by A P Bateman
The soldier stretched, arching his back as the monotony started to get to him. His joints ached as he rested against the canvas tarpaulin which covered the skeletal frame of the vehicle and as the night drew on, he was becoming more and more impatient at the delay. He stepped out from the shadows once more, then walked to the rear of the vehicle and lifted the canvas covering. Todi froze. The man had walked less than six feet in front of where he lay prone on the ground. He lifted his head slightly, then caught sight of the soldier, who was drinking water from a plastic bottle. The man drank thirstily, upending the bottle and downing all but a quarter of the contents, then lazily discarded the bottle back into the empty truck, before turning to look out over the waste ground and railway tracks beyond.
The blood surged to Todi’s head, pounding in his ears as he remained stock still. One move, one twitch, and he might attract the soldier’s attention and be left fighting for his life. He now knew that the vehicle was empty, but he did not know of the positions of the other soldiers. If he started firing his weapon, his muzzle flashes would soon expose him as an easy target. He kept his dark eyes firmly on the soldier, his hand near the rifle’s grip and the comforting reassurance of the trigger. There was nothing he could do now, but wait.
***
Alex King watched the soldier as he stood casually in the middle of the patch of waste ground, then fiddled with the front of his trousers for a moment, before urinating directly in front of him. He could not see the Vietnamese from his position, but knew that he was not far away from the rear of the truck. He shouldered the AK47 and sighted the Indonesian soldier in the centre of the basic Vee & Pin sights. There was nothing more that he could do, but if Todi was indeed compromised, the Indonesian soldier would drop before he would have chance to draw his weapon. He kept his aim steady, his finger resting gently on the trigger, then watched and waited. The soldier zipped up when he was finished, turned around and walked back to the side of the truck and resumed his casual stance, leaning against the soft canvas tarpaulin. King watched intently, lowering the weapon and waiting for a movement. When it came, it was slight, as Todi gently edged his way back on his belly towards the railway tracks, then rose hesitantly to his feet and started to run in a crouched position. King watched the man move nimbly across the waste ground and through the long savannah grass, then disappear as he moved behind the nearby timber building. He returned his eyes to the smoker in the shadows, then relaxed a little when he saw the bright light of the cigarette tip glow in the darkness.
Todi appeared silently to the side of the building, crouched low to the ground. He eased his way along the wall until he rested just a pace or two away from King.
“Close one?” King whispered. “How many in the truck?”
The Vietnamese paused for a moment, fighting to regain his breath. He snatched a few lungsful of humid air and started to look a little calmer. “I don’t think there are any soldiers in the vehicle,” he paused. “But there is a man smoking in the shadows right in front of you.”
“I’ve got him,” King paused. “And I think I saw a movement towards the front of the truck, but I can’t be sure. I was watching you at the time.” He stared at the man, and could clearly smell the stench of urine, but chose not to mention it. From experience, he knew that the men of Southeast Asia could not stand to lose face. And besides, there was no point in telling the man that he had just been pissed on. King figured he already knew.
Todi nodded and glanced behind him, then looked back at King. “I’ll go back and signal Jusi, we have surprise on our side, we should not waste it any longer.”
“Okay.” King looked at the man gratefully, then smiled. “Let’s do it.”
***
He watched as the small Suzuki four by four vehicle drove steadily through the village, then performed a U-turn outside the front of the vehicle hire building. The car’s dim headlights shone on the ground ahead but the moon was so bright they were hardly needed.
Sergeant Grogol pulled Abdul Tembarak close to him, then pointed at the slow moving vehicle. “Is that it?” His voice was nasal. There was a long plaster stuck over it where the skin had been split. His grip tightened on the man’s shoulder and he gritted his teeth savagely. “Is that the English assassin?”
“I... I can’t be sure,” Tembarak paused. He could barely see, for after Grogol had come round and recovered enough to stand, he had administered a terrible, sickening beating on him. Restraining himself just enough to avoid killing him. “It looks like the vehicle that he hired, but I can’t identify the driver from here…” His voice was weak, speaking through swollen lips and shattered teeth.
