The Contract Man

by A P Bateman

  “Not far!” the man shouted above the noise of the wheels grinding on the uneven road surface. “Just another few minutes.”

  King frowned as he stared down the track in search of their final destination. He could see nothing and the Suzuki’s headlights did little to cut through the darkness.

  “Here!” the man shouted abruptly. “Pull in on the right.”

  King did as he was instructed and eased the little four by four to a halt on the right-hand side of the dirt track. He looked around dubiously, then switched off the vehicle’s headlights. “Where? I can’t see a thing.”

  The Indonesian smiled, then opened his door. “Follow me, I’ll lead the way,” he paused. “Don’t step on any snakes. The King Cobra is the worse, one bite and you’re a dead man. We are too far from a decent hospital out here. Oh, and don’t push branches out of your face before looking. It may be a temple viper hanging out of the tree…”

  King nodded, undeterred by the man’s pointless observations. He had worked in tropical territory many times and knew the odds of a snake actually biting someone. It was dark, so he wouldn’t be able to see any snakes, even if he was about to step on one. If one bit him, he would just be unlucky. Anyway, the Indonesian was going to be ahead of him, so there should be little to worry about.

  “We see my friend Todi now.” The Indonesian pushed his way through a barrier of head-high bamboo, then held some of the leafy stems back for King to step through more easily. “He is a good man, but you must not offend him in any way. Supposing he offers you a drink, you must drink it. Otherwise, he will not do business at any price…”

  King nodded, but remained silent as he tuned in to his surroundings. The nearby jungle seemed to come alive at night, and the host of sounds which carried on the night air reminded him that they were far from alone.

  They walked along the edge of the rainforest, across a piece of flat scrubland which separated the forest from the fields of sugarcane which dominated the mountainous region.

  King placed his feet carefully, making certain to step as near as he could to the man’s own footsteps. They were now skirting sugarcane fields, which were a prime habitat for deadly snakes such as the Kind Cobra or the Malayan Pit Viper. Worse in King’s mind was the spitting cobra which did exactly what the name suggested and blinded you by spitting venom before striking at your body. Even so, there was a whole host of nasties such as scorpions or spiders which could end their days with a single bite or sting, and the odds were extremely high that at least one of them was near.

  Ahead of them a tiny light shone dimly at the edge of the forest and as they approached King could see that it was in fact a small bamboo house raised from the ground by stilts about three feet high.

  “Good, he is home,” the Indonesian turned around and smiled. “Our time has not been wasted.”

  King was suddenly aware of something behind him. A footstep extremely close to his own. In one smooth motion, he rolled forwards onto his shoulder, then came up looking back towards the threat, his left hand held up in a fighting guard, ready to defend himself, his right hand on the butt of the tiny pistol he’d taken off Sixties Rocker, which he’d tucked snugly in the waistband of his trousers.

  There was a wail of laughter, as the threat lowered the large machete and stood facing the two men, his teeth gleaming brightly in the moonlight.

  “Todi!” The Indonesian walked forwards and slapped the man on the shoulder. “I have brought someone here on business.” He bent forwards and whispered something, too low for King to hear.

  Todi nodded in reply to his friend then looked at King. “You heard me behind you,” he paused. “You are very good. There is many a spirit who wishes that he had heard me.” He smiled, making a cutting motion with the long machete. “But they can do nothing about it now!” He laughed out loud, then slapped King on the shoulder. “Come, follow me. I have much to offer you. At a price…”

  Todi led the way and climbed the wooden steps. He held the door open for the two men to step inside. King shook his head and gestured them both ahead. He had the pistol in his hand behind his back. The situation had moved quickly and he felt vulnerable. The pistol restored balance as it so often does.

