Rogue Element

Parliament House, Canberra, 1010 Zulu, Friday, 1 May

The lights had already been lowered in the theatrette when Niven entered and his eyes were only now adjusting to the gloom. A rear projection screen television sat on the stage. A rectangle of yellow light blazed as Greenway entered. He was a couple of minutes late and mumbled an apology, but Lurch hadn’t missed anything.

The screen flashed into life. The videocamera had been positioned so that its view took in Roger Bowman, Australia’s ambassador to Indonesia, sitting beside a man propped up in a hospital bed. The patient’s head was heavily bandaged and his eyes were a rich red from burst capillaries. What skin could be seen was bruised the colour of a plum. The corners of the man’s mouth were set grimly downwards.

The men in Canberra leaned forward in their seats expectantly. This was one videoconference they hadn’t expected. But as Bowman had just finished explaining, the doctors had told him that the human brain was an unknown quantity. No one had expected the general to come out of his coma for some time but, once the anaesthetic had worn off after the operation, his eyes had miraculously popped open. The general was groggy, but even that was wearing off quickly.

He had demanded to talk to Bowman who, of course, was particularly keen to hear what the Indonesian officer had to say for himself. Fortunately, it didn’t seem that the man’s memory had been impaired in the least.

Bowman cleared his throat. ‘We got that security detail you sent over, Spike. I’ve had the general moved back to the embassy, against doctor’s orders I might add. There were too many people sniffing about for my liking and it’s difficult to explain the presence of half a dozen armed Aussie soldiers in a local hospital.’

Bowman paused and checked his notes. Satisfied that he’d completed the housekeeping, he cleared his throat again and cut to the chase. ‘General Masri has asked for asylum and protection in Australia, for himself and his boy, as quid pro quo for enlightening us on what the hell has been going on,’ said the ambassador.

The Prime Minister was angry. ‘Jesus, I damn well want to hear what the bastard has to say for himself before I start handing out any bloody bonuses.’

Masri considered that before nodding.

The Australians had hastily decided to tell the general a little of what they knew, to throw him off his guard. Blight began. ‘General, we are already aware that your air force shot down our 747,’ he said. ‘Did your government know anything about that?’

In heavily accented English, Masri replied, ‘No. The government knew only what General Suluang told them, which was nothing.’

A wave of relief surged over the PM. Niven whistled at the audacity of Indonesia’s military, but he was also relieved to have unequivocal confirmation of Griffin’s belief that Jakarta was not involved in the act.

‘The plane was not part of the plan. I did not agree with it,’ Masri said.

The men in the room in Canberra exchanged glances. The word ‘plan’ was intriguing. ‘What “plan”?’ asked the PM, getting the question in first.

Masri looked around him, shifting his red eyes left and right, as though he was about to pass something illicit in the street. ‘The plan to take back political control of Indonesia.’

‘A coup d’etat? That’s what this is all about?’ asked Niven incredulously.

Masri nodded. ‘Traditionally it has been the armed forces that have guided Indonesia. We have enjoyed a certain amount of respectful fear, which has helped to keep our country united. East Timor put an end to that. Your country put an end to that —’

‘What complete crap!’ Blight said angrily. There was no excuse for this cowardly, murderous act.

The Indonesian general ignored the Prime Minister’s outburst. ‘And that is why we planned a limited invasion of Australia.’

‘What?!’ exclaimed Niven and the PM in unison. Greenway and Griffin leapt to their feet as if something had bitten them.

‘Jesus Christ, what… how?!’ asked Griffin, his brain going into shock.

There it was, thought Niven: the motive. The Indonesian generals had murdered the passengers of QF-1 to keep their outrageous plan hidden.

‘Invading Australia would be good politically,’ Masri continued calmly.

‘Good politically?’ said the PM apoplectically, fighting a mixture of disbelief and outrage.

‘The army has become the people’s enemy. In some areas, the army has even become afraid of the people, because the people are no longer afraid of the army. Provinces in Indonesia are threatening secession. There is much killing and lawlessness.’

‘How could invading Australia possibly help your domestic problems?’ Griffin asked, horrified, but knowing at the same time that there was a mad logic to it.

