by Roland Perry
‘We’re dropping,’ he said in French, and they could soon make out a cleared area looming fast ahead. Let him be there! Cardinal prayed. Let him be there!
Rhonda caught an early morning flight to Bangkok and arrived at Cardinal’s hotel – The Bangkok Palace – in mid-afternoon. An investigation uncovered nothing except that Webb did not appear to have booked a room. If he had, it was under an assumed name. Rhonda wandered around the hotel which was set in former slum land. The view from many of the bedrooms and from the pool was of a motorway. Downstairs there was no view at all except for dull, gray pylons that matched the building – a hideous concrete bunker.
Rhonda grew impatient. She phoned Hewson in Melbourne to see if he had any news of Webb.
‘It’s impossible to get into the CIA file,’ Hewson said. ‘Our director has refused to put in an application.’
‘Can’t you persuade him?’ Rhonda asked, her tone irritable. ‘Surely it’s in your interest to know if this bloke is working for them?’
‘I don’t think you appreciate the enmity between the two agencies right now,’ Hewson retorted.
‘Okay. You’re right,’ Rhonda said, climbing down.
‘I did find something else,’ Hewson said. ‘Webb and Blundell were in Kampuchea at the same time. We’ve ascertained that from a colleague of Webb who was an SAS man too. He is now a captain with our commando strike force. He says the three of them went out on patrols in Kampuchea.’
‘That’s terrific!’ Rhonda exclaimed. ‘Will he be able to say that on camera?’
‘No way. You could only use him as an unnamed source.’ They were both distracted by interference on the line.
‘Where are you staying?’ Hewson asked.
‘The Bangkok Palace,’ Rhonda said. ‘It’s an ugly little hell-hole. Webb must have chosen it.’
‘I’m sure he would have,’ Hewson said. ‘It’s a favorite CIA hang-out. Has been since Vietnam days.’
Rhonda was uneasy.
‘Take great care there,’ Hewson advised. ‘Remember that Blundell is probably behind the move by Webb to take Cardinal into Kampuchea.’
‘You don’t think he would turn up in this place, do you?’
‘Not on his salary.’
‘Have you been in touch with those contacts you promised?’
‘There’s a bar along the PatPong road called Tigers. Go there after ten at night and ask for Denis Bonner.’
‘What do you think Webb will do if they get into the Cardomom Mountains?’ she asked. ‘The Blundell link really worries me.’
‘I’m going to sound pessimistic,’ Hewson said, ‘but you’ve got to understand how put out the CIA are by the breakaway by Chan and his Khmer Rouge. Blundell will either want to bring them back into the fold or . . . ‘ Hewson was hesitant.
‘Isn’t that too late?’ Rhonda prompted. ‘What’s the alternative?’
‘Webb wouldn’t be going into such hostile territory for the hike. His motives won’t be altruistic’
11
Cardinal sat in the open hut near the helipad for four hours and felt like a patient waiting for major surgery. Every time there was movement from any of the large huts about them, or on the steps leading down the mountains to catacombs in the valley below, he stood up and used binoculars. He had yet to see one non-Khmer face, and as the sun reached its peak and started its drift beyond the peaks of the Cardomon range, his faith and hope slipped with it.
He received little comfort from Webb whose anxieties appeared rooted in other concerns. Occasionally Dunong would sidle over to him, and they would huddle away from Cardinal, but he cared less and less about their possible subterfuge. He preferred to scan the faces, even those of the worker bees building other huts. He counted one hundred and thirty-two of them before his attention was caught by two armed men marching up the mountain steps in unison. Webb stopped talking to Dunong as the men advanced. Their heads flapped in harmony in the breeze that stirred around the valley.
Webb shuffled over to Cardinal. ‘This may be it. Remember, nothing but French. Don’t react to anything. Let me do the talking.’
Orders were bellowed in Khmer. Dunong signalled that they should follow him and the men down the mountain face.