Grogol glanced at the bright moon, then looked menacingly at him. “Don’t play games with me Tembarak!” He looked up at the white Suzuki, which had cruised slowly past and was now stationary in the road outside the train station. “I will not spare your life if you try to double-cross me.”
Tembarak bowed his head. “Fuck you. I don’t care anymore…”
Grogol pushed the man on to his knees and drew the 9mm Browning from his leather hip holster. He cocked the hammer and placed the muzzle on the top of the man’s head. He smiled as he watched him flinch. “Oh, I think you do care… Now stay still.” He commanded in little more than a quiet whisper. He reached into his pocket with his left hand and pulled out a small ivory-handled flick-knife. “Try anything stupid, and you will be gunned down in an instant.” He pressed the tiny button and a nasty looking stiletto blade shot out instantly. “You’ll be dead, and I will be seeing that your widow spreads herself for me day and night.” He sliced the blade easily through the parcel tape which bound his hands together, then reassured Tembarak of the pistol’s presence by pushing the muzzle harder onto his head. “If that’s not enough for you, then believe me when I tell you I will give your son to a pedophile… Understand?”
“All right!” Tembarak snapped. “What do you want me to do? You sick bastard…”
***
Alex King watched the Indonesian step calmly out from the shadows, then felt a sudden wave of heat come over him, as he realised that it was Abdul Tembarak. Had the Indonesian agent deliberately set him up? Or had he been forced into the betrayal? Either way King found it hard to decide on the appropriate action to take. If Tembarak had deliberately set an ambush, then he instantly became a legitimate target and remained a threat as long as he stayed alive. However, if the man had been captured, and been forced into a betrayal, then his life would be in danger as soon as he stepped out into the open. General Soto’s men would simply have two easy targets in the road instead of one.
King turned his attention to the glowing tip of the soldier’s cigarette. The bright light faded, dropping as the man lowered the cigarette and exhaled another lung full of smoke. King raised the heavy handgun and centered the tiny sights in what he guessed to be the right area, praying that the soldier would indulge once more. The .45 Colt was extremely heavy and he estimated that the suppressor, or silencer as it is often called, doubled the pistol’s original weight. He kept his aim steady, glancing out of the corner of his left eye as he monitored Tembarak’s slow progress across the railway yard. Suddenly, King saw what he had hoped for: the glowing tip of the man’s cigarette. He lowered the pistol slightly, estimating the man’s height from the telltale orange light, then gently squeezed the weapon’s trigger. There was no sound, other than a faint ‘whoosh’ but as King kept his eyes on the shadows in front of him, he heard a loud, thud. Whether it was the sound of the heavy, slow-moving bullet impacting, or whether it was the sound of a dead man falling, he did not know, nor did he care. He quietly unlocked the weapon’s crude bolt system, then chambered another .45 round into the breach.
* * *
Tembarak’s heart raced as he traipsed slowly across the dusty ground. He felt lethargic, realising that there was no reason for Grogol not to fire on both of them. General Soto’s threat would simply have been fulfilled, and besides, what use was he to them now? They
would have got what they wanted, it would be easier to kill him and be done with it. He looked up at the tiny four by four vehicle, then frowned as he noticed a much smaller man behind the steering wheel. Where was King? And what was he to do now?
Jusi reached across the passenger seat and carefully opened the door, not very wide. The window was open, and the man was staring straight at him. Tembarak hesitated for a moment, then decided to chance it, after all, the man was practically urging him to get into the vehicle. He walked more confidently, then frowned as stared into the barrel of a tiny pistol.
“Get in,” the man spoke quietly, but firmly in their native tongue. “Quickly!”
Tembarak paused for a second, then shrugged. One gun in front of him, many guns behind him. There seemed to be little choice. He continued to walk forwards, then suddenly bolted towards the vehicle and flung the door wide open.
