The Ghost of Timor Ch. 14

January 2000

The days flew by now. Not only was I getting a pleasant distraction, but my time in Timor was almost up. Soon I would get replaced and leave for home after six months' duty.

One night, I again wound up my day job and started on my side gig of printing and packaging love letters to and from home. Communications had improved dramatically in Timor and, as a result, people found that they no longer needed my special mail service. The in and out traffic halved over the course of one week, then declined to a trickle after that.

I wasn't worried about the lack of business, as I had never done it for money. It had only been something to keep me busy, and the slowdown meant less work for me. My gifts also dried up, which was fair enough as I wasn't providing a service that anyone wanted much anymore. Most of the gifts had been items that had limited shelf life anyway--alcohol and food mostly--and I had used and abused them well. That was fine by me, as it meant that I didn't have to worry about taking any extra baggage home.

The only gift that worried me was the SIG and the bullets. I had grown quite fond of it and had even started carrying it, concealed in its holster, when I occasionally went out into Dili, beyond the perimeter of the HQ. A gun without bullets is pointless. But I knew that sneaking either the pistol or the rounds back into Australia was dangerous. It would likely end in me being locked in gaol or suffering some hideous financial penalty. But I had become so attached to it, thinking of more and more elaborate ways of smuggling them all back into Australia.

So, it was on that night that I was sitting with my back to the door, looking at the pistol. I was trying to work out if I could disassemble it entirely and smuggle it back in small pieces. When the door opened behind me. Normally, I would have jumped. But there was only one person in all of East Timor that I knew would be so bold to open my door without even a single knock. Sally was here.

The first thing that she noticed was that I had the pistol out again. Sally could never resist the opportunity for a double entendre, so she quipped, "If you keep playing with that, it will drop off."

Sensing where the evening might take us, I probed back. "I am still trying to work out if the best way to get it back into its holster is from in front or from behind. Do you have any preferences?"

Taking her cue, Sally walked silently around my chair, smiled and straddled my lap. "Hmm, it's only small. I don't know if it's worth holstering it at all. Maybe it is better if you just play it with it yourself. I doubt anyone would notice at all if you fired it!"

I wasn't going to let her get away with that, so as I reached up under her shirt and unhooked her bra, I replied, "It was big enough last night to get the job done. Are you saying that you faked it?"

"Well, it wouldn't be the first time," Sally sighed.

I smiled at her insolence and put the SIG down. I was just moving my hands around to cup her breasts when there was a knock at the door. In a flash, Sally was off me, darting behind the cover of my bedroom partition, trying in vain to redo her bra on the move.

I called out to my unexpected visitor to enter and then I realised that I still had the pistol sitting on the desk next to me. Panicking, I slid it across and off the desk, hoping that it would fall behind the boxes of paper I had stacked nearby. But in my haste, I overcompensated. The SIG flew past the boxes, across the room and bounced off a few of the stacked cases and came to rest just outside the entrance to my concealed bedroom. I had it unloaded so it couldn't accidentally go off. Ten years of army weapon's safety training had just saved my bacon.

"What's going on?" I heard Bruce say from behind.

Still panicked, I spun around in my seat and gave Bruce a confused look. I could explain that away by saying I couldn't see his face clearly, as he was still in the semidarkness of the blackout curtain draped across my door. That was at least half true, so I didn't mind that I wasn't being totally honest with him.

Bruce had been visiting my office, and I his, since we had bumped into each other weeks earlier. We also saw each other in the officer's mess often, which I used for my meals and socialising. But our chief business on these personal visits was to reminisce about our officer training days. That now seemed a lifetime ago. We also did some serious drinking. Just like in our officer training days. But I had another guest waiting for me that evening, so I was keen to move Bruce on as quickly as I could.

I made an excuse, saying we would have to make it a quick chat that night, as I had an important phone call to make back to Australia. He technically wasn't allowed to be in my office. But I had been bending the rules so I could have my fair share of human contact. It would have looked suspicious if I had tried to pull rank and kick him out without giving him a reason.

Apart from wanting him to leave so I could get down to business with Sally, I still had the other problem. An illegal firearm sitting on the floor not two metres from where Bruce currently stood. Seeing no way of quickly getting him to leave, I pulled out a chair that faced away from where Sally was hiding and the pistol was lying. I sat down in a chair facing it and he took my cue and sat down with his back to both problems.

The minute Bruce sat down, Sally, who must have been listening in, appeared silently behind him and tapped on her wrist. She was signalling me to hurry him up as she was either keen to start because she was horny or needed to get back to her accommodation soon. We had been meeting in my office in a random pattern of nights and times, at her insistence, for the past two weeks. I agreed to that, as we didn't want anyone getting the right idea about her comings and goings. Tonight was going to be a quickie then.

Bruce looked at the arrangement of paraphernalia on my desk and asked, "Mate, why do you have so many lanyards?"

I explained they were part of my original consignment of equipment and I need one to carry my ID with me. I had also wondered why they sent so many. But I said that someone back home must have known what I was in for because each lanyard only lasted about a week in the tropical climate. I showed him by pulling on mine, which broke in two with minimal effort. Picking up another from the pile at random and absent-mindedly attached it to my ID.

