The Contract Man

by A P Bateman

  “All my guns are clean and work perfectly.” Todi folded his arms defensively, then smiled. “I have ammunition as well, both full metal jacket and tracer.”

  King rested the weapon on the wooden floorboards, then reached back into the box. “I want five magazines, one hundred and thirty rounds of jacketed and twenty rounds of tracer.” He pulled out the small Uzi 9 mm machine pistol, then quickly checked the weapon over. “I want some spare magazines for this as well, again, five in total and one hundred and fifty rounds of 9mm ball or full jacketed.”

  “I only have three clips for the UZI, Todi paused. “But there is an MGP-84 at the bottom of the box and I have five magazines for it. It is basically a copy of the Uzi.”

  “And it’s a piece of shit!” King put the Israeli-made machine pistol down beside the AK47, then smiled at the man. “I’ll take the Uzi and less ammo, over that Peruvian effort any day of the week. They are susceptible to feed problems when they get hot.”

  The Vietnamese smiled. “You know your weapons,” he paused. “Who is your target?”

  King shook his head. “I told you, I’m just a tourist,” he smiled. “And you keep to that, all right?” He reached back into the chest, moved a couple of old British Army FN SLR rifles out of the way, then pulled out a Colt model 1911 .45 calibre pistol. He held the hefty handgun, feeling its weight as he looked it over, then frowned when he noticed an inch-long barrel extension, and a small additional lever on the side of the frame. He recognised the alteration, but had not seen one on such a large calibre pistol, nor in fact had he seen anything so crude.

  “I make adjustments.” Todi announced proudly. He reached into the chest and rummaged his way to the bottom, then pulled out a foot-long cylindrical tube. “I use something similar in Vietnam and Laos, when I work for CIA.” He took the Colt from King’s clasp, then threaded the tube into the barrel extension. “I make improvements. This is the quietest silencer you will ever use.” He reached back into the chest and retrieved a box of .45 ammunition, then proceeded to load two shells into the weapon’s seven round magazine. “The lever on the side locks the slide, so no noise can escape out of the chamber. So it is effectively a single shot piece…”

  King watched the man load the pistol, knowing that the similar modification to the 9mm Browning HP35 used by the British SAS was formidable. However, even though the slide was locked in place and the slide had to be pulled back after every shot in order to chamber the next round, there was still an audible ‘phut’ to be heard as the bullet left the muzzle.

  Todi walked across the room and lifted the bamboo flap, exposing the gap which acted as an open window. He cocked the weapon, then aimed the pistol out into the night and gently squeezed the trigger.

  King listened intently but heard nothing, except for the hammer falling on the firing pin, as the cumbersome looking weapon rose gently in the man’s hand. Thinking that the man was humoring him, he went to walk forwards, but stopped when the little Vietnamese pulled back the slide, ejecting the empty case and chambering the next round manually. He looked at the empty case on the floor in surprise, then held up his hand to halt him. “Wait, let me take a shot.”

  Todi smiled, knowing that the man had been impressed with his handiwork. He held out the pistol, keeping the muzzle pointed out of the window and waited for King to step in front of him. King felt the considerable weight of the weapon, but was not interested in taking a shot at the dark. He looked out of the window and down to the sparse ground, which was illuminated slightly by the dim light from the bedroom. Amongst the pieces of scattered debris and dried leaves, he could see two beetles scurrying about in a frantic quest for food. He aimed the weapon carefully between the two, then gently squeezed the light trigger. There was a slight, almost lazy recoil aided by the sheer weight of the suppressor, and the section of earth between the two beetles exploded into a plume of dust. The beetles took a short flight, then landed a foot or two away, none the worse for the experience.

  King looked back at Todi and grinned. “Just the ticket.” He pulled back the slide and ejected the spent case, then placed the pistol beside the other two weapons. “All right Todi,” he paused. “How much for the three?”

  “How many bullets you want for the Colt?” the man asked, staring into the chest. “I only have one magazine.”

  King knew that the Colt was a specialist weapon and with the locking slide, would be good for no purpose except a calculated silent shot at an individual target. He thought for a moment, then looked at the Vietnamese. “Just seven.”

  Todi looked thoughtful, obviously performing mental calculations as he stared at the three weapons. “You have dollars?”

  King nodded. “And British pounds.”

  “For three guns like that, then maybe fifteen hundred dollars would be about the normal price.” He smiled wryly, then glanced briefly at Jusi. “But that would be unfair, wouldn’t it?”

  King remained silent. He was intrigued to know why the man had said, ‘normal price’. Why should he regard fifteen hundred dollars as unfair? Why do him any favours?

  “Come, let us drink some more before we talk of money.” Todi bent down and closed the lid of the chest, then carefully refastened the hand grenade ‘alarm’. He slipped the tiny key back into the lock, then looked up at King and smiled. “Maybe we can come to a more beneficial arrangement…”

  ***

  The drink was strong and left a pungent scent at the back of the throat. King tried to work out what the drink was, but decided to refrain from asking either of his companions. He took another sip, then replaced the cup on the table and stared at Todi dubiously. “I can pay the price in full,” he paused. “I appreciate your hospitality, but I must be making a move very soon.”

