The Timor Man (27 page)

His legs weakened. He had to sit down.

The Lieutenant moved quickly, assisted by the more experienced Sergeant, clearing the area and reorganizing his new Command. “
Tuan, bangun, cepat
,” the officer ordered, instructing the Australian to get up quickly. Another soldier assisted him to his feet.

The Lieutenant barked out commands and the survivors regrouped. Carrying their fallen comrades' weapons, they departed the battle scene leaving the bodies where they fell.

 

As they retreated up the slope they were observed closely. The shooter replaced the binoculars and lifted the high powered snipers rifle. He checked the PSO-1 scope to make sure that it was exactly in the condition required for the remaining and more difficult shots he'd have to make.

The weapon was a Soviet SVD, weighing only four and one half kilos and had a muzzle velocity of two thousand seven-hundred and twenty feet per second. The killer enjoyed this weapon more so than its American counterpart, as the Soviet sniper's rifle had the advantage of being considerably lighter to carry. And over these distances and terrain, that was a major factor when determining which weapon to use, especially considering that both the American and Soviet versions were practically identical in all other aspects.

The weapon felt like an extension of himself as he settled the rifle comfortably into the shoulder, resting his right cheek against the stock as his left eye peered across at the magnified images. He was pleased with the accuracy of the earlier shot which dropped the Major. It wasn't necessary but he justified the killing for the additional confusion it had created.

He adjusted the telescopic sights marginally. Aiming at the figure towards the front of the line retreating back up the hill, he compensated for the angle of the shot, the differences in height, then took a bead on the centre of the man's back.

‘
The power of the small missile will tear the target's heart out through the front of his chest
,' the sniper speculated.

Gently he squeezed the trigger and the bullet leaped from the weapon hitting its target even before the sound of the shot could be heard. The startled Lieutenant turned and, as Stephen started to crumple, immediately recognized what had happened. Assisted by the other soldiers, he dragged the young Australian's body away from the line of fire.

 

Umar Suharjo was satisfied with his second kill. But he was annoyed that the third target had not appeared.
You can't kill someone if they're not there!
he thought, his mind racing as he knew that the General would be displeased that he hadn't also executed the American woman. He searched the field of view until he was convinced that none of the soldiers had established his position. He scanned the scene one last time to be absolutely certain then turned and crawled back into the thick undergrowth. He stashed the weapon under the trees, covering it with a thick mound of decaying leaves.

And, with the expertise of the silent killer, he quietly slipped away, unnoticed, and made his way back to the coast where the pre-arranged vessel took him aboard, for Jakarta.

And Seda.

 

Louise had stood outside the hotel. Why hasn't he left, already? She'd waited for Stephen to emerge from the Bali Beach and finally, she saw him stride out purposely, almost angrily, and slam the door of the old battered sedan. The staff had done as she had asked. By now he would have read her letter. And no doubt, hated her for her what she'd done. Again! Louise watched Stephen driven away in the old sedan, and out of her life, forever. She waited several minutes then returned to the reception where her luggage had been placed behind the cashier's door. The staff smiled at her, thanked the young lady for her generous tip, and watched her depart with the
gendut
, overweight American pilot whom they despised. She'd little choice but to take the Mutiara flight as Garuda Airlines had nothing going out that day.

The pilot had changed his scheduled flight to Surabaya to accommodate her, agreeing to fly directly to Jakarta and return via Surabaya instead of the other way around. It really made little difference to him anyway, he'd said, and so Louise had decided to fly with her fellow American.

As they approached Tuban airfield she felt relieved to see that Stephen's flight had departed. Louise searched the horizon for the aircraft unsuccessfully. Her driver passed through the unguarded gates leading into what would have been a restricted area in other airports in many parts of the world, and drove directly up to the only plane parked on the small concrete surface outside the hangers.

Several men working around the port side ceased what they were doing and assisted the American woman with her baggage. She boarded the twin-engined C-47, the same vintage as the aircraft she had taken just the day before, knowing from its appearance that this machine had not been maintained as well as she had hoped. There were crates of tools and other mechanical items stored slightly forward in the cabin. These had not been strapped down and, judging from the condition of the rest of the aircraft, Louise thought that it was unlikely there were even any straps available to secure the heavy boxes. Grease remained smeared along sections where recent maintenance work seemed to have been carried out, and she had to be careful not to brush against these areas when taking her seat.

