"I see."
"Any more questions, Mr. Nilsen?"
Greg shook his head. Captain Voychinski smiled grimly and took his hand from his pistol.
"Very well." Major Sutan picked up the cheque and looked down at it. "Where did these arms come from please?"
"Manila.
Why?"
"You are not a regular dealer, Mr. Nilsen, and the composition of the shipment is unusual. Naturally, we are curious."
"I got the stuff from a man who'd taken it as collateral for a loan. He was left with it on his hands and wanted to get rid of it. I understand that it came originally from Red China."
"How?"
"I was told that it was intercepted at sea on its way to Malaya."
"At sea?"
"That's right. Does it matter? Captain Lukey has inspected the stuff."
"Arms from China to Malaya do not go by sea."
"Well, these did."
"What is the name of the person who told you?"
"Tan Tack Chee."
Major Sutan looked down at the cheque again, and then took a pen from his shirt pocket. "I do not know this Tan, Mr. Nilsen, but I would suggest you do not deal with him again."
"Why not?"
"If you are not lying to me, then he lied to you. I do not think you can be lying."
"Thanks."
"On that point you would have no reason to lie." He signed the cheque and pushed it across the desk. "That is all, Mr. Nilsen. Will you be returning to Singapore tomorrow?"
"Yes." Greg picked up the cheque and slipped it inside his passport.
"Then the transaction could be completed the following day?"
"It could."
Major Sutan got to his feet and held out his hand. "Next time," he said, "I think that our dealings will be more friendly. It will not be necessary for you to come here again, I think."
"Thanks." Greg shook hands with Major Sutan, nodded to Captain Voychinski and went to the door.
Mrs. Lukey and Hamid were waiting on the veranda.
"Is everything in order?" Hamid asked.
"Yes, the cheque's signed." Greg glanced at Mrs. Lukey. "Shall we go? Good night, Mr. Hamid."
They had reached the bottom of the veranda steps when he heard Dorothy cry out.
He started to run towards the road.
There were' lights there now and he saw the soldiers almost immediately. Two of them were dragging the driver out of the taxi. Three more were coming towards him across the clearing. From behind, near the house, there was a sudden confused shouting, and then the ear-shattering din of a sub-machine-gun burst.
At that moment one of the soldiers saw him, yelled to the others, and started to bring his carbine up to his shoulder.
Mrs. Lukey was screaming at him to stop.
Greg stopped; and then, as the other two soldiers ran towards him, he took a step backwards and put up his hands.
CHAPTER SEVEN
GENERAL ISKAQ ate a second honey cake and poured himself a third cup of coffee. It was cool enough to drink, but he left it to get still cooler. He was in no hurry. He knew that he was going to enjoy the day which lay before him. A little delay in approaching it could only serve to increase the ultimate satisfaction. Meanwhile, there were more modest pleasures at hand. He picked up his binoculars.
From the window of his apartment on the top floor of the Stadhuis he could see the port, the river delta and the sea beyond. The sky was cloudless and, at that early hour, there was little heat haze. The previous day's rains were pouring down from the hills, and the silt-laden water was swirling out in fantastic patterns across the choppy waters of the bay. When the river was in flood like that, the currents interacted with the tides to produce a mill race effect at the harbour mouth. Plans had been made to eliminate this navigational hazard by extending the mole; but the Government had refused to pay for the work. Now, a tanker in ballast trying to get alongside the oil company's wharf was having to be warped in cautiously a foot at a time. The morning sun was glittering on her wheelhouse windows, and the General could see the white-topped caps of her European officers out on the wings of the bridge. Other white blobs on the wharf marked the presence of the oil company's Dutch under-manager and the English representative of the tanker's owners. They, too, would be impatient at the delay.
The General watched through his binoculars and was content. Admittedly, the situation had richer possibilities. For some minutes, he had toyed with the vision of one, or, better still, both of the warps parting under the strain, and of the tanker drifting helplessly across the basin to crunch into the side of a dredger moored there; but that, he knew, had been idle day-dreaming. One should not expect too much of life. It was enough that the Europeans were inconvenienced and irritated. Enough for the present anyway. One of them, the Englishman, was British
Vice-Consul
in Labuanga, and there were further tribulations in store for him.
The tanker was nearing the wharf now, and the brown water eddying round her sides was losing its power over her. The General continued to watch; but his thoughts began to stray. There was an important question to be decided. Whom should he tell first—the American
Vice-Consul
or his British colleague?
It was not easy. The Englishman, Mr. Wilson, was the local agent of the North Borneo and Federation Shipping Company, and his post as British Vice-Consul was merely honorary. In fact, it was said that the only reason for appointing a British
Vice-Consul
in Labuanga had been to enable Mr. Wilson to import his supplies of whisky and tobacco duty free. When told that a female British citizen had been arrested the night before and was in jail on charges of conspiracy against the government, illegal trading in arms, illegal entry, consorting with criminals, and espionage, the inexperienced Mr. Wilson might well become confused and behave incorrectly. That would be most enjoyable. On the other hand, he might consult with the British Consul in Medan, or, worse, ask Mr. Hallett, the American Vice-Consul, for advice. They were very friendly. In that case, Mr. Hallett would have less of a shock when he discovered that there were two American citizens also in jail on the same charges.
