Читать книгу The Timor Man - Kerry B Collison - Страница 13

Nathan Seda Jakarta — January 1965

Lightning cracked yet again, signalling there would be no break in the tropical storm. The city began to choke as rain fell incessantly creating chaos with the traffic. Trucks, buses and cars remained stuck where they had broken down under the deluge, their electrical systems saturated and rendered useless. Scores of drivers waded through the deep and filthy flows which threatened to carry the abandoned cars over the roads into the flooded canals.

The downpour continued throughout the day, threatening to close the capital, as most major roads became small rivers feeding shallow lakes which had suddenly appeared where once there had been parks and fields.

The air was thick with the musty damp smell of the rain. Humidity rose to unbearable levels.

The more congested intersections would remain blocked for hours as children played in waist-deep ponds covering the Capital’s pot-holed protocol roads. Electricity flow would have ceased almost immediately rain had commenced. Without power there would be no water — the irony of being without adequate water while rain flooded the city was not lost on the Capital’s inhabitants.

The transition from Dutch colonial rule to Independence had thrust the archipelago’s one hundred and fifty million people into a political and economic quagmire peppered by religious rivalry and diverse cultural differences.

Soekarno’s brilliant use of rhetoric, and support provided by the military, enabled him to take the helm of the world’s fifth most populous country, a land rich in unexploited natural resources.

The national philosophy, the Panca Sila , provided for five basic principles around which the people were expected to build their way of life. This philosophy eased the racial and religious tensions which otherwise might have caused civil war. Although the country had the world’s largest Moslem population, political power was determined more by ethnic rather than religious considerations. Leaders from Java, the most heavily populated island, controlled the country’s numerous and politically unstable provincial centres.

The sky remained ominously dark. Lightning flashed again, striking the unfinished skeleton of the Wisma Nusantara building overlooking the British Embassy. Jalan Thamrin, Jakarta’s main protocol avenue, ceased to function.

Canal water flowed along the footpaths bringing with it unmentionable sewage and the occasional dead animal. Since seasonal maintenance was invariably neglected the kali, or drains, could never handle the sudden downpours. Putrid garbage and human effluent flowed into the streets and through the houses. Pedestrian traffic disappeared as the footpaths became increasingly inundated.

Houses built along the avenues adjacent to these canals always suffered the fierce odours from these sewage streams. Jonguses waited apprehensively as the rivers of foul waste threatened their masters’residences. Instructions were given to female servants, the babus, to stand-by to clean up after the occasional vehicle which passed immediately in front of a residence, throwing small waves into the well kept yards, creating havoc.

Most resident foreigners were members of the Diplomatic Corps. Their houses were grand old Dutch designed mansions built during the colonial times to provide for the numerous Dutch colonists. Now they were occupied by career men and women, many enjoying their first posting overseas.

Expatriates, generally speaking, were provided with vehicles. Transport was expensive and car smuggling was practised in many of the Third World Embassies to compensate for the poorly paid civil servants’meagre incomes. Drivers ferried their masters to and fro, enjoying considerable privilege within the domestic ranks of the expatriate household. The wet season was, however, when these drivers suffered most abuse.

Rain brought floods. Flooded streets caused the tuan ’s car to stop. Tuan would be late for work, or even worse, late for a cocktail function. The ‘mister’ would then be angry and would surely blame his woes for the day on the driver. It seemed that no one appreciated the rain.

The traffic police disappeared. What could they do? The locals were clever enough to stay indoors and the foreigners, the orang asing , were always a problem demanding assistance waving their diplomatic passports whenever their vehicles came to an abrupt halt in the flooded streets. Just four or five stranded vehicles around the Hotel Indonesia circle could create hours of chaos.

Traffic congestion was further exacerbated by the 100,000 becak drivers who pedalled their iron three-wheelers everywhere, demanding equal access through the bedlam of traffic. These wiry-legged men were definitely a force to be reckoned with, should one be so unfortunate as to become involved in an accident or any other altercation with them. Theirs was, in fact, the most sensible form of transportation during heavy rain periods as the passenger was reasonably protected from the elements. There were, however, exceptions.

This year’s Idulfitri contributed to Jakarta’s unpleasant appearance. The remnants of that week’s festivities floated along the inundated roads. Many who had returned to their villages for the Ramadhan feast would soon drift listlessly back to their offices satisfied that their religious and social obligations had been acquitted in accordance with tradition and the Moslem faith.

Idulfitri followed the Moslem month of fasting. Each morning, prior to daybreak, those participating would consume their last food and water until sunset. Initially, most Moslems would follow the dictates of the fast. Many would not have the strength to continue for the entire month and those who felt despondent for not being resilient enough to meet the rigid demands as determined by the holy Koran were not, in general, castigated for their weakness or inability to adhere to the religious rites.

