THE GREATEST BETRAYAL: A romantic thriller with a shocking twist, page 6
Captain Mac.
TPA Air.
Let us fly you to your dreams.
We’re always part of your journey.
Catchy lines.
Corny lines actually, thought Liz, but they’d worked. Big time.
Regardless, that was the Mac she knew, that was the Mac everyone knew.
Always part of your journey.
She felt a shiver and had an inkling something wasn’t right. Something didn’t gel. She’d felt that all along. Martin had felt the same. She gathered up her handbag and coat, locked up and left. Even if it was for one last time, for closure, for peace of mind, she needed to speak directly with Mac. She needed to find a way to contact him.
NINETEEN
The man who came through the door was an Australian in a tailored grey suit, but it wasn’t Robert Anders.
It had been over eight weeks and Mac had barely contained his anger on the last couple of Anders’ visits.
This time he was ready to explode.
The sight of a man other than Anders coming through the doorway didn’t help.
‘Where’s Anders?’
The man offered his hand. ‘Mark Adler, Australian embassy. I’m Robert’s replacement.’
Mac didn’t take the extended hand and after an awkward moment, Adler let it fall back into place.
‘What do you mean replacement?’
‘Robert’s been reassigned and I’m the new attaché here. Please, can we sit?’
Mac remained standing. Glaring. ‘I’ve been here over two months, no court date, no actual detail on the so-called charges against me, no contact with my family and friends and employer, and quite frankly I’m going troppo. I want to speak to Anders now. Forget that, I want to speak to the Australian Minister for Foreign Affairs.’
‘Mac, please, let’s sit and talk this through. Believe me, I understand your frustration–’
‘I’m way beyond frustration, Adler.’
‘It’s Mark, please. Let’s sit. This sudden new assignment is a surprise to me as well, and I want to represent you in the very best way possible. Let’s talk.’
Reluctantly, Mac sat as Adler pulled up chairs to the small table in the room.
‘As Anders made you aware, the raid some weeks ago on the rebel outpost failed to capture Sari Sanjaya, and whilst they felt they would close in on her quickly with the leads they had–’
‘Didn’t happen. I know all that.’
‘It’s put everything back to square one. So, what I am doing now, in unison with our legal team here, is pushing for a special hearing and to have any charges against you thrown out.’
‘It’s never been made clear what those charges are.’
‘Suspicion of complicity with anti-government insurgents. Anders would have outlined all that.’
‘Doesn’t mean it made any sense to me. Why has Anders been reassigned on such short notice?’
‘I’m sorry, I don’t know the details.’
Mac slammed his fist down on the table. ‘No one has any damn answers.’ He stood, fists clenched. ‘I need to get the hell out of here.’
The khaki-clad soldier by the door tensed and began to move forward. Adler motioned for the guard to stand back.
‘Mac, please trust me, I’m on your side. I’m going to get these ridiculous charges quashed and get you back to Sydney.’ He stood, and once again offered his hand.
Reluctantly, Mac took it. Whatever words he might have said in response, were stuck in his throat.
He didn’t trust Adler any more than he now believed anything Robert Anders had said to him over the past… what was it? Eight weeks or more? He was losing track of time.
He was going mad traipsing from this bedsitter of a room to the walled-in garden, and back again. He’d been here far too long. At first, he’d been prepared to allow for the government’s processes… hell, he’d had no choice anyway, had he? But any patience he’d had was at an end. Something wasn’t right about this “safe house”, these military-uniformed house guards, the visits from the Australian attachés, the wait for a court hearing, the charges of collusion with rebels.
He was tired of doing the right thing and waiting for due process to exonerate him.
I need to get out of here.
TWENTY
It had been six weeks since Liz had first taken Raf up on his invitation for dinner and since then it had become a welcome staple of the week, every Saturday evening at the home of Bruno and Caterina Vetrani. Raf was always there, of course, and occasionally another friend, business colleague, or family member of the Vetranis. Liz had come to enjoy these little social events. They helped to break up the weekend.
