Blood Is a Stranger (26 page)

‘Chan!' Cardinal mouthed. He lined up the head as the figure climbed on the front of the car. Cardinal squeezed the trigger. The shot echoed. He fired again, and the figure slipped. The others grabbed for him.

Cardinal ran down the steps and headed for the trees. Two figures from the hearse gave chase across the road. They dodged cars that braked and skidded. Cardinal reached the alley. He felt a tingle down his spine as the sound of submachine gun echoed after him. He pulled off the mask and threw it away. Once in Jalan Nagran, where the taxi had dropped him, Cardinal didn't know which way to go. A police car was coming his way.

‘Jesus, no!' Cardinal hissed. He stepped back into the shadow of the alley. Suddenly he was aware he was still carrying the rifle. He tossed it over a fence just as a shot was fired from the other end of the alley. Cardinal ducked instinctively and crouched back into the street. The police car wailed and slushed its way through the traffic and passed him. Cardinal ran across the road. An army truck roared by in pursuit of the police car. Cardinal found himself among thousands of people doing last-minute shopping in a market before the late-night curfew. The
rain stopped. He hurried through the market, glancing back at the alley. Chan's guards were in the street. The police car and army truck had turned round and returned.

I've had it, he thought as he looked desperately about him. He could see a bus pulling up on the other side of the market. Cardinal kept in the shadows of the stalls until he was near the bus line of thirty local people. It had been his meeting spot, but Bani, Perdonny's driver, was not there. The police and soldiers began combing the market. Two more police cars and another army truck arrived. A bus pulled in. People started moving into it. Cardinal joined the line. He entered the bus just as soldiers approached it. He ducked his head as the vehicle chugged off.

‘Would you like a drink at the bar?' Gillie, the shapely blonde manager of The Pitts restaurant, said to Rhonda. Moments later Kim Lim appeared wearing a black body-stocking. She joined Rhonda at a long mirrored bar. About forty lunch-time diners — mainly dark-suited businessmen – in discreet cubicles were being attended by attractive girls.

‘I just want a chat with you?' Rhonda said.

‘I must change,' she said.

Gillie had heard the exchange. She came over to Rhonda as Kim disappeared into a cloak room.

‘Are you on a story?' Gillie asked. ‘Has Kim done anything wrong?'

‘I just think she might be able to help me,' Rhonda said. ‘Did you know she was an illegal immigrant?'

‘No,' Gillie said. ‘I didn't ask for any papers when she applied. She's a trustworthy sort of kid.'

‘You pay her cash?'

‘She only works part time,' Gillie said. ‘She's okay. She pays her taxes.'

They were soon joined by Kim, who had changed into
tight jeans and a light shirt.

‘Can we go somewhere private?' Rhonda asked. ‘Are you still staying at Bronte?'

‘I must leave the place by the end of next week,' Kim replied, ‘but I stay some nights. With my boyfriend . . .' Rhonda caught her eye.

‘Let's go to Bronte,' she said. ‘I have a key.'

‘Who gave it to you?'

‘Harry's father,' Rhonda said, getting off the bar stool.

‘I want the truth,' Rhonda said as Kim prepared filtered Javanese coffee in the kitchen of Harry's house. ‘It's very important because Harry Cardinal's father is in Jakarta. He may be in trouble.'

Kim was silent, her face impassive. The repetitive dull thud of the surf could be heard.

‘I want you to tell me about you and Harry. He never was your boyfriend, right?'

‘Good friends,' Kim said, nodding as she spoke. She handed Rhonda a coffee.

‘But Hartina was his real lover, correct?'

‘I think so.'

‘Don't fuck about, Kim! Someone asked you to play this little role of girlfriend, isn't that so?'

‘What do you do? Some TV story?'

Rhonda stood up and began pacing up and down the kitchen like a ship's captain on the bridge. ‘What really happened to Harry?'

‘I don't know.'

‘Did he give any warning he would be leaving?'

Kim shook her head.

‘Did he pay you to make up that story about being his girl?'

Kim looked up.

‘Harry gave me some money just before it happened.'

‘How much?'

‘Two thousand, maybe a little more.'

‘Kim . . .'

‘I can't remember, exactly.'

‘Why did he give that sort of money?'

‘I don't want to go back to Indonesia.'

‘Why the money, Kim?

‘He said he might go away,' she said. She began to sob.

‘And that you had to pretend you were his girlfriend?'

Kim pulled out a handkerchief from her jeans pocket.

‘Did Hartina ask you to help out, too?' Kim gave a reluctant nod.

‘Do you think Harry is dead?' Rhonda asked.

‘I don't know!' Kim wailed.

Rhonda sipped her coffee and stared at Kim.

‘Who gave Harry the money for this house and the yacht and the MGB?'

‘I tell you! I don't know!'

‘Kim, don't lie!'

‘It's true. I was with him and Hartina . . .'

Rhonda thought she had caught her again. ‘Where?'

‘He always went to the illegal places . . .'

‘But the Americans – didn't they help him with cash and things?'

‘The Americans?'

‘The ones that visited you and Harry and Hartina,' Rhonda said, bluffing.

‘They may have given him money.'

‘Did Harry or Hartina tell you about that? Surely they would have been pleased to have nice cars and all those other good things?'

‘I'm scared of the Americans too,' Kim said.

‘Which Americans?'