Ramadhan was a time of restraint and abstinence.

Idulfitri was a time of celebration.

It was just unfortunate that this year, the holidays following the breaking of the final fasting period had to coincide with the rain. Most accepted the situation philosophically; the festival advanced by two weeks each year and eventually the holidays would fall during the dry season.

Not far from the central business district stood the splendid obelisk representing Indonesia’s freedom from Dutch rule. Positioned in the centre of a large square, Lapangan Merdeka, the column could be seen from most points within the city proper. Surrounding the Merdeka square were government offices and the Indonesian Department of Defence, HANKAM. The United States Embassy, adjacent to the Republic’s military headquarters, enjoyed the benefits of the prominent address, but not the excessive attention it often attracted.

The HANKAM building in itself was a relatively insignificant structure considering its importance. Built by the Dutch, it was a white walled terra-cotta roofed building which reached only to the customary three levels. The Dutch did not enjoy the benefits of lifts and air-conditioning, so consequently they designed their structures so that, having struggled up the stairs to the third floor, they could enjoy the occasional breeze which compensated for the climb.

Louvred windows allowed soft breezes to whisper through the buildings, cooling the self-appointed colonial masters. Security was, at best, cursory. Military police stood as sentries at the main gate checking visitors as they entered in their stately limousines.

The main structure housed two hundred staff, most of whom had very little to do but wander through the deteriorating corridors. Mildew was evident everywhere and leaking water pipes left patterns of moist blotches identifying the piping’s irregular path through the maze of brick and cement walls. Cables hung precariously in the air held only by rusting supports. Wires bared to the copper hung threateningly from their two-holed sockets, the inadequate power rarely surging to more than half of its determined voltage. Power variation damaged equipment even more quickly than the tropical heat with its soaking humidity.

Not that power was such a problem, as it rarely worked anyway since the Soviets ceased their financial support three years before. The entire building boasted only three direct dial telephone numbers and the switchboard had virtually no capacity for improvement.

In the rear courtyard, more than twenty Soviet-style Jeeps, Armed Personnel Carriers and trucks stood abandoned and overgrown by grass. Generally speaking, the armed forces were in financial disarray.

A Banyan tree dwarfed the left wing of the complex. Children played in the branches, oblivious to the significance of their surroundings. Not fifty metres from the corner, a long row of two-storey shops and dwellings housed an array of squatters.

A group of Germans had recently acquired a lease to open their own club and construction was under way. This in itself attracted a number of curious spectators, as only occasional building or renovation had taken place during the past years and to see foreigners who were not Soviets actually doing something was quite unusual.

A group of workers waited for their pay, squatting on their haunches beside the remnants of what had been several cubic metres of river sand before the days work had begun.

Another day of drudgery was coming to a close.

A solitary figure sat motionless, staring moodily across the square through a rain-blurred window from the third level of the HANKAM building.

His office was the typical bleak high-ceilinged room. The walls, stained by the smoke of belching buses and powerful aromatic kretek cigarettes, showed evidence of years of neglect. The discoloured ceilings were now a combination of moss-green and moist brown. Surplus ships paint sloshed over earlier leakage stains did little to camouflage the decay. Overhead fans struggled to cut a leading edge through the polluted air, their blades blackened by the endless movement through the heavy, sticky atmosphere.

Photographs hung untidily on the wall adjacent to the military green painted door. General Sarwo Eddie, the hero of the liberation of Irian Barat , stood in his typical arrogant style. His picture was placed to the right of the President while Dr Soebandrio sat knowingly in an armchair, holding a pipe, on the left of the Great Leader of the Revolution, placed there obviously by some clerk with a sense of humour considering the good doctor’s role in delivering his country to Communism. The office was furnished simply with a desk and two chairs.

The man at the window wore an army uniform. The insignia on his shoulder identified him as an intelligence colonel. His dark, almost aquiline features indicated his ethic origins as being somewhere within the Eastern Nusantara group of islands. He was tall for an Indonesian and his face was completely unlined by the worries of his profession.

To the casual observer, the colonel may have appeared to be mesmerised by the activity in the foreign legation’s grounds, the apparent object of his scrutiny. The United States Embassy was not, however, what was distracting him from the unread folders of military documents spread casually across his desk in this third level office.

A roll of thunder interrupted his thoughts, obliging him to acknowledge the unattended, indeed relatively mundane, matters before him.

He sighed. He was bored. Bored with the weather and the overcrowded city that lay sprawled out before him.

Colonel Seda pondered the problems associated with the rain, turned in his chair and returned to his partial view of the outside world. He ran his hand slowly through the curly hair which would soon require attention, his fingers finding a small crusty patch on the hairline to scratch. He examined the small white specks of dry skin under the nicotine stained fingernail. Disgusted with the find, he wiped his hand quickly against his thigh. It was always the little things that caused the most annoyance, he thought.