To Sally's credit, she also realised the danger the SIG represented, no matter how friendly Bruce and I seemed. While he spoke, she bent over and picked it up and, sensing the opportunity for a little fun, held it in two hands, pointing toward the sky, James Bond style. She then looked over her shoulder, scanning for invisible bad guys, and pointed the pistol at some unseen target. She fired, put the pistol to her lips, and blew away the imaginary smoke. So fascinated was I by her hilarious improv that I failed to notice that Bruce had stopped talking and was wondering what I was looking at.

"Am I boring you?" he asked, just about to turn around and look.

Realizing that I had to say something fast to stop him, I blurted out the one thing I could think of to stop him mid-turn.

"I was just wondering what your wife looks like naked."

Bruce immediately turned to face me, and Sally used the moment to dart back into cover.

"Fuck off!" he said. There was no malice in Bruce's reply. He knew I was joking, and he was also proud of his wife's appearance. I think in his heart he thought every man desired her. After a few more obscenities and laughs, Bruce changed the subject. "Who is that cute little RAAF chick I've seen you talking to?"

He could have only meant Sally, so I was immediately on high alert. We had been careful and discrete but I worried we hadn't been careful enough so I played dumb. "Don't know who you mean."

Sally had obviously been listing in and choose that moment for another of her pantomimes. Stepping out from behind the curtain, she looked at me in fake disgust. She thrust both fists on her hips, pouted, turned her head and disappeared again.

"You know," Bruce said, getting excited. "The cute brunette with the brown eyes."

Bruce had clearly been paying Sally extra close attention to pick up on that level of detail from afar. Sally used that moment to poke her head around the door and gesture to her eyes as if to remind me they were, in fact, brown. She then looked at Bruce's butt and pretended to ogle it while biting her lower lip.

"Ahh yes," I said. "I think I know who you are talking about."

Again Sally's head appeared, this time rolling her eyes and feigning disappointment.

"What is her story?" Bruce asked, clearly probing for details.

"What do you mean?" I asked, trying to remain calm.

"Are you hitting that?"

"Sally?!" Surprised at the level of his boldness, more than any chance that we had been caught, I said, "No way!" "I just know her from work."

And then it happened. While Bruce was scanning my face for a lie, Sally's hand appeared from behind the partition, holding a white piece of cloth. I must have squinted, trying to work out what I was looking at, because Bruce's expression suddenly changed as my look of guilt automatically vanished. It wasn't until the cloth fell from her open palm that I realised what it was. It was Sally's shirt!

Without a clue what was transpiring being him, Bruce continued, "Aww, you've got to hit that! She is so fucking hot!"

I admit I felt a little proud as Bruce said that, knowing that I had already covertly climbed that mountain. Leaning back in my chair, I was content to hear Bruce heap praise upon my secret Sally, when her hand appeared again, holding another item. I blocked out Bruce's words again as I stared in fascination. Like a leaf falling slowly from a tree, Sally's light-weight, blue running shorts drifted down to join her shirt on the floor behind him.

"Yeah, yeah," I said. Not knowing if I had said the words loud enough to be heard.

"Mate, she has the most amazing tits!" Bruce gushed. I momentarily snapped out of my trance. Bruce had a crude side that reared its head when he thought no one important was listening.

Knowing that Sally could hear every word, I tried to respond as neutrally as I could and still giving her a compliment. "Yeah, you're right there."

Sally's hand reappeared, clutching her bra. There was no mistaking that one, but to drag out the tease, she let it fall by one strap slowly from fingertip to fingertip. She finally dangled it precariously on her pinkie for a moment, then let it go.

"And her arse! Holy shit! I'd bend her over and pound the life out of her for a week and come back for seconds!"

Sally's undies now dangled from her fingertip, her entire arm exposed behind Bruce. Without listening to a word he was saying, I imagined the scene going on the other side of the partition. Sally's naked bum pressed against the wall, laughing at her secret strip tease, knowing that I could do nothing except enjoy the show.

"Well, if you aren't, do you mind if I do?"

I shook my head, trying to bring myself back to reality. "Err, what?"

"If you aren't fucking her, then do you mind if I do?"

I expected that from Bruce, but the boldness of it struck still me dumb. That odd mix of polite crudeness that only farmers seem to possess. My city manners struggled to process what I had just heard. Given the delicate situation I was in, I struggled to reply.

Bruce sensed my indecision and I could see, to my horror, that he was quickly working out what was what. I steeled myself, deer in the headlights, for the inevitable interrogation when a soft voice spoke first.

"Excuse me," Sally said.

Both Bruce and I looked in Sally's direction and didn't say a word. She wore nothing but a shoulder holstered pistol while twirling a set of handcuffs around her finger. Sally stood definitely, legs apart, as if she owned the room.

"As flattered as I am by your interest, this man has given you more than enough hints that he is previously engaged this evening. So, if you would be so kind to shut the door as you are fucking off, then I can get back to fucking him!"