The Contract Man

by A P Bateman

“Don’t shoot!” Grogol cried out, then tried to speak, but could not get the words out in any comprehensible order.

  King shook his head and tightened his finger on the trigger. “Are you going to talk?” He shouted. “Yes or no?”

  Grogol nodded erratically. “Yes!” he blurted. “Of course I will!”

  73

  The heavy military truck bounced violently on the uneven road surface, its noisy diesel engine billowing a thick trail of black smoke from the exhaust with every change of gear. A dull orange light glowed in the centre of the roof emitting enough light to see by inside without ruining their night vision.

  Tembarak closed his eyes for a moment, suddenly feeling exhausted after the adrenaline rush back in the village of Purwodadi. His mind raced with thoughts of what may lay ahead and when he opened his eyes, he thought of the last time that he was inside such a vehicle as this. Perhaps it had been in this very vehicle, his hands bound tightly together and the stifling hood blinding him from the outside world. He breathed deeply, trying to calm his nerves, then looked across at the two men sitting on the hard wooden bench seat opposite.

  The Vietnamese, whom he had not so much as spoken to yet, was sitting upright with his eyes closed, the heavy rifle resting between his knees, its barrel pointing skywards. There was no sign of concern on the man’s face and he seemed completely at ease with the situation.

  Alex King also seemed at ease, but was using the time to check over his weapons. He had stripped the tiny Rohrbaugh 9mm pistol down to its component parts, cleared the chamber of grease and the powdered residue of burnt Nitro gunpowder and was busy reassembling it. The man’s face expressed inner calm, as well as extreme concentration and determination. He slipped the magazine back into the weapon’s butt, then pulled back the slide and applied the safety catch, before looking up at Tembarak. “All right?”

  The Indonesian nodded. “I think so,” he paused. “Just a bit nervous, that’s all.”

  “That is only to be expected.” King slipped the tiny pistol back into the waistband of his trousers, then smiled. “Just think, you will soon see your wife and child,” he paused. “What’s a little nerves compared to that?”

  Tembarak smiled apprehensively, then glanced down at Sergeant Grogol, who was sitting on the floor, grinning smugly athim. “What’s your problem?” He growled at him. “I wouldn’t smile like that if I were you!” He tightened his grip on the AK47 which King had given him, then moved the barrel so that it lined up with Grogol’s chest. “Just keep smiling, and I’ll finish you right here and now you bastard!”

  Grogol’s expression dropped when he noticed the intensity in the man’s eyes. He turned his attention to King, who merely stared at him coldly. “Stop this ridiculous charade Englishman. How long do you think you can keep it up?” He shook his head and grinned belligerently. “General Soto will hunt you down for this and kill you like animals.”

  “General Soto will be dead,” King glared at him. “You still have a chance to live. Slim, but still a chance nonetheless…”

  Grogol chuckled. “Do you seriously think that you can pull it off? You are quite mad!”

  “Quite possibly,” King stated flatly. “As for pulling it off, well that shouldn’t be too much of a problem. After all, I’ve got you coming along to help me.”

  The soldier frowned. “What do you mean?” He shook his head, perplexed at the situation. “You are all insane! You cannot even expect to get near to General Soto!”

  “No,” King smiled wryly. “But you can.”

  ***

  After what seemed like hours in the stifling heat of the truck Jusi pulled the vehicle into a small side-turning off the narrow road, then switched off the headlights. He looked around at King, his expression showing concern. “The military base is about a mile ahead of us, after we drive around the next bend,” he paused. “Are we still following the plan?”

  “Right down to the last letter.”

  “This is never going to work… How the Hell did I get into this? I have car hire business, I not soldier…” Jusi said, his hand shaking at the wheel.

  “You can leave now my friend,” King said. “You have been invaluable and nobody will think less of you.”

  The Indonesian shook his head. “No. I owe it to Todi. He help me in past. I help him now. He good man…”

  King patted the man on his shoulder, then turned around and nudged the Vietnamese, whose eyes were tightly shut, as if meditating. “Wake up, we’re near the base.”

