No Man's Land - A Russell Carter Thriller (17 page)

9

The three of them ran in single file at close to full pace along another dirt track that cut through the thick jungle. Djoran led the way, followed by Carter, with Erina bringing up the rear. The barking of the dogs had ceased.

Djoran guided them through dense rainforest and two fast-running streams, which provided some relief from the energy-sapping heat and humidity. They’d been too short of breath to talk at any great length. Still, Erina was unusually withdrawn, Carter thought. She probably still harbored suspicions about Djoran. She wasn’t one to trust people until they proved themselves. Then she was fiercely loyal.

From Carter’s point of view, Djoran’s timely appearance seemed a miracle, a gift from the gods.

After they’d been running for close to twenty minutes without stopping, they crested a small hill and Djoran raised his hand, indicating they should pause.

All three came to a halt. The sweat poured off Carter. He wiped it out of his eyes with the bottom of his T-shirt and looked down at the valley below, where a small village lay – half-a-dozen wooden huts with rough holes cut in them for windows. The sun lit up their rusted corrugated-iron roofs. Lazy wisps of smoke rose from the chimneys, the only sign that the village was inhabited.

“Please wait here,” Djoran said. “I must make arrangements.”

Carter nodded, feeling grateful for the opportunity to bring his heart rate and breathing under control. He inhaled deeply and watched Djoran run down the hill, a bundle of boundless energy in a state of perpetual motion.

Erina dropped her daypack on the ground and stood with her hands on her hips, her face glistening with perspiration. She bent forward, breathing deep and hard.

Down in the valley Djoran knocked at the door of one of the huts and went inside.

Erina’s breathing returned to normal faster than Carter’s. She stood up straight and said, “I’m still not convinced we can trust this guy. This could be a trap.”

“Djoran’s okay,” Carter said, still bent over and breathing hard.

He harbored no doubts about Djoran whatsoever. He’d only needed to look into Djoran’s eyes to see the goodness shining in him. It was something that couldn’t be faked.

“He’s a Muslim training to be a mujaheddin,” Erina said.

“We can trust him.”

“How do you know?”

“Same way I know the difference between a shark and a dolphin.”

“Nice metaphor, Carter, but when you see a fin in the water coming toward you in shark-infested waters, it’s prudent to entertain the possibility it might be a shark.”

Carter looked at her without saying a word.

“And,” she said, “how do you know he didn’t doublecross Jacko just like Peacock did?”

“I never trusted Peacock.”

“Let me remind you, we’re on a tropical island in the middle of nowhere. It’s governed by sharia law and hosts a terrorist training camp, which Djoran is part of. God knows who’s hiding in those huts. I mean, where the hell is everyone?”

“Hopefully we’ll find out very soon.”

After a silent minute they both watched Djoran walk out of the hut below, followed by two women wearing the white headscarfs known in Indonesia as
jilbab
and dark, loose-fitting dresses, covering them from neck to toe.

Djoran waved, beckoning them to join him.

Carter watched Erina reach into her daypack, take out her Glock, lift her shirt and stick the weapon in the back of her trouser belt.

Her eyes locked onto Carter’s as if daring him to challenge her. He shrugged and started walking down the hill toward the women, who looked like they were mother and daughter.

He stopped a few feet from them and bowed. “As-salamu alaikum.”
May peace be upon you.

The older woman, carrying three large plastic bottles of water, returned the greeting and bowed her head. The younger one, who held a large cardboard box, gave him a shy smile.

Djoran held a cane basket in his left hand. “We have food, fresh water and clean clothes.”

Carter smiled at the two women and said, “Terima kasih.”
Thank you.

They bowed and he watched them move away.

When they’d disappeared into one of the huts, he turned to Djoran and said, “We don’t want to put you or these people in any danger.”

Djoran grinned. “Thank you, Mr. Carter, that is very thoughtful of you. But we believe to live well we must live dangerously and trust God. Otherwise what is the point of this strange life he has given us? We all have the same enemy. That makes us friends. Friends help each other.”

“I thought Sufis didn’t have enemies,” Carter said.

“In theory that is very correct,” Djoran said, “but sometimes God moves our hearts in most mysterious ways.”

Erina stepped between them. “That’s all very interesting,” she said, “but I suggest we get out of here and save the talk for later.”

“Too true, Miss Erina,” Djoran said. “Come, I have a very good hiding place.”

10

They had to crawl by torchlight through numerous dark tunnels to reach Djoran’s hiding place, a dank, musty bunker the size of a double garage. The ceiling was just high enough to allow Carter to stand at the entrance without stooping.

Shadows from two hissing hurricane lamps danced like hypnotic snakes over the stone walls. Straw mats covered the earth floor. A low wooden table sat against one wall, surrounded by large dark cushions. A grey blanket hung over the opening to what was presumably another tunnel.

Carter felt himself relax. It was a good place to regroup before setting out for their assault on the compound.

