No Man's Land - A Russell Carter Thriller (18 page)

12

After Djoran had run through his plan in detail, the four of them shared a meal of steamed rice, chicken and vegetables without saying very much, each lost in their own thoughts.

Djoran’s plan was, in Carter’s opinion, an inspired one. He’d done his homework and come up with something simple and yet totally unexpected that might allow them to get into the compound without being detected.

The plan came with more than its fair share of risks and challenges, but their way forward was clear. They’d make the necessary adjustments when things started to bend out of shape, as they inevitably would.

Erina ate slowly and was the last to finish. He could tell in this quiet space that thoughts of Jacko’s death and the question of Thomas and Wayan’s fate were weighing down on her. Carter resisted the urge to say something, realizing it was best to give her the space to process what was going on in her own way. She’d pull herself together when she needed to.

He pushed back his chair, wanting to help clear the plates, but Djoran insisted he remain seated while he attended to them himself. Djoran put the kettle on the gas burner and offered them each a cup of instant coffee. All three said yes without any great enthusiasm.

He placed an open pot of brown sugar, two metal teaspoons and a can of condensed milk on the table, then returned to the gas burner and poured the coffee. After handing them each a steaming cup, he sat down again.

Carter took a sip of the bitter coffee. This was as good a time as any to let Djoran know about Jacko. Everything would then be on the table.

“I’m afraid I have some bad news we haven’t shared with you yet.”

Djoran looked at him with evident sympathy. “This does not come as a surprise, Mr. Carter. I feel a deep sadness in both of your spirits. What has happened?”

“Yesterday afternoon Jacko was killed by a suicide bomber at a cafe in Kuta. I suspect Erina and I were also targets.”

Djoran remained silent for a moment and then said, “This is a most terrible thing to hear. I liked Mr. Jacko very much. He brought laughter into the world and was a very good man. A very caring man.”

“Can you think how Samudra could’ve known we’d be meeting there?” Carter asked.

Djoran took a sip of his coffee. “I have no idea. He has been gone from the island for a few days and is due to return to the compound later tonight.”

He stood up. “With your permission, I would like to say a Sufi prayer for Mr. Jacko’s spirit.”

“I’m sure Jacko would like that,” Carter said.

“Please, join me in a circle.”

Carter stood up and reached out his hand to Erina, having no idea how she’d respond to a Muslim prayer.

She gave him an ironic half-smile, clasped her palm in his and stood up slowly. The four of them formed a circle and bowed their heads.

“O Thou,” Djoran said, “the cause and effect of the whole universe, the source from whence we have come and the goal toward which all are bound, receive the soul of Mr. Jacko who has come to Thee.”

Djoran then spoke briefly about Jacko, highlighting his virtues. Carter and Erina also said a few words, each recounting a favorite memory of their fallen comrade and saying how much they would miss him. Muklas surprised Carter by saying he was very sorry to hear of their loss.

When they’d all spoken, Djoran continued his prayer. “Please help us see Mr. Jacko’s death as a transition, a stepping stone across a threshold to a place where we have a chance to reawaken. We pray Thee offer him Thy blessing. May his life upon earth become as a dream to his waking soul, and let his thirsting eyes behold the glorious vision of Thy sunshine. Allah akbar.”

The four of them stood in silence. Carter felt some of his sadness lift. The ceremony reminded him that life and physical death were not necessarily the end of the journey.

All four sat back down around the table. Erina stared into her cup, as if searching for answers there.

Djoran noted this and asked her gently, “Miss Erina, are you okay?”

“It’s nothing. I’ll be fine.”

She tried to speak lightly, but there was no mistaking the deep sadness in her voice.

Djoran gave her a warm smile that lit up his whole face. “Please, share with us. It is most beneficial to release all dark thoughts and feelings into the universe. That way, God can cleanse your spirit.”

Erina sipped her coffee without looking at him and remained silent, obviously trying to push down whatever had been stirred up.