Cardinal noticed a clearing on a plateau that had not been in view from the air or the arrival hut. There was a tall woman at his level about fifty metres from him. Her hair was long and black. She was too fair-skinned to be a Khmer. Cardinal stopped and whistled. The woman looked around and then hurried out of view into trees close to the mountain face. Cardinal started in shock. He thought it was Hartina. His whistle stopped the descending party, and Dunong gave him a nervous shake of the head.
At least she is here! Cardinal thought as he continued on down the three hundred carved steps until they reached the caves.
The steady whir of a generator could be heard as Cardinal and Webb were ushered into a hut by the two armed men. The hut led to a labyrinth of caves stretching deep below the mountains. The security was tight as they were taken to the caves, which had been converted into a makeshift laboratory crowded with unpacked crates and boxes of equipment. They were given protective face shields as they entered the chilly, airconditioned caves sealed by steel doors.
Webb was annoyed when Cardinal asked how many lasers they were operating, and Dunong seemed unsure if he should answer. He told them there were three.
‘Where do you store the U235?’ Cardinal asked.
‘There are specially cooled containers in some of the rooms,’ Dunong replied. Cardinal noticed that perhaps a dozen of the forty or so staff they had encountered were Europeans.
At the end of the tour they returned to the hut, and Dunong indicated that Cardinal should follow him up another set of steps to the plateau at which he thought he had seen Hartina. Webb turned to join him, but was blocked by the armed Khmers. He glared at Dunong.
‘You must wait here,’ Dunong said. Cardinal was led to the plateau and taken to the edge of a forest. Hartina, tall and long-limbed like her mother, was standing near a recess in the mountain. She walked over to Cardinal and shook hands.
‘It’s a surprise to see you,’ she said, brushing her raven hair from her wide brown eyes. ‘When you stepped out of the helicopter we couldn’t believe it.’
‘We?’ Cardinal said. He could feel himself going numb.
‘So you did not know?!’ she said. ‘Harry was not sure. That was why I was sent to speak to you first.’
Cardinal put a hand to his face. ‘He’s alive!’ he half whispered. ‘You are telling me he’s alive?!’
She nodded, and Cardinal fought the lump in his throat. ‘Please, try not to show emotion. It is dangerous to show any emotion.’ Hartina led him into the recess, her armed linked in his.
‘Where is he?’ Cardinal demanded. ‘I want to see him.’ He heard someone behind him.
‘Dad!’ a voice said.
Cardinal turned and ran to embrace his son.
Father and son walked alone in the forest and up a path in the mountain. After half an hour they came across Khmer soldiers sitting cross-legged with rifles slung over their legs. They jumped to attention when they saw Harry. He spoke harshly to them. Cardinal was confused but said nothing as they strolled on. They came to a clearing.
‘It will be dark in an hour,’ Harry said wiping his brow. ‘We should head back in about twenty minutes. Stray Vietnamese patrols have been this far before.’
‘Can we talk here?’ Cardinal asked.
Harry nodded. ‘But let’s not raise our voices,’ he said with a smile.
‘You seem to have some freedom?’
‘There’s really no choice,’ Harry smiled, relaxed.
‘There is nowhere to run.’ He laughed. ‘I remember Reagan once said about terrorists, “You can run, but you can’t hide”.’
‘At least they’ve looked after you,’ Cardinal said eyeing his son. ‘You’re in great shape. You seem happy.’ He thought Harry appeared more ma
ture, somehow stronger in the face in the two years since he had seen him.
‘We’re happy enough,’ he said.
‘How the hell are we going to get you out of here?’ Cardinal said tensely.
‘You don’t understand, do you?’ Harry said. He broke a twig from a tree and sat on the ground. ‘Of course, there would be no way of knowing.’
‘What are you talking about?’ Cardinal said. He bent down beside him, took out some cigars and offered Harry one. He shook his head and pulled a long bamboo pipe from his hip pocket. He lit a paste-like substance in the pipe’s bowl and began to knead it with the twig that he had fashioned into a crude fork. Cardinal could smell the opium as Harry used a pin to release it. Cardinal was close enough to see the small tears of opium bubble as his son inhaled.
Harry looked at his father. ‘This stuff is fresh from Thailand. The best in the world. I get a steady supply. It’s gratis. A perk.’