His driver had not, as yet, returned from Bandung. There was a very real possibility his transport would break down, should the incompetent idiot assigned to him from the motor pool attempt to bring the antiquated vehicle through the flooded streets. Again he sighed. His quarters would be leaking. Every roof in the country leaked. ‘ Sialan — Damn,’he thought. The country was deteriorating at an alarming rate. Inflation had eaten his salary away to the point where it was practically valueless. At least the monthly rice rations kept everyone going. It was difficult to secure a position where a little extra income could be earned. He should have joined the police force, he mused. Without exception, police, because of their close access to the public, could always extract those little extras whenever they wished. At any time they could just stop any car with a Chinese passenger and squeeze him for a little cash.

Although a minority group, the Indonesian Chinese had a very real stranglehold on the Indonesian economy and were easy targets for extortion. Nobody cared when a Chinese was roughed up a little for they had not integrated with the indigenous races and often manipulated commodity prices to the point where many pribumi people starved. Wherever they settled, the world’s oldest trading race eventually became embroiled in some form of racial violence and Indonesia was no exception. The Chinese were despised. They controlled the flow of all agricultural products and other basic necessities. They had their own schools. They controlled the shops.

And all that gold they wore!

“Sialan mereka semua!” Seda muttered, cursing the whole race as he continued to gaze through the window. Perhaps he should not complain, he brooded. After all, he’d done reasonably well with his life so far, considering that he had been born and raised in a small village near Dili in East Timor. There, life had been excruciatingly hard. His father had died from one of the many fevers that plagued the rural dwellers.

Seda had difficulty remembering much about his father, only his strong, sharp facial features remained fixed in his mind. He had obviously inherited his father’s nose, for when he moved to Jakarta as an adult and visited the whores around the Blok M graveyard, they often mistook him for a foreigner. He would never know whether these genes were the result of some careless Portuguese sailor or some Dutch seed sown lustfully generations before.

The Portuguese began trading with Timor almost a century prior to any serious attempts by the Dutch to develop a foothold on the island. The division of the island between these two seafaring nations ultimately resulted in the development of considerable religious and cultural differences between the Catholic northeast and the Protestant south.

Although both colonial powers in Timor concentrated their efforts on preventing each other from expanding their spheres of influence, some trade in produce did develop. Coffee became the main export from the two colonies.

Dutch Timor inevitably became part of Indonesia as a result of the Independence movement. It was officially absorbed into Nusa Tenggara province by the central government in Jakarta during subsequent provincial restructuring. Kupang remained the provincial capital. For a time, Catholics, Protestants, and a few Buddhists, Hindus and Moslems co-existed without any real racial or religious turmoil. Even the head-hunters put aside their old habits.

When his mother was obliged to migrate to another village across the border, she remarried. Seda became one of seven children in what was already an impoverished family. He slept on a tikar mat alongside his new brothers and sisters cramped together on a dirt floor in a one room house which provided only the barest protection from the elements. There were two small meals a day, taken sitting cross-legged on the roughly woven mat. Some days, when his stepfather was unable to find part time work to supplement his pitiful income, they went without food altogether.

He remembered that his mother often stood outside, alone, looking down the dry slopes towards the sea and across to where they had lived when his father had still been alive. Occasionally, he would slip quietly outside so that the other children would not follow and go to her, leaning against her frail body, his head tilted against her hip trying to understand just what she stood and stared at from under the old mango tree.

She would not talk during these private moments but he didn’t mind as he always felt a sense of warmth as her calloused hands softly stroked his hair and the side of his face. He knew that she frequently missed meals, ensuring that the children were fed first. She was often sick and he wanted to cry out for someone to care, but he knew, even in his youth, that almost every hut in the dry desolate village housed another mother whose suffering was similar.

Poverty and hunger can be great motivators. When his mother had arranged for him to attend classes at the local Catholic school he grasped the opportunity and studied diligently. At first he experienced great difficulty as the other children were more advanced, having had the advantage of attending classes since turning seven.

Seda was nine before he could read. When he was twelve he had recovered all the lost time and was increasingly being singled out by the priests for his rapid progress in class. These hard working men of the cloth struggled to educate all of the children, regardless of their talents, but their efforts were often severely restricted by a government which favoured non-Christian institutions. During the heat of the day when the classes rested, the children would literally drop to the floor in the school and sleep for several hours, enjoying the cool of the tiled floor against their undernourished bodies.

Schools were inadequately equipped. The population was desperately poor. The Church provided a semblance of basic primary education to many however funds were limited as the government restricted the growth of non-Moslem faith educational institutions.

The priests were obliged to be extremely careful and selective when allocating positions in their school.