One week it might have been a traditional Aussie backyard barbie, another time pizza or Chinese takeaway, another time a sumptuous three-course Italian meal prepared and served by Caterina, a gracious, talkative young woman.
Each week, as Liz arrived, Bruno – gesturing towards Raf – would open with the same comment, ‘Despite his ego and his swagger, some people actually like my brother. They’re in the minority, but they are out there.’
Caterina, Bruno and Raf would always be teasing one another and the easy banter around the dining table became a regular backdrop to their evenings. Caterina would often talk to Liz about the possibility of her “fabulous PR skills” being used in another way: finding a wife for her “aging playboy brother-in-law”. Tonight was no exception and as Caterina and Bruno teased him, Raf recoiled in mock outrage.
‘You see what I have to put up with,’ Raf said as an aside to Liz. He shrugged. ‘Warped opinions. Lousy humour.’
Liz had been a little awkward the first time she’d come to the Saturday get-together, but she’d quickly been made to feel comfortable. They had made her feel like one of the family. Caterina was like the big sister she’d never had.
Tonight was a clear, balmy night. A little later, with Caterina clearing dishes and talking on the phone with her sister – she never did just one thing at a time, Liz observed – and with the brothers engaged in discussion, Liz took a moment to walk out into the courtyard at the rear with its surrounding gardens. Glass in hand, she looked to the night sky full of stars, and she started to count them.
There had been many nights like this, so long ago in Fisherman’s Inlet. A sky full of stars was not uncommon out in the country, and she recalled quiet evenings, just her and her dad, in quiet discussion, and yes, sometimes she’d counted the stars.
After a while she was aware of a presence behind her.
‘Beautiful evening.’
‘Yes.’
‘Not wanting to upset the equilibrium,’ Raf said, ‘but have you, or anyone, heard anything further from Captain McKenzie?’
‘No.’
‘I’m sorry to hear that. I understand you were close.’
‘I really needed to speak with Mac. Clear the air.’
‘Of course.’
‘If he really felt he needed to stay in Jakarta, with this woman he knew from before, then I could understand…’ She caught herself, surprised she was opening up like this, on this subject, to Raf. It hadn’t been her intention. He was a client.
But he and Bruno had also become her good friends.
‘Martin and I have been in touch with TPA’s Jakarta office and with the Australian embassy, just trying to get another contact number or address for Mac or for Sari.’
‘No luck?’
She took a moment to answer, tears welling up in her eyes again… damn! Her heartbeat accelerated. She took deep breaths, cleared her throat. ‘No.’
Raf’s hand touched her shoulder. ‘Then you’ve done what you can,’ he said.
Later, Raf walked her to her car out the front.
‘You haven’t had too much to drink?’
‘No, I always keep my eye on that.’ Rational Liz.
‘Good. But always remember, if you ever think you’re over the limit, Bruno and Caterina have a spare room, or I can always drive you.’
‘Thanks. You’re like a big brother, looking out for me.’
She was behind the wheel now. He leaned in, and gave her a goodbye peck on the cheek. ‘Drive safe. I’ll speak with you during the week.’
He waved, walking back inside as she pulled out from the curb.
As she drove, she looked in the rear-view mirror, caught a glimpse of him disappearing through the front door, but she also noticed a silver Toyota Corolla pull out from the curb and fall into place behind her.
She had a sense of déjà vu. A silver Corolla had pulled out directly behind her just last night, or was it one night this past week?
And… last week, as well?
She was aware the car remained behind her, turning when she turned.
And again.
Onto the Pacific Highway. Over the bridge.
When she came to the turnoff that led back to the eastern suburbs, the Corolla stayed on the main thoroughfare, heading south.
I’m being paranoid.
She laughed to herself. Not so rational.
And yet, although she hadn’t been able to make out the person behind the wheel – because of the glare of the headlights – she had the peculiar sensation this same car had followed her on those previous occasions.