‘The army must regain face within our own country. To achieve that, we need a focus outside Indonesia. You think you are part of Asia when it suits you to think that way. But you are full of yourselves. You patronise us. You act like moral policemen. Look at East Timor. Bali too. You didn’t even trust us to root out the criminals, even suggested using your troops to hunt terrorists in Java! You think you have the right to behave this way. Why? You think you are superior, because you are white!’ Masri almost spat that final word.

‘We aren’t bloody racists. Your inferiority complex is in your own bloody heads.’ Blight was working hard to keep his temper in check.

‘See? It is always our fault.’

‘But we’re not invading your country!’ said Blight, exasperated.

Niven fought back a wry smile. As they spoke, it was the Australian armed forces that were doing the invading, on the ground in Sulawesi.

‘Then what do you call sending troops to East Timor? It was part of my country, not yours,’ said Masri, face calm, belying the anger underlining his words. Niven thought he looked positively demonic with those deeply bloodshot eyes.

Blight breathed heavily, heart pumping like an old diesel motor.

‘If we launched an attack against Australia, our people would applaud it. They would once again be proud of Indonesia. And the military. And perhaps it might also teach a lesson to the provinces that want to secede. Such an action — bold and decisive — would establish a context for our return to political as well as military pre-eminence in Indonesia. Fear and respect would be restored. And the army would no longer need to suppress its own people.’

‘Yes, but at the bloody expense of killing ours,’ said the Prime Minister in dismay. The Indonesian soldier showed no reaction. This was a mad scheme cooked up by lunatics and criminals. Australia’s actions in East Timor could not be blamed for it. East Timor should never have been part of Indonesia’s empire and the Australian government of the day had merely righted an old wrong by supporting its desire for independence. And now East Timor had that — nationhood — those actions had been vindicated.

‘Are the plans for the invasion well advanced?’ asked Niven, getting back to military specifics.

‘Yes.’

‘Was there a firm date?’

‘No.’

‘You couldn’t take the whole country. What were the aims?’ continued the air vice marshal, morbidly fascinated.

‘It was to be a limited invasion. We planned an amphibious attack against Darwin and an airborne assault on Townsville. We would neutralise your military assets in both places, humble your arrogant Ready Reaction Force.’

Everyone witnessing this bizarre confession wanted to believe the general’s story was nothing more than that, a fantastic story, a fairy tale, but it was horrifyingly real, as the friends, family and relatives of the passengers of flight QF-1 would be able to attest.

‘Assuming the attacks were successful and you achieved these aims, what next?’ asked Griffin.

‘We would demand one thing, and one thing only, before a full withdrawal.’

‘And that would be…?’ The PM cocked his head. This would be interesting. He had to admit he was intrigued.

‘A guarantee that Australia will never again become involved in the internal politics of Indonesia.’

‘What…? Is… is that bloody all?’ asked the PM, stunned, as was everyone else in the room. When he saw on the face of the general that it was indeed ‘all’, a hot anger filled him. ‘You mean you’d invade our goddam country, kill I don’t know how many people, just to get a goddam bloody assurance we’d gladly give you anyway?’

‘Yes.’

‘That is absolutely fucking crazy. Why?’ continued the PM, experiencing a kind of sensory overload.

‘For the effect it would have on our own people. As I said, it would re-establish the military’s strength.’

The Australians sat back in their seats, their minds clouded with outrage. It was true — had to be true. Here was one of the conspirators laying it all out for them. Indonesia planned to invade Australia! That was bad enough, but the reason for it? Nothing more than a bit of a show for their countrymen. The irony was that, if not for the crashed Qantas plane and the deaths of all those innocent people, they never would have found out about it until it was too late.

The men let the incredible tale sink in, and struggled with their own thoughts.

‘Who else was in your merry band, general? Who were the other co-conspirators?’ Niven wanted to know. Something would have to be done about neutralising them, and damn quickly.

Masri swallowed and appeared nervous. No matter what the circumstances, giving up comrades was painful. ‘Besides myself and General Suluang, there was Lanti Rajasa, Colonel Javid Jayakatong, Admiral Sampurno Siwalette, and air force Colonel Ari Ajirake.’

Niven pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes. He knew nearly all these men by reputation. They were good soldiers, members of the Indonesian parliament, and commanded a considerable chunk of Indonesia’s armed forces between them. The exception was Lanti Rajasa. He was a policeman and not a soldier.