Cardinal said nothing. It would be hypocritical to chastise Harry.
‘You recall I wrote and asked you how to set up a company and create patents?’ Harry began. ‘That was because I wanted to capitalise on the work I had put in.’
‘I endorsed that.’
‘Right. And that’s exactly what I’m doing now.’
Cardinal was baffled.
‘I’m here under my own volition. You’ve got to understand that for a start!’
Cardinal inclined his head as if he wasn’t hearing properly.
‘I’m sorry about the body business,’ Harry said. ‘I really am. I only learned what had been done afterwards. They told me you would be told, but you never were. They considered it too risky. I desperately wanted to call you or write, but it was impossible.’
Harry fired the paste, plunged the pin in, and inhaled once more.
‘Dad, I have to stay here a while longer. I’ve set up a Swiss company and shares are being sold to several countries. We expect corporations to start lining up soon. In return they get the fruits of all this.’ Harry made an expansive gesture at the valley, where dusk was falling. ‘The French, as you know, want in. So do the South Africans, the Argentinians, the Israelis. I’m already a multi-millionaire on paper!’
‘But what the hell are you selling?! The bomb!’
‘It’s not just the bomb! The technology can be used for peaceful means. Reactors! Energy! We’re making breakthroughs that will make nuclear energy a million times cheaper, and safer!’
‘What are you doing here with these crazy Khmer Rouge killers? Why help them?’
‘Dad, that’s the way it happened! They . . . ‘
‘They? Who are they!?’
‘The CIA! Blundell! They originally wanted to use the Killing Fields to experiment with our bomb development. When the new Australian government scrapped the developments at Lucas Heights, Blundell got the Indonesians to provide the facilities. The Khmer Rouge were going to be used to experiment with the weapons in the war against the Vietnamese. Then the Indonesians tried to take control and gave us trouble. It was then that Chan, a Khmer Rouge leader, decided to break away. Everyone underestimated his strength and connections.’
‘And you went along with him?’
‘Blundell was harassing me! He wouldn’t allow me to set up the company. He wanted to have control of whatever I developed.’
Cardinal puffed furiously on his cigar.
‘Unfortunately someone tried to assassinate Chan,’ Harry said standing up. ‘That threw our plans. But I was able to carry on when he became incapacitated.’ He looked around at the mountains. ‘We better get back.’
Cardinal stood up. He pointed aggressively towards the Khmer base.
‘Are Chan’s people here?’ he asked. They passed three Khmer soldiers. He was wary of meeting the men who had accompanied Chan to Buru.
‘They arrive tomorrow,’ he said, gripping the pipe. ‘He died two days ago. In a strange way, his death has given me a big opportunity. The Khmer Rouge accept that I am in charge of the project now.’
‘You’re telling me you are endorsing the use of the laser bomb you’re developing here?’ he asked.
‘I don’t care what the Khmer Rouge do with it,’ Harry replied.
‘Even if they use it against the Vietnamese?’
‘Frankly, I don’t give a damn about them.’ Their step quickened as they both fought to control their tempers.
‘I can’t believe you!’ Cardinal hissed.
‘Someone has to stop those animals! Otherwise they take the whole of this country, then Thailand!’
‘With nuclear weapons?!’
‘They would use them against the Khmers, if they had them!’
Harry glanced at his father.
‘Anyway, maybe the Khmers will only use them to warn the Vietnamese. It’s up to Pol Pot and the others.’
‘You realise that Blundell wants to stop you?’
Harry grunted.
‘How do you feel about being a traitor? You, the great jingoist!’
‘That’s ridiculous! The CIA is not the government! I told you corporations will be trying to buy this technology. They’ll include some based in America. Rexacon, for instance. They have been working in this field, but I’m further into it. Then there is our own government. Once they realise this is on the market, they’ll probably want to buy it too!’
Cardinal was speechless. They stood at the top of the steps that led down to the catacombs.
‘Is Webb from the agency?’ Harry asked in a whisper.
‘He is in ASIO.’
Harry shook his head. ‘How did you replace the Frenchmen?’
Cardinal tossed away the stub of his cigar.
