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Wilkes liberated his shotgun, checked that the magazine was full, and joined Ellis, Ferris and Littlemore as they moved into the trees to mop up the remnants of the Indon force. It took a precious minute for their eyes to adapt to the lower light back in the jungle proper. Ferris had first contact. There were six, possibly seven Indonesian soldiers left. An M34 white phosphorous grenade exploded in the middle of a group of three. Littlemore had thrown it, unseen behind him. Boom. The flash caught Ferris by surprise and momentarily blinded him. The damage to the Indons was infinitely worse. A mushroom cloud of smoke rose quickly to the canopy above on a pillow of intensely hot air. An M26 grenade followed the incendiary ordnance. Insurance. Boom.

Ferris’s sight recovered from the flash of the M34 grenade in time to see a pair of Indons on the move, over to the left. He relayed the observation over the comms. Wilkes set up the attack. Advance. Cover fire. Split the angles. Move. Fire. Split. Advance. The Indonesians sprayed the jungle blind, firing at trees. The SAS moved. Split. Covered. An M34 grenade lit up the trees. Screams. Ellis and Wilkes cut off two more Kopassus. A blast from a large-bore shotgun echoed through the trees, followed by a couple of two-shot bursts from silenced M4s. Phut-phut, phut-phut.

* * *

Marturak had run blindly when the shooting started, trying to find effective cover. He then made his way around to the opposite end of the clearing. One of his own men had bailed him up after a tense moment in the growing gloom and nearly shot him as one of the enemy. A few terse words had ended the confusion. His restraint had been cut and he’d picked up a weapon lying beside a dead comrade and continued to move around the perimeter of the clearing. That was barely ten minutes ago. The SAS had been brutally effective and now, he knew he was the last.

The pattern of gunfire told a deadly tale. Two-shot bursts. To the head, no doubt. The coup de grace. And now there was silence. Except for the crash of his own heart against his ribcage, the jungle was eerily quiet. Marturak dropped his weapon and waited. He caught movement in the corner of his eye. It occurred to him that these people never seemed to come from the direction anticipated.

He turned and saw four soldiers with their sights on his head. This time he was going to die, no arguing, and no begging. And then he remembered the disk, the one he’d taken from the computer in the plane. He had no idea what was on it, perhaps nothing, but these men didn’t know that. Would they spare his life for it?

He moved his left hand slowly inside his webbing to pull out the disk. Slowly. Steady. He held it in his right hand and wiggled it to attract attention.

‘Bondi Beach,’ he asserted. ‘I love Sydney.’ There was more in that vein. Marturak felt stupid saying it. He’d never been to Australia and didn’t know anyone who had. But it was survival. He wasn’t even sure there was a place in Australia called Bondi Beach, the name just popped into his head. The soldier with the smoking shotgun came forward and took the disk from him. Marturak smiled and put his hands together in a prayer of thanks.

‘Very important. Sydney!’ he said, smiling, all teeth. He watched the soldier frown at the disk and turn it over, examining it. It was obvious the Australian had no idea of its significance. The stocky soldier, the one Marturak took to be the leader, gave a small shrug then placed the disk in his breast pocket.

‘I’m from Melbourne,’ Ellis said to the Indonesian as Wilkes turned away. There were two quick shots and the Indonesian crumpled to the ground. Wilkes turned back, frowning. ‘What…?!’ Ellis said, shrugging playfully. ‘Had to make sure, boss.’

Robson wheeled, disappearing into the trees to investigate his earlier handiwork. It took him five minutes to slip through the undergrowth to the small clearing he’d found off their trail. The closer he got, the stronger the smell of freshly brewed coffee became. He wondered how many Indons had fallen for the bait. Upon reaching the clearing, he waited on the edge amongst the trees and listened. Silence, except for the coffee still bubbling away. Two dead soldiers lay opposite. Undoubtedly they had been drawn by the aroma of Robson’s favourite mocha blend, expecting to surprise the unknown enemy happily taking a break. Robson wondered whether they’d had time to realise their mistake before they met their maker.

He checked the mines he had personally set and found the Indons had only tripped one. Three were left. He disarmed them and repacked them in his rucksack, not wanting to leave behind explosive devices that an innocent person might stumble on fatally in the future.