As a teenager Seda continued to study diligently. Excellent grades created the opportunity for the young student to attend the Armed Forces Academy in Java which resulted in his eventual escape from the provincial backwater. His mother had been delighted that her son had been selected for such a career opportunity. Now, his future would be secure. He would never again experience the hunger of his childhood.

Seda contemplated his humble origins. Although born in Portuguese Timor this was never reflected in any of his earlier school registration documents. Border crossings were frequent and registrations of village births on both sides of the border mainly went unrecorded. He remembered his mother and the tears of joy when his selection had been announced. Her tears were not just in appreciation for the blessing her god had passed to her son. She wept knowing that she would lose him. Once he had tasted the exotic life of the main island she knew he would never return.

Seda had never been convinced that the army had been the correct choice. In retrospect, he felt that perhaps he should have elected to fly with AURI, the country’s Air force. Many of the pilots and technical officers had been sent to the Eastern Bloc countries for advanced training. This inevitably meant additional funds for clothes, travel and other expenses and a chance to travel away from the disorder that prevailed.

Indonesia had entered its most dangerous period. Everything appeared to be confused. The country’s leaders had all but embraced Communism yet this strange political ideology did not, in fact, accept religious belief! Bewildering enough for an uneducated Muslim population which followed the teachings of the Prophet Mohammed. The people had been instructed to follow the President’s dictates. NASAKOM was the new political order — Nationalism, Socialism, Communism. The Russians had poured in billions of dollars in foreign aid to ensure that the Communist political agenda could be realised in this resource-rich archipelago.

Within a few short years, the country was equipped with tanks and every kind of sophisticated weaponry. Airfields boasted MIG15s, 17s and 19s. Indeed, Seda had read a report just the day before about the amazing Russian strategic bombers, designated TU-16’s, which had the capacity to bomb every major city in the country to the south in just one sortie!

Seda found that there was so much to learn from the new military jargon. IL-28s had been positioned at the Malang and Surabaya airfields. SA-2 missiles were sitting on their launch sites ready for firing from their revetments. There was also talk that the Russians had built a submarine base in Cilacap, on the south coast of Java!

Seda had seen the new steel mill under construction in Cilegon.

All of this, he thought, and still not enough money to feed the hundreds of thousand of troops the country had mustered. Everyone was waiting anxiously for the leadership to prove how the new doctrines would prevent past major food shortages from recurring. Maybe the new ships provided by the Russian Navy would be utilised to bring rice from other nations?

Seda snorted in disgust. He was intelligent enough to realise that the Indonesian people now faced starvation due to the folly of political misadventures by the country’s entrenched leadership, and that the days when the country exported rice were over. He did not trust the group headed by Subandrio. The President was too easily swayed by the Communists. Maybe Bung Karno, as he preferred to be called, was, in fact, becoming senile and did not realise the dangers of these people around him. The President had spent far too much of his valuable time chasing young women and, to the dismay of his first four wives, his latest acquisition, a Japanese hostess, was set to become the new First Lady!

Seda looked over his shoulder at the photographs and suddenly felt uneasy under the gaze of the powerful trio hanging there as if in silent rebuke. The President was still very popular although there had been several attempts on his life. The political scene created considerable concern amongst the army’s generals. Senior naval and air force personnel had joined the Communist Party swelling its ranks under Dr Subandrio’s leadership. Considering these problems, it was best not to involve oneself, the Colonel decided.

Rumour had it that the Communist Party would attempt to weaken the Army by convincing the President that only party loyalists should be promoted to senior positions in the services.

Their influence had reached into the schools and was evident on billboards and in the press. Seda recognised that the Communists were dangerous. They were dangerous to the nation and they were particularly dangerous to military personnel in positions such as his. Should the President permit their power to infiltrate defence control and policy determination centres, they would succeed in gaining control over the army.

The Timorese shuddered. All those years of study and obedience! These bangsat were no better than the blood-sucking Chinese leeches!

Unlike most in his peer group, Nathan Seda really did understand just how acute the problem had become between the Communists and the military in their power struggle during recent years. The President seemed to consider that competition between the two opposing groups was healthy. Seda thought inwardly that Bung Karno had lost touch with reality and with the very ideals which had originally brought the Republic together under the red and white flag.

Seda acknowledged that he had to utilise whatever connections he had developed here, at Defence Headquarters, to consolidate his position. He further understood that it was essential to identify himself with the current ABRI leaders who were anti-Communist to avoid possible suspicion of his allegiances. He was convinced that Indonesia’s uneasy political climate could easily result in the Communist elements gaining control of the military which would be disastrous for officers of his rank. Being Timorese, he automatically attracted suspicion. Only a handful of non-Javanese would ever make it to the top and with a little skill and a great deal of luck he felt that time would reward him for his patience and loyalty. It was therefore imperative that he maintain his position in HANKAM, avoiding transfer to any other unit where his career could be buried forever, or worse...