  The girl was beautiful and caught King completely by surprise as he followed the two men into the dimly lit bamboo hut. Her hair was the blackest that he had ever seen, long and straight, and hung down near to her pert, naked buttocks. King made a gesture of averting his eyes, but such was her beauty, he could not look away for long. She turned around, swept a hand through her blue-black mane and giggled childishly through her milky white teeth as she stood naked before them. Her breasts were small yet firm and seemed to defy gravity, in the way which only Southeast Asian women seem able to accomplish. Her skin was a light tan and the contrast with the dark tone of her hard nipples created an instant target for King’s staring eyes. He turned towards the other two men, suddenly feeling uncomfortable in the man’s home, then for the first time, saw Todi in the light of the house. The man was of average height, but extremely fit and wiry, with skin like tanned leather. His face was hard and weathered and his eyes had obviously seen a great deal of life. King estimated him to be in his late fifties, maybe older still, but the man’s physique belonged to somebody much younger.

  “You like?” Todi smiled wryly, almost proudly. “She is very beautiful. You like her, yes?”

  King paused for a moment, watching as the girl covered herself with a silk robe. He thought about the man’s question. If he seemed too eager, the man might well become jealous of another man’s admiration for his woman. If he hesitated for too long, he could become angry at the inherent lack of respect. “She has beautiful eyes,” King paused. “They denote an extreme kindness, and natural intelligence. You can tell a great deal from a person’s eyes…”

  “Hah!” Todi threw his head back and laughed. “You don’t want to fuck her then?” He grinned at the Indonesian and shook his head. “Many men want to fuck her when we go to town, but they learn!” He made a gentle swinging motion with the machete, then pointed to a nearby doorway and the woman obediently exited the room. He walked over to a table at the other end of the small hut and picked up an unlabeled bottle. He turned around, staring King coldly in the eye. “You drink?”

  King remembered what the Indonesian had said in the vehicle and nodded accordingly. “Please.”

  The man smiled then reached for three cups and brought the bottle back to them. “Jusi tell you about me?” He poured some of the liquid into one of the cups, then passed it to him. “Jusi tell you what I used to do?”

  King shook his head, hearing the Indonesian’s name for the first time. “No, he just said that we may be able to buy a gun, then directed me here.”

  Todi smiled and passed a cup to Jusi. “I kill Americans in Vietnam.” He watched King closely but saw no sign of surprise.

  I killed an American woman in Iraq, only a few days ago. So what? King thought, but kept his cool facade.

  “That does not shock you?” Todi cocked his head to one side, and kept his eyes glued to King’s.

  “No.”

  Todi smiled. “I killed American soldiers in Vietnam. Then when Vietcong killed most of my family, most of my village because they took American food and medicine, I switched sides and hunted the Vietcong and killed them as well. For the CIA…” He stared hard at him. “What do you say to that?”

  King held the man’s stare, then smiled. “The Americans lost the war, I’d say you switched to the wrong side…”

  “Ha! Maybe you right!” Todi grinned. “I am Vietnamese, I loved my country. I had to run for my life when the Americans pulled out of Saigon. I could never stay in Vietnam, not after I fought against the communists. They would have hunted me forever.” He took a sip from the small cup, then eyed King warily. “I fled with my wife. It took us two years to reach Sumatra, but she died there from a fever. I came to Java alone, but remarried ten years later. Most Indonesians do not like Viet
namese and life has been difficult…” He glanced at Jusi and smiled. “Most Indonesians at least...” He took another sip from the cup and looked at the ground solemnly. “My second wife died eight years ago, when my daughter was twelve years old. I have brought her up on my own, but she is a woman now, she wants to leave for the city and see the sights…”

  King nodded, suddenly understanding the man’s relationship with the young beauty. He had done mental math and had Todi down for mid-sixties at least. He had to be. But he was fit and wiry and could even have been a decade older. He raised the cup to his lips, then sipped some of the liquid. His lips pursed, and his throat burned as the whisky-like substance flowed down his throat like molten lava.

  He looked calmly at the Vietnamese and smiled. “Very nice, make it yourself?”

