The Timor Man (33 page)

Foreign tourism had not yet developed to any extent outside Jakarta and the majority of all hotels were owned, managed or controlled by the central government. When Coleman had left the Samudera Beach Hotel it was this information that had been finally telexed through to Jakarta. He had been the only foreign guest there during his stay on the coast.

The dark-skinned man continue to watch the tourist complete the required formalities. He'd missed Coleman in Pelabuhan Ratu due to the delay in receiving the telexed information. However he caught up with the Australian in Bandung, and had inconspicuously followed him ever since.

Umar strolled across in front of the visitor and passed by without acknowledging his presence. Even had Stephen been more attentive he would not have identified the Javanese who had followed him for almost two weeks. Umar Suharjo smiled arrogantly to himself. He'd even stood outside the villa in Tretes listening to the three occupants bounce around inside.

Satisfied that the foreigner would remain in the hotel to unpack, the major vanished skilfully, to report on Coleman's movements.

‘
Strange
,' the Javanese killer had thought to himself,
‘the General appears so preoccupied with this one.
'

Convinced that he should have thrown the Attaché overboard when the opportunity availed itself, he grunted an insult to all who were
bulé
and went in search of inconspicuous quarters for himself.

 

After three relaxing days in Ubud Stephen felt as if he never wanted to leave this idyllic place, its artists, its beauty and its characters. And yet, the entire time he had felt something strange as if his sixth sense and his training were sending him signals. He was almost certainly being followed. Stephen couldn't prove it, he just knew. Several times he had doubled back from where he'd been to check but there was no one there.

The following day he flew back to the capital.

 

When Coleman returned to Jakarta his reception by Embassy staff was cold and indifferent. The official departmental representative in the Embassy was critical of his actions.

“Stephen, think this right through, man, you sound as if you've gone
troppo
,” Phil Walters pleaded.

Coleman let the derogatory remark slide. He would need this man's assistance and decided to permit him his say. They discussed the situation for some time. Finally, realizing that his predecessor was not being stubborn, just determined, the Attaché threw his hands upwards in exasperation.

“All right, Stephen. Why don't we agree to put it on hold until you have spoken to the Minister?”

“You can't very well pick up the phone and just call him on an open line, Phil,” Coleman patronized.

“We'll signal him and you could send a safe-hand dispatch with tonight's courier. He would have it before lunch tomorrow. ”

“Okay,” was the response. Coleman was, in fact, pleased that events were proceeding as he'd anticipated, not that they were any more palatable.

“Where do you now intend staying?”

“Why, with you, Phil. Unless the offer is no longer convenient?” Coleman parried. He had considered the advantages of hotel accommodations and privacy against the cost. Anyway, Stephen had argued, the Attaché would be in his office most of the day and, if these times were anything like those during his own tour, then the evening social demands would keep the residence's occupant actively engaged elsewhere.

“Of course, Stephen, you are welcome,” Walters answered, not entirely convinced that was doing the right thing as their situations had now changed considerably.

With that, the two men accompanied each other to the official three-bedroom dwelling in
Kebayoran Baru
. The staff were introduced to the guest, some of whom remembered the Indonesian-speaking
tuan.
His host, having excused himself and agreeing to leave Stephen to his own devices, returned immediately to the Embassy.

Once secure in his office he composed a lengthy message, typed the signal himself and took the report to the registry. There, due to the sensitivity of the subject matter, the First Secretary Information, used his own combination access and encoded the low-level message.

Minutes later at the communications centre in Canberra a ribbon of paper was spewing out from the antiquated Lorens telex machine which received the encrypted signal. There was no lettering on these tapes, merely a series of punched holes, each representing a corresponding pulse on the master decoding tape which, for obvious security requirements, was locked and available only to those officers cleared to receive or interpret such classified material. The duty officer identified the classification and called the designated officer to accept the tapes. Ten minutes later the Minister responsible had read the communication and immediately used his secure phone. A further fifteen minutes elapsed before John W. Anderson read the report and frowned.

Pressing the intercom, he issued instructions to his secretary, “Call the Attorney General's office, and arrange for me to see him. Explain the urgency to his secretary.”

Anderson
sat deep in thought, chewing the end of a letter-opener.

‘The stupid bugger,'he muttered angrily having read the confirmation of Coleman's intentions as relayed by Walters. A response from the AG was received and immediately the Director left the heated office instructing his secretary to cancel all appointments until he advised otherwise. ‘Madge the Magnificent' obeyed and proceeded to check the Director's schedule for the following forty-eight hours.

That evening, late into the night, Director Anderson and his counterpart from the Australian Security Intelligence Organization discussed the recent developments and debated the most advantageous direction their two organizations should follow.

Both were in agreement. Coleman could be dangerous if permitted to cut loose without any further commitment to the Department. On the other hand, Coleman's determination to stay on in Indonesia could be beneficial to all, if handled judiciously.

 

Stephen was surprised and disappointed. The Charge d' Affaires, in the absence of the Ambassador, had called him into the Chancery, where he was presented with a terse notification from the Department that they had received his resignation and would therefore set about completing his records.