There was a pause, and then Djoran continued. “We Sufis believe that in the afterlife we discover our time on earth was but a dream we have seen and a tale we have heard. Are you familiar with this concept, Miss Erina? I know your father is.”

“I believe in my father’s spiritual principles and I try to live by them …”

“And?” Djoran asked, filling in the silence.

Erina looked at him but couldn’t seem to get any words out.

“Djoran,” Carter said. “Why don’t you tell us more about what the Sufis believe?”

He wanted to hear for himself as much as for Erina. He understood how grief lurked in one’s soul like a shadow and needed to be brought into the light.

Djoran drank from his tin coffee cup like it was a sacred chalice and said, “I do not wish to push my beliefs on anyone.”

“It’s okay,” Erina said. “Please go ahead.”

“Thank you,” Djoran said. “We Sufis believe one should not allow the death of others to cloud our spirit. Death is part of life and should be celebrated. I am sure you are familiar with this idea, Miss Erina.”

“I understand the words,” she said, touching her heart. “But I no longer feel them in here.”

Djoran nodded. “The question we Sufis ask ourselves is: What do we take into the city of death except the sum of what our life has been? Death reveals what is important and what is not. By embracing death and its lessons during life, we can live with greater purpose. That is why we Sufis say,
Die before you die.
”

He smiled. “For me these spiritual concepts are the source of great solace and guide me through the dark times toward the light. How do you see death, Miss Erina?”

She took a moment to collect her thoughts. “Death is of course a part of life,” she said, hesitant at first. “But those people who kill in the name of God have no idea how much pain and suffering they inflict on those left behind. I begin to wonder what the point of it all is.”

“And you have every reason to feel that way. What those misguided fanatics do is evil. They are the enemies of humanity and must be stopped. But it is the Sufis’ belief we must strive to recognize we are all God’s creatures and must never forget this great fact, or we become like those we despise. We must, I believe, seek justice and protect those who can’t protect themselves. But seeking and justifying revenge can only corrupt our spirit.”

Carter saw Erina give a tiny nod. Djoran’s humility had somehow got past her defenses and touched her.

“I used to have faith,” she said. “But what I’ve lost is my trust that God is on our side and will guide us where we need to go. After what happened to Jacko, and with Thomas and Wayan in such grave danger, I ask myself how I can surrender to a god who allows such terrible things to happen to good people. In moments like these I feel this life we strive to lead is all in vain and trying to serve God is a bad joke.”

Djoran let her words hang in the air and then said, “One cannot understand divine logic. No human being can know God’s will. That is beyond who we are. But we do need to follow the dictates of our hearts, align our intentions to our values and do what we believe is right.”

“In theory I agree,” Erina said. “But at the moment I find it impossible to trust anything beyond my own strength, skill and willpower. I question whether the universe is guided by a friendly hand or one of hate and vengeance.”

Carter knew there was nothing he could say. Erina had echoed many of the thoughts and feelings he’d had when he’d left the order, the numbing soul sickness that came from being exposed to so much darkness and death.

Djoran put his hands in the prayer position. “We cannot know what God has in store for any one of us, either in this life or beyond. When our faith deserts us, we must continue to ask for his guidance and act as if we believe in him. That is how we trust.”

Erina was nodding again.

“If we do this,” Djoran said, “I believe great things will come to pass. While Thomas and Wayan are still alive, there is hope, and we must do what we can. If any of us die in our efforts, we must accept this as God’s will.
What is, is.
Acceptance is true faith and will give us the strength and wisdom we need. There is more to life than what we can see and hear.”

“I want to believe that,” Erina said.

Djoran laid his hands on the table in front of him. “Let me tell you something. My wife, Anisha, was killed in the Sari Club on the night of the first Bali bombing. She was celebrating the end of a marketing conference with two Australian business associates.”

A moment of profound silence followed, as if everyone was holding their breath.

“She was four months pregnant with our first child.”

A barely audible “Oh my God” escaped from Erina’s lips.

Djoran gently took her hand and placed it over his heart.

