‘Okay – point taken,’ said Davidson, standing. ‘Let’s see how the debrief goes and we’ll go from there. No promises yet, but I’d just like your support if we decide to throw him a line – not a good reputation to go around, that your intelligence assets are left to burn.’
‘By the way,’ said Mac, as Davidson turned to leave. ‘Just want to say thanks for making this whole operation happen. It means a lot to me.’
‘No worries, Macca,’ said Davidson. ‘In the end it worked the way it had to work – Indonesians holding other Indonesians accountable. Making the Indon Army move on its own corrupt elements was genius.’
‘You can thank a Filipino hit man for that,’ said Mac, smiling. ‘He’s hell when he’s well.’
‘We’ll debrief with Yarrow, find some of these supply networks,’ said Davidson. ‘It was a good call, mate – and the most important thing was stopping that Operation Boa before it started.’
The Larrakeyah Army Base hospital was bathed in light and Bill Yarrow’s bed caught most of it. Unfortunately, his injuries were so severe that he was still sedated while he was transferred to and from Darwin Hospital for facial reconstructions and chest surgery, and he was in no shape to speak when Mac and Davidson arrived.
After two days, and still no chat with Yarrow, Davidson left for Tokyo, asking Mac to conduct the debrief.
Using the balmy days to get fit in the pool and the gym, Mac recovered quickly and linked up with a regular rugby game between the army and navy. He ended up substituting for both – at fullback and centre, mainly, but also a glory stint at first five-eighth which featured a field goal from forty-six metres while some of the navy girls were watching.
One morning a nurse found Mac lying beside the Larrakeyah swimming pool.
‘Mr Davis? Patient Yarrow is conscious, sir.’
Standing, Mac detoured through his room to get dressed and grab his tape recorders and notebooks. Walking into Yarrow’s enclosure Mac was immediately aware that something was different. Sniffing, he realised it was the smell. Where did he know that from?
Standing at the end of Yarrow’s bed, the bandages taken from his face but the bandages and splints still in place for his broken fingers, Mac could tell that this had been a good-looking man, accustomed to being smiled at.
‘Bill Yarrow?’ said Mac. ‘Richard Davis, Foreign Affairs – wondering if we can have a chat?’
‘Sure, Mr Davis,’ Yarrow mumbled, sucking something off the inside of his mouth. ‘But I have a guest – can we make it fast?’
‘Yes, it’ll be quick – or I can wait till we have a good piece of time.’
Looking away and seeming confused, Yarrow looked back. ‘You got me, didn’t you?’
‘Well, I -’ started Mac.
‘You came for me,’ whispered Bill Yarrow, and then he was crying; big heaving child-like sobs, his bottom lip quivering and tears bouncing off it.
‘Look, it was more the army boys…’
‘I thought I was in hell,’ he whimpered, dabbing his eyes with his cotton blanket. ‘Thank you, sir. Thank you so much.’
‘Look,’ said Mac, not expecting this. He’d spent so much time thinking about this chap as The Canadian, as the criminal, the informer and the procurer of bio-weapons feedstock, that to suddenly accept him as fully human was difficult. ‘I was just doing my job.’
‘No,’ said Yarrow, shaking his head. ‘You didn’t need to come for me – I’m a pariah who procures supplies to make the weapons of evil. I’m a leper.’
‘Look…’ said Mac, unable to go on with it. Yarrow was telling the truth: he was all those things, plus a customs-and-excise cheat who had cost the Australian taxpayer millions of dollars, quite aside from making the Ethno-Bomb possible. Mac had fought ASIS and DFAT and the Commonwealth for the right to retrieve this man, he’d gone into a Kopassus base to do it, and he’d done it for reasons that he hadn’t properly articulated. The value of a bio-weapons procurement expert to Western intelligence was how Mac had sold it to Davidson. But those weren’t Mac’s personal motivations.
‘You have to tell me, Mr Davis – why did you come for me?’ asked Yarrow.
‘Yes, Mr Davis,’ came a voice behind him. ‘Why come back for my dad?’
Turning, Mac took her in. Still cheeky and beautiful, Jessica was looking better in a white T-shirt and jeans than most women looked in a five-thousand-dollar ballgown.
Hugging Mac and giving him a kiss, she dragged him closer to Bill Yarrow. ‘Why do it?’ she asked with a big smile. ‘Why risk your life for an embarrassment?’
‘Maybe I had to square it up with Bongo?’ said Mac, not entirely sure of his reasoning.
‘Bongo?’ smiled Jessica fondly.
‘He woke me up to myself,’ said Mac. ‘Reminded me of a few things.’
‘What?’ asked Jessica, moving to him and holding her father’s hand.
‘Remember what Bongo said in the jungle?’ asked Mac.
‘Which one?’ she asked.
‘When I didn’t want to help the women, and he did?’
‘I remember,’ she said, putting her arms around his neck, the tears welling again. ‘You’re a wonderful man, you know that?’
‘What did this Bongo say?’ asked Yarrow, confused.
‘Either we all matter,’ said Jessica.
‘Or none of us do,’ said Mac.
Mark Abernethy
