No Man's Land

1

Eight hours later, Carter and Erina sat next to each other in the packed economy section of the Virgin Australia flight from Brisbane to Bali. They were due to land at Denpasar Airport at 3.10 p.m. Bali time. Over thirty hours had passed since Erina had kidnapped him from the headland at Lennox.

There were just five days left until the end of the year. According to Woodforde, that was the time frame during which the clan were expecting a “great victory,” which fitted in with Thomas’s intel. Alex and his men were headed to Sydney with weapons and explosives, which meant this was a threat that had to be taken seriously.

Carter and Erina had figured that the most likely date of a planned clan attack was New Year’s Eve. It was an educated guess based on the available facts and their gut instinct. In a situation like this it was the only way you could operate.

On the surface they’d faced an impossible moral choice — either fly to Indonesia to rescue Thomas and Wayan or go to Sydney first to track down Alex and the other clansmen. But there was no option. Neither of them even contemplated abandoning Thomas and Wayan. Every decision flowed from that. There would be time enough afterward to fly back to Sydney and figure out how to stop Alex’s team.

Carter needed to get Jacko on the case ASAP and had tried to phone him at least a dozen times before they’d boarded the plane, but his calls had gone straight to voicemail and it had him worried. They needed Jacko to take care of the logistics, arranging for them to travel to Samudra’s island camp and setting in train an investigation into what was happening with Alex and his men — and it all had to happen without Trident’s knowledge. At some point they might be forced to hand the matter over to the Federal Police, but Carter didn’t want to do that unless he had to, as he knew he and Erina were best equipped to find and stop Alex.

He glanced to his right at Erina. Her head rested on a pillow against the window. Ever since they’d discovered that Thomas and Wayan had been taken out of the country, she’d retreated into herself and avoided all unnecessary conversation.

Carter figured she was either consciously or unconsciously blaming him for putting the order at risk by walking out. The unspoken rift between them threw him off center. To have any chance of succeeding they needed to be working as one mind, but shutting down was her way of dealing with uncomfortable emotions, particularly where he was concerned.

She’d drifted off to sleep soon after take-off, skipped breakfast and had barely stirred since. Like him, she’d learned to grab sleep whenever she could, no matter how she was feeling, realizing you never knew when the next opportunity might come. But he wasn’t prepared to switch off until he spoke to Jacko.

He’d give the flight stewards another five minutes to complete the breakfast shift before making the call. He swigged the last dregs of lukewarm water from the small plastic bottle provided by the airline and closed his eyes.

Sitting so close to Erina stirred memories of the good times as well as the bad. He recalled images of the two of them lying together on a carved wooden bed in a resort off Malaysia two and a half years ago — entwined, naked, her head resting on his shoulder and her breathing soft. The memory reminded him of just how close they could be.

For a long time, until Erina was in her mid-twenties and shortly after Carter turned thirty, they never crossed the line between friendship and romance, due partly to Thomas’s close oversight of his daughter, but also because of their loyalty to the order and obedience to its principles.

That all changed during a layover after a particularly tough assignment at the idyllic Malay resort. A mutual friend had been killed. They’d drowned their grief with shots of tequila. They’d wound up in bed and stayed there for five days. After that, Carter knew he could never be happy with another woman.

But as soon as they’d reported back for duty and it became obvious that Thomas was displeased, their relationship began to unravel. Carter started to wonder if he and Erina could ever find any kind of peace together. His bond with Thomas deteriorated, and the man he’d thought of as a father became cold and distant.

The woman to his left in the aisle seat unbuckled her seatbelt. His eyes flickered open and he watched the skirt of her floral dress sway as she headed toward the back of the plane.

He would let Erina sleep while he went and made the call. But first he needed to retrieve the satphone from her daypack, lying at her feet. She’d taken charge of it without offering any explanation, which was fine with him. He reached down slowly across his body toward it, trying not to disturb her.

His fingers touched the zipper a fraction of a second before her left hand clamped over his forearm. She was wide-awake in an instant.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

“I’m going to call Jacko.”

“Without me?”

“It makes no sense for the two of us to go.”

She reached into her daypack, pulled out the phone, unbuckled her seatbelt and stood up.

He did the same. They stood in front of their seats, neither budging an inch.

“Erina, wait here.”

“No.”

“There’s no need to draw attention to ourselves and cause a fuss.”

“What are the cabin crew going to do, throw us off the plane?”

“I’ll fill you in on every detail.”

“How about I call Jacko and you stay here?”

Carter sighed. Fighting her when she’d already made up her mind was a waste of time.

The woman in the floral dress returned from the rest room and stood by her seat in the aisle, waiting for them to make a move. He nodded at her and she stepped back, allowing them to move into the aisle.

“Some things never change,” he muttered.

Erina, who was right behind him, asked, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You won’t be told.”

“And don’t you forget it.”

Carter sat on the closed plastic toilet seat in the rest room at the back of the plane, breathing in the smell of human waste and cheap soap.

Erina locked the metal door and an exhaust fan whirred overhead. She handed Carter the satphone and leaned against the sink with her arms folded, their knees touching.

He dialed Jacko’s number.

On the sixth ring the line clicked. “That you, Carter?”

Jacko’s voice was music to his ears.

“Yep.”

He put the phone on speaker and held it so Erina could also hear.

“Thank bloody Christ,” Jacko said. “I knew you might be trying to contact me. But I’ve been running round all night like a blue-arsed fly. The officious pricks at the hospital make everyone hand in their cell phones at the front desk and somehow they managed to lose mine. I only just got it back.”

“So how’s everyone?”

“Hanging in there.”

“What about Josh?”

“He’s stabilized. Won’t know for sure whether he’ll pull through until later this arvo. Did you track down Thomas and Wayan?”

“Afraid not.” Carter looked at Erina. “Apparently they’re en route to Batak Island.”

There was a heavy silence.

After a few seconds Jacko came back on the line. “Where the hell are you?”

“The rest room of a plane heading your way. I’m with Erina.”

“Yeah? You aiming to join the mile-high club or have you two done the deed already?”

Erina rolled her eyes. “Good morning, Jacko.”

A cigarette lighter clicked on the other end of the line. Carter heard Jacko inhale.

“Hello, love, just wanted to hear your voice,” Jacko said. “Fill us in on what’s happening at your end.”

They told him everything that had gone down, finishing with Alex heading to Sydney with the truckload of explosives.

“I’ll line everything up so we can get you two guys to Batak Island first thing in the morning,” Jacko said.

