The Timor Man (22 page)

Twenty minutes passed and his contact arrived not in an Embassy vehicle but in an old Mercedes 190. The black pirate taxi pulled into the driveway adjacent to the beer garden where the passenger alighted, paid the fare, and waited for the cumbersome vehicle to depart. Identifying the visitor sitting on the patio, he then approached, obviously agitated.

“Hello, Stephen,” Anderson said, rising perfunctorily to shake the annoyed Attaché's hand, “you made good time considering the appalling traffic.”

Platitudes, always platitudes, Coleman thought. He really didn't need to be called out at this time. He was already up to his neck in other assignments and was angry at being dragged away from these tasks. Even by his director!

“It wasn't all that far,” Stephen replied, anxious to cut through the pleasantries quickly to discover the nature of Anderson's visit.

He was surprised to receive the call and was concerned when he identified the voice. They had not communicated directly for some time.

“Sorry about the surprise. We decided not to advise you via the Embassy channels as this visit is strictly on a need to know basis.”

‘Aren't they all?' Coleman thought, annoyed that he had been dragged out in public to meet at the Duta Hotel, of all places.

He looked anxiously at his watch. The older man understood the gesture and wasted no time in imparting his instructions. Stephen would understand the urgency once he had been briefed. The director knew that.

Anderson
continued. “Not even Foreign Affairs has been informed, however I will need to appear at the Embassy to speak to the Military Attaché briefly. He will be advised that I am travelling informally and I will treat the meeting as a courtesy call.”

The soft spoken Intelligence Liaison Chief than dropped his voice to a level at which even Coleman had difficulty hearing. He bent forward and listened. Occasionally he shook his head or merely nodded to indicate agreement. They continued in this way for almost an hour before Coleman took his leave, disappearing into the pedestrian traffic as inconspicuously as he had appeared. The director watched him leave concerned that Coleman showed signs of stress. He ordered more coffee, paid the
bon
and waited for his change while carefully scrutinizing his surroundings. Confident that sufficient time had elapsed since the other man's departure he also left, following Coleman's steps.

Thirty minutes later Anderson arrived at the Embassy and asked the reception if he could speak with Colonel Wilson, the Military Attaché. He was ushered upstairs to the third level of the new building. The butterfly roofed four storied structure was often mistaken for the Japanese Embassy which stood alongside, all twelve stories, most of which were their Trade representative offices. The Japanese had understood, even then, how to impose their presence and economic grip on neighbouring countries.

The Warrant Officer escorted the visitor immediately to the Colonel's subtly furnished office, offered coffee, then returned to his own post. He had taken weeks learning not to stamp his feet with every movement in this undisciplined environment. It was a difficult habit to correct. The officer, even when he sat, exuded military bearing. He was just ten months off retiring and enjoying the pleasantries of his final posting. The Colonel didn't need any problems in his comfortable life at this time. Not this close to retirement! He was counting off the days to when his handsome pension would commence and when he appeared to forget, his wife would remind him that soon he could look forward to doing nothing more than having coffee each morning together, taking long walks, and doing whatever they had always wanted to do when he retired.

The ageing Colonel could not think of anything he would really enjoy doing with the woman who had been his wife for thirty-five years. Especially sitting and talking together. He smiled at the civilian whose very presence caused him concern.

The Colonel remembered being escorted down and through the underground labyrinth which contained the highly secret section. There, isolated from other sections of the Department of Defence, he was shown a list of names of operating agents and personnel cleared to access the sensitive information relating to the service.

As the Senior Military Advisor, it was essential that the Colonel be briefed prior to his departure for Indonesia and taking up his post as Military Attaché. He was, to say the least, flabbergasted.

All of those years in the army without any knowledge whatsoever that his government had been running such a clandestine operation. At first he was excited at being included on the list of less than seventy personnel. Then he worried that this information would compromise his career, and his pension. He knew the man in front of him by name. It had been high on the list.

“Well, this is a very pleasant surprise, John!” he announced, with as much sincerity as he could muster. “When did you arrive?”

Anderson
smiled warmly at the older man. “Just this morning. This time it's unofficial as I am heading for Singapore for a little, and much overdue, ‘R and R'.”

“I am pleased that you took the time to drop in,” said Wilson, adding, “had you sent us a cable we could have had you met at the airport.”

The visitor's eyes twinkled. “Travelling with company I'm afraid, and I suggested that I leave her shopping down at Sarinah while I drop in just to say ‘hello' on my way through.”

“Touching base, so to speak,” the civilian added.

The Colonel nodded thoughtfully. Must be discreet! He could understand this sort of reasoning and, although uneasy, he was pleased that this senior officer had made the time to drop in.

“Can I offer any assistance while you are here. Maybe dinner tonight?” the officer offered.

“Very kind of you, Peter,” Anderson answered using Wilson's first name, “however I plan to leave for Singapore tonight. Maybe a rain-check?”

