The Timor Man (91 page)

 

The Embassy had been decorated quite spectacularly. Nathan Seda had strolled around the building and grounds admiring the preparations as they neared completion. They had invited more than one thousand guests.

This would be the social event of the year, he thought, anticipating the favourable press coverage the public relations group had planned. He expected that the increased exposure would assist considerably when he called upon the United Nations to intervene directly once fighting erupted between the neighbouring countries. They would listen to Seda, as he had the necessary influence to bring about a cessation in hostilities and was not considered by the international media to be overly militant, as some were, within the Indonesian leadership. He hoped that they would call upon him to intervene in negotiating a peace settlement, and he would, but only when the timing suited his purpose.

This time he would succeed. He could feel it. All the ingredients were in place and soon he would achieve his dream.

As the Ambassador continued his survey of the grounds, catering staff busied themselves arranging the white and red combinations around the buffet tables. The national flag was designed to represent the blood of earlier revolutionaries spread across their white
sarongs
as the brave peasant soldiers lay dead or dying from wounds inflicted by the former colonists. They had fought with sharp bamboo sticks against rifles and cannon.He would fight with terror.

They were almost ready. Nathan Seda could feel the excitement building.If he maintained his course and continued to be patient, the General knew it would all then fall into his hands. Understanding his own weaknesses and strengths had been crucial to preserving the plan and his own position within the community at large. Often he had wanted to move much faster but had reasoned with himself knowing that impatience could result in failure. It had been such a long wait.

But it was nearly over. He continued his slow stroll, nodding occasionally to senior staff as they rushed by, arranging the finishing touches to the preparations. The guests would begin arriving in less than two hours. The Ambassador was pleased.

Floral arrangements adorned the long tables covered with white Indian cotton tablecloths. As these stretched out through the full length of the extensive garden overhead lights provided a colourful display as the soft breeze rocked them gently in the chilly evening air. Large marquees had been erected to protect the guests from the elements. August could be bitterly cold in Canberra and the caterers had suggested that they place a number of mobile pot belly burners around to take the bite out of the cool evening. These had already been lighted and placed around the perimeter of the setting.

The Ambassador's table was positioned on a slightly raised podium. Directly behind, the organizers had placed a huge Garuda against the painted plywood wall, built as a temporary backdrop. Flags hung from poles positioned with care at regular intervals between the tables and bunting was strung along the large tent posts creating a festive atmosphere.

As a centre piece, the Embassy had instructed the caterers to prepare an ice carving of the mythical Garuda bird and this two metre high ice sculpture had just been completed before Seda arrived and observed the men packing their tools and chain saws.

He viewed the scene and nodded his approval. At the far end of the garden he could see the table where, in just a few hours, he would host his own Chief-of-Army-Staff Lieutenant General Suprapto, the Indonesian Foreign Minister and many other prominent guests from Australia and abroad. His wife had not accompanied him to Canberra as she wished to wait for the warmer weather to arrive before joining her husband in the Capital.

Seda walked slowly through the setting, glancing from time to time at the neatly placed guest name cards inscribed in bold italic script. Towards the centre where the large ice bird perched regally, scowling at the surroundings, he noticed that two tables of twelve settings each had been allocated to the press. Seda was slightly amused by this as the band occupied the position opposite, not ten metres from where the journalists and their wives would later struggle to make themselves heard above the amplified sounds. He imagined the loud music blaring across the short distance, swamping the evening's polite dinner conversations showing contempt for them all.

Everything was in place. Satisfied with the magnificent garden arrangements he turned to leave for his residence to change and, as he was about to enter the main building, his personal secretary, Nona Kartini, hurried towards him.

“
Pak Seda
,” she called then hesitated, apologizing to her Ambassador as he looked over in her direction, “
I'm sorry to disturb you
.”

“
What is it?
” he demanded, surprised at her obvious concern. Normally his secretary was very composed and not given to any display of emotion.

“
Ambassador
,” the agitated secretary began, “
I have received a call of the most confidential nature! May we speak in private?
”

Seda nodded and walked briskly to the lift followed by his confidential assistant.

They entered the Ambassador's private chambers. Seda strode directly across the heavily carpeted room and dropped, almost impatiently, into the leather swivel chair. As he sat behind the carved teak desk the General looked at the woman and nodded for her to begin.

Seda frowned as he listened to his efficient secretary report the telephone conversation which was, he discovered, the cause for her agitated manner. He watched the career woman refer to her notes, taken during the strange discussion with the caller and, when she had finished, he asked her to go over it again.

She obeyed and read the message once more. He then excused his assistant and sat quietly considering the message he had just been given.

Suddenly he felt very uneasy. Naturally suspicious of any coincidence, Seda ran the information through his mind trying to unravel its secrets. Although agitated by the telephone call he could see nothing sinister in the request. The General recognized that as pressure built over the next few days he would need to ensure that he remained composed at all times and not permit these minor disturbances to distract him from the real objectives.

Especially now!

Seda frowned.

Why had the man come out of the woodwork precisely at this time? Had it something to do with that evening's function?

There was really nothing to discuss with the man, he thought. They were not even real brothers.

Why did Albert feel the necessity to leave such an enigmatic message?

What did Albert know that was of such significance that he had insisted on meeting so urgently?

And how did he manage to acquire an invitation?