Erina still seemed wary, he thought. She stood to one side near the wall. Her hand rested on her hip, near the Glock stuck in the back of her shorts. Maybe like him she was wondering who had lit the lamps and who was behind the blanket. He could sense another presence in the bunker.

“Is this what I think it is?” Erina asked. “A Japanese bunker from the Second World War?”

Carter was pleased to see that she was willing to engage with Djoran, though he knew she was most likely masking her true thoughts.

“I see you know your history,” Djoran said.

“My father told me about these bunkers, but I’ve never seen one myself.”

Djoran smiled. “During the Second World War, the Japanese built many bunkers throughout Indonesia and the Pacific Islands. The Allies never really engaged the Japanese in Indonesia, but elsewhere they had to dig them out one by one after much bloodshed. The Japanese soldiers preferred to die fighting rather than surrender.”

Carter wasn’t listening.

He was staring at the grim-faced Indonesian dressed in black who’d just stepped out from behind the blanket, carrying a short-barreled assault rifle in his right hand.

Carter recognized the weapon – an AK-90, developed by a Russian internal-affairs organization and designed to take out assailants wearing bulletproof vests in urban environments. At such short range it’d blow a huge hole in anyone who got in the way. Fortunately it was pointing at the floor.

Erina had also seen it.

Before Carter had a chance to say anything, she whipped out her Glock from behind her back and aimed it at the Indonesian’s head.

The stranger in turn raised his AK-90 to his shoulder and pointed it at her chest.

Djoran spun around on his heels. “Muklas, what in God’s name are you doing? These people are our friends.”

Muklas kept his weapon trained on Erina but directed his reply to Djoran, speaking in English. “You think everyone is your friend. How do you know you can trust these two?”

Djoran waved his arms and shook his head. “No. You are wrong about them. They are here to help Kemala. Their friends are in grave danger.”

“So what? By coming here, they put us and our operation in more danger.”

Muklas held his weapon steady at the optimum angle and positioned himself so that he covered both Carter and Erina. He’d clearly undergone some solid training. But Carter doubted he’d shoot unless directly threatened.

“God brought them here for a purpose,” Djoran continued. “We must do his will.”

Muklas shook his head. “Bullshit. Samudra needs to be taken out before he leaves the island. I’m calling in Detachment 88.”

Carter glanced at Djoran. His sunny disposition had clouded over and his fists were clenched.

“If Samudra learns they are coming,” Djoran said, “he’ll execute the prisoners on the spot. We cannot knowingly throw away the lives of the two innocent people being held captive.”

Muklas shrugged. “They’ll be killed anyway. We both know that.”

Erina never took her aim or eyes off Muklas. She asked, “What does he mean by that, Djoran?”

Muklas jabbed his rifle in her direction. “Shut up, woman.”

Carter felt Erina tense up. He switched his attention to Djoran, who bowed.

“Forgive me for not telling you earlier,” Djoran said. “But I found out this morning that Samudra plans to execute Thomas and Wayan tomorrow evening at dusk.”

“Why would he wait till then?” Carter asked.

“He is leading a group of mujaheddin, of which I am a part, to Sydney on 29 December and he wants to use the execution tomorrow as a means to inspire confidence and courage in us. He says dusk is the magic hour when God is present. He will send the video out to thousands of followers around the world.”

Erina kept her Glock trained on Muklas. “You mean he plans to film their execution?”

Djoran’s head dropped. “He’s planning a demonstration of God’s vengeance to be shared via a secure members-only website.”

The irony wasn’t lost on Carter. Even a fundamentalist group intent on recreating the social order of the Middle Ages could harness the awesome power of modern technology, using it to spread their message of hatred and violence.

Carter took a deep breath and ran his hands through his hair. He turned toward Djoran. “How long will it take us to get to the compound?”

“If you leave at midnight, you can be there in two hours.”

“Why can’t we leave sooner?”

“It is too dangerous in daylight. Between midnight and dawn is when they have the fewest patrols. Besides, you need time to eat and rest. You will be very busy tomorrow.”

“Fair enough,” Carter said, deciding it was time to end the impasse between Muklas and Erina.

He stepped in front of Erina and looked down the cold black barrel of Muklas’s assault rifle, letting his arms hang loosely by his side. He wanted to show Muklas that he did not fear him and at the same time give him every reason to back off.

Muklas held his rifle steady.

“You need to give us until six in the morning to rescue our friends,” Carter said. “That’s all I need.”

The dark eye of the barrel stared back at him.

Muklas raised the rifle a little. “My only concern is for my Indonesian brothers and sisters. They live on this island in poverty and shame under crazy sharia laws. Samudra is a fanatical leader who poisons everything here with hatred. I don’t care about your two friends. They are nothing to me. My people are everything.”

“Muklas, please,” Djoran said. “If not for them, do it for Kemala.”

Carter raised his hand and looked Muklas directly in the eye. “I understand what you’re saying. It’s tragic what Samudra has done to your island. But, like you, I can’t walk away from my people. All I ask is that you give me until 6 a.m. If I fail to rescue them in that time, you can call in whoever you like.”