The President had seen his war against the Federation of Malaysia as a means of diverting the nation’s attention away from the economic and social nightmare created by corrupt and poorly educated leaders. Many of the hierarchy had little better than a primary education and were quite unable to cope with the problems posed by the failing economy. Indonesia’s natural resources were mainly undeveloped as the western nations were reluctant to risk their capital in a country whose Communist Party boasted the third largest membership in the world.

The United States and British Commonwealth countries were alarmed when the Indonesian government readily accepted Russian armaments. The CIA often flew missions against the Indonesian forces from Clarke Field in the Philippines. One such mission failed and the American pilot, captured after being shot down, became the charismatic Indonesian President’s personal pilot. The British, obliged to provide assistance to the fledgling members of the Commonwealth, prepared for major warfare. RAF Vulcan bombers, armed with atomic warheads, flew regular missions between Darwin and Singapore with their bomb bay doors open over Indonesia.

Australian soldiers served alongside their Malaysian counterparts in the jungles throughout this undeclared war. The Australian public knew little of what was happening as their government smothered almost all attempts by journalists to reveal the facts. Government ‘D’ notices prevented the release of news which was deemed detrimental to the security of the nation.

Australian SAS troops often carried out cross-border raids into Indonesian-held Irian and Kalimantan, capturing select troops for interrogation purposes and then dispatching them without ceremony. The Royal Australian Navy, whilst on manoeuvres, passed through the Sunda Straits with all hands ready at their battle stations. The fear of Communist hordes swooping down through the archipelago into the land of the Southern Cross was real. Or at least it was made to appear so by the leading politicians of the time.

Poorly trained and suffering low morale, many Indonesian soldiers died fighting against superior and more professionally trained forces. Nevertheless, Dr Soekarno was adamant; the war would continue. And so it did, much to the dismay of both his military commanders and Indonesia’s neighbours.

A posting to the ‘ Konfrontasi ’battalions was considered to be extremely dangerous as the unofficial lists of missing and dead were so unpalatable the figures were never released. A casual observer might be impressed by Indonesia’s fine array of weaponry but to a skilled eye, the appalling lack of maintenance was obvious. Sophisticated aircraft and other defence equipment often remained on the ground or broken in warehouses due to the inability of the unskilled personnel to maintain the armaments. Spare parts were lost or misplaced. Although Indonesia had been heavily armed by the Russians, training programs were limited to a select few.

The Communists urged the President to move the military from Java to front line encampments. Their logic was that this would be sufficient to cause the opposing forces to collapse quickly once they recognised the might of the Indonesian military. Dr Subandrio, in concert with his fellow party supporters, urged the President also to consider that this action would bring pressure to bear on those commanders whom they considered were shirking their responsibilities.

The President was easily flattered by Dr Subandrio. As Head of State, Soekarno had himself designated as the Great Leader of the Revolution, President for Life, Chief of the Armed Forces and this self-delusion led him to believe that he would, in the future, lead the Non-Aligned Nations and the New Emerging Forces of the Third World. Soekarno would not heed his army generals when they cautioned him against moving his military support to outposts where they would be unable to support the Java Central Command. The generals were gravely concerned. Deliberate delays were instigated to prevent the main stay of the army’s elite forces from being moved away from their direct control.

As a colonel in the Indonesian Intelligence, Headquarters Army Command, Department of Defence, Nathan Seda was privy to national secrets of considerable import. Clandestine meetings were often arranged to permit the exchange of secret memoranda to avoid discovery by the Communists. Reports regarding internal security were often passed, read, then burned.

Seda was not entirely at ease with this responsibility. It rested heavily on his shoulders; however he realised that, correctly used, he could develop considerable power through the accumulation of this sensitive information.

Lightning flashed again, this time followed by a crack of thunder that shook the building. Distracted, he checked his wrist watch, a square shaped Lavina which often opted to stop for no mechanical reason he could understand.

It was time to leave. Seda reflected on his immediate problem with transport then instructed the motor pool not to allocate a replacement vehicle for that evening. He elected to catch a becak as the three-wheeled contraptions often succeeded where powered vehicles could not.

Securing his desk, Seda strolled out through the old building into the courtyard, past white helmeted security guards and on to Jalan Merdeka Utara. There he beckoned towards the multitude of becak drivers who, having sighted the colonel leaving the defence building, edged forward calling out for the fare. He selected one and cautiously climbed aboard.

A Russian-built staff vehicle eased into the courtyard as he departed. The occupants appeared agitated. Probably, thought Seda, from the many stops the vehicle would surely have made in getting through the obstacle course that the congested street had now become.