The gunfire erupted immediately, bursts of three or four rounds at a time, fired in concise patterns. The bullets hit the ground at first, then, as the experienced marksman corrected his aim with each burst, the bullets started to impact on the vehicle. Jusi rammed his foot to the floor, planting all of his weight on the accelerator. The car protested at first, its wheels gaining too much traction, then lunged forwards, throwing up a thick cloud of dust as its wheels spun on the hard ground.
***
The first soldier to present himself was cut down in an instant. King held the AK47 firmly against his shoulder but did not engage the target. Todi had taken care of him with seven or eight rounds from the SLR. The soldier had thrown up his arms as he dropped to his knees with the first gunshot but Todi had simply kept on firing until the soldier lay prone and still.
King eased himself carefully out of the shadows, keeping the weapon aimed in front of him as he searched for a target. It was not long in coming as the soldier bolted out from the shadows of the truck brandishing a medium-sized semi-automatic pistol. King raised the weapon, but fired a short burst as he did so, if not to hit the target, then to give him more to think about. The tactic worked, and the soldier continued to run and take aim at the same time. King dropped to one knee, then fired a short, controlled burst into the man’s torso. He folded instantly and stumbled to the ground. King quickly rose to his feet, ran past the man, then loosely aimed his weapon at the twitching body and squeezed the trigger twice more.
There was the sound of a small calibre weapon firing and King quickly took refuge in the shadow of the vehicle as he searched for the marksman’s position. He eased himself around the bonnet of the large truck, then spied the soldier, who was still firing at the Suzuki, which by now, had sped off the road, and was resting stationary in the large irrigation ditch one hundred metres or so away from the station. The man stopped firing, ejected the empty magazine then searched his pockets for a spare.
King caught the man in the sights of the AK47, then lowered his aim when Todi stepped into the line of fire and dashed towards the unsuspecting soldier. King quickly side-stepped, attempting to take a clear shot, but it was too late. Todi tackled the man, taking him to the ground, but the man was fast, sweeping his right leg around in a wide arc as he fell and catching his opponent with a mighty blow to the head. The Vietnamese, smaller than his opponent, fell to the ground and dropped his rifle, but lashed out savagely at the Indonesian with a fist. Both men fell back but Todi was quicker, pushing himself to his feet in an instant and forcing home another attack on the soldier. Blow was met with counterblow and the two men were soon battling each other with an array of martial arts techniques in an impressive battle which King was covering in the sights of his weapon, unable to take a clear shot at the soldier.
Suddenly aware of the presence of others, King swung around bringing the weapon up to aim at the new threat. He relaxed when he saw Jusi escorting Abdul Tembarak towards them, keeping three paces behind his prisoner, the tiny Rohrbaugh 9mm pistol that King had given him aimed at the man’s back. He turned and watched the two men fighting, then smiled to himself when the Vietnamese caught the Indonesian full in the groin with a savage kick. Quick to follow up the blow, Todi lunged forwards and punched him in the side of the face, then caught hold of the man round his head and pulled him down, at the same moment raising his knee to smash it into the man’s nose.
The soldier fell backwards and sprawled lifelessly on the ground, but was allowed no mercy, as Abdul Tembarak suddenly bolted forwards and dived on top of him, administering a series of savage blows into the man’s face and stomach. King stepped forward and pulled the Indonesian away, then aimed the AK47 into the surprised agent’s face. “If you’ve set me up again, Tembarak, you’re as good as dead!”
The Indonesian looked up at him tearfully. “I didn’t! The bastards captured me when you left!” He shook his head, then stared at the man on the ground. “This bastard tortured my wife and made me watch!” He wiped away the tears, then shook his head despondently. “Now he said that if I didn’t cooperate he’d give me son to a pervert! He’s evil, sick! Let me kill him, please!”
Sergeant Grogol looked up at his captors stubbornly, then wiped the blood from his mouth and nose. The plaster had come off and Todi had made an even bigger mess of his nose than Tembarak had. It looked like a squashed passion fruit. “You are all dead! General Soto will hunt you down for this, he will hunt you for the rest of your days!” He made to get to his feet, but buckled and fell back onto his rear. “Surrender your weapons and I will see that you live.”
