The Timor Man (77 page)

He had been successful, although the growing debate had not been easy. Dealing with a complacent public which had not been obliged to fight for their country in almost a quarter of a century had, at times, been tough going.

He understood that memories were short. He was a Vietnam veteran. He remembered how they had been treated like the enemy themselves after they had returned. If only the public had understood! The greatest loss the Viet Cong ever experienced was when they flooded into the province of Baria, south of Saigon, and overran the area, then held by the Australians and New Zealanders. More than two thousand seasoned Viet Cong and North Vietnamese regulars were repulsed at Long Tan by a handful of brave Australians who, when outnumbered by more than fifty to one, managed to lose only eighteen soldiers against tremendous odds, accounting for more than four hundred of the enemy.

‘I wonder how many of my constituents would know that Hanoi then ordered the Viet Cong regiment to be disbanded out of sheer embarrassment?' he asked himself, knowing that the answer would probably be, none! People just don't care, he realized, especially when you encouraged them to become involved in their own politics.

The press still controlled the public. Whoever owned the newspapers and electronic media had become the de facto government of the people. The cross-ownership rules relating to the media in general needed to be further revised, he knew, so that the powerful few did not further tighten their stranglehold as they had during his predecessor's term in office.

He had read somewhere that the American President elect, once permitted access to the secret horror files that the public would never be permitted to read, was virtually given the choice to continue to maintain the recorded history of his predecessors' follies, or magnanimously destroy the evidence maintaining the public's perception that the man in the White House actually rode a White Horse and was guided by the purest of motives in the execution of his duties in the office of the most powerful nation in the world.

The PM shook his head at the thought of his inevitable battle with the media giants. Most Australian Prime Ministers had been faced with a similar problem when they took office.

He turned his head as his wife approached to check his tie.

“You'll be late, dear,” she said.

“Tell Peterson to ring ahead. I'm on my way now,” he ordered, examining himself in the long wall mirror again and, satisfied that he looked his best, he left the room, forgetting to remind his wife that he would not be able to attend the charity function with her again.

The drive from the Lodge, the Prime Ministerial official residence, never lasted much more than a few minutes and often he'd wished that his country operated on a similar basis as the Americans so that he could work from home, so to speak. He thought it absurd how most of the day he and his colleagues were forever running around the billion dollar Houses of Parliament when they could be just as effective plotting and planning the nation's course from the den of his temporary home.

The political system of the United States did not require that the nation's leaders necessarily be members of their Congress and the President, unlike his Australian counterpart, was certainly not required to stand and argue with the Opposition each day for hours on end, often as the object of considerable verbal abuse.

It was almost counter-productive, he believed, to elect a person to lead the country and then expect him to perform, when the majority of the time was dedicated to political infighting or slanging matches on the floor of the House each day.

“I wonder what the bastards are up to today?”

His Minister for Foreign Affairs, sitting opposite him in the limousine was caught off guard by the Prime Minister's question, as his thoughts were still concentrated on the sausages and bacon he'd been unable to finish.

They were running late for the meeting, again.

“Say again?” he asked, his mind still on the tantalizing aromas left behind.

“I asked, what do you think the Indons will get up to today?”

The head of Foreign Affairs shrugged, then shook his head and immediately placed his left thumb nail between his teeth, a habit he had perfected over the years.

“Probably another demonstration, I'd expect,” he answered.

“You'd think they'd cut us some slack considering the fifty million dollars in aid support we gave the ungrateful pricks just in this year alone! For Chrissakes! They should be giving us bloody aid! Look how well their economy has shaped up, and look at our unemployment figures. We could buy one hell of a lot of voter support if we used the aid budget allocation for domestic purposes, you know!”

The Foreign Affairs Minister silently took one of his long deep breaths as his leader commenced on one of his tirades. He hated these early morning sessions, and today's rhetoric was shaping up to be no better than any other he had been forced to listen to in the rear seat of the PM's limo. He really disliked accompanying the man when he went on and on like this. Especially when he hadn't eaten!

The one-sided conversation continued until the black Limousine glided into the area leading up to the steps of the House. Australian politicians considered themselves relatively safe. Only one real attempt had been made against a senior federal politician since Federation and even he had not been the Head of State. He'd suffered only minor scratches as broken glass had been scattered around inside the Leader of the Opposition's vehicle.

The men walked together, smiling at the television crews that had already lined the steps hoping to catch them for an interview.

“Prime Minister, what's happening in Jakarta?” one called out above the head of the man in front of him. “Will you be speaking to their President?” asked another as his cameraman followed the pair up the steps.

They didn't stop but merely smiled and waved, offering a nod of recognition to some of the more senior crew members as they passed through the throng and headed directly to the PM's offices. As they entered, his personal secretary was standing with her hands clasped in front, unsmiling as always.

“Good morning, sir,” she said, coolly.

“Now, now, Shirley, don't be like that. It's his fault,” the PM said, pointing over his shoulder at the surprised Minister. “He insisted on having breakfast.”

“We're late,” was all she said, handing him the newspaper cutouts and other press clippings.

“Ring them. Anything here?” he asked, running through the thick selection of articles.

“One or two I think you should read before the meeting. I have highlighted those in red.”

