The Timor Man (28 page)

“It's stunning,” she acknowledge
d

“Thought you'd enjoy the detour,” he laughed, holding the no
w
refilled flask towards her
.

“No, thanks.” Louise refused quickly
.
“It's okay. Got the boy up the front taking care of things there.
”
He stumbled and fell as the aircraft dipped suddenly. “Goddamm!” he cried out as his knee came directly into contact wit
h
the leading edge of a case of tools tied down near where he wa
s
standing
.
The aircraft dipped again, as the unusual air currents playe
d
with the intruder. Within moments they were engulfed by cloud
.
They had zero visibility. The co-pilot over-corrected as the starboard wing dipped
.
And then it happened
.
As the plane hit the treetops with incredible velocity, the fuselag
e
disintegrated and the wings sheared off. The aircraft explode
d
into unrecognizable twisted fragments, and pieces of wreckag
e
fell to the forest floor below
.
Jack and his co-pilot didn't even feel the impact. The unbelievable force ripped them apart, taking their lives before thei
r

startled brains could acknowledge the fact that they were going to die
.
Louise also died instantly. Her remains and those of the cre
w
scattered onto the treetops and then down to the forest's floor
.
Within minutes of the tragedy, quiet returned to the mountai
n
and the jungle which covered its slopes. It was as if the acciden
t
had not happened and there was really nothing much there t
o
indicate that it had. Pieces of the disaster blended immediatel
y
into the landscape, undetectable from the air as the disturbe
d
birds returned to their nests high among the very same treetop
s
which had stolen three lives just moments before. The C-47 ha
d
been well off course and the SAR parties would never conside
r
looking there for the lost aircraft
.

Not on the slopes of this volcano
.

1975
The Timor Invasion

 
 

Canberra
— Jakarta

 

Canberra
's winter ambiance suited this city of public servants perfectly. The Capital virtually went to sleep as the severe cold atrophied all resemblance of outdoor social activities other than those associated with Winter sports. The social set which normally thrived on cocktail parties, political functions and royal visits suddenly became subdued as if some local ordinance had abolished all revelry. Government offices closed at five and were, for the most part, deserted by six. Skies remained overcast, further - reflecting the depressed social - political atmosphere.

 

John Anderson glanced at his watch. He had arranged one last appointment for the day after which, he would escape to Sydney for the weekend.

When his secretary announced his guest's arrival Anderson smiled remembering that Coleman had always been punctual.

The visitor was ushered in, provided with coffee and then left alone with the well-groomed intelligance chief. They sat quietly for a few moments sipping the hot but tasteless liquid.

“Well, this is it then, you're really off tomorrow?” the older man asked, more as a statement than a question.

“Yes. It's definite,” was the response and then, “it's time. . . ” the words were left hanging.

“Remember our last discussion?” Anderson started, “whatever you need. . . ”

“Thanks. I appreciate the offer,” the visitor interrupted.

“When will you return?”

“A week, a month,” he answered almost listlessly. “Maybe I will take the full three months and put my feet up on a beach somewhere,” he answered.

When Coleman had requested the extended break, citing accumulated leave from his former department, the general consensus was that he should go, although his superiors were not keen on having him return to Indonesia. There was also the consideration of his not having the comfort and, more importantly, the protection of a diplomatic passport as he was no longer accredited to the Embassy.

As far as the public was aware, Stephen Coleman worked with the Australian External Affairs Department's Information Service in Canberra as a desk officer.

Recently there had been a major reorganization of the Australian Intelligence Organizations, including the military within which resulted in the ANIB no longer being used for overseas under-cover operatives. This had the effect of eliminating the requirement of the ‘double-desk' subterfuge used during Stephen's tour, as current Information Officers in the embassies were not associated in any way, nor were they aware of the existence of any such covert activity.

John Anderson uncrossed his arms. “We accept that you may need this leave. We don't necessarily agree that returning at this time to Indonesia would be the correct choice of destinations under the circumstances. ”

“There is no hidden agenda,” Stephen had insisted.

“Even so,” Anderson continued, “there is no reason for you to insist on that country for your break. Why not visit Thailand or even the Philippines, Stephen?”

