The Timor Man (30 page)

Still suffering the mixed emotions of pleasant surprise and regret that he could no longer recognize the old city, Stephen felt his taxi pull to a jerky halt in the grounds of the new Australian Embassy. The old security guard, Pak Ali, recognized the former Attaché immediately.

“
Tuan, tuan
,” called the withered old man. “Se
lamat datang, selamat datang,”
he continued to call as Stephen climbed out of the taxi and pumped the old Pak Ali's hand.

“
Apa kabar, Pak, sudah kawin lagi
?” Stephen asked, joking with the old man and asking him if he had taken any new wives.

“
Enggak, tuan. Pak Ali udah terlalu tua!
” he responded pleased that the tuan had remembered him and responding to the effect that he was now too old for that nonsense.

“
Kawin lagi dong, Pak Ali, bisa kembali muda!
” Stephen bantered, advising old Ali that if he remarried he would feel younger immediately.

“
Enggak, tuan, enggak!
”
No tuan, no!,
cried the toothless man.

This happy soul had served faithfully through until his first retirement when, at the mandatory age, he had been terminated. Almost everybody in the Embassy was aware that the old man could not support himself and the incredible number of offspring he had so indiscriminately sired and, as a gesture of recognition for his loyal service, the staff re-engaged him immediately, using a pseudonym to circumvent the inflexible regulations which had resulted in his predicament.

Coleman enjoyed the light banter with the old man. Always pleasant, smiling and willing to help in anyway, he was considered by some to be one of the kindest men in town. Waving fondly at the
jaga
, Stephen entered the Embassy foyer and was surprised to see Australian security manning the reception desk. Commonwealth Police.

Another change.

He registered his name and requested to see his successor, Phil Walters. Minutes later he was ushered upstairs to the military's ‘mess' quarters, a section of the top and fourth floor dedicated, as the NavalAttaché suggested, ‘to the spiritual pursuits of the military contingent attached to the embassy'. The serviceman had turned this top security area into their own comfort station, complete with bar. Stephen was ushered into the room and was pleasantly surprised to recognize some of the faces present.

“Embassy still closes at 1430 hours, old chap,” the Army Attaché remarked, rising to greet the visitor, “and we heard you were going to pay us a visit. Welcome back.”

Coleman shook the army officer's hand, “How are you Colonel?” he asked.

“Be a bloody sight better this time next week. Going home. Tour's finished. ”

The group had obviously been hard at it for some time as the noise level for such a small group was unusually high.

“We bent the rules today, young Stephen,” called another officer, the Air Attaché, “to welcome you back.”

Phil Walters was obviously not completely comfortable as what the Group Captain had just announced was completely true. These six servicemen held their own regular and private function in the Embassy, and it was always located somewhere where security prevented most others from entering. During his tour Stephen had been called upon more than once to assist these men in their duties, due to his language expertise. He'd never refused their requests even when it involved giving up his valuable spare time over the weekend to defuse domestic problems with their staff.

They, for the most part, respected the young civilian. After all, he had graduated from one of their most difficult military courses and was so given provisional membership status within their secret circle. These private meetings also provided the opportunity for discussion of sensitive Indonesian military data, access to which had been within Coleman's realm, but not his successor's.

He looked at the small group of hardened but likable professionals and was immediately pleased to be back.

“I'm honoured, gentlemen,” Stephen said.

He was then introduced to the faces which were strangers to him. A large Bangka tin mug filled to overflowing with beer was placed in his hands.

“Welcome back, Stephen,” again the Army Attaché called, which solicited a chorus of ‘welcome' from all present.

They raised their specially engraved mugs in salute.

He hadn't known it, but he was somewhat of a legend amongst the Embassy hands. Having been shot had something to do with that. Coleman toasted them all and, understanding the other civilian's discomfort at being present, drank just two mugs before thanking them for their hospitality and excusing himself from their further activities.

These extra curricular pastimes were mainly restricted to the Sergeant, Warrant Officer and Chief Petty Officer who acted as personal assistants to the three Military Attachés. As their superiors always departed together, these experienced and highly respected men would often remain behind consuming the remnants of liquor before proceeding onto more disreputable pastures.

All three assistants, although not commissioned, received salaries equivalent to that of a field officer as their experience and security classifications alone were second to none. They had access to most files and one of the three would have been painstakingly security cleared to yet a higher level placing him amongst the very few who knew that the service even existed. He spent an hour with Walters before requesting assistance to take him to a hotel.

“Why not stay with me?” his successor asked.

“If I remember correctly, those quarters were claustrophobic at the best of times. No, thanks Phil, I don't mind spending a few days at the Hotel Indonesia. ”

Walters laughed. “Your old place has been demolished and the First Secretary's position now commands a three bedroom semidetached out at Jalan Wijaya. Come on, Stephen, change your mind.

I would enjoy the company. ”

Coleman considered the ramifications of staying with this man. He didn't know him personally and did not feel completely comfortable staying with a stranger, even though Walters worked in his former department.

“Phil, I appreciate your offer. Thanks. I would normally accept but I have a few things to iron out first and, if the offer is still open in a couple of days, I may well take you up on it. ”

“Okay, Stephen. While you're here, whatever you need, just call and I will do whatever I can to assist. ” He hesitated. “That means, anything, okay?”

