The House That Jack Built

by Patrick Ford

  * * * *

  Susan sat in the warm winter sunlight on the veranda, preparing vegetables for the midday meal. Jacqui was playing with Sam. She ran across the lawn as Sam chased after a ball she threw for her, screaming with excitement. Sam loved it. Eventually, Jacqui collapsed on the lawn, breathless from her exertions. Sam ran to her and licked her face. Jacqui hugged the dog. “Mommy,” she said, “I wonder how Daddy is in the army?” She had only a vague idea about the army, but she knew her Daddy was proud to be a part of it. “What is he doing right now, Mommy?”

  Susan didn’t know, but she said, “He is teaching other men to be soldiers, so they will be able to protect us if there is trouble like Vietnam again. Remember how Daddy and Uncle Jimbo had to go there to help protect us?”

  “Will there be bad men where he is now?”

  “No, darling, Daddy will be with friends. He is probably having lots of fun. There are no bad men where he is.”

  “Good,” said Jacqui. “I want Daddy to come home really soon because I want a kiss and a hug.” So do I, thought Susan, more than you can imagine!

  * * * *

  After a week, Jack was pleased with the progress of his troops. The men were just beginning to take pride in their appearance. Defaulters in this regard were few. There were some problems with discipline and insolent behaviour. On the third day, a big man from Warren decided he’d had enough of Corporal Bluey Cook’s orders and suggested something physically impossible that Bluey should do with them. Bluey smiled at him. “Private Wilson, I have been fucked about by experts, I have been chased, shot at, wounded, burnt, half buried in mud, and I have sent more than a few VC to the happy hunting grounds. You don’t worry me at all.” He took off his shirt. “There, no stripes now. Perhaps we can continue this discussion behind the cookhouse?”

  Wilson looked at Bluey. He saw a hard lean man, well balanced on his feet, large biceps, and a chest and abdomen marked with several crudely stitched scars. He took in the slightly amused look in the hard eyes and he changed his mind. “Sorry, Corporal,” he said. “I was a bit out of order then.”

  “So you were,” said Bluey, “But it’s nothing an afternoon on defaulters won’t cure.” Word soon spread. Corporal Cook had no more trouble.

  By the end of the second week, things were looking good. The raw recruits had done well. They had become soldiers. Because most were from the bush, they had been around firearms since they were boys. Like Jack, they had learnt these skills by their fathers’ side. They were competent Bushmen, familiar with Land Rovers and other off-road vehicles, knew about camping out and basic survival skills. They had not been hard to teach.

  Jack’s weapons platoon had been equipped with 3-inch mortars and shoulder launched 3.5” RPGs. Lieutenant Corrigan had been like a kid at Christmas with his new toys. He had two sections under his command, Mortar and RPG, along with two long wheelbase Land Rovers to transport them. Each vehicle had a two-wheel trailer designed for weapons and ammunition storage, and crews chosen from the course’s high achievers. That weekend, Jack gave most of them a 24-hour leave pass in Darwin. Two weeks of hard work had no doubt given them a good thirst and they were in good spirits as the trucks headed for town.

  Jack convened a conference with his officers and senior NCOs to go over the field exercise planned for the next week. One of the topics discussed was the issue of live ammunition. On exercises like this, especially with inexperienced troops, this was not normal practice. Jack had thought long and hard about this. Finally, he put it to his ‘O’ Group. “I think in this case we should issue live ammunition. There are a large number of crocodiles and maybe wild buffalo where we are going. We don’t want the wildlife causing casualties. The men are experienced with weapons and firearms safety. Besides, carrying a full load of ammunition will add to the realism of the exercise.” It was to prove a fortuitous decision.

  On Monday, Exercise Koala began. Bell UH-1 Huey helicopters of the RAAF flew them to their jump off point far into the Kimberley area of Western Australia. They were to be entirely self-sufficient for the week. Corrigan’s weapons platoon was included, but had to leave their vehicles behind. They took only two mortars and limited mortar bombs.

  Chapter 8

  Wild Justice

  The crew of the Sunbird III had been held prisoner on Ramu Island for almost a month now. The caves were damp. Water oozed from the walls and the floor was always wet. There was no bedding. They were fed twice a day, dried fish and cold rice, but water they had aplenty, piped in from above. A stinking trench latrine at the rear of each cave threatened to overflow.

  Captain Shen Go was looking out to sea one morning when he spied a launch approaching the beach. There was a small hut down there, home to four of Abdul’s men. They fed and watched the prisoners on a weekly roster and they met the launch. Three men disembarked, carrying long bundles. The Captain could not make out what they were. Soon, he could see them making their way up the hill. They halted on a small level area in front of the caves and unwrapped one of the bundles. It contained a tripod and a movie camera. For a while, they experimented with light meters and sun angles before setting it up facing out to sea. The leader of Abdul’s henchmen was a hulking, scar-faced man called ’Hook’ for the sharp metal appendage that replaced his left forearm. He moved towards the cave. Hook produced a key and opened the door of the cave.

