“No,” he said immediately, even though the figure was not too astronomical. He was tired enough to accept anything but he felt that it was necessary to continue playing the role by refusing the offered amount.
The pair broke into animated discussion. He wished he could explain that one of them could go home if she wanted but the language barrier was too great and he really didn't feel up to a prolonged haggling session with the two.
“Mister?” the one with the ballpen asked, having scratched out the original figure and halved it, showing just how generous they could be as the other woman commenced removing her clothing.
“Okay,” he accepted knowing that he'd still paid well over market for the service.
Before the porter could escape to wait for his commission back down in the small reception, Coleman gesticulated with imaginary chopsticks to indicate that he was hungry. One of the women immediately smiled and put out her hand. He gave her one hundred Hong Kong dollars and she pouted. He laughed, they both then smiled and so he added another hundred knowing that whatever she returned with would not exceed his first offer.
She was gone for only twenty minutes by which time Coleman had been stripped and almost raped by the small tiger who had stayed behind. Obviously, he thought, the two had discussed their timing and this one was determined to have him laid and out well before their dinner arrived.
An hour later the three sat cross-legged on the bed having eaten the combination of noodles, vegetables and steamed fish.
He smiled to himself, wondering what his old friends would have said if they could see him now, sitting with two Chinese prostitutes probably well past their prime judging from the neighbourhood they were working, drinking the local sweet beer while being hand fed roadside food. If it hadn't been for the lingering doubts he still carried as to the purpose for his summons to Macau he might have even enjoyed the moment. But he couldn't.
There was no way that the three of them were going to squeeze into the bed comfortably together, no matter how vivid the imagination and regardless of how he tried, neither understood that he then wanted at least one of them to go home. They either didn't understand, or had elected to stay together as they were quite happy. It wasn't often they were paid so handsomely and fed for their efforts.
When he awoke they had both gone. He was still tired, stressed out completely from lack of sleep, and from the strenuous efforts to satisfy the rapacious desire of two women.
Then suddenly he remembered his wallet.
“Bloody whores!” he called. Jumping out of the bed too quickly he hit his leg on the bedside table in the cramped room. The pain forced him back onto the bed, holding his knee until the cruel ache subsided. He then limped across the room to check his pockets.
Nothing had been removed. Quietly relieved, he showered and paid for the room, leaving his soft leather carry-all with the old porter, who kept on grinning and giving him the thumbs up whenever he attempted to speak to the man.
He slipped another twenty dollars into the man's white jacket, borrowed his black umbrella and left for his rendezvous. He walked slowly, the humidity had already climbed well towards saturation point. Coleman found that it was easier to lean forward as he struggled against the strong wind.
It wasn't all that far. In less than half an hour he had passed through the small narrow cobblestone side streets down through the casino area and then back across to the small commercial harbour district in time for the prearranged assignation.
The sky was ominously dark as sheets of rain cut across the harbour. He held one hand over his eyes to protect them from the stinging pellets of water which forced in under his umbrella and quickened his steps. Running was inadvisable as the road was now covered with large puddles which were difficult to detect. Rain poured down furiously. Fierce gusts struggled with the umbrella. He considered folding it as his clothes were already wet but before he could do so, another blast of wind ripped the nylon up and back over the shaft, rendering the umbrella useless. He discarded it immediately.
Coleman had been advised that the meeting was to take place in the old warehouse which he had often visited and where, unbeknown to him, the armament shipments for Timor had been split. He was convinced that Seda had to be behind the meeting as, apart from the General's strange and hostile assistant, there were no others who would have been aware of their previous meetings in that place. Consequently, Coleman considered the warehouse an obvious choice for the deliberately vague arrangements.
Strong gusts continued to blow as he approached the large sliding doors. The wind rocked the steel structure and it creaked and moaned under the onslaught. He'd remained outside for a few minutes trying to detect whether it was safe to enter and finally accepted that it was impossible to know. The old building hadn't really changed. A warehouse is a warehouse, he thought, taking one last deep breath before stepping through the Judas gate. As he entered, Coleman thought he'd felt a cobweb clinging to his face and shoulder and quickly brushed the imaginary spider away.
The building was dark in the late hours of the overcast morning. Apprehensive, Coleman moved through the building cautiously, concerned now that he had committed a grave error attending the meeting unarmed. He regretted throwing the broken umbrella away. It would have given him some comfort, he thought, even if only psychological.
Alight hung dimly in the far corner. He experienced a sense of
déja vu
.
Nothing had changed since his last visit. Except the pattern of his whole life. Pausing for a moment to allow his vision to adjust to the poor light, Coleman squinted across at the shape he could just make out in the far corner. The solitary figure sitting at the small desk waved impatiently for him to advance.
Coleman obeyed, moving cautiously in the man's direction. It was Nathan Seda. Coleman could sense that there were others close by but could not detect their presence in the sparsely lighted building.
“
Come, Stephen, we don't have much time
,” Seda ordered.