‘They come from the Embassy.'

‘When and where?'

‘They came here maybe five or six times.'

‘Okay, but when, Kim? The last month, the last year?'

‘In the past few months.'

‘Were you living here then?'

‘No. I am good friends with Hartina . . .' Kim began and checked herself.

‘And you came here many times to see your friends, right?'

Kim stared at the floor.

‘Can you describe the Americans?' Rhonda asked.

‘There was a big one,' Kim said, ‘a very arrogant man.'

‘Kind of aristocratic looking?'

‘Yes. Always well dressed. There was another. He was short and fat. Smoked cigars and sweated a lot, specially when he came up the steps to the house.'

‘Can you remember the big one's name?'

Kim shook her head.

‘Blundell?' Rhonda prompted.

‘Yes, maybe.'

‘After Harry's death, did the Americans come here?'

‘The same day.'

Rhonda sat forward.

‘What time?'

‘It was after dark. Perhaps seven or eight.'

‘What did they do?'

‘They . . .' Kim faltered. ‘They warned me not to tell anyone.'

‘Off the record then,' Rhonda said.

‘They took some files and books and letters. They took his diary.'

‘Files on what?'

‘I don't know. His laser work, maybe.'

‘You mentioned letters.'

‘I never read them, but I think they were family. You know, his parents. They write to him often.'

Rhonda stood up and walked to the kitchen window. ‘Did he ever discuss his family?'

‘Not with me, but Hartina told me some things.'

‘Like what?'

‘He often spoke about his father's politics. He hated his
father's politics. Harry was more extreme . . .'

‘Did Harry have a good side?'

Kim shrugged. ‘Everyone put up with his extremes because he was intelligent. He wanted to be the best and make money. Lots of money. I don't think much else mattered.'

‘And how did Hartina react to him?'

‘They were both in the same field and very smart. Nothing else mattered to them. Only work.'

Rhonda sat next to Kim again. ‘So they were lovers too?'

Kim nodded.

‘Do you really think he's dead?' Rhonda asked once more.

Kim stared at her. ‘Something had been planned for weeks. I don't think he was murdered.'

The sky's brief splash of black
and red gave way rapidly to a pale blue as dawn broke over Jakarta. Cardinal, who had been waiting nervously in the street market behind his hotel, jumped into the front seat of Perdonny's car when it arrived. Bani began driving east of the city rather than west to the airport.

‘Danger,' Bani explained. ‘Too many soldiers; too many police at airport.'

‘But they're not looking for me,' Cardinal protested.

‘Anyone travelling out of the city is suspect,' Bani said, shaking his head.

Cardinal gave a heavy sigh. He thought of Rhonda's call in the night. It had given him hope that Harry was alive. But where was he? Cardinal wondered. He was already thinking how he could track him down. On the one hand, he was anxious to get out of the country fast. On the other, he was tempted by the possibility that
Harry was in Indonesia, possibly at the Bandung reactor with Hartina.

Bani drove them to the heart of Chinatown, about fifty metres from the restaurant at which he had first met Perdonny. They pulled up next to a flower stall. A small boy offered Cardinal a bunch of fragrant honeysuckle flowers, and they were soon followed along one street by a dozen children. Bani led him down a narrow road of stalls and barrows alive with Chinese small-scale merchants. Minor sellers of everything from live chickens to specialist second-hand wash-basins advertised their wares. The more acceptable smells of sandalwood incense and barbecued mutton changed to that of sewage as they reached the stairs of a two-storey wooden house backing onto a small canal. Perdonny was waiting for them in the flat on the second level.

‘Is Chan dead?' Cardinal asked. He tossed his suitcase on a chair.

‘We don't know,' Perdonny said. ‘The hearse went straight to the Jakarta hospital. It has returned to the Embassy.'

‘Why can't I leave?' Cardinal asked.

‘One of our people works at the airport. Bakin got out there in force about two hours ago.'

‘Then how the hell am I going to get out?'

‘We have a plane at Bogor that could take you to Bali tomorrow morning. Then, as planned, you would have to wait a few days until we could get you on a commercial carrier.'

‘Have you rested?' Perdonny asked.

‘Hell, no!' Cardinal said, slumping on a bed and kicking off his shoes. ‘I could hardly relax at the hotel'

‘You have done a magnificent job,' Perdonny said, ‘even if Chan is not dead.'

‘I got two shots in. I thought I hit him. Maybe it's better if he's not dead.'

‘Why?' Perdonny said, astonished.

‘Rhonda called me. She reckons a lot of evidence points to Harry's still being alive.'

Perdonny frowned. ‘Do not wish Chan alive, please. The man is responsible . . .'

‘I don't give a damn!' Cardinal interjected angrily. ‘I'm not a professional hit-man!'

Perdonny pulled a curtain across a front window.

‘Would you like something to eat?'

‘Yes, I'm famished!'

‘Did you take the magic cake?'

‘Is that what you call it? Yes, I did.'

‘Did it help?'

‘I wouldn't have gone to the Embassy without it,' Cardinal said ruefully.

‘You don't think anyone recognised you?' Perdonny asked.

‘I had the face mask and anorak on. I can't remember anyone looking at me until I was at the bus stop.'

‘If everything goes well, we can have you driven to Bogor.'

‘And if things go wrong?' Cardinal asked. He was tired and irritable. ‘What do I do then?'