Erina leaned over the phone. “We also need you to suss out everything you can about the Sungkar clan’s connections in Sydney and find out if the threat is real without alerting Trident to what’s going on.”

“Gotcha.”

There was a loud knock on the door.

“What was that?” Jacko asked.

“Someone wants to use the john,” Carter said.

There was another knock, louder still.

“Open up,” a high-pitched male voice said. “I’m in charge of the cabin crew.”

Erina turned to face the door and said, “And I’m a full-paying passenger. What’s your problem?”

“Are you alone in there?”

“None of your business. What’s your name?”

There was silence on the other side of the door.

“Just hurry up,” the steward said. “There are people waiting.”

Carter shifted the phone away from the door.

“Anything else you need to know?” Jacko asked.

Carter looked at Erina, who shook her head.

“Nothing that can’t wait until we land,” he said.

“Okay, call me when you touch down and we’ll meet at the Green Monkey Cafe,” Jacko said.

The line went dead.

Carter followed Erina down the aisle, ignoring the looks of several passengers standing at the rear of the plane. They edged their way past the woman in the aisle seat reading her Kindle and Erina sat down. He remained standing, waiting for Erina to put the phone back into her daypack and make herself comfortable.

She turned her body from him and stared out the window, a clear message that she didn’t want to talk.

He dropped into his seat. A wave of tiredness washed over him.

This wasn’t the time to push her. They’d done all they could for now. He pressed the button on the armrest, leaned back and stretched his legs under the row in front as best he could.

He closed his eyes, focused on the drone of the plane and felt himself drifting off.

2

Carter lay back with his head against the seat in a state of deep relaxation, somewhere between light sleep and meditation. It enabled him to refresh his mind, body and spirit while at the same time remaining attuned to any changes in the world around him.

The plane slowed and the angle of the nose dipped. They were starting their descent into Denpasar, the tourist gateway into Bali.

He turned his wrist and checked the time. It was 2.45 p.m., Bali time. He glanced at Erina.

Her eyes were closed, but that didn’t mean she was sleeping.

He took a long sip of cool water from a new bottle that a flight attendant placed in front of him. The Sungkar clan would, he felt sure, have people watching for them at the airport when they touched down in less than thirty minutes.

For most Australians, Indonesia conjured images of pristine ocean beaches, perfect barreling waves, majestic cloud-capped mountains and lush tropical rainforests — paradise. For Carter, it meant something more. The sprawl of islands had been his home for many years, and for him the landscape possessed an ethereal natural beauty touched by the hand of God. He felt a spiritual connection to the place, and it tugged at him no matter how far away he travelled or how long he stayed away.

He wasn’t blind to its flaws, though. Like many developing countries where a huge gap existed between rich and poor, Indonesia was riddled with corruption and vice. If you strayed too far off the beaten track, you entered a shadowy realm full of dangers. This was a parallel universe to the land he loved and worlds away from the picture-postcard images presented to pleasure-seeking tourists.

He’d read the figures. On average around forty Australians died in Bali every year and a hundred sought help from the consulate after being taken to hospital. Countless victims of assault and robbery failed to report such incidents to the local police because they believed them to be corrupt.

This violence and crime was not limited to tourist zones. With a population exceeding two hundred and forty-five million spread over seventeen and a half thousand islands, parts of Indonesia were out of control. In some remote or isolated areas Indonesian law enforcement had little effect, and traditional cultural or religious codes prevailed. In many villages chaos reigned.

Instinctively he knew that Thomas and Wayan were still alive and being held in just such a place.

They touched down at Denpasar Airport with a heavy thud. Erina opened her eyes but said nothing. Carter looked across her and out through the porthole. Tiny droplets of water from a light shower of rain raced across the window. The plane taxied along the runway, passing the familiar dark stone gate on which Hindu carvings and images welcomed visitors to the island.

While Indonesia had the world’s largest Muslim population, more Hindus lived in Bali than any other country outside of India. Unlike Islam, Hinduism didn’t have a single founder or prophet. And even though Hindus believed in only one god, their notion of god manifested in many forms and was both male and female. The Balinese strand of Hinduism was particularly flexible, offering its followers far more freedom than the Indian. They weren’t obliged to study sacred texts or follow any strict doctrine or scripture. There were no prescribed prayers or fixed moments of devotion, and they had no caste system.

Hindu spirituality in Bali embraced oneness and tolerance. Balinese Hindus were the polar opposite of monotheistic Muslim and Christian fundamentalists who maintained that anyone who failed to worship their god deserved to go to hell.

The plane slowed to a halt and the fasten seatbelt signs switched off.

Once Carter and Erina had cleared immigration and customs and retrieved their minimal luggage, they used one of the airport’s cash machines to withdraw five million rupiah each, equivalent to a little over four hundred and fifty dollars. Then they navigated their way through the stream of travelers toward the exit.

As they stepped out of the relative calm of the airport, the overwhelming heat and humidity of Indonesia greeted them, along with a swarm of taxi touts, all pushing, jostling and calling out to get their attention.

Carter and Erina walked through the crowd and climbed into the back seat of a beat-up taxi, the first in a long line of waiting cabs whose drivers sat patiently at the wheel. The vehicle reeked of stale body odor and clove cigarettes. They both immediately wound down the finger-smudged windows. The engine growled to life and the taxi moved into the traffic. Jacko was less than half an hour away at the Green Monkey Cafe.

The taxi accelerated through an orange light, turned left and came to a screeching halt behind a line of banked-up traffic.

Gasoline fumes and the familiar aroma of earthy spices cooking in hot oil hung in the stifling air. Carter checked out the sea of vehicles surrounding them. A dozen Honda motor scooters buzzed around them, dancing through the lines of cars.

Any number of them could’ve been Sungkar clan tails. Alex would’ve anticipated that they’d come to Bali and hook up with Jacko. Even though Carter had failed to identify anyone following them, someone would’ve been watching for them at the airport and was almost certainly tailing them now.

The taxidriver pulled into the left lane and turned off the main road into a side street. The cab dodged a group of bare-chested western men in their early twenties staggering across the road, swilling beer from giant cans of Foster’s. They turned to face the taxi, raised their cans above their heads and cheered.

The driver glanced over his shoulder. “You want hashish? Ecstasy?”

The phone began to ring in Erina’s bag.

“Just drive,” Carter said.

She pulled her phone out and put it on speaker.

“Jacko,” she said. “I was just about to call.”

“Listen,” he said, “I received an email from Samudra half an hour ago.”

Carter looked at Erina. “What’s it say?” she asked.

