Rogue Element

Parliament House, Canberra, 0436 Zulu, Thursday, 30 April

The President’s National Security Advisor’s face was etched with concern. He had nothing further to add to the bleak news and the videoconference was at an end. The picture on the television monitor flickered briefly before fading to a silent, implacable grey.

Prime Minister Blight swallowed dryly, his Adams apple moving painfully in his throat. ‘Christ all-bloody-mighty…’ he said, the words coming out in a hoarse whisper, exhaled on the breath he’d been holding. His eyes were round and large. He’d just been told the single most horrifying thing of his entire life.

Herschel Zubinski, the US ambassador to Australia, stood. ‘Yes, as the National Security Advisor has just said, these are our gravest suspicions. But while our intelligence sources have not fully confirmed much of this information, privately Washington just doesn’t know what else it can all mean. If the worst comes to the worst, you know the American people do not tolerate state-sponsored terrorism.’ He walked to the Prime Minister and placed a hand gently on his shoulder. ‘Bill… gentlemen…’ The short dark man with the heavy New York accent bowed slightly to the room and left.

Griffin and Niven exchanged an anxious glance. The Commander in Chief’s fears had been proved right, but this was one occasion Niven wished he’d been wrong.

Phil Sharpe, the Foreign Minister, was strident. ‘Where’s the proof?’ he said. ‘The hard, concrete evidence. As the Americans have said, these are suspicions only. We don’t know for sure that the Indonesians shot the plane down. It’s just some analyst’s assessment on the other side of the world — circumstantial bollocks.’

Every time Sharpe opened his mouth to speak, Niven felt uneasy. No, it was more basic than that. The CDF just plain didn’t like the man. He was a true politician, always working the angles for what appeared to be personal advantage. And Niven found him an odd choice for the portfolio of Foreign Minister, where an open mind was essential. Blight and Sharpe had been unionists together and were obviously friends. But what, other than a shared history, did Blight see in him? The dislike between Niven and Sharpe was mutual and Niven had to exercise considerable control to stop his feelings bubbling to the surface.

The reality was that the US, using the world’s most sophisticated listening network, had intercepted enough ‘circumstantial bollocks’ that no jury would have trouble convicting the suspect. The US uncertainty boiled down to the fact that the crashed plane hadn’t been found, so experts were unable to physically confirm missile damage. But everyone knew the remains of the plane would turn up, and soon. In a sense, finding the plane was almost a mere formality. And then a thought formed in his brain that found its way out of his mouth before he’d had time to stop it. ‘We’ll have to go in and get that proof then, won’t we?’ he said.

Sharpe was stunned. ‘What, invade Indonesia? That’s what you’re suggesting, isn’t it?’ he scoffed, looking for support.

Niven knew instantly that he’d been hasty, but he pursued the thought anyway. The situation required cool calculation, not testosterone. Certainly, the remains of the aircraft were on foreign soil and the evidence was therefore Indonesia’s to manipulate if it chose to, but the consequences of going in uninvited to relieve them of that evidence was unthinkable. At best it would be a suicide mission and at worst touch off a deadly broader conflict.

‘Sorry, Spike, I’m not with you. What are you suggesting exactly?’ asked Blight, agreeing with Sharpe but finding a more diplomatic way of expressing his doubts.

‘Prime Minister, we’ve just been told the plane was shot down and, despite what the Indonesian authorities are telling us, I’m pretty certain I know where it came down. I’m talking about a limited, covert operation to secure the site for an international inspection team, and retrieve the aircraft’s black boxes.’

‘And what — the Indonesians would just put out the welcome mat, I suppose?’ said Sharpe smugly, certain the CDF had just hung himself.

Niven ignored him. ‘What I’m suggesting here is that we take the initiative.’ Blight and Griffin appeared doubtful. ‘Look, Indonesia is unwilling to let us help locate QF-1. The question is, why? More planes in the air, more eyes searching, we’d find it quicker. And a little of the spirit of cooperation between our two countries wouldn’t be a bad thing.’

The PM nodded slowly, tentatively buying the logic.

‘Obviously because they don’t want us picking over it. We’d know pretty much instantly that it was shot down. But what if there’s another reason? They must know we’re going to find out what happened to QF-1. What if they’re just stalling for time? What if it’s the motive for shooting down the plane that they’re so reluctant to let us see? Could that be found in the wreckage?’ This thought occurred to Niven while he spoke, yet the force of it hit him like a revelation.