‘You killed them?’ Harry asked.
‘Not me.’
‘Webb?’
Cardinal didn’t reply.
‘He must be with Blundell,’ Harry said. ‘Only he knew about the French wanting a piece of the action.’
‘Webb came to help me get you out!’
‘Bullshit!’ Harry said, his expression darkening as he stood close. ‘He came to try to kill me. Has he got a weapon?’
‘A revolver.’
‘Who searched you when you came in?’
‘Dunong, the guy who flew us here.’
Harry’s eyes narrowed. ‘They’ll take you back in the morning.’
‘You’re a stranger to me,’ Cardinal said sadly.
Just before midnight, all heads in the Superstar Disco bar at Tiger’s turned to watch Rhonda come in and sit at the bar. The atmosphere made her apprehensive. It was dark but for the gaudy red and white lights flashing from the ceiling of the circular room as about twenty dancers wobbled their middle-age spread. A score of hookers sat at the circular bar or in the cubicles on one wall, and they, as much as the men, were watching the new arrival. The older pros looked sharply at her while a couple of the drinkers a few seats away nudged each other and whispered lurid remarks. Two barmen moved around to get a better look. Rhonda ordered a Scotch and ice from the winner.
‘You a tourist?’ the barman, a well-muscled young Australian asked. This elicited a few guffaws from the two men ogling her.
She leaned over the bar. ‘I’m here to meet Denis Bonner.’
The barman shrugged as he cleaned a glass. ‘Never heard of him.’
Her words wiped the smile off the faces of both the nearby drinkers. One of them slipped off his stool and sidled up to Rhonda.
‘Why do you want to meet Den?’ He was an unpretty American of about fifty with a crewcut and long sideboards.
‘He told me he might be in tonight.’
The man looked at his watch. ‘You’re about two hours late. Would I do instead?’
‘I don’t think Denis would like that,’ Rhonda said, sensing that ‘Den’ might be someone they might not wish to tangle with.
The man’s eyes showed a momentary flash of concern. ‘No offence, ma’am.’
‘None taken,’ Rhonda said. ‘Do you know which hotel he is at?’<
br />
The man smiled revealing three ugly gold fillings.
‘You’ll find him at the Marriott,’ he said, ‘room 303,’ the man whispered. ‘Sure you wouldn’t like me to show you there, ma’am?’
‘I wouldn’t,’ she said.
A noise woke Webb in the middle of the night. He scrambled for his revolver. It wasn’t there. He jumped from the mat bed to face the shadowy figure near the open doorway, but dropped his hands when he saw Cardinal’s face illuminated as he lit a cigar.
‘What the fuck are you doing?’ he shrieked, forgetting his French.
‘Couldn’t sleep,’ Cardinal said.
‘The bastards stole my revolver,’ Webb complained as he slapped at a mosquito. ‘You didn’t tell your son, did you?’
Cardinal shook his head. He stepped out into the night air which was cool and looked up at a huge moon cradled between two mountains. He had struggled to wake from the dream of the body in the shallow grave, which had haunted him again. He thought of Judy’s interpretation, which now seemed apt. No amount of cajoling, arguing or pleading could change his son’s mind about his present disastrous course.
‘I wish he was dead,’ he muttered to himself.
Rhonda was startled awake by the groan of the pipes in the hotel room. It flooded back memories of the night with Cardinal in Jakarta when they had been terrorised by the military chopper. She fretted for him, and ended up barricading her door with a sofa and chairs.
Rhonda got up at dawn and packed her one suitcase in anticipation of leaving. If nothing happens today, she thought, I’ll get a plane home in the late afternoon or evening.
At seven, she called the Marriott, and was told ‘Denis E. Bonner’ was having breakfast. Rhonda caught a taxi to the hotel and hurried to the dining room. She was just asking the manager who Bonner was when she noticed Bill Hewson. He was sitting at a corner table with the American who had spoken to her at Tiger’s.
Rhonda moved to their table. She embraced Hewson.
‘This is Denis Bonner,’ Hewson said, turning to the American.
‘What was that charade about last night?’ Rhonda said.