  “I know,” Todi answered, his eyes still firmly closed. “A mile ahead, after we drive around the next bend…” He smiled as he opened his eyes. “Which if remember, is a long left hand bend, which takes the road around a sugarcane plantation.”

  King looked down at the Indonesian sergeant, then caught hold of him by his shirt collar and pulled him abruptly to his feet. “All right, up!” He saw the soldier wince with pain, then remembered the previously dislocated shoulder. King had crudely put it back in place as they had got into the truck. “Still painful, is it?” Grogol grit his teeth but remained silent. King smiled. “Good. Give us any trouble and my Vietnamese friend will gladly dislocate it for you again.” He dragged the soldier towards the rear of the truck, then lifted the canvas curtain and pushed him to the hard ground.

  “No! Don't kill me!” Grogol spluttered as he stared up at the Englishman. “I am not to blame for anything, I just follow orders…”

  “Good. Then, you should have no trouble following mine.” He took the silenced .45 out from a leather shoulder holster Todi had supplied with the pistol and aimed it down at him. “As I said earlier, I do not have a contract on you, therefore you will be quite safe, if you help me.” He stared coldly at the Indonesian, then pulled back the weapon’s hammer with his thumb. “General Soto is going nowhere, he is merely China’s glove puppet of the moment. Another footnote in communist history. Only he won’t be, because he will be dead before he actually achieved a communist state…”

  Grogol laughed out loud. “You are forgetting something! Communism is alive and well both in North Korea and Vietnam! And who is ever going to threaten China?” He stared at King defiantly. “Nobody, that’s who!”

  King shook his head. “Australia lies a few hundred miles south of Indonesia. New Zealand and Australia are peaceful nations, but do you think they will just sit by and watch as an overcrowded communist state is hatched on their borders? Two countries with more empty land than they know what to do with. Two countries with more sheep than people, for Christ’s sake!” King paused. “They make a move and Britain will back them up. Britain makes a move, and America will follow. Before you know it, NATO is playing their card. Chain reaction. You light the taper and there will be one big firework on the end of it.”

  “You know that you have lost,” Grogol smiled. “You know that you have no chance of killing General Soto. You should have fled after you killed our intelligence agents in Karawang, but no… You still boarded the train and continued your mission. How very British, how very predictable of you.”

  “I’m not the one on my backside. I’m not the one with agun to my head.” King smiled belligerently. “And I’m not the one who cried for mercy…” He stepped down and caught Grogol by his hair, then pulled him harshly to his feet. “Turn around and face the vehicle.”

  “You’re going to shoot me in the back!” Grogol blurted. “Please, don’t kill me!”

  “Don’t tempt me.” King took the flick knife, which he had taken from Grogol earlier, out from his pocket and pressed the small thumb button. The blade opened instantly and he sliced quickly through the parcel tape binding the soldier’s hands together. He pulled the man around to face him, then shoved the muzzle of the weapon up under his chin. “One move Grogol, one blink and I will make sure that you have nowhere to put your hat…” He caught hold of him by his collar, then moved him towards the front of the vehicle and motioned him to the passenger door of the cab. “Now get in, we’ve wasted enough ti
me.”

  74

  The LED floodlights illuminated the compound harshly, burning through the night air and almost turning it into day. Large buildings were clearly visible several hundred metres within the wire fenced boundary and a number of vehicles were parked near the gates, as if ready to leave in a convoy. To either side of the road to the main gates was lit with orange street lamps, forming a glowing tunnel to direct their entrance, which was being duly noted by the three armed guards beside the barrier.

  King peered over Grogol’s shoulder and surveyed the scene ahead. He studied the posture of the three guards, then noted a fourth in the security booth beside the barrier. On the whole, the soldiers looked bored with their nocturnal duty and it was certainly not apparent that they had been ordered to be extra vigilant.

  King nudged Jusi on the shoulder, but continued to stare straight ahead. “Keep moving, don’t hesitate. We are starting to look suspicious.” He turned to Grogol, who was seated in the front passenger seat. “What is your entry procedure?”