‘What about this Cee Squared/Joe Light bloke?’ asked the Prime Minister, hoping to find another answer somewhere. Niven was suggesting an aggressive course of action that made him feel downright uncomfortable. ‘He’s obviously the key to this.’

‘I’ll get on that immediately, Bill,’ said Griffin.

Blight felt queasy. He took a sip of water to calm his stomach. As much as he would have liked it otherwise, the air vice marshal’s head-on approach was perhaps the only way through. ‘I think I see your point, Spike,’ said Blight. ‘You’re saying they shot the plane down for a reason, and that that’s more important to keep secret than the crime itself.’

‘Exactly,’ said Niven.

‘Jesus, what the hell could it be?’ said Blight, rapidly finding himself infected with Niven’s suspicions.

‘With respect, Spike,’ said Griffin cautiously, ‘simple pride could have a lot to do with their reluctance to let us help. In accepting our assistance, it could be seen that they don’t have adequate resources to do the job themselves.’

‘C’mon, Griff. Wake up and smell the roses,’ said Niven impatiently. ‘The Americans have just finished telling us that they believe the Indonesians have shot down a civilian jetliner. A Qantas 747 with a full load of passengers. They shot it down, for Christ’s sake. Why? It’s the “why” that’s important here. As tragic as the actual crime is, we have to forget about that now and concentrate on the motive.’ Niven knew he’d hit on something fundamental.

‘Okay, I get the picture,’ said Griffin, wishing he hadn’t got it at all. He didn’t want the CDF to be right about this because of the horrendous consequences. If they shot the plane down on purpose, it could be a prelude to war.

Blight wondered what that motive could possibly be. Revenge over East Timor was the only one that came to mind, and a deep sense of foreboding filled him. The Australian actions in East Timor were not his administration’s, but he’d read the departmental papers. While the press had largely presented it as a triumph of Australian foreign policy, in truth it wasn’t a shining chapter. DIO’s brief to the Department of Defence had concluded that there could be a bloodbath if the TNI were pushed off the island before peacekeepers arrived. That advice had been ignored and, as a direct result, an unknown number of East Timorese had paid the price with their lives. The rapid deployment of Australian troops to the island had at least prevented prolonged and more widespread carnage, but it had been touch and go for a while. Could the events they were now facing have their roots in decisions made years ago? These thoughts circulated in his mind together with the image of hundreds of people falling like rag dolls through the sky to their deaths. He shuddered and forced his attention back into the room.

‘The Indonesians won’t be able to hide the crash site for long,’ continued Niven. ‘Experts tell us that if the plane exploded at high altitude, the wreckage could be spread over hundreds of square kilometres.’

‘So you think the Indonesians have already found the plane?’ said Greenway.

‘Bet on it,’ said Niven.

There was silence in the room, the calm in the centre of a cyclone.

‘So let me get this straight,’ said Sharpe with a sarcastic edge to his tone and a vague sneer on his face, ‘you think we should just march into the biggest Muslim nation in the world, a country with hundreds of thousands of men at arms, and ask them to stand aside and let us through because we don’t trust them?’

Niven smiled back sweetly. ‘Actually, yes. And all this time I thought you were slow.’

‘Fuck you, Niven.’

‘Jesus, keep your bloody shirts on!’ said Blight, the veins in his neck pulsing angrily. ‘We don’t need that crap here. We need teamwork.’ Blight turned to Griffin. ‘What do you think, Graeme?’ The PM had been hoping that some kind of political solution might present itself, but so far none had.

‘About going in to Sulawesi with troops?’

‘Yes.’

‘I don’t think so. Spike says he’s sure where the crash site is. But what if it’s not there? Well, it’s a recipe for disaster. As we all know, there are many people in Indonesia angry about our last invasion of their soil: East Timor. We need to be mindful of the consequences of doing it again.’

The room was silent.

‘Look, things might change… I just don’t think we know enough yet,’ said Griffin, walking to the water cooler to pour himself a glass. ‘As for the reasons why we should send in troops — the Commander in Chief’s fear of a broader conspiracy — I’m not convinced about that either. But I would like to make a point that hasn’t been touched on and that is, I think we can’t assume the Indonesian government has any top-level knowledge of this.’

‘Are you saying that all this could be happening without the government’s knowledge?’ asked the PM.

