by A P Bateman
Todi stared at King intensely, shaking his head in bewilderment. King caught the reaction in his peripheral vision and suddenly felt ashamed with himself. Years of training, years of operatingin the field had left its mark. He could kill. He could use death as an option and never look back. The man merely wanted to get back what was most precious to him and King had almost killed him for it. He lowered the weapon and breathed a deep sigh. There was more to life and he knew it. He wanted nothing more than to leave this life behind, find a good woman and settle down, finish the memoirs he had started, paint, live life to the full and never look back. He had grieved his own personal loss, but he was ready now. Ready to find some happiness again. He could do all this and more. He had finally realised it. He hoped now that it was not too late.
75
“There, straight ahead.” Grogol grit his teeth as another violent spasm shot through his lower thigh. “That is the Interrogation Centre.”
King studied the entrance to the building, noting the large metal doors and the camera and intercom system beside them. He looked back at sergeant Grogol and frowned. “No external security patrol?”
“No.”
“What about inside?” King paused. “Give me the details.”
Grogol removed the blood-soaked handkerchief from his wound, checked the bleeding and then pressed it back down onto the patch of blood, which had spread a few inches more. “I need a doctor…” he said feebly. “I’m going to bleed out…”
Abdul Tembarak rammed the barrel of the AK47 into the man’s ribs and glared at him menacingly. “Hurts, doesn’t it? Well, it’s nothing compared with having your fucking toe cut off! That’s what you did to my wife, you sick bastard!”
King gripped Tembarak’s shoulder and pulled him gently away. He didn’t understand a word Tembarak had shouted, but he got the gist. “Hey, keep calm, he’s not worth it,” he paused. “Your wife and child are behind those doors, just get your head together.” He turned his attention back to Sergeant Grogol, placing the Colt .45 against the man’s groin. “All right, time to get serious. The interior details, give them to me,” he paused. “Bearing in mind that you will be walking ahead of me. One detail out of place and your brain takes a breath of fresh air…”
They maintained the charade. Getting out of the truck, but this time King pretended to have his hands bound, keeping them held tightly together behind his back, aided out of the vehicle by Todi. They walked as a group towards the large block-built building. Sergeant Grogol walked ahead, limping on his wounded limb, followed closely by King, who held his hands behind his back, as if restrained by handcuffs or bindings. Both the tiny 9mm and the heavy silenced Colt .45 tucked into the back of his waistband. Tembarak and Todi followed, weapons at the ready, aiming at the middle of the ‘prisoner’s’ back.
Grogol played the game well. He knew that his slim chances of survival would fade to non-existent if he refused to cooperate and repeated the performance which he had given at the main gates. He strode confidently towards the large security doors, stared into the camera and pressed the intercom button. “Sergeant Grogol. Open the door immediately!”
There was no delay, no questions and no request for further identification. It seemed that Grogol was not a man to be crossed. King suspected that there was more to him than appeared. Soto had kept the man down-ranked to keep a finger on the NCO and enlisted soldiers’ pulse. He would be like a one-man secret police. His role as interrogator would have been formidable.
The door clicked open and as instructed, the Indonesian sergeant stood to one side. King moved quickly, pulling the silenced Colt from his belt and stepping up to the door. He flicked the safety catch off, then held the weapon firmly in a two-handed grip before barging the door open with his left shoulder.
A single glance and he knew that Grogol had been as good as his word. The guard sat at a desk to his left, monitoring the security camera’s view of the outside world. He may have seen the ‘prisoner’s’ sudden hostile movement, or he may not; either way, he had not had time enough to react. He looked up, startled at the intruder and started to go for the pistol on his belt. He should have raised his hands instead. King raised the pistol, sighted the weapon’s fixed sights on the man’s forehead and squeezed the trigger once.
He cocked the weapon using the additional lever Todi had fitted as he stepped forwards. Checking the nearby office through the window in the top half of the door as he walked, he then turned back to the front entrance and opened the door casually. “Well done, Grogol,” he paused. “Now, keep it up…” He swept his hand past him, indicating that the soldier should take the lead. “After you.”