  Todi nodded, then replaced his cup on the table and stared coldly at him. “I have seen men like you before.” His eyes glazed slightly, as his mind played back over the years. “American assassins, working for the CIA. Operation Phoenix. Or Project Phoenix, as most would say.” The man’s English was becoming more and more fluent, and King guessed that it had been some time since he had used the language. “You are a killer. You have killed before. Many times.” He nodded knowingly at the Englishman, his eyes unwavering. “As you say, you can tell a great deal from a person’s eyes…”

  King looked into the man’s eyes. They were familiar eyes. He knew them well. They were the eyes of a killer. The eyes he saw every time he looked into the mirror.

  70

  When you stare into the barrel of a gun, two questions go through your mind. The first and foremost is: Am I going to live or die? The second is: Will it hurt? You find yourself praying that when the person pulls the trigger, the bullet will pass through cleanly. It will not smash into your jaw, it will not hit you in the eye, and you will not need another bullet to finish the job.

  There were four men, all dressed in civilian clothing, but Abdul Tembarak knew that they were soldiers. Hard and trained and willing to kill. He looked at the man with the gun again then slowly raised a hand and wiped the trickle of blood away from his mouth. He could not stop shaking and the thoughts of how his life might end spiraled around his mind, pulling at his emotions and at his will to live.

  “I will not ask you again,” the man said adamantly. “Where is the British assassin?” Tembarak stared at the man who had degraded both his wife and himself and shook his head. “I don’t know! I honestly don’t know!”

  Sergeant Grogol shrugged, then looked at the young soldier who held the pistol. “If he does not answer next time, shoot him in the foot.”

  “No!” Tembarak pleaded. “I don’t know where he has gone! For all I know, he has left me behind and gone to carry out his mission!” He stared at the ground, frustrated not only with Alex King for disappearing, but with himself for not remaining silent. He felt the guilt deep within him, like bile rising from the pit of his stomach.

  Grogol growled. “Where… Is… The… British… Assassin?”

  Tembarak stared at the man with the pistol, then looked back at the evil little sergeant, who was waiting for the soldier to follow his orders. “He has gone with the man who hires the cars.” He looked up at Grogol pleadingly. “I don’t know where they have gone, but they should come back soon. The Englishman was going to pick me up after he had paid for the vehicle.” He bowed his head in shame, the tears flowing down his bloodied cheeks. “But he drove the other way. I honestly don’t know where he has gone.”

  Grogol shook his head at the young soldier, then waved at the two men standing behind him. “Put him in the truck, I will work on him back at the base.” He stared at Tembarak as the two men caught hold of him, and bound his hands tightly behind his back with a roll of duct tape “Don’t struggle Tembarak, it will not make any difference,” he paused. “You have never really felt true pain, but I shall introduce you to it later.”

  “Please!” Tembarak struggled to stand as a wave of drowsiness washed over him. He felt faint, and he just wanted to die quickly, to be done with the whole ordeal as soon as possible. There was no fight left in him, and he knew it. What scared him most was that Grogol knew it too.

  Sergeant Grogol caught hold of one of the soldier’s arms, stopping him as they went to walk their prisoner forwards. He smiled sadistically, then stared coldly into Tembarak’s eyes. “Look at me, Tembarak. Look at me and remember everything that you hear.” He pushed his face so close to him that the two men almost touched. “I have fucked your woman Tembarak. I have shown her what a real man can do. She loved it, Tembarak. She screamed with pleasure as I entered her, and she received me willingly. Time and time again,” he paused, breaking into a cruel smile. “My seed swims inside your woman, Tembarak. I want you to remember that…”

  Tembarak felt the life wrenched out of him. He tried to shout, tried to scream, but there was nothing left inside. He bowed his head in despair, then felt the weight lift from his feet as the two soldiers dragged his lifeless body towards the truck. It was all over and he knew it. But with that realisation came something else, something indescribable. It was a new emotion, a relief. It warmed him, comforted him. He was going to die, he was sure of it. Nothing he could do would save him, his wife or the fate of their son. It was almost an out of body experience, making him a spectator to the events. He looked up and called out. “Grogol!” The stocky sergeant looked back, hesitated for a moment then strode arrogantly over. Tembarak muttered something incomprehensible and Grogol leaned in closer to hear. Tembarak lurched his head forwards savagely and connected with the bridge of the man’s nose. There was a bone crunching sound and blood and mucous spurted out from his nostrils as the man reeled backwards and fell onto his backside in the dirt, his nose crushed flat to his face. His eyes flickered briefly, then he was out cold.