The taxi swerved to the right, just missing a bemo, a mini-van used to transport tourists. A series of horns blared. Someone outside yelled, “Ngentot lu!” Fuck you!

Carter missed Jacko’s reply. He wound the window up.

“Come again?” Erina asked.

“Thomas and Wayan are alive,” Jacko said.

Carter watched Erina exhale, close her eyes and sink into the seat.

A wave of relief washed through him. Even though neither of them had talked about it, both knew Thomas and Wayan’s fate hung by the thinnest thread and there’d been every chance they were already dead.

“There was a photo attached,” Jacko said. “He’s definitely holding them prisoner on Batak Island.”

The taxi screeched to a halt at a set of lights, throwing Carter and Erina forward. The driver leaned on his horn.

“Mate, give it a rest,” Carter said. His meaning was clear, even though he spoke in English.

The driver stopped honking.

“What was that, Jacko?” Erina asked.

“He says if we contact the authorities, he’ll execute them immediately. If we do nothing, he’ll release them on the first of January.”

“In other words,” she said, “he’s sent us a written invitation to pay him a visit on Batak Island and will be expecting us.”

“You could say that. Listen, I’ve got another call coming in. I think it’s the helicopter pilot. See you at four.”

3

A couple of miles away in a cheap hotel on the main street of Kuta, eighteen-year-old Awan Darang had just vomited for the third time in an hour.

He’d been so proud when Samudra had chosen him for this mission. This was supposed to be the greatest day of his life. He’d been training for months for this opportunity to go all the way for God. But now the time was so near, fear wracked his body.

He rocked back and forth on a wooden chair, rubbing his sweaty palms over his thighs and inhaling deeply in an effort to stop the burning bile rising from his stomach into his throat.

His most esteemed leader, Samudra Sungkar, had departed an hour ago and was due to return any minute. Awan had been left alone in this sparse room on the second floor of the Hotel Maria, just a few blocks from Kuta Beach and overlooking a street choked with traffic. He wore a pair of black pants, a crisp, freshly ironed short-sleeved shirt and his best leather shoes, which he’d polished shiny for the occasion.

His attention darted around the room. The four white walls were bare except for a single photograph of two pink lotus flowers lying in a pond of green and orange leaves.

The flowers’ simple beauty reminded him of his home in Nalang, the tiny inland village in northern Java where he’d grown up in a strict Muslim family. He’d spent the first seventeen and a half years of his life sharing a four-room hut with his mother, father and two younger sisters. He’d attended the local school and been a good student.

Eight months ago he and a dozen other young men from his village had gone to a meeting at the local mosque to hear Samudra Sungkar speak. Up until that point, even though he’d received a good education, his life had lacked meaning and direction. Samudra’s sermon, concerning service to God, and its relationship to Islam and jihad, ignited a passion in his heart and imagination. For the first time in his short life a holy purpose inspired him and he knew happiness. He wanted to do something great for God.

He and four friends from his village had formed a young people’s mujaheddin group. They met every night to discuss the true meaning of the Koran and what it meant to be a good Muslim. After three months Samudra had invited them to his compound at Batak Island and their training had begun. It was the most exciting time of his life.

Samudra had explained many times how dedicating one’s life to jihad represented the truest path to God. It all seemed so clear and made perfect sense when Samudra spoke. But sitting alone in the unfamiliar hotel room thinking of his home and family made Awan question whether he was truly ready to give his life for God.

He turned toward the warm afternoon sunlight streaming through a half-open window, bowed his head and prayed. “In the name of Allah, the most beneficent, the most merciful. You alone do I worship. You alone do I seek for guidance.”

Outside in the hall, as if answering his prayer, footsteps approached.

His heart started to race. He stared at the door, feeling like he wanted to be sick again.

A key clicked into the lock and the doorknob turned.

A jolt of adrenalin shot through his body and he feared his bowels might open right where he sat. His legs went to jelly and he found it difficult to rise from the chair.

Samudra Sungkar stepped through the door wearing a short-sleeved batik shirt, slim black pants and leather sandals. He dragged a small businessman’s suitcase on wheels behind him. A leather satchel hung over his shoulder. Even though he was not tall, he had a very great presence. He was the most wonderful man Awan had ever known.

“Allah akbar,” Samudra said.

Awan repeated the greeting and dropped his head. Looking down at the table, he felt Samudra’s brown eyes fixed upon him, but he was unable to meet his master’s gaze.

“My young brother,” Samudra said in a soft, gentle tone. “We are all afraid. It is nothing to be ashamed of.”

Awan lifted his eyes. “Even you?”

“Yes, of course. Fear has a holy purpose. It reminds us of God’s presence and greatness. If you continue to pray and strive to do his will, he will always be with you, and when this great task is over, he will welcome you into paradise with open arms. You will be warmed by his embrace. As the great Osama once said, ‘To kill the Americans and their allies — civilians and military — is an individual duty for every Muslim who can do it in any country in which it is possible to do it. In our religion, there is a special place in the hereafter for those who participate in jihad.’”

Awan nodded.

“And of course,” Samudra said, “you will bring great prosperity and honor to your family. You want them to be proud of you, don’t you?”

Awan nodded again.

Samudra placed his hand on Awan’s shoulder. “But you must do this for the right reasons. Not to be a hero or to be seen to be courageous or to gain my respect or for any other bad reason. You must do this only for the glory of Allah.”

Awan’s spine straightened. “I understand.”

Samudra’s familiar smile lit up his face. “Very good.”

He produced a pad and pen from his satchel and placed them in front of Awan on the table. “Now, please write to your family and tell them of your great legacy.”

As always, Awan did what he was told. He sat down at the desk, closed his eyes and asked Allah for guidance, that he might find the right words. After a few moments he picked up the pen and started to write, shakily at first, then faster as the ideas started to flow — ideas Samudra had introduced him to.

He signed his name, placed the letter in an envelope, sealed it and handed it to Samudra, who slipped it into his bag.

“Thank you,” Samudra said. “Now please stand.”

Awan did as instructed. Samudra opened his suitcase and extracted a vest packed with four six-inch sticks of dynamite in the front pockets and two in the back.

The boy stood still as Samudra slipped the lethal garment over his shoulders and secured the plastic buttons at the front for him.

A shiver ran through his body from head to foot. He was a mujaheddin, a holy warrior for God. This was his destiny.

Soon he would know glory and enter paradise.

God was great.

Samudra reached into his suitcase, held up a casual black cotton jacket, presented it to him and smiled.

Awan slipped his arms through the sleeves.

