by Ray Scott
‘All right!’ Lincoln rose and extended his hand. ‘Thank you, Mr Wallace, and well done.’
‘Hang on a minute, how do we get back to the hotel?’
‘By cab’
‘The hell we do! We’ve got half the security police force outside waiting for us.’
‘They won’t bother you now.’
‘Oh really, do they know that?’
He thought about it and then nodded.
‘All right, we’ll get you all back.’
They drove them back in two batches, Major Lincoln and Wallace slipped out of a side gate in an inconspicuous sedan while the four Americans were taken out through the front gates in the embassy limousine. He heard later that the limousine had taken them on quite an extended tour of the city before disembarking them at the front of the hotel. By that time Wallace was already back in his room and packing all his gear into his suitcase. He resolved to leave Jakarta as soon as possible…never to return.
Wallace saw Warren Hamilton and Jack Durham briefly at breakfast the next morning; they looked at him quizzically as he approached them. They had nearly finished their meal and were ready to be off. Their bus to the airport was due in about 10 minutes.
‘Hi Harry,’ Warren called out. ‘It was quite a night, last night.’
‘Quite a night,’ Wallace agreed. ‘Mind if I join you.’
They cleared a place for him and Wallace sat down. They chatted for a few minutes and then the receptionist announced over the address system that their bus was at the door. They all exchanged business cards, handshakes and claps on the back and then the two Americans trooped out. Wallace felt devastated after they left as he had at least until 6.00 pm when the next flight departed, if he could get on it, or until midday the next day when he was booked.
He opened his wallet to check the phone number of the airport, the sooner he did this the better. He made for the lobby phone that was just outside the dining room. The waiter paused, looking perplexed as Wallace walked out. He waved him to the table and went through the motions of talking into a telephone. The waiter got the message and delivered Wallace’s eggs and bacon.
Wallace watched him idly as he dialled the number; the waiter covered the plate and hovered around.
‘Hello, I want to change my flight time please.’
‘Yes sir – when did you want to fly out?’
‘Six o’clock tonight or earlier if possible.’
He gave them the flight details and waited, he could hear the clicking of computer keyboard keys in the background and then the voice returned.
‘Sorry sir, all flights to Australia are fully booked.’
‘What?’ he was thunderstruck.
‘Afraid so,’ the nasal twang of the Qantas man sounded equally surprised. ‘There’s been a flood of bookings within the last few hours. It looks as if you are still stuck with your flight tomorrow.’
‘Damn!’ Wallace said feelingly. ‘Look, if there are any cancellations can you telephone me?’
‘Sure thing, what’s your number? Oh I’ve got it here…OK.’
He read the hotel telephone number back and Wallace confirmed it. He went back to his table, shattered, with butterflies in his stomach. The room had filled up considerably since he had gone to the telephone, the breakfast “bulge” had commenced. He reached where he had been sitting and where his breakfast was waiting.
‘Oh God!’ Wallace said to himself.
There was a man sitting at his table.
Chapter 5
The man put down his newspaper and looked up.
‘Good morning.’
‘Good morning,’ Wallace answered coldly, company was the last thing he wanted at present as he was not in the mood for conversation. He had his doubts about eating as well, but still had pangs in his stomach and so he started to attack the scrambled egg.
‘You are here for a short visit?’
‘Eh! Oh yes!’ Wallace replied, and nearly choked as a piece of toast went the wrong way. ‘Yes, I leave tomorrow.’
‘Oh! You are here on business?’
Wallace looked up and regarded him searchingly, and experienced some surprise that he liked what he saw. He was a man of about 40 to 45, olive skinned with grey hair that was a little thin on top but quite thick around the edges. He wore rimless spectacles and had a pleasant smile. He was dressed in a smart grey suit, with a grey silk tie and had a red handkerchief peeping out of his breast pocket. He had a thin face with a long pointed jaw which looked quite appealing when he smiled. His eyes were brown and piercing and looked smaller than they should probably due to his spectacle lenses, which denoted an element of short sightedness.
‘I…yes…business,’ Wallace said a little more graciously. ‘And you are here on business as well?’
‘Yes, I have to attend a conference tomorrow. I work for Texaco, I am a hydraulic engineer and I am delivering a paper on safety in oil rigs; we have a refinery here. We usually have a conference each year.’
‘In Jakarta?’
‘No,’ the other man smiled and shook his head. ‘Texaco being what it is we hold them all over the country, but this was Jakarta’s year. We held the last one in Surabaja but the sewerage in some nearby areas was not conducive to having a successful conference.’
‘Is it worse than here?’ Wallace asked and he chuckled.
‘Indeed, worse than here,’ he turned and snapped his fingers at a passing waiter, ‘More coffee, please.’
He gave more instructions to the waiter and turned back to Wallace.
‘You work here?’
‘No, passing through.’
‘Who do you work for?’
‘I work for myself,’ Wallace replied and briefly explained his work.
‘Interesting,’ he said. ‘You wouldn’t be Harry Wallace would you, by any chance?’
‘Yes!’ Wallace replied and was on his guard at once. ‘Why?’
