Rogue Element

Parliament House, Canberra, 1325 Zulu, Wednesday, 29 April

Niven woke exhausted after a brief catnap and sat upright on his couch. He checked the time: almost half past eleven. He’d desperately wanted to sleep, to curl up under the warmth of the covers at home, and wake up to find the whole Qantas mess a bad dream. But the situation was real, and he knew that he’d never get any worthwhile shuteye so he hadn’t bothered trying.

He’d requested a briefing on Sulawesi, but nothing much of practical use had turned up. It was an island covered in volcanoes, formerly known as Celebes, and very inhospitable. A small mountain of largely useless reference material sat on his desk and spilled onto the carpeted floor.

There was a knock on his door. ‘Come,’ he said. Griffin walked in, looking dishevelled, tie off and top button open, and flopped onto the CDF’s sofa. ‘Hey, Griff, I see you live here like me,’ said Niven. ‘What’s up?’

The ASIS chief held up a folder and waggled it, expelling a lungful of air noisily as his body sank into the cushions. ‘A DOD briefing on Hasanuddin AFB, Sulawesi, its strategic importance — the usual.’ He tossed the cream manila folder onto the pile on Niven’s desk. ‘You turn up anything?’

‘On Sulawesi? We’ve got nada on the place, and neither does Foreign Affairs. Can you believe I had to send someone down to the local library and travel shop? Once you leave the population centres on the coast, it’s a mystery island. There’s bugger-all on the place in these books. A bit of history — it was once the capital of the Dutch Spice Islands. There’s the occasional picture of a prahu, a local teak schooner with a high sweeping bow, and a mug shot of a Bugis, the people who sail them. Oh, and the Toraja, a tribe who bury their dead in limestone caves tunnelled into cliff faces. That’s about it.’

‘The best source we found was this fifteen dollar tourist guide.’ Niven held up a thin, greeting card-sized publication. ‘Get this. It says here, “Look at the maps and our texts on the island’s central regions: you’ll notice there is very little information available for most of the mountainous areas. If you travel to any of these parts, let us know if you survive and what you found.” Great, huh?’ he said, flipping the booklet into the bin.

‘Yeah, I know. I’ve come up with pretty much the same from my people. But I do have something that’ll interest you,’ said Griffin. ‘We have an asset on Sulawesi.’

‘You’re joking,’ said Niven, suddenly focused.

‘No, seriously. At a place called Maros, around twenty-five klicks north of Makassar. Near Hasanuddin AFB.’

Niven leaned forward. He sensed that Griffin had some news. ‘C’mon, mate, you do drag things on. Spit it out.’

‘We got something from our asset this morning. Apparently, a couple of Super Pumas loaded with Special Forces — Kopassus — took off heading north. The helos came back three hours later. Empty. It’s all in the folder.’ Griffin nodded at the sheaf he’d put on Niven’s table.

The information didn’t appear to be ground-breaking, but it could be the key to something major. ‘What’s the significance?’ asked Niven.

‘Apparently they were in a big hurry to go somewhere,’ said Griffin.

‘Do you think our Indonesian friends are keeping something from us?’

‘No, but the asset there thought the behaviour unusual. The NSA also thinks there could be some significance in it. The question is, what?’

‘So we are getting some cooperation from the Americans at last?’

‘Spike, they’ve never been uncooperative. We’re getting lots of NSA stuff. They just can’t give us satellites. There’s nothing sinister in it.’

‘Hmm,’ said Niven, thinking. ‘Well, at least we’ve got someone up there on the ground. Can we get the asset more involved if we need to?’

‘She’s trained as an observer only, but she’s good — thorough.’

‘Got any ideas?’ asked Niven.

‘Not at the moment. What about the Kopassus? What do you think?’

‘Not much to go on, is it? Special Forces guys move around on training exercises every second week, just to keep sharp. As you said, could be significant, or not,’ Niven said, spinning a pencil around his thumb habitually, looking uncharacteristically lost. ‘I can’t believe we’re still in the dark, Griff. Bloody frustrating.’ He let the pencil fall to the desk with a clatter and wrung his hands. ‘I’m going to hang around here tonight and see what turns up. Just as a matter of interest, did you know there are three hundred and forty-seven individual sites on the Net dedicated to aircraft crashes?’

The intelligence chief said no, he didn’t know that. He stood to go. ‘Okay, Spikey, if you need me you know where to reach me. And get some sleep yourself, or you’ll be no use to anyone.’

‘Sure,’ said Niven, turning on his computer.

Yeah, sure, thought Griffin.