They sat facing each other. It was as if the General represented the master and Coleman the errant child awaiting punishment. He suddenly felt cold, his saturated clothes causing him to shiver involuntarily. He stared at Seda.
The Timorese was dressed like any other would around the docks. His voice sounded tired, almost old, and Stephen wondered if he'd come directly though from Jakarta or, as he himself had done, arrived the day before during the rough weather.
Maybe that's his problem, Stephen thought. If the rumours were true and an attempt really had been made against the General's life then, in all probability, Seda would perhaps expect his assassins to try again and this would account for the months of silence and subterfuge surrounding their relationship.
A length of iron sheeting shrieked as a strong gust of wind picked it up, violently slamming the metal roofing back into place, startling both the men.
Coleman was tense, waiting for his partner to commence. The light swayed slowly from side to side, pushed by an occasional puff of air forced through one of the many cracks in the damaged asbestos walls. Shadows danced, almost in slow motion, following the bulb's casual movements, creating an almost mesmerizing effect which he tried to ignore, concentrating on the other sounds he could hear behind the crates stacked to one side of the small desk. The palms of his hands were moist. He hoped the nervousness was not evident, and looked closely at the General to see if he could read anything from his expression, but couldn't.
“
It's finished, Mas,
” the Timorese suddenly announced
.
Stephen paled.
âWhat do you mean, finished?
'
“
It's time to clean our house and put things in order,
” Seda said
,
cocking his head to one side, causing his features to appear almost sinister in the half shadow.
“
What do y.
...” Coleman was cut off by a sudden gesture as the General raised his hand impatiently to indicate that he had not finished.
“
The company is closed. Our kongsi is finished and, sadly, our relationship must now come to an end.
”
“
Pak Seda, I don't understand what's happening here! What is going on? Why must we terminate the company's activities?
” Stephen asked, as he felt the panic rising, events overtaking him at a speed he could not comprehend.
“
Because we must now eliminate all traces of our involvement in the weapons supply companies. Because some of these weapons have fallen into the hands of the Timorese rebels and we will be blamed!
”
We? he thought quickly. How could we be blamed when the whole goddamn operation has your personal stamp all over it? His mind raced. What was coming next? Was there someone lurking behind those crates waiting to tidy up after the General departed?
Stephen recognized the strange glint in the General's eyes and instantly realized that his life was in grave danger. This man, his partner, obviously intended to have him removed as one of the traces he had just mentioned.
But not right away, he could tell. Seda would not have risked exposure if the sole purpose of this meeting was simply to bid his partner goodbye. There was something else missing here, he knew, something more that the General wanted.
His mind raced silently. If Seda was aware that Stephen had known about his activities in supporting the separatists then that would certainly explain a great deal. But how could he know? Who would have told him? Only Anderson would be in a position to do so and he hadn't been in contact for ages.
Slowly it dawned on him. Of course. Anderson! Anderson and Seda. Together! But why go to the trouble of bringing him to Macau? Why didn't they just have him eliminated in Jakarta? Coleman searched desperately for a solution to his precarious situation.
Suddenly he knew. The General first needed to know if Stephen had kept any records which might come to light in the event of his death.
“
What should we do, Pak Seda?
” he asked, holding his voice even, determined not to display any sign of fear.
“
Destroy all evidence and cease all activities immediately!
” he demanded.
So, that was it! The General was obviously very concerned that evidence existed which would incriminate him and, should Stephen suddenly disappear, the General feared that this information could be revealed! Was what had happened to his servants some of Seda's handiwork? Had it merely been a message to warn him of what could have happened if they'd so wished?
He hesitated. Whatever he said or did next would undoubtedly determine whether or not he walked away from this meeting.
His hands were shaking. “
Pak Seda,
” he commenced, “
This will not be a simple task.
”
The General scowled at the Australian.
“
Why?
” he snapped.
“
Why?
” he countered, “
because there are companies incorporated in at least five different countries all requiring my seal. These would have to be dissolved, agreements with nominee directors terminated, bank accounts closed and
,” he added, his mind moving quickly, “
there is a mountain of administrative work which would be necessary in order to completely bury the trail of all of our activities.
”
Seda recognized the emphasis that had been placed on the âwe' as he spoke.
There was a long silence before the impatient general snapped again. “
How long?
”
Stephen hesitated. He had to play for time. It was obvious that once he had completed these tasks to his associate's satisfaction, his life would be worthless!
“
Six months,
” he suggested.
Nathan Seda's eyes flickered once, then he nodded slowly. “
You must do it faster if you can, Stephen!
”
“
We have known each other for a long time, Pak Seda. You must trust me. I will do whatever is necessary as you have instructed
,” he said, relieved at the General's reaction.
Seda remained silent for several long minutes before continuing the discussion.
“
You are not to return to Indonesia, Mas, under any circumstances. Do you understand?
”
For a moment, Coleman was staggered by the unexpected command, and remained speechless waiting for the explanation.
The Timorese remained silent.
“
That's crazy, Pak General, why would I not want to return to Jakarta?
” he asked, anger suddenly taking the place of fear.