When the meal was finished and the coffee cups were in evidence, the President rose to his feet.
‘Could we ask you to vacate the room, gentlemen and re-convene at 2.30? This will give time for the furniture to be shuffled around and the room prepared for the presentation to be delivered by Mr Wallace.’
As Wallace entered the bar of the hotel later that night he felt as if he were walking on air. After the presentation people had come up to shake him by the hand and congratulate him upon a job well done. As he stood at the bar, and later when seated at a table quaffing drinks with Laurie Frazer, Dick Prowse and others, people sought him out and made kind remarks about the delivery and presentation.
Everything had gone well and in the main the jokes had gone down well – apart from one which he had hastily slurred over when it was clear that laughter was not forthcoming. This happened in most presentations, that joke or aside that had brought the house down the last time could fall like a lead balloon the next. As the French would say, spreading their hands out in Gallic resignation: – c’est la vie!
Wallace was royally entertained until late that night, when he finally turned in he slept the sleep of satisfaction that is only born of a task well done.
It was hot and sultry when Wallace disembarked at Jakarta, even hotter than it had been in Singapore. He decided to take a taxi to the hotel. If ASIO or ASIS was going to hire his services then they could pay for the privilege. He was beginning to entertain feelings of dissatisfaction with Bramble, although these jobs were simple and were little more than messenger drops or pick ups, there was always the fear at the back of his mind of being apprehended. He had never forgotten the case of GrevilleWynn, a businessman who had carried out odd jobs of a similar nature for MI 6 when he went overseas on trade assignments. He had carried out one job too many and had been arrested at a trade exhibition. He finished up in the Lubyanka Prison for a lengthy term until he was eventually swapped for some Soviet agent M.I.5 had previously apprehended and jailed.
He told the driver to head for the Hotel Indonesia and settled back in the rear seat. Bramble had told Wallace to call in at the Australian Embassy, a natural enough place to call if he was in the city on business. He had been told to book an appointment with a local Jakarta agency who would allocate an assignment that would assist contact with their courier. It was best that the assignment came from an outside agency even if it was pre-ordained, the embassy did not wish to be directly involved. At the embassy Wallace was to see the Military Attaché who would brief him as to what was expected.
As the cab threaded its way through the streets he was struck by the vast numbers of people, the streets and pavements seemed to be packed with humanity. He was also aware of a slight smell of rotting vegetation. The grandfather of one of his colleagues had visited Jakarta many years before; he had said that the smell had reminded him of the stench of the trenches of the First World War. After many years it was far better now, but Wallace could see what he had meant.
The areas passed through were a mixture of high rise buildings and shanty town, not unlike Singapore where modern developments were banishing the old style buildings that had been there for centuries. That the new architecture was interesting there was no doubt, and similar edifices could be seen anywhere from Paris, Sydney, New York and London.
The cab finally entered the centre of the city and pulled up outside an impressive building with a glass facade. Wallace clambered out onto the pavement and superintended the dumping of luggage at the feet of the porter, handed the cabbie a note which he accepted and then drove off with a crash of gears before there was any question of giving change. The cases were loaded onto a trolley and were forced through to what appeared to be crowds of pedestrians to reach the front entrance.
‘Wallace,’ he said tersely to reception, they ticked off his name and the porter was handed a room key, they entered the nearest lift and went up to the 9th floor.
The room was good, maybe better than the room recently vacated in Singapore. Wallace resolved to eat meals within the hotel as he had no wish to contract the Jakarta Dribbles because of unwise eating. He remembered Clive Passay, an old friend who made frequent trips overseas servicing boilers, saying that in foreign climes one ate only in the best places, and even then one was not immune. Diarrhoea and Jakarta, he alleged, were synonymous and if troubles of that nature were contracted the best policy was not to cough or sneeze. Happiness, as Clive remarked on his return from one of his various overseas trips, was a dry fart!
He decided to defer the visit to the Australian Embassy until the next day, and took a stroll through the city streets, starting his wanderings at 7.30 pm after finishing the evening meal and soon could feel the perspiration beginning to soak into his shirt.
He walked around the shopping centre, taking care not to loiter too long at any one particular shop or stall, not being in the mood for being accosted and touted by over excitable shop-keepers. He was looked upon as fair game by a few touters; one fellow simply would not let up and actually followed him around the corner as he sought safety in flight. Wallace assumed he was near to his closing time and wanted one last customer before placing the shutters up for the night.
Wallace stayed within the main streets that were well lit, he wasn’t sure of the prevalence of mugging in Jakarta streets but saw no point in not taking precautions. That was no reflection upon the Indonesian citizenry, when walking around at night he would have done the same in Sydney, London or Melbourne.
A cool breeze began to ruffle his shirt as time crept on and the sun disappeared over the horizon, yet the numbers of people in the streets was undiminished. This was another factor that had struck Clive Passay. He said that whatever the time of day or night the streets were still bustling with people.
He paused on the way back to the hotel and looked behind him. Perhaps it was thoughts of the fate of GrevilleWynn that had made him uneasy – and again he silently cursed Bramble.
The fee of $3,000 also caused some unease, it was more than he had ever been paid before and was far higher than the fee expected.
His eyes flickered over the pedestrians behind and around him, but there appeared to be nobody who could have been watching him. There were so many that it was difficult to pick out anyone who could have been designated as a possible shadower. But why should anyone be shadowing him? He had merely arrived as a tourist with a legitimate business appointment tomorrow afternoon.
‘I have come to see Major Lincoln.’
‘Is he expecting you, Mr…er…Wallace?’
‘Yes,’ Wallace answered shortly. He had the feeling that the lady receptionist was treating him warily as though he was an Anti-Nuclear, Anti-War or Anti-anything else protester who was likely to start unfolding banners and writing slogans on the embassy walls with a spray can.
‘I can’t see any appointment listed here, what did you…?’
Wallace appreciated that she had to protect her charges against unsolicited interruptions, but he was becoming irritable.
‘If there is any doubt – ask him!’ he said coldly. ‘I have another appointment elsewhere this afternoon and I haven’t much time. I have an appointment with Major Lincoln at 11 o’clock and it is three minutes to eleven now.’
He was aware of heads turning and flushed, he didn’t want every damned domestic cleaner or casual visitor in the place pinpointing him as a visitor to the Military Attaché. There was always the fear that every Embassy cleaner could be a government spy. Was it the Greville-Wynn syndrome again? Or maybe he had read too many espionage novels.
She picked up a telephone and asked the question, while Wallace muttered to himself and wandered over to the window that