The great man’s tenderness gave him strength.

He hoped Samudra would not notice the sweat trickling down the side of his face.

Samudra zipped up the jacket’s front and adjusted the collar, reminding Awan of how his father had dressed him for school as a young boy.

Samudra held a phone in his right hand. “All you have to do, my brother, is walk into the cafe. I shall do the rest.”

4

Carter paid the taxidriver and they negotiated their way along one of the cluttered streets that led to Kuta Beach and the Green Monkey, where they were due to meet Jacko in less than twenty minutes.

They turned into Legian Street, the main drag of Bali’s central tourist district, and walked toward the site of Paddy’s Pub, one of the two targets in the 2002 terrorist bombings, the other being the Sari Club. They stopped in front of an intricately carved stone monument, created to honor the victims of the bombings.

He scanned the pedestrian traffic but couldn’t see anyone watching them.

Across the street a neon sign read: Pirates, Dance Party, Bounty Discothèque. Despite the brutal tragedy, the party continued unabated in Kuta. The nightclubs still attracted plenty of hedonistic young western backpackers and high-school graduates. Another bar, Paddy’s Reloaded, had opened down the street.

Jacko claimed he loved the life and energy of Kuta, saying it made him feel young at heart. Carter found the pollution, congestion, constant noise and swarms of tourists intolerable.

For their current purposes, though, Carter had to admit that Kuta had a few things going for it. It allowed them to blend into the background without attracting too much attention, and police officers patrolled the streets regularly, meaning an attack in the open was unlikely.

Erina bought a small bunch of white flowers from a street vendor and placed them on the monument. They then resumed their walk down Legian Street, heading in the direction of the Green Monkey.

They didn’t speak, each too busy scanning the streets as they walked. They moved at a leisurely pace like a couple of tourists, passing shops selling low-priced T-shirts, pirated CDs and DVDs, and tiny restaurants serving cheap food and booze.

Traditional gamelan music competed with hip-hop and classic rock. That, combined with the constant tooting of car horns and revving of motorcycle engines, made it too noisy to think let alone talk.

They’d just passed a dress shop when Carter noticed two young men loitering in front of a music stand set up on the sidewalk on the other side of the street. The Doors’ “Light My Fire” blared from a set of cheap speakers.

Erina turned toward him. She’d spotted them too.

He gestured toward a Starbucks fifty yards down from them, across the street, and said, “Let’s grab a coffee.”

They navigated their way across the sea of idling traffic and belching gasoline fumes.

A stone statue of Kali, the Hindu goddess of time and change, stood outside the cafe. Flowers and burning incense lay at her feet. Similar offerings could be seen outside practically every Balinese-owned shopfront, demonstrating the reverence most Balinese practiced in their daily life. The simple everyday spirituality was something Carter loved about the place.

He followed Erina into the cafe’s air-conditioned cool. Except for the Balinese serving staff dressed in black, they could’ve been in a Starbucks anywhere in the world. If they weren’t being followed, he’d take the opportunity to try to get Erina to talk about what was bothering her.

A quick study revealed nothing out of the ordinary. The cafe was full of westerners, except for two young Indonesian women sitting with a group of western backpackers.

Carter said to Erina, “Get me an espresso and I’ll check the back exit.”

She looked at him for a moment as if tossing up whether to do what he asked and then walked to the counter.

He made his way to the back of the cafe, past the bathrooms, and headed down a narrow hallway, stopping in front of a door that stood ajar with a key in the lock. He checked behind him to make sure no one was watching and opened it a little wider. It was a walk-in closet half-stocked with cleaning products. He left the door ajar as he’d found it and continued on to the back exit.

He pushed the rusty iron door open and looked outside. A shaded alley ran down the side of the restaurant and intersected with a main road about a hundred yards away.

Satisfied there was no immediate danger and having established a clear exit route, he headed back inside.

Erina stood at the counter, placing an order. He chose a table set against the back wall and waited. They’d have their coffee and, if no one suspicious turned up, leave through the back lane.

The front door swung open.

Two elderly female tourists with pale skin and bright red, sweaty faces entered. They wore matching blue and white Hawaiian shirts and their bodies visibly relaxed in the air-conditioned cool after the heat and humidity outside.

They headed for the counter, passing Erina, who was making for Carter’s table carrying a tray with two takeout coffee cups and a white paper bag.

Behind her, two teenage girls with long blonde hair pushed through the entrance wearing sarongs and bikini tops, listening to their iPods.

Erina placed his coffee in front of him, sat down and tore the bag open. Inside was a coconut and palm sugar slice, her favorite.

The front door of the cafe swung open again and the two young Indonesian men they’d spotted on the street came in. They stood at the entrance, scanning the room. One of them looked over at Carter, leaned close to his mate and whispered something.

Carter and Erina stood up at once and walked toward a sign that read Rest Rooms. Five yards past it, they turned down the hallway and broke into a jog.

When they came to the cleaning closet, Carter grabbed Erina’s arm and then glanced behind him, checking that the two men weren’t yet following them.

No one was watching. He opened the door wide for Erina. She stepped inside. He took out the key, squeezed in beside her and closed the door, locking it.

A dim light leaked under the bottom.

He grabbed the smooth handle of a mop in his left hand and listened. The distant hum of the cafe echoed through the thin walls.

For twenty seconds they stood absolutely still, breathing in the sharp smell of bleach. At first Carter heard nothing out of the ordinary, but then the sound of two sets of footsteps walking on concrete came toward them.

The footsteps stopped outside the closet.

A shadow blocked the light coming under the door.

Carter clenched his right hand into a fist and shifted his weight onto the balls of his feet. He felt Erina tensing beside him, controlling her soft breath, preparing herself to strike.

Someone turned the doorhandle back and forth twice and pushed against the door.

Time crawled by. Then the footsteps started up again, moving down the hallway away from them, gathering speed as they neared the back exit.

A door opened and then slammed shut.

Carter waited a few seconds. He then unlocked the door, pushed it open and looked up and down the deserted hallway. The two Sungkar clan spies had obviously headed straight for the back alley, thinking he and Erina had exited that way.

They stepped out of the closet and walked at a brisk pace back into the cafe. Before heading out the door, they grabbed their takeout coffees and the coconut slice, which were still sitting at the table.

Outside in the street Carter turned toward the shrill ring of a bell. A bright red three-wheeled motorized taxi was heading toward them.

He hailed it and they slid onto the seat, under the shade of a cloth canopy. It wasn’t a perfect hide-out, but it’d do for now and get them away from Starbucks.