‘Small world, I was going to attend the Indonesia-Australia Society meeting last night at the university, but I didn’t reach town in time, I was held up with a problem regarding one of our rigs. You were the guest speaker. Now that I have met you, I am very sorry that I missed it’
‘How did you know it was on?’ Wallace asked, a little suspiciously since his address had hardly been the event of the year, except as a sleep inducer.
‘My friend Mr Roeg telephoned me and told me what was on this month, he usually keeps me informed. I have been a member of the society for some years…look,’ He reached for his wallet and took out a small plastic card. Wallace gave it a cursory glance, sure enough it had the Indonesia – Australia Society emblazoned on it. ‘Never mind, what was your subject?’
Wallace told him, he listened attentively. He asked one or two questions and answered one or two that Wallace asked him. They both sat until he had finished his breakfast and then they both rose to go.
‘What did you say your name was?’ Wallace asked.
‘I didn’t,’ he smiled. ‘But the name is Kalim, Julius Kalim.’
‘Maybe we’ll meet again,’ Wallace said politely as they walked out of the breakfast room.
‘Yes, I hope we do,’ Kalim replied and then they parted.
After peering nervously around the main door, Wallace finally made his way down the front steps of the hotel. He was sick and tired of looking at himself in the mirror or watching television that he could not understand, though there was a channel that seemed to specialise in English speaking programmes that gloried in such items as Bonanza, Tarzan, Star Trek, Voyage to the Bottom of the Sea, and other items of soap box rubbish dating back several years together with the usual smattering of Hollywood police series.
He looked from side to side in the same manner that mobsters do on Grade B Hollywood films, and then slowly made his way up the street. It was afternoon; further phone calls to Qantas had elicited the same information as before, no cancellations and therefore no seats.
He resolved not to wander far as he wanted t
o keep the hotel within easy running distance. He made his way to a parapet that overlooked the street below and rested his elbows upon it. The traffic poured past in an endless mass, as did the pedestrians on the two pavements. That was one feature about Jakarta; wherever you looked there were people – people – people.
‘Trying the afternoon air?’ Wallace nearly jumped out of his skin and his heart threatened to burst out of his ribs. He swung round and found Kalim regarding him with his usual smile, he was carrying a camera slung over his shoulder and he looked as though he had just taken a snapshot of Wallace.
‘Ye-es!’ Wallace spluttered.
‘I hope it comes out,’ Kalim said, eyeing the position of the sun. ‘I must have been nearly facing the sun when I took it…never mind…why don’t you stand over there?’
In view of recent events Wallace was reluctant to have his photograph taken at all, but Kalim was already taking up his position and it was not easy to argue or find a reason why not. Kalim clicked the camera twice and smiled.
‘I’ll have that developed before you leave,’ he said. ‘Do you fancy a walk?’
‘Not just at the moment. It’s…er…too hot.’
‘I wouldn’t argue with that. Have you seen the new shopping centre over the street yet?’
Wallace wasn’t clear how as his instinctive inclination was to head back for the hotel, but he found himself crossing the street with Kalim and entering the new shopping complex. Kalim entered a photography shop while Wallace waited outside and put his film in to be developed. It was one of those instant development shops, or at least nearly so, the sign outside in English said development within two hours. He came out inserting another film into his camera.
‘One these days I must invest in a digital camera,’ Kalim remarked and laughed. ‘It’s so much easier. Would you care for a coffee?’
‘Well . . I…!’
‘There’s a small coffee shop along here, shall we go?’ And such was his pleasant manner that Wallace followed him without demur. He looked carefully around but he could see nobody who looked like an undercover policeman.
Wallace sat in his room and considered what he should wear for dinner. He had had a pleasant afternoon with Julius Kalim, eventually he had forgotten his fears and begun to wonder whether Major Lincoln was right after all that after the flash drive had been handed over nobody would be interested any longer. They had had a coffee and then wandered through the shopping centre where Wallace purchased a small camera that had been a bargain. Kalim had done all the haggling and had beaten the shop-keeper down to less than 50% of the original asking price.
‘How did you do it?’ Wallace asked in wonderment.
‘Ah…! Long practice,’ Kalim smiled. ‘When you have been on the other side of the fence…or the haggle…you can detect a point at which the items will be sold or at least where the price is still acceptable. They always start off far too high. Even the most gullible tourist knows that, the secret is being aware of how far you can go. It’s all in the way the hands are moved, in the words and the facial expressions. After a while you can sense it. In this particular case, had we gone any lower he would have been making next to nothing, as it is he made a not unreasonable profit and you paid the right price.’
‘He didn’t look too happy.’
‘Ah, that is all part of the sales technique. He knows you could be back tomorrow, and if he looks displeased, or upset and disappointed today, you may possibly feel under an obligation to him tomorrow for obtaining what could be termed today’s bargain. You could probably feel guilt about his starving children that his facial expression and body language conveys to you and be a softer target should your paths cross tomorrow.’
That made sense, Wallace had no doubt that the lines of any preliminary skirmish would be different tomorrow. He resolved to avoid that particular shop on the way back to the hotel.
