That Seda was responsible for the diversion of these shipments to the separatist forces in Timor played heavily on his mind. The accusations of Seda's involvement in the deliberate release of classified information relating to his own defence forces' troop movements had him baffled. Why would they fabricate such a story if it was not their intention to expose his activities, sending him into immediate disgrace and, most likely, prison?
Anderson
had revealed what the intelligence services had discovered regarding Nathan Seda's true allegiances, or so they said. The chances were, he thought, that they had it all arse up again, as they had often misread what was happening in the past. And this might just be a simple case of the Intelligence Agencies screwing up again. Or overreacting.
Maybe Seda believed that the information leaks would make it appear as if the FRETILIN forces had the upper hand in the war? This would justify the Indonesian invasion and a more concentrated involvement by the Indonesian Military. If that had been his motive then, according to the latest casualty statistics, his strategy was successful.
Coleman had questioned the Australian Government's motives in permitting the broadcasts. The Intelligence Chief had smiled thinly and slowly outlined the government's political position. Australia was faced with the possibility of the creation of a hostile nation sitting on its doorstep. The Americans and Australians anticipated the probability of United Nations support for the fledgling nation which would permit Communist forces to gain control. There was no doubt that the United Nations would also condemn the Indonesian invasion.
The Americans and Australians believed that the Indonesian annexation was, in fact, the more acceptable solution but could not openly support the expansionist move. Should the FRETILIN forces win several decisive battles against the superior number of Indonesian troops then there was a distinct possibility that they would be carried away with their successes and reverse the role in Timor by crossing into the Indonesian territory threatening regional security.
As satellite intelligence proved beyond doubt that FRETILIN had support of the Eastern Bloc and there was proof of Cuban involvement then, it was suggested, Indonesia should have the right to defend itself from the aggressor. Under these circumstances, Australia could play an immediate role, the Americans could recommence military support and, more importantly, the Indonesians could legitimately claim the necessity to re-invade the former colony to secure its own borders. International support would follow.
The FRETILIN movement would be crushed and the threat of medium range missiles threatening Australia's security would disappear. And more importantly, the Americans would maintain their use of the Ombai-Wetar Straits.
“What the hell do they have to do with all of this?” he'd asked.
“You've been out of the mainstream of intelligence flow for some years and would have no current idea of what really is happening in the real world Stephen,” Anderson had replied, not insultingly, “but basically the Yanks desperately need to maintain their use of the straits. This is why the American navy had insisted that the Pentagon concoct some red herring to distract others from the identifying their operational use of the waters there.
The Pentagon had used the threat of the newly occupied and former South Vietnam in relation to its potential capacity to assist the Soviets expand their sphere of influence in the immediate region. The red herring was the threat of Russian built IL-28s which they'd given to the Communist Vietnamese well before the fall of Saigon but had eventually found their way down to the south and within striking distance of the gas deposits off Natuna Island.
The story worked because the oil-hungry cartels soon used their powerful lobby to ensure that not just Natuna but all future and existing concessions under production sharing contracts within Indonesia would enjoy the protection of American military equipment. This would give Australia a de facto first line of defence without the crippling cost of supporting such a strategy.
East Timor's real significance to America's global strategy lies to the north of the island in the Ombai-Wetar Straits, which are exceptionally deep and through which nuclear submarines can travel undetected in their passage from the Pacific to the Indian Ocean. These straits remain crucial to the United States Navy as should this route be denied to them as the result of Timor's becoming Communist or fall under the expanding influence of the Soviets, the cost in terms of strategic positioning would be disastrous. An additional eight days steaming would be required for a concealed submarine journey between the two oceans via the alternative Lombok or Sunda Straits.
“Now perhaps you will understand their reluctance to accept any Marxist authority over the former colony as the American administration requires an acceptable conclusion to the hostilities in East Timor to protect their own strategic interests.”
The concept was Machiavellian and Coleman understood how it would appeal to the politicians and military chiefs. He wondered just how many more Indonesians would die in the poverty stricken island before a halt would be called to the senseless killing.
Seda was still talking. Coleman listened, occasionally murmuring a response. The meeting concluded.
“
I will be returning directly to Jakarta, Stephen. Is there anything else you wish to go over now while we have the opportunity?
” the General had asked.
“
No. I don't believe so, Pak. Not at this time
,” he replied, while thinking,
âand perhaps not later, either.
'
“
Have you been to the bank yet?
” he asked, grinning at the suggestion. He knew that Stephen always went to the bank to check his deposits as soon as soon as he arrived in Hong Kong.
Umar had told him.
“
Yes,
” he answered, “
all is in order there
.” He remembered that he had already decided to change most of his accounts quickly due to the potential change in circumstances. He'd do it first thing tomorrow, he thought.
But not before sitting down and working out his future and evaluating the damage that was imminent to his company operations. Stephen needed time to get his head straight. He decided to slip across on the ferry to Macau. So much was suddenly happening in his life he needed to release some of the pressure and consider his options. Obviously, his future with the General looked nebulous and, for the first time since meeting with Anderson on the flight, Stephen Coleman was concerned for his life. Once he'd returned to his own room in the hotel Stephen phoned Mister Lim and asked if Angelique was available.