Erina leaned forward and said to the driver, “Terus sitir.” Just drive.

5

Carter and Erina stepped out of the vehicle and headed toward the Green Monkey Cafe, one of a string of thatch-roofed coffee shops and restaurants that lined Kuta Beach and attracted a young backpacker crowd.

They entered via an alley that ran along the back to reduce the likelihood of being seen. Once inside, Carter saw no sign of Jacko, even though he and Erina were ten minutes late for their 4 p.m. meeting.

He looked through the front opening and onto the beach, where a dozen men and women in their late teens and early twenties sat in a circle on white plastic chairs under raffia beach umbrellas, playing a drinking game. The Eagles’ “Take It Easy” rang out from a set of speakers outside.

The song transported him back to the fibro shack he’d lived in with his mother in Lennox, back when he was a kid. She’d loved seventies music. He remembered her sitting on the back porch of their house when he was around six years old, singing along with the Eagles on the radio while smoking what he now knew was a marijuana joint.

“You want me to call Jacko?” Erina asked.

“Let’s give him a few more minutes.”

One of the backpackers, a young blonde guy with a goatee and frizzy hair, lifted a coconut to his mouth, threw his head back and drank to the chant of “drink it down, down, down.”

He was most likely drinking an “Arak Attack,” a potent mixture of the local liquor, which was fifty percent alcohol, with orange and coconut juice. He drained the coconut, banged it down on the table and burped. The other players laughed and clapped.

A young Balinese waitress in a pink and yellow dress carried a tray of empty bottles and dirty glasses through the entrance.

Erina called out to her, “You seen Jacko?”

“No,” she replied. “You like cold drink?”

Erina looked at Carter, who shook his head. “We’ll wait, thanks,” she said.

The backpackers outside erupted in another round of wild cheering, drowning out the iconic opening bars of Elton John’s “Benny and the Jets.”

Carter looked around the indoor section of the cafe. Jacko called this place his second office. It was fairly basic: a dozen tables covered by red and white plastic tablecloths and bare wooden walls.

Carter was about to sit down at one of the tables when he heard a familiar voice from the rear of the cafe and glanced behind him.

A big bear of a man with shoulder-length sun-bleached hair filled the back door. He wore a short-sleeved batik cotton shirt, black board shorts and green thongs. At first glance he looked like a typical Australian tourist, interested primarily in drinking beer and having a good time, but he had a laptop bag slung over one shoulder, and to Carter he looked tired and drawn, and older than his forty-five years. Clearly the events of the last twenty-four hours had affected him. Still, when he saw Carter and Erina, his face lit up with a broad, welcoming grin.

Carter walked toward him and put out his hand.

“Don’t give me this ‘shake your hand’ bullshit,” Jacko said. “Give us a hug, you old bastard.”

He dropped his bag beside the table, wrapped his arms around Carter and squeezed tight.

Carter breathed in the familiar combination of aftershave, deodorant and clove cigarettes, relieved to see his friend.

Jacko released his grip, turned toward Erina and put out his arms. “I’m so sorry, love, I really am. We’ll get ’em back. Promise.”

He threw his arms around her. Jacko was one of the few people Erina let hug her. They held each other tight.

After a moment or two she patted him on the shoulder, gently pulled away from him and asked, “So what’s the latest at the hospital?”

“It looks like everyone’s going to pull through, thank Christ. But I’m buggered if I know where this’ll leave us. The order’s been well and truly fucked over.”

Carter looked at Erina, who dropped her gaze. They both sat down.

Jacko settled in a seat opposite them. “Sorry I’m late, but I just got off the blower with Djoran. He’s expecting you.”

“I’ll bet he is,” Erina said.

“What do you mean by that?” Jacko asked.

“How well do you know this guy?”

“Well enough,” Jacko said. “He’s very tight with Kemala.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

“Djoran’s a top bloke. He’s been undercover, training as one of Samudra’s mujaheddin for the last five months. In my book, that takes a huge ticker.”

“What’s a Sufi doing getting involved in a fight against terrorism? They’re supposed to spend their time transcending the physical world and getting high on God.”

“I’m buggered if I know what motivates him. But Kemala vouches for him one hundred percent.”

“That’s my point.”

“What?”

“I’ve been concerned about her relationship with Thomas ever since they became close,” Erina continued. “I’m starting to wonder whether Kemala is the saint everyone thinks she is.”

“Have you ever brought it up with him?” Carter asked, knowing Thomas rarely discussed his personal affairs with anyone, including his daughter.

“I tried a few times,” she said, “but he wouldn’t go there. Look, I doubt they’re having a full-on sexual relationship, because of her beliefs, but he’s besotted with her. It’s ridiculous — he’s like a teenager. Though he’d never admit it.”

“And?” Carter asked, though he suspected he knew where this was going.

“She’s Samudra’s sister. The whole family is corrupt in one way or another and they hate the order for killing Arung. Just because she’s a woman doesn’t mean she’s above scrutiny.”

“And just because she’s a Muslim and belongs to the Sungkar family doesn’t make her a terrorist,” Carter said.

“Don’t forget,” Jacko said, “she’s the one who alerted Thomas to Samudra’s intentions.”

“That could’ve all been part of a plan to infiltrate the order.”

“That’s a real stretch,” Jacko said.

Erina shrugged. “Think about it. Kemala disappeared four days before the attacks on the order began.”

“You’re being paranoid,” Jacko said. “Your father trusts her completely.”

“And maybe his blind trust helped get us into the position we’re in,” Erina said. “They’ve been one step ahead of us with each of these attacks. We can’t assume anything.”

She leaned back in her chair.

Carter glanced at Jacko. “What do you reckon?” he asked.

“I reckon she’s the best thing that’s happened to Thomas for a long while. She just has to walk into a room to bring a smile to his face. And they’ve known each other on and off for ten years.”

“But they’ve only been close for less than a year,” Erina said, “since Samudra took over the clan. Samudra and Kemala could’ve hatched something together.”

“You sure you’re not being overprotective or even a tad jealous?” Jacko asked.

She tied her hair up into a loose bun. “Some women will do anything to protect their family.”

“Maybe,” Carter said. “But Thomas does nothing without thinking it through. I reckon Jacko’s right. If Thomas trusts her, so can we.”

“What you’re both overlooking is that most men, including my father, are hopeless when it comes to relationships.”

Carter shifted in his seat. “And you’re good at them?”

“At least I don’t get taken advantage of.”

“You never hang around long enough to let that happen.”