  ***

  The box had remained untouched for quite some time. The dust and small pieces of debris were evidence of that. As Todi pulled it from under the single bed, a spider almost the size of King’s hand scuttled quickly into the dimly lit room. The spider hesitated briefly as the three men blocked its escape, then reared up on its thick legs baring visible fangs, as if ready to pounce on some unsuspecting prey.

  Seeing the large arachnid as a threat, or more likely an animal for which he had no compassion, King stepped forwards and raised his foot, ready to administer last rights with his size eleven walking boot. Todi sidestepped the spider, bumping into King and clearing a passage for the beast. Without further hesitation, the spider scurried on out of the doorway and out of view.

  Todi looked up at King, who had been surprised at the man's actions. “Death is not always the answer,” he smiled. “That spider is extremely poisonous and could kill you within a day or two if you didn’t get medical attention, but it will only bite as a last resort. Sometimes it is better to give another option to something that we do not completely understand.”

  “Todi believes in Karma…” Jusi smiled wryly. “He thinks that if he spares the life of a humble spider, one day, a humble spider might well spare his own.”

  King remained silent. Killing was killing to him. If you were prepared to take the life of a human, how could you fret about taking the life of a creature at the bottom of the food chain? He looked at the long wooden chest, then glanced at the two men. “Shall we get on with it?” He glanced momentarily at his watch, then thought of Abdul Tembarak who was still waiting for him at the station. “I have to get going very soon.”

  Todi nodded, then bent and unlocked the box with a small key. He blew the dust away from the lid, then opened it carefully, until there was just enough room for him to squeeze his hand inside. He fiddled for a moment or two with something in the box, then opened the lid all the way. King watched, somewhat bemused at the man’s actions, then noticed the British type L2A2 fragmentation grenade fastened to the lid with fuse wire, with a short length of string dangling from the ring-pin. He stepped forwards and sure enough he saw the loop in
the end of the string and the nail sticking out from the side of the box, to which it had been attached. Given the confined space of the small bedroom and the considerable blast radius of the grenade, lifting the lid of the chest another inch would have meant certain death for all three men.

  “My burglar alarm,” Todi smiled. “Guaranteed to end a thief’s career!” He reached into the box and pulled an oil-stained cotton sheet away, then beckoned King forward to take a closer look at the items for sale.

  King looked at the assortment of spotlessly clean weapons. He squatted on his haunches, then delved deep into the pile and pulled out a familiar friend.

  “Ah! You like communist reliability?” Todi smiled as King picked up the Kalashnikov AK47 assault rifle. “They lead the way in basic weapon design. That rifle has remained unchanged since I carried one in Vietnam, and twenty years before that even, but it would still be my choice every time. The Americans suffered many problems with their M16 rifles in Vietnam, the jungle ruined them in no time.”

  King knew what the man meant. During his extensive training he had gained experience of every military weapon in widespread use plus a fair range of exotics, and had been made aware of each and every one of their faults, either in design or usage. But he had never found a fault with the AK47 sufficient to dissuade him from putting his trust in it. It wasn’t as minutely accurate as the M16/AR15 derivatives for instance, but it was ten times as durable and reliable. In fact what it was about the Kalashnikov that made it so effective was its averageness. It was average in both weight and length, performed to average accuracy, and the 7.62mm x 39 mm bullet was average in both velocity and stopping power. The weapon was easy to strip and clean, operated almost entirely free from chamber stoppages and offered an all-round package that could not be bettered. There was no wonderful feature about it, but at the same time, there was no inherent fault with it either. With possibly the exception of its fire selector switch which went to fully automatic from safe. Nearly every other weapon went from safe to single fire to full-auto. King was aware of this, but had become used to it and had grown to appreciate the rugged tool as a piece of equipment that he could rely on. He released the thirty-round magazine, then pulled back the cocking lever and inspected the chamber.