  “You have no friends in Semarang.” Todi said accusingly. “And you are not an Australian tourist.”

  King did not appreciate people doubting or exposing holes in his cover, it made him feel uneasy. It made him want to reach into his waistband, take out the small Rohrbaugh pistol and double tap the pair of them. He could take the guns, he could make his way back to the village and he could pick up Tembarak and finish what he had come to Indonesia to do. His patience was ebbing, and his survival instinct was rising to the surface. If he was not careful, it would take over and the two men would be dead. He breathed deeply, then looked calmly at both of them. “I have hired a vehicle for at least double the standard rate and I am prepared to pay over the odds for the weapons.” He took a thick wad of banknotes from his pocket and dropped it onto the table. “Take the money, please, and forget all about me.”

  Todi smiled. “I know you are a killer. I know that you are here to kill again.” He held up his hand sensing that King was nearing his patience threshold. “I know, because I have killed, many times. I am Vietnamese. I could not stay in Indonesia, because I entered illegally, after the war. I was hassled, I was threatened and then I did the Indonesian Government a favour. A one-off favour for Golkar.” He took another sip, then looked benevolently at his guest. “The PKI made a significant reappearance in this part of Java in the early eighties. They had been disbanded, but that is the thing about communism, it lies dormant, waiting for a suitable leader and a suitable following. It never dies and if anything, it grows stronger the longer it rests.”

  “Why tell me?” King stared at him, already planning which of the two should take the first bullet. “I’m just a tourist.”

  Todi smiled. “Golkar knew about my past, knew how much I wanted to stay in Java. They approached me with an ultimatum - put down the movement, or be deported back to Vietnam. I was left with little choice. I would be disappeared as soon as I stepped off the plane. So, I returned to what I knew best,” he paused. “I ended the attempted coup right here in Central Java. Now I am left alone to live my life.”

  King finished his drink, then placed the cup down and slid it forwards. “I’m happy for you. Now, I must be going…” He stood up, then looked at the Indonesian. “If you w
ant a lift back to Purwodadi, then drink up and follow me.”

  “Communism merely sleeps, it only ever rests itself.” Todi stood up. “General Madi Soto is the country’s threat, he can be the only reason that you are here…”

  King stared at him in surprise, then shook his head. “Forget you ever saw me.”

  Todi caught hold of King’s arm and glared at him. “I despised communism so much, that I turned on my fellow countrymen and fought on the side of a nation who eventually turned their back on me, and people like me. I had to leave my country, my family, and my friends. I dragged my wife away, then watched her die because I could not afford medical treatment for her cancer. Her cancer, which was given to her by the Americans. All of that Agent Orange they sprayed on the river banks to kill off the jungle! She dies from a fever, but cancer ate her down to her bones…” He looked tearfully at the Englishman, then sighed deeply. “Keep the guns. Let me help you. I have seen what men like General Soto did to my country, I do not want it to happen here as well.”

  “What do you know of General Soto?” King asked. “How do you know what he has planned for Indonesia?”

  Todi glanced at Jusi, then looked back at King. “Because we live here. Because the people of Yogyakarta all know, but are too scared to mention it outside their own homes,” he paused, shaking his head. “Because we all know that the coalition government is weak and that they are pretending that it will never happen. Just like in South Vietnam and South Korea. But it does happen, and it will happen again, if nobody makes a stand. And, I believe in Karma…” he smiled. “Why else are you here? Why ask my friend Jusi for a gun? Why a man who would bring you to my door? Karma…”

  ***

  The moon was at its fullest, larger than King could ever remember seeing in his lifetime. Larger even, than it had seemed on the desolate plateau of Northern Iraq and larger than he had seen high in the rugged peaks of the Russian Urals. It seemed out of proportion with the rest of the sky, its craters fully visible and the light which it spread over the otherwise dark sky was considerable.

  The small Suzuki bounced and scraped its way over the deep potholes, too light to hold the road and too low to avoid grinding the axle against the savage rocks and flood channels which made up the road’s surface. King gripped the steering wheel tightly, feeling the uncertainty of the vehicle’s traction.

  Todi leant forwards between the two men, then pointed at the road ahead. “It is only another two hundred metres or so, then we take a right turn,” he paused. “We will enter the village from the other direction, so Jusi’s office will be on the left.”

  “Can’t wait,” King paused. “Don’t you have highway maintenance in this part of the country?” He grit his teeth as another rock slammed against the rear axle, and the tail of the tiny vehicle jumped sideways. “This is appalling!”

  “This is a river bed,” Todi stated flatly. “The mining company changed the river’s course to run into the silver mine and wash the ore. This only ever sees occasional flash flooding now, which is why the locals use it as a short cut down the mountain.”

  “And if it floods?” King asked, unsure of the reasoning behind using a river bed which flash floods as an alternative route. “What happens then?”

  Todi grinned. “Then they get to the bottom of the mountain much quicker than expected...”