She gave him a withering look. “We both know you don’t stay alive in this game for very long if you expect the best of everyone.”

“Nor if you always expect the worst.”

She sat up straighter. “These attacks on the order are game-changers. We can’t overlook any possibilities. It’s no time to be oversensitive.”

“And it’s no time to shut down.”

“What—”

“Hang on, you two,” Jacko interrupted. “We’re getting off track. The situation is what it is. We have to deal with what’s in front of us.”

He stood up. “And if you’d let me get a word in, I was about say Djoran told me where Thomas and Wayan are being held on the island.”

He started walking to the kitchen.

“What are you doing?’ Erina asked.

“I’ve been running around like a headless chook all day and I’m starved. I’m going to organize something to eat and drink before we get down to business. Then I’ll show you what I’ve got.”

He walked a few more steps and turned back to Erina.

“He also informed me that Kemala is on the island. And here’s the kicker. She’s being held prisoner under armed guard on order from Samudra.”

Carter looked at Erina, whose expression revealed nothing. He knew this would have taken her by surprise, even if she didn’t buy it or wasn’t prepared to admit it.

6

Carter watched Jacko take a long pull of beer from his bottle of Victoria Bitter, push it to one side and reach for his bag. Jacko set up his laptop on the table so Carter and Erina could both see and fired it up. A topographical map of Batak Island appeared on screen.

Despite his casual manner, Jacko had an uncanny ability to organize an operation to the last detail with a minimum of drama.

“We’ve been checking out the island and the clan’s activity for the last month,” Jacko said. “Since Samudra took over, he’s turned it into an unofficial Islamic state governed by sharia law. I saw a video on his website of a young woman being stoned for adultery.”

Erina poured sparkling mineral water into a glass and said, “I’ve seen the site too — there’s some spooky shit going down on that island.”

Outside, the backpackers let out yet another round of cheers.

Jacko’s forefinger ran down the middle of the map.

“The island is divided in two by this mountain range. On the southern side is a village of peasant farmers and fishermen. The Sungkar clan control the mosques and clerics, which gives them huge influence over the people on the island, all strict Muslims. Though there are pockets of dissent.”

He tapped another key. An aerial photograph appeared, showing what looked like a military training complex with a large white mosque in the center.

“This is Samudra’s compound on the northern side,” Jacko said. “It’s a full-blown training camp for his mujaheddin.”

His forefinger circled a group of buildings and bungalows. “That’s the accommodation and admin block, where a high-tech command center has been set up. And that’s the airstrip. They own a light plane and a helicopter, which means they can fly in and out without bothering too much about airport security.”

He pointed to a fenced-off enclosure housing two cell-like buildings. “This is where Djoran reckons Thomas and Wayan are being held.”

“Can we land on the island?” Carter asked.

“No way, Jose. Security’s tighter than a fish’s arsehole. The pilot I’ve lined up will drop you at an atoll five clicks away. Then you’ll take a jet ski to the island. Budget fifty minutes for the one-way ocean trip. If you travel at low throttle and keep engine noise to a minimum, you’ll sound like a regular fishing boat and won’t set off any alarms.”

Jacko took a sip of beer and tapped another key. The map of Batak Island reappeared. He indicated a rocky cove on the village side of the island. “You land here. Then I suggest you make your way to this point.”

He touched a clearing at the edge of the mountains that cut the island in two. “There’s a steep cliff you’ll need to climb to reach the compound’s perimeter. It’ll shield you from any electronic surveillance.”

Carter and Erina nodded, following his logic.

“Once you reach the top, you launch your assault on the compound. Djoran has downloaded a set of up-to-date security codes, which I’ll give you. He reckons once you’re within a hundred yards of the compound, you can wirelessly hack into their system and shut down security.”

Erina cocked her head to the side and looked at Jacko directly.

“I know what you’re thinking, Erina,” Jacko said, “but trusting Djoran is the only option we have at this point. It’s one of those times where we have to show some faith in our fellow man.”

“How do we find him?” Carter asked before Erina had a chance to respond.

“He assures me he’ll find you. Take the satphone in case there’s a dire emergency and you need me to bail you out. But he said to avoid making any calls on the island unless absolutely necessary. Their scanning devices pick up phone signals. He’s figured out a way of making the occasional call to me safely, but you’d need to hook up with him first and follow his procedures to the letter.”

“What about the chopper?” Erina asked.

“The only one I could get comes with a pilot.”

“What’s he like?”

“A real Pommy wanker. Wouldn’t trust him as far as I could kick him, even with only one good leg. But he knows the area and has plenty of experience. He’ll get you there and back.”

“How do you know?” Erina asked.

A big grin spread across Jacko’s face. “Because I only paid him a deposit.”

7

The waitress placed a serving of chicken satay sticks on the table. The aromatic blend of hot oil, chilli and roasted peanuts reminded Carter of just how much he enjoyed Indonesian food and how hungry he was.

He took a stick, bit off a mouthful of hot, spicy chicken and savored it for a moment before glancing at Erina. She took a napkin to hold one end of the stick and used a fork to pull the meat off one piece at a time.

She was still pissed off with him, he could tell, though he didn’t know why. But clearing the air with Erina would have to wait a little longer. There were still questions to be answered. First up, he wanted to know if Jacko had any idea about what might’ve happened to the head of Trident’s daughter. It still bothered him that the organization had potentially been compromised.

He turned to Jacko. “What’ve you found out about Callaghan’s daughter?”

Jacko swallowed a mouthful of chicken.

“Apparently she’s pretty wild, and this isn’t the first time she’s gone missing in action. Initially, I figured she’d just run off with some guy she’d met, but with the shit that’s gone down in the last couple of days I wouldn’t be surprised if the clan has nabbed her.”

He took a meditative pull on his beer. “And if they have her, then Callaghan is their puppet. That’s a serious worry, considering what the clan might be planning for Sydney.”

“He could’ve clued them in on where the city is most vulnerable and how to avoid security,” Erina said.

“Exactly what I was thinking,” Jacko replied. “I’ll make some enquiries, and give you a full run-down when you get back from the island.”

Carter nodded, knowing he could rely on Jacko to get all the necessary information and make any arrangements.

The waitress returned carrying a large plate of fried prawns and another of golden brown lumpia — spring rolls filled with minced pork and vegetables — with a bowl of sweet chilli sauce.

Carter picked up one of the rolls, took a bite and said, “Are there any other operatives on hand we can call on?”