Would he please arrange to meet the Australian Consul and surrender any official documents in his possession? Oh, and of course, his passport would require an endorsement that he was no longer employed by Her Majesty's Government. He was, of course, entitled to retain his passport, however the relevant endorsements were required to be executed immediately. Would he also advise details of his on forwarding address etc etc, to assist with final computation of outstanding administrative matters regarding leave-pay etc etc.

Stephen re-read the departmental letter delivered by Walters earlier that afternoon.

“Sorry, Stephen,” was all the embarrassed host could offer. “This does not affect our relationship in any way, you know,” he added. “Also, it goes without saying that you are welcome to stay on here as long as you wish. ”

Stephen finished sipping the whisky, his third, and slowly shook his head.

“I expected at least a farewell note from someone,” he complained. “Not even a bloody thanks for the years of service or a simple goodbye!”

“You must have anticipated at least a little annoyance Stephen,” his host defended, “the way I hear it, the powers-to-be had great expectations for you in the Department. ”

“Still, it's bloody rude,” Coleman complained, the first effects of the alcohol accelerating his aggressive mood.

He resented their distancing themselves considering he had served conscientiously and with considerable merit. Well, he'd asked for it, and now he was on his own. At least the break had been clean. Now he had to get on with his life, reorganize, establish new relationships, find a job.

Find a job? The thought suddenly struck him. He had no employment and, consequently, no income. He poured another whisky, looked inquiringly at his host who shook his head then proceeded to think about his future.

Securing permits and obtaining an acceptable sponsor would be his most immediate concerns. Stephen was aware of the difficulties businessmen experienced establishing their activities in Indonesia, however he'd not given these problems much thought before this. He understood that he must address these difficulties without losing his new momentum. The government was frustratingly inflexible in its implementation of regulations governing the employment of foreign nationals, an understandable consequence of the abortive
coup d'etat
back in 1965.

The Australian embassy had wasted no time in advising the Indonesian Immigration and Foreign Office that his employment status had been withdrawn, even though he was not accredited to that post. Coleman had considered this particularly action as unnecessary. Even malicious.

He poured himself another whisky. Looking up, he identified the unhappy appearance of his host.

“I will arrange to move my things in a couple of days if that's okay by you, Phil. ”

“I told you that you are welcome to continue on here as long as you wish. ”

“Thanks. Time to wing it alone. ”

“Have it your way,” Walters replied, as he rose to leave, “Take it easy, Stephen,” he warned, leaving Coleman to think his problems through.

“Sure. Thanks again, Phil. See you later. ”

Coleman sat alone for a while, finished his drink, then instructed the houseboy to call him a
becak
.

“
Mau kemana, tuan?
” he asked politely, inquiring where Stephen wished to go, not out of curiosity, but so he could pass the information on to the three-wheeler's driver when he asked.

“
Jalan-jalan sajalah!
” the now quite inebriated guest advised the unhappy servant. “Just out.”

The other servants giggled nervously when they observed the
tuan
climb into the
becak
as he appeared a little drunk. Still, if that made him happy.

The
becak
driver pedalled around for an hour until the young foreigner fell asleep. He then returned to the man's residence. Coleman was not drunk, just a little tipsy. He had been drinking without having taken lunch and was the worse for it. Feeling a little foolish at having to be woken by the driver, Coleman tipped the man for his kindness. As he undressed he realized that this was the first evening in over five years he could go to bed not knowing what he should be doing the following day. With those thoughts, and assisted by the whisky, he slept.

 

At first he thought he was dreaming. He was certain there was something going on nearby, if not in his head. There were sounds from outside. Raised voices. The houseboy was adamant. The
tuan
was tired and could not be disturbed. He, Sukardi, would accept the letter and present it to the
tuan
when he had awakened and showered!

The soldier had persisted.

Sukardi resigned himself to the possibility of incurring the wrath of one or the other and decided that the messenger was far more menacing in appearance than the effect of
tuan's
possible tongue-lashing. Coleman was awakened and told of the visitor.

He checked his watch. It was already afternoon.

Immediately he was irritated, partly from the effects of the alcohol, but mainly because a soldier had succeeded in exercising control over the senior servant in a foreigner's household. Prepared to confront the soldier with more than a few sharp words, he instructed Sukardi to keep the man waiting at the front door until
tuan
had completed his
mandi
.

He deliberately procrastinated. An hour passed and Coleman emerged instructing the houseboy to usher the soldier into the small
ruang tamu
, a sitting room just off to the right from the main entrance.

“
Maaf, tuan
,” the soldier apologized coming to attention paying the courtesy of a subordinate, “
saya disuruh Bapak Jenderal Seda. . .
”

Coleman raised his hand cutting the man off in mid-sentence as the General's name was mentioned, waving for the houseboy to leave the soldier alone with him. He felt annoyed at his own stupidity. He certainly could not, especially at this time afford to offend a senior Indonesian, particularly one as important as the General! Having the messenger cool his heels would certainly reach the General's ears and could be misconstrued as a deliberate insult. He gestured for the soldier to sit.

Embarrassed, the soldier remained standing.

‘Damn!'thought Coleman, regretting his insensitivity in placing the Corporal in the position of
serba-salah
, a potential
faux pas
, as it would have been incorrect to accept and impolite to refuse.