  His two companions swiftly pulled one of the sailors out into the open. The man was a Lascar, a seaman of Indian origin. Disoriented, blinded by the bright sun after so many days in the gloom of the cave, he was terrified. They dragged him into the field of view of the camera. Two of the visitors appeared, faces hidden by black balaclavas, heads wearing black turbans. One turned to face the camera. The other bound the seaman’s hands behind his back, and tied his ankles, forcing him into a kneeling position in front of the camera. The first man produced a scroll and proceeded to make an announcement in Arabic. The second man opened the other bundle and withdrew a long shining sword.

  As the first man began his speech, those prisoners who could understand began a low murmur, gradually rising to collective cries of terror. The seaman must have understood some of it, because he commenced shaking and his face showed utter terror. He began to plead for mercy, calling on his Gods to save him. He voided his bladder and bowels in fear just before the sword completed its shining arc. His cleanly severed head rolled a few feet away from his body, now pumping its lifeblood from its ruptured arteries.

  The swordsman walked over to the cave. The occupants, thinking he had come to select another victim, clambered over each other to reach the back. He smiled. “God is not pleased.” He said. “Your Company is delaying its payment to us. In one more week, there will be another display of our determination. There will be two of you then, including your Captain. Allah Akbar.”

  * * * *

  Abdul Amir Mahomet was a patient man but he was growing concerned. He had not heard from Rashid since reporting the successful capture of the Sunbird III. He had remained at AK Bay after his assault crew had concealed the ship and waited to see what reaction the piracy had engendered in the media.

  His small radio gave no news for more than a week. No doubt, the vessel was not overdue, but he had expected action when regular radio communication had ceased. Perhaps the ship and her owners were as slack with that as they had been with their security. The ship was reported as lost after ten days, at first presumed sunk in a typhoon, but air and sea searches had revealed nothing. Finally, the news of the ransom demand leaked out. Abdul heard all this on his radio, but there was no contact from Rashid. Maybe he had been made a fool of by that Malay swine! By the eleventh day, he had heard aircraft in the vicinity. He saw a Coast Guard plane pass over at high altitude. Then he had seen an Australian patrol boat enter the river mouth. They searched up the river for a mile or so but did not spot the ship. They left and then there was a complete lack of activity. After two weeks, he set off under cover of darkness for Nam Lin Island.


  * * * *

  Abdul had not counted on the execution on Ramu Island. He saw it all on the Arabic news networks. The Sunrise Shipping Company of China received a copy of the movie. The Chairman was beside himself, but the directors were adamant. There would be no ransom paid. He received a report from Hook, just back from the Island. Hook had no opinion, but Abdul became unnerved by the incident. He had not imagined it would come to this. He was a cruel and violent man himself, but he saw this act as swinging public opinion against Rashid and his people. If no ransom eventuated, there would be no payday for Abdul. Ten percent of nothing was still nothing.

  He did not know what to do. He was in this too far now to pull out. Rashid would make sure of that. He knew he could only sit and wait as he did not have any way of communicating with Rashid. Abdul did not like this. He was used to being in control. This was new territory for him.

  * * * *

  The Kimberley region of Western Australia is a vast wilderness, composed of ancient mountain ranges dissected by sandstone and limestone gorges. It has no soils suitable for agriculture, most topsoil long eroded by thousands of years of monsoon rains. The coastline is rugged, with escarpments and ridges running right onto the sea. There are about eight thousand miles of coastline including islands and bays. About 2,600 islands make the coast one of the most difficult in the world to navigate.

  Jack set up his Battalion Headquarters about a mile inland from a large river mouth. The exercise he had planned had a small force of insurgents attempting a landing along the coast and establishing an observation post. This was Force Green. Jack had his own resources plus a flight of Hueys and could call for assistance from the patrol boat HMAS Quinalow, currently on fisheries patrol in the area. He began by establishing patrols in company strength on a rotating basis. He usually accompanied one of the dawn patrols. They had patrolled constantly for four days without sight of Force Green. His company commanders had reported good field craft and even better control and communication at platoon level. He was reaping the benefits of salting his Vietnam veterans throughout the platoons. However, no sign of the enemy worried him; he decided to do an aerial reconnaissance.

  At daylight, he climbed into one of the Hueys, along with one section of infantry, the RSM, and the adjutant. They set out on a hundred-mile sweep along the coast from east to west. Despite flying low and slow, they saw nothing suspicious. They returned, refuelled, and patrolled in the other direction. There was nothing to see. They turned and flew back. About halfway, Andy McGuire pointed out something to Jack. “See how the shadows of the escarpments all follow the same direction? Well just in there, about two o’clock, there is no shadow. Maybe we should take a look.” Jack pointed and the pilot took them down, landing on the escarpment about a mile from their objective. Jack left the pilot and his co-pilot with the machine, and they set out in arrowhead formation west along the escarpment.

  * * * *

  In Damascus, Rashid was furious. He had made the film available to the whole world after sending it to the Sunrise Shipping Company, but it had elicited no response apart from the usual pious condemnation from the west of the barbaric deed. Barbaric, indeed, thought Rashid. Our peoples were civilised when most of the west still lived in caves.

