The Timor Man. Kerry B Collison
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leaving the defence building, edged forward calling out for the fare. He selected one and cautiously climbed aboard.
A Russian-built staff vehicle eased into the courtyard as he departed. The occupants appeared agitated. Probably, thought Seda, from the many stops the vehicle would surely have made in getting through the obstacle course that the congested street had now become.
Buses and trucks blocked traffic as passengers attempted to push their transport, often unsuccessfully, to higher ground. Waves created by the few vehicles which moved through the traffic pushed dirty water perilously close to the top of the becak’s passenger seat. Seda’s trousers became wet causing him to shift to protect the contents of his pockets from the wash. In doing so, he slipped forward and, to his and the driver’s dismay, fell sideways into the filthy, inundated street.
“Aduh, Pak,” the driver called, his eyes wide, anticipating the angry outburst. “Sialanlu,” snapped Seda, pulling himself upright, using the becak frame for support.
He succeeded in wading to the other side of the flooded road where the water was shallower, cursing the driver for his stupidity, punctuating the vitriolic outburst with easily identifiable finger and thumb movements, while admonishing himself silently for having lost his balance.
He looked down at his trousers and what he saw angered him even more. They were ripped. His feet were wet and his shoes would take days to dry. He stood silently for a few moments forcing his anger to subside. Remembering the cause of his accident, Seda extracted his wallet along with its soggy contents. Four hundred and fifty wet rupiah notes! Angrily he stared at his identification card and passes. All would require replacement. Aduh , he thought, this had been one hell of a day. Resigned to the two kilometre walk and determined not to board another becak, Seda headed off in the direction of his quarters, brooding over the bad karma .
The morning summons to report to the director’s office had been unexpected. Although Seda was an excellent officer and there was no apparent reason to be alarmed, he still experienced a sense of uneasiness. Despite being self-confident under most circumstances, he knew that this call had to be serious. The director rarely ordered such one-on-one meetings with lieutenant colonels. In fact, Seda had only met the general twice and both occasions were during briefing sessions in the War room. He resisted the temptation to hurry. It would display signs of nervousness.
The First Directorate for Intelligence Operations was at the end of the second wing, secluded in a tight web of security. He approached under the watchful eyes of two KOPASGAT airborne guards. One of them advanced towards him and ushered him directly into an ante-room. The door was closed and locked.
A small desk off to one corner was occupied by a first lieutenant who rose respectfully and offered the Colonel a seat on the hand-carved wooden bench seat. The suite was typical of the decorative carved settees throughout the government offices and, as many a foreign guest had found, they were not designed for long periods of sitting.
The Colonel observed that there were no water stained ceilings here. A hand woven Persian carpet lay spread along side the coffee table upon which had been placed a glass of Java Robusta coffee, covered with the standard aluminium lid to prevent dust and flies from spoiling the cooling thick liquid.
He ignored the offering and continued to pass the time examining the recently printed map which covered half the wall area above the trophy cabinet. The chart indicated that the ocean to the south and west of his country was now named the Indonesian Ocean and that the whole of Borneo and Malaysia bore the same identifying colours as all of the provinces of the Indonesian Republic. Seda resisted the temptation to smile as he was conscious of the young officer’s attention.
The General kept him waiting. It was warm in this room. Was it his imagination or did the overhead fan appear to be slowing? He felt the moist droplets forming around his buttocks and then under his arms. The perspiration made him self conscious and a small damp trickle established a line down the centre of his back. He leaned forward, to prevent the sticky drops from saturating his shirt, annoyed that his anxiety would be apparent.
Suddenly the buzzer sounded, startling him. The adjutant rose to his feet to escort him into the general’s presence. The large double doors opened into an enormous room. It stretched across ten metres and was at least seven metres deep.
Seda was surprised. He had no idea that such offices were available in the cramped HANKAM complex. He had, in the course of his duties, visited many of the other senior ranking officers’ rooms throughout the command but never had he seen an office with such expensive decor. The walls were covered from the floor halfway to the ceilings with polished teak timber panels. The skirting boards were all hand carved as were the joining sections between each panel. The ceiling followed the line of the roof, making the chamber large and impressive, and priceless Dutch colonial lamps were hung in each of the corners. One wall was covered with plaques, pennants and photographs from the general’s past military service.
On the opposing wall, a huge Garuda highlighted with gold leaf was positioned overlooking the director’s magnificent desk. Directly between its talons, creating an appropriate backdrop to the throne-shaped director’s chair, were the words Bhineka Tunggal Ika . Unity in Diversity. The Red and White hung on its stand, moving gently to the wisps of artificial breeze blowing from the three, two-horsepower Carrier air-conditioners installed inconspicuously where former windows had been removed.
The imported guest chairs with tanned matching leather seats and chrome tubular steel supports were positioned so that the visitor was obliged to view the general’s military memorabilia and photographic record of his achievements. He could feel the authority emanating from the room and its tenant. Seda came to attention directly in front of his superior, saluted smartly, then waited for a response. The door closed softly behind him as the adjutant slipped quietly away.
General Sudomo sat erect in his oversized chair which had been carved to match the front and side panels of the three-metre desk. The impression created was that the man was considerably smaller than normal, perhaps even a dwarf, but Seda knew this not to be the case. He was very aware that it would be dangerous to underestimate the Director, as his reputation for toughness was well known in military circles.
“Ah Seda,” Sudomo spoke softly, indicating with a gesture for Seda to be seated. He obeyed. An opened cigarette packet had been carefully positioned in the centre of the glass coffee table. He noticed that the General’s ribbon collection, displayed prominently on the left side of his chest, had grown since his last intelligence briefing. Seda made it a practice to notice such things. These small yet colourful bands provided considerable information as to the bearer’s past and even current movements and activities. In a world of intrigue and power plays it was imperative to have up-to-date knowledge.
For high-ranking officers like the General, the ribbons were literally decorations. At the last count there were just over four hundred generals in the combined army, navy, air and police forces. Both the new decorations were the elite ‘ Konfrontasi ’ ribbons and Seda again felt uneasy at any prospect of his possible posting to an active unit which specialised in border crossings into Malaysia and New Guinea.
Seda had seen intelligence reports before they had been revised for general dissemination. They had indicated that the highly skilled British and Australian troops assisting Malaysia were reducing Indonesia’s ‘hero squads’ to scattered rabble. He had no desire to be a recipient of these distinguished ‘ Konfrontasi ’ ribbons for the majority were awarded posthumously.
“Kolonel, I have called you here to discuss a most sensitive intelligence matter,” the General firmly announced, then dropping his voice to an almost inaudible level, continued. “However, there are some grey areas which must be disposed of before your security grading can be upgraded.” He paused to light a cigarette.
Seda’s palms were now very moist. He was staggered. It was what he had dreaded — a posting to a ‘ Konfrontasi ’ unit! He desperately wanted to take one of the cigarettes from the table but knew to do so without one being offered was unthinkable. Instead, he clenched his fists tightly until he could