“Of course, of course, John,” both now relaxed with each other's use of Christian names, the Attaché considerably relieved that there was no official demand being made on his office.

“I thought that I should report in just so they are able to keep track of me down South. You know how they are about our travelling abroad, Peter.”

The Colonel nodded knowingly. He called the Warrant Officer. “Have a signal, Warrant. Take it down for my guest please and dispatch the message by routine. What classification John?” asked the Attaché.

“Oh, just send it as a standard restricted notification to my department that I have dropped in and am departing today for Singapore.” Anderson said, now enjoying the discomfort the military duo were experiencing.

“Would you care to write the message yourself, sir?” the Warrant Officer inquired, not knowing the guest's official designation..

“Surely,” Anderson responded, taking his pen, reaching for the Colonel's blank pad to draft his message.

Minutes later the simple message was being encrypted by the registry clerk also on the third floor for obvious security reasons and, within the hour, the brief and enigmatic signal was being read by the Deputy Intelligence Director in Canberra.

Anderson
departed for Singapore later that day on the MSA flight, inter-connecting with the Cathay Pacific service into Hong Kong. There he briefed the Resident Officer who, due to the nature of the Colony's status, decided that it would be inconvenient to accommodate their activities in the High Commission.

John Anderson went immediately to The Lodge upon his return to the Australian Capital. The Prime Minister had sat silently, listening to how the mechanisms now being put into place would resolve the looming crisis.

‘Or, God help me, even bring down the government!' he worried Looking out through the row of pines partly obscuring the fine view of the well planned city he felt the dread of being alone, unable to impart or discuss the secrets for which he had become the nation's keeper and he knew that, whatever the outcome, lives would be lost and few would ever know.

The Prime Minister also understood, and accepted, that he must live with the knowledge that it was on his authority and his alone that the order had been given.

‘Is it the politics or the burden of responsibility that makes one age prematurely in this job?' he wondered momentarily and, not wishing to dwell any further on the possible demise of others, turned back to the papers he had been working on when interrupted by Anderson's visit.

“God save the Prime Minister,” he muttered rubbing his weary eyes.

Jakarta
– Irian Barat

 

General Seda sat comfortably, legs crossed, listening to the Australian describe his recent journey through Sumatra. The Timorese continued to be fascinated by the Attaché's linguistic ability. He had almost developed the fluency of a native speaker.

“
You seem to be quite taken by Sumatra, Mas,” the host teased, “maybe you were smitten by the beautiful cewek there?
”

“
Of course one could not avoid noticing the beauty of the ladies throughout the island,
” Coleman acknowledged diplomatically. Some of the guests present were of Batak and Aceh origins.

“
Perhaps you could give us your opinion how the Sumatran girls compare with the East Indonesian ladies?
” challenged Njonja Seda, herself of Javanese extraction.

“
Sayang, saya belum pernah kesana
,” apologized Stephen explaining he had not had the opportunity to visit the area.

“
Kenapa tidak
?” demanded another lady whose features varied considerably from Seda's wife.

“
Why not? Well, for one thing I have not had the opportunity and another, visits are restricted due to the instability of the area,
” he answered, looking directly at the Timorese searching for a response.

“
Surely you're not suggesting that travelling in Indonesia is unsafe, Mas?
” asked the unfamiliar lady, “Is this possible Bapak Seda?” she addressed her question coquettishly in Coleman's direction' not really soliciting a response from the host.

“
Unfortunately, at this time, there is considerable unrest in the eastern provinces. There is consistent subversive activity, particularly in Irian Barat, at this time,
” the host informed the gathering.

“
Perhaps when things have settled down we can arrange for you to visit informally,
” suggested the young Foreign Affairs officer from Surabaya.

“
Ah well, until that time the ladies of Ambon and Kupang will just have to wait,
” Coleman suggested lightly.

“
Why wait, Mas?
” again teased the General, “
we are surrounded by many of those areas' beauties right here!
” indicating politely with his right hand the young woman who had questioned travel security through the distant islands.

Coleman was visibly embarrassed. His face flushed slightly, much to the ladies enjoyment, and the other men's amusement.

“
Jangan, dong
!” ordered the hostess urging her husband not to tease their guest, although she was also enjoying Stephen's discomfort.

“
Tidak apa-apa
,” Coleman responded, recovering his composure.

“
As I am from Ambon perhaps the General would permit me to escort you to the region
,” suggested the taller young woman with curly and wiry hair.

Joining in the banter and responding now with ease the Australian replied, “
Asal Bapak Seda juga ikut
,” proposing acceptance conditional on the General's participation.

“
Mungkin juga, mungkin juga
,” offered the host in a non-committal manner leaving the door open to the possibility.

The afternoon drew to a close and the guests had all but departed when Coleman rose to thank the couple for their invitation to join them in their home.