Grogol stepped hesitantly over the threshold, then stared at the growing pool of dark blood seeping from under the desk. He said nothing, but glared his hatred at King as he walked past him.
“Lock the door, Todi,” said King. He turned and followed Grogol down the dimly lit corridor, counting his paces as he went, extracting as much information as he could from his surroundings. Scenarios could vary enormously, it always paid to be ready for anything. One unexpected problem such as a power cut and the untrained or unfamiliar could find themselves lost in a world of darkness without an exit. Todi brought up the rear, walking backwards and keeping his weapon trained on the entrance.
Grogol hesitated at a set of double doors to his left, then looked tentatively at Tembarak before turning his attention back to the Englishman. “That is where the children are held while their families are detained…”
Tembarak stepped forwards eagerly, but King caught hold of his arm and stopped him. “Wait!” He turned back to the soldier and frowned. “So who looks after them?”
“We have a team of nurses, but there will only be one on duty tonight, the Tembarak boy is the only infant in the building.”
King shook his head at Tembarak, then pushed him away from the door. “No, first we get your wife, then we get your son on the way out.”
“It’s not as simple as that…” Grogol hesitated. “Your wife is not being held here anymore…”
King lashed out and gripped the man’s throat, then pushed him against the wall, knocking the wind out of him. “Don’t fuck with me, Grogol!” He glared savagely at him and rested the muzzle of the silenced Colt under the man’s chin. “You said that Tembarak’s wife and child were in this building… I warned you not to mess me around!”
“I couldn’t say where the woman was!” He glanced nervously at Tembarak then looked back at King. “That maniac would have shot me!”
“What do you mean?” Abdul Tembarak glared at him. “Tell me!”
The soldier shook his head despondently then started to shake. “Don’t kill me, please!” He looked pleadingly at King. “Don’t let him kill me! You still need me to get to General Soto, and to get away! You’ll never get past the guards without me!”
King frowned. “Tell us, Grogol.” He pressed the weapon harder against his throat. “Tell us now!”
“She is with General Soto.” The man hung his head in despair, sure that Tembarak would shoot him or at least beat him with the rifle. “He has taken a liking to her and moved her into his private quarters earlier today.”
“No!” Tembarak stepped forwards brandishing the rifle. “It isn’t true!” He pointed the barrel into the soldier’s face and fumbled his finger onto the trigger.
King lashed out, striking the Indonesian’s neck with the side of his hand. Tembarak dropped to the floor, his rifle clattering on the hard polished concrete.
Balls up! That was how his old friend and mentor Peter Stewart would have put it. A complete and utter bloody balls-up! King could hear the tough Scotsman’s words ringing in the back of his mind. He had lost sight of the objective and was on a fool’s errand. He kept the pistol trained on the soldier, then bent down carefully and picked up Tembarak’s AK47. Using the weapon’s canvas sling, he draped the rifle over his shoulder then stared at Sergeant Grogol. “All right, after you.” He glanced down at Tem
barak, who was unconscious, then looked at Todi. “Sort him out will you?”
Grogol opened the door hesitantly and walked down the tiled corridor. King followed a few paces behind, keeping the cumbersome silenced pistol trained on the man’s back. There was an overpowering reek of bleach and detergent, and he realised this was probably where the torture victims were taken for treatment after, or even during, their excruciating ordeal.
Ahead of them, the sound of pop music was clearly audible from what sounded like a cheap portable radio. King could see a faint flicker of a light under a door at the end of the corridor and noticed a shadow pass briefly across it. Someone was moving about in the room. Grogol knew this too and stopped several paces from the doorway.
“All right, nice and casual.” King kept the weapon trained on him, then motioned him towards the door. “I’ll be right behind you. Ask for Tembarak’s child and tell whoever is in there not to try anything stupid.”
