Read Online Double Back by Mark Abernethy - Free Book Online Page A

There was plenty of rice, there was work and the dry season was not too bad this year – the crops had come in and there was food.
    ‘So what about this ballot?’ came an American voice from directly behind Mac as they moved out of the terminal area onto the notoriously dangerous road into Dili. ‘There’s a lot of soldiers around, Raoul – we expecting trouble?’
    Despite the concentration required to dodge carts and motor-cyclists while trying to go down the Indonesian ‘third lane’, Raoul nodded. ‘My family has food, mister, and no crime, okay?’
    ‘Yeah,’ sneered the American, as only the peace-blessed Anglos of the world could sneer. ‘But you’re gonna vote for independence, right, Raoul? You look like a freedom-loving guy to me.’
    Watching the driver’s shoulders slump as they slowed behind a 1950s-era truck loaded with large green leaves, Mac turned to face the American.
    ‘Right now it suits me that Raoul’s a life-loving guy – with me, sport?’ said Mac, smiling at the middle-aged Yank. ‘Old Indonesian proverb – driving and politics don’t mix.’
    Some of the other passengers chuckled with relief and the American’s travelling companion dug his elbow into the man’s ribs. ‘You heard him, Keith. Let the guy drive.’
    ‘Richard Davis – sandalwood,’ said Mac, putting out his hand to the American.
    ‘Keith Wilson – telecoms,’ said the American, friendly but annoyed.
    Turning back to face the windscreen, Mac caught Raoul’s eye in the rear-vision mirror for a split second. He’d seen that quietly thankful look in Bosnia, Iraq and Cambodia and, for the second time since the Atkins meeting, Mac longed for a firearm on his right hip.
     
    ***
     
    Mac’s usual room at the Turismo was small and uncomplicated. He’d stayed in the Turismo several times and room 10 gave him a view over the Esplanada – Dili’s main thoroughfare – whereas most of the rooms either looked over the rear beer garden or had no outlook at all. The lack of in-room phone meant one less surveillance tool for unfriendlies, and the placement of the TV on top of the mini-fridge was a nice feature.
    Opening a pack of Doublemint, Mac pulled a stick one centimetre out of the packet, and placed it gently in the inside pocket of his wheelie suitcase, at the same time taking a piece of chalk the size of a stock cube from the same pocket. Placing the chalk cube under the hinge end of the door, Mac let himself out and moved down to the lobby.
    The manager – Mrs Soares – was friendly but couldn’t help Mac with faxing. ‘No allowed no more,’ she said with a smile and a shrug. ‘For the security.’
    The Indon military commanders had removed every fax machine from Dili, leaving only one for public use at the Dili Telkom office. Given the way the Indonesian Army operated, thought Mac, word would have gone out and every fax machine in the province would have been ostentatiously sitting on top of the garbage bins the next morning.
    Buying a Bintang from the woman, Mac wandered out to the famous tropical beer garden at the rear of the Turismo, nabbing a seat in the shade of a banyan. Chained to the branch of the tree was a macaque, miming something. Mac sat back, slurped on the beer and did his mental work-up for the day. He’d start with the largest of the sandalwood traders – the one owned by the generals – and make a big to-do about new orders, Australian growth markets and suggestions for new products. There were spies who thought their job was to blend into the background and not make too much noise, but business people in South-East Asia who weren’t trying to make money attracted attention. Mac wanted the Indonesian spies and soldiers talking about the Australian with the big plan for making money, not the quiet Aussie ‘businessman’ hiding out at the Turismo asking about fax machines.
    ‘Bad luck about fax, eh?’ came a voice from behind him, and Mac spun around slightly too quickly, coming