The Timor Man (75 page)

Seda's eyes narrowed immediately.

“
Crazy?
” he hissed.

“
A poor choice of words, Pak, but the question remains the same. Why

am I not to return to Indonesia?
” he demanded, feeling more confident that his assumptions were correct.

Seda smiled.

“
Simply because you would now be arrested and tried for subversive activities, Mas!
” He hissed again, venomously.

“
What?
” Coleman cried incredulously.

“
Subversion. That's right. And it carries a death penalty, even for a foreigner!
” he snapped.

“
On what grounds?
” the amazed Coleman asked.

“
It has been suggested that your activities have not been restricted to the business sector. There is quite an anti-Coleman lobby developing back in Indonesia.” You have messed up your private life making public those things we Indonesians prefer to keep private in our own homes and bedrooms. And there has been suggestion that you have been engaged in political activities on behalf of your own government. Confidential discussions have already been held with your embassy officials. You could easily confirm their concerns for your behaviour. Just call them! In short, you have become an embarrassment to them as well
.”

Stephen was stunned.Afeeling of helplessness washed over him. He had been a complete fool. This had to be Anderson's work.

“
What if I ignore the advice, General, and return anyway? Surely I can count on your ongoing support considering our past relationship?
”

Seda identified the implied threat and jumped to his feet, kicking the chair noisily as he did so. Startled, Coleman reacted also, rising quickly, anticipating violence. Immediately a figure darted out from behind the darkness and pointed the semi-automatic pistol at Coleman's head.

Umar Suharjo's eyes were blank. He maintained his threatening stance waiting for the command to kill.

“
No, you fool!
” the General yelled.

Slowly Umar backed away into the darkness from where he had come, the weapon still aimed at what he perceived to be a threat to his master. Coleman's legs turned to jelly. He knew that the man had been present to execute him in the event that Seda had felt comfortable in doing so after determining whether he represented any real threat. His only protection now would be their concern that in destroying him, they may also destroy themselves.

“
You were responsible for everything that's happened to me and the company in Jakarta!
” Coleman accused, his voice now rising.

“
Why?
”

“
That will be enough!
” Seda snapped back, “
Don't say any more!
” he commanded, “
or you will live to regret it!
”

The General paused to regain his composure.

“
You still have plenty. You have always been a greedy man without principles. You did nothing for my country and now you have lined your pockets. You demand more than you deserve.
”

He sensed that the powerful man standing facing him had almost lost control. Stephen realized he was still close to death. He remained still. And quiet.

Moments elapsed before the General spat the words at him.

“Do not attempt to be to clever. Everyone has a limit to their patience. You must do as you have been instructed otherwise, next time...”
he paused, looking over his shoulder in the killer's direction,
“I think you are smart enough to understand?”
Again he paused as if reconsidering what he should do. “
Go now! Do those things which you must and remain in contact via these numbers,
” he ordered, handing a slip of paper to Coleman.

“
And Mas,
” he paused adding to the effect, “
Ring every week. Or perhaps we will believe that you really have become expendable. Now go!
” he hissed menacingly.

Stephen obeyed, drawing himself slowly to his feet and, with a slight shake of the head to show his disgust, walked towards the exit.

He had to lean hard against the Judas gate to force it open as the wind continued to blow fiercely outside. As he stepped through the small hole, the sheet metal door banged hard against his shoulder but he didn't feel the pain. He just wanted to get out of there.

Stephen fled the building, willing his legs to hold. He wanted to turn and check if he was being followed, but didn't.

Somewhere behind him in the overcast morning he knew the killer Umar was watching him. He refused to look back and continued along the wharf area until comfortable with the distance he had put between himself and the warehouse. His heart pounding, Coleman turned down a small street and then ducked behind another building until he was satisfied that he was not being followed.

The tall structures on both sides of the narrow alley offered some protection from the wind and rain. He knew there would now always be someone following his every move, watching and waiting until they could be sure that by dispensing with him permanently, there would be no lingering problems to concern them.

Coleman pushed himself hard up against the old stone wall and tried to breathe slowly. His heart was pounding with the rising panic. The sound of someone running in his direction caused him to tense. He waited. There was a loud thump followed by a man's voice cursing angrily. Still he waited. He could hear the undersoles of the man's shoes hit the cobblestones clearly with each step, even above the drizzling rain. Coleman tensed again, preparing to defend himself, sensing the danger. Clenching both fists into a tight ball he drew a deep breath as the man turned into the small alleyway where he stood. His hands came up immediately to strike, to defend, to kill, if necessary.

“
Aiiee ah!
” the startled Chinese cried out loudly as he almost bumped into Coleman, one hand already holding his appendage, as he'd prepared to piss against the wall, out of sight of other pedestrians.

“
It's okay, it's okay
,” Stephen had called after the man who continued to run from his attacker, tripping as he tried desperately to re-zip his trousers.

Stephen leaned back against the wall, head lowered, his energy gone. He'd been just as startled and, looking at his hands discovered that they were shaking violently. He crouched down, knees bent. Some distant voice in the back of his head yelled at him to breathe deeply. He obeyed and slowly his breathing became less erratic. He then managed to drag himself upright. Now move! the voice ordered. Move it! Move it! Move it! And he did, unsteadily at first, but then moving faster and faster until his feet were splashing down hard on the cobblestones.