There was some activity around the tarmac area and Louise could see two men sauntering casually across in the direction of the plane. She recognized the American and assumed, correctly, that the other man was part of their crew. Both boarded and went forward to the cabin, mumbling as they dragged themselves into their cockpit seats, acknowledging her presence with merely a cursory nod.

Louise didn't have much of an opportunity to see their faces, particularly their bloodshot eyes, as they had half stumbled past her as she sat already strapped into the flimsy seat; but if she had, there is little doubt that the aircraft would still have enjoyed her company for the remainder of the trip.

Jack was in a mean mood. His head was thumping from the late night and his co-pilot, one of the few Indonesian men who drank hard liquor, was not feeling too much better for the same reason. First one engine was fired up and then, within a minute or so, the other coughed to life; as the decibels affronted her hearing, the high screaming mechanical pitch causing Louise to cover her ears. The old aircraft wobbled around as it taxied out from the hard-standing area in front of the maintenance building, as if it were trying, or testing its wings.

Suddenly she wished she'd not phoned Jakarta and followed her heart instead of her mind! The aircraft stopped momentarily, the engine revolutions reaching an almost unbearable pitch, before it suddenly lurched forward and commenced its attempt to breach gravity.

No sooner were they airborne when the unshaven pilot unlatched the cockpit door and left the controls to his Indonesian co-pilot. He stumbled back into the mixed cabin and cargo area, lurching around until he located the small and dirty overnight Pan Am bag which had dislodged itself during takeoff. He pulled an aluminium flask from the side pocket, unscrewed the cap, put it to his mouth and took a generous swig of the contents. The pilot then looked back at Louise. She could see that he was unshaven. His puffed face and eyes were of immediate concern to her, and she was about to ask if he was well enough for the flight when he belched loudly.

“God damn, I really hate flying!” he laughed, sucking at the container for a second time. “Would you like a hair of the dog?” he asked, not really expecting his only passenger to accept.

Louise eyed him coolly. She was concerned. “Sure,” she replied, unexpectedly.

The surprised pilot passed the flask to the young woman, eyeing her now more closely. “Don't drink it all,” he suggested, “it's a four-hour haul to the next one.”

‘God,' she thought, ‘four hours to Jakarta with this cretin!'

She sipped once, smiled and extended the flask, deliberately permitting the bourbon to fall to the deck.

“Christ!” he snapped, lunging forward to retrieve the hip flask.

Jack managed to salvage a little of the contents. He eyed her coolly and thought, ‘bitch,' as he returned to the cockpit, fuming. “Just what we don't need right now, a smart-arsed woman on board,” he called to the other man as he levered himself back into the port side seat while using his co-pilot's shoulder for support.

Had she witnessed this man's clever act of the previous night then she may not have been as concerned, assuming the drinking was part of a routine the former civilian war pilot played out for his guests. But she hadn't, and this was no act, as the man always drank when flying. He'd developed the perilous habit along with many of his flying buddies in ‘Nam. On occasions he'd been known to drape a pet carpet snake around his shoulders when on the flight deck, but unbeknown to him, the other pilots at Mutiara had willingly disposed of it, under instructions from management. The man had a vicious streak and all were subject to his mean temperament when he drank.

Alcoholic haze and reality have no place together in the cockpit of any aircraft, and this flight was no exception. Considering the added aggravation of the incident involving the alcohol, Louise was concerned but not frightened, as she knew there was another pilot sitting forward, obviously competent, as Jack the blanket-seller had permitted the other flyer to take the controls while he went in search of an instant remedy for his hangover.

The aircraft droned along for an hour. Jack was, by now, well down the path of one of his fantasies which had, some eighteen months before, resulted in his contract not being renewed in Indochina. He'd not been lying when he boasted of his previous employers and his unusual background.

Jack had, in fact, flown for Air America for some time but suffered burn-out and was terminated before he killed someone. He'd managed to park two aircraft in unusual positions hard against the side of hills which, fortunately for him but not his other crew, were covered with thick vegetation at the time. Although the majority of the pilots were similar to Jack in nature, often taking uncalled for risks endangering their lives in the pursuit of the hefty pay packets these hazardous missions demanded, he was considered over the top with his weird antics as he scared the hell out of even the less stable flyers in the group.

After the second crash nobody would fly with him any more. He'd taken his pay and headed for Guam but, somehow, ended up in Bali with a job, flying the three former Australian C - 47s which, when they first took delivery, had almost zero engine hour time and full airframe clearance. The former owners had even added disc-brakes to the aircraft which were in almost perfect shape for these tropical conditions and would remain so, providing they were carefully maintained.