He turned to his Minister for Foreign Affairs who knew that he would now be obliged to wait until the PM had finished reading the articles. They both detested the media but were astute enough to appreciate the power that they wielded and consequently the attention they demanded at all times. He sat in one of the leather chairs as the nation's leader walked into his office leaving the door ajar for his secretary to follow.

This was the PM's routine. He would read the articles, and they were usually damaging due to his position on the cross-ownership question. His secretary took notes of his comments for the PM's personal records.

This morning's editorial on page two was scathing on the government's inaction over the widening gulf between Australia and Indonesia, which were now experiencing a cooling off in their relations. The article felt that both countries' national interests could best be served if their leaders resisted calling each other names, such as ‘recalcitrant'and ‘racist', and got on with the job of repairing the damage that had been done over the past year.

“What a bunch of lying bloody...” the Prime Minister's invective flowed unrestrained.

His secretary listened for the umpteenth time to the new leader making his characteristic Monday morning outburst prior to the cabinet session.

His colleagues had publicly praised his abilities as if he was some new economic Messiah, ordained by the voters to cure their financial woes. Voters being what they are, especially in an environment controlled through an antiquated political system, cast their votes without understanding the simple principles of government and what was really required of their elected representatives during their term in parliament. The complicated procedures were bequeathed in a manner which virtually precluded any remedy. He was resigned to the fact that the public were prisoners of the Westminster System and its inherent problems, which would continue to dominate their lives and the former colony for years to come. He had supported the move towards a Republic, but common sense dictated that the transition from one political system to another should not be rushed as the opposition would have it. Instead, he advised less haste in changing all of the statutes, as that alone would burden his government with years of effort untangling the complicated laws of the land already based on there being a Monarchy at the head of the country and its Commonwealth.

“Anything else?” he asked, throwing the clippings onto the desk.

“Just this,” she answered, passing the red file cover stamped ‘Most Secret'and ‘Prime Minister's Eyes Only'. She had not broken the seal.

The PM took the file and read on through the report.

“Have the director report to me immediately after this morning prayers session,” he instructed.

The new Prime Minister had appropriately coined the expression describing the weekly gathering of his Cabinet when he had read in the press, not long after taking up office, that the lack-luster team now sitting on the front benches had been described as a gathering of lay-preachers who thought they understood but were not quite ready for the heavy responsibilities of their new positions.

“Yes sir,” the woman had responded.

“And you had better remind the Attorney-General of the meeting.”

He continued to read the highly classified report, grunting from time to time as specific points met with his disapproval.

Glancing at his watch he realized that time would not permit him to complete his examination of the secret contents.

“Open my safe, please,” he requested.

His secretary immediately checked the single tumbler's position and, using his key to unlock the door the tall man bent down and placed the folder safely inside the heavy duty steel Chubbs cabinet. He'd wished it had been a shredding machine.

The Prime Minister then went about preparing for the Monday prayers session with his colleagues.

     
The Attorney-General was uneasy as he waited quietly with the Chief of Intelligence, John Anderson. They had both been called to the PM's office for a special briefing.

Privately, he considered that the Intelligence Chief was well past his prime and should be put out to pasture. The AG resented the man's power. Even though the Director should, in fact, report first to the Attorney-General before taking any direct action, this had proven to be impractical. As a result, Anderson only dealt with the PM and this infuriated the AG. He took heart, however from the certainty that the Director would soon reach the end of the service extension granted personally by the PM and this would put him well over the mandatory retirement age. It was unlikely that he would be around too much longer with his direct access to their leader. Then the AG could go about selecting a suitable replacement.

Had the AG known John Anderson a little better, he would not have been so complacent. Anderson had no intention of letting any politician appoint his replacement. When the time came, he would orchestrate this with the Prime Minister himself.

The Prime Minister had called them both in for this meeting so that the Director could explain the conclusions he had made in the documents now locked in the PM's personal cabinet. Anderson was obviously uneasy with this request. Due to the sensitivity of the contents he would have preferred the discussion to remain one-on-one with the Prime Minister. The fewer politicians aware of the details, the better, he had wisely thought.

“Well?” the country's leader waited.

“We've seen it all before.”

“It is almost a repeat of an earlier era. The situation has failed to resolve itself and it is my opinion that we are heading for an extremely dangerous confrontation.” He paused, glancing in the direction of the Attorney-General.

“Your predecessor, sir, was very concerned at the rapid deterioration of Indonesian-Australian relations brought on generally by the emergence of the former General, Nathan Seda, whose influence over their President has grown incredibly strong in recent years.

“Our reports indicate that not only is he a frequent visitor to
Jalan Cendana
,” he paused, turning slightly to the AG and adding, “that's the unofficial name of the President's home,” he went on “strong rumour has it that he is being groomed as the next Vice President.

“Obviously not being of Javanese stock would prevent him from the leadership's top position; we should however be conscious of the facts. Politically, it would be a clever move for their President to appoint him to the position, not just because he is such a prominent and powerful figure, but also we should remember that the country's more than ten million Catholics would support such a move. There are also more than one hundred million Indonesians who are not Javanese and the majority of these would also, we believe, strongly support any such appointment.