Buses and trucks blocked traffic as passengers attempted to push their transport, often unsuccessfully, to higher ground. Waves created by the few vehicles which moved through the traffic pushed dirty water perilously close to the top of the becak’s passenger seat. Seda’s trousers became wet causing him to shift to protect the contents of his pockets from the wash. In doing so, he slipped forward and, to his and the driver’s dismay, fell sideways into the filthy, inundated street.

“Aduh, Pak,” the driver called, his eyes wide, anticipating the angry outburst. “Sialanlu,” snapped Seda, pulling himself upright, using the becak frame for support.

He succeeded in wading to the other side of the flooded road where the water was shallower, cursing the driver for his stupidity, punctuating the vitriolic outburst with easily identifiable finger and thumb movements, while admonishing himself silently for having lost his balance.

He looked down at his trousers and what he saw angered him even more. They were ripped. His feet were wet and his shoes would take days to dry. He stood silently for a few moments forcing his anger to subside. Remembering the cause of his accident, Seda extracted his wallet along with its soggy contents. Four hundred and fifty wet rupiah notes! Angrily he stared at his identification card and passes. All would require replacement. Aduh , he thought, this had been one hell of a day. Resigned to the two kilometre walk and determined not to board another becak, Seda headed off in the direction of his quarters, brooding over the bad karma .

The morning summons to report to the director’s office had been unexpected. Although Seda was an excellent officer and there was no apparent reason to be alarmed, he still experienced a sense of uneasiness. Despite being self-confident under most circumstances, he knew that this call had to be serious. The director rarely ordered such one-on-one meetings with lieutenant colonels. In fact, Seda had only met the general twice and both occasions were during briefing sessions in the War room. He resisted the temptation to hurry. It would display signs of nervousness.

The First Directorate for Intelligence Operations was at the end of the second wing, secluded in a tight web of security. He approached under the watchful eyes of two KOPASGAT airborne guards. One of them advanced towards him and ushered him directly into an ante-room. The door was closed and locked.

A small desk off to one corner was occupied by a first lieutenant who rose respectfully and offered the Colonel a seat on the hand-carved wooden bench seat. The suite was typical of the decorative carved settees throughout the government offices and, as many a foreign guest had found, they were not designed for long periods of sitting.

The Colonel observed that there were no water stained ceilings here. A hand woven Persian carpet lay spread along side the coffee table upon which had been placed a glass of Java Robusta coffee, covered with the standard aluminium lid to prevent dust and flies from spoiling the cooling thick liquid.

He ignored the offering and continued to pass the time examining the recently printed map which covered half the wall area above the trophy cabinet. The chart indicated that the ocean to the south and west of his country was now named the Indonesian Ocean and that the whole of Borneo and Malaysia bore the same identifying colours as all of the provinces of the Indonesian Republic. Seda resisted the temptation to smile as he was conscious of the young officer’s attention.

The General kept him waiting. It was warm in this room. Was it his imagination or did the overhead fan appear to be slowing? He felt the moist droplets forming around his buttocks and then under his arms. The perspiration made him self conscious and a small damp trickle established a line down the centre of his back. He leaned forward, to prevent the sticky drops from saturating his shirt, annoyed that his anxiety would be apparent.

Suddenly the buzzer sounded, startling him. The adjutant rose to his feet to escort him into the general’s presence. The large double doors opened into an enormous room. It stretched across ten metres and was at least seven metres deep.

Seda was surprised. He had no idea that such offices were available in the cramped HANKAM complex. He had, in the course of his duties, visited many of the other senior ranking officers’ rooms throughout the command but never had he seen an office with such expensive decor. The walls were covered from the floor halfway to the ceilings with polished teak timber panels. The skirting boards were all hand carved as were the joining sections between each panel. The ceiling followed the line of the roof, making the chamber large and impressive, and priceless Dutch colonial lamps were hung in each of the corners. One wall was covered with plaques, pennants and photographs from the general’s past military service.

On the opposing wall, a huge Garuda highlighted with gold leaf was positioned overlooking the director’s magnificent desk. Directly between its talons, creating an appropriate backdrop to the throne-shaped director’s chair, were the words Bhineka Tunggal Ika . Unity in Diversity. The Red and White hung on its stand, moving gently to the wisps of artificial breeze blowing from the three, two-horsepower Carrier air-conditioners installed inconspicuously where former windows had been removed.

The imported guest chairs with tanned matching leather seats and chrome tubular steel supports were positioned so that the visitor was obliged to view the general’s military memorabilia and photographic record of his achievements. He could feel the authority emanating from the room and its tenant. Seda came to attention directly in front of his superior, saluted smartly, then waited for a response. The door closed softly behind him as the adjutant slipped quietly away.

General Sudomo sat erect in his oversized chair which had been carved to match the front and side panels of the three-metre desk. The impression created was that the man was considerably smaller than normal, perhaps even a dwarf, but Seda knew this not to be the case. He was very aware that it would be dangerous to underestimate the Director, as his reputation for toughness was well known in military circles.