“As a matter of fact,” Jacko said, “there are four guys from Detachment 88 staying at Candi Dasa. I’ve got a solid relationship with their immediate superior. I reckon I could line something up at a pinch. They’re pretty fair operators, but they don’t have anything like your skills or experience.”

Detachment 88 was the Indonesian counterterrorist organization, so named to honor the eighty-eight Australians killed in the 2002 Bali bombing. They were funded and trained by American and Australian government agencies. Since 2003, they’d successfully hunted down, arrested and killed many members of Jemaah Islamiah and other suspected terrorist organizations.

The group attacked with sledgehammer-like efficiency, but lacked the subtlety and patience required for an operation like this. More importantly, there was every chance Samudra, with his wealth and influence, had corrupted sections of the organization.

Carter liked to mull over all possibilities with an open mind. Often useful ideas emerged in the process. Bringing in some outside help had its merits. It meant they’d have backup and there’d be someone to help Jacko find out what Alex and the clan were up to in Sydney.

Erina rolled her eyes. “Detachment 88 — you really want to get those cowboys involved?” There was an edge to her voice. “You’re saying six of us should go to the island and hook up with Djoran?”

Carter shrugged, deliberately casual, knowing it would infuriate her. He wanted to provoke her into an outburst, get her to admit what was bugging her.

“I could take a couple of guys and you could stay behind and work with Jacko,” he said. “Start checking out what’s going down in Sydney. And if there’s trouble on the island, you’d be ready to bail us out.”

“Please tell me you’re joking.”

“Just brainstorming.”

“There’s no way I’m staying behind and you know it.”

“Look—”

“What makes you think you can come in like this and start running the show?”

“We need to work as a team and consider our options,” he said.

“It’s a bit late to call yourself a team player. Let alone think you can call the shots. It’s not your father whose life is at stake.”

He pushed his plate to one side and wiped the stickiness off his fingers with a paper napkin. “You need to take the personal emotion out of this and get your head together.”

“Don’t try to psychoanalyze me. Look after your own game.”

“We’re in this together, Erina, but I can’t work with you when you’re like this.”

“Like what?”

“You’ve been pissed off ever since we left Woodforde’s property. Now tell me what’s got you so angry or god help me I’ll team up with Detachment 88 and leave you here with Jacko.”

“I’d leave you behind if I didn’t need you,” she said.

“Well, you do. So get used to it.”

“Once this is over you can fuck off and go surfing for all I care.”

“Suits me.”

She stood up. “You’re unbelievable.”

Carter turned to Jacko, who shook a clove cigarette out of its soft packet. “Hey, don’t look at me,” he said. “I’m just organizing the logistics.”

Erina looked directly at Carter. “I’m not discussing this with you anymore.”

“Erina, sit down, please.”

She turned to Jacko. “Sorry, big guy, just need to clear my head.”

She picked up her daypack from the floor and headed out through the front of the restaurant and down to the beach.

8

Jacko inhaled on his cigarette, causing the tobacco and cloves to flare and crackle. He looked at Carter through the cloud of sweet-smelling smoke. “You handled that well, champ.”

Carter moved his chair away from the table. “No one ever accused me of being smart around women.”

“You’re not wrong there,” Jacko said. “But she’s no ordinary woman.”

“Tell me about it.”

Carter took a long drink of water and looked through the open shopfront toward the beach. The backpackers had taken a break from their drinking game. Further down, Erina was walking across the hard sand toward the ocean with her hands in her pockets.

“She’s still mad at me for leaving the order,” Carter said.

Jacko dipped the last spring roll in sweet chilli sauce, took a bite and washed it down with beer. “Can’t say I blame her. But I understand why you did what you did.”

“Thanks, mate, I appreciate that.”

There was a pause before Jacko replied. “I’m not the one who’s in love with you, though,” he said.

“Jacko, she hates me.”

Jacko shrugged. “It’s the flip side of the same coin.”

“If this is her idea of love, she has no idea what it is,” Carter said.

“And you do?”

Carter couldn’t help but smile. “Good point.”

“I’m none too flash with this relationship stuff myself,” Jacko said. He took a last puff on his cigarette and ground the butt out in the ashtray. “There’s a part of me that would’ve loved to have had a wife and a few kids.”

“Yeah?”

“Thought seriously about it ten years ago. A normal life, you know?”

Carter nodded.

“But it’s not who I am. I made my choice and the order is family enough for me. It’s a good life.”

“It has its moments.”

Jacko took a slow sip of beer, put the bottle down and said, “I reckon you need to tell Erina how you feel and sort this shit out, right now, or it’s going to cause trouble.”

“I know.”

“Getting involved when you’re both in this line of work was always going to be tough. But you love her and she loves you. You both need to recognize the fact.”

‘She’s the only woman I’ve ever wanted.’

“Then man up and sort this shit out. The point is she’s hurting and she’s scared. Any dill can see that. You just have to talk to her.”

Carter felt himself nodding again. Jacko had got it right.

Jacko reached into his computer bag. “In the meantime, this might cheer you up.”

He handed Carter a piece of A4 paper headed Equipment Inventory.

Carter read the list. Two Glock 18s with adjustable stocks and suppressors, two clips of nineteen hollow-point rounds for each weapon, a sixty-foot length of nylon cord, a pair of night-vision binoculars, three Emerson throwing knives, a blowpipe and a pack of drug-tipped darts. Everything he’d hoped for and then some.

Carter felt his shoulders relax.

Jacko reached into his pocket, pulled out a set of keys and handed them to him. “You’ll find everything in the usual place. You and Erina can crash there tonight.”

Carter took the keys and slipped them into the secure thigh pocket of his cargo pants.

Jacko then held up a red memory stick attached to a black lanyard and waved it in front of him. “And this little beauty has every bit of information you’ll need, including what I’ve just shown you.”

Carter hung the memory stick around his neck and slipped it under his T-shirt. “I don’t know how you pulled this together at such short notice.”

“Mate,” Jacko said, “it’s what I do. Now go out there, sort out your shit with Erina, bring Thomas and Wayan home alive and take this crazy motherfucker and his mujaheddin zombies down.”

Carter picked up his daypack and stood. “I’ll see what I can do.”

Jacko raised his bottle of VB in a salute. “Good luck, champ. I’ve always got your back.”

“I know,” Carter said. “Thanks, mate.”

He headed for the front of the restaurant without another word, but before stepping out onto the beach, he turned and gave Jacko a two-finger salute. Jacko dipped his head and returned the gesture.

Carter walked down across the soft sand toward Erina. She stood a few yards from the water’s edge, her backpack by her feet.

