The Timor Man (78 page)

“In theory, gentlemen, he would have as much voter support as the President himself without, obviously, the backing of the military. The escalating political and social unrest we have observed has not been entirely a result of falling oil prices. Corruption has reached levels where these practices have created billionaires. Family members of high ranking officials actually own or control whole sections of the non-oil and gas economy.” He paused, taking the glass of Perrier and drinking before continuing.

“Singapore's banks are overflowing with most of the hidden proceeds and, generally speaking, infrastructure is suffering throughout the country because so much capital has been siphoned off and left to idle in secret numbered accounts throughout Asia. The emergence of right-wing extremist elements now influences their foreign policies. Many of these supporters have considerable disdain for Australia and the day has come for the Asians to no longer consider our country either economically, or militarily, a threat to any of their expansionist movements. Our agreements covering the use of sea lanes for both merchant and military shipping are being challenged. The Ombai-Wetar Straits may be closed in the near future to both our and United States' submarines. Australia's entire export programme to Asia is at serious risk. In short, gentlemen, we should batten down the hatches, so to speak, and prepare for an extended period of tension with Jakarta unless we take the necessary steps to prevent any future escalation.”

“I have read your recommendations John, I can't say I entirely agree with your suggestions. They seem a bit extreme to me.” The Prime Minister pursed his lips and leaned back in his chair. “Sir,” Anderson began, “you have had access today, perhaps for the first time to your predecessor's ‘Eyes Only' file.”

At the mention of this the new Attorney-General immediately interrupted.

“Do I also have access to this information?” he asked.

The Intelligence Chief smiled courteously and shook his head silently.

The AG bristled. “Prime Minister, I must insist! After all, as Attorney-General I should be conversant with what is happening in Anderson's department.”

The PM shook his head.

“ ‘Eyes Only ‘ means just that! It is not a consideration of whether the Attorney-General's office can be trusted with the contents of the document. It is a question of procedures.”

He looked at Anderson, who appeared pleased with the PM's support.

“I certainly would not rest easily with the knowledge that others will access information relating to my period of service in this office subsequent to my departure which, I trust we all hope, will not be for some considerable time to come.” He had attempted a smile. “It's worrying enough that when I do leave my successor will, however, acquire that right.”

Question Time in the House prevented the meeting from continuing. Anderson rose to depart with the Attorney-General and, observing the Prime Minister's sombre expression, he knew there would be another summons to this office. Alone. The country's leader would certainly not wish others to be present when he authorized the steps which both he and the Intelligence Head would come to accept as imperative action.

As John Anderson was driven down Commonwealth Avenue, he considered the data contained in the secret file now in the possession of the new Prime Minister. He understood the sense of despair experienced by a new PM who, having accepted the mantle of the office, was immediately burdened with the information contained in the complex record of Prime Ministerial covert directives. And even with the most secret accounting Anderson knew that the records were far from complete. Information was the tool of his clandestine trade and he believed, as had his predecessor, the agency's first Director, that politicians were never to be trusted and that it was essential to the service's survival that some secrets continue as such.

Even if it meant keeping these from the national leader. His thoughts turned to the report dispatched by Hart.

Director John Anderson rarely sat behind his desk. Most of the time he would walk the room as he thought through whatever had been troubling his mind. This day was no different from all of the rest. There was a major problem to be considered and resolved with as little fuss as possible. As soon as the first signs had begun to appear, his years of expertise flashed warning signals immediately telling him to extinguish this fire before it became impossible to control.

He read through the report again.

“Silly bugger,” he said to the empty room. He continued to pace over and around the Tai Ping carpet which he had received as a gift from one of the graduating classes. He smiled. ‘Classes' was not exactly the appropriate nomenclature for the graduating group of three. The year before it had been five. Before that, only two.

He looked at the facsimile in his hand and shook his head again. Sometimes, he reminded himself, some of the graduates just don't show their weaknesses until they are out in the field. And often, not even then, he remembered, thinking of Stephen Coleman. It seemed that fate had decided to play him a difficult hand for the day. Now he was faced with the problem of sorting out two of his former graduates and, as luck would have it, they had come into direct conflict with each other quite unexpectedly.

The Director thought about Hart. Then he remembered his holidays with Coleman on the slopes and smiled. Actually, he was quite pleased that Stephen had bloodied the cocky Hart. He wished he had been present to see it. Not bad, he thought, considering his age and the sedentary life style the man had lived over the last, how many was it, fifteen or sixteen years?

Anderson
accepted that he had lost one of his most promising men when Stephen had decided to resign. He also admitted that he had not been pleased and had, at that moment, wished the young man an injury. Had it not been for the young man's mother, Stephen would not have been considered for the training. They had always been close friends and he was saddened by the way her husband had decided to pick up his belongings and just leave. He had offered her comfort. And she had accepted.

Now he was faced with the dilemma of her son, once again. Stephen had not been a particularly opportunistic soul and would not have made it to the top in his profession had he stayed on with the Service. He lacked that one instinct that was vital to operatives world wide. Self preservation.

Somehow he had known, even in the early days of basic training that, although his friend's son had ability, he had no real killer instinct! Now Stephen had become an alcoholic wanderer. A bum! And as Anderson always knew he would, Coleman had re-emerged to become a thorn in his side. He had to use this information and work the man who had become the thorn.