  Grogol hesitated for a moment too long and was duly prodded in the ribs by the muzzle of Todi’s rifle, from his crouched position in the flatbed behind. “Just drive in damn it!” He turned around in his seat and stared at King. “When they see me, they will open the barrier without question,” he paused. “Just give yourself up, it will be easier in the long run…”

  King shook his head. “I don’t think so.” He turned to Abdul Tembarak and nodded. “Okay, nice and tight now.” He held out both hands patiently, and waited as the Indonesian bound his wrists tightly with the roll of duct tape. “All right, now keep Grogol covered, but don’t let the guards see that Kalashnikov. If he tries anything, shoot him.” He waited until the man had jammed the barrel into the soldier’s back, then looked across to Todi and nodded. Todi moved across the truck and sat on the bench seat opposite him. He aimed the FN SLR rifle at King’s chest, but kept the weapon’s frame hidden by his own body. If a guard peered inside the vehicle, he would not distinguish the weapon’s barrel from the Heckler and Koch G3 assault rifles which were in widespread service on the Island.

  “All right everyone, keep calm and brass it out,” he paused. “That means be cool, bluff it like in a game of poker…” King looked over at Grogol threateningly through gritted teeth. “One slip-up from you and you take it in the back.”

  Jusi slowed the heavy military vehicle to a halt, then glanced at sergeant Grogol as the young soldier walked casually towards them. Abdul Tembarak pressed the barrel deeper into the man’s back, then smiled to himself as he noticed him wince with pain.

  The young soldier, like so many in the Indonesian army, appeared no older than fifteen or so, but swaggered with an overconfidence which was also typical of the nation’s military and police. He stepped up to the driver’s window, keeping his hand firmly on the butt of his pistol. “Registration and manifest!” He ordered abruptly. “Quickly!”

  “Curb your tone, corporal!” Grogol snapped at the surly youngster. “Do you know who you are talking to?”

  The youth seemed panic stricken as he realised who was sitting in the passenger seat. “I’m sorry Sergeant Grogol, I… I did not recognise you in civilian clothing. I thought it was C Company back from town…”

  “If you had checked your log when you arrived on duty, you would know that I left with three other intelligence officers in this very vehicle! Try checking the registration plates from time to time, it might be of some use to your log!”

  “Yes, Sergeant!” The youth looked thoroughly shaken, then glanced down at the register in his left hand. “Four men in total. All of them returning?”

  “Try looking in the vehicle!” Grogol paused. “What’s your number?”

  “Seven… zero…one…two…one… nine… zero… one!” The youth stood to attention. “Gandok, Corporal!”

  “Noted. Now continue your search, Corporal Gandok,” he paused. “Quickly, I have a prisoner to interrogate!”

  The young soldier hurried around to the rear of the vehicle and lifted the canvas curtain. He looked surprised as he saw the westerner, his hands bound together and the barrel of the rifle pointed at his chest, but quickly added an entry to his register and closed the curtain at once. He stepped back a few paces, then signaled to the three guards and waited as the vehicle was waved through the gates and into the compound.

  ***

  King craned his neck to watch the road ahead, then looked at the Indonesian sergeant. “How many guards will be at the entrance to the building?”

  Grogol shrugged. “There aren’t any, usually,” he paused. “But General Soto has taken the threat of assassination seriously. He may have guards in place, he may not, I don’t know.”

  “Come on! He’s your commanding officer, you know what security measures are in place!” King looked across at Todi and held out his hands. “Here, cut me free.”

  The Vietnamese rested the heavy rifle across his lap, then sliced through the duct tape with Grogol’s flick knife. King discarded the lengths of tape onto the seat, then held out his hand for the knife. Todi handed it to him and King rested the tip of the blade against Grogol’s thigh. Grogol went to move but Todi clamped his wrists. The Vietnamese was surprisingly strong and Grogol seemed helpless. “I am asking you for the last time, how many guards will be at the building?”