Pink Floyd’s “Wish You Were Here” played from the speakers on the sand outside the cafe — another of his mother’s favorite songs.

The air was calm and the sinking sun still had a gentle bite. A rolling wave broke out on the reef and a guy on a longboard paddled for it.

Carter dropped his pack on the sand next to hers.

“You’ve come to apologize?” she asked, looking out to sea.

“I came to talk.”

She turned to face him. “Haven’t you said enough?” She shook her head, incredulous.

“Thomas has always been like a father to me,” he said. “You know that.”

“And that’s supposed to make me accept what you did? If you really believe that, you should’ve shown him more respect. You just took off without giving any explanation or warning.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Sometimes sorry doesn’t cut it,” she said. “We both know this shit storm with the Sungkar clan could’ve been contained if you hadn’t walked out on us.”

Carter clenched and unclenched his right hand. Finally they were getting to it. “Erina, there’s no point playing “what if.” If Thomas hadn’t made me sink that boat, Arung would be alive and none of this would’ve happened. No one could’ve predicted any of this. As I’m sure you understand. We all do the best we can with what’s in front of us.”

“What you did was wrong. Leaving us was wrong. You betrayed the order.”

“I did what I had to do at the time.”

She stared at him without blinking. “We needed you, Carter. You left us vulnerable. Thomas had come to rely on you more than you can imagine and was devastated when you disappeared. You’re responsible for whatever happens to him — and to Wayan. Their kidnapping and the attack at Ubud are both on you.”

Carter opened his mouth to speak, about to argue, but then thought better of it. He heard Jacko’s voice in his head: She’s hurting and she’s scared. Any dill can see that. You just have to talk to her.

He took a slow breath. “When you cut me out of your life, I didn’t handle it too well. I see that now. But do you understand how much I care about you? Have you ever thought about the effect you have on me?”

She’d always had trouble admitting fault or blame, and he didn’t expect an apology from her now. But he needed to say it, to tell her how she’d hurt him — for his own benefit as much as hers. “It was because of you that I left,” he said. “At least that was a big part of it. I couldn’t bear to be near you anymore, couldn’t bear the way you treated me.”

In an instant her right hand flashed through the air, aiming for his head. He caught her wrist and held it tight. Then, with his left hand, he grabbed her behind the head and pulled her mouth to his.

She struggled to free herself from his grasp and then, suddenly, her whole body relaxed.

An electric charge ran up his spine.

Their lips met, and it was as if they’d never been apart, as if they’d always belonged together. The familiar chemical reaction came on with a rush, making him feel lightheaded and dizzy. The euphoria was almost like a drug, sending him into an altered state.

Then, just as suddenly, an exploding pain in his groin snapped him back into reality.

He released his grip on her and buckled over. “Shit, Erina, what was that for?”

“Because I can and you deserved it.”

He looked up at her and grimaced, then walked in a circle until the pain started to subside.

“I get the point,” he said.

She stepped toward him and placed her hands around his face. He felt the gentle touch of her lips on his.

Behind him the waves lapped on the shore, and as their kiss grew deeper, her body trembled. He wrapped his arms around her and held her tight.

“I fucking hate you,” she whispered.

“Now the truth comes out.”

“I thought you’d always be there for me. I’ve missed you every day since you left.”

“I’m here now.”

“It seems I’m not as tough as I thought.”

“Perhaps you’re human after all?”

She smiled. “Let’s not get too carried away.”

He leaned in to kiss her again.

BOOM.

A loud explosion ripped through the late-afternoon air. Carter felt the force of it against his back. He shoved Erina down onto the hard sand and covered her with his body.

9

Carter lay on top of Erina, his ears ringing from the explosion and the sound of people screaming on the beach.

She moved underneath him. He rolled off her, pushed himself onto his feet and stared through the billowing smoke in the direction of the Green Monkey Cafe. All that was left was a smoldering shell. The clan had once again got the jump on them with devastating results.

He reached down and pulled Erina to her feet.

“Fuck,” she said.

Unless Jacko had left the cafe before the bomb exploded, there was no way he could’ve survived the blast.

A film of charcoal slowly covered the sand. On all sides, people were shouting and screaming, running away from the point of the blast, including some who were bleeding from their injuries.

Carter felt like he needed to throw up, but he breathed deeply, trying to clear his thoughts. What had happened had happened — he needed to deal with the present.

“You stay here,” he said. “Cover my back and see if you can identify anyone suspicious.”

“Okay.”

He ran across the sand toward the smoking ruins of the cafe, breathing in the smell of burning wood and seared flesh, the odor of violent death.

The table where the backpackers had been sitting was no more. He examined their charred and bloody remains, seeking any sign of life. He found none and moved to the entrance of the cafe and peered inside. All that was left standing was the iron stove and a coffee machine. The rest was flaming rubble and charred body parts.

Just inside the front door, he saw an arm, but no torso. He recognized Jacko’s diver’s watch, the face smashed.

He quelled the urge to cry out. Instead, he turned and walked toward the beach, struggling to put one foot in front of the other. Ten yards from the cafe he leaned forward with his hands on his knees and stared at the now black sand, feeling sick and numb.

From the direction of the airport he heard the wail of approaching sirens. He took a slow, deep breath, stood up, and looked at where the backpackers had been laughing and joking only a few minutes ago. The young kids had been caught in the wrong place at the wrong time, their lives cut short by a war that meant nothing to them. Their deaths were even more senseless than Jacko’s. It was one thing to kill your enemy, another to take the life of innocents.

The sirens grew louder and more intense, indicating that ambulances and police vehicles were converging on the beach.

He turned and forced himself to stride swiftly over the sand toward Erina. Her pack lay open beside her, giving her easy access to a weapon should she need it.

“Jacko?” Erina called as he drew near, but he could tell by the tremor in her voice she already knew the answer.

He shook his head.

Her head dropped and she pounded her fist into her right thigh. “Fucking bastards.”

“We have to go,” he said.

There was nothing either of them could do or say to bring Jacko back. They needed to keep moving.

“It’s fucking madness,” she said, looking at him, her eyes welling with tears.

“I know.”

“Were there any survivors?”

“We can’t help them.”

He didn’t need to tell her the injured needed proper medical attention. The ambulances and police would be there in a couple of minutes.

The sirens grew louder. They couldn’t afford to get caught up in a police investigation and have their departure for Batak Island jeopardized. He took her hand and squeezed it.

They gathered up their daypacks and began walking away from the cafe at a brisk but steady pace, not wanting to draw attention to themselves.

His body felt slow and heavy, but there was no looking back.