Cut to the Chase (4 page)

It was hot and sultry when Wallace disembarked at Jakarta, even hotter than it had been in Singapore. He decided to take a taxi to the hotel. If ASIO or ASIS was going to hire his services then they could pay for the privilege. He was beginning to entertain feelings of dissatisfaction with Bramble, although these jobs were simple and were little more than messenger drops or pick ups, there was always the fear at the back of his mind of being apprehended. He had never forgotten the case of GrevilleWynn, a businessman who had carried out odd jobs of a similar nature for MI 6 when he went overseas on trade assignments. He had carried out one job too many and had been arrested at a trade exhibition. He finished up in the Lubyanka Prison for a lengthy term until he was eventually swapped for some Soviet agent M.I.5 had previously apprehended and jailed.

He told the driver to head for the Hotel Indonesia and settled back in the rear seat. Bramble had told Wallace to call in at the Australian Embassy, a natural enough place to call if he was in the city on business. He had been told to book an appointment with a local Jakarta agency who would allocate an assignment that would assist contact with their courier. It was best that the assignment came from an outside agency even if it was pre-ordained, the embassy did not wish to be directly involved. At the embassy Wallace was to see the Military Attaché who would brief him as to what was expected.

As the cab threaded its way through the streets he was struck by the vast numbers of people, the streets and pavements seemed to be packed with humanity. He was also aware of a slight smell of rotting vegetation. The grandfather of one of his colleagues had visited Jakarta many years before; he had said that the smell had reminded him of the stench of the trenches of the First World War. After many years it was far better now, but Wallace could see what he had meant.

The areas passed through were a mixture of high rise buildings and shanty town, not unlike Singapore where modern developments were banishing the old style buildings that had been there for centuries. That the new architecture was interesting there was no doubt, and similar edifices could be seen anywhere from Paris, Sydney, New York and London.

The cab finally entered the centre of the city and pulled up outside an impressive building with a glass facade. Wallace clambered out onto the pavement and superintended the dumping of luggage at the feet of the porter, handed the cabbie a note which he accepted and then drove off with a crash of gears before there was any question of giving change. The cases were loaded onto a trolley and were forced through to what appeared to be crowds of pedestrians to reach the front entrance.

‘Wallace,' he said tersely to reception, they ticked off his name and the porter was handed a room key, they entered the nearest lift and went up to the 9th floor.

The room was good, maybe better than the room recently vacated in Singapore. Wallace resolved to eat meals within the hotel as he had no wish to contract the Jakarta Dribbles because of unwise eating. He remembered Clive Passay, an old friend who made frequent trips overseas servicing boilers, saying that in foreign climes one ate only in the best places, and even then one was not immune. Diarrhoea and Jakarta, he alleged, were synonymous and if troubles of that nature were contracted the best policy was not to cough or sneeze. Happiness, as Clive remarked on his return from one of his various overseas trips, was a dry fart!

He decided to defer the visit to the Australian Embassy until the next day, and took a stroll through the city streets, starting his wanderings at 7.30 pm after finishing the evening meal and soon could feel the perspiration beginning to soak into his shirt.

He walked around the shopping centre, taking care not to loiter too long at any one particular shop or stall, not being in the mood for being accosted and touted by over excitable shop-keepers. He was looked upon as fair game by a few touters; one fellow simply would not let up and actually followed him around the corner as he sought safety in flight. Wallace assumed he was near to his closing time and wanted one last customer before placing the shutters up for the night.

Wallace stayed within the main streets that were well lit, he wasn't sure of the prevalence of mugging in Jakarta streets but saw no point in not taking precautions. That was no reflection upon the Indonesian citizenry, when walking around at night he would have done the same in Sydney, London or Melbourne.

A cool breeze began to ruffle his shirt as time crept on and the sun disappeared over the horizon, yet the numbers of people in the streets was undiminished. This was another factor that had struck Clive Passay. He said that whatever the time of day or night the streets were still bustling with people.

He paused on the way back to the hotel and looked behind him. Perhaps it was thoughts of the fate of GrevilleWynn that had made him uneasy – and again he silently cursed Bramble.

The fee of $3,000 also caused some unease, it was more than he had ever been paid before and was far higher than the fee expected.

His eyes flickered over the pedestrians behind and around him, but there appeared to be nobody who could have been watching him. There were so many that it was difficult to pick out anyone who could have been designated as a possible shadower. But why should anyone be shadowing him? He had merely arrived as a tourist with a legitimate business appointment tomorrow afternoon.

‘I have come to see Major Lincoln.'

‘Is he expecting you, Mr…er…Wallace?'

‘Yes,' Wallace answered shortly. He had the feeling that the lady receptionist was treating him warily as though he was an Anti-Nuclear, Anti-War or Anti-anything else protester who was likely to start unfolding banners and writing slogans on the embassy walls with a spray can.

‘I can't see any appointment listed here, what did you…?'

Wallace appreciated that she had to protect her charges against unsolicited interruptions, but he was becoming irritable.

‘If there is any doubt – ask him!' he said coldly. ‘I have another appointment elsewhere this afternoon and I haven't much time. I have an appointment with Major Lincoln at 11 o'clock and it is three minutes to eleven now.'

He was aware of heads turning and flushed, he didn't want every damned domestic cleaner or casual visitor in the place pinpointing him as a visitor to the Military Attaché. There was always the fear that every Embassy cleaner could be a government spy. Was it the Greville-Wynn syndrome again? Or maybe he had read too many espionage novels.

