Mark Abernethy - Double back

‘Yeah, mate – I mean, sir,’ said Toolie. ‘They send out a couple of boys and then the next day a whole mule line comes through, with these packs on their backs.’

‘Okay,’ said Robbo. ‘Good work, boys. Get back to the bivvy and write it up. We’ll take over here.’

After Mitch and Toolie had cleared out, Mac and Robbo took their places, which allowed a perfect vista of the entire bush market area and the far side of the river crossing. Mac was impressed – it must have taken several days to build and finetune the OP, and he knew from operating with Aussie special forces that these structures were virtually invisible during the day.

‘So let’s get this sorted now, okay, Macca?’ said Robbo, squinting through the short, boxy telescope. ‘Don’t want the boys getting nervous.’

Although there were night-vision goggles hanging on the wall, Mac could see the OP was choosing not to use them.

‘Okay,’ said Mac, weighing his words as he took the map-reader from Robbo. He wanted to be very careful how he introduced the concept of a vaccine factory – he might even leave that part for later.

‘I need eyes at a site about half a mile outside of Maliana – operation name Saturn,’ said Mac, pulling the U2 pics from the satchel and aiming the dull red light of the map-reader on the first photo. ‘It’s this one here, and that’s the entrance. Reckon I need half an hour in there.’

‘Any intel on the security?’ asked Robbo, intent on the map.

‘Seems to be four or five MPs but they’re flatfoots – they’re not Kopassus, Marines, anything like that.’

‘You have a preference?’ asked Robbo, turning the photo to get a better angle.

‘Trucks are going in and out of this gate, into this loading area here,’ said Mac, pointing. ‘There’s a lot of activity. Thought we might infiltrate that way, or just do a break-in. The vents look like the weak point.’

‘Can do,’ muttered Robbo. ‘We’ll recce it today, maybe tonight, see what’s doing.’

‘The second recon job is an airfield halfway between Maliana and Memo,’ said Mac, shuffling the next photo to the top of the pile, where it glinted in the red light. ‘It’s a basic look-see with a camera.’

‘What are we looking for?’ asked Robbo.

‘General recce. Look, listen and report.’

‘We going into these hangars?’ asked Robbo, pointing.

‘Make a plan once we’re there, huh?’ said Mac, both of them knowing that Mac was going into those hangars.

‘Which leaves -’

‘Yeah, it leaves the girl,’ said Mac.

Shuffling the next photo to the top of the deck, he held back on tabling it.

‘Expecting trouble?’ asked Robbo. ‘What exactly are we talking about here?’

Exhaling, Mac decided it wasn’t smart to keep the details from Robbo for much longer. ‘Mate, you know the Ginasio in Maliana?’ he said, taking his hand away from the U2 pic.

‘Sure do,’ said Robbo, concentrating on the eight-by-five.

‘The Kodim 1636 base is adjacent – operation name Mars – this collection of buildings here, right?’ said Mac, gesturing to the photo.

‘Yep,’ said Robbo.

Kodim 1636 was the regiment covering the Bobonaro district and the command centre for most of the militia atrocities.

‘We have two credible sightings of our target – Blackbird – at this base,’ said Mac, avoiding Robbo’s looks.

‘Local girl?’ asked Robbo.

‘Yep,’ said Mac, showing the eight-by-five of Maria Gersao.

‘Where do you think she is?’ asked Robbo.

‘She could be in the Kodim’s detention centre, here beside their main barracks,’ said Mac, pointing it out.

‘I know the building,’ said Robbo. ‘Didn’t know it was the prison.’

‘It’s actually more likely she’s in the intelligence compound,’ said Mac, moving his finger across to a fenced precinct within the base.

Silence dragged out between the two men, Robbo’s eyes large and white in the gloom. ‘Intelligence compound?’ he asked, aggressive.

‘Yeah, mate,’ answered Mac, stammering slightly. ‘It’s this area up the back of the main Kodim -’

‘I know it, Macca,’ said Robbo, his jaw tensing, eyeballing Mac.

‘Okay, so -’

‘So there’s only six of us, mate.’

‘Seven if you -’

‘No offence, Macca.’

Staring at each other, Mac gulped first. It was never easy to sell these missions to the soldiers who bore the brunt of them. But in this case, they had less than two weeks before the ballot result was announced and Mac was under intense pressure to deliver Blackbird.

‘Okay, Macca, we’ll recce it and have a chat, okay? But it’s far from ideal.’

‘Sorry, mate, but -’ started Mac, but Robbo was already leaving.

Picking up his photos and replacing them in the satchel, Mac wondered how he could have sold it any better. The problem centred on the real occupants of the so-called intelligence compound at the Kodim Maliana. Robbo’s six commandos were being asked to snatch a girl from the second-largest Kopassus base in Timor.

Mac woke to the beeping of his G-Shock, his brain still craving sleep. It was 6.55 am and in five minutes he had to make his first call to Jim in Denpasar.

Sitting up in his sleeping bag, he saw Johnno scraping soap suds off his cheeks at the other side of the hide. Turning, the soldier offered him a smile, his face half-shaved.

‘Some rats for you, McQueen,’ he said, nodding at the water bottles and foil tins stacked beside Mac’s bed. ‘That top one’s the meat sauce and pasta – tastes okay cold.’

Thanking him, Mac stood and stretched in his undies, then took a look through the gaps in the bamboo and foliage walls of the hide. The morning was lighting up the jungle and the birds and monkeys were at full roar.

‘Where are the others?’ asked Mac, grabbing a bottle of water and slugging at it.

‘Scouting, observing,’ shrugged Johnno. ‘I was supposed to be here when you woke up, tell you not to go wandering out alone.’

‘Gotcha,’ said Mac.

Johnno left as Mac readied to talk with Jim. The call was as simple as a cell-phone conversation in a major city. The sat phone supplied by DIA operated via the Pentagon’s own satellite network. No communication that travelled through the atmosphere was one hundred per cent secure, but the Pentagon’s satellites were what they called ‘five nines’ – that was, 99.999 per cent secure. Virtually impossible to hack.

‘In place?’ asked Jim, a small sucking sound telling Mac that the American was smoking with his morning coffee.

‘Yeah, sweet as,’ yawned Mac. ‘Could have done without the swim, though.’

‘You can catch my Learjet home.’

‘Tell ’em I like my beer cold and chicks hot.’

‘Can do,’ laughed Jim. ‘Got Tony here – he’d like a word later. But first, we’re both getting heat about soldiers and spooks in-country for the start of the referendum on Monday. Tony and I have tossed it around, and your DIO guys have been up here too – sorry to put the bite on you, McQueen, but we want the lot of you out of there before sunrise on Sunday, copy?’

‘Fuck’s sake, Jim!’ spat Mac, latent fear rising in him. ‘It’s fucking Friday morning! Jesus! ’

He knew if he didn’t calm down he’d get a visit from Johnno, so Mac deepened his breaths and attempted to quell the overreaction.

‘Sorry about that, McQueen,’ said Jim into the silence. ‘It’d be nice to do these things under perfect conditions, but there’s too much riding on this ballot. Washington and Canberra want to be cleanskins, you know, in case it turns to shit.’

Mac didn’t like doing anything to a politician’s timetable, but rushing something as dangerous as the Blackbird snatch was crazy. The way Jim was talking, they’d have to grab Blackbird by Saturday evening at the latest – regardless of the risk factors.