The Timor Man (93 page)

Coleman realized that something was terribly wrong. There had been complete silence for over an hour and he could not understand why the General had not yet entered the room. And then he heard a door opened. Then closed. Followed by more silence

 

Albert could not bear to remain any longer. He could hear the band starting up and decided to depart. He looked at the case containing what he thought was money.

Albert thought that he would be conspicuous leaving with the briefcase and decided he had no choice but to leave without it. He would tell the government man that theAmbassador had personally accepted the gift and thanked him for his kind gesture. He left the private office and hurried down the passageway to the elevators.

The lifts had been locked in the ground position to prevent any of the evening's guests from inadvertently accessing the upper floors of the embassy. He took the stairs and discovered upon descending to the lower level that the security doors had also been locked on the ground floor for the same reason. He sighed and commenced the slow climb back to the upper levels.

At this time Umar had used his security key and activated the lift controls. Upon entering the Ambassador's office he was surprised to find the visitor gone. And then he noticed the case.

Umar lifted the elegant briefcase and was surprised at its weight. It was much heavier than he'd expected. He examined the container for a few moments more and, unable to ascertain its contents, decided that he would lock it away until he had either located the missing visitor or had discussed the situation with his General.

Umar Suharjo mumbled ‘
brengsek
', cursing as his knee caught the side of the sofa and, in the distance, startled by the sudden sound and mistaking the man's voice for that of the Ambassador's addressing the courier, Stephen Coleman panicked and his sweaty hands squeezed the small luminous red button sending the dedicated frequency transmission through the airwaves.

Coleman tensed. He waited for the distant explosion.

Nothing happened. He tried again. Another malfunction! Afeeling of incredible disbelief swept over him and he slammed his fist hard down on the table, accidentally knocking the remote control to the floor. He cursed as he had never cursed before.

Coleman pulled the heavy curtains back angrily and stared across at the brilliantly lit building surrounded by hundreds of limousines as the elite of Canberra's society enjoyed themselves inside. Waves of disappointment flooded through his tired body and he kicked angrily at the broken mechanism lying on the floor.

They had failed!

 

Umar rode the lift down to the lobby and, in his haste, overlooked re-locking the elevators. The General had moved into the garden area and was already approaching his own table when the Security Attaché gave up any further attempts to call him away. It would now be impossible, he knew, observing the guests filling the marquee and taking their allocated positions. Wishing to avoid the multitude of people now crowding every corner of the Embassy and garden, Umar slipped unnoticed into the empty registry.

Albert Seda had succeeded in slowly climbing the steps once again and rested on the stairs for a number of minutes regaining his wind. He was becoming disorientated and confused as to how he became locked inside the building. He thought he heard the whirring mechanical noise stop and forced his old legs to carry him back into the passageway and down to the lift station.

Relieved to find that it was now functioning, he pressed the button and instantly the strange sounds commenced again signalling that the ten-horsepower electric motor was pulling the wire ropes returning the lift to his floor.

Albert then descended to the lobby and, finding the room completely blocked by hundreds of visitors now pushing past him towards the garden, he decided to wait there until their numbers had thinned just enough so that his exit would not be too conspicuous.

Umar Suharjo looked around the quiet registry and, identifying the switch he sought, turned the lights on in the adjacent room.

Outside, the guests were clapping as the Indonesian Ambassador stood in front of the band and raised his hands over his head clenching them together. They had played
Bengawan Solo
and other favourites, much to the enjoyment of the gathering.

The conductor then waited, his body half-turned observing his Ambassador, poised for his signal. As the General nodded, the baton waved delicately in the air, and immediately the handsome Menadonese drummer commenced his roll calling all present to attention. The guests rose to their feet as the band commenced playing the national anthem.

Inside, having now opened the metal doors leading to his arsenal, Umar Suharjo nonchalantly dropped the briefcase containing the plastique explosive casually into the corner.

The sensitive mechanism, which had been unable to receive the earlier signal, immediately reacted to this excessively rough handling. As the deadly package hit the floor an eight-centimetre detonator activated, causing the highly brisant RDX plastique to explode. The first and second primary explosions came within a milli-second of each other, as the C-4 exploded directly through the walls into the PETN, which had been prepared inside the van to detonate the packed ammonium nitrate after the vehicle was later positioned under its own target.

The first shockwave pushed through into the parked truck and ignited its deadly cargo, activating all of the contributing components simultaneously.

The fertilizer exploded, cutting through the building like some giant knife, the powerful shock waves slicing their way in all directions as the explosives acted on each other creating the moment which would rock the political world.

 

The first to die was Umar. Then Albert. And many others as that one enormous burst of energy erupted through the assembly turning the entire area into one massive fireball of destruction.

Figures danced momentarily before disintegrating into heaps of lifeless flesh and bone.

The roar had ripped through the guests, hurling musical instruments into the maelstrom of human carnage, decapitating a bandsman. Then, for an immeasurable moment, there was silence.

A shrill cry pierced the quiet, then a cacophony of screams emphasised the full horror of the blasts.

Coleman picked himself up off the floor slowly, not noticing the blood across his face and shoulders which had taken the impact of the imploding window. He wasn't seriously injured. Searching frantically around in the dark he located the glasses and wiped them quickly.

