Read Online Double Back by Mark Abernethy - Free Book Online
Authors: Mark Abernethy
Tags: thriller
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Canadian and Blackbird still in the room. Alive.
The complication came with Captain Benni Sudarto. Sudarto’s presence in that meet had aroused Bongo’s anti-Australian instincts, because Sudarto’s training had included time at Duntroon and several rotations in the Australian SAS. So Sudarto had been trained at Australia’s elite army academy, mused Mac, but he was also a certified thug, murderer, torturer and filler of mass graves.
Benni Sudarto had moved quickly through officer school and special forces training and then opted for Indonesia’s violent special operations regiment, Kopassus. Over the years, Mac had followed Sudarto’s career, which could also be plotted by cross-reference to Amnesty International reports. Having made his name in Aceh and Ambon, Sudarto had really become famous in East Timor, hunting Falintil ‘terrorists’ through the mountains and shutting down villages.
But the part of Sudarto’s story Mac was most interested in was the last sighting of him, in that room in the mansion, shooting at Bongo. According to Bongo, Sudarto had been in plainclothes, and so had his two henchies. A Kopassus captain suddenly working without his uniform meant one thing: Group 4, Kopassus intel – and that was a problem for Mac.
Group 4 was a secret unit of Kopassus that performed an amalgam of roles, including military and civil intelligence, SWAT-like operations and a secret police function. As East Timor headed towards their independence ballot, Mac wondered what Group 4 was doing there and why they were ambushing Canadian and Philippines nationals. It seemed like an overreaction, or perhaps a panicked reaction. Sudarto was too smart to start shooting for no reason. He was secreted during the ambush, he was doing surveillance, he obviously had Blackbird made and no one on the Australian side had been aware of it. He had the information superiority which gave him the chance to feed all sorts of rubbish back to ASIS and play Canberra for fools. But, instead, he’d broken cover and started putting holes in the players.
The last thought Mac had before he fell asleep was: why?
CHAPTER 9
The four-year-old Toyota minivan needed a wash and the driver could have done with a haircut, but they were both waiting outside Dili airport terminal when Mac emerged into the sun and dust with the other passengers.
‘Turismo?’ asked Mac, bringing his black wheelie suitcase to heel as he stopped.
‘Sure, boss,’ smiled the youthful local, white shirt bleached but frayed at the collar. ‘Turismo express! Raoul do it special for you.’
Behind Mac, an American accent asked for the Resende and another voice wondered about transport for the Hotel Dili. Without hesitation, Raoul announced his credentials for those hotels too, while another local man leapt into the group of arrivals and spruiked his own brand of express travel – cheaper, faster and with air-con that worked. Though it might have looked like chaos to an outsider, this was the way people were transported around South-East Asia, and it seemed to work.
Raoul took Mac’s bag, then reached for a Malay businessman’s suitcase, covered in Malaysia Airlines tags and stickers. The man stood close to Mac in the stifling heat, his Ralph Lauren Polo wafting off him in heady waves.
A group of Indonesian police dressed in tan fatigues wandered along the terminal apron with their German shepherds, keeping a close eye on the visitors and the locals dealing with them. Their flashings were too small to readily identify names, ranks or regiment, but Mac had them as Brimob – the Brigada Mobil – a flying squad of riot and anti-insurgency police who got shifted around the Republic to intimidate troublemakers. Meanwhile, a plainclothes Javanese spook stayed in the shadows, chewing on gum and examining the visitors through a pair of dark Wayfarers.
Sitting in the seat behind the driver, Mac listened to Raoul’s running commentary on the tiny Indonesian province.
The complication came with Captain Benni Sudarto. Sudarto’s presence in that meet had aroused Bongo’s anti-Australian instincts, because Sudarto’s training had included time at Duntroon and several rotations in the Australian SAS. So Sudarto had been trained at Australia’s elite army academy, mused Mac, but he was also a certified thug, murderer, torturer and filler of mass graves.
Benni Sudarto had moved quickly through officer school and special forces training and then opted for Indonesia’s violent special operations regiment, Kopassus. Over the years, Mac had followed Sudarto’s career, which could also be plotted by cross-reference to Amnesty International reports. Having made his name in Aceh and Ambon, Sudarto had really become famous in East Timor, hunting Falintil ‘terrorists’ through the mountains and shutting down villages.
But the part of Sudarto’s story Mac was most interested in was the last sighting of him, in that room in the mansion, shooting at Bongo. According to Bongo, Sudarto had been in plainclothes, and so had his two henchies. A Kopassus captain suddenly working without his uniform meant one thing: Group 4, Kopassus intel – and that was a problem for Mac.
Group 4 was a secret unit of Kopassus that performed an amalgam of roles, including military and civil intelligence, SWAT-like operations and a secret police function. As East Timor headed towards their independence ballot, Mac wondered what Group 4 was doing there and why they were ambushing Canadian and Philippines nationals. It seemed like an overreaction, or perhaps a panicked reaction. Sudarto was too smart to start shooting for no reason. He was secreted during the ambush, he was doing surveillance, he obviously had Blackbird made and no one on the Australian side had been aware of it. He had the information superiority which gave him the chance to feed all sorts of rubbish back to ASIS and play Canberra for fools. But, instead, he’d broken cover and started putting holes in the players.
The last thought Mac had before he fell asleep was: why?
CHAPTER 9
The four-year-old Toyota minivan needed a wash and the driver could have done with a haircut, but they were both waiting outside Dili airport terminal when Mac emerged into the sun and dust with the other passengers.
‘Turismo?’ asked Mac, bringing his black wheelie suitcase to heel as he stopped.
‘Sure, boss,’ smiled the youthful local, white shirt bleached but frayed at the collar. ‘Turismo express! Raoul do it special for you.’
Behind Mac, an American accent asked for the Resende and another voice wondered about transport for the Hotel Dili. Without hesitation, Raoul announced his credentials for those hotels too, while another local man leapt into the group of arrivals and spruiked his own brand of express travel – cheaper, faster and with air-con that worked. Though it might have looked like chaos to an outsider, this was the way people were transported around South-East Asia, and it seemed to work.
Raoul took Mac’s bag, then reached for a Malay businessman’s suitcase, covered in Malaysia Airlines tags and stickers. The man stood close to Mac in the stifling heat, his Ralph Lauren Polo wafting off him in heady waves.
A group of Indonesian police dressed in tan fatigues wandered along the terminal apron with their German shepherds, keeping a close eye on the visitors and the locals dealing with them. Their flashings were too small to readily identify names, ranks or regiment, but Mac had them as Brimob – the Brigada Mobil – a flying squad of riot and anti-insurgency police who got shifted around the Republic to intimidate troublemakers. Meanwhile, a plainclothes Javanese spook stayed in the shadows, chewing on gum and examining the visitors through a pair of dark Wayfarers.
Sitting in the seat behind the driver, Mac listened to Raoul’s running commentary on the tiny Indonesian province.
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