To Carter’s surprise, she let him do so.

“Nothing takes away the pain of their loss,” Djoran said. “But they live with me. I can feel my wife and unborn son in here, reminding me of God’s omnipresence and compassion for all creatures. Their spirits tell me to keep going and that God loves us all.”

Carter was surprised to see Erina’s eyes fill with tears. She never cried. They started to flow and she let them come.

13

A few minutes after midnight Carter and Erina entered the warm thigh-high water from a small beach at the bottom of a rock cliff not far from Djoran’s bunker.

Carter hitched up his black board shorts, while Erina had stripped down to her black bra and bikini briefs. After their talk with Djoran and a few hours’ sleep, it was like a shadow had lifted from both of them and they were now acting as a unified team. The passionate moment they’d shared on the beach at Kuta had not been spoken of. This was neither the time nor the place to dwell on anything but the job at hand.

They stood next to each other in the dark, thirty feet from shore, each steadying one of Djoran’s surfboards against the incoming swell, rolling past them before breaking gently onto the sand behind them. It’d be a totally different story once they paddled around the distant headland, where they’d be forced to navigate their way through huge breaking surf.

First, though, they needed to paddle nearly two miles without being spotted, something they couldn’t take for granted.

Carter checked his watch. The patrol boat had passed by three minutes earlier, about four hundred feet from shore. They’d start paddling in one minute.

Despite the challenges that lay ahead, it felt good to get started. A full moon and a glowing blanket of stars lit up the vast expanse of ocean, ruffled by a light onshore breeze. He noticed a build-up of thick clouds on the horizon, suggesting a change in weather conditions wasn’t too far away. They would deal with that when the time came.

After finalizing their plans, Djoran had headed back to the compound to resume his undercover role as one of Samudra’s mujaheddin. He needed to remain close to Samudra to discover the precise nature of his plans for jihad in Sydney. It was their best shot at finding out what he was up to and stopping it.

Muklas, who had warmed to them after hearing of Jacko’s death and understanding they were all fighting a common enemy, had set off an hour earlier to “borrow” a fishing boat. He had promised not to act until 8 a.m. If they returned by then, he’d leave the island with them. Should they fail to show up, he had Carter’s blessing to head for Java and personally inform one of Detachment 88’s senior commanders of Samudra’s activities and organize an attack on the compound.

What Muklas had said about the size of the waves around the headland had Carter slightly concerned. They might be facing conditions that even professional big-wave surfers wouldn’t attempt without a jet ski tow-in during broad daylight, let alone at night on a ten-foot malibu. There was no point worrying now, though. He’d know more when they assessed the conditions firsthand.

Carter let go of his board and pulled his waterproof daypack tight against his body. He’d insisted Erina leave hers behind. She was a good surfer, but no match for Carter. He’d packed a T-shirt for each of them, Erina’s light cotton trousers and their shoes into his own pack, along with the satphone and her computer, containing Djoran’s security codes. The phone and computer were sealed in waterproof sleeves. Apart from that, he’d brought along only the essentials – one Glock, an underwater flashlight, throwing knives and the two breathing devices.

They lay on their boards and started paddling out to open sea across the moonlit ocean.

—

Eight minutes later they were halfway toward the eastern headland, about six hundred feet from shore, when Carter detected a slight vibration in the water.

He glided to a stop. Erina did the same and pushed herself upright on her board. They both turned toward the faint growl of an outboard motor.

Just under a mile behind them an arc of bright light moved back and forth across the water, heading straight for them. Obviously one of the patrol boats had deviated from their regular pattern. The plan had bent out of shape even quicker than Carter had anticipated.

He glanced at Erina, sitting on her longboard wearing nothing but her underwear, her eyes dancing between him and the oncoming spotlight.

They sat in silence. There was no way they could outrun the boat. The growl of the engine grew louder.

“You want me to be the decoy?” Erina asked.

“Yeah,” he said, though he was reluctant to put her at risk. There was no other choice.