“Thanks, I'll certainly call if I need assistance.”

“How long do you intend staying,” he asked.

“Maybe a month or so, I'm not sure at this stage. I'll let you know.”

The Information First Secretary recognized the sudden change in the visitor's demeanor. “Stephen, don't misunderstand,” Walters apologized, “I'm not trying to keep tabs on you. As far as I am concerned, you're on leave, and what you do here is your business. ”

Stephen eyed the man coolly. ‘Yes,' he thought, ‘on leave, but not from your department, laddie.'

Walters was not privy to the real nature of Coleman's employment nor the existence of his secretive masters.

“I'll still keep you informed,” Stephen advised, the tone of his voice suggesting that this line of discussion had ended.

He shook Walters' hand and was escorted out of the building. Coleman had only to travel two hundred metres to the Hotel Indonesia. He walked, dispatching the driver ahead as the traffic flow had changed and the car would need to drive a considerable distance before reaching the roundabout.

Coleman arrived at the hotel simultaneously with the blue Holden. He checked in, showered and commenced checking old telephone numbers. At first he had difficulty as many of the numbers had changed or acquired additional numerals. The operator assisted him with the third number, as the first two were no longer used by the previous subscribers.

A familiar voice spoke on the line. It was
Si Jempol
, a useful contact from the old days. Immediately, Coleman replaced the receiver, not wishing to identify himself. He sat on his bed and considered this information. There was no guarantee that the subscriber was at the original address. It was quite possible that the number moved with the original
langganan
to a different location, providing, of course, that the new address was within the original exchange's distribution network. He decided to check it out.

 

The street lighting had improved but it was still a brave tourist who ventured too far from the centre of the city at night. Proceeding from his hotel, Coleman walked directly up Imam Bonjol until he spotted the familiar Dutch colonial house with the unorthodox windows. He sat at a
kaki-lima
roadside stall, ordered a hot chilli
marta-bak
and waited. Half an hour passed. There had been no activity that he could see in the house across the quiet and poorly lit street. Stephen then finished the tasty Indian omelette and decided it was safe to approach the dwelling. He crossed the road and noticed a slight movement behind one of the windows on the second storey.

There was no
jaga
apparent. Immediately his body tensed as he found this scene disturbing. Stephen knew that all houses in Jakarta required security. He entered the yard cautiously and knocked softly on the heavy panelled door. Another curtain was pulled back, this time on the ground level, and a childish face peered at him.

The curtain closed. He knocked again. The curtain was again pulled back slightly and a man waved indicating that the
tuan
was not at home. He refused to accept the ploy and knocked yet again, for the third time and, as he expected, the door opened slightly to permit the tenant a better view of the intruder.

Seconds passed. The door was then pushed closed to permit the safety chains to be released, with which the door was opened quickly and he was pulled inside.

“
Tuan, kenapa kesini
?” the voice implored, its owner refusing to switch the lights on, demanding why to know Coleman had come to this house.

“
Mana Si Jempol?
” he hissed, demanding the whereabouts of the man he sought.

“
Udah pergi, tuan, udah pergi!
” the servant lied telling the foreigner, that the man had already left.

“
Jam berapa pergi?
” Coleman insisted, demanding to know what time the owner had departed.

“
Sejak kemarin, tuan, sejak kemarin,
” the servant again lied, advising that the man,
Si Jempol
, as he was known, having lost a thumb in a street fight, had left the day before. Stephen knew this not to be true as he'd identified the voice just hours before when he phoned from the hotel.

“
Suruh dia hubungi saya,
” he ordered, instructing the servant to ask his employer to contact Coleman.

“
Saya tinggal di Hotel Indonesia, kamar 722. Mengerti?
” Stephen left his hotel and room number having ascertained that the servant understood.

He returned to the hotel, and waited. Several long hours had passed when Stephen heard the knock he'd anticipated would come. The small peep-hole located at the hotel room's front entrance helped him identify the caller. He opened the door and gestured for
Si Jempol
to enter.

They shook hands. Neither spoke.
Si Jempol
opened a small case and proceeded to unpack certain items wrapped in used but clean cement bag liners. These bag liners, cleaned and rubbed smooth were as good as a chamois cloth suitable wrapping for delicate items and
objets d'art
. He unwrapped the items and placed them gently on the bed. The four pistols were in immaculate condition.

Coleman examined the Walthers A 9 mm Short and a 7. 65 automatics. He checked the latter's action then looked at the rugged Eurasian inquiringly, with one eyebrow raised.

The man indicated the number with his hands. It sounded a little on the expensive side but considering the weapon's condition he decided not to hassle him on the price. He picked up the second Walther and could hardly see any difference between the two. He opted for his first choice, returning the 9 mm Short, as the former was the more common of the Walther PPKs and Coleman considered the 7. 65 mm calibre as quite adequate for his needs.

He paid in greenbacks while the rest of the items were placed, having been carefully re-wrapped, back in the case.
Si Jempol
extracted a small box from his pocket and passed the container to Stephen who examined the contents, nodded, placed the package on the bedside table then opened the door for the man to leave.

He had not been in Coleman's room more than four minutes. The transaction completed and the merchandise now safely locked away in his suitcase, the Australian retired for the night.