Why hadn't he made the call himself?

There were too many questions to which there were no immediate answers. Suddenly Nathan Seda rose to his feet and headed for the armoury. He was annoyed. The Ambassador disliked puzzles and was surprised to see that he was, in fact, preoccupied with the nuisance call. Suspicious of the unexpected message, Seda decided to ensure that the surprise visit did not interfere with the evening's celebrations.

He would instruct Umar to wait for Albert.

 

Coleman had replaced the receiver and immediately informed Anderson that the call had been completed. The woman hadn't recognized that he was not a native speaker. He was pleased that he had not lost his touch!

Stephen checked his watch. Five o'clock! Anderson would already be on his way to rendezvous with Albert.

Coleman felt the tension and was conscious of a burning sensation in the pit of his stomach, which he knew was not a result of the second packet of cigarettes he had already consumed that day, but more likely the knowledge that within the next few hours he was going to kill.

Several times during the days leading up to this moment he had almost declared the assassination off, unable to sleep with fear of the consequences and the complicated reasoning for his actions. He had accepted that Seda was evil and should be removed completely from the political arena. His own personal justification for killing the man was more difficult to come to terms with now that he had examined his motives for the umpteenth time. Sure, he hated the man for what he'd done to so many others without remorse. The death of his servants had plagued his thoughts for years and that act alone was enough for Stephen to want to kill the man responsible. But wanting and doing were two very separate processes.

It was the memory of Louise that now played with his mind. Somehow he knew in his heart that the woman he had so deeply cared for would disapprove of what he was about to do had she been alive. But she wasn't, and because of that fact, he was still going to do it! This was his justification.

He wanted to avenge her death.

Coleman had dreamed ugly visions of her last moments. He knew that it would be impossible now or ever to come to terms with how she died. No one would ever know. Not he, not her family and certainly not Seda, even if the man really did have a soul.

The man was manipulative, ambitious and cruel and threatened the lives of millions in his quest for power. In those few days subsequent to Anderson's revelations, as his anger turned to a deep burning hate, Stephen no longer required any further self examination or justification of his motives to execute Seda. He was going to do it!

Coleman checked his watch yet again. His stomach erupted with another twist forcing him to belch. He drummed his fingers nervously, waiting for the minutes to tick away, as they did, slowly. Then he rubbed his face, pressing both temples with his fingers before readjusting the headphones. Strange, he thought, noticing the perspiration for the first time then wiping the moisture from his forehead with the back of one hand. Stress.

He tried to block the negative thoughts and imagined himself back on the beaches of Palau but it didn't work. His legs were suddenly tired, as he realized that they too were as tense as every other part of his body. He glanced down at his watch, but the minute hand had hardly moved.

‘Damn!' he cursed.

His mind wandered for just a few seconds before snapping back quickly, reminding him of what was happening and why he was there in the quiet house alone.

He rubbed his forehead again, cursing the drops of perspiration that had gathered there to remind him of the danger and consequences of what he was about to do. He played with the headphones again, annoyed that they didn't sit exactly on his head as he'd wanted. He knew that the tension was getting to him. And he was tired. So very, very, tired.

Coleman willed himself to think of the future, and the lazy days he would have once again in the sun, lying back on the beach, resting, but the serene pictures would not form in his mind. They were blocked by a confused swirl of many thoughts, faces and events which refused to give way to the pleasant and peaceful images of the tropics. He closed his eyes momentarily and listened to the silence.

He knew that this was stupid. Open your eyes, you fool!

He fought against the desire to sleep as he went through the procedures once again. His mind kept repeating its signal, over and over. Be alert! Wait for the moment! Push the button! The instruments in front of him became hazy as he listened to the commands. He felt even more sleepy and closed his eyes again, for a few seconds, before snapping back from the drowsy state. Nothing had changed and his eyes closed again as his brain attempted to reduce the enormous pressure it now experienced.

Be alert! Wait for the moment! Push the button!

Again, Coleman jolted suddenly back to full consciousness and looked quickly at his watch. The hands showed eight minutes before six o'clock.

Startled, he sat up immediately. It was almost time! Bloody hell! he swore at himself. He'd almost slept right through.

Coleman removed the headphones and poured the remaining half bottle of mineral water over his face before wiping his forehead with the used napkin lying on the table along with the other remnants of yesterday's lunch. Or was it dinner? He didn't care. Snatching the headset off the table and placing them firmly over his ears Coleman concentrated on the reception.

Still there was nothing. He played around with the equipment and decided that, as it had been set and reset, he counted, maybe twenty times, perhaps he should just leave the bloody gear alone and wait.

Holding his head-phones with one hand, Coleman bent forward and then back, and then forward again until his head was between his knees. Then he sat up and inhaled slowly, blowing the foul air from his neglected lungs.

He repeated this exercise four times and, feeling the first signs of giddiness, knew that would be enough. He then lit a cigarette which caused him to cough violently. He stared at the smouldering stick and stubbed it out in the overflowing ashtray. Coleman picked up the plastic one-litre bottle of mineral water and, remembering it was now empty, threw it across the room in disgust.

His watch informed him that it was already six o'clock. He sat perfectly still, his expression that of stone. It was almost time.

At any moment now his once dear friend would deliver the briefcase to the one-time General. To his step-brother. And then they would both die.