The Timor Man (60 page)

Suddenly that had all changed.

He had asked Seda about the killing of the foreign journalists but the General had claimed it had been an accident. There had been so many conflicting reports creating a great deal of confusion as to what actually happened.

 

Recalling the breakfast meeting he still could not understand how the Australian Broadcasting authorities had permitted the news bulletins to go to air and divulge military and strategically sensitive information through its programs. The situation was extremely serious and volatile. He felt that the Indonesians would have every right to retaliate and, if this happened, being an Australian in Jakarta would be dangerous. Stephan hoped that the broadcasts would not be repeated. Still considering the ramifications of the potential political fallout, Stephen rose and headed for the toilet.

He glanced away as he passed the familiar figure sitting three rows behind his seat.

“Stephen?” Anderson called but Coleman ignored the man continuing to the bathroom. When he had completed his ablutions he returned to his seat only to discover John Anderson occupying the seat next to his.

“You're looking well, Stephen.”

“You're sitting on my menu,” the younger man snapped.

“Just a few words. I promise that you will be very interested in what I have to say. In fact, I would have phoned your office today as I have been in town since yesterday and planned to catch up. Had you not decided to leave unexpectedly we would probably already be sitting down somewhere having the same discussion. As it is, I've had to rearrange my entire itinerary just so we could have this private time together.” Anderson could see the surprise on the other man's face as he alluded to the fact that he had actually orchestrated his travel to be on the same flight.

“We have to talk, Stephen,” he said, almost staccato in emphasis. Anderson looked directly into Coleman's eyes as he emphasized the words by tapping the tray locked in front of his seat, one tap, one word as he'd said “we-have-to-talk, Stephen!”

Coleman, immediately infuriated at the master-pupil approach snapped back. “Stick it!”

“Come on, man, grow up!”

Coleman sighed. It was a difficult situation as there was really nowhere he could go. Not at thirty five thousand feet. Reluctantly he decided to hear him out.

“What do you want, John?”

The grey-haired distinguished Intelligence Chief leaned towards his former junior officer and lowered his voice.

“Are you going to Hong Kong?” he asked softly.

Startled, Coleman was caught off guard. He hesitated, looked Anderson directly in the eye and lied.

“No. Just to Singapore this trip.”

“Too bad, I had hoped for a little company on the longer section.”

“I doubt we would have too much to discuss.”

“Oh, you never know, Stephen, we could talk about the arms shipments you have been handling and, if that is of no interest, we could move on to more personal matters.”

Coleman felt the hot burning anger beginning as a flush, moving across his face. He remained silent, gathering his thoughts.

How did he know that I would be on this flight? Stephen asked himself. Then it dawned on him. The bastards, he thought, they have been keeping tabs on me and bugging my phones. And Albert's!

He glanced at the other passenger, controlling his rising anger.

“What do you want, John?”

“Are you going to Hong Kong?” he asked again.

“Maybe,” he answered, this time sullenly.

“Then I insist we talk. Now!”

The command was too much for him, the anger suddenly bursting forth.

“Where in the hell do you guys get off, John? I don't cash your cheques any more and certainly have no intention of participating in any of your clandestine activities.”

Anderson
's eyes narrowed as he leaned a little closer to the other man. “We know about Seda.”

He had made the statement in his soft resonant voice and yet it seemed to Coleman as if it had been shouted at him in a thunderous roar.

“Are we discussing Albert?” he inquired hopefully, his throat suddenly dry. He swallowed a large mouthful of whisky.

“Yes, and that too,” Anderson replied softly. “I'm sorry.”

“Christ! Your bastards have been tapping my lines,” he accused.

“It really doesn't matter now. The important thing is that we have the chance to correct a few problems and prevent at least one major catastrophe.”

He was stunned by these revelations. His mind raced quickly. How much did they know?

“How did you know I'd be on this flight?”

“As I said. It doesn't matter how we knew. We needed to talk to you urgently and out of the country. It was a stroke of luck that you jumped when you did.”

“Jumped?” Coleman asked, incredulous disbelief crossing his face. “Just an euphemism, don't over react.”

“Are you trying to tell me that you orchestrated my departure today?” he asked disbelievingly, “That's just so much bullshit, and you know it!”

“Let's cool it,” Anderson said as the stewardess moved past and checked the drinks. She continued on down the aisle as she could see that they weren't ready for another.

Stephen jabbed his thumb on the service button. The stewardess went directly to his service.

“
Tuan mau minum lagi?
” she asked slightly startled, now anticipating his request for a further drink, as foreigners always drank heavily and on these short sectors.

“Chivas,” he snapped.

The young hostess identified the tone. “
And would you also like something, sir?
” she asked the tall grey haired gentleman sitting alongside. Stephen looked up at the lovely smiling face and immediately felt guilty for his display of temper. Although he really didn't feel much like it, he returned her smile.

“
Sorry, sis, I'm not angry with you. It's just that the old man beside me is very annoying,
” Coleman explained.

The girl smiled at the handsome passenger and then looked at the other man who had obviously been the source of his rudeness.

“The lady wants to know if you require a drink.” Coleman snapped.

“Thank you, yes. I will have a Chivas also,” he replied, unruffled.

Stephen sat and sulked until his drink arrived. He sipped in silence, refusing to communicate with Anderson. He knew he was in trouble. They had information that was only supposed to be available to Nathan Seda and himself.