A voice from his past kept yelling at him to run, and he obeyed, remembering his punishing training. He ran until his lungs screamed out for his limbs to stop and rest. Coming suddenly to a halt, Stephen realized that he was lost. He wanted to laugh, but couldn't. How could you be lost in Macau?

A couple huddled under one umbrella moved away from him, possibly because they thought the
gwailo
was drunk. He looked around and spotted a familiar advertising hoarding. Now he had his bearings back. The small hotel wasn't far and he stumbled off in that direction, not even caring if he was being followed.

The porter saw him first, calling to the receptionist to look at the soaking wet
gwailo
stumbling down the street in the rain. An exhausted Coleman stepped gratefully inside then leaned against the polished rosewood reception desk, dripping copiously onto the worn carpet. After he'd rested for a few minutes, Stephen retrieved his carry-all and headed down to the ferry terminal to see if he could jump on the next boat leaving for Hong Kong. He'd given the old man twenty Hong Kong dollars for the lost umbrella.

The overhead signs indicated that the next departure would take place in an hour and so Coleman produced the return half of his ticket and then found himself a seat in the terminal from where he could observe the other passengers. He knew that he must now be extremely cautious. Seda knew that Umar was known to Stephen so it wouldn't necessarily be him that the General sent after his former partner.

 

The return voyage was not much better than the previous day's. For the first time since he could remember, seeing the Hong Kong skyline didn't raise his spirits. There didn't seem to be anyone among the passengers who showed any special interest in him. He had watched them all closely as they boarded before taking his own place on board.

He needed clothes. He went directly from the Kowloon arrival terminal into the massive complex of shops overlooking the ferries and harbour across to the Connaught Building.

An hour later Stephen had purchased enough clothes to carry him through the next two or three days while he considered what to do next. He decided against checking into his old haunt, The Peninsula in Kowloon, as he was too well known there. He remembered the Hyatt around the corner but also decided against this or any of the other four-star hotels, as now he needed to be inconspicuous, to disappear.

He walked around the Holiday Inn, crossed the road and walked briskly down the steps into the efficient underground train system. Minutes later the Mass Transit Railway had him standing on the other side of the harbour where he easily slipped unnoticed into the swarming crowds moving hurriedly through the central business district. It would be safer for him here, he thought. At least fiftythousand
gwailos
were permanently based in this area, employed as accountants and engineers to fill the void created before Hong Kong was officially passed back to mainland China. He knew that there were more than fifteen thousand Australians employed in the city, ironically filling positions created by departing professional Chinese who now lived in Sydney, Perth, Vancouver and many other cities far from Beijing's control.

Stephen visited one of the business bars off Central for a few hours. He ate simply and then caught a taxi away from the upmarket business district across to Queens Road East where he rented a room in a cheap Chinese hotel that also demanded no identification when he signed the register. He was tempted to phone Mister Lim but decided to keep his head down until completing the tasks he had now set for himself.

The next morning Stephen visited the Hong Kong and Shanghai Bank in Central. He closed all of his accounts and concealed most of his cash in a safety deposit box. Then he went to the Standard Chartered Bank and closed the company accounts. The staff were not at all curious. Transactions such as these were common and rarely warranted any query as to why such a long standing account had suddenly been closed. When it came to money, there was no race in the world that could be as discreet as the Chinese!

After this, Coleman went directly to the First National City Bank and closed both his private account and several of the existing company accounts there, removing any cash that was there. He sat for two hours signing applications and proof signatures for the travellers cheques he'd requested. By the close of business that day Stephen had deposited more than half a million American dollars in safe deposit boxes that he could access at any time, and converted the balance to traveller's cheques.

He had just under one million dollars.

Stephen had kept twenty thousand in traveller's cheques on his person and another five thousand Hong Kong dollars cash in his wallet. He was now ready. Six months before, at least on paper, Stephen Coleman had estimated his worth at nearly twelve million dollars. It had all gone. Disappeared. Taken by others. Stolen. Now he would go away and hide. Away from the pressures of the world which had become so full of uncertainties and danger. He would disappear.

Slowly and carefully, Stephen planned his exit from the city, the one remaining place he really enjoyed. He accepted that from the moment he had left the General back in Macau he had committed himself to a lifestyle which would require a complete change in his habits and a discipline he wasn't sure he could still maintain. Just having to forgo everything he'd either left behind or had been misappropriated in Indonesia was the hardest part. Still, he acknowledged, he had a nest-egg that most people only get to dream about.

 

The following week Stephen left Hong Kong taking along sufficient funds to keep him in a modest lifestyle in the islands. The remaining cash he left locked away in the security of the Hong Kong and Shanghai Bank. He had planned only to return whenever he needed to draw upon the reserves and didn't expect that this would happen for some time to come.

He had set out, initially, for the Marshall Islands and the Philippines, spending almost a year in both areas. He moved around regularly, concerned that by staying too long in one spot he would increase the chances of recognition. And he knew also that somewhere Umar would be watching him. Whenever he moved into a new location Stephen would first stay at a modest hotel and then, once he familiarized himself, find a beach house suitable for his needs. His days were spent walking, eating, sleeping, and at first, thinking about his life and what he had to do. Eventually this deteriorated into an existence which consisted of nothing spectacular, the days seemed to roll into one. Weeks and months passed without incident.