doesn’t ring unless it’s plugged into the power. Ring me, no one else. If by chance you cannot reach me, dial seventy-seven, but you will need all your decoding skills to talk. Shouldn’t be a problem, they tell me you were one of the best. It’s very high security, but your mates reckon you can handle it if need be. Your son John has one, as does Adam — he was a good soldier, smart. However, you can only ring John via me. I will transfer the call. All set up by tomorrow, okay?’

Wally nodded.

‘Be careful pushing the button on the dial. If you stuff up, the phone will go dead and will cease to function until an expert reboots it with a special code. Charge it once a month, so don’t even bother, I hope we have you well and truly home by then.’

Wally was impressed, yet he had one doubt. ‘Will John be okay? You know, with the army phone? He hasn’t had the experience we Vets have had.’

‘Good question. Already, both John and Marcus have been interviewed by SAS commanders. They’ve ticked all the boxes. No phone for Marcus for now; best he just helps John with the computer stuff. It is still early days. For the moment, mate, the priority is to get you home. That will be a big challenge. If your name pops up at a hotel, the airport, a bank, customs, whatever, have no doubt, the Indonesian police will be alerted by those kidnappers and the cops will have you behind bars in an instant. Your kidnappers, given the slightest chance, will dob on you.’

Rick drew a deep breath.

‘Two things. Meredith wants to know about your medicine. Is it all up to date and do you have enough? Secondly, this young man, Diyab, the Indonesian lad, we need to speak to him, ensure he is safe and aware of what he needs to do to prevent those kidnapping bastards finding him. They think they’re so smart, but we’ll see. We’re in the throes of getting Diyab another job, closer to his home, a better job, at a better hotel — a lot of Australian functions held there by our embassy, diplomats and so on. He’s handled himself well, and he’s got all the right training and a clean background.’

‘And someone to vouch for him.’

‘And someone to vouch for him,’ said Rick. ‘You should tell him.’ He handed over the details of Diyab’s new job.

‘Thanks,’ said Wally. ‘He, Diyab, deserves this.’

‘Meantime, after you pass on this info, I want you to have little to do with him, okay?’

Wally looked down again. That comment hurt. He had grown very fond of Diyab, and his family, though their meetings had been brief. Yet he also understood. He gave Rick Diyab’s personal contact details. If he could trust anyone, he could trust Rick. Finally, he asked Rick to pass on to Meredith that he had at least two weeks’ medication; he’d already told her via Australian Stockwhip Collectors, but sometimes communication was about more than its overt content.

The men hugged tightly, both close to tears. Then Rick left.

Lunch break, day five. John Flannagan, standing outside his work in Perth’s CBD, was waved over by a uniformed driver.

The driver talked little on their hour-long trip.

Pulling to a stop outside RAAF Base Pearce, the driver wound down his window and spoke to the guard at the security gate. The vehicle was waved through, and John was escorted to a small office. He was scanned, photographed, questioned, and fingerprinted. The fingerprints, voice pattern, and facial record, he was informed, were now government property. This unsettling experience was followed by an interview with a person who radiated authority. Rick Gordon joined the interview by teleconference from Jakarta.

By dusk, John was standing alongside the runway as a RAAF transport plane touched down and taxied towards the base. Prompted by his chaperone, he walked onto the edge of the tarmac with several highly ranked officers. He glanced at his watch. What had Dad got him into?

When the plane’s engines stopped, many servicemen and -women came down the steps of the aircraft. One had a large computer bag handcuffed to his wrist. This man walked directly towards the officers standing to the side of John. The courier, John had been informed, was an SAS commander. There were no handshakes, just salutes, from one officer to another. Then the commander handed John a satchel. According to John’s briefing, it contained a military computer, flight and accommodation details, names, contact numbers, and money. Some blunt words passed between the officers, but John didn’t follow what was being said. Suddenly, the commander stood to attention, turned, and left. John held the satchel tightly.

Soon enough, he was standing outside the air base’s main office. The whole day had been like some strange dream. The army car with the same uniformed driver pulled up in front of him; the driver opened the passenger door and John climbed in alongside him. As he was about to drive off, John leant out the window and thanked the officer who had organised it all.

The man replied, ‘Your dad’s a Vietnam Vet, John.’

John, taken aback, could only nod before the car moved away.

The car took him home, a suburb in Perth. Nothing was said during the forty-five-minute trip. As he got out of the car, he said a simple, ‘Thanks.’

‘Not a problem, sir. Goodnight.’

After a short meal, during which he explained what he could to his wife, John retired to his study. Briefed by Rick on how to do this, he removed the notebook computer he’d been given from its secure bag and turned it on. He focused on doing everything right — correctly — precisely. This was the way he worked. The sophisticated computer presented him with a series of login screens, and he methodically entered the required passwords. He waited, not nervous but very cautious. This wasn’t some commercial-in-confidence VPN or even the Australian Stockwhip Collectors website; he had been granted the privilege and responsibility of accessing military data networks, a parallel internet. On Rick’s authority, he would communicate with Rick in Jakarta and Marcus in Norway. Once connected to Rick and his Jakarta team, he was to download the data from Leon’s phone onto a custom USB drive, also found in the satchel.