He needed to clear his mind. And think.
Â
Greg Hart was not impressed with the call from Stephen. He had been awakened at some ungodly hour and Coleman, true to his past behaviour, had imparted little information and yet had managed to issue instructions ranging across his own personal spectrum from financial matters to reminding his assistant to send his personal secretary's birthday gift. Everything, in fact, except how to resolve his wife's dilemma.
During the early morning telephone conversation Hart had raised the problem. Wanti's brother was part of the contingent that had been sent to Timor and she was desperate to contact him. Latest reports relating to the invasion were not looking good and she looked very worried, he'd told Coleman.
“She needs to speak to him, Stephen,” he'd said, still groggy from the two hours sleep. “Why don't you give me some numbers and I'll phone HANKAM early in the morning. You know they'll bend over backwards when I tell them it's for you.”
Coleman had been sharp and uncharacteristically blunt. “Do nothing until I return,” he ordered.
“But Stephen, I know this may be a little out of my jurisdiction but your wife is frantic. Couldn't you make a few calls from wherever you are and then let her know?”
“Butt out, Greg!” Coleman snapped. “I'll do what is necessary, just leave it alone. Okay?”
“Okay,” Hart acquiesced. He thought Coleman sounded a little drunk.
“Fine. I will be back in a day or so. Just hold the fort.”
Hart had replaced the receiver and cursed the caller for his attitude. He lay in bed thinking about the problem and his own complicated life, and how he was neither one nor the other, referring to his current employment and his other masters. They would leave him alone for months on end and then, suddenly, out of the blue they would contact him with what were mostly menial tasks. He'd been debriefed several times regarding the company operations and had passed whatever information he managed to access from the records but this was not what they were looking for, he could tell, from their bored expressions each time he'd made his report.
Coleman played his game close to the chest, Hart knew. It was impossible to follow his trail as the overseas trips severed all connection to his movements and dealings, making Hart's task irritatingly counter productive, as he dedicated so much of his time endeavouring to resolve the enigma surrounding these trips, without any real results.
Several more hours passed. He looked at the bedside clock. It was almost five o'clock. Unable to sleep he showered and decided to take Albert and Wanti out for a Dim Sum breakfast at the Blue Ocean which operated as a non stop cabaret night club and restaurant, catering to the players who lived for the late nights, often carrying on until the sun demanded that others attend their offices while this small section of the community disobeyed the clock.
The steamed breakfasts were renowned for their flavour, the dishes carried on small trays by waiters from table to table as the round bamboo baskets containing the delicacies were snatched off the trays by the hungry guests.
Hart had to steer himself from his house to Jalan Cik Ditiro where Wanti and Albert stayed as his own driver wasn't due to start work for another hour. He arrived at the premises still too early to awaken anyone. The security personnel recognized Hart and opened the outside security gate permitting the car to enter before locking the sliding steel barrier again from behind.
He entered the office through the servants' access and went about checking the main office for incoming telex communications. There was one for Stephen to contact a supplier in Germany and several other mundane messages providing lists of available military equipment in France. And one incongruous request which surprised and baffled Hart.
The three lined message was so short and innocuous in content that, at first, Hart had missed the message completely as the telex pages had run together, causing the type to slip.
He reread the text. In spite of the hour he lifted the telephone receiver and dialled the number designated in the return confirmation advice. The number rang for several minutes before a tired and irritable voice barked into the instrument. Startled, Hart replaced the phone immediately. Then he reread the message for a third time.
Why, he thought, would Stephen Coleman be receiving communications from them? Hart stared at the page. He was not to know that the message in his hands should, in fact, have been sent to the direct number on the machine still locked upstairs in the private rooms.
There was no doubt that it was addressed to Coleman. The question was, what was Stephen Coleman doing arranging meetings with the
Badan Koordinasi Intelijen Indonesia
, Indonesia's Central Intelligence Agency?
He decided to forgo the breakfast and instead, placing the telex in his wallet, Hart left the office advising the houseboy that he would return later in the morning.
The old servant mumbled and went about his mundane chores. The
tuans
would come and go as they pleased. He didn't mind. He never pried into other's affairs. Life was difficult enough without the burden of responsibility which often came with the knowledge of someone else's problems.
Â
Far away, or at least what Sukardi, the ageing houseboy, might have considered to be far away, casualty lists were on the wire and being registered in the Ministry of Defence's Jalan Merdeka offices as the names spewed forth from the archaic communications machine. Seventh on the list on the first page of KIA's was the name, rank and serial number of the young Javanese Acting Captain who, in what was another lifetime, once laughed and played with a little girl in the distant village of Kampung Semawi. A little girl who had grown up to finally escape the horrors of their past and who now slept quietly in the bedroom above Coleman's office.
A simple and unassuming servant, unaware of the enormity of events unfolding around him, Sukardi cleaned and prepared Stephen's household for the coming day.
As there was no address registered on file for the dead Captain's next-of-kin, details as to his demise were passed to his regimental headquarters in Surabaya. There the information remained until later in the day when, having read the lists posted on the information board for all to read, the officer of the day who had spoken to the dead Captain's sister just a few days before, remembered that she was in Jakarta. He returned to his office and went in search of the telephone number he'd noted when Wanti had called.