‘How would you deploy your invasion forces? You don’t have the assets for a major amphibious landing,’ said Niven, curious about how the Indonesians intended to pull off that aspect of their plan.

‘Ah… you are talking about conventional assets.’ There was the barest hint of a smile on the Indonesian general’s lips. ‘In World War 1, the French delivered its troops to the Western Front in the cabs of Paris. Japan invaded Indo-China on bicycles in the Second World War. And Indonesia, as you know, has fishing boats. Many thousands of fishing boats.’

Suddenly, Niven knew exactly how they’d pull it off. And it was so bloody obvious, all the musings by defence academics and strategists had failed to consider it. ‘Jesus…’ he swallowed. The navy could barely cope with half a dozen slow, leaking refugee vessels at any one time. A flotilla of such boats — they would only need a few hundred or so — would swamp Australia’s coastal warning systems. It would be impossible to determine which boats held troops and which did not; many would obviously be decoys. The new, over-the-horizon Jindalee radar would certainly provide information about the closing flotilla to Australia’s armed forces, but there simply wouldn’t be enough defence to go round. In a sense, there’d almost be too much information. The navy and air force would be overwhelmed.

The diverted Australian forces would be thrown into confusion, allowing the TNI-AU to drop paratroopers into Townsville. The aircraft would come in low, then pop up near the coastline, disgorging their soldiers. Divers could easily mine the navy ships bobbing unknowingly in Darwin harbour. It would probably all happen at night, or in the early morning, when reaction times were at their slowest. The Indonesian plan would probably succeed at the cost of possibly thousands of Australian lives. But they wouldn’t be able to hold those positions for long. Their supply lines would be way too long and Australia would have the home-soil advantage and, hopefully, assistance from the US. But for a couple of days, maybe three or four until the home defences could rally with the help of a US Carrier Battle Group… yes, the TNI could do it.

‘The border of East and West Timor would be very active too. Another diversion,’ the general added.

‘Of course,’ said Niven distantly, his mind seeing clouds of parachutes in the skies over Townsville.

‘Did you consider that the sort of action you’re talking about would make your bloody country a pariah in the civilised world?’ asked the PM, having difficulty believing educated men could formulate such an outlaw strategy. ‘What do you think would happen to your trade links with other countries after you’ve invaded us?’ The more the PM thought about it, the more indignant he became. ‘The whole thing’s bloody absurd…’

The general visibly stiffened. ‘We’ve bounced back from the crash of ’97. And we don’t need direct links with the West for prosperity. We have trade through organisations and groups like ASEAN. We are Asian and Muslim. We have our own networks. We don’t need Europeans to get on our feet.’

Masri appeared to sigh. ‘I do not think much of your understanding of the situation, Mr Blight,’ he said. ‘Your country is too full of its own self-importance to see the world as it really is. You think America would rush to your aid?’ From his tone, the general obviously believed that it wouldn’t.

Blight felt uncomfortable, but he didn’t take the general’s bait.

‘The US wants a stable Indonesia. That’s its first priority. It talks democracy, but it wants stability more. Indonesia is a democracy at the moment, but this so-called freedom threatens our very existence. There are forces within that want the nation torn apart. And the government won’t do anything about it, because it doesn’t have the required strength. Religious fundamentalism is growing in voice and action. You have felt the effects of that yourselves. And, as you know, many provinces now openly demand secession. A strong military hand is the only answer. Indeed, it is in your interest. We would stop this disintegration. We see no other way. You might not like having a strong military government in the region, but what is the alternative?’ Masri let the thought hang in the air before continuing. ‘America would realise this, and do nothing.’

Griffin cleared his throat uncomfortably. He’d talked about Indonesia going down this path. He felt like he’d almost willed it to come to pass, but at the same time knew that was ridiculious.

‘It sounds to me like you don’t regret any of this. So why did you turn yourself over to our embassy?’ asked Niven calmly.

‘It was the attack on the Qantas plane,’ said Masri, looking down at his hands. All at once, his demeanour changed from a proud general to that of a deeply disillusioned man.

‘General Suluang told us a file containing invasion details was stolen over the Internet. The terrorist was traced to the plane. He had the aircraft shot down to keep the plan a secret.’

‘You, personally, would happily invade Australia but not shoot down a plane?’ said Griffin, that particular piece of logic seeming dubious to him.