  Finally, he had to telephone the ship’s owners. This time he let them talk, not hearing a word they said. After they had vented their steam, he took control of the conversation. “Soon there will be two more executions. These will continue until all your crew are dead and you lose your ship and its cargo. The fate of those men is in your hands.”

  The operation to rescue the ship was now a joint naval and police taskforce. Surveillance aircraft had made hundreds of sorties without result. These flights however, served to narrow down the search area to the southern islands of Indonesia and the Australian coast. Now aircraft and warships were searching this area. Rashid had had enough.

  The leader of his organisation, a very wealthy Saudi, known only as Saracen, contacted him. This time it was Rashid’s turn to quaver as his master vented his spleen. “Camel, you promised me this operation would be concluded by now. Nothing is forthcoming. Allah is displeased and when He is displeased, He will order his minions to punish the offender. See to it this business is concluded forthwith or the wrath of God will descend upon you, Allah Akbar!”

  The next day, a well-dressed businessman with a Lebanese passport boarded a flight to Ankara Turkey. He passed through airport controls, giving them the name of a downtown hotel where he had made a booking. He checked in and then departed, wearing a long tousled brown wig and beard, dressed in chinos and a tee shirt emblazoned with the words Calgary, Alberta. He boarded a flight to Singapore and tendered a Canadian passport in the name of Larry Norris.

  Eighteen hours later, a chartered plane landed on the island of Nam Lin in Indonesia. Rashid had arrived.

  * * * *

  Giles Laboit was a very senior officer of the French Police Security Service, the Sûreté, more particularly the financial division. He liaised with the Swiss Government. Right now, he was in Geneva. There had been increasing pressure on Swiss banks to reveal the names of account holders, in order to reclaim the billions appropriated by the Nazi government during World War Two. Laboit had had a major success with a number of accounts, reclaiming art treasures and gold looted by the Nazi occupiers of Paris and Prague, but among his findings, there was a small group of accounts that threw up red flags to this experienced operative.

  As a result, ten different accounts he identified as belonging to suspected fundamental Muslim terrorist organisations. The one common denominator in these accounts was a man known only as Rashid. The authorities did not know yet what was significant about these accounts. However, the bank agreed to freeze all withdrawals from the accounts, but to accept deposits they hoped to trace back to their origins.

  * * * *

  Abdul Amir Mahomet was clearly blameless in the matter of the failure of the shipping company to pay the ransom, but he quailed before the violent ravings of the man known only as Rashid.

  “You must take me to Ramu Island,” Rashid said. “I will personally conduct the next executions. However, before you do that, you must take me to the ship. Now, where is your telephone?”

  Abdul had an encrypted telephone, too. He was most anxious that the Indonesian authorities were not privy to his conversations.

  Once again, Rashid telephoned the shipping company. This time he gained the response for which he had waited. The money would be wired to the nominated account at the Swiss bank. He breathed a sigh of relief. In the morning, he would check. Praise be to Allah. He had succeeded. In the morning, Rashid checked with the bank via a series of cutouts in Madrid, London, and Warsaw. Assured the money was in the account, he said to Abdul, “Allah Akbar. We must attend the mosque together for mid-day prayers to give thanks to the Prophet for His divine intervention.”

  Abdul had made plans to visit the home of a neighbour. The neighbour would be at mid-day prayers, leaving a wife at home. Abdul did not have prayers on his mind. He cursed, but he had no option but to attend the mosque. Later that afternoon, he raised anchor and headed south. He would be in Indonesian waters until dusk, when he would change course and head for AK Bay. He had Rashid on board, along with ten of his men and a quantity of Semtex and fuses.

  Rashid was furious, brooding. He had taken a telephone call after prayers. Abdul had seen the colour drain from his face as he clutched at the table edge for support. He looked as though he had seen death up close. In a way, he had. The call had come from Saracen. “You dog,” Saracen had said. “You have stolen from us. The money is in your account, but we are unable to access it. Your time has come, Camel. You have deceived us for too long. I have pronounced fatwa upon you!”

  A fatwa was a sentence of death. Rashid would be a hunted man until he met a horrible end. Moreover, there would be no place in Paradise for him. Nowhere in the world would be safe. Abdul began to ask him about his share of the ransom
. A steely glare cowed him. He quickly turned to his chart and began checking his course.

  After midnight, they carefully navigated the river mouth and the narrow entrance to the backwater where Sunbird III lay at anchor. They joined the four men Abdul had left in charge and moved onto the ship. On board there would be berths for all of them. Abdul assumed the vessel would be on its way back to its owners on the morrow. He did not know that Rashid had other plans.

  During the night, Rashid garroted the only man left on watch, and carefully placed his Semtex charges along the waterline of the ship. Then he boarded Abdul’s boat, slipped his mooring, and carefully floated down river towards the sea. He would detonate the charges remotely by radio signal when he was far enough away. Then he would disappear into the morass of people in some crowded Asian city, probably Bangkok. He still had access to another account in the Cayman Islands. He could not use his false passports now. Saracen would know of them, but once in Thailand he could purchase several new identities.