“Great. Just make sure you hit the target with the first shot.”

14

Erina sat upright on her board, waiting for the advancing spotlight to fall on her.

Both knew exactly what they had to do. She needed to distract the advancing clansmen so he had a clear shot to take them out. The plan’s success depended on making the enemy look one way before striking hard from the other direction.

He paddled away from her, further out to sea, concentrating on each stroke, trying to still his mind for the critical moments that lay ahead.

His board came to rest roughly twenty yards from where she sat. The gurgling engine of the patrol boat was about four hundred yards from Erina now, closing on her at a steady pace.

Moving further away wasn’t an option for Carter. It’d make a difficult shot impossible. If he fired from more than fifty feet, he might as well throw the weapon at their pursuers, for all the good it would do.

He sat upright on his board and kicked his legs to spin the nose around to face her.

After removing the Glock from his daypack, he switched it to a single round. He needed to make one shot at a time and didn’t want any stray bullets spraying in Erina’s direction. He sealed his daypack, slung it over his shoulder and knelt on the deck of his board.

The gusting wind roughed up the water. That, coupled with the roll of the incoming swell, caused his board to rise and fall at an irregular rate.

He spread his knees to steady the roll as best he could. He’d be shooting from an unstable platform at a person or persons facing side-on and bobbing up and down.

The fishing boat chugged forward, now two hundred yards from Erina. In less than ten seconds the spotlight’s thirty-foot circle of light would fall on her.

He raised his arms in front of him and looked down the barrel, focusing on Erina’s silhouette.

After rehearsing in his mind what he needed to do, he closed his eyes and breathed in. His shoulder, stomach and chest muscles were tight. He needed to get his emotions under complete control, switch from thinking to being and fully inhabit the moment.

When his eyes snapped open again, moments later, the boat’s bright spotlight was dancing over Erina.

The moon had disappeared behind the gathering clouds and spots of rain spat on his back. Diesel fumes wafted through the night air.

He adjusted the board once more so the nose pointed directly at her.

She raised a hand to her eyes, defiant and vulnerable, playing the role to perfection.

He knew who’d got the toughest assignment on this job and it wasn’t him. Being the bait in a high-stakes game like this required great emotional control and presence of mind.

Thirty yards from her, the patrol boat’s helmsman cut back the throttle of the outboard engine to a rough idle.

The clan members had seen Erina.

The open aluminum vessel slowed, drifting to a halt about four yards from her, giving Carter a clear view of the two men on board.

An Indonesian Laurel and Hardy.

A tall skinny guy wearing a floppy white hat steered, working the dazzling spotlight from the stern. The other, short and fat, sat in the middle. An enormous cigar stuck out from the side of his mouth.

But there was nothing comical about the lethal weapon lying across his lap. An AK-47, a compact and reliable automatic rifle.

If the shooter used soft-nosed bullets, each shot would fragment on impact, causing serious tissue damage and resulting in certain death.

Erina gave away nothing and showed no signs of fear. She just smiled and waved at the Indonesian duo like they were two heroes coming to her rescue on a dark and lonely night.

He weighed up the odds and angles.

The AK-47 presented a problem.

The fat guy only had to squeeze the trigger once and over two dozen lethal rounds would fly through the night air.

Carter needed to take him out of the equation with his first shot and then bring down the skinny guy before he could reach his friend’s weapon.

The boat drifted to within two yards of Erina.

The moment had come.

He adjusted his knees on his surfboard so they were six inches apart and his weight spread evenly. He stretched both arms out in front of him again, locking his elbows this time and keeping the gun barrel parallel to the ocean.

Raindrops glistened in the beam of the spotlight.

Half an inch either way meant the fine line between success and disaster. Life and death.

The fat clansman raised the AK-47 and pointed it between Erina’s breasts.

Carter lined up his head.

He held his arms relaxed and steady, imagining a force field of energy between him and his target.

Exhaling slowly, he squeezed the trigger.

Ever so gently.

The Glock roared to life.