“I wish to take a couple of months and wander around the place as a civilian for a change. Before it was different. I never really had any opportunity to relax and develop a genuine feel for the country. I need this trip John, although I do understand your reluctance in approving my itinerary. ”

“If you take the full three months, just spread your time around,” he advised. “Visit Malaysia or one of the other countries I've suggested and that will assist you to develop a more objective perspective of your life after what happened to you in Irian. ”

“Then you approve?”

The older man had actively discouraged Coleman's revisiting Indonesia. If not for any other reason there was the consideration of his recently upgraded and highly sensitive security clearance. This alone demanded approval for any overseas travel by him as Director.

“No,” Anderson insisted, “I agree. There is a subtle difference as you well know.”

“Thank you, sir, ” Stephen had said, in deference to the man and to reflect his gratitude for the approval.

“No more than three months, Stephen, just three months. Agreed?”

The younger man smiled. “Sure John. Just three months. ” The extended break would be more than adequate for him to determine what he really wanted out of the rest of his life. He hoped to take the opportunity to decide once and for all whether he really wanted to continue in his present occupation and, if not, to examine his alternatives.

“Keep us posted. ”

“I will,” he promised, rising to his feet with his hand outstretched.

“Good luck, Stephen,” the older man stressed warmly, taking Coleman's grip and squeezing it tightly.

His visitor nodded, smiled and departed with a casual wave born out of familiarity. He closed the Director's door behind him.

The Intelligence Chief leaned back into his chair, considering Coleman. He'd known, of course, that his protege had filed an application for a visa with the Indonesian Embassy weeks before informing anyone of his intentions. Anderson shook his head slowly and smiled to himself as he heard Stephen's voice.

“Bye, Madge,” Stephen called softly, smiling as he departed.

Anderson
's secretary watched the clean-cut, handsome and well spoken operative leave. She sighed. The senior secretary continued to look even after he had gone, deep in thought and then, remembering the stack of unfinished correspondence on her desk turned her thoughts back to the job at hand.

 

The QANTAS Boeing 707's powerful engines thrust the aircraft along the runway until the nose lifted and the under-carriage could be heard retracting to the in-flight position. The Sydney-Jakarta flight time was eight hours, more than Stephen Coleman cared to spend in an aircraft but, at this time in his life, his fear of flying was of lessser import than it had been before.

He settled back in the comfortable first class seat, a courtesy upgrade arranged by 'Madge the Magnificent' as Anderson's secretary was often referred to by those who knew her well. Stephen accepted a glass of Moet Chandon then removed his shoes immediately sensing the tension dissipate.

He smiled inwardly at being relaxed aboard an aircraft. Life and attitudes had drastically changed, he contemplated as the four-engined jet climbed comfortably away to the deep hum of the four Rolls Royce engines. Sipping the champagne, Stephen's mind wandered back over the last time he was in Indonesia, the artificial friends he had acquired and, of course, that near fatal expedition into Irian.

 

Stephen never did understand how he had survived the shooting. The bullet, having struck the soldier's arm first had been deflected upwards ripping into Stephen's right shoulder. He now realized that the corporal who was assisting him at that precise moment had inadvertently saved his life. His recollection of the medical evacuation and the first few days of hospitalization were vague. He did, however, remember the pain. The military team had been poorly equipped to handle extreme medical emergencies.

There had been no morphine or any other pain killers. He had awoken to the searing, burning agony time and time again, repeatedly collapsing back into oblivion. His left hand moved unconsciously to the wound; it had become habit. Long hours of physiotherapy had helped repair the muscular damage but in his nightmares he still saw the grotesque remains of the Commander's head transformed by the assassin's bullet. His shoulder would never be the same again, of course, but this was not evident in his stance.

As Stephen underwent physiotherapy under the watchful eyes of the nurses he had to struggle to meet the demands placed on damaged muscles and tissue. He knew that there really was no choice but to accept the discipline required for recovery. The exercises were difficult and tedious.

His mental well-being also required attention. Though there was no therapy that could help with the loneliness and sleepless nights, Stephen managed to cope with his memories. He was given the opportunity to rebuild his life, an opportunity given by Anderson.

The Director had been a regular visitor before he was discharged from the hospital and even visited when Stephen remained at his mother's home as a convalescent. On the anniversary of his ‘accident' he completed his visits to the hospital. The physiotherapist had given him instructions for an exercise routine to maintain muscle development. In the privacy of his mother's home Stephen examined his body in the full length mirror surprised that even after a year the cicatrix remained ugly and red, like some great welt on his shoulder and side.