‘Yes, I’m a soldier and soldiers don’t kill civilians. I’m tired of killing civilians. I’m a patriot, not a murderer,’ said Masri, becoming more agitated. ‘That’s why I agreed to the coup — because I saw a way to end the bloodshed between my men and the people of Indonesia. But what Suluang did was murder and I wanted no part of it. That’s why I’ve turned my back on him and the rest — why I’m here, talking to you. And there is something else you should know.’ He slumped back down against his pillows, head forward, a ruined, beaten figure.

‘And what’s that?’ asked the PM, ready for anything.

‘There are survivors.’

‘We know,’ said the PM, relieved that it wasn’t yet another bombshell. ‘You told our ambassador after your car accident. You were semiconscious.’

Masri suddenly appeared disoriented. ‘Did I also tell you that Suluang’s Kopassus are trying to find and kill them?’

‘Yes,’ said the PM.

Masri looked around nervously, unsure of what he might or might not have said when he was lying outside the embassy. ‘General Suluang sent Kopassus to the crash site to secure it; to remove evidence of missile damage, and to ensure there were no witnesses. There were two survivors.’

Niven realised that his own mouth was slack. He swallowed. The general’s confession was an astonishing window on desperation. He fought back the desire to sneeze and gave his nose a good blow into a tissue instead.

The Australians had agreed amongst themselves before the videoconference that they would not reveal to the general the dispatch of SAS troops to Sulawesi.

There was silence in the room. The general sat propped up in bed facing the camera, the bruised skin on his round, smooth face turned the consistency of putty by the videocamera’s resolution. His eyebrows drooped over soft brown eyes and, despite the heavy bandage covering most of his head, the overall effect was surprisingly avuncular. Mao — Niven was aware of the general’s nickname, and he could see the similarity. It was a friendly face. But appearances could be deceptive.

‘Roger, I think we need to talk things over here for a bit,’ said Blight, trying to get his head around some of the practical issues now facing Australia and, more specifically, the men gathered with him in front of the monitor.

‘Okay, Bill. And General Masri…?’

The general. What the hell were they going to do with the bastard? wondered Blight. He considered that before answering. ‘General, for what it’s worth, I think your plan was despicable. You’re nothing more than a mass murderer.’ He paused, fighting with himself. ‘However, and I’m kicking myself for saying this, I also have to thank you for coming to us with this information. If you cooperate with us, you’ll get asylum. But, I stress, that cooperation would be unconditional.’

The general nodded rigidly, with some obvious degree of discomfort that wasn’t just physical.

‘Roger, we’ll get back to you when we have some bloody idea what to do next,’ said Blight.

The ambassador nodded. ‘I’ll let you know if anything else turns up,’ he said before the screen went blank.

There was a chorus of sighs in the room, as if everyone had been holding their breath.

The lights came up and the men squinted painfully.

‘There’s your motive — invasion. It almost makes a crazy kind of sense now,’ said Niven.

‘Yep,’ said Griffin.

‘Jesus. Where do we begin?’ said Sharpe, shaking his head.

‘We have the names of Masri’s co-conspirators,’ said Griffin, sifting through the interview. ‘That’s a start. It explains a lot, actually. Now we know why the TNI have been exercising pretty much constantly over the past year. And of course, the unstable political situation throughout Indonesia is ripe for military unrest. What’s so bloody fantastic is the scope of the coup.’

‘We’re going to have to act fast,’ said Niven. ‘We have to assume their plans will be drastically brought forward. Things will start to unravel for these bastards very quickly now, and we can help that along. They’re going to get desperate. And the only card we have to play is surprise.’

The Commander in Chief stood and resisted the temptation to stretch. An unexpected presence in the corner of his eye caught his attention. Niven had assumed that they were alone in the darkened theatrette, but they were not. It was Parno Batuta, the Indonesian ambassador, sitting up the back in the gloom, mopping the sweat from his face.

Niven turned back and caught the PM’s eye. There was the slightest of smiles on Blight’s lips and then it was gone. He’d been told the PM was a shrewd operator. Niven examined the ambassador’s face again and knew Blight’s gamble had paid off. Batuta’s shock was transmuting to anger. The Australians would need to liaise with Jakarta on this treachery, and devise a counterattack against the Indonesian officers. In Batuta, they now had a willing emissary.