by Ray Scott
Wallace was in full agreement with Tara. He was pulled to his feet and was frogmarched to another door which was slammed behind him. He was thunderstruck to find himself in a small bathroom.
‘We’ll give you ten minutes, Wallace,’ he heard Tara say through the closed door.
Wallace made good use of the time allocated, it was nearer twenty minutes as it turned out, it seemed even Tara had reservations about invading a man when he was conducting personal business. The toilet break was undoubtedly for their own selfish purposes, there was no point keeping anyone incarcerated in what was virtually a prison cell without relief. Tara even knocked when he considered time was up, Wallace was incredulous at that. As he was hustled back to the attic along the landing he heard sounds coming from the open door of another room on the same level and caught a glimpse of a radio transceiver, a computer, keyboard and monitor screen.
He landed back in the small room. For the first time he had a good look around. There was an accumulation of junk as would be found in any attic anywhere. The ceiling was pointed, indicating the apex of the roof. He looked up, there was a small skylight in the roof, and there was also a small window about shoulder high. He peered through the latter and could see the road running across the front of the garden, there seemed to be a fair amount of traffic on it.
He sat on the floor with his back against a mattress leaning against one wall and puzzled over his predicament. One point was now clear, he had been set up in Knightsbridge in retaliation for acting as messenger boy for Major Lincoln in Jakarta, but in the main because he was handy, it wasn’t an outright retaliation. He had merely ‘made himself available’ and drawn himself to their attention. Ravindran had obviously been targeted for some time, either it was a case of waiting for a scapegoat to present itself which was what had occurred courtesy of Bramble and Major Lincoln, or else the assassination had been planned for a particular period of time and Wallace’s Jakarta activities had slotted in nicely.
McKay had appeared to be of the opinion that in an operation like that there could have been more than one scapegoat staked out, and Wallace happened to be the most convenient geographically and chronologically. Now Kalim wanted Wallace silenced because he knew of his complicity; had matters gone according to plan Wallace would have probably died of severe poisoning or a drug overdose kindly administered by Juan and Kalim.
Taking care to not become drunk had ensured that his intake had been minimal, but what had been ingested was enough to make him very ill. This resulted in his stomach rejecting whatever poison matter that had later been imbibed so that Wallace had vomited it all back up. That salmonella ridden meat pie he had purchased beforehand from the street vendor had done its job well and caused him to vomit out much of the poison. So when Kalim knew Wallace had survived, he had to be killed off as a possible informant who would prejudice Kalim, but did he know that McKay was in the background?
What Wallace didn’t understand was why the Indonesian Police Force was apparently trying to assassinate people, that is, whether Kalim was a member of the police, and if he was, whether he was working on their behalf or had his own agenda. Wallace had tended to believe the former, had he not seen him with his own eyes entering the police building in Jakarta? Yet it was possible he was working on his own, not for the police. Kalim could not possibly have known that Wallace had seen him enter the police building. As for Ravindran, he had not struck Wallace as being a dangerous extremist, he seemed to be more of a moderate or centralist, but perhaps that was the type that Kalim didn’t want in the equation.
Wallace was still feeling the effects of the recent beating, his body decided to take matters into its own hands to begin the healing process. He was still puzzling over the problem when he fell asleep.
He awoke with a start and found the sun was streaming in through the side window. That meant the window was facing east, though he wasn’t sure how that knowledge could assist. He heard activity outside, somebody was using the toilet, the cistern flushed and then there were heavy footfalls. About ten minutes passed and then the door opened and Tara stood framed in the doorway. He jerked his thumb to the right; Wallace cottoned on and trooped out.
Tara had a gun stuck in his belt and looked as though he knew how to use it; his hand was never far from it. He jerked his thumb again; Wallace got the message and headed for the bathroom. Tara left him to his own devices and Wallace attended to his ablutions and managed to swill down some water from the tap as he had a foul taste in his mouth. Once again, surprisingly, Tara knocked, and he was escorted back to the attic.
He wondered how long they intended to keep him there. He was escorted to the bathroom about four times the next day and found that the door to the radio/computer room was usually ajar when he passed by it. The escort was Tara most of the time, though occasionally it was his partner in crime, Fino. Where Tara was of dark colouring but had a European look about him – Wallace hazarded a guess that he could be of Spanish/Indian extraction – Fino looked to be more of a Filipino with a bushy head of hair. Fino was more of a sadist than Tara, to him being a gaoler was an art, he never missed an opportunity to put in an elbow or a fist, Wallace wondered if he had ever been a Rugby League forward. Tara kept his distance and merely ensured that Wallace did what he had to do and no more.
The food that was allowed was hardly in the gourmet class, he had some burnt offerings twice, early in the morning and late at night. When the night one came he was certainly ready for it. It was slid in through the slightly opened door and the empty tray was collected an hour later. He wondered whether the food could be drugged or poisoned, but the pangs of hunger were extreme and he attacked it with gusto.
On the third morning Kalim came to see him, he ignored the empty tray, presumably the collection of this item was for those lower in the pecking order, the Finos and Taras of this world.
‘Oh…!’ Wallace said when he realised that it wasn’t Tara. Kalim gravely inclined his head.