Half an hour passed and the plane began its descent into Singapore. The two men disembarked together and walked briskly to the transit ticketing counter. Coleman purchased his ticket and the older man stood by watching. An observer could easily have mistaken them for father and son. Recognising that Anderson was not going to leave him alone, Stephan sighed, shrugged his shoulders and turned towards his former mentor.

“We have half an hour. Let's find somewhere to talk,” he suggested.

Anderson
nodded his agreement. They selected comfortable seats towards the rear section of the first class lounge. Anderson had taken a wine from the complimentary bar and offered a glass to Coleman who declined and prepared another Chivas with just one cube of ice. He stood facing the government man slowly swirling the whisky around the cube and then he took a seat positioning himself so that they could not be overheard.

“Okay. Give it to me. What's happening, John?”

“Well, Stephen, the shit has hit the fan and you seem to be sitting right in the middle of the target area.”

“Let's cut through it. We don't have much time. What is it I may or may not have involved myself in that is of interest to ASIS?”

“Firstly. You are still tied by the Official Secrets Act,” he warned.

“Hold it!” Stephen snapped, “I won't sit here and permit you to threaten me, John. Knock it off!”

“It's no threat. You are in serious trouble. This mess is partly of your own doing and, to put it bluntly, had I not been the man in the chair, as they say, your number would be up. Half of ASIS wants you put away, Stephen, they think you're an arsehole!”

Stephen had never heard the Director speak in this tone. Not even when he was angry. He then realized that the man was deadly serious and maybe out of some previous loyalty had decided to give Stephan the opportunity to extricate himself from whatever mess they thought he was in.

“Okay. I'm listening.”

“Good.” Anderson smiled, weariness now apparent as he extended his hand.

Stephen accepted the gesture.

Anderson
then began to speak slowly in a soft monotone which, had the content not been so dramatic, would have made the listener drift off to sleep. He spoke without interruption for twenty minutes and when he had completed his explanation Stephen sat quietly, his face ashen, shocked by the information he had been given.

Forty-five minutes later the Cathay Pacific Tristar Star departed for Hong Kong. Stephen Coleman sat alone, sipping yet another whisky with no effect, as he was stone cold sober. He felt numb, not from the alcohol but from the secret and shocking disclosures he'd just been provided with at risk, no doubt, to the courier himself. He knew just how indebted he now was to John Anderson. A cold sensation passed through his body and Coleman shuddered involuntarily.

Anderson
's revelations may have just been in time. He would know, for sure, after his meeting with Nathan Seda in Hong Kong.

 
    
Nevada — USA The inconspicuous building lay well back from the main road and out of sight behind a small spur that ran parallel with the

secondary road leading back towards the Californian border. The total acreage was near to a thousand and most was covered with timber stands protected by numerous signs, designating the area as a special reserve. The photo interpretation unit had been established during the years when Khruschev headed the Kremlin. There had been a rush of new data collection facilities built as a result of even more sophisticated satellites being launched. This unit was dedicated to the intelligence monitoring of product, sent back to earth by the United States Military's Series Four birds which flew across the heavens orbiting specific areas as designated by the powerful men in the Pentagon. The air-conditioned centre and surrounding forest was encircled by a perimeter fence carrying sufficient power to deter the curious from entering the secluded facility. Signs had been erected warning trespassers of the charged fence and ranger patrols. Strangely enough none had breached the unit's security since it was first commissioned.

Lieutenant Collins had been engrossed in his own work when he heard the soft whistle of surprise from across the other side of their compact room. He looked up and spotted Davidson, one of his senior photo analysis experts standing as he held the two photographic records in one hand and waving them as one would a hand fan.

Collins gestured the other man over to his work area, now covered with detail of the last two runs obtained by the satellite over the Philippines. They had been monitoring shipping in that area consistently for the past three months at the request of their Intelligence masters.

Davidson handed the Section Commander both of the enlarged photos taken from space and sent by electronic impulse back to the earth station which, in turn, had passed the garbled signals to the relevant agency for interpretation and dissemination.

“This is fantastic, Davy boy! Great clarity, although there's some degradation in this one,” he said shaking the photograph in his left hand.

“Thanks boss,” the experienced hand responded, pleased with the Lieutenant's reaction. They worked well together and he didn't mind putting that little extra effort into the demanding and sometimes boring intelligence work. The monotonous routine was extremely intense in nature as, the longer one was obliged to stare down through the enhancement apparatus the more the details became difficult to differentiate, even with the assistance of the latest developments in their field of pseudoscopy.

Collins looked at the detailed views and the sections already highlighted by Davidson and went into the computer immediately. He then compared the results with the photo-imagery taken of the Russian freighters which had been seen and photographed heading for Cuba almost fifteen years before. As a senior analyst he was responsible for confirming his team's results before passing the information to his superior. Their work was demanding at the best of times and mistakes were easily made, for it was not always just a simple matter of identifying what had been caught by the satellite's lenses as it moved across the sky at incredible speed, but also the difficult task of suggesting what the objects were in the black and white scenes.

Ten minutes after receiving Davidson's interpretation, the Lieutenant stood across from the Colonel with the information. Believing that they had confirmation of the cargo, the report was immediately transmitted to the Pentagon's South East Asian hostiles' desk. Less than half an hour had passed from the time Davidson had first spotted the configuration which sent alarm bells ringing directly to the President's Defence Advisor.