  Grogol scowled, then relented when Abdul Tembarak prodded him in the back with the barrel of his assault rifle. “I don’t know…”

  King looked him in the eye, then pushed the blade deep into the man’s flesh. Grogol screamed in agony and King twisted the knife as he pulled it clear. Todi let go of the soldier and Grogol held the wound tightly with both hands. Blood gushed between his fingers. He looked up at him and grit his teethin a desperate bid to quell the pain. “You bastard!”

  “That’s what my mother called me,” King said curtly. “I’ll ask again; how many guards are at the building?”

  Grogol closed his eyes and rocked backwards and forwards in his seat, as the muscle in his thigh started to spasm. “Two,in his quarters. His own personal bodyguards,” Grogol forced a grin. “Part of a twenty-man team, sent to England to train with your SAS. Ironic, isn’t it? The British government train his soldiers to keep him alive, then send an assassin to kill him…”

  King knew that the British government earned good revenue from the Special Air Service Regiment in peacetime, making lucrative use of their expertise in training foreign Special Forces and diplomatic bodyguards. Part of their Third World Development Policy. Then, as times change, and the political landscape shifts, those specially trained soldiers may find themselvesin the front line, taking up arms against Britain, knowing the most modern methods of warfare and how to implement their training. Irony always was a part of the British government’s overseas programs, regardless of the political party in power. First they sell the weapons, then they train the soldiers, then they go to war against them. Ad infinitum.

  “What about placement?” King spun the knife in his hand, then eyed the man’s other leg. “I want to know where they will be.”

  Grogol closed his eyes. “There will not be anybody on the door to his quarters, he doesn’t want the other soldiers to know about the threat. He thinks he will lose face if he is seen to take further precautions.” He shook his head despondently. “There will be a guard inside the front door and the other one will be nearer his bedroom. Or at least, should be.”

  King took his handkerchief from his trouser pocket and handed it to the Indonesian soldier, then watched as the man mopped the blood from his thigh. “See, that’s better. You cooperate, and you will be all right.”

  “The Hell he will!” Abdul Tembarak raised the rifle and pressed the muzzle against Grogol’s temple. “Forget General Soto! I don’t care whether he lives or dies!” His finger tightened on the trigger and his hands started to shake. “All I want is to get my wife and son back safely!” He looked at King and shook his head. “We are not going any further un
til they are freed! If you kill Soto are you really going to help me get back my family? What if it goes wrong? What if we are discovered? You’ll all be trying to escape and my family will be left here!”

  King studied the determination in the man’s face. He could tell the man was at his wit’s end. And if he was honest, then he knew there would be little or no chance of going after Tembarack’s family once they made a move on Soto. That’s if they could even get near the man. He looked across at Grogol. “Take us to where they are being held,” he paused, looking back at the Indonesian intelligence agent. “All right, Abdul, we’ll get them out first. Just put the gun down. Grogol is my ticket to General Soto.”

  “Fuck General Soto! I don’t care about your mission, I don’t care about anybody, except my family!” Tembarak’s index finger tightened on the trigger as he turned his attention back to the soldier. “Just direct us to where they are being held!”

  Grogol seemed in a quandary. Tembarak was clearly not in charge, but he had the gun to his head and was now giving the orders. He also had reason to kill him and from the feel of the automatic weapon shaking in his hands he did not fancy his chances against an accidental discharge. “All right!” He shook with fear as he spoke. “I’ll take you to them, just take thegun away from my head!”

  King picked up the silenced Colt .45 pistol from the bench seat near Todi and aimed it at Tembarak’s head. The man was oblivious, and continued to look straight ahead as the vehicle crawled slowly through the compound, on route to the Interrogation Centre. There was so much at stake, so much to think about. Sergeant Grogol was King’s ticket to General Soto. He was his eyes and ears, and a lot more besides. The man was cooperating, he knew the camp and he knew the security procedures. Not only that, it was quite possible that the man could help effect their escape. King’s finger tightened on the weapon’s heavy trigger as he took careful aim at Tembarak’s temple. There would be no knee jerk reaction from Tembarak, no sudden reflex that would pull the trigger of the AK47. A shot to the temple at this range with the large calibre pistol would drop the man like a rag doll.