“Ah Seda,” Sudomo spoke softly, indicating with a gesture for Seda to be seated. He obeyed. An opened cigarette packet had been carefully positioned in the centre of the glass coffee table. He noticed that the General’s ribbon collection, displayed prominently on the left side of his chest, had grown since his last intelligence briefing. Seda made it a practice to notice such things. These small yet colourful bands provided considerable information as to the bearer’s past and even current movements and activities. In a world of intrigue and power plays it was imperative to have up-to-date knowledge.

For high-ranking officers like the General, the ribbons were literally decorations. At the last count there were just over four hundred generals in the combined army, navy, air and police forces. Both the new decorations were the elite ‘ Konfrontasi ’ ribbons and Seda again felt uneasy at any prospect of his possible posting to an active unit which specialised in border crossings into Malaysia and New Guinea.

Seda had seen intelligence reports before they had been revised for general dissemination. They had indicated that the highly skilled British and Australian troops assisting Malaysia were reducing Indonesia’s ‘hero squads’ to scattered rabble. He had no desire to be a recipient of these distinguished ‘ Konfrontasi ’ ribbons for the majority were awarded posthumously.

“Kolonel, I have called you here to discuss a most sensitive intelligence matter,” the General firmly announced, then dropping his voice to an almost inaudible level, continued. “However, there are some grey areas which must be disposed of before your security grading can be upgraded.” He paused to light a cigarette.

Seda’s palms were now very moist. He was staggered. It was what he had dreaded — a posting to a ‘ Konfrontasi ’ unit! He desperately wanted to take one of the cigarettes from the table but knew to do so without one being offered was unthinkable. Instead, he clenched his fists tightly until he could feel the palms aching and then relaxed his grip, permitting the blood to flow freely again.

General Sudomo sat comfortably behind the ornately carved desk observing and enjoying the obvious agitation the Timorese was experiencing. The clinging aroma of the kretek cigarette permeated the stuffy atmosphere within this enormous Javanese sanctum. The general relished the power of his position and had orchestrated the demise of many of his peers from this very office. Now he was one of the few trusted officers close to the President.

He himself claimed to have no political ambitions. He had always believed that the military were the real power and that the day would come when even the over zealous politicians would need the total support of the army to survive their fool-hardy and unworkable efforts to change the inherent character of the peasant class.

Born in the heart of Central Java in a small village not far from the historic Borobudur temple, this son of a peasant farmer had once idolised the man who had become the nation’s leader. Politically naive, Sudomo had followed Soekarno’s leadership without question, as so many others had over the past twenty years.

He had learned to read at the village Sekolah Dasar. He could speak a little of the difficult Dutch language, but preferred communicating in his native dialect, Javanese. Even the national language, Bahasa Indonesia , did not flow fluently from his lips.

Although poorly educated, his rapid rise in rank was directly related to his ability to understand and overcome opposition. Prior to receiving his first star he had, in fact, met the President only twice. The first meeting was in Semarang when the Bapak , as he was often referred to, visited the local military command to introduce Dr Subandrio’s latest innovation, a cadre force of women soldiers. These turned out to be a supply of Sundanese prostitutes for the Bapak’s private use. These women would follow their leader from town to town ready at all times to provide the President with the creature comforts he so obviously enjoyed when away from the Palace.

At that time there were already rumblings of discontent regarding the President’s support for increased Communist activity within the military. The Javanese Generals were secretly concerned that the communists were covertly stripping power from the army as they had succeeded in doing so with the AURI and ALRI leadership.

General Sudomo’s second meeting had been in the company of General Nasution who had visited the Bapak at his weekend palace in Bogor. Soekarno had remembered his name and from that time Sudomo’s star commenced its ascent. Now he headed the army’s most secret intelligence bureau, reporting directly to the Chief- of- army- Staff.

His reaction to the young Seda was typically Javanese. Inwardly he despised the minority tribes, while in public he maintained an air of friendliness to all, regardless of their ethnic origins. He had kept Seda on his staff as the man was intelligent and loyal.

General Sudomo leaned back casually, preparing his next words for their greatest impact. The Javanese enjoyed drama. It was an integral part of their cultural make-up. The Ramayana saga. The discomfort he was causing the Timorese was most gratifying.

“How long is it since you have seen your brother Albert? ” The General asked. The words hung in the air before Seda realised they were discussing his estranged step-brother in Australia.

Seda knew that he should show no signs of nervousness with this man and that his questions should be answered quickly and precisely. A small knot began to form in his stomach as he recalled omitting all reference to his brother in the detailed security information sheet prior to being selected for the Intelligence Corp. Abrother, albeit only a stepbrother, who had acquired a criminal record for subversive activities, was not exactly ideal reference material for security clearances, especially in this Corp.