Now you’re just being a crazy bitch.
She shrugged the thought away and turned into the driveway of her apartment block.
TWENTY-ONE
Mac was losing track of time. One day blurred into another.
Three months? Four?
The time between Mark Adler’s visits seemed longer and longer. One week between visits? Two?
For a while, he’d had Mac convinced a trial date was imminent and he could expect the matter to be cleared up. Adler had brought along government representatives to confirm there was some progress.
Still nothing happened.
Despite his frustration and his anger, Mac found he was regularly becoming lethargic. Was that because of the long hours of boredom?
Every day Mac worked out for a while on the gym equipment in the courtyard, watched closely by guards, but despite that, he was aware of a growing inertia.
He no longer believed a word they told him.
There was one occasion weeks earlier when, no longer caring about their weapons or what waited on the outside, he’d tried to push past the guards. He’d been tackled to the ground and taken to his room, the door locked, and it wasn’t until hours later that Adler arrived to console him. Then he’d been let out of the room.
At night, he found himself lying awake for longer, repeatedly reliving the events of that night at Paotere Harbour.
Three years ago. It seemed like another lifetime.
* * *
After hearing the gunfire during their stroll, it took all Mac’s strength to drag a hysterical Sari to the side of the promenade. ‘We have to stay back.’
Sari stopped resisting then broke down, the tears flowing freely, the sobs wracking her tiny frame. ‘What if my father was hit? I was so afraid something like this would happen.’
Mac held her tightly.
The firing and the raised voices had ceased. The quiet that followed was unnatural.
‘Listen to me,’ Mac said, ‘I’m going to go and find out what’s happening. Promise me you won’t move from here.’
‘But, Mac–’
‘If your father’s in trouble, then quite possibly by association you are as well. So please just stay still and quiet. I’m a visitor here, with no known connection to your family. Do you understand?’
‘Ya.’
Mac approached the area of activity. He recognised a mix of Indonesian National Police, the POLRI, and military personnel. Soldiers were posted in front of Benny Sanjaya’s pinisi and they blocked the way past that.
‘Halt,’ one of the soldiers said.
‘Can I pass?’ Mac called out. ‘I’m returning to my hotel on the other side of the promenade.’
‘Identification.’
Mac inched forward and produced his passport.
‘Go back and take the long way around,’ the soldier said, returning his passport to him.
Mac didn’t move. ‘I’m not sure the streets are safe the other way,’ he said.
‘Wait here.’
Mac inched forward a little more, his eyes scanning the boat for some sign of what was happening, his ears primed and honing in on every sound and every scrap of conversation. He heard the muttered tones of the soldier asking his superior what to do with the Australian tourist who wanted to pass. From the direction of the boat, he heard a gruff voice declaring the other man had dived into the water and seemingly disappeared.
The other man?
Who were they referring to?
His silent question was answered sooner than he expected. Two soldiers emerged from the boat’s cabin carrying a stretcher with a covered body. As they stepped down from the deck to the pier, the cover slipped from the head of the corpse, revealing the frozen-in-fear features of Benny Sanjaya.
Mac’s heart sank.
The soldier guarding the scene returned to his post. ‘You may pass. Quickly.’
‘What happened here?’ Mac asked as the soldier ushered him past.
‘No questions, move quickly. Cepat!’
After a while, Mac noted the police had left the area and he doubled back.
The promenade was quiet. The serenity of the moonlit seaport betrayed no evidence of the tragedy that had played out here only a short while before. He reached the area where he had left Sari. She was gone. He kept moving, hoping she’d simply moved further back, retracing their steps from earlier in the evening. He hadn’t been walking long when he heard her voice – a whisper calling out from the shadows in a narrow laneway opposite the promenade. He turned and moved cautiously towards the lane, his eyes and ears alert.
‘Mac…’ She appeared out of the darkness, her face warped by fear, her eyes already pools of grief.
