Panting with nerves, Mac watched as the man took the red flower out of the cup and left the grave, wandering along as if he had all the time in the world. As the cut-out retraced his steps onto the main road, four Brimob cops in tan fatigues strolled into the cemetery, one of them with a German shepherd straining on a leash. Gulping, Mac watched the cut-out check the threat and keep walking. Smart guy, thought Mac as the cops totally ignored him, lost in some joke they were carrying on.

The morning was almost blown. Mac couldn’t check the drop box with Brimob in the graveyard and he was faced with either following the cut-out or waiting half an hour until the Brimob cops moved on and then grabbing the note from the drop box.

If Mac wanted to make contact with the cut-out, he’d have to stay in the cemetery until he could clear the box.

There were several pressures on Mac’s time, not all of them official. Jessica had talked deep into the night. He’d heard about growing up in Canada and student life at UCLA, but one thing had stuck in his mind and he winced at the memory. She’d held his hands and wept with appreciation when he’d said one of the dumbest things he’d said for a long time: ‘I’ll help you find your father.’

Mrs Soares had a message for Mac when he got back to the Turismo. It said, Luzon Inc. samples arrive at 2 pm.

Looking at his watch, Mac groaned. He had two hours to hydrate himself and get a kip before Bongo turned up. He was exhausted.

Folding the message and putting it in his pocket, he asked Mrs Soares for two large bottles of water and a lunch menu, then headed for the beer garden. Relaxing at his table in the shade of the banyan, Mac cased the hotel’s internal balcony that wrapped around two sides of the garden like a dress circle. The upstairs areas seemed abandoned, but that didn’t mean no one was up there.

There was a garden tap with a green hose looped over it. Mac knelt and washed his face and neck and then let the cool water run through his hair. The cemetery drop had been a washout. Brimob patrolled the place on regular loops and Mac hadn’t been game to break cover and clear the box. It would have to wait for the evening, and now he’d lost the cut-out too. Mac liked to have information and he liked to have more of it than the other guy.

Mrs Soares appeared with two big bottles of Vittel and Mac ripped the top off the first and started drinking. After gulping at the refrigerated water for ten seconds, he realised Mrs Soares was still standing there waiting for his order.

‘The chicken, thanks, Mrs Soares,’ he said, pushing the menu back across the table.

‘Make that two,’ came a woman’s voice.

Jessica Yarrow, looking flushed, took the seat opposite without being asked and poured from the second bottle of Vittel into the glass. After gulping at the liquid, she kicked off her yachting moccasins.

‘I can’t believe how hot it is,’ she gasped. ‘How do you cope?’

‘Just gotta keep drinking water,’ said Mac.

Dropping her sunglasses to the table, Jessica drank some more and then rubbed a handful of water over her face and into her hair.

‘Try Dili later in the year,’ said Mac, ‘when we’re building for the monsoon.’

‘What’s the deal?’

‘Deal is forty degrees in the shade – what you guys call one hundred and five. Add to that the ninety-eight per cent humidity and lots of whitefellas just pack it in. They go mad.’

‘You’d probably find me in that bunch,’ she said.

‘Out at the airport at three in the morning, wandering around in your nightie, screaming for a plane?’ said Mac, and chuckled.

‘That’s what happens?’ she asked, wide-eyed.

‘Sure,’ winked Mac. ‘Especially if they have to share a bed with a snorer like me.’

The Nokia glowed in the dimness of Mac’s room as it rang. Reaching over, his face set badly from sleep, Mac saw the display Luzon inc on the screen.

‘Hey, mate,’ he croaked as he answered.

‘Mr Davis, it’s Mr Alvarez here from Luzon Incorporated. About our appointment?’

‘Right down,’ he said, throwing the phone on the bed and heading for the bathroom. Because he knew the cellular system was so easy to intercept, Mac had asked Bongo to stick with a protocol.

Walking into the blistering heat of the garden, Mac saw Jessica readying to leave a table. Saying his farewells to her was Bongo, now a blond-haired man with an earring and big Italian sunnies.

‘Have fun,’ said Mac as Jessica brushed past him.

‘My shout for dinner tonight,’ she said over her shoulder, not slowing. ‘Okay, Richard?’

She was gone before Mac could tell her it was fine with him.

‘Feeling better, sweetheart?’ asked Bongo as Mac sat.

‘Like the hair, Bongo,’ said Mac, nodding at the Filipino’s adventures with peroxide. ‘And the earring too. What’s your cover – Homo from Manila?’

‘Lady man from Angeles City,’ smiled Bongo, extending his big paw.

Shaking, Mac sat and eased back in the chair as Mrs Soares came into the beer garden. Over Bongo’s shoulder, Rahmid Ali was reading a newspaper two tables away.

‘Tell you what, Mr Alvarez,’ said Mac. ‘Man’s not a camel.’

As Mrs Soares walked away with their order for beers, Mac became aware of Rahmid Ali at his right shoulder.

‘Ali!’ said Mac. ‘Care to join us?’

Standing, Bongo put out his hand.

‘This is Manny Alvarez, another sandalwood trader…’

‘And coffee,’ chimed in Bongo.

‘From Manila. We’re just wondering if we’re the luckiest guys for having no competition around, or if we just don’t know the bad news?’

‘I think many businesses not letting people come to Timor for a while,’ said Ali, a hint of anxiety about him. ‘I won’t join you. Just wanted to apologise for offering you my fax number. I wasn’t trying to get you in trouble, Mr Davis.’

Laughing it off, Mac and Bongo watched Ali go as the Bintangs arrived.

‘So, Mr Davis,’ said Bongo, lighting a Marlboro and exhaling into the banyan. ‘What we got?’

Going over his first day and night in Dili, Mac told Bongo about the competing military-commercial interests in Dili – one of which seemed to be run by Kopassus and the other by the mainstream army. Then he admitted to his failed attempt to follow the cut-out, the meeting with Damajat and the Sudarto sighting.

‘If you met Amir, then you met Benni’s younger brother,’ said Bongo. ‘He spent a lot of time in Aceh with Kopassus, but I saw him around Dili when I was bodyguarding the Canadian.’

‘Well, shit,’ said Mac, sipping at the cold beer. ‘He’s bigger than Benni.’

‘Amir’s scholarship at Northwestern?’ said Bongo. ‘That was for wrestling, brother. These people don’t fuck around.’

‘Nice family,’ said Mac.

They talked it through and Mac admitted he needed to see the note in the drop box and then collar the cut-out. The rest of the gig would follow from that.

‘Okay,’ nodded Bongo. ‘I got an idea. But if Benni’s in Dili, then he’s still my priority, right?’

‘Sure, mate. Got a car?’ asked Mac.

When Bongo gave him a what the fuck do you think? look, Mac got to his feet and stretched. But Bongo didn’t move.

‘Had a chat with the girl,’ the Filipino mumbled, peeling the Bintang label.

Mac sat down again. ‘Oh, yeah?’ he said, sensing trouble.

‘Yeah, Mr Davis, and she’s a nice girl.’

Nodding, Mac waited for it.

‘She’s Canadian and she’s looking for her father,’ said Bongo, slugging at the beer but not taking his eyes off Mac.

‘Look, mate…’

‘It’s a sad story, and she’s gutsy for coming down here,’ said Bongo. ‘But let’s not promise this girl something that might get all of us killed.’

‘Shit, mate, I -’

‘I don’t understand you Anglos,’ interrupted Bongo as he rose from the table and flicked his cigarette butt. ‘You think you are the only ones who get horny?’