He looked at the photographs. Coleman certainly looked his age. Anderson knew that it had to have been the alcohol. The effects of liquor and a dissolute lifestyle were evident in the puffy features. He had seen many a good man destroy themselves, at first gradually, and then in a blind rush to reach whatever end they visualized for themselves through the bottom of a bottle.

He looked back at the photographs again, recalling with some sadness the vibrant young operative whom he had sent overseas, destined to enjoy a promising career with his Department. He also remembered seeing the same man in a hospital bed, hovering between life and death from his horrific injuries. He saw again the bleak, distant look Stephen had given him when he had told him of the death of Louise. That had been the turning point, Anderson reflected. At the time he had been perplexed and somewhat disappointed with Coleman's over-reaction to the loss. After all, Stephen had hardly known the young woman and certainly not long enough to warrant such a magnitude of grief. It was so prolonged that Anderson had been prompted to suggest a period of further training and a holiday.

The extended holiday had been a mistake, he now realized. Often he'd thought about the decision to permit the young man a few extra months as part of his psychological recovery process. Anderson misjudged his agent, believing that Coleman had purged the past from his system and was particularly annoyed when the young and promising operative had resigned. Now he was back.

The Director was conscious that this time he was dealing with a man who had already experienced life's peaks and troughs and would require delicate handling if he was to be of any real use. The Intelligence Chief was also aware of the limited power he would have over the man. He would need to develop a strategy suited for a man of Coleman's intelligence. He must be very careful. The man was no fool.

The ageing bureaucrat called his secretary and gave her the name. He would go over Stephen Coleman's file again and see just where he was most vulnerable and where his weaknesses exposed the man most to compromise.

 

Most would consider it unusual for one to retire to a city populated primarily by public servants. Albert had gratefully accepted the adequate pension and moved from Melbourne to the small unit. It suited his needs. And there was considerably less violence on the streets of this well designed city. In fact, he thought, when comparing it with Saturday nights in Melbourne, the Capital was a dream. There had been already too much violence in his life.

It had been more than a year since the government troops had opened fire on mourners at the funeral of pro-independence sympathizers in the in town of Maliana. The people had been devastated by the unwarranted and violent attack. At least two hundred had been killed. Many others had never been accounted for, including his sister's grandchildren. He'd had no idea that many of his relatives had moved back into the area where the slaughter had taken place.

‘Would they never learn?'
he had asked upon hearing the news. Not so many years had passed since the Indonesian military had opened fire also on a group of mourners in Dili, killing sixty to seventy Timorese as they paid their last tribute to yet another separatist leader.

Albert could not understand why the world refused to acknowledge the cruel impact suffered by the East Timorese at the hands of the invading forces. Documents had been tabled in the United Nations evidencing the first campaigns of enforced sterilization organized by the Indonesian military, and clear proof that these actions had continued since earlier documents had been submitted to the authorities in Lisbon.

Again there had been no world outcry. He was devastated by the inaction and feelings of helplessness. The Timorese had pleaded for the international community to acknowledge their plight but none came forward to help. It was if they were to be ignored forever and the simple people, whose only fault was to seek their own independence from an outside power, suffered the indignity of being forgotten.

Even during the three years of killing in war torn Bosnia the people there had not suffered the losses the East Timorese had during their twenty years of struggle. Why then, the Timorese refugees in Darwin often asked, does one country deserve more consideration over another? Why doesn't the United Nations position a peace keeping force in their country, as they had in Bosnia?

Why had they been left to the mercy of their giant neighbour? They asked those questions, and many others, knowing there would be no response. The Timorese sadly recognized that their plight would continue to be ignored as the superpowers arbitrarily accepted Indonesia's dominance over the Tim-Tim.
Republik Indonesia
had become a world force in her own right and vested interests now controlled policy. Economic criteria had a greater priority than humanitarian considerations.

These questions had also haunted Albert. He just couldn't understand how it could be that the United Nations had called for Indonesia's withdrawal so many times, and supported a supervised vote on the right for self-determination in the ravaged country, only to be ignored.Albert believed that had the same set of circumstances existed in a country of greater significance to the superpowers then their cries for help would have been heeded well before this.

It seemed that it just wasn't to be. After the most recent slaughter the Indonesian central government attempted a cover-up but the Australian media managed to keep the massacre in the news, again opening old wounds between the Indonesian muscle men and the international free press. Unfortunately this had the disadvantage of providing the Timor separatists an exaggerated view of international support for their call for independence resulting in even more arrests as they continued with their struggle.

On the other hand, the Indonesian people could not understand Australia's persistent interest in supporting the terrorists, as that is how they had come to identify the separatists in Tim-Tim.
‘Why do the Australians pose as our friends,'
they would ask first time visi

tors to their country,
‘when the separatists support the destabilisation of one of our provinces?'

Albert knew all about this. He still read the foreign language newspapers regularly. And in those pages he would often see the familiar face of his stepbrother Nathan Seda. The General's rise to political prominence was seldom out of the news.

He had not maintained any further contact. In fact, he had deliberately avoided contact with those who had remained in Indonesia, receiving only scant news, usually of accidents or deaths of a family member which would immediately be followed by requests for money. He didn't mind. They were far less fortunate than he and it was an obligation he could not refuse when asked.