King shook his head. “I have a better idea.” He turned to Todi. “Search him, make sure he isn’t carrying any more weapons,” he paused. “Jusi! Look in the truck and find something to tie him up with.”
Grogol looked up at him with contempt, then wiped some more blood away from his face. “And what is your better idea?”
King smiled, keeping the AK47 aimed at the man’s chest. “I understand you are a torturer?” He smiled sadistically at the Indonesian sergeant, then stepped a little closer. “Good. Perhaps your pain threshold will be high?” He glanced across at Tembarak, then looked coldly back at his prisoner. “Personally, I think it will be extremely low. I think you’re a tough guy when you are holding all the cards. But I think you are also a coward. And now you are not holding any cards at all. Whatever the case, we shall find out very soon.”
72
Most men of Sergeant Grogol’s sadistic nature, men who live only to inflict pain and misery, are generally cowards who lack the resilience to withstand pain inflicted upon themselves. There was no disputing the man’s physical strength, nor his proven ability as a soldier, but when it came to maintaining his resolve under extreme duress, his ability as a torturer counted against him. Under the influence of his own imagination and experience, knowing how terrible torture interrogation could get, he crumpled and broke down in a manner which sickened King almost to the pit of his stomach.
King held the AK47 loosely at hip level, keeping the muzzle of the weapon trained on the soldier’s chest. He stared at him icily, then shook his head contemptuously. “He hasn’t even started yet,” he paused. “But he soon will, if you don’t tell me what I want to hear.”
“I… I can’t tell you!” The man looked up at him pleadingly, then swayed, almost falling forwards onto his stomach, unable to save himself with both hands bound tightly behind his back.
Todi caught hold of him, then pulled him back onto his knees and pushed down on his shoulders, forcing extra weight onto his crossed ankles. He looked at King expectantly, then grinned as the Englishman simply nodded. The Vietnamese slipped his left arm under the soldier’s left armpit, then lifted and wrapped his hand tight around the back of the man’s neck. Then, without hesitation, he punched the man in the shoulder blade, dislocating the joint from its socket. Grogol screamed in agony, as the cartilage ground against the bone. His arm contorted in a sickening display, as the muscle contracted and seized itself into a severe cramp. He looked up at King, trying to regain some composure, but lost control and vomite
d pitifully down his front.
King stepped forwards and rammed the muzzle of his rifle into the man’s sternum, glaring at him. “I’m an agent, not a torturer. Part of my job is to kill. I’m very good at it.” He increased the pressure, pushing so hard, that Todi had to counter the force to keep the man on his knees. “That doesn’t mean I enjoy it. I do not have a contract on you. I will not kill you, unless you get in my way. But I will count to three, and rest assured, there will not be a four…”
He rammed the rifle barrel into the man’s chest with such force that he was toppled backwards, pushing the Vietnamese out of the way. King stepped over Grogol, placing a foot to either side of him, then pressed the muzzle up under the man’s chin. The soldier was gasping for breath. “Start talking, or I’ll pull the trigger.” He looked up at Todi and pointed towards the railway station, some sixty or so metres away. “Get back there and see that Jusi and Tembarak have cleared the bodies away. Tell them to turn any residents around – we don’t want the police here either. How far is the nearest police station?”
“Thirty minutes away,” Todi said. “They may have cars patrolling nearer though…”
“Okay, we’ll have to wing it… Save any weapons, take what ammo you can then wait by the truck. We’re moving out in five minutes.” He turned back to the Indonesian and wrapped his finger around the trigger. “As I said, there will not be a four. One…” Grogol scowled at him defiantly, and tried to wriggle away from the rifle. “Two...” King pressed the barrel even harder forcing the man’s head backwards, and shook his head regretfully. He lifted the rifle and pressed the butt firmly into his shoulder, then sighted his aim on the man’s forehead. “Three…”