‘Well, yes, basically,’ said Griffin cautiously. ‘The armed forces in Indonesia have a history of operating outside government control. Look at our own experience in East Timor. We knew more about what the TNI was cooking up there than Jakarta did — the Kopassus units arming and enlisting death squads, the training of militia, the silent executions, the standover tactics. The military treated its government like proverbial mushrooms.’

Blight swallowed drily.

‘Maybe the government wanted to be kept out of the loop publicly, but was in on it privately,’ said Niven.

‘We know that’s not true. Not strictly, anyway. The trouble is, the army — the TNI — has a large number of seats in the Indonesian parliament mandated by constitution. So, in a sense, the army is the government. And that’s where it really gets difficult sorting out who knows what — there are factions within factions in the army guarding fiefdoms in provinces a long way from Jakarta. Indeed, there are plenty of precedents where troops within a battalion have got up to mischief without even their commander’s knowledge, let alone Jakarta’s,’ Griffin said.

‘If the Indonesian government has been kept in the dark and fed on shit, as you suggest with your mushroom theory, how does that then explain their reluctance to accept our help in the search for the plane?’ asked Niven. ‘You really believe it’s just a matter of pride?’ He didn’t agree with Griffin’s reasoning, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t interested in the Director-General’s point of view.

Griffin considered before answering. ‘Yes. Pride, ego, face. They’ve always been sensitive about anything they might consider outside interference or intervention. Especially now after the rash of terrorist scares has put the spotlight on them. They’re keen to demonstrate to the world that Jakarta’s in control. And, as I said, the TNI has all those seats in the government. Or perhaps it’s an overreaction to once being ruled by a colonial power. Top that off with the fact that the government thinks it’s under siege… one, all, or a combination of these factors could explain their actions.

‘Internally, there’s plenty of dissatisfaction and frustration with the way things are going: Aceh, Ambon, Kalimantan, West Papua, are all boiling over. They are worried about the Balkanisation of their country. East Timor has gone. There is a very strong groundswell for independence in West Papua, formerly Irian Jaya, where there are freedom fighters — the OPM — who’ve been exchanging shots with the TNI for more than twenty years. No doubt you’ve seen the DIO paper currently circulating?’

Sharpe shook his head to indicate he hadn’t. The Foreign Minister had just returned from a lengthy United Nations forum on new international standards for the management and housing of refugees.

Niven snorted. In his view, Sharpe spent too much time in front of the TV cameras and being seen at restaurant openings to be an effective minister.

‘Briefly, Phil, it looks like the Kopassus are back to their old tricks, building up local militia forces in Papua. They get trucked in wearing civvies, with crates full of weapons and money, and arm anyone with a grudge.

‘Jakarta believes East Timor’s departure has set the precedent for other disaffected provinces to follow. Throughout the archipelago there are racial, tribal and religious tensions all exacerbated by poverty. The general populace of Indonesia, considered moderate by Islamic standards, has been surprisingly tolerant of the fanatics and terrorists on the fringe of its society. You don’t have to walk far on any Indonesian street before you see someone in an “I love bin Laden” t-shirt. If I were to put my black hat on, I’d say Indonesia can only travel down one of three possible paths in the future. One, as I’ve said, the place Balkanises — fractures into smaller, bolshy states that pursue their own national interests. Two, religious fundamentalism takes hold. Three, a military dictatorship takes over the place. How long before one of these predictions comes to pass? ’ Griffin shrugged. ‘We know all this — none of it’s new. We’ve all become involved in endless debates about our largest neighbour to the north after the disaster in Bali. What’s the most likely path? I still believe it’s the dictatorship. Lord knows there have been plenty of precedents for it in the country’s past.

‘The government is now engaged in a delicate balancing act and we know that’s making the military nervous. And while I’m on the subject of the military, they’ve taken a hammering since the glory days under Soeharto came to an end. The government’s stance towards us over this incident could be interpreted as Jakarta’s sop to the military. Y’know, look tough, talk tough. Flex those independent muscles. Basically, unless we get concrete evidence to the contrary, I believe we should give the government the benefit of the doubt.’

‘And point the finger at…?’ Blight was intrigued.

‘The armed forces, or a faction within them?’ said Niven, taking his lead from Griffin’s logic.

‘Could be,’ said Griffin, nodding. ‘But again, I’d caution against jumping to conclusions. There’s so much going on up there it’s impossible to know where this has come from. The least likely place, and this is ironic, is that it’s the handiwork of religious fanatics.’

‘The people we’ve spent so much time and effort putting under the microscope?’ asked Blight.