Coleman viewed the scene through binoculars. He stared at the scene in confused awe. He did not understand how, finally, the relatively small charge had been detonated with the effect of a much greater explosion. Although he had not seen the bomb Coleman knew that it was contained in the small briefcase as he had observed Albert walking through the main gates carrying the deadly package.

He was numb with the shock of what he had done. That he was responsible for this incredible destruction. He raised the glasses once again and was horrified to see that most of the building had been destroyed, while many of the limousines were burning fiercely as fuel tanks continued to explode through the cold night air.

Clouds of black smoke spewed out from where the rear of the building had been and Coleman could see that houses in all directions had also suffered incredible damage. The buildings closest to the blast were burning fiercely.

There could be no survivors he thought, still stunned at the sight before him, as he recognized that there would have been many hundreds of guests caught in the horrific explosion. He had watched most of them enter as their cars arrived to deposit the important passengers at the steps of the mansion.

Minutes passed and he heard sirens screaming as fire engines were first to arrive at the scene. Several loud explosions followed and he could then identify the loud calls being made as the firemen urged the neighbouring Embassies to vacate their buildings quickly. The whole evening sky was ablaze with light.

He could see American Marine Guards running outside their own compound, checking its perimeter. A car horn sounded. It had meant something to him but his mind was still confused with the horror outside and he was unable to unscramble his thoughts. What was it? He tried to remember. The horn sounded again. This time impatiently.

Immediately, then, Coleman remembered. The signal!

He moved quickly, leaving the binoculars and broken pieces of the transmitting device behind as he vacated the premises.

 

He entered the black Ford Taurus Ghia and the car moved away slowly from the scene as more fire tenders appeared. Road blocks were already being established to prevent even further casualties as petrol tanks continued to explode into the night.

The gloved driver remained silent, guiding the car swiftly away with increased speed, leaving the disaster and its terrifying aftermath well behind. They continued down the capital's protocol roads winding their way through the startled suburbs and across the lake towards the airport. Fifteen minutes passed when the driver pulled into the government forestry reserve amongst the pines and switched the engine off.

Soon, the faint cooling noises of the hot metal adjusting to the new temperatures were the only sounds evident in the cold night.

The cloud had all but disappeared. They were parked on a rise looking back towards the city proper.

Coleman stared at the man behind the wheel.

“It's finished,” Stephen stated simply.

The driver's eyes glazed momentarily as he turned his head towards Coleman.

“Could you be certain that he is dead?” he asked softly as if not wishing to break the silence inside the vehicle.

“Yes,” he answered knowing that no one could survive the blast.

They sat quietly, together, observing the bright red glow in the sky.

The other man turned again towards Stephen.

“Both of them?” he asked again, without surprise.

“Yes. Isn't that what you really wanted?”

He didn't answer. Instead he watched the red blinking light move across low in the sky. He could see the lights guiding the late and last flight for the day down the runway. It would be from Sydney, he knew. The last flight was always from Sydney.

He sighed. “Then I guess you're free.”

“Free?” Coleman asked, suddenly terribly weary as he looked out across at the bright evening sky. He thought he could still hear some explosions in the distance.

The realization of what he had done continued to numb his brain. All of those people. Dead. Because of him!

“Free?” he repeated, confused.

His companion slowly released the wheel then leaned across and placed his gloved hand on Coleman's. Stephen was not conscious of the gesture and continued to look out through the side window at the distant blaze. They sat in silence, observing the extent of the bomb's destructive power. The moon could be seen fighting its way through the clouds of billowing smoke, casting a ghostly light over the capital.

“Yes, free,” the driver whispered softly as he moved his left hand across from behind the passenger seat, pausing as the automatic came to rest against the other man's temple.

Coleman turned, surprised at the feel of the cold metal. As the bullet burst from the small handgun his body convulsed and his eyes registered an instant of disbelief at the final treachery.

As life flowed from his body he recalled images of faraway scenes. Of people and places. And of beaches fringed by coconut palms and, he thought that he could see Louise standing, smiling,

calling his name and beckoning him. And then he was swallowed by darkness.

 

The driver wound the window down and sat for a while staring at the view. He felt no remorse. Only sadness at what had taken place. It had to be done.

An owl hooted twice from its perch high up in the branches of the pine trees and the faint mist that had settled across Lake Burley Griffin was now slowly drifting away. The breeze touched the trees and their faint swaying motion created the almost surreal impression that they were dancing and waving at him.

John Anderson sat quietly considering those words he had read many years before, words he had always believed in and had tried to instil into the minds of his young trainees.

‘That the justification for the use of force was that Government was force. And that the Government had the right to use force against its own citizens.'

He felt no shame. Just sadness.

The grey-haired Director studied the dead man beside him and was surprised to feel a slight twinge tug at his heart. Sometimes principles had to take a back seat to real life. To reality.

Anderson
placed the revolver in the lifeless hand. It had been Stephen's.

“Silly bugger!” he muttered.

And then he left, slipping away silently through the shadows, and into the night.

Canberra

Lightning flashed. Aclap of thunder heralded yet another downpour as the young woman sat wistfully looking out at the bleak, wet day. The rain never seemed to cease.