Grogol nodded and walked over to the door, before knocking twice and opening it abruptly. He hesitated momentarily, then spoke rapidly in his native tongue and stood to one side as King entered, holding the pistol at waist level. The nurse stared up at the two men in surprise, her naked breasts squashed against the table, and her skirt pulled up over her waist. The young naked soldier was bent over her and stared in horror at the pistol in King’s hand. He feebly raised both hands above his head in surrender.
Grogol barked the order once more and the nurse quickly pushed herself away from the table and fumbled for her scattered clothing, as the dumbfounded young soldier stood stock-still, his manhood rapidly flagging.
King ushered Grogol to one side and closed the door. Keeping his back to the wall, he edged cautiously towards the young soldier, the pistol still trained on him. He worked his way around until he was behind him, but kept eye contact with Grogol. The young soldier did not see the blow coming, as King brought the butt of the pistol down onto the nape of his neck with terrific force. The soldier slumped forwards, instantly unconscious from the heavy blow, a little blood trickling from the wound. The nurse cried out as she watched her lover slump across the table but raised her hand to her mouth instinctively to silence herself. She quickly slipped the white blouse over herself and pulled her skirt back down, as she stared at the intruder with the gun.
Grogol snapped at her again and she dutifully turned around to hurry through an adjoining doorway. The Indonesian looked back at King and shook his head dispassionately. “Give this up. You can’t seriously expect to escape, can you?”
King smiled wryly, confidently at the soldier. But he was starting to have his doubts. “You’ve helped me this far,” he paused. “And you will help me to the very end. You don’t want to die. You’re a survivor. I can see that. You’d do anything to survive. He backed over towards the door and aimed the weapon at the opening. “If I don’t succeed, then another will come in my place. This way, you have a chance to live.”
The nurse hurried back into the room clutching the young boy close to her chest. The child was dressed in a sleep suit with a thin cotton sheet wrapped around him. He had stirred, but his eyes were opening and closing, like he was going back to sleep. The nurse was trembling. She could see the weapon with its big bulbous silencer was aimed at her head. She muttered under her breath and closed her eyes.
King glanced between her and Grogol and the unconscious soldier on the floor. Matters were becoming extremely complicated. Grogol moved slightly and King turned the weapon on him. The man stood stock-still, his hands raised. King moved towards the nurse and took the child off her the best he could. He wasn’t familiar with children, but he had looked after his younger brothers and sisters in another life, a lifetime ago. A childhood memory flashed in front of him but he instantly suppressed it. He didn’t allow himself to go back there anymore. He held the child closely to his chest, remembering children did not feel safe unless held firmly. The boy’s face nuzzled into his shoulder as he dozed. King looked back at the nurse and pointed to the floor with the pistol. She hesitated, then reluctantly knelt down. He rounded her, then struck the same blow he’d done earlier to her lover. The woman fell forwards, her head hitting the floor with a thud. There was no time to check if she was alive. If she was, then he had spared her; and if she wasn’t, at least he had tried. That was the limit of his analysis and of his compassion. He didn’t kill indiscriminately, but the people working here knew that what was happening was not right. He was not going to lose sleep over any of them.
Grogol led the way without protest and they walked swiftly down the tiled corridor, King following several steps behind. As he kept his eyes on the Indonesian sergeant, he glanced down momentarily at the sleeping baby, surprised that he had not woken during the disturbance. His eyelids twitched and he gave a mellow yawn as they walked, which reassured King that he was well.
Grogol paused at the double doors and King motioned the man through into the sparse corridor where Abdul Tembarak was sitting on the polished concrete floor, his back to the wall. Todi was eyeing the corridor in both directions, his large rifle held loosely in both hands.
King kept the silenced Colt aimed at Grogol, then looked down at Tembarak, who was rubbing the side of his neck. “Abdul. I think this little chap will want to see you…”
76
King watched, his heart fluttering as he experienced an inexplicable emotion, for the first time in what now seemed a lifetime. There was no logical reason for his joy, for the matter was of no direct concern to him and offered him no direct benefit. Yet as he watched Abdul Tembarak cradle the infant in his shaking arms, he was swept back to memories of his childhood and the love of his mother. Then came the pang of anger, of disillusionment, as he recalled his childhood. There had been no warm feelings such as this. His mother had been a drug addicted whore, who maintained her drink, heroin and then crack habit by selling her body and neglecting her children. The warm feeling which he was experiencing at this moment was only a projection of his impossible desire to have experienced a father’s love. He looked away from the loving father and his child, suddenly feeling uneasy, intrusive.