General Sudomo’s pleasure increased as he identified the uneasiness evident in the Colonel’s posture.

“Well, Kolonel?” he asked.

“Pak ‘Domo,” Seda commenced using the polite and abbreviated form of the General’s name hoping it would ease some of the tension between them. “ It has been many years since he was deported and we were not really brothers .”

The General was completely conversant with the facts surrounding the departure of Albert Seda, his misdemeanours as a student, and Nathan Seda’s family. This interview was only a formality. He wanted to appear to be thorough with the Timorese.

The Colonel continued.

“We shared the same mother — I mean my mother married his father after my own father died.” He felt flustered having stumbled with the reply. Seda was now embarrassed and angry. His family background was one subject he preferred not to discuss and now yet again it had become an issue in his career.

“As his adik-tiri, I had no influence over him whatsoever General, ” insisted Seda, anticipating some negative result from his family

association with the man. “I felt that any reference to our family relationship would only have been detrimental to my career and decided to omit all reference to him .” He stared blankly in front of him, resigned to whatever punishment he would receive.

Sudomo, now satisfied that Seda had confirmed his earlier information said, “It is not necessarily a problem Kolonel.”

“Maaf, Pak ‘Domo, I don’t understand .”

“We will overlook your oversight,” the General responded, smiling at his choice of words. “Your brother has communicated with you recently? ” he asked suddenly before Seda could have the chance to compose himself.

Seda squirmed. Letters usually requesting assistance to forward money to his mother and other family members had arrived from time to time. Surely they would not be aware of this?

“Tidak, Pak ‘Domo,” he lied. The General’s eyes narrowed slightly. He studied his subordinate for what seemed to Seda to be an excruciatingly long time.

‘ What is this all about? ’ he wondered, now very concerned as to the direction the meeting had taken. He refrained from speaking further, waiting instead for the senior officer to continue.

“You are instructed to commence communicating with him.” Sudomo ordered. “We feel that he may be of some assistance to us, should you foster the relationship .” Seda was stunned. Surely they were mistaken! What had Albert done to bring himself to their attention? His letters had been brief, courteous, and uninformative. He felt the knot in his stomach return.

“Your brother has achieved a position of confidence with the Australian Government, ” the Intelligence Director said sharply, focusing on the Colonel’s eyes as he spoke. “He is currently employed as a language teacher for selected government personnel. We feel that his access to these people could be of advantage to Indonesia’s future. ”

Seda could not believe his ears. Albert! A position of importance with the Australian Government! It was incomprehensible! He was certain that there had been some mistake. His stepbrother had always been in trouble. How was it possible that he could now be the one suggested by his superior? He thought quickly. Without knowing the General’s real purpose he was lost in this discussion. He dare not refuse to assist.

Whether or not Albert’s relationship could be cultivated was another consideration. It had been so long since they had last seen each other and even then Seda was happy to see the last of the troublemaker. He did not feel confident of carrying out the orders, remembering the circumstances governing Albert’s departure from his homeland.

“You will be required to move your office to a new section created specifically for this task. Your total cooperation is essential to the successful cultivation of Albert Seda. Should you succeed, there will be rewards commensurate with the benefits achieved by your section.”

General Sudomo paused ensuring the importance of his words had been absorbed, then continued. “You are to report directly to me. There is to be a minimum of written communications between your section and others. You will be assisted by two of our former military attaché staff. They are former Siliwangi division soldiers and completely loyal to me. ” Seda understood immediately that these two would be the general’s watchdogs.

“You are expected to initiate a rapprochement with your brother within the month.” The General hesitated before continuing. “ You are being given a position of complete trust. I suggest you go home and consider these things before reporting to this office for further details tomorrow morning. ”

Stunned by the sudden change in events and his new instructions, Seda wanted to say something but wasn’t quite sure what would be appropriate. He paused for a moment before replying.

“Terima kasih, Pak ‘Domo .” Seda knew that there was really nothing left to say. He had been dismissed. Standing to attention he saluted and turned to leave.

“Kolonel !” the General called.

Seda turned and his heart sank as he recognised the envelope in the General’s hand. It was a letter he had forwarded for Albert some time before. His world began to fragment before his eyes.

The General flicked it across the room towards him. “No more secrets, Kolonel, do you understand? ”

Seda retrieved the envelope. The contents were missing. He nodded again, dumbly, saluted and fled.

The General sat motionless considering the Timorese Colonel. Convinced that he had made the correct decision he buzzed his adjutant.

“Bapak ?” responded the Lieutenant. “Call Mas Suryo dan Mas Wiryo ,” the General ordered. Immediately, the Lieutenant set about advising the former Military Attachés that the General had demanded their presence. Having completed his calls the young adjutant shuddered involuntarily. He had seen these two watchdogs in action once before.

And they scared the hell out of him.