‘Good morning, Wallace,’ he said, Wallace noted the absence of any courtesy title. ‘You are comfortable?’
Their eyes met and for a brief moment, as Wallace cast his eyes around the Spartan surroundings and then back at him, there was a fleeting moment of humour.
‘You are wondering why you are here?’
‘The thought had crossed my mind,’ Wallace answered, determined to show no fear until forced to.
‘You are here because you know too much, you know that Ravindran was killed on my orders and you are the only one, apart from my colleagues, who knows that.’
And McKay, Wallace thought, and looked down in case he betrayed any emotion of triumph that could give that away.
‘Why me in the first place?’ he asked, though McKay had already given an inkling.
Kalim shrugged and he gave a half smile. For the first time, since the death of Ravindran, Wallace caught a glimpse of the old Kalim, the gentleman who had entertained so well in Jakarta.
‘You were convenient, Mr Wallace,’ he said and Wallace noted the addition of the courtesy title. He leaned against the wall, his jacket fell open and there was a shoulder holster peeping out beyond his lapel. ‘You were very convenient, and we were able to find out much more about you during the ensuing months than I obtained from you in Jakarta.’ He gave a half smile and gave an outward gesture with his left hand. ‘Truly, hell hath no fury…as you Australians would say…and this was indeed so in your case, very much so.’
There was a pause, and Wallace inclined his head to one side, he didn’t quite follow.
‘Ravindran was becoming a nuisance. He was providing a focal point of resistance to the local government. If there was to be a revolution ousting the Indonesian Government he could be a popular figurehead…no…more than that, a popular leader. That would never have suited us, we wanted no interim leader like the Russian Kerensky in 1918 to act as a bulwark between us and a state run under religious law…you understand?’
Wallace nodded, he was beginning to.
Kalim was an undercover man for a group who were planning a long term take-over for one of the islands, to be run as an independent, religious state. And one island under fundamentalist control could act as a springboard for taking over the whole country, the domino principle. Ravindran was a moderate who would have run a secular state and therefore had to be removed. Wallace began to go cold, why was Kalim telling him this? Was he confident that Wallace would not…or could not…talk?
‘But why me…how did…?’
‘You told me you were coming to London, you remember that? It coincided with the dates when we knew we had to dispose of Ravindran. Ideally we wanted to be rid of him two months before that, but knowing you, an ASIO agent, were coming here we could afford to wait. We booked a lease in your name for the Knightsbridge flat with information we had obtained on you; then used the apartment ourselves. We took care not to be seen, but merely made some noise now and again, used the telephone and paid the cleaners and the rent.’
An ASIO agent…Wallace cursed Bramble soundly. ‘Just a little job’ he had said… Christ Almighty!
‘Then the night came when we disposed of Ravindran and we left you in the flat. We gave you a lethal dose, we thought, or one that would make you mentally incoherent. The police were supposed to put it down to an overdose, possibly suicide.’
Wallace felt himself go numb with horror. The thought of being framed was not horrific, though bad enough, the thought of being drugged and rendered unconscious he could not take. The thought of physical injury, even one resulting in a permanent limp – say – was frightening but not horrific, but the thought of possibly being rendered mentally incapable was terrifying. Wallace felt himself becoming queasy and Kalim saw his reaction.
‘You would have known nothing about it, and you should have been dead,’ he said soothingly as though that made everything all right. ‘We would have been doing you a favour in this unkind world.’
Wallace wasn’t so sure of that, he began to feel a revulsion against Kalim. He wondered if they were going to try it again. Kalim must have read his thoughts.
‘And now you know too much, we cannot risk you being able to talk.’
He turned to go as once again Wallace was consumed with horror.
‘You have been a nuisance over the last few weeks, Mr Wallace.’
‘Look, I’ll never tell a soul,’ Wallace began, to his shame he found himself beginning to plead. ‘I promise you that your secret will be safe with me…!’
He saw it coming and managed to ride it. The back of Kalim’s hand hit him across the temple and he spun to the floor. He was moving in the same direction and the blow was a glancing one. Kalim wrung his hand, it must have hurt him too as it was the back of his fingers that connected not his knuckles. Wallace put on a performance that would have done credit to an English Premier League forward in the opposing team’s penalty area; he writhed and clutched his head. Kalim looked down at him, and then turned on his heel.
‘Goodbye, Mr Wallace, and it is truly goodbye.’
Tara came in and removed the breakfast things and the door slammed behind him. Wallace sat there clutching his head, and tears sprang to his eyes. He suddenly realised how much he valued life, and how little of it he had left.
Chapter 22
Wallace knew he had to get out somehow, if he didn’t then he was doomed. Though a peace loving type by nature, he now had no qualms whatsoever about doing anyone an injury in trying to escape.
He looked around the attic, the window was clearly far too small, the only way out was the door. Tara came in later for one of the toilet breaks, probably Wallace’s last. Physical force was out of the question, Tara was too big, and in any case even if by some fluke Wallace won a physical contest, the resultant noise would bring reinforcements.