They had arranged to meet for dinner at the hotel, Wallace was determined – Kalim or no Kalim – that he would not stir from the security of the building after sunset, nor would he leave it subsequently until it was time to leave for the flight at midday the next day. Wallace had already telephoned Major Lincoln and told him that he wanted an embassy car to take him to the airport the next day, he was not going to travel by cab – maybe he had been guilty of watching too many spy thrillers on television, but he still feared the possibility of being kidnapped. Those two thugs had been a trifle too tenacious for his liking. There had been a short, sharp argument, but Lincoln had finally grudgingly agreed to send one of his minions.
Kalim rose to his feet as Wallace entered the dining room and the waiter ushered him to the table.
‘Would you join me in an aperitif?’ he asked, and waved to the waiter before Wallace had a chance to reply. He seemed to be studying Wallace closely as they sipped their drinks.
‘You are English, are you not?’ Kalim enquired.
‘No, Australian,’ Wallace answered.
‘My apologies, I thought I detected a trace of an English accent, southern counties to be precise.’
Wallace told him that he was right, after some hesitation. He had been born near London and his parents had left England when Wallace was very young. Accents are funny things. Wallace had picked up a broad Australian accent while at school, mainly due to peer pressure, which had slowly tempered over the years through to early teens, when it had slowly disappeared. His parents spoke what could be best described as an upper class English accent, with a trace of the southern inflexion peculiar to the Home Counties. As the years had passed during secondary school years this accent had gradually re-asserted itself and become more and more part of Wallace until there had been many times he was mistaken for a recent English immigrant.
That he was still a “Pom” and would be one for evermore was made inevitable during school and early commercial years. Whenever England made an Ashes tour he was subjected to incessant leg pulling, particularly when England lost a wicket, notwithstanding that his instinct was to support Australia. He still had a British passport, like many who were born in the United Kingdom, mainly because if he travelled to London either for work or to see relatives, he didn’t want to have to go through as an alien and join a long queue. As a British subject a British or European Union passport enabled one to walk straight through Customs. Wallace also had an Australian passport, which he was using on this trip.
Kalim was an entertaining companion, he laughed heartily when Wallace told him of the joke that had misfired at Singapore. He discovered that Kalim was a Muslim, with a name like Kalim that didn’t cause a surprise, and that he had been born on an island off Sumatra. Wallace told him something of his own background and hopes.
‘A circuit speaker,’ Kalim pursed his lips. ‘Is there enough scope in that to keep going?’
‘Not entirely,’ Wallace shook his head. ‘Enough to keep me and a few other circuit speakers going, but it is nothing like it is in the USA Population is the key there, there are many large cities in the USA that support many large companies, but in Australia we only have about five large population centres. In addition, the US being what it is, they like motivational speakers.’
‘You are going to the United States in the near future?’
‘No, more likely England, I am going there in a few months,’ Wallace replied. ‘There aren’t enough speaking engagements there to keep the wolf from the door…’ he hesitated wondering if Kalim knew the connotations of that figure of speech, but Kalim nodded understandingly ‘…however I have enough contacts in insurance from my time in the industry in Australia. I’ve never had problems obtaining temporary work – companies always have room for people to process claims, especially motor claims and water damage claims if there is a sudden storm that causes widespread damage.’
‘What does your wife think of this – are you married?’
‘No, not any longer, we have just had the divorce process I’m afraid.’
‘Oh I’m sorry to hear that. What happ
ened…Oh I’m sorry, it’s none of my business.’
‘That’s all right, there’s no secret about it. Elsie and I found we didn’t get on, and the parting was somewhat unpleasant.’
‘You are divorced now?’
‘Just,’ Wallace replied. ‘The process was finalised a few weeks back, after we’d sorted out the financial side of it.’
‘So you are living separately?’
‘Oh for sure,’ Wallace said. ‘She still lives in our unit in a bay side suburb, I moved out.’
‘Ah, these things happen,’ Kalim shook his head sadly. ‘But maybe it is for the best, when all breaks down.’
He poured some wine into Wallace’s glass.
‘What is the procedure in Western societies when divorces take place?’ Kalim asked as he put the bottle down. ‘This is something that is rare in our society. Does the wife retain the husband’s name or revert to her former name?’
‘It varies,’ Wallace answered. ‘But Elsie still uses her married name, calls herself Elsie Wallace.’
‘Interesting,’ Kalim said. ‘Tell me, when are you going to England?’
‘In a few months,’ Wallace replied.
‘Oh yes. What part?’
‘Mainly London and the south east counties, I still have friends and relatives.’
‘You have many relatives there?’
‘No, not many, an uncle and cousin in Surrey and a good friend in the Midlands,’ Wallace said. ‘I usually stay with them when I am there.’
‘You have nothing anywhere else?’
‘Maybe Manchester, insurance industry contacts, but nowhere else.’
That wasn’t entirely true, but suddenly Wallace began to feel uneasy about telling Kalim too much, after all, he hardly knew the man and after recent experiences perhaps it was unwise to say too much. Maybe he had said too much already.