‘Exactly.’

‘So we’ve set ourselves up for this sucker punch?’ Blight massaged his chin as if that part of his face had taken the blow.

‘I guess…’ said Griffin, frowning. ‘But again, I’d caution against jumping to conclusions till we know more.’

‘Hear, hear!’ said Sharpe.

‘I don’t think we can blame East Timor for this. I mean, let’s face it, our relationship with Indonesia’s never been exactly rosy,’ added Greenway.

Griffin and Blight both nodded.

‘I don’t buy any of this,’ said Sharpe, arms folded.

Blight appeared to be pondering the options. ‘So where the hell does all that leave us?’

‘I’m not sure, Bill, ’said Griffin. ‘If we announce publicly that Indonesia shot down the plane, all hell will break loose. There’ll be riots here and in Indonesia. You can guarantee there’ll be flat denials from the Indonesians and, without proof, demands for an apology from the rest of Asia. You just know how Malaysia will react. Add to that a march into Sulawesi?’ The ASIS chief left the question open but shook his head doubtfully.

‘Second that,’ said Sharpe.

The room was silent again. There seemed no way forward.

‘Prime Minister, it might seem like I’m jumping from pillar to post, but I’ve changed my mind,’ said Niven. ‘Phil’s right. We probably don’t have a military option. Yet.’

Sharpe eyed Niven suspiciously.

‘But I don’t think we should sit on our hands either,’ continued the CDF.

‘So what are you thinking?’ Blight hadn’t had too much to do with the air vice marshal since his appointment to the position of CDF. Niven came highly regarded, which was why Blight had handed him the job and, so far, he liked the man — he said what was on his mind.

‘We ready a small force, SAS. We brief and prep them for a black operation in Indonesia just in case we need to put people at that crash site in a hurry once it’s found. And we wait. There’s more to this, I’m sure of it, and we should be prepared.

‘It would also be prudent to cancel all leave and put the Ready Deployment Force in Townsville on alert. It might seem like an overreaction, but I’d start moving our air assets out of places like Williamtown, Pearce and Richmond, and send them to Darwin and Townsville.’

The PM scowled. He was not happy about how the Indonesians would read that.

‘Prime Minister, there’s just too much here we don’t understand and, frankly, that scares me,’ Niven said emphatically.

‘Okay.’ The PM massaged his temples. ‘I agree that we need hard evidence that a crime was committed before we confront the Indonesians. Intelligence assessments alone won’t do it for us. Griff, I hope your bloody hunch is right and the Indonesian government is in the dark about this, otherwise, Jesus Christ, I don’t want to think about where this will end. Anyone got anything else cheery to add?’

Silence.

‘Okay then. We should at least prepare ourselves for the worst.’ The PM stood up and stretched and rolled his shoulders to ease the stress. He seemed to Niven to be suddenly frail. ‘Spike, get our blokes ready. Redeploy assets as you see fit.’

There was a tentative knock on the door. A young woman poked her head in the room and, eyeballing the CDF, walked tentatively towards him. Niven recognised her and his heart skipped a beat. She was from DIGO — photo intelligence. In her hand was a mustard-coloured envelope. The envelope. The interruption silenced the room.

‘Excuse me, sir. But this was a hand-to-hand delivery,’ the woman said quietly as she nervously gave the envelope marked ‘Secret — hand-to-hand only’ to the CDF, aware that her arrival was at once disturbing yet crucial.

Niven nodded his thanks and ripped it open impatiently. The woman turned and left as Niven flipped through the contents. So soon… surely not…

He looked up ashen-faced at the Prime Minister. ‘QF-1. It’s in Sulawesi.’

The seven-four was exactly where Niven said it would be. There were quite a few photos taken in sequence, each five seconds apart. The resolution was incredible. There were bodies… He swallowed the lump in his throat. There were other photos in the stack of some kind of camp in the jungle that was burning. It was difficult to tell exactly what was going on because the tree canopy obscured much of the detail. He wasn’t sure why they had been included. He checked the latitude and longitude burned into the print and noted that it was close to the location of the 747.

Niven handed the sheaf of photos to the Prime Minister. ‘A complete analysis of this has not been done. Griff, a note here says DIGO are working on a complete work-up in concert with your people.’

‘Oh my God!’ The PM shook his head in dismay as he examined the remains of the 747 smeared across the jungle. ‘Have the Americans seen this?’ he asked.

Niven shook his head. ‘No, sir. Not yet.’