A strange combination of passion and fear emanated from Muklas’s eyes.

“And if I get half a chance,” Carter continued, “I’ll kill that motherfucker Samudra myself. I don’t intend to let him leave this island alive.”

Muklas’s mouth twitched with the hint of a smile. He took two steps back toward the rear wall of the bunker, so that he was out of Carter’s reach, and lowered the rifle.

Carter turned to Erina. She dropped her Glock and returned it to the back of her belt.

Djoran stepped forward, patted Muklas on the shoulder and turned to Carter. “Very good. I am glad we are all friends. I will now show you the best way to get inside the compound.”

11

Carter, Erina and Muklas followed Djoran to the rear of the dark bunker. They stopped in front of the grey blanket, which Carter assumed covered an exit tunnel leading toward the ocean.

Djoran pulled it back, revealing two red and white malibu surfboards propped against the left wall.

“You a surfer?” Carter asked.

“Oh no, not me,” Djoran said. “But I understand you are very experienced.”

Carter entered the damp, musty tunnel. “You could say that. Erina’s also pretty handy.”

He knelt beside the ten-foot boards and ran his hands over the waxed decks.

Erina turned to Djoran. “Are you suggesting we paddle these boards around the island to the compound?”

“Not all the way around,” he said. “You would be picked up by their surveillance cameras five hundred feet before you approached it. Come with me and I shall show you what I have prepared.”

They followed him back to the wooden table and sat around it. Muklas, who positioned himself to Carter’s right, still appeared to be wary of Erina.

Djoran reached inside a cloth bag and took out two rolled-up maps, two underwater breathing devices the size of large Cuban cigars and a set of three silver keys. He spread one of the maps on the table, placing the other on the floor beside him.

“Jacko suggested we go overland to the compound,” Erina said. “You have a better option?”

“As much as I respect Mr. Jacko’s opinion, this island was my home for over twenty years. And, if I may say, in all modesty, I know every inch of it – and the clan’s surveillance – better than anyone.”

Erina looked at Carter, seeking his opinion.

“As they say in the surf,” he said, “you can’t beat local knowledge.”

“I can assure you,” Djoran said, “it is most inadvisable to travel overland to the compound at night. And now that you are expected, security will be much too tight to move during daylight hours. I have a better way.”

“Show us what you’ve got,” Erina said.

“We are here,” Djoran told them, placing his forefinger on the map. “First you will paddle the surfboards east along the coast, past this village and then around the far headland, one and a half miles away. You will then cross this reef before reaching the cove.”

Djoran indicated a point on the other side of the headland at the far end of the island. “Here you will find an underwater cave that leads directly inside the clan’s compound.”

“What about the boats patrolling the coastline?” Carter asked, wondering just how much Djoran had thought his plan through. God and the devil were in the detail.

“They rotate, on average, at twenty-five-minute intervals, giving you enough time to reach the headland.”

Carter nodded. It was good, solid information.

“You see, I try to think of everything, Mr. Carter. But as you would no doubt appreciate, we can never predict what is in store for us around the next corner. That is up to God and sometimes he chooses to test us in ways that do not appear to suit our immediate plans.”

Muklas stood up, shook his head at Djoran and said, “You make it sound too easy.”

Carter and Erina turned to face him. “What do you mean exactly?” Carter asked.

“I know these waters too. My father fished that reef for many years. If you try and cross it tonight, huge waves like mountains coming from the north-east will smash you onto the coral reef.”

“Mr. Carter and Miss Erina are very experienced in the surf,” Djoran said. “They will find a way through if God is with them.”

“Okay,” Erina said, “let’s say we’re able to make it past the patrol boats, through the surf, then break into the compound and free Thomas and Wayan. How do we get them off the island, particularly if they’re injured and in bad shape?”

“A very good question,” Djoran said, pointing at the map, his finger close to the eastern perimeter of the clan’s compound. “There is another secret bunker here, very similar to this one, but not as big. It has an entrance above the ocean at the bottom of a steep cliff. I prepared it many months ago as an escape hatch should I, or anyone else, need to leave the island quickly. In the cave you will find an inflatable rubber dinghy with a small outboard, a GPS navigation device and some food, water and medical supplies.”

Carter nodded to himself as much as anyone else. Djoran’s plan just might work.

“You do think things through,” he said.

Djoran smiled. “The best way to do God’s will is to plan thoroughly.” He picked up the second map from the floor, unrolled it and indicated a point at the back of the Sungkar clan’s compound. “And God, through the Japanese, has provided us with more good fortune.”

He pointed at a different spot on the map. “There is a hidden tunnel here leading to the bunker from inside the back perimeter, not so far from the cell where Thomas and Wayan are being held.”

“Just to be clear,” Carter said, “you reckon negotiating the surf at the reef and entering the compound through the underwater cave is the best option?”

“It is, in my opinion,” Djoran said, “the only chance you have.”

Carter looked at Erina, who nodded, then back at Djoran.

“Okay then,” he said. “We leave at midnight.”