He examined the lock closely when Tara led him out to the toilet, it didn’t look too substantial. When securing an attic door the original architect would hardly have considered fitting a strong room lock on the assumption that one day somebody would be incarcerated in it. Further, although the radio/computer room appeared to be fully occupied during the day time hours, it was vacated around 6.00 pm and they all trooped downstairs – presumably to enjoy their evening meal and rest from their labours and, in Fino’s case, from ill treating the prisoner.
Fino brought in the evening meal and left it on the floor; he must have been in a good mood because he merely left it and departed without his customary blow. Wallace sniffed it carefully, apart from being badly cooked it seemed all right, he could detect nothing untoward such as he’d experienced in the restaurant dinner with Kalim and in any case, he was ravenous. By the time he had reached the end of it the back end of the meal was cold, but he still ate slowly. If he felt at all queasy or experienced any strange taste in his mouth he had determined that he would cease eating. However, on completion he still felt all right, though still hungry.
He secreted the fork under the mattress and left the knife and spoon on the tray. He would have liked to have retained the knife as well but two missing items would be too obvious. Fino came in about 8.00 pm and picked up the tray without even looking at it. He went downstairs and Wallace waited for the voices, the heavy tread on the stairs and the bursting open of the door followed by a comprehensive search…but nothing happened.
He took out the fork and set to work. He bent one of the prongs and inserted it into the keyhole. In his school days he had attained a high level of proficiency for picking the locks of the lockers in the gym, and also the padlocks on bikes in the bicycle sheds. His services had been in great demand by joy riders and practical jokers. Wallace was not so sure whether his capabilities and skills had survived the passing of the years now that his life depended upon them.
He felt around gingerly with the bent prong and located one of the levers; it was highly unlikely with a room of this type that the lock would be anything other than a two lever. He would have to be very unlucky, and the house unusual, for there to be more than two levers in any lock, especially as British house owners did not customarily use their upper rooms as jails.
There was a click, he tried the door handle but it didn’t budge.
‘Shit!’ he uttered feelingly, and his previous emotions, those of tears and sheer fright, overcame him once more. He probed around again and realised that the end of the prong was against something unyielding, it was the second lever. He eased it up and down, and…did it move? It did, there was another click and this time he actually saw the tongue of the lock move backwards. He pulled on the door handle, the door stayed shut but it moved slightly. He tugged again, there was a scraping noise and the screeching of metal against metal as the door jammed tight, the tongue of the lock was still half way out and jamming against the door jamb. It had stuck.
‘Bugger you!’ Wallace snarled and set to work with the prongs again, the tongue slid back another millimetre or so but the clearance was now sufficient to enable the door to open…but under protest with more screeching and scraping that echoed and re-echoed throughout the house and was probably heard the other side of the street.
He peered out onto the landing; there was no sign of anybody. He crept to the top of the stairs, the light was on down below in the hallway and the door to one of the rooms was open. He heard the sound of voices so he couldn’t go that way. He went back along the passageway; the door to his attic prison was still open so he stealthily closed it. The open door would immediately give the game away if anyone came upstairs. The door protested once more with metal upon metal, but it did look closed. Wallace could get in again if he needed to.
He went into the next room, it was a bedroom and he went over to the window hoping to find a convenient drain pipe. There wasn’t one. He entered the radio/computer room, peered out of the window and saw that this time there was a handy drain pipe and it ran close to an out-house roof. That would do. He raised the sash window and stretched one leg over the window sill. As he did so the telephone in the room rang and he nearly fel
l off the sill onto the floor in a panic.
‘Oh God!’ he moaned to himself, if anyone came to answer it he couldn’t fail to be discovered. He thought about dashing back into his attic prison but could hear footsteps on the stairs. With a yelp of fear and despair he squeezed into a gap between the filing cabinet and the wall and sank down on his haunches.
The ringing ceased, he could hear voices down below. The steps on the stair went past the door and entered the toilet. Fearfully Wallace decided to head for the window again, but on an impulse he picked up the receiver and placed his hand over the mouthpiece.
‘…unnecessary complication, you’re not in a banana republic now, you bloody fool!’
‘He knows too much, you understand? If he is allowed to live I would be forever compromised.’ This was clearly Kalim.
‘So you expect me to dispose of him…I suppose I haven’t much choice, but we are dealing with a country that has an efficient police force, not a corruptible rabble. I want more money, my friend! This is far more dangerous now especially as the police are looking for him as well.’
‘All right, Juan, you’ll get it, we can wear that, but he has to disappear, and for good!’
‘Good!’ Wallace heard Juan purr, and felt a surge of fury that his demise should just be a marketable commodity. ‘Apart from your colleagues, and mine, does anyone suspect your hand in Ravindran’s death, and why Wallace is being held there?’
‘No Juan, except…er . . !’
‘Tara and Fino, no problem, I understand,’ Juan said. ‘I’ll come within the hour, is he conscious?’
‘Yes, for the present, but we can arrange that if you prefer. I’ll get Tara to deal with it,’ said Kalim.
‘Make sure he does it properly because we don’t want any repetitions of that cock up at Knightsbridge,’ rasped Juan. ‘How did he survive that?’
‘I don’t know, maybe he had some physical immunity, I really don’t know.’