For the first time in his life, he began to understand the true meaning of the word ‘risk’. Here he was, about to take responsibility for a dangerous and delicate communications procedure. He stopped tapping the keyboard and leant back in his comfortable office chair, thinking, What if I stuff up, can’t get the information, lack the skills? Hell, and here I am at home, safe, with people just a key touch away to assist me. How did Dad cope in that jungle on that radio with so much responsibility?

He had to get it right — no, perfect.

John, Marcus, and Rick, countries and continents apart, met via teleconference to discuss the results from analysing Leon’s phone. Though each appeared to the others only on a computer screen, it was an exciting meeting.

The military network had provided them with raw computer power through a refined interface, giving them capabilities neither John nor Marcus had experienced before. They’d smashed through the consumer-grade protections on the data stored on Leon’s phone. Then, using the mobile numbers and other details they found there, they’d used their combined computer-science knowledge to develop a method of tracking the connections between the criminal network, the outer circle, the inner team, and Rio and Bagus in particular. They had gathered the necessary information to locate most of the culprits involved in the kidnapping scheme: GPS trails, photographs, voicemails. They had taken control of phones, iPads, desktop computers, and servers; they’d accessed email accounts and bank accounts. Throughout, they continued to encounter intrusion detection and countermeasures, but they worked around those, too. It was scary what the two men had found in so short a time; they were in awe of what was possible. (Ironically, the military system they’d been connected to had one of the lowest security classifications, and was used by many different ranks in the service.)

They had found out more than they needed to rescue Wally, and more than they had bargained for. They’d delved deep.

‘It’s not just about Dad,’ said John. ‘This is so wrong. We have to put a stop to it somehow.’

The kidnapping scheme was worth millions in money and an unquantifiable amount in the terror it inflicted on so many families. It was extensive, sadistic, and cruel. Yet it was only a cunning scheme — in its way, an amusement for Rio’s team. What shocked John and Marcus were the details that emerged about Rio’s other activities. His team were also responsible for the kidnapping of young Indonesian girls. These girls were locked up, forced to take heroin, and, once addicted, made to work for a brothel syndicate — operated by Bagus. Almost incidentally, John and Marcus had found hundreds of names. Who knew how many more were yet to be found, or were already lost?

Having exposed this trail of shame and horror, the young men fell silent. Rick didn’t let the silence last.

‘We will crush Rio’s team. They have no idea of the pain they are about to suffer.’

Without being asked, the sons of Vets had already developed a plan, in the hope of convincing Rick to use this information to end Rio’s repulsive sex slavery. Once you had as much data as they did — places, times, people’s names — the strategies suggested themselves. Nevertheless, their ideas were somewhat academic; but Rick, with decades of operational experience, could see possibilities in them. He was impressed by the duo’s performance, and would share their findings and conclusions with his team.

Things began to happen very quickly.

At the Seasons Hotel, Wally read through all the messages on the Australian Stockwhip Collectors bulletin board. The website had twelve other members now: Meredith, John and Marcus, Rick, and eight Vet mates of Wally’s, including four former radio operators. The Vets were concerned about the security of the website, but John and Marcus assured them that it was safe — every trick in the book was being employed to keep it from prying eyes. Reassured by this, the Vets were pouring out their hearts to Wally. Meredith just wanted him home safe. It was only a matter of time, wrote Basil, but he couldn’t offer any details as yet.

The bulletin board was almost as good as Facebook, Wally thought, though perhaps Facebook had helped get him into this mess, and he wasn’t free to go where he pleased, post when he wanted. Despite its comfort, the hotel room was starting to feel more like a prison. There was little escape when, to go out, he had to wrap himself up and remember to keep looking over his shoulder.

Closing the browser, Wally shook his head and thought, I am so lucky, they are such great mates, I am so lucky …

Meanwhile, information was collated and plans were formulated. The plot to rescue Wally and deter the criminals from ever pursuing their schemes again was devised. Adam and Rick oversaw it all.

Basil and David organised themselves to fly to Indonesia. Funds were channelled through Marcus’s bank account. Fortunately, the men had up-to-date passports, medical records, and the required injections (like many older Australians, they enjoyed overseas travel). Time was of the essence. The other Vets wanted to come but would have to sit this one out; sure, they were keen, but updating their travel documents in a hurry was a problem.

Clarity began to emerge. Small additions were made to the plans. Many ideas were put forward, some brilliant.

The unfortunate news that Marcus couldn’t come to Jakarta was a disappointment, but that didn’t stop him participating from afar. Everyone understood and appreciated his contribution. He and John were like a two-man spy agency — Edgar Hoover, step aside. Their brilliance marked the criminals on a map — every name, from Rio right down to Azka.

The first part of the ultimate plan:

Let Wally know they were on their way — done.

Arrange a brief meeting for John and Wally.

Move Wally to a new location.

Put in place the final arrangements for Wally’s departure.

Contact Rio.