The General wanted Mr. Hallett to have a big shock. Mr. Hallett's post was not honorary. He was a career member of the Foreign Service of the United States, and acted not only as his country's
Vice-Consul, but as a
local information officer as well, organising subversive things like American book centres and documentary film shows, and corrupting promising young Indonesians by arranging for them to take courses in American technical institutions. He was also closely associated with the World Health Organisation office in Labuanga, and had been known to accompany malaria control and B.C.G. field units into the interior. On occasions, he had even penetrated into insurgent-held areas with such units, returning not only unscathed but impertinently unwilling to talk about what he had seen. There were a number of American technicians working in the oil fields; and, when they came into Labuanga, they could be as riotous as Dutchmen. Mr. Hallett had a disagreeable way of making the arrest of one of these drunken gangsters appear as either a calculated affront to the President of the United States, or the result of some ridiculous mistake on the part of the security forces under the General's command. The prospect of confronting Mr. Hallett with two American arms smugglers, disguised as tourists and caught red-handed in the company of notorious traitors, was infinitely alluring.
From the other end of the apartment he could hear his wife upbraiding one of the servants for not answering the door-bell promptly. A moment or two later he heard the voice of Major Gani. He decided to hear his aide's report before making up his mind how he would handle the situation.
The General did not really like Major Gani, who had spent a year as a student at a Japanese university and did not always trouble to conceal his belief that he was cleverer and more cultivated than his commanding officer. He had, too, an annoying habit of quietly snapping his fingers while the General was speaking. The General, a religious man himself, had also realised by now that Gani was a Communist. However, it was impossible to get rid of him at this juncture. The man had made himself indispensable; and so had the Communist Party.
The idea of seizing the insurgent arms shipments in the Labuanga area had been a good one; he was at once arming his secret militia and denying arms to the enemy; but without the Communist intelligence network to discover the times and places of the shipments it would have been impossible. The insurgents had lost four substantial shipments before they had changed their delivery arrangements; and now, thanks to Gani and the Party, the new arrangements would soon be as unprofitable to the Committee as the old.
It had been Gani who had noted, in the immigration service's reports, the frequency and brevity of the visits to Labuanga of the British woman, Elizabeth O'Toole. A more detailed study had then shown that O'Toole had always arrived from Singapore, and in the company of a male European of one sort or another. She had always left with him the following day. Out of five visits, one had been made with a Belgian, one with an Italian, one with a German, and one each with two different Australians. Since nobody in his senses, Asian or European, would regularly choose Labuanga as a place of assignation for any amorous purpose, Gani had made a further investigation and noted a relationship between the dates of three of O'Toole'
s
visits and the dates of three interceptions of arms shipments. The party had alerted the comrades in Singapore and inquiries had been made about her there. Two days ago, a report of her true identity had been received, together with the information that she was about to make another visit to Labuanga. Arrangements had been made with the immigration service to delay the woman and her companion at the airport when they arrived, so that the necessary steps could be taken to place them under surveillance.
Major Gani came in briskly. As usual, his salute was more like an acknowledgement of applause than a mark of respect; but the General did not care today. He was hungry for information.
"Well, Major?"
Major Gani took off his cap and sat down before he answered. "The traitor Hamid
Osman,"
he said, "died of his wounds an hour ago, sir. It is a pity because I had hoped for much information from the man. The house they were meeting in belongs to a small importer. He is believed to be in Medan at the moment. We shall find out. Hamid Osman's house was most interesting."
"Ah."
"He was unmarried and lived with his brother who is a radio technicain. We found a radio transmitter there. It was still warm from use."
"You arrested the brother?"
"He had escaped. The two houses are only three hundred yards apart. He must have heard the firing."
The General frowned. "The radio was still warm, you say. Would he have had time to report to the traitors in the hills?"
"Perhaps."
"It would have been better if we could have had complete secrecy."
Major Gani shrugged. "There cannot be complete secrecy, sir. The American and British Consuls here will have to be informed. And I believe there is a Polish Consul in Medan."
There was a hint of malice in the way he said the last sentence. The General would have to be careful. If it became generally known that there were four non-Dutch whites under lock and key in Labuanga jail on charges other than disorderly conduct, the Area Commander in Medan would remove them from the General's jurisdiction within hours. The Area Commander had a weakness for personal publicity and would certainly not permit a subordinate to take charge of a situation of such lively interest to the Press.
"I will deal with the American and British Consuls myself/' the General replied casually. "They will want to be discreet. The Polish Consul does not matter." He brushed the subject aside with a wave of his coffee spoon. "Now, about the prisoners. What information do we have from them?"
"It is a little soon, sir, to expect real information. I interrogated the taxi-driver who took them from the hotel. He heard only that the house had been used as a meeting place once before. Nothing of value. I released him." He saw the General stiffen and added curtly: "He is a good Party member."
"But the O'Toole woman—what does she say?"
"Nothing, sir." Major Gani began snapping his fingers.
"And the Americans?"
"Also nothing. The man Voychinski advised them to say nothing until instructed by their Consuls. It is not important. They are not important."
The General threw his coffee spoon down with a clatter. "Not important?" he demanded. "Four European gangsters engaged in smuggling arms to the traitors, not important?"
Major Gani sighed patiently. "Very important, sir, for propaganda purposes. But, for our purposes, we have someone much more useful—Major Sutan."
The General controlled himself. In his daydreaming about the white prisoners he had almost forgotten that a member of the insurgent Committee had been taken, too.
"What does Sutan say?" he asked.
"He refuses to speak."