The Indonesian looked tearfully at the Englishman, then stretched out a hand and touched him on his shoulder. “Thank… you…” he stammered, choking back tears. “Words cannot begin to express my gratitude…”
King nodded awkwardly, suddenly jealous of the man’s happiness, and in the same instant, ashamed of his envy. “Don’t mention it,” he replied. “We are not out of the woods yet though...”
The Indonesian looked at him quizzically, unfamiliar with the metaphor, but realised that King had not noticed his expression. He turned back to his son, and continued to stare lovingly into the boy’s eyes.
The vehicle rocked gently, then slowed considerably, as Jusi pulled into the side of the road and allowed a much larger armoured vehicle to pass in the opposite direction. He turned around in his seat and looked at King, then glanced at Grogol seated beside him. “He says that this is it,” he paused. “This is General Soto’s living quarters.”
King moved forward ducking his head under the metal struts which spread across the canvas roof. He stepped past Todi, who was covering Grogol with his rifle, then perched himself on the opposite bench seat.
“This is it, Grogol,” he paused. “Double-cross me now and you die a second later. You told me that there would be only two bodyguards in Soto’s quarters. Do you stick by that?”
“Yes,” he nodded emphatically, then winced as a bolt of pain lanced through his wounded thigh. “Two, both in uniform.”
“Armed with what?”
“They are Kopassus, Special Forces. They use mainly Sig Sauer .40 pistols and Steyr AUG rifles. Sometimes Heckler and Koch MP5 9mm machine pistols as well.”
“Body armour?”
Grogol nodded. “Lightweight Kevlar vests, front and back. Femoral armour as well.”
King thought for a moment. He needed to get this done, and he was poorly equipped. From the
moment Soto’s agents picked him up at the airport he’d had to improvise. It was not the ideal approach for taking on such a protected target. Surprise was to their advantage, but in order to escape the compound, they would have to maintain perfect silence. The lightweight Kevlar vests would stop the pistol rounds, but would pose no problem for the powerful 7.62 mm bullets of the SLR, nor the 7.62mm (short) of the AK47. However, start firing the rifles in the dead of night and the entire military base would be alerted within seconds. He was left with little choice, he would have to use the knife and the two pistols and he would have to enter the building alone. Todi was a good fighter and had not let him down at the railway station, but he had used overkill on his designated target. King could not leave anything to chance, if he was to assassinate General Soto and escape safely, then he would have to go in solo.
He placed both pistols beside him on the bench seat, then quickly tucked his shirttails into his trousers, before picking up the tiny Rohrbaugh 9mm and checking the chamber. He had six bullets at his disposal, but it was a well-made, accurate little weapon. He tucked it into his back pocket. Having shot the guard in the interrogation building he was left with six rounds in the .45. However, it did not give him any more than the element of surprise. The weapon needed cocking each time it was fired. If it came to a shootout, he was at a distinct disadvantage. He quickly tucked the Colt into the shoulder holster and slung the Uzi over his shoulder and tucked the spare magazines into his pocket. If it went noisy, he would bring some of his own. “Right,” he said to Todi. “I want you to escort Grogol to the front entrance.” He turned to the Indonesian soldier and stared at him coldly. “I want you to get the door to his quarters open. Tell the bodyguard that you have a matter which requires General Soto’s immediate attention. If he refuses to open the door, threaten to put him on a charge. If that doesn’t work, well you better improvise damned quickly…” He looked back at Todi. “When the bodyguard opens the door, get Grogol back into the vehicle. Tembarak and Jusi will be covering you from the truck,” he paused, looking back at the soldier. “So don’t get any ideas about trying to escape.”