  King steered the vehicle to the right, then drove up the steep slope of the worn riverbank and onto the relatively smooth highway. He felt himself relax a little, then caught sight of something to the rear of the railway station. He slowed the car to a halt, then looked at the Indonesian beside him. “Do you see that?”

  Jusi frowned as he looked at the building ahead. “A truck,” he paused. “A military truck!” He looked at the Vietnamese behind him, then turned back to King. “The army have no reason to be here. Purwodadi has nothing to offer them.”

  “Girls? Cheap alcohol? Drugs?” King asked, keeping his eyes on the green canvass sides of the military vehicle.

  “Nothing like that!” Jusi shook his head. “They even practice their war games to the east of Yogyakarta, the mining companies do not like the army on their land.”

  King stared at the truck, then shook his head. “It is parked out of sight of your office, and the road which we drove out of town on.” He looked at the two men and frowned. “They can’t be waiting for a train, no more are due until the morning. They must have caught up with my contact and are waiting to ambush me when I show up…”

  Todi gave a little chuckle, then reached for his weapon. “Then we will just have to make a change to their plans.” He eased back the cocking lever of the FN SLR and chambered the first of twenty 7.62mm NATO bullets. “I have an idea.”

  71

  Smoking is a dangerous habit at the best of times. However, when you are a lone sentry covering point at night, the habit becomes imminently life-threatening. King watched the bright orange light glow like the hot embers of a log fire. The light would brighten on each inhalation of breath, then disappear as the man withdrew the cigarette to exhale. He was standing deep in the building’s shadows, taking refuge from the moon’s bright illumination and maintaining a position where he could still observe the road.

  King crouched low to the ground, squatting on his haunches as he kept his left shoulder tight against the timber building. There was little cover to take advantage of, but by using the shadows and by keeping below the enemy’s eye level, he could remain virtually invisible. He rested the AK47 across his knees, then masticated a quantity of saliva, before spitting quietly onto the hard dusty ground. He then worked the wet dust into a thick mud, and scooped it up into his fingertips. Taking great care not to make a sound, he wiped the muddy paste onto his face, then worked it around his eyes and nose, until his face was virtually covered in the substance. The moon was full and bright, and he needed to keep every advantage over his enemy. His training was coming into its own; now, to use it effectively was paramount.

  Making sure not to drag his feet on the dry ground, King then edged his way along the side of the building until he was able to observe the ground ahead from the corner. The smoker was still in place, inhaling every twenty seconds or so. To the man’s left, and King’s right, a second sentry stepped momentarily from the shadows and peered down the road ahead. He turned around, stared straight at King but could not see through the dark shadows of the building. King tensed, holding his breath as his heartbeat started to pound and a shiver ran down to the base of his spine. He waited, his finger hovering near the weapon’s trigger, then breathed a sigh of relief as the man walked casually back to the sanctuary of the vehicle’s shadows. He studied the ground ahead, then squinted through the moonlight, concentrating on the sudden movement behind the military vehicle.

  ***

  It had been a long time. More than twenty years and before that, it had been another ten, maybe more. Time did not register anymore. His heart raced, and his body shook with the sudden burst of adrenaline which surged through his veins like water through a high pressure hose. There was no feeling which could touch it, not even come near. It was not simple to clarify, not simple to explain to those who could never understand. It was him against them; one mistake and he was dead. The feeling was everything.

  Todi held the weapon close to his chest, his finger near the trigger with the weapon’s safety catch in the off position. He had chosen, as always, semi-automatic on the weapon’s selector switch, knowing full well that the heavy weapon, with the extreme power of the 7. 62 mm x 51 mm NATO cartridge, was easier to control with one shot fired with each squeeze of the heavy trigger. This weapon was rare. Designated L2A1 by the British army it also operated in fully automatic mode. Designed as a light support weapon to give covering fire for the rest of the squad or platoon over their semi-auto L1A1 weapons. He placed his footsteps carefully, making sure not to step on a discarded tin can, or a twig, or anything else which might compromise his position. The truck was his objective, but nothing coul
d be done without a thorough reconnaissance of the area. They had no idea of how many soldiers were in the vicinity and for all they knew, there could be a whole troop of up to thirty men inside the vehicle.

  Todi crouched low and jogged over a strip of flat ground beside the railway lines. He caught sight of somebody smoking in the shadows of a building, then stopped and dropped down onto his stomach. There was a mere thirty foot gap between himself and the large canvass sided military truck and as he started to crawl on his belly, he noticed a lone figure leaning against the side of the vehicle. His pulse raced. He had not seen the man as he approached and his mind started to fill with the horrors of what might have happened, had he not noticed the enemy. He breathed deeply acknowledging that he was not as sharp as he had once been. That was an age ago, another lifetime. He was now an old man.

  The dust wafted gently into his face as his elbows broke the hard crust of the sunbaked earth. The wet season was just around the corner, another week or so and the ground would be soaked for the next four months. He eased himself, snakelike on his belly, keeping the rifle resting on his outstretched forearms. There was not much distance in it now, and there was every chance that the sentry might turn around. Silence was the deciding factor and if he was to avoid a confrontation, he would have to be as silent as the grave.