She picked up a telephone and asked the question, while Wallace muttered to himself and wandered over to the window that overlooked the street. The embassy was in a building in a street that intersected one of the main thoroughfares, he found himself looking down a city street that possessed many tall edifices of glass and concrete, though there was the occasional old style building – it was reminiscent in some respects of Sydney and Melbourne.

He had seen the same thing in Singapore, though the older buildings were fast vanishing from there, especially with the site clearing that had been carried out for the new underground metro railway that was now proving such a boon for the Singapore commuter. The sites for the Singapore metro stations had removed many old buildings. Jakarta was also constructing a new monorail system, though construction tended to be in stops and starts, in addition to having adapted some of the local rail tracks around the city into a city system. Despite this the streets still proliferated with double decker buses, taxi cabs and motor traffic.

‘It's all right, you can go up, Mr Wallace,' she said, interrupting Wallace's reverie. ‘Top of the stairs there and then the fourth door on the right.'

‘Not before time…!' he was about to say, and then cut it off short. It wasn't her fault he was angry with Bramble and was wishing he was elsewhere. So he thanked her and gave a smile that he hoped was winning and convincing, climbed the impressive stairway and walked along the first floor corridor. He found the door in question and knocked; it opened and he was greeted by a young man in shirt sleeves.

‘Mr Wallace?'

Wallace indicated that he was and the young man said. ‘Major Lincoln is on the telephone at present, can I get you anything?'

Wallace asked for coffee and was waved to a chair.

Major Lincoln rose to his feet as Wallace entered his room and extended his hand. Though he was dressed in civilian clothing, everything looked as though it had just emerged from a clothes press. The creases on his trousers were clearly visible from the doorway. His hair was cut short, almost in a crop cut, and he had a definite military style moustache. He appeared brisk and precise in his movements. Wallace felt that had an unwelcome intruder entered the room Lincoln would have responded automatically, snapping into action and taking evasive or offensive measures.

‘Ah! Mr Wallace,' he said.

Wallace grunted and shook his hand and looked with interest around the room as he sat down. There was a picture of a tank on one wall, a print on another wall showing a military scene which Wallace recognised as having been painted by Ivor Hele who was a well known war artist. He had seen the original in the Canberra War memorial some years back. There were also photographs of a younger Major Lincoln with groups of military colleagues and there was a small metal reproduction of a tank on the window ledge. There was also a polished hand grenade on the desk that appeared to be in use as a paper weight. Wallace hoped it was a dud.

‘You know Mr Bramble, I understand?'

‘Yes!' Wallace replied shortly, implying that he wished he didn't.

Lincoln then chatted about the weather, Australian Rules football, the current Ashes Test series and inflation. When it had reached the point when Wallace thought he would have to be the one to broach the reason why he was there, Lincoln shut off the conversation abruptly, as though a bugler had sounded the Advance somewhere. He leaned forward.

‘Now…Bramble tells me you have offered to give us some assistance.'

Offered was the over-statement of the year! Offered? Dragooned into it more like! ‘Fuck Bramble!'…he thought viciously, and vowed it would be the last time. But for this Wallace reckoned he could have been back in Sydney by now watching the Ashes Test match. He had seen from the newspapers in the waiting room that though England had followed on, their top order batsmen were giving the Australian bowlers some stick in their second innings.

‘There is a package that has to be collected from an informant, a very important package. I can't tell you what's in it – not at this stage anyway, it means that you can plead ignorance if…er…that is, it's being delivered by a man who has travelled from the east end of this island – I can tell you that much,' Lincoln paused to adjust a pencil on his desk that had wandered out of alignment. ‘There is no danger that he will lead anyone onto the person he delivers to, but if I or anyone in my department were to act as the collector or recipient we could well lead someone onto
him
. All right so far!'

No it wasn't bloody well all right, Wallace hadn't liked the word “if” where he had broken off in the middle of the sentence. It seemed to indicate that there was a possibility of somebody, most likely Wallace, being apprehended. Nevertheless, he nodded, having got this far and utilised the hotel accommodation paid for by Bramble's masters he couldn't very well countenance backing out now.

‘We are not a major nation on the world stage, whatever our leaders may believe as our revered Prime Minister flies off to London, New York, Washington and Paris, so anywhere else this type of manoeuvre may be quite unnecessary,' Lincoln paused to allow a smile to pass his lips, presumably a grim smile – military personnel above rank of captain for the use of! Then the smile vanished, presumably in response to a crisp internal command, and he continued.

‘Here it is a little different, being close neighbours and what amounts to a Western nation within an Asian context, there is much interest in what we do, say or like. The former Communist nations are well represented here, as are the Muslim nations of the world, they all like to know what we and New Zealand are doing because to a certain extent it gives them some insight as to what the Americans are thinking.'

He paused briefly then continued.

‘If they can pick up anything from us that conflicts with the usual red herrings flung at them by Washington and the CIA they consider that what they get from us could be the truth. So, we have to be careful and watch what we say and do.'

He paused to sip his coffee; each movement of his lips and hands was geared not to spill a drop, the cup presumably being tilted at the regulation angle permitted by the powers at Duntroon.

Wallace was beginning to like the sound of this less and less, but couldn't think of any way of getting himself off the hook. Major Lincoln was assuming that he was going to do the job, which was probably his means of ensuring that Wallace
did
carry it out – once again the salesman's assumed close.