She embraced him. ‘Carl is with me.’
Vickerson stepped out of the shadows, water dripping from his hair and his clothes. ‘They seemed to come out of nowhere, Mac,’ he said, his voice a croak. ‘Dozens of shooters, firing madly. Is Benny…?’
‘He’s gone,’ Mac said. He felt Sari stiffen. ‘I’m so sorry, darling.’
She stood frozen, a reaction against the waves of shock. Then she began to sob, the tears sliding down her cheeks.
‘Were those men after you, Vickerson?’ Mac didn’t attempt to keep the edge out of his voice. He wanted to explode in anger, but he couldn’t do that, not here, not now, not with Sari in his arms.
Vickerson seemed oblivious to Mac’s accusation. ‘Sari and I are going to need to get out of Indonesia,’ he said to Mac. ‘And I can arrange that. But can you help us tonight, can you book a hotel room we can sneak into?’
‘Can you?’ Sari said, pleading, blinking away the tears.
‘The Hotel Borobudur isn’t far from here,’ Mac said matter-of-factly.
‘Then let’s go,’ Vickerson said.
* * *
Later that night, Mac, Sari, and Vickerson had sat at a small table, drinking the hotel’s coffee.
‘I have the contacts to arrange a charter in the morning from a country airstrip,’ Vickerson told them. ‘I can take you with me, Sari, and land you safely in Malaysia. From there, you can board a commercial flight to Sydney. You won’t be safe here, not if they suspect you, as they obviously did your father, of being involved with the insurgents.’
Sari remained silent, tightly gripping the coffee mug in her tiny hands.
‘Just what are you really doing in Indonesia?’ Mac directed this to Vickerson, more demand than question. ‘The secret police here don’t shoot to kill a journalist because he’s writing about the rebels. And journalists don’t have contacts who can spirit them away from the country under the noses of the military.’
Vickerson didn’t respond.
‘Sounds to me as though you’re part of something else,’ said Mac. ‘Guns?’
‘All you need to know is I can help Sari leave the country without incident. And as hard as it is to put this behind us – Benny was a great friend, it’s a terrible loss – he’d want the three of us, and especially Sari, to be safe and to move on.’ Vickerson leaned across and placed his hand over Sari’s.
‘My father was a part of… the rebel group as well, wasn’t he?’ Sari asked.
Once again Vickerson remained silent while Mac glared at him.
TWENTY-TWO
A thin stream of dawn light spread across the urban landscape of Jakarta. In an ordinary street on the outer rim of the city, the early morning quiet was briefly shattered by the sound of breaking glass. Mac sat bolt upright in bed to a scream and what sounded like muffled gunshots. Then a deathly silence that seemed even more unnatural than the noise that preceded it.
He expected the locked door to his room would burst open. With his heart racing he eased open the door to the wardrobe and squeezed in, pulling the door to, hoping whoever had raided the house wouldn’t think to check a rickety, narrow cupboard. His muscles tensed as he heard whispers, rushed footsteps, and the doors of the other rooms being pushed open.
A key turned in the locked door to his room.
He held his breath.
There were hushed voices and then a flurry of retreating footfalls.
And then nothing.
No sound.
What had happened out there?
Where were the men who guarded his room?
After a few minutes he stepped from the cupboard and grabbed hold of an old stool by its legs, wielding it as a desperate weapon. He opened the door gingerly, inch by inch, and peered out. The guards were not there. Still no noise or movement. What caused the gunfire? A raid with silencers on the weapons of the raiders? If that was the case, where were the raiders? And where were the secret police stationed at this so-called safe house?
He ventured out into the hallway, his crude weapon held out in front of him, at the ready. He opened the door to the first of the rooms along the corridor, rooms he knew were quarters for the guards. He swung the stool to his side as he leaned in and surveyed the room. Two of the guards had been shot, their bodies strewn across the floor. Pools of blood spreading underneath them.