Now, suffering continuous neglect, these machines, once admired in aviation circles for their safety, had become very dangerous and should not have been cleared to fly. Two of the three planes had already been stripped for their parts, leaving the small feeder-service unable to maintain schedules and, more importantly to Jack, also unable to pay crew and ground staff salaries which had fallen seriously into arrears.

He drank here because that's how he'd flown in ‘Nam, Cambodia and hell, even Laos when he dropped in there with a load of weapons to pick up the white powder from the pudgy little General who always paid for his deliveries in that way. There was never any difficulty in finding a buyer for the heroin although he drew the line at taking any himself. An occasional puff on the ganja sticks was okay, he thought, but that white powder, it would make your brains rot like shit! And besides, he could probably drink a fifth of Bourbon on every leg and not miss a marker, he often boasted.

 

     
He recognized the familiar coastline of Java over the city of Semarang. In the distance he couldn't help but identify the incredible slopes of Gunung Semeru, its smoking peak reaching ove
r
twelve thousand feet into the sky, dominating the world aroun
d
it, sometimes spewing sulphurous clouds over low-lying village
s
or hurling thousand of tonnes of volcanic rock and ash over all i
t
viewed
.
Air becomes very thin around twelve thousand feet and thi
s
aircraft type was not designed to climb much above that ceiling
.
   
Jack decided to take the smart-arsed lady on a detour to sho
w
her some of his skills. He corrected the course slightly changin
g
the new heading in line with the volcano and winked at his fellow crewman
.
“We'll have a quick look,” he laughed, pointing his thumb bac
k
in the direction of the rear
.
His co-pilot just nodded, all too familiar with Jack's flying antics
.
He peered ahead and identified the backdrop of cu-nimbulu
s
and muttered to himself knowing that the sensible thing to d
o
would be to avoid these instead of playing around with th
e
mighty clouds. The American smiled as he returned to the rea
r
section of the plane, this time opening what appeared to be a too
l
box, but in fact contained yet another bottle of his favourite bourbon. Jack had never wondered why it was that he drank so littl
e
when on the ground but consumed such incredible amount
s
when airborne! He tore the cover off, unscrewed the top, an
d
lifted the bottle to his mouth
.
Louise understood the macho play and smiled at him when he'
d
finished taking the equivalent of two or three direct shots fro
m t
he bottle. She returned to her book, electing to ignore him, no
t
showing her concern which had grown considerably, as no
w
Louise had really become worried by his behaviour
.
He took another long swallow, and then moved forward to tak
e
over the controls
.
‘Bitch!' he said again, silently to himself
.
Another half hour passed and the mountain was directly u
p
ahead in their flight path. The alcohol now stimulating his brain
,
Jack commenced his tour around the active volcano, movin
g
the stick across, placing the slopes seemingly within graspin
g
distance. He was determined to either impress the young good
-
looking babe in the back or at least demonstrate his flying skill
s
even with the bourbon under his belt
.
‘Who knows?' he thought, maybe I'll get lucky tonight
!
He corrected the plane's altitude, increasing its climb and move
d
the compass bearing for a new heading to the port side of th
e
huge mountain. He intended to position the machine up as clos
e
to the summit as possible for a look-see into the crater if he coul
d
find a hole in the low weather which partly covered the peak
.
But even his clouded brain acknowledged the aircraft's altitud
e
limitations
.
Fifteen minutes later Louise felt the change in the aircraft's altitude, as it started to jump around suddenly, startling her. Sh
e
looked out the starboard window quickly and was surprised t
o
see the magnificent mountain slopes covered with trees seemingly scratching at the heavens, their tall trunks piercing throug
h
the rich undergrowth in search of more light, their crowns
a
mass of thickly leafed foliage offering haven to the numerou
s
families of birds nestled there
.
The scenery was incredibly beautiful. And disturbingly close
!
The mountain seemed to disappear above her, far up to the righ
t o
f the aircraft, the upper slopes now smothered in a blanket o
f
cloud. There were no people or villages to be seen. It was as i
f
the green walls of this enormous geological structure had forbidden man to enter, protecting its secrets under a veil of soft clou
d
and dense jungle. She was in quiet awe as the aircraft continue
d
to encircle the mid-slopes of the mountain, staring at the jungl
e
below as it smothered the lower view, offering its protection t
o
the life forms which survived in the strange environment
.
“Well, what do